#its time to flirt with every attractive man walking down the sidewalk

[citrlet]

[shoutogepi]

Spring Pollen

Takami Keigo

word count : 5.0k

[ ✘ (nsfw 18+) ]  

genre : edging, gagging (glove use), sex pollen, public sex

bio: You and your coworker Hawks are caught off guard by a villain’s naughty quirk while on the middle of patrol.

author’s note : this is for bnha bookclub’s bingo event, for which i can now cross off the “sex pollen” slot ;) also pls go soft on me if this is rough as it’s my first hawks fic <3 TT

tags : @hawks-senseis​ @queensynderella​ @knifeewifee​ @prismaroyal​

also available on AO3 here

   ─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

Working beside the number two hero had its ups and downs. For one, you were insanely attracted to him, and you absolutely refused to admit it— to him, yourself, really anyone who asked. Not that it came up in conversation often, of course. You made sure of that.

The blonde was known for his go-with-the-flow, playful attitude, and you were not discluded from such a privilege, despite your many complaints. Deep down, you didn’t really mind his flirtatious behavior. Being a hero, even if you were only a sidekick at the moment, was tiring work. You did not have much time for yourself, let alone time to find men who you could flirt with or even go on dates with. Or even find a fuck buddy. 

God, it had been so long since you last received affection from a man. Work was your entire life now, and while you found comfort in knowing you were changing the world for the better— cleaning away the stain of evil on your city— you found yourself feeling lonely when you would return to your empty apartment each night.

So perhaps Hawks’ borderline suggestive comments were nice, welcome even. Not that you would ever tell him that. You would rather die than live with knowing he was privy to your thoughts; the mortification would simply be too much for you.

Little did you know, there was much desire and intention behind his seemingly meaningless flirting— for he, too, found you more than attractive. A walking, talking, gorgeous and independent woman who apparently wanted nothing to do with him— you were more than enough to catch his eye. But alas, you were years younger than the already-youthful hero himself, and you made it very clear to him that you did not want to do anything that could jeopardize your career at the agency the two of you were slaves to.

So the attraction went unspoken between the pair of you. Hawks would make a comment just a little too cheeky and you would roll your eyes or swat at him, and that would be the end of it. It would go on and on like this for months, and before you knew it, it had been almost a year of supporting the ever-popular winged hero. And everything was fine and good…

Until the red string on fate had to show its ugly face. And everything as you knew it was turned upside down on the head— the tall, prison-like walls you’d constructed to keep your feelings locked away all came tumbling down, right before your very eyes.

It had been a rather uneventful day of hero work, if you could recall correctly. Hawks had commented on your winged eyeliner that morning, saying how it made your eyes sparkle and give you an “avian edge”, which he found highly commendable. You had brushed him off, as usual, and the two of you had taken off to start your patrol, much like any other morning.

The sun was high in the sky, hanging cheerfully over the skyscrapers of the bustling city. The spring heat had not yet scorched the asphalt of the winding roads, a cool breeze tickling your skin as you walked beside the blonde hero. His large, scarlet wings were relaxed behind his shoulder blades, the very tips of his feathers brushing against your waist as you were pressed close to him on the busy sidewalk. It was all rather ordinary, looking back at it— you had just thrown away the wrappings from your on-the-go breakfast, feeling strengthened enough to take on whatever the day could possibly throw at you, when she appeared from what seemed like nowhere.

Hawks sprang into action immediately, recognizing the wicked glint in her eye much sooner than you. You were on a dull sideroad, almost an alleyway to be honest— a small street tucked away in the midst of the hasty city, sandwiched behind a few large buildings and the backs of restaurants. It was really the perfect place for a crime to occur, for there were few passerbys and no security cameras.

In just an instant, the number two hero was on his ass, nearly hacking up a lung as the offender sprayed a noxious cloud of pink spores directly into his face. The woman sported a vicious grin as she turned to you, and though Hawks tried his best to warn you of her attack, he found he could not speak— instead crumpling over to hold his stomach as his body seized with violent coughs. Just like that, you had fallen victim to her as well, your knees folding beneath you as your mind clouded over in a haze. You didn’t even register Hawks throwing her into the brick wall behind you, your brian too foggy to recognize anything before you. He was struggling to cuff the woman when he first began to sweat, his body beginning to tremble first in his chest, then spreading to his limbs and rushing into his veins, like the venom from a deadly serpent.

Your body felt hot— god, so hot— it was like liquid fire had been poured into your bloodstream, every cell of your body igniting into an all-consuming inferno. Sweat began to bead along your temple, the valley between your breasts, and the backs of your knees. You slumped onto the concrete beneath you, clammy palms scraping the rough pavement as you gasped for breath. But with each intake the symptoms only seemed to worsen, limbs growing weak and an intense pressure forming in your stomach, like an intruder attempting to burst through a barricaded door.

Hawks was busy fighting his own internal battle— the same feelings bubbling up inside of him as he clicked the quirk-canceling cuffs onto the assailant’s wrists, perhaps a notch or two too tight. He could feel himself coming to life underneath his trousers, fanning the growing fire in the pit of his stomach. “What did you do to us?” he bellowed, a mix between a groan and a growl. The tip of a ruby feather pointed itself at the base of her throat, a slight tremor shaking through the quill as his knees began to tremble.

The woman only laughed, amused by his blatant discomfort. Her eyes traveled over to your figure, curled into a tight ball on the ground. Hawks followed her gaze, distress panging through him as he realized the pained expression twisting your face.

“Reverse it,” he snarled, fists seizing the front of her shirt and pulling her body to sit upright.

But the villain only smirked, her busted lip not seeming to bother her as her eyes twinkled with malice. “Sorry, can’t do that,” she chuckled, though it came out sounding more like a wheeze, “no takesies-backsies.”

Hawks bared his teeth at her, his ferality getting the better of him as he slammed her against the brick wall another time. Her eyes fell closed and her body went limp, signalling she was out of commission for at least the time being.

“Damn it,” he groaned as her clothes slipped from his fingers, the digits opting to push into his wild tawny locks instead. Whatever quirk this woman had used on him was working too fast, and its effects were too strong. His cock was rock hard, straining against the confining material of his pants, and his body was becoming much too strung out from restraining his amplifying desire.

Chills rolled down his spine as you called out to him, your voice breathy and rough. His gloved hands clamped into fists as he shut his eyes, praying to whatever god there was to lend him the strength necessary to keep himself from tackling you and ripping off your clothes. He had never felt so desperate for you before— never had he needed to touch and taste every inch of you like he did right now. Whatever longing he had harbored for you before this morning was nothing in comparison to the emotions clobbering his sense of self-control at the moment— god, if you even called out for him one more time, he wasn’t sure he could stop himself from taking you, right here and now.

Little did he know, that was the one thing you wanted— needed, even— more than anything.

Your arms were crossed atop your chest, your knees tucking in to bend in front of them as you literally held yourself together. You could feel yourself leaking from between your legs, pussy twitching and itchy for any kind of attention you could get. “P-Please, Keigo,” you whimpered, your hands slowly trailing down your biceps, a palm clutching your own breast, thumb rubbing over the stiff nipple that stood out from beneath your hero suit.

Hawks couldn’t stand still for another second— the sound of his name from your lips too arousing, too intimate— he was on his knees before you in a flash. Both of you moaned as his lips slotted over yours, not a moment to spare as your body unfurled and wrapped around his frame, pulling him flush against yourself. His tongue pushed into your mouth, the tip twirling with yours and gliding against the back of your teeth.

Lost in the pleasure of his mouth on yours, your hands wandered over his shoulders, his chest, one taking root in his silky, fine hair. You could smell his aftershave wafting off his cheeks, the stubble on his chin tickling you as he began to kiss and nip at your jaw. He was insatiable, and so were you— your hands groping and wandering all over each other. Neither of you could get enough. 

You couldn’t believe that this was really happening, in the middle of this secluded, public alleyway, during your patrol as heroes— figures that the citizens of your city looked up to, no less. Yet you couldn’t find a shit to give, and Hawks had abandoned all sense of rationality the moment you dared to cry out for him. He didn’t seem to mind the public setting, for he didn’t harbor a shred of hesitance as he swatted your hand away from your chest. His own palm squeezed your breast as he suckled on your throat, making his first of many marks that would grace your skin.

It wasn’t long before he had you against the brick wall, your body snug between his firm torso and the roughness of the bricks at your back. His face trailed further south, his absence at your neck leaving your saliva-covered skin to prickle with cold. But you weren’t left pining for more long— his teeth gripping onto your nipple through your shirt, kissing and sucking at your covered chest as his hands careened down your waist, cupping your ass and lifting you off your feet just enough for your toes to drag across the pavement.

Your heart leapt into your throat as Hawks sunk to his knees, folding your legs over his shoulders and pressing his face into the apex between your thighs. His strong arms flexed as he held you up against the wall, your legs twitching as he pressed a line of kisses into your skin. Somehow you managed to wriggle out of your bottoms, your soaked panties now on full display for the winged hero, who only groaned at the sight before his tongue began to lather at the front of the material, right over your aching slit.

You felt itchy, itchier than you’d ever been before, your cunt pulsing and squeezing around nothing as you tried to wiggle your hips closer to his mouth. “H-Hawks,” you gasped as his teeth pinched the cloth, pulling it back and letting go, just to watch it snap against your drooling center.

“No, no, little bird,” he murmured sinisterly, taking a second to rub his nose along your slit, smirking at the clearly visible line of wetness that had soaked through the material. The teasing was torture, your body screaming for him to touch you again, for even more this time.

You cut him off, too impatient for his games. “Please touch me,” you begged, breath ragged in your chest.

Golden eyes turned to slits as he grit his teeth, fighting himself not to just whip out his cock and thrust into you right then and there. “If you’re gonna beg, do it properly. I wanna hear my name, dove.”

You couldn’t handle another second of agony; everything felt like it was on fire, every inch of you ready to be used, destroyed at his disposal. “Please fuck me— I— please Keigo, I need you so bad, I can’t stand it anymore!”

Hawks grinned as he ripped your panties off your body, the splitting of the seams shocking you into looking down at him. If anything, the ferocious action only turned you on even more than before, and you screamed out as his tongue immediately wove into your tight little hole. Your entire body shook as his hot muscle slithered in and out of you, alternating between tracing your entrance and rubbing against your slick, gummy walls.

There was nothing you could do but bask in the euphoria he was giving you, your jaw falling open as his tongue retracted and he wrapped his lips around your clit instead. Your eyes slammed shut, moans escaping you as your fingers delved into those bronze locks, fisting them as you ground against his face. His chin rubbed against your weeping entrance, and Hawks found himself wishing he had two tongues, so he could lap up the delicious slick that poured out of your gushing hole.

But it stopped all too soon, a sob choking out of you when he stopped satiating you with his mouth. His hand guided one of your thighs off his shoulder, placing your foot on the pavement and giving your shaking limb an encouraging squeeze before he took his hand away. His slanted eyes locked with yours as he brought his hand to his mouth, teeth securing the edge of his glove and ripping the accessory off, revealing his long, slender fingers to your lustful gaze. The hero then crumpled the leather into a tight ball, extending his arm up to your face and pressing it against your lips.

“Can’t have my dove making too much noise now, can I?” he mumbled, a feathered brow quirking up to give him a classic, mischievous look. “Too noisy and we’ll have to cut our fun short.”

At that you shyly opened your mouth, allowing him to press the glove past your lips. Once it was secure, his thumb brushed over your cheek as he grinned, his fingers then sliding down to pinch at your nipples. You moaned at the sensation, the leather glove in your mouth muffling the noise almost completely.

Hawks’ smile only broadened at that, leaning forward to take your clit into his mouth again. Your hips bucked against him, the thigh over his shoulder curling tighter and pressing him closer to you. It felt good— so incredibly good to have his tongue entertaining your pearl of nerves, lathering and swirling it, even using his teeth to graze against it. Your head fell back onto the wall behind you, eyelids fluttering shut as his fingers around your leg dug into your flesh, his other hand squishing at your chest before trailing down your waist, then down your thigh.

Suddenly his fingers were toying with your entrance, your slick stringing as he spread his fingers, golden gaze eagerly drinking up the sight of your arousal. Oh, how he’d longed for the day he could finally do this to his sweet little sidekick— to be able to lick and kiss and nip at your most sensitive parts, only to hear you moan and whine his name, gasping for more. It was even better that his glove was shoved into your mouth, muting your saccharine voice just enough so that no one else could hear you— your noises of pleasure were his and only his to hear, to soak up, and indulge in.

You cried out as two digits slipped inside of you, your wetness never having been so overt in your life. The extra slick dripped down the tops of your thighs, your pussy shamelessly slobbering for the man currently knelt between your legs. Your velvet walls sucked his fingers deeper inside, milking them as your cunt clenched uncontrollably, his tongue relentlessly lashing against your swollen clit. Hawks’ fingers pumped into you steadily, sheathing and pulling out just the first two knuckles into your waiting hole time and time again. The movements initially were slow, as if testing the waters. But after a few exploratory thrusts, he pushed the digits inside of you as far as he could, curling them toward himself and prodding your spongy walls.

He wouldn’t stop, he couldn’t stop— you tasted too damn delicious, and his cock was leaking into his briefs at the premise of being inside you, your stifled sounds only adding fuel to the fire in his stomach. Your body was beginning to show signs of near-orgasm, and it only made him more excited to see you so reactive for him. Your eyes were shut tight, fingers pulling on his golden tresses so tightly he could feel his mind practically spinning. And your legs were trembling, almost so badly that he wondered if you were going to collapse on top of him at any moment.

You whimpered as his hand switched angles, the very tips of his fingers rubbing right against the most sensitive spot inside of you. Hawks noticed your body twitch, even though you tried your best to keep your reaction a secret to him, ashamed to already be so close to cumming. But the winged hero was feeling anything but shame— pressing his fingers into that spot again and again, savoring how your cries became louder underneath his glove in your mouth, your limbs quivering against his skin. You tried to warn him, your thigh squeezing tight around his shoulder, your fingers lacing even tighter into his hair, spine stiffening.

Hawks seemed to know what was coming, for his fingers began flicking back and forth inside of you, stimulating that soft, spongy spot that made stars blur at the corners of your vision. Your toes curled tight inside your boots, tears pooling between your eyelashes, your body feeling as though it was trapped inside an elevator surging toward the thousandth floor of a skyscraper. The tension was building, building, oh it was so close— you could practically see the heavenly, orgasmic light shining just before you, and then—

He pulled back.

Had his glove not been occupying your mouth, your whine of anguish would have echoed off the stone walls of the alleyway, your body slumping into his arms in complete dejection. Your brows were furrowed in torment, wondering how in the world Hawks had the strength to pull away from you when you were in such a state— you were practically imploring for his attention, body so hot and willing that you’d let him do anything he could possibly want to you.

You were too lost mourning the lost orgasm to notice Hawks haphazardly shoving his pants down, pulling his black, tight shirt halfway up his abs. His cock sprang up from its confines, his eyes just slits as he focused his gaze on your dripping cunt, still twitching in misery from his teasing torture. You only realized you were being maneuvered once it was too late— he had dropped the leg that had previously rested on his shoulder, instead taking the other and pushing it to press up against the wall, his fingers digging into your thigh. He was upright now, teeth taking the tip of your ear hostage as he rutted his heavy cock against your saturated slit.

Fresh waves of lust rippled through your body, your bones turning cold with white-hot anticipation. You could feel everything— his member sliding against your entrance, gliding against you from head to base, even the veins decorating his shaft as they brushed against your aching core.

Hawks’ breath was heavy in your ear, but that only made you want him more. It was the only physical sign that he was just as affected as you; the soft groan falling from his lips as you bucked against him was proof enough of that. Yet somehow he staved off from thrusting into you, despite your pussy coating his whole length in your slippery love syrup.

You tried to complain, but the glove between your lips jumbled any words into a muted mess.

He seemed to be amused by your efforts, his honey gaze seizing yours. “If I take that out for you, do you promise you’ll be a good little dove for me? Can’t have you singing too loud, alright?” His words were music to your ears, and you quickly nodded your head, eager to prove yourself to him. But he didn’t move a muscle; only his tongue wandered out to swipe across his bottom lip, which then disappeared between his teeth. His eyes darted south, and before yours could follow suit, he pushed inside you to the hilt.

You screamed as he forced your elastic walls to stretch around him, the thickness of his cock taking you by surprise. Intense pleasure burst into your body as he pulled out halfway, sheathing himself back inside almost immediately. Hawks’ eyes were shut tight, savoring the way your cunt hugged him so perfectly. Already you were milking him, and he knew there was no way he could last.

It didn’t matter, really, because the instant his hand slid down your pelvis and his fingers began to toy with your clit, you were gone. Instantly that intense pressure built just like it had before, for a split second it was all you could feel. And then you were crashing through your orgasm, his name the only thing on your brain. You called it out again and again, ecstasy zipping through your veins and toward the intense heat that the villain’s quirk had produced. The sensations clashed in a fiery explosion, your entire body straining as you did your best to handle the pleasure, your pussy wringing tight around Hawks’ cock.

Hawks gasped, his head falling to your shoulder at the intensity— at the snugness of your cunt like a vice around him, at the sound of your muffled cries for him, at the way your body trembled in his hands. He didn’t wait long, though, for after the initial shock of your orgasm arriving, his hips began to ruthlessly smack against yours. His grip was now tight on your body, fingernails digging little crescents into the skin of your thigh and your asscheek, which he pulled back to slide himself even deeper inside of you.

Your head smacked against the brick as it fell backwards, the pleasure flowing endlessly through your entire body. It was only then that Hawks bothered to take his glove from between your lips, and you immediately gasped for the sweet rush of air that filled your mouth. Small noises of content slithered out of you with every crash of his hips against you, impossible for you to silence the constant “hah” and “yes”’es. Not that Hawks seemed to really mind— in fact, he was eating up every sweet noise that left your throat, cherishing the cute, dazed look on your face as he pummeled your tight little cunt with his fat cock.

It was wrong to be this attracted to his sidekick, he knew. But maybe that was why it felt so fucking good, too— the forbidden, unspoken attraction that hung between the pair of you like a heavy shadow whenever you were together. The line had been crossed, and god, was the grass greener on the other side. If this was what being with you felt like, he didn’t want to go back. He couldn’t— he’d tasted your sweet ambrosia and he could never push you away again. You were pouring life into him as you took his cock so perfectly, and he could feel nothing but euphoria as he slammed your cunt onto himself again and again.

His release was building, but goddamn it, he was gonna hold out for as long as he could. He was gonna make you feel as good as he possibly could, and hopefully it was something that could mirror the intense bliss that you were giving him. From the way your irises rolled back in your skull, your nails gripping into his muscles tightly as your jaw hung ajar, his name slipping through your lips every other thrust— he guessed he was doing a pretty good job.

Meanwhile your brain was nearly liquefying in your skull, the aftershocks of your orgasm still stinging your bones with pleasure. Hawks never let you come down from your high, and he was doing a damn good job at keeping you on cloud nine— his hand holding up your thigh so he had a better angle to continue drilling into that sweet, springy spot inside of you. His wings began to flutter and stretch behind him, flapping gently with each swing of his hips. It felt so good that you could barely keep yourself from screaming for him, from letting the entire city know that it was him who was fucking you so good.

“K-Keigo,” you choked, a tear sliding down your cheek. Hawks moaned at the sound of his name on your voice, leaning forward to lick up the saline bead before he pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth, a shocking contrast to how hard he was pounding into you just a short distance south. “Feels so— agh! fuck— good, oh my goddd.”

Hawks nipped at your throat, burying his face in your neck as his thrusts became more shallow, his pace beginning to falter. “You like my cock, dove?” he growled, chest heaving as that intense pressure started to build in his stomach. “Your pussy is so fuckin’ wet for me— T-Tight! Hah, shit— s’too fuckin’ good baby.”

You could only moan at his words, cunt clenching down on him on its own accord. Hawks gasped at the feeling, teeth sinking into your throat as the heat of the quirk clashed with the heightened tension in his abdomen. The collision of the two sensations proved to be too much for the winged hero to handle, a groan rumbling his throat as he painted your insides white with ribbons of cum, his wings unfurling and each individual feather quivering in sheer ecstasy. His body shook, muscles taut as he emptied himself into your dripping cunt, arms wrapping tight around your waist as he gasped for breath.

The heat from your bodies began to dwindle, the villain’s quirk exiting your systems and rendering the two of you boneless, breathless, and satisfied like never before. It suddenly dawned on you that you were in the middle of an alleyway, the cool spring breeze touseling Hawks’ blonde hair before your eyes. He was still wrapped around you, trying to catch his breath as his cock continued to throb against your silken walls. The pair of you stood still against the brick wall, the fact that you’d just crossed such a serious line with your closest coworker setting in. There was a sense of dread that began to bloom in your chest, your suppressed feelings for the hero unleashed and thriving, now more than ever.

Before you could overthink for another second, Hawks pulled back, warm golden eyes peering into yours. “I gotta say, dove,” he murmured, a hand coming to cup your jaw and stroke his thumb across your skin, “that was definitely the best quirk I’ve ever been hit with on the job.”

You chuckled at that, the weight of the situation instantly lightening up as you gave him a slow nod of agreement. Your heart began to beat quickly as you gathered the courage to take it a step further than his confession. “I’m glad it was with you,” you replied quietly, meekly averting your gaze to the side.

Hawks hummed, thumbing over your cheek again as a smile rose to his lips. He pressed his mouth to yours again, fingers creeping into your hair as he pulled your face close to his. This kiss was unlike any you shared before, conveying only a sweetness, fondness even— a comforting reciprocation. You smiled against his lips, too, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him back, your fear dissipating as fast as it had come.

“I’m glad, too,” Hawks mumbled between your kisses, pulling away to quirk a brow at you playfully. “Can you imagine if I was with Endeavor instead?” he made the both of you laugh before leaning in to press his lips against yours again, the image of the serious, number one hero and your coworker in such a situation too hilarious not to laugh. But just as you started to deepen the kiss, he couldn’t resist throwing in the punchline he’d set up.

“I’d be a damn rotisserie chicken by now.”

   ─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

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sdfghj i never know how to end these and also why do i use this many dashes i am sORRY  if you enjoyed pls make sure to lemme know~~ 💕

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[magalidragon]

paris is always a good idea | a Jonerys Drabble

Thank you @youwerenevermine​ for my wonderful birthday gift, I love it so much and I love Paris so much and Jonerys and you for making this for me so I felt inspired and wrote a quick little drabble thing, lol. It’s only the fourth time I’ve written Jonerys in a modern, non-Westeros world, but it was fun!  And I wanna’ go back so much!  Paris, je t’aime!

They met while in university, oddly enough, as fate would have it, on her birthday.

She had been there to study art, for a year abroad, savoring every last second wandering the wide, arched hallways of the Louvre, staring at grand masters for hours on end, burning the vibrant colors and mesmerizing brushstrokes into her memory, wishing she could be as good as them one day.  One day, someone would have her art in their house, and proudly boast they'd gotten it back when she was but a nobody, painting on the streets or in the grassy parks.  

Since it was her birthday, she decided to treat herself, and instead of heading straight to the university to get some time in the studio, she decided to get an ice cream at Berthillon, heading to the Ile-St-Louis instead of to the metro, taking her time to admire, as she often did, the glory of Notre Dame, it’s gargoyles and buttresses.

At the glacier she took her time selecting a flavor, did not even mind paying the exorbitant price and shouldered through tourists taking refuge from a cold rain that had begun to fall. She savored it, the clean water bouncing off her peat coat and the beanie she’d tugged over her silver hair.

She was about to set off, to eat her ice cream and wander into the Marais, perhaps drop down into the Latin Quarter— maybe take a trip to Chanel or Dior or Celine to admire the creations she couldn’t afford— when her ice cream went flying, straight onto the wet sidewalk. Where a mass of pidgins attacked it with gusto.

“Merde! Faites attention!” she shouted, stomping her Doc Marten on the ground in petulant annoyance.

The man who had bumped her because he’d been roughhousing with another friend had been apologetic.  He bought her another and said his name was Robb Stark. He was from Scotland, was on spring break with his buddies, which she didn’t care about. To apologize he invited her for a drink, especially when the worker who she’d told it was her birthday had commented on it again when she got another ice cream.

She figured why not?  He was attractive, sorry, and nice enough so she agreed, although she had commented his French was terrible best to speak English. “You’re English?” he had teased.

“Half and half,” she answered. English father, French mother.

At the comptoir where she suggested they meet, in Montmartre, she brought her roommate Missandei and Missandei’s boyfriend Grey. It was just a drink and they’d leave and go to the dinner Missandei planned to take her to anyway.

Except that’s where she met him.

The dark, brooding figure at the tiny table in the corner, ignoring Robb and Robb’s friend Theon, and a couple others, favoring silence and his drink. He was in all black, barely acknowledging her and slipped out for a smoke when Robb began to shamelessly flirt. She didn’t care about Robb, she cared about him.

Jon.

She exited, saw him lighting a cigarette against a lap post. She flicked her coat collar up and sidled towards him. “Puis-j’en avoir un?”

“Sorry I don’t speak,” he began, and his eyes— black in the orange lamplight glow— flicking to her. He smiled gently “French.”

She smiled and repeated her question in English.  “Can I have one?  A smoke  that is?”

He stuck the cigarette between his pouty, sinful lips, framed with a cropped dark beard, and reached into his coat pocket, removing a pack. She took one delicately and he lit it, cupping his hands around the tip so the wind didn’t blow it out.

A stream of smoke escaped her nostrils when she puffed and she smiled up at him, hoping he got the hint. “Do you like Paris?”

“Not especially.”

“Aw come on,” she teased. She hummed, closing her eyes and taking in the cold night. The electric buzz is people on the street and at the cafes and bars around them. “Paris is always a good idea.”

“Someone famous said that.”

“Audrey Hepburn.”

He sucked on the cigarette and smiled, a tiny one, the curve of his lip sly rather than shy.  “You aren’t in there with the rest of them.”

“Because it’s my birthday and I want to do what I want to do.”  She stubbed the cigarette out on the post and turned, disposing it in the bin by the door.  A quick text to Missandei: I’m going to skip dinner, I think I have a date, she turned and studied him.  “I’m…”

“Dany,” he said. He shrugged, finishing his smoke. “I remember.”  

Her eyes narrowed. “I didn’t think you were listening when Robb introduced me.”

“I was.”  He pulled the tartan scarf around his neck tighter.  He glanced towards Sacré-Cœur, illuminated white in the lights around its base. He smirked at her.  “You going back in?”

She shook her head. “No,” she drawled. She followed his gaze to Sacré-Cœur. “Have you been up there?”

“No.”

“You should. Some of the best views of Paris.”

He chuckled, voice tight. “You should invite Robb.”

“I think he might be a third wheel.”

It took him a second, the gears in his mind turning, understanding what she was saying. He cocked his head. His black curls were in a mess around his face. A few scattered rain drops landed on them, and he shook it free like a dog. Or a wolf, she thought, noting the animal embroidered on the edge of his scarf.

He narrowed his eyes again. “I told you I don’t really like Paris.”

“Why?”

“It’s loud. Busy. Dirty.”

She laughed. “Every city is like that but in Paris it’s different.”

“Why?”

Her bravado got the better of her and she stepped towards him, linking her arm through his. If he didn’t get it now, he was a stupid fool who deserved it when she kicked him into the gutter. “Because,” she murmured, rising to her toes, trying to gaze as directly as she could into his eyes, which she now saw were actually gray. His breathing quickened. “You’re with me.”

The wolf got the point with that comment. He allowed her to keep her arm around his and lead him towards the cathedral.  They spoke of nothing and anything on the long walk through Montmartre to the highest point in the city.  

He was in Paris for a research trip.  He was studying medieval weapons and was going out to Bayeux to study some relics. His cousin Robb and friends came along for the free trip.  They spoke about being starving artists in their field-- her literally an artist as it were.  They talked about Paris-- how much he disliked it, how much she adored it.  The top of Sacre-Coeur might have changed his mind, but he pretended he still didn’t get the appeal, so she dragged him back down to the streets, to her favorite all-night boulangerie, into the metro and across town to the Eiffel Tower, spinning in circles on the Champs du Mars.  They ran across the Pont-de-la-Concorde and across the Tullieries.  They wandered down the Seine, smoked cigarettes in the doorsteps of old buildings in the Latin Quarter, and drank cheap wine in one of the tourist-cafes near the Jardin du Luxembourg.  

They meandered back through the streets, the city oddly quiet, the rain stopping, and she brought him to her garret studio in the Bastille, up the six flights of stairs to the top of the building, where she shed her coat and boots adn scratched her fat cat Drogon’s ears, leading him to the wrought-iron bars in one of the four windows she had, pushing the window open and crawling out, up onto the roof where she wanted to show him something.  

“Look,” she directed, when he climbed up next to her-- less gracefully-- pointing to the lit-up Eiffel Tower.  

He cursed under his breath.  “It’s gorgeous.”

“It’s my favorite place in Paris.  The rent is steep, but it’s worth it for this.”  She chuckled.  “And it has the best view.”

He whispered.  “Yes, it does.”  

And to her surprise, since she didn’t realize the time, the tower began to twinkle, the 20,000 lights across its metal beams flickering and she glanced sideways; he wasn’t watching the tower, but her face.  She arched her brows.  “You know, the lights twinkle for five minutes every hour, on the hour.”  She smiled and shrugged, whispering.  “It’s a sign that you’re supposed to return to Paris.”

Instead of saying anything, like how silly that was, he leaned in and cupped her face in his wide palm, callused and warm, bringing her face to meet his, kissing gently, in the twinkly glow of the lights.  He pulled back a moment later, breathing, “I think I like Paris.  And you’er right...this place has the best view.”  His eyes were wide on hers, focused.  She chuckled, nodding in agreement, and pulled him back to her for another kiss.

That night she savored every moment with him, as they pulled each other’s clothes off slowly, kissing and touching, every smooth curve and muscle of each other, each hard ridge and plane of his strong, muscular body or her soft, lean one.  He touched her and kissed her and stroked her in ways she’d never experienced, bringing her to heights she’d only dreamed about.  It was intense, the lights behind her closed eyelids when she came, over and over, gripping his shoulders, hair, the bedframe behind her.  He rose up and over her, in and out, their bodies moving as one, thrusting and arching.  

She didn’t know if she’d see him again; if this was a one-time, romantic Parisian adventure, but in the morning when she woke, she found him coming back inside from getting pastries and coffees, the faintest scent of cigarettes and her toothpaste on his lips when he kissed her good morning.  

They exchanged their information, vowing to speak daily, and he would see her when he got back from Bayeux.  She couldn’t believe when he did call and he kept his word.  “When you lie, words lose their meaning,” he’d explained, obviously reading her surprise.  

And when her year ended in Paris, she found herself in London, back at university, dreaming of their magical time there, even when they made time for each other, going back and forth from London to Edinburgh; and he from Edinburgh to Paris during the last couple of months of her year there.  

They made it a priority; every single year they spent time in Paris, like they were students again, on that magical night.  

They grew older, no longer needing to find the cheapest drinks and cigarettes, or staying in studio garrets, eventually able to experience some of the best hotels and restaurants the city had to offer, as he sold books and became a well-known author and professor, and her dream of becoming a famous artist came true, when sure enough, someone bought one of her paintings on the side of the Seine, someone who happened to be an art dealer in New York.  

It was their city, where they met, and where they could remember.  

After they married, about fifteen years after that fateful birthday, they visited again, and spun together on the Pont-Neuf, kissing and murmuring how they loved each other and always would, and he took her back to the tiny studio garret, which was now theirs, and sat on the rooftop and watched the Eiffel Tower sparkle.  

“Paris is always a good idea,” she murmured, head in the crook of his neck, her back to his front, wrapped in a warm blanket, and his arms tight around her middle.  She tilted her face up to his, sated, and still hopelessly in love with him.  “Take me to Paris, Jon.”

He nuzzled his nose into her cheek, whispering.  “You are Paris, Dany.”

As it was the city where they’d met, fallen in love, and found true happiness, she grinned, because that was his way of saying how much he loved her.  She brushed her lips over his, sighing, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”  

And they kissed, as the Eiffel Tower lit up, and she curled up into him, falling asleep in the city of love and lights.

[seasonschange-butpeopledont]

Everyday Heroes

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x F!Reader

Warnings: A few curse words, an explosion, implied injury, depressed reader, minor character death, grief, and a bit of pining

Word Count: 3,364

Author’s Note: This got out of hand and apparently I only know how to write hopeless pining. Do we agree that Marcus gives off Clark Kent vibes or am I alone in this?

Summary: The three times you discovered Marcus Moreno was a hero. 

Taglist Form - Masterlist

When you’d left the house that morning, the heels you wore had seemed like a great idea. 

You were headed in for your first day at your new job and you wanted to make a good impression by wearing what you perceived to be your most professional outfit. You’d made it to the coffee shop down the street from your apartment with minimal difficulty, though you were certain to have blisters on your feet by the end of the day. Thankfully, your receptionist position meant that you would spend the majority of your day more or less chained to the front desk, answering phones, taking messages, scheduling appointments, and greeting visitors. 

You didn’t know much about Vil-Tech. You’d googled them before your first interview, of course- you weren’t a total idiot and you’d never dare show up unprepared, especially when you needed this job so badly- but your search had yielded only a few results. Most of what you’d found had been articles from the newspaper. The researchers at the lab had, apparently, recently had some success in clean energy technology. Protons, neutrons, particle accelerators, electromagnetic fields… You knew nothing about it, really, but it sounded impressive. And clean energy had to be good, right? When they’d hired you, it hadn’t seemed like a big deal that you knew next to nothing about the company itself. They were only looking for a receptionist, after all, not a scientist. If they’d wanted you to know exactly what was going on in the floors above you, you were sure that they would have let you know. 

With your coffee in hand, you made your way towards the Vil-Tech building. All in all, it seemed like the universe was on your side this morning. You’d woken up early enough to make yourself look decent. Your favorite barista had made your coffee just the way you liked it, and it even looked like you would be early for work. 

And then it all seemed to happen in slow motion. 

The upper half of your body was already moving forward, even as the heel of your shoe remained firmly wedged in the sidewalk crack. You felt the coffee sloshing around in the stainless steel travel mug in your hands, threatening to douse your crisp white blouse in the steaming beverage. You blindly threw your hand out in front of you, bracing yourself to hit the concrete and thinking to yourself that this was just one of those days when this might as well happen. 

But the harsh impact you’d prepared yourself for never came. 

It had taken you a moment to process that someone had caught you. Someone with impeccable reflexes, it seemed, as not only had they rescued you from taking a humiliating fall in the middle of a busy sidewalk, but they also managed to save your coffee without spilling a drop. To say that you were impressed by the feat was an understatement.

But when you looked up at your savior, you were damn near speechless. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, his dark eyes finding yours from beneath his black-framed glasses. And, other than the approximately thirty-seven heart attacks you’d had in the span of 2.5 seconds only moments before, you found yourself nodding in confirmation. 

“I’m fine. I… Thank you,” You breathed out, a warm, tingly feeling spreading out from your chest and right down to your toes. Gods, he had the most beautiful eyes you’d ever seen. He appeared to be somewhere in his mid-forties, and wore a leather jacket with his slacks and tie, a combination you’d never quite seen before, but decided suited him quite well. 

“Are you sure? You look a little dizzy,” He noted. His arm was still around your waist, and you were grateful for it, because you didn’t quite trust the integrity of your knees at the moment.

After a few moments, which had exceeded the socially acceptable amount of time to moon over a stranger while clutching their remarkably toned biceps for dear life by a long-shot, your brain finally seemed to catch up to the rest of you, and promptly flooded your thoughts with embarrassment. You released your death-grip on his arms immediately, trying to maintain your dignity as you yanked your heel from the concrete crevice in a distinctly unladylike manor. All the while, the handsome stranger remained right there, dutifully holding your coffee and trying his best to hide the amusement in his eyes with a polite smile. 

Taking a deep breath and smoothing out your outfit, you nodded at him once again. “I’m fine,” You said in what you hoped was your most composed voice. He promptly handed you your coffee, and you swore you felt electricity when his fingers brushed against yours. 

“Glad to hear it,” He remarked, “That would have been a nasty fall.” 

“Nice save, Clark,” You joked, attempting your most charming smile. Were you flirting? Could you even consider this flirting?

“Clark?” He repeated, his eyebrows raised in curiosity. 

“You know, Clark Kent… with the glasses and... lightning-fast reflexes… saving me from an incredibly embarrassing moment?” You explained weakly. It wasn’t as if you’d never spoken to an attractive man before, but it seemed that the universe was decidedly not on your side this morning after all.

“Superman?” Another smile found its way to his face. He seemed flattered by your comment. “My daughter loves those comics.” At the mention of his daughter, your eyes quickly darted down to his left hand. There was no wedding ring there, but it was clear that there had been one there in the past. 

“Well, your daughter has excellent taste. And we could all use a few more heroes in our lives, right?” You sighed wistfully, before adding, “Thank you, by the way.” 

“It was no big deal,” He assured you. “I’m always happy to help a pretty lady in need.” 

You laughed quietly at the last part, finding the cheesiness of it adorable. You weren’t quite sure why you were still lingering on the street corner, except that you couldn’t quite bring yourself to walk away just yet. He seemed equally as reluctant to part from you, both of you grinning shyly at one another as you soaked in the meet-cute moment. Right up until his eyes fell to the ID badge clipped to your bag, that is. 

“Is that a Vil-Tech badge?”

There was a hint of disappointment in his tone that you couldn’t quite assign a cause for. It wasn’t the question you were expecting. You’d expected him to ask your name, or maybe offer you his, but you could practically see the gears turning in his head by now, so you humored him.

“Yep,” You confirmed. “It's my first day. I’m just a receptionist, though…” 

He nodded slowly, his eyebrows pinching together. He didn’t even try to hide his frown. What was it about Vil-Tech that seemed to bother him so much?

“I’m really sorry, but I’m running late for work,” He said finally, nodding in the direction you had just come from. He turned his attention back to you, his eyes staring into yours as he spoke with the utmost seriousness. “Good luck on your first day, and… Look after yourself, okay? Vil-Tech might not be what you think it is.” 

And with that, he brushed past you, seemingly in quite a hurry as he disappeared into the crowd and left you standing there, disappointment sinking deep into your bones. 

You didn’t even get his name. 

***

You didn’t see him again for a month. 

Not that you often thought about him or his dreamy eyes and ridiculously charming smile or his strong arms around your waist. And definitely not that you sometimes idly wondered where he was and how his day was going while you were grocery shopping or stuck at the laundromat. 

Okay, maybe you did. 

Maybe you went to that same coffee shop every week day, hoping that you might bump into him again. 

And maybe you sometimes imagined those eyes staring into yours and arms around you in situations where you weren’t making a complete fool of yourself. 

You felt silly for being that girl. The one who falls hopelessly in love with strangers you pass on the streets, with anyone who thinks that anyone who so much as holds the door open for you could be your true love. You were a grown up, for goodness sake. You weren’t supposed to believe in that kind of thing anymore. 

But it was those ridiculous daydreams you found yourself caught up in when a team of Heroics stormed into Vil-Tech on a Tuesday afternoon. 

“I apologize, sir, but Dr. Pershing is out of the office today…” You sighed, listening to the supplier ramble on and on about the importance of Dr. Pershing returning his call. You had already scribbled the message down, along with his name and phone number. “Yes, I’ll be sure to give him the message.” It was difficult to hide the exasperation in your tone. 

“That’s what you said the last time,” The man snapped. “Pershing didn’t return my calls for a week. I don’t know why they can’t hire someone who knows how to take a message properly. God knows they’ve got the money for it.” 

You tapped the tip of your pen against the notepad on your desk, feeling a lump beginning to form in your throat. “I apologize, Mr. Wells. I’ll make sure that Dr. Pershing gets your message as soon as he returns.” 

“You’d better,” He grumbled, before the line went dead. 

You let out a slow breath, easing yourself back from the edge of tears. It had been like this all morning. The scientists in the building were off at a conference for the week, leaving you behind to copy down messages and field angry phone calls. 

Stan, the elderly security guard, if you could call him that, offered you a sympathetic smile from his post by the door. You returned it weakly.

Closing your eyes, you tried to think of something else. Brown eyes, charming smile, strong arms. You repeated it like a mantra. Electricity. The feeling of safety. That warm, fluttering feeling in your stomach, and a rush of calm. 

When you opened your eyes again, you found Stan staring slack-jawed as the Heroics sprinted into the building, announcing to you, Stan, and the maintenance staff that you all needed to clear the building immediately. They offered no explanation for their frantic demands, but when a guy in spandex and a cape tells you to go, you go. You were sure that, whatever it was, you’d be able to catch the reason for the strange event on the news later that evening. You’d watched them destroy city hall enough times from the comfort of your living room to be sure that you wanted out of this building as soon as possible. 

But, given that this was your first call-the-Heroics-level emergency, it seems that your idea of immediacy was a bit different from theirs. In the time that it had taken you to grab your jacket, shove your laptop in your purse, and sling the bag over your shoulder, you had already been tackled to the ground by some idiot in a tactical vest. 

You don’t remember much about the explosion. 

You’d later learn that Vil-Tech Labs dealt in more than just technological innovation. The research they’d been conducting while locked away in the uppermost floors of the building, all of that gibberish involving the off-site particle accelerator you’d read about, was both sinister and invaluable. Rather than letting the Heroics get their hands on their files to uncover their plans and stop them from being set in motion, they’d decided to set off an explosion in their own goddamn building. And thanks to that ‘idiot in a tactical vest’, you were one of the only survivors. 

But in the meantime, while you were lying on your back in the middle of the lobby feeling like you’d been hit by a train, you were clueless about the nefarious action of the company you’d spent the last month working for. The only thing you could seem to focus on was the pain in your head from where you’d smacked it against the tile flooring, and the weight of the fully grown man on top of you that was currently restricting your breathing. 

You must have hit your head even harder than you thought, because there was no way in hell the man who’d been starring in all of your daydreams for months was here, now, on top of you, with katanas strapped to his back. You refused to accept that as a reality. Would he even remember you? Why would he? Apparently, the man you’d developed a  stupid little crush on was a superhero. He probably helped people all of the time and you were just another-

“What the fuck?” You finally hissed, gasping for air. The air was smokey and it stung your eyes and nose when you inhaled. 

His breathing hitched slightly when you looked up at him, the look of fear clear on your face. “You okay?” He asked, still hovering above you as he pushed himself up on his elbows, careful to avoid the shattered glass that now seemed to cover every flat surface in sight. 

“I’m… reasonably certain I’m not dead,” You replied, an edge of panic in your voice, which was a bit shakier than you would have liked. “What’s happening? I don’t- I don’t understand- Where is Stan-” You coughed, your lungs burning. 

You idly wondered how long you had before the building started to collapse, its structural integrity surely compromised by the explosion. Of all the ways you could die, being buried alive was up there with the ones you dreaded the most. Your growing panic must have been obvious. 

“Hey, calm down,” He reassured you. “I’m going to get you out of here. You’re going to be just fine.” 

The room was still spinning when you felt yourself being scooped up into his arms, the edges of your vision growing more and more fuzzy with each breath you took. 

“We have got to stop meeting like this, Clark” You murmured. You swear you feel, rather than hear, a laugh rumble in his chest just before the world goes dark. Maybe he did remember you after all. 

***

It’s only a little more than a week later, long after you’ve woken up in the hospital and been discharged, that you find yourself sitting in the coffee shop down the street. It’s a Thursday morning, and you’re staring blankly into your vanilla latte. 

You aren’t sure why you’re up so early. The doctors had ordered you to take it easy, and it’s not like you had a job to go to anymore. You could have slept in, made your own coffee at home, and stayed curled up on your couch watching Netflix and hiding from the rest of the world like you had been for the past week. You felt horrible that you’d been associated with a place like Vil-Tech. You should have known that something was off about the place, but you’d never realized it, never bothered to look into anything when things seemed off. You felt so stupid for it now. Were you just as bad as the rest of them? Sure, all you’d done was answer phones for them, but…

Stan, your only friend at Vil-Tech, the kind man who had shared half of his sandwich at lunch with you more times than you could count and always had a smile for you when he greeted you in the mornings, had never made it out of the building. You supposed that you should consider yourself lucky that the Heroics had saved you, but the loss of your friend and the knowledge that Vil-Tech was certainly not what you thought it was, had shaken you. 

You’d felt different when you woke up this morning. Like, maybe, leaving your apartment and getting some fresh air wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

Your favorite barista had smiled sympathetically when you walked through the doors. You must have looked as bad as you felt. Considering you hadn’t showered since you’d gotten home from the hospital, you were sure that you were quite a sight. 

“Good morning!” She greeted, mustering up her cheeriest demeanor for you. “The usual, right?”

You nodded, not quite making eye contact as you handed her your card to pay. She quickly waved you off. 

“It’s on the house today, hon. And I insist that you take this chocolate chip muffin. I’ll make you feel better.” 

Your heart ached at her kindness, the act almost forcing tears in your eyes once again. That was the thing that you realized over the past few days. The Heroics were great, but there were plenty of everyday heroes out there as well. Sometimes it was Ashely the Barista, who scribbles a smiley face and a compliment on your cup on the mornings that seem particularly rough. Sometimes it was Stan the Security Guard, who offers to teach you sudoku on your lunch breaks. And sometimes it was a stranger you passed on the street, who catches you when you fall. 

You sat down at a table in the corner of the coffee shop, your vanilla latte and chocolate chip muffin sat out in front of you, untouched for the moment. You didn’t usually sit down to have your coffee, but you had nowhere to be today, and you were finding that you appreciated not being alone for a while. 

You heard the bells above the door jingle, signaling that a new customer had entered the shop. You looked up to see a man with dark hair and a familiar leather jacket walking towards the barista to place his order. You listened closely as he gave his name for his order, though you’d heard it plenty of times on the news this week. A smile tugged at the corners of your lips for the first time in over a week.

Marcus Moreno, your own personal Superman. 

You hadn’t meant to stare, but it was undeniably strange to see the man who had saved you not once, but twice, doing something as mundane as making his morning coffee run. After he paid, he turned towards the groupings of tables and chairs, searching for a place to sit while he waited for his drink to be ready. When his eyes landed on you, you raised your hand in a small wave. You were nervous about how he’d react to seeing you here. You had no doubt that he recognized you this time.

You weren’t exactly sure what the protocol was for meeting a real-life superhero again after they had saved your life. Were you supposed to pretend not to know each other? Should you have paid for his coffee? Did you make a public declaration to name your first born child after him?

To your surprise, he simply smiled back at you with the most heart-stopping, breathtaking smile you’d ever seen in your life, and returned your wave. It was as simple as that, you thought. Marcus Moreno, the superhero with katanas at this back and a team of Heroics at his side, the closest thing to Superman you’d ever met, was impressive. But Marcus Moreno, the helpful man with a kind, beautiful smile and warm, friendly eyes, whose mere existence had never failed to cheer you up? He was magnificent. An everyday hero, indeed. 

He made this way through the crowd and over to your table, gesturing to the seat across from you as if to ask for your permission to sit down. You nodded, feeling a sense of warmth blossoming in your chest. The same way you’d felt when you saw him for the first time. The same feeling that you’d been dreaming about for months. 

Hope, you realized. 

“Hi,” He greeted. “I, uh, I never caught your name. I’m Marcus Moreno.” 

As you gave him your name, you decided that maybe you could start by just saying thank you. 

General Taglist: @theravenreads @marshmallowtraver @computeringturtle @adikaofmandalore @pascalisthepunkest

Marcus Moreno Taglist: @xjaywritesx​

[sweetestlamb]

Yoga

Summary: Vincenzo hides his jealousy as well as he hides being part of the mafia.

Author's note: it was supposed to be a cute jealous yoga story I don't know why this ended in angst 😂😂😂 I really need to get my life together. Also Vincenzo rubbed me the wrong way today and some people are trying to convince me that I'm interpreting the show incorrectly and explaining to me why it didn't offend them and why everything was fine and I just need you to know, my opinion isn't changing but listen if you had a great time today watching the episode please don't let me stop you. I don't need anyone to be outraged with me. I'll be mad all by myself I promise! But just to be clear my problem was the creation of yet another gay character who an awful person in a kdrama. I can count on one hand the amount of times I've seen gay characters not be predators or abusive.

Anywho I give you jealous aerial yoga fun that ends in man pain!

He probably believes that he's being inconspicuous again, hiding this side of him as well as he'd thought he was hiding being a member of the mafia. But he's just as obvious as he always is in her eyes, much like her he's too theatrical to ever really conceal how he's feeling. He talks too much and reveals his cards too easily- especially to her.

He's attracted to her that much is painfully evident, if her father's nosy assistant hadn't interrupted they would have kissed. She would have been laid across the table and taken apart, his eyes promised a great time as he devoured her. She was just as attracted to him, she wouldn't have stopped him from doing whatever he wanted.

It is getting more difficult to ignore the quiet moments though, when she can feel his eyes on her and it's not sexual at all. He's just looking at her and she feels bare, naked.

Those moments scare her in a way she hasn't felt before. Ergo she presses them deep, deep into the dark corners of her brain behind all the different ways that she has concocted to throw off others, she's used to being strange and having men overlook her for it.

She's never been what others would consider "sexy". But then he appears and suddenly men seem to see her in a new light. Or maybe he brings her attention to it.

It all begins at the coffee shop, they've made a habit of starting their mornings together by getting coffee. She doesn't analyze what exactly they're doing but some may consider it a date, she hasn't giving the outings a title there's no need to.

She feels comfortable with him and he hasn't been resistant to her pushing her way into his life. She has always been like this, too much and overbearing. Usually it drives people away and she pretends that it doesn't hurt that she's something that people need in doses, she's heard that so often that it's etched in her brain.

Friends in college, boyfriends and her colleagues to name a few.

But for some reason he keeps coming back for more doses, regularly smiling at her shenanigans even egging on her antics with full body laughs.

So he'd taken her to get coffee grinning once again as she dragged her caffeine deprived body dramatically like a puppet with its strings cut to the counter, plopping herself on the surface before crying out, "If I don't get a large sewage water in five minutes my death will be on your hands!" The barista behind the counter grinned over at her, used to her dramatics. He was young, barely nineteen and he'd tried his hand at flirting with her a few times. She had promptly laughed in his face the first time, spewing coffee everywhere before strutting out of the shop.

Laughing and punching a stranger in the arm, ignoring the loud "Hey! What are you doing," before she danced down the sidewalk, hand on her hip as she flipped her hair before shouting to the sky, "I've still got it, baby!"

That day he had glanced at Vincenzo before walking over to her, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"I didn't realize I had so much power over you. What if I say I won't give it to you unless you let me take you on a date?" She remembered her eyes widening in shock and then disbelief and finally landing on bemusement, he was persistent she would give him that much but she was no cougar so his flirting was futile.

She opened her mouth to let him down easy- laugh in his face again and remind him that he had to be this old to ride her ride but suddenly her Italian was leaning across the counter, all cool lines with a deadly smile on his face.

With a his deep voice he chillingly said, "If you don't give it to her your death will be on my hands."

There was heavy silence.

He continued, "I know how to kill a man with only a coffee cup and a string."

The barista, Heon, stared at Vincenzo with all of the blood draining from his youthful face. She didn't blame him the man did sound unnervingly serious and the look in his eyes was a little too real to be purely acting. Plus there was conveniently a coffee cup and a string right there on the table, it was an oddly specific thing to say.

Then after a pregnant pause, he started laughing loudly filling the entire shop like a mad man and she looked over at him as if he had lost his damn mind but this was her favorite coffee shop, she couldn't be banned so she started laughing with him, guffawing and pushing the idiot on the shoulders.

"He's just joking! HahaHAHAHA, laugh it was a joke! LAUGH!!" She leaned across the counter to pat the scared boy on the back but then Vincenzo leaned into her, draping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her back until she was no longer touching him. His laughter static and too robotic to be anything other than a hoax.

She'd never seen anyone brew coffee that fast before. It was impressive what a person could do when they felt as if their life was in danger she'd thought, she gave him a generous tip before leaving.

Heon mysteriously stopped working when they would normally come to the coffee, another barista informed her that he had switched his hours. A certain Italian was really cheerful upon hearing the news, whistling an unknown tune as he sipped his tiny cup of espresso- double shot, traipsing away with a pep in his step and the wind beneath his suit coat.

His random violent outbursts continued.

Bartenders. Businessmen. Traffic officers. Other lawyers. A librarian who had flirtatiously whispered that she wouldn't need to be quiet when they were alone. Suddenly there were men everywhere and she was the hottest thing on the menu, her lower back probably had an imprint of his hand by now from all the times he would steer her away from her suitors.

Every time his excuses were the same, "I'm just protecting you. Guys like that are scum, you deserve better."

Well the one she wanted had no intention of staying so why was he blocking anyone else from trying?

Thinking about it makes her chest feel tight and she welcomes the weekend, she has booked an aerial yoga class to release some of the stress and tension just being around the Italian causes.

It's a warm day so she dons a small set, a light blue sports bra with matching shorts throwing a light jacket over in case the temperature drops at the end of the day. Looking in the mirror she scoops her hair into a low ponytail, pushing back baby hairs that frame her face.

She swipes a thin layer of chapstick across her dry lips before grabbing her phone, keys, gym membership card and her gym bag with a change of clothes.

The drive to the studio is short, she listens to BlackPink on the radio happily screaming about her dududududu complete with car choreo that consists of arm shakes and a lot of hair whipping. It's another miraculous day where she does not cause a car accident, she gives herself a high five for the small victory.

She parks her car haphazardly driving onto the sidewalk several times before getting it right. With a satisfied sigh she hops out of her car, opening the back door and bending over to grab her gym bag.

"Cha-young ah?"

A familiar voice surprises her and she jumps bumping her head into the roof of her car with a cry, she drops the gym bag and leans out of the car rubbing her throbbing head with a pained grimace.

Vincenzo is standing in front of her, in what is the most casual outfit she has ever seen him wear. A pair of navy blue sweatpants, a plain white t-shirt and expensive looking black sneakers, leave it to him to wear Balenciagas when trying to look casual.

Her mouth becomes very dry as she takes in the unexpected but very much welcome sight.

Shaking herself out of her stupor she raises an eyebrow at him, "What are you doing here?" She asks once again leaning into her car to retrieve her gym bag. When she turns around slamming the door shut she watches Vincenzo peel his eyes away, quickly looking away from her direction.

Had he been checking her out?

She smirks at the thought before openly checking him out. Eyes perusing his body up and down in a slow and thorough examination.

"Are you checking me out?" He asks amused as he folds his arms across his chest, making his already impressive biceps look even bigger and more enticing. She knows exactly what he's doing, he's about as subtle as a bulldozer.

"Yes, I am. Do you need me to turn around again so you can check me out?" She laughs easily as he sputters and tries to deny her claims, once he realizes that she doesn't believe a word he's saying he finally stops, admitting defeat.

"Those are...great shorts." He drawls, gone is the embarrassed act. Now he's freely eying her shorts clad body, eyes hot as they trail up and down her legs.

Shaking her head she smiles at him, "You never answered my question. What are you doing here?" He struts over to her prying her gym bag from her hand and throwing it over his free shoulder. She tries not to get too affected by his sudden closeness, his cologne filling her nostrils with the fresh earthy musk.

"My gym is here. I came to work out. You look like you had the same idea, you should have called me." There he goes again, making space for himself in her life although he has no intention of staying with her. It was cruel and she knows she should cut him off before it's too late.

"I don't think you'll be interested in what I'm doing." She answers walking ahead, holding the gym door open for him. They both show their card to the attendant at the front and the young worker smiles at her before saying, "Your aerial yoga class will be starting in five minutes. It's best to go early and secure a good spot."

She can see Vincenzo's questioning face in her peripheral but she ignores him to nod at the younger woman, tugging her bag off his shoulder and nodding at him in dismissal.

"Enjoy your work out." She climbs the stairs leading to the huge studio where the aerial classes are held. His eyes are like lasers on her back and she already knows that he's going to follow her, he's too intrigued to stay away. That's what she was banking on.

She would get him back for all his jealous tantrums this past week. There were so many places they were probably going to be banned from and all because he didn't know how to play well with others. She's wasn't some toy he could claim. Especially when she couldn't claim him back.

Finding a spot in the corner she puts her bag down on one of the mats that are provided, taking a few moments to do some light stretches. She bends over touching her toes before dipping her head and elongating her neck, then she does a few squats and jumping jacks just to get her blood pumping and her heart racing.

She can feel the exact moment that he comes, it also helps that all the women gasp and she can hear coy giggles about their new guest. She pretends not to notice him, stretching backwards into a perfect handstand holding it for a few minutes before tilting back and planting her feet until she's upright again. She almost loses her composure when she catches his expression in the large windows.

He looks shocked and aroused, neck redder than normal.

All the women settle down when the instructor comes to the front of the room, they have reached the point where he no longer shows them what to do instead he walks around the room correcting their form and giving tips or words of encouragement.

He's a beautiful man, with mocha colored skin and a lean muscled build and the most gorgeous head of coily hair. She has been coming here for months and they've become quite closer as they have a lot in common, most importantly they both love men. When they had run into each other and realized they were staring at the same guy's ass, it was love at first ogle.

When he comes over to greet her she immediately steps into his space with a mischievous grin. Sean grins back looking exasperated already but he still says, "What are you up to? I know that smile Ms. Cha-young." She leans closer certain that Vincenzo is avidly watching her every move. Trailing a finger up his thick bicep she whispers, "Nine o clock, don't look but I need your help to teach him a lesson. Are you up to it?"

Sean starts to turn his head before processing her order and stopping, he stares at her before a devilish look gleams in his bright eyes too.

"You know I'm always up." He replies voice full of innuendos and she fake swoons, bringing her hand to her forehead. "Don't tease me."

He chuckles at her before walking back to the front of the room, none of the other women react to their flirtations used to their antics and everyone already knows that Sean is as gay as the pride flag. Everyone except one fuming Italian.

She can feel his waves of anger crashing across the room and she tugs at the cloth in front of her testing the weight before easily hoisting herself up, letting it cup her bottom as her feet dangle.

She's ready to put on a show.

He hadn't stalked her per se, he'd merely overheard one of the tenants say that they'd seen Cha-young in a nearby studio on weekends so he'd went to see if she really did go there. And then there she was bent over in her car, pert little bottom sticking out the car and he wanted nothing more than to smack the flesh and watch it bounce and jiggle under his hand.

This was why he was so protective, not jealous. Protective. She was too careless with her body and there were salacious men out there ready to take advantage of that, she needed someone like him who had a pure heart to look out for her.

He was allowed to fantasize about spanking her while having a pure heart, it was called having duality.

So he'd followed her into the gym, a little peeved when she abandoned him without a word to attend something called "aerial yoga", he knew regular yoga and if it was anything like that he was very much interested.

In watching her do it.

Turning to the young worker who had been staring a hole in his face, he sent her a charismatic smile before leaning nonchalantly on the counter, he could tell that he had her full attention by the way her mouth fell open.

He almost felt bad, she seemed a bit wet behind the ears. But he wasn't really trying to seduce her so it was fine, he wasn't some old creepy predator.

"Hey, that aerial yoga class am I allowed to watch it? I want to see if it's something I might be interested in." He lies to the younger woman, watching her process his words before answering.

"Well technically that class is restricted for those who signed up..." She trails off looking at him and he smiles brightly, pushing his curly hair off his forehead he had forgo his products today and the way her eyes follow his fingers make him thankful that he did so. "But you won't do any harm by watching, I'm sure it'll be fine. Go on up." She finishes and he throws a mental fist pump, he still had it.

Outwardly he smiles serenely, thanking her before walking up the stairs that Cha-young just disappeared up. It leads to a spacious studio with a wall of gleaming mirrors and huge bay windows overlooking the city. He looks around before his eyes land on her, the reason why he's here.

He swallows a groan as he watches her stretch that slim gently curvy body, she's all smooth lines and feminine appeal. When she starts squatting he can't help but watch those firm cheeks tensing and tightening, he lazily leans back hungrily watching her.

Then he almost swallows his tongue when she bends backwards into a perfect bridge before lifting herself into a handstand, damn she was strong and deliciously flexible. Looking her in the eye was going to be even more difficult now.

His heckles raise when he sees another man approaching her suddenly, a Black man who seems way too familiar with his Cha-young based on the way they both grin and invade the others space. He sneers as he watches them whisper and grin at each other, who was this guy and why were they so close? He releases a sigh of relief when the man finally backs up, going to the front of the room before pressing a button and light soothing music begins to play.

He must be the instructor then. Wonderful. He prays that was the end of the unnecessary touching and standing too close to his lawyer. He doesn't want to have to make a scene.

It isn't the end. Not by a long shot.

The instructor who had introduced himself as Sean easily walked around, stopping every once in a while to correct someone or praise them for having good form. The ladies would preen and thank him and that was it, he would nod before moving on.

Cha-young was the only exception to this rule.

He watches mesmerized as the limber lawyer bends herself into a graceful pose that resembles a swan and he can't fight the images that start flashing in his mind of them in bed, her twisting around him with pieces of cloth. Tying him up and showing him just how flexible she is all night long until they both sore and sated.

When she suddenly releases the cloth and starts tumbling to the ground he finds himself jumping into action shoving the fantasy to the crevice of his mind, legs already moving to catch her before she saves herself with her ankles, her body swinging freely with her face only inches from the floor. His heart skips a beat before it starts chugging along again.

Why was she always worrying him?

"That was perfect Cha-young! You've finally let go of your fear of falling!" Sean praises her walking over and patting her legs, but he doesn't let go after the quick touch. He keeps those grabby hands on her thigh and helps her back up onto the cloth, he thinks that will be the end of it. He's wrong.

He moves her body into a new pose with the cloth wrapped around her shoulder and he glares when a hand runs down her back precariously close to her bottom before rolling back up. He pushes her gently on the cloth harness and she laughs gleefully before she whispers something to the instructor, it's hard to read her lips from this distance but he can make out, "with me."

He understands what she asked for when Sean nods and moves into position.

Sean wraps his arms around the same cloth and suddenly lifts himself off the ground, his face level with her groin and he wants to go over and rip the cloth from the ceiling and strangle the man with it. Then Sean pulls himself up and Cha-young slides out of her seated position, grabbing the cloth too until they're face to face and spinning in lazy hypnotic circles. They both have huge grins on their faces as they move together in perfect harmony, the last straw comes when she wraps her legs around his waist and their bodies are pressed together- he sees blazing red and disconcerting white and then finally pitch black.

He's fleeing before he's even aware of it. Bounding down the stairs, two steps at a time then shoving the entrance door open and letting the surge of cool air ease his anger. If he stayed another second the instructor would be dangling out the window much like that thug before except he wasn't sure if he would be able to pull him back up.

Why was he so anger? She'd looked fine, happy even. She clearly wasn't being taken advantage of. But his rage is bursting at the seams and he jolts when a hand suddenly grips his wrist. Instinctively he turns grabbing the person and slamming them into the nearby wall.

Cha-young looks up at him, face flushed and sweaty.

That will also be burned into his retina.

"You should know better than to sneak up on me." He warns taking deep breaths to suppress some of the frustration he feels looking at her, the memory still fresh in his mind.

"What's wrong with you?" She counters bringing her hands to his shoulders rubbing in a calming motion, "You look pissed. Did something happen?"

He watches her for a second, taking her in seemingly harmless question and recalls her legs wrapped around another man who wasn't him and he wants to punch that fucking handsy instructor right in his smug fac--

Wait.

She was smiling. No, smirking. Right up at him like she knew everything that was racing through his head.

He'd been played.

"Did you have fun?" He asks voice laced with snarkiness and he shoves her harder into the wall, red hot fury brewing in the pit of his stomach. She knew that he was part of the mafia but still acted like this. Did she not have any sense of self preservation?

"Were you jealous?" She asks in a ostentatiously cutesy voice like this is all a hilarious joke and he wants to kiss that damn smug look right off her face. No one has ever dared to treat him like this, acted like he was a joke.

She's playing with fire and he's not opposed to burning her up.

"Do you still think you have the upper hand right now?" He looms over her pushing his pelvis into her and she squeaks at the hardness that pokes into her. To his surprise she eagerly presses back, pulling him in by his waist until they are flushed chest to chest. He doesn't know if an upper hand exists anymore.

"Yes. I do, getting to see you jealous was the highlight of my day. Cute little jealous mafia lawyer."

He snarls at her feeling stupid because of how easily she can play him, and without thinking he wraps his arms around her.

"You looked really cozy with him."

She sniffs before pouting at him, "Yeah and you didn't fight for me at all. Where were the death threats and cold glares? Sean would have pissed his pants." Her giggles only make him angrier because she's seen through him all along.

He stares at her blankly before throwing caution to the wind and leaning down to capture her tempting lips, he runs a hand through her ponytail tugging her head closer to him and she moves easily with him standing on her tiptoes. He closes his eyes ready to put himself out of his misery when he feels a finger in his lips, he blinks his eyes open staring at her perplexed and a bit offended.

"What?"

"Are you staying in Korea?" She talks over him, her finger firm on his mouth.

They both stare at each other and her question spins in his busy mind, thoughts too full of her seductive moves earlier and how badly he wanted to destroy anyone who dared to look at her. He doesn't know why that question is coming up now, at this particular moment when he just wants to kiss her breathless. They can leave the rational thoughts for later, right now there should be more frenzied kissing. But when he tries to push her finger away she grabs his face hard, adamant.

He stares at her and finally he sees the chinks in her armor, gone is the overly confident Cha-young that he's so used to seeing and there's something softer in that stead, the vulnerability that always shrouds over her eyes when they have this reoccurring conversation is back and it leaves him feeling cornered as it always does.

He can't answer that question. The answer should be easy and it had been before her. He was going to take his gold and get the fuck out of this God forsaken country.

That had been the plan pre: Cha-young.

Now that plan was muddled and he could admit that he was jealous of other men stealing her away from him, at least to himself. Could admit that he wanted to wreck her completely, have her screaming in his bed those nimble limbs wrapped around him as he thrust into her over and over and over. But he wasn't ready to admit that he might feel something more than just intense attraction to her. That she had changed all his plans and made him consider settling down, with her. It was insane, he barely knew her and they weren't even in a relationship.

"No. I told you, I'm leaving."

He's a coward. He can admit that too.

She sends him a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes before ducking under his arms.

"Then leave and don't confuse me. I'm not yours to get jealous over. I'll see you Monday."

She doesn't look back, walking straight to her car and speeding away without checking any of her mirrors as she's wont to do despite him constantly reprimanding her for it, he's certain she's over the speed limit.

He punches the wall with a yell, the pain in his fist nothing compared to the pain in his chest. It was a huge mistake coming back here.

[amerrierworld]

Humiliating

Carol (2015) fanfiction

for anon: “top Carol with bottom Therese” 

Summary: Therese is embarrassed by how many flirts approach her sometimes, and Carol doesn’t let her live it down.

Characters: Carol x Therese

Word Count: 1,543

Warnings: sex! mirror sex, dirty talk, mentioned voyeurism.

She could hardly stand it. The bashful smiles, tipping hats and complimentary drinks that always arrived in front of herself and Therese whenever the young brunette attracted an admirer from across the bar. 

Knowing she couldn’t do anything about it, couldn’t march up to the young, handsome gentleman and tell him straightforward that she was absolutely not on the market. 

Her finely manicured hands twitched with nerves as Therese made polite conversation with a young man in a ghastly suit who had approached. She told herself to keep her mouth shut. When out, the two are nothing more than a pair of friends, enjoying the cool New York evening air. 

That’s how it must be. Not how she wanted it to be.

“..Anywho, I’d love to take ya out to dinner sometime,” the man continued, clearly nervous and shy. A true gentleman, Carol would give him that, but she’d gladly kick him out of the bar if it meant he’d stay away from Therese.

“Oh, well, that’s lovely,” she replied, shuffling in her seat a bit, a kind dimpled smile on her face. “But, I’m afraid I’d have to decline.”

A breath of relief barely escaped Carol, and she took a sip of her martini. 

“I have.. someone, and it’s actually quite serious,” Therese gave a little shrug, nonchalantly, still not looking at Carol, who’s eyebrow quirked in interest. 

“Oh, my apologies then,” the gentleman hurried away quickly, leaving the brunette blushing and avoiding eye contact with Carol. 

“My, my, quite serious, you say?” the blonde drawled, catlike and seductive. “And whoever may this gentleman be, Miss Belivet?”

Therese shot her a glance and downed her martini. 

“Let’s go home, please,” she huffed.

Carol looked at her a little while, cheeks red and green eyes darting about, admiring her slim face and beautiful features. Love filled her heart, until an ugly feeling of jealousy and pain reared its head again at the prospect of never being allowed to openly love the woman in front of her.

“Home,” she repeated. 

Carol slid off her stool and paid for their drinks. Therese hurried ahead of her,  waving down a taxi on the sidewalk. The air was brisk and whipped Carol’s curls about, but it nicely sobered her up, and she felt a little calmer during the ride home.

“What are you thinking, angel?” Carol asked Therese as she came into the bedroom with a soothing cup of tea. Therese sat at the vanity, roughly brushing through her hair. 

“Nothing,” Therese snapped, somewhat indignantly. Carol’s eyebrow rose in surprise. She walked over to Therese and gently but firmly took the hairbrush from her. 

She proceeded to work through the tresses, until Therese’s tense shoulders finally slumped and she let out a shaky breath.

“Sorry,” she whispered. Carol said nothing but squeezed her shoulder reassuringly.

“It’s just... humiliating, sometimes. All these men... and I can’t even tell them upfront that I’m simply not interested because.. well, you know.”

“Do you find me humiliating, angel?”

“No!” Therese gasped, “no, not you. Never. Simply, the- the, circumstances. How we could be judged if- they found o-out.”

Carol was working her thumbs deeply into Therese’s shoulders and muscles, watching her eyes droop and her words stutter.

“Humiliating to be loved by me? To be touched by me?” She bent down to run her nose along the shell of Therese’s ear, and felt the brunette shudder. Therese frowned, trying to come up with coherent sentences but being successfully distracted. 

“Carol, how could you possibly think such a thing!” Therese breathed sharply through her nose as teeth nipped along her neck. 

Carol was enjoying herself immensely, teasing and smirking, loving how flustered and defensive her dear Therese was getting. 

“We’re just roommates after all, right?” Carol gently coaxed Therese out of the chair and pulled her back to her chest, hands wrapping around Therese’s waist. 

“What would you feel if men like that lovely sir from the bar saw us like this?” Carol’s hands trailed over Therese’s lower belly, feeling her squirm, and the delicate muscles flutter underneath her touch.

“Humiliated, perhaps? What could those men do, but watch, as they realize none of them could make you feel the way I do?”

“Carol!” Therese gasped, but made no effort to stop the blonde’s onslaught of dirty whispers.

“Or perhaps they would be the humiliated ones? Knowing the way I can make a woman feel will never compare to their excuse of love-making with those poor girlfriends and wives at home, touch deprived and horny.”

A deft hand hiked Therese’s skirt up and dug her nails into her inner thigh, making the brunette cry out. 

“Bed, angel,” Carol commanded, her other hand cradling Therese’s jaw possessively. 

“N-no, please, I want it like this- don’t stop, please,” Therese whimpered.

They were still facing the mirror, doused in soft yellow lights from the lamps, and Carol realized Therese was watching her in the reflection, green eyes blown. Her legs were trembling, close to giving out from underneath her, but her hand grasped Carol’s wandering fingers on her thigh and inched it closer to where she really wanted it. 

Carol grinned and licked her lips, one hand unbuttoning Therese’s shirt as the other dipped along the edge of her underwear. 

“You want to watch, darling? Want to watch as I make you come undone?” Therese nodded frantically, leaning her weight back into Carol to ease her weakening legs. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment at how open and brashly she was asking for it, but the familiar sighs and pleads escaping her lips told Carol she was more than enjoying this.

Her grin was mischievous and cocky as she edged Therese’s legs further apart before her hand pushed past all fabric and found what they both needed. She gasped at how wet Therese was, easily coating the tips of her fingers. Carol dragged the wetness up to her clit and circled slowly but firmly, making Therese’s hips buck forward with a low whine. 

Therese’s shirt came off but was caught around her elbows, revealing her heaving torso, the lights defining her delicate shoulders and collarbones. Carol, overcome with desire, bit down on Therese’s right shoulder and watched the redness bloom across her pale skin. 

She moved her bra down far enough to take a hard nipple in her fingers and tug. Therese shouted in surprise, head tipping back onto Carol’s shoulder.

“Shh, angel, otherwise the neighbours may grow suspicious,” Carol teased. 

Her fingers moved to slip inside, feeling Therese clench around her. Carol groaned into her ear, mumbling praise, kissing all the skin she could reach.

She moved steadily in and out, making sure to curl her fingers inside and drag them along that sweet spot every time she moved. Therese was gasping like a fish out of water.

“Carol- C-Carol, I can’t h-hold it,” she was shaking, and Carol wrapped her arm around her tightly to keep her upright.

“Just a little more, angel, look at yourself, look in the mirror,” she told her. Therese opened her eyes, jaw slack as she looked at the two of them. Herself, half undressed, and on the edge of coming, and Carol, steady like a statue but with wild fire in her eyes. 

As soon as Therese was looking at their reflection, Carol picked up the pace and pressure just a bit more and held her gaze with the brunette in the mirror until her eyes involuntarily rolled to the back of her head and she cried out, shaking with a thundering orgasm. 

Her limbs convulsed and her muscles spasmed, so much so that Carol fell back into the chair, holding her lover closely to her body and gently slowing her movements. Therese bit her lip and gasped raggedly for air, legs spread and wetness pooling between them. Carol could feel it drip onto her robe from underneath her and she ran her hand up and down Therese’s abdomen to help her come down softly.

Therese’s face was red and sweaty from arousal and embarrassment, hair sticking to her forehead. Carol chuckled darkly in her ear,

“Look at yourself, angel. Look how beautiful you are, how gorgeous you look when you come.” A nose nudged along her jaw and Therese whined, keeping her eyes shut and shaking her head, not wanting to see how horny and scandalous she must look.

“No? Is my poor baby embarrassed at the sight of herself? Oh, but you simply must look, Miss Belivet,” Carol slipped her fingers out of her and kneaded comfortably at her sore legs. “I find it the most beautiful sight, anywhere.”

Complying, Therese opened her eyes a crack and saw herself sprawled across Carol’s lap, legs open and unashamed, hair mussed, shining with a layer of sweat. But what made her freeze was Carol’s stare, her pure, unadulterated stare of lust and want, digging straight through Therese’s own eyes into the depths of her. Something stirred deep inside her again and her legs squirmed once more.

“If only that lovely gentleman could see you now,” Carol whispered. Therese turned her head and Carol captured her lips hungrily, biting and sucking so much that Therese thought she really would fall off the edge of the earth this time. 

“I wish they could,” Therese whispered once she caught her breath, her cheekiness and confidence slowly coming back to her. “Stare at us, knowing they could never have what we have.”

Carol groaned into her mouth, and Therese took the distraction to turn and straddle the blonde fully, grasping Carol’s face and kissing her. 

“How humiliated they’d be,” she said, and Carol chuckled again, before Therese dropped to the floor on her knees. Carol watched her own lust staring back at her as soft kisses edged up her thighs until she couldn't focus anymore and shut her eyes in bliss.

A/N: I promise I’m not dead ! at least not physically 

[narrators-journal]

The most dangerous game

I know I’ve been hella dead, but I return with my usual! Stano smut! I dunno why I adore writing these two so much, but I guess I’m attached, so yeah. Ya’ll get content.

CW: Predator/prey vibes, Xeno gets chased but there’s no real big acknowledgement of it.

It was likely because Xeno had developed a persistently wonky sleep schedule that he got so many night time jobs. That, he supposed, was why he was once again out at night hunting another Vampire, despite having told his boss of his run-in with a particularly pretty vampire. However, at the moment, Xeno somewhat wished he was dealing with Stan instead. At least with him he could rely on his need to flirt and toy with him to give him away. But no, the scientist wasn't hunting Stanley, but instead a completely different vampire who was proving his dislike for hunting the blood sucking monsters. Taking advantage of how dark the night was, the human's weaker vision, and whatever ninja techniques he had learned from the internet, the young vampire had hidden annoyingly well in the thick blanket of shadows and clutter on the streets. So, the white-haired college graduate was poking around at every rock and thicket of grass or bushes along the sidewalk before the boiling irritation in his veins got to be too much and he let out a mix of a groan and a scream like a tea pot. Stomping over to one of the few flickering street lights on the road, the hunter stood in the light and dug out his knife, then used it to slash at his stomach to fill the air with the alluring scent of fresh blood. With a pained hiss and the new wet feeling of blood dripping sluggishly down his pale skin, the trap was set, and all the hunter had to do was wait for the shallow cut to work its magic. Which, didn't take long. All Xeno had time to do was get one of his metal stakes from his pocket and extend it, then he was set upon by the vampiric ninja-wannabe. However, despite his skill at stealth, the vampire was young in both a human and vampire sense. Freshly turned at a young age, he'd become a problem because he had yet to grow out of his pubescent hormones quite yet, and giving him a predatory draw and increased strength had only encouraged him to turn hard into the bad boy persona. Sadly, being a new vampire wasn't all improvements. It also meant an increased hunger and little control of your newfound strength. Which is what had led the young man to be targetted by the monster hunter association, and swiftly wiped out by a stake through the throat via Xeno Wingfield. With a grunt, the monster hunter threw the freshly dead young man to the sidewalk, wincing at the burning and itching sting bending down to yank the stake from his throat brought to his stomach. For a moment or so, he felt bad for the creature. He'd been young, and he'd let his newfound powers obviously go to his head after a lifetime diet of anime and movies, the silver haired hunter could understand his over excitement, but he also had little to no patience for dumbasses who couldn't register that they weren't in Naruto. So, his sympathy was brief, and he was soon just dragging the young creature's corpse into some bushes and calling the cleaning crew to come collect him. Then. He spoke.           "God damn, Doll. You're quite attractive when you're being lethal." Stan hummed, hopping down from his hiding spot in a nearby tree and giving the hunter a charming smile that he refused to admit brought a little heat to his face.         "Oh, so you're just gonna become a full blown stalker now? Did you follow me from my house, or was this another 'coincidental' run-in." Xeno's words dripped with sarcasm and venom, but the vampire simply rolled his glacial blue eyes,          "Actually, I'm here because I smelled fresh blood," At the mention of fresh blood, the scientist glanced down at his work shirt, spotting the tiny stain of blood his cut had left,          "Oh." He inwardly winced at how disappointed he sounded, but tried to recover with a sniff, "I had trouble luring the bastard out. It was quite the shock for me to find out that not every vampire would want to chase me down and prowl around my house for the entire fucking night." Stan simply snorted, fishing out a pack of cigarettes and lighting one before he spoke again,          "Nah, that's just my thing, doll,"         "Quit calling me doll! You have my name now, fucking quit." The vampire put his hands up in mock surrender, though his smirk didn't falter under the scientist's withering glare. For a moment, they simply stood in the cool night's darkness, the hunter with his arms crossed and dark eyes narrowed, and the vampire returning his malicious look with his own nonchalant, half-lidded one while he breathed whispy smoke from his dark mouth. Both men seemed to dare the other to say something or do anything, each looking for an excuse to make some sort of contact until the smaller male spoke again,           "Are you expecting me to run away? Because I told you the first time we met, I'm not likely to do that," He huffed, but Stan simply shrugged,           "I'm just messing with ya, doesn't matter to me if you run or not." He grinned more at the lightning fast moment of irritation on Xeno's face, but the hunter schooled his facial features back into their usual disdain-filled glare, only broiling with frustration on the inside. He hated this man's relaxed demeanor. He was a monster hunter, the tall, hypnotically pretty predator should be avoiding him at all costs. Yet here he was, needling at him as if he couldn't end him just as quickly as he had the younger blood sucker. Okay, well, not as quickly. Stanley had a good four inches on the monster hunter at least, and had a body that had been frozen at the prime of his life, toned and pruned like an artfully shaped shrub through the years into a gorgeous, powerful example of why humans were the apex predators of the world. Or, well, they were, but with his change into the more monstrous his status as the perfect predator had only increased. Stan was perfectly built to hunt humans. Not only did he have a supernatural magnetic beauty to him, but he'd been human, so he knew how humans behave first hand. He was a nightmarish wet dream. Xeno gave his head a good shake to banish those thoughts from his mind when he realized he was looking the vampire over with the hunger of a sugar baby sizing up their next piggy bank.           "Hey, Xeno," Stan hummed, but the hunter refused to look back at the man, which he simply took as a greenlight to continue, "you wanna play our little game tonight?" The hunter snorted in response, staring off into the darkness while his cheeks cooled,           "I thought you were only here to bother me, not play a game of fucked up tag," He said calmly, only looked back at the man when he heard him walking closer, only stopping when he was about two feet away, maybe within reach, a grin on his pretty face,           "Well, I thought it'd be a bit more polite to offer that rather than just asking if I could drink your blood outright." he reasoned, amused at the edge of poutiness that he seemed to sniff out through the veil of aloof indifference the hunter spoke with.            "No thanks to either offer, I don't want to be chased tonight." Xeno sniffed in response, simply adding a thicker layer of ill temper to cover how excited he was at the thought of being pursued a second time. The first time had, admittedly, given him a thrill, but he wasn't ready to voice such to the annoying vampire in front of him. However, Stan seemed to have picked up on his kryptonite from that first round,              "But aren't you curious to see what happens when you add the scent of blood to the mix?" The purr in the man's voice annoyed Xeno immensely, but the thought of maybe learning just how sensitive vampire instincts were, and how quickly one would succumb to them. Obviously young vampires are more prone to being controlled by their need to feed, but Stanley isn't a new vampire, that curious voice mused, already setting Xeno on a very likely stupid and dangerous path, It'd be immensely helpful to know just how easy it is to bring out those base urges in him. If he's going to follow you around it's best to know what to avoid so he doesn't go feral. It further encouraged, stoking the flames of the scientist's natural curiosity until he hummed,              "I suppose it would be useful for the association to know exactly what triggers a vampire to go into a frenzy of some sort. Fine." The vampire grinned at that,             "You do know that I can't promise my feeding instinct is the only one that'll come to the surface," he pointed out, making Xeno blink and raise an eyebrow at him,             "What? Why would any other instinct come into play?" turning red as Stan laughed,               "Well, in simple terms, I find you too attractive to promise that when I catch you I'd only want to drink your blood~" Xeno's face warmed up more at that, getting huffy and tripping over his words in his rush to snap at him.               "You can have a five minute head start, just like last time," he simply assured, "Just need a bit of blood, because your original scratch has closed," He laughed more when Xeno pulled up his shirt to see that his shallow cut from earlier had in fact begun to heal, no longer bleeding and instead beginning to scab over. The hunter only responded with a glare at that point as he plucked his knife from the sidewalk where he'd dropped it and wiped it off before leaving another cut along his stomach, this one a bit deeper than the first, but not enough to linger for more than a day or two. With that, Stan gave him a charming smile that showed his extending fangs, his blue eyes already getting a hungry gleam to them. So, without further conversation, Xeno took off down the street. The cuts on his stomach stung and itched more from his running, but he pressed on. His main concern was regulating his breathing and energy so that he could get as far away from the vampire as he could in his small window of time. Naturally, his plan wasn't to just run in a straight line and wait to be caught, not only would that likely be dangerous, as a vampire in a feeding frenzy was much more violent, but was less likely to fulfill the goal of bringing those deadly instincts to the surface at all. So, instead, he sought out other people, a crowded area, maybe a shop, that way it wasn't as easy for the predator to catch up to him. This is insanely stupid, that voice of reason finally spoke up, not only am I playing with fire by instigating an instinctual reaction, but I am woefully under prepared to run from Stan. He realized, filling his veins with icy terror when the weight of his situation fully sunk in, The first time we did this I barely survive on pure panic and him toying with me. If he really loses his shit and goes into a frenzy, I can't outrun him. The reality of the thought hurt, but it was sorely true. Despite all of his training as a monster hunter, Xeno had never been one for good cardio, namely in the stamina category. He relied on his wits and pure speed, not his ability to maintain those speedy response times or pace for long periods. but it's too late now, he reminded himself, thinking back to the way the vampire's fangs had extended so soon after he'd given him a fresh source of scent. Nope, he couldn't chicken out now. He had no choice but to stick to his plan and push the panic and fear aside. Instead, he simply focused on the route ahead of him and locked onto the light of a store further down the street, which he headed for instantly. The bright, artificial light blinded the pale scientist for a moment when he stumbled into the store, but he was swift to regain his barrings and dash down the aisles and through the crowds of night owls and whatnot that were still up at this hour. He knew that his five minutes had ended a minute or so before. Meaning he didn't have long before the vampire would be on his ass. So, thinking quickly, he swiped his hand over his wounds, then smeared the blood on his palm onto the tile flooring in an aisle. Once he had that down, Xeno ran off deeper into the store. He had very few places to hide. The bathroom was basically a dead end with no windows and only one door, he couldn't climb up the shelves or to the rafters in a timely manner, so he forwent that plan. Instead, he did the next best thing. leaving as distracting a trail as possible before bolting out one of the fire exits.            "Shit," he wheezed when the fire exit triggered a screaming alarm through out the store. If Stan was in there, he'd definitely know he got out now, but that only meant the scientist had less time to think of such things. He had to focus on running. So, Xeno ignored the way his legs throbbed, and his lungs ached from gulping down the cold night air. He focused entirely on getting home, or at least to a more residential area. He could feel his limbs getting heavier, threatening more and more to give out with each step, but his grit his teeth and bared it until the threat became reality and the asphalt bit into his skin. And there he laid for a few seconds, gasping for air and scraping up as much energy as he could to push himself to his feet. As he did, he glanced back down the street, and sure enough. Stanley was coming out of the alley Xeno'd run out of, his glowing blue eyes locking onto the scientist in an instant. With another curse spat out through gritted teeth, Xeno took off again. His legs still screamed from exhaustion, and now his hands stung viciously from the fall, but he kept going. He could hear Stan closing in on him, which gave him a final burst of frantic energy that carried him to at least the park near his home before the vampire finally tackled him to the grass. The scientist could only wheeze in response, letting the vampire crush against him and push his face into his pale neck with a growl. That seemed to snap him out of the exhaustion cloud, and in an instant, Xeno was squirming and forcing himself up once again. The only way he managed it was because the vampire was taken by surprise, so he was able to slip from his grasp and scramble up, but he only got a few more steps before he had to lean against a tree for support so that his legs didn't crumble a third time. Then, just as quickly as he'd gotten away, Xeno was back in Stan's luke-warm arms, trapped against his needlessly heaving chest with his fangs hovering over his jugular once more. However, he didn't bite down. To the contrary, the feral vampire seemed to hesitate for a moment, seemingly weighing his options of what to do with the hunter before settling on a choice and swiftly switching to almost slamming him against the nearest tree.           "S-Stanley!" The hunter wheezed, more surprised then anything, pushing back so that his face at least wasn't forced into the course bark and he could look back to try and see the blonde behind him. Said blonde was keeping him in place with a hand on one of his shoulders, looking Xeno in the eye and almost relishing the dawning realization that painted his pale cheeks before he used his free hand to hook into his pants and tug them down pretty roughly. Then, he was back at the man's neck, but this time he bit with his blunter teeth, sucking at the skin until Xeno's mewls and hums were pulled out and he was satisfied with the hickey he'd left. The scientist, meanwhile was a bit ashamed of how quickly he accepted the turn of events. He tried to save some face by muffling the noises bubbling in his throat, but Stan's mouth at his neck, paired with the way he ground his groin into his now-bear rear drug a few noises out. Though, it also bat back the fog of hormones and lust long enough for the hunter to realize that he was very likely to get hurt if he didn't intervene. So, he whined and reached up to tangle his fingers in Stan's messy hair, tugging at it until he finally relinquished his throat from the second hickey he was dedicated on leaving. Carefully, Xeno turned himself around with what little room he was permitted between the vampire's muscular chest and the much-less-forgiving tree. Once they were face to face though, the college graduate's brain no longer seemed to work, so, the two simply stood there, panting a bit from the chase, before he finally gave up on using words and instead simply sunk down to his knees. Keeping his eyes glued to the glowing blue pair above him as he went. Luckily enough for him, his actions at least intrigued the vampire, because he was allowed to tug his bottoms down just enough for his member to spring free, which earned him a noise somewhere between a growl and a hum. With Stan's pants down and his member now standing erect in front of him, Xeno hesitated. Should it matter if I'm any good at this sort of shit? I just need some sort of lubrication, and he shouldn't really care about anything beyond...mating, so surely he won't give a shit, right? He asked himself, puzzling over the predicament before Stan reached down to grab onto his shirt, reminding the scientist of his lack of patience. So, Xeno threw his insecurities to the wind and grabbed onto the base of the shaft so he could slip Stan's impatient member into his mouth. The vampire moaned in response, and Xeno took that as a sign that he'd bought a bit more time for himself. So, he slowed down, bobbing his head at a medium sort of pace to work himself up to taking as much of the length as he could, which, thankfully for him, was almost all of it thanks to years of speed-drinking coffee and energy drinks and eating at record speeds in college. He also found that once he actually got to moving, the embarrassment of his lack of skills faded away, and part of him simply enjoyed the groans he got out of Stan while he moved his lips up and down him at a steady pace. He simply continued to work him as much as he could until the vampire let out a little hiss and gripped onto the scientist's shirt until he pulled away and let his throbbing member go with a coy 'pop'. Suddenly, Xeno was yanked back to his feet and whirled around again to be slammed back into the tree. His pants were tugged down once more and his feet were kicked apart in rapid succession so the monster hunter only got a moment's break before Stan pushed into him. And while it hurt still, the white-haired man found that he didn't mind as much. As the vampire began thrusting into him, one hand clawing into his hip, the other on his shoulder, Xeno moaned out curses and did his best to grab onto the tree or Stan's neck to keep steady under the merciless thrusts of the blonde. It was shameful how hot his body got, but with how Stan was hitting that sweetspot within Xeno, his face back to being buried in his neck for more marks, Xeno couldn't care less.        "Mmmm, fuck! ah, r-right there, please!" he plead, tangling his fingers back into Stan's hair as he moaned, giving another lewd noise when his pursuer did as he asked, swiftly learning that doing so got more needy noises from the hormone-addled hunter. With that, Xeno lost all coherency as euphoria further fogged his mind, and soon brought him to his peak with a whine of the vampire's name. Though, Stan didn't stop when Xeno came, he just kept thrusting into him, still flooding his pale body with more and more pleasure while his hot puffs of breath tickled his hickey-littered neck. The continued rough treatment was beginning to sting, but the edge of pain only seemed to bolster Xeno's pleasure back to its peak, pushing a second orgasm from him before Stan finally grew sloppy with his thrusts and soon gave one final movement before emptying himself into the hunter. After that, the monster hunter let himself melt against the tree, relying on Stanley to hold him up because he was on the verge of passing out after that night's activities. The last thing Xeno remembered was giving a thumbs up to what he assumed was the question 'are you okay'. Then, he let his exhaustion take him into dreamland.

[fictionbyafangirl]

Tundric Heart

//Hi, all! After becoming absolutely *obsessed* with the new Mortal Kombat movie, as well as being a fan since the games began, and being a fan of JoTa since I saw The Raid: Redemption when it first came out and since then, I decided my flagship fic shall involve Bi-Han/Sub-Zero. This takes place prior to the film, having nine tournaments been fought. This is a POV-shifter and involves our favorite chilly boi with an original character. Naturally, I own no rights to the franchised character and only write out of my own fun.  I hope you enjoy!\\

Nothing phased him anymore. Bi-Han had lived many centuries, each reinforcing his growing lack of humanity toward the world, whether it be Earthrealm or Outworld. Due to his “gifts”, Bi-Han had become a favorite champion for Shang Tsung in the Mortal Kombat tournaments, successful in more than not and ultimately becoming an attack dog at the sorcerer's will. Despite Bi-Han wanting the Lin Keui to be free-agents once again, himself, primarily, he obliged, knowing he owed Shang Tsung his fealty for the many favors he performed for him in the past. The Lin Keui had been an elite group of assassins for those who could afford them. Either born into the organization or kidnapped as a youngling for the cause, its numbers were always plentiful. Bi-Han and his brother, Kuai Liang, had served the clan well, rising through the ranks. Bi-Han, though, had become the face of the group. The fierce fighter had gained notoriety for defeating the one and only Hanzo Hasashi, as well as the Shirai Ryu, a noble competitor clan in their world of crime. Over four hundred years had passed, yet a looming whisper of a threat still hung in the air from the very fatality that put Bi-Han on the map. Ever the paranoid ruler, Tsung tasked Bi-Han with finding the last remaining Hasashi blood heir and executing them. To the cryomancer, there was simply no point in doing so. He had ended the lineage himself many lifetimes ago. The Hasashi family fell to his hand, and he knew it, first-hand. Still, the soul-eater feared the prophecy of the uprising of Earthrealm defenders to thwart the imminent takeover, if the last tournament should be victoriously won by the mortals with an arcana gift. Nine circuits had been finished in the favor of Tsung, only needing two more to claim supremacy over the mortals. Begrudgingly, Bi-Han found himself in his home-realm on a reconnaissance mission to find out if the myth was true. One thing the warrior loathed was to be undermined, especially by Tsung. His employer had a knack for sending in the reinforcements if the smallest of setbacks occurred. Bi-Han was more than confident in his skill and ability to successfully fulfill his duties. To send in those that were inferior to him was simply a slap in the face. Not a day went by that the assassin didn’t think of a world where he no longer served Tsung.

The man was ageless as he sat across from a run-down diner, concealed in darkness. Darkness had always been his friend, even in the glory days of the Lin Kuei and the chaos they inflicted on their world. Darkness cloaked him in secrecy. Darkness gave him advantage against his opponents. Darkness felt almost as familiar and second nature to him as the cold. It had been a rainy evening, the spray of dingy gutter water spraying up from beneath the tires of those driving muddled the sidewalk. Bi-Han, looking not a single day older than he had when he terminated Hasashi, watched the neon sign that indicated that the diner was “open” flicker against the night. Dressed in black athletic jogger pants, a black zipped-up windbreaker jacket and a black hat with the bill curved and pulled down low to conceal his other-worldly eyes, the man watched from outside an abandoned building that sat adjacent to the diner. Arguably, the only physical trait that had changed about him was the hue of his eyes, shifting from a deep brown to a starkly bright  blue so pale that it nearly looked like ice had formed in his irises. These were the attributes of a cryomancer, and bastard Edenians, alike. Those of Edenian nature aged much slower than humans, living so long that tens of thousands of years was still considered to be in one’s youth. His hair remained raven in color though his skin did grow more pallid as though encrusted in frost, but not. The cryomancers had been banished from Edenia long before Bi-Han’s birth, but the genes that descended from the gods still carried on through himself and his brother, Kuai. Down the block, a group of young men were approaching the corner door of the diner, rowdy and raucous as they walked before ducking into the establishment. Taped hands rose from Bi-Han’s sides to bring the hood of his skim jacket up and over the top of his head, further obscuring his identity. He waited a few minutes to allow them to settle into their normal places to not rouse suspicion before crossing the slick city street. In all of the years of Bi-Han’s life, he had tuned his tracking abilities to be imperceptible.

His intel told him that a group of men, one that bore the mark of the dragon, frequented the very location nightly, as though a ritual amongst the friends. Bi-Han’s head never lifted as the bell on the handle of the door jingled to alert a new customer, and luckily, neither did theirs. His gaze remained to the lower-half of the room to not allow his face to be seen. The fluorescent lights that lined the ceiling in panels glared harshly in contrast against the natural darkness of the night he had waited in. Slipping into a corner table, the plastic-covered stuffing of the seat gave out a subtle hissed as it depressed beneath his weight. The group of men continued their merry occasion, joking and talking with elevated volume. The more attention they brought to themselves and detracted from himself, the better. It didn't take long for the waitress on shift to approach them, seemingly having a report with them as she used their names, engaging in banter with them as they shamelessly flirted with her. Her kind and clever rebuffs and deflection to their order inquiries showed that this was an occasional thing they did. She clearly wasn’t in the business of seeing any of them casually, yet they pushed the envelope with hope. Their nonchalance toward her left little disgust in Bi-Han’s mouth, but still, he surveyed. The fighter spared a moment to take in the new environment. The faded color scheme and furniture showed that the restaurant had not updated in some time, clearly struggling financially to keep afloat to bother with aesthetics. The tables were uneven as they stood and the seating creaked under pressure. The artwork that laid scarcely among the walls were drab and unappealing. Virtually everything that had been a polished metal before now rusted with weak infrastructure. The location was dying out, most likely kept in business by the nightly patronage of the subjects he followed in. 

Bi-Han focused all of his senses on the men, discreetly, as to not be noticed. He eavesdropped on their conversations, watched as they removed their outer-layers for any sign of the marking. He even committed bits of things they said to memory in the off-chance that it would aid him in his mission. His focus was solely on the group and everything they did. His gaze, though hidden beneath the bill of a hat, was fixated without any breaks, that is, until the image of an apron filled with pens and order tablets slid into his view. Bi-Han held his breath as the tell-tale spiel was about to be given to him. 

“Hi, there! I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before. My name’s Jill and I’ll be your waitress on duty tonight. What can I get you?” No matter where you went, every restaurant had the same, generic greeting. 

Holding his breath for a moment to consider his response, Bi-Han decided to play it cool, not wanting to garner any awareness of his existence. The woman was polite enough for him to not care about the disruption. While she had been tending to the object of his assignment he had been able to get a good look over on her. She was attractive with cream-like skin and smoky hazel eyes and hair the color of maple that sat in delicate, loose curls that cascaded down the sides of her face. She dressed semi-comfortably in a baggy button-up flannel shirt that she tucked into the waistband of her tapered jeans that clung to her ankles and simple shoes with her apron and a name badge in place. She kept her makeup natural and modest, which was a pleasant thing to come across with women. With an errant hand, Bi-Han, without tipping his face at all, flipped the menu on the table over to quickly peruse the refreshments section. Quickly, his eyes settled on his selection before speaking it aloud to her, though in a low, hushed tone.

“Green tea. Iced.” His tone was short and cold, as per usual with him, and he offered no opportunity to continue the conversation. He was there for a reason, after all.

With a curt nod, Jill fished a dense book of ordering tickets from her apron and a pen to scribble down the table number and order to keep her tabs in-line. Bi-Han could hear the sound of the ball-point pen against the paper, attuning himself to his surrounding once more.

“Iced green tea, coming right up. What’s uh… a name I can put on this order?” The waitress inquired with an arched brow as her teeth found the corner of her lips, nibbling gently in a nervous gesture. Bi-Han took another moment to contemplate his response. His true, given name was something that was well-known. Instead, he improvised.

“Brian.” He was blunt again, cutting to the chase without any inflection to invite casual conversation.

“Right. Iced green tea for Brian, coming right up.” Jill relayed before bouncing away from the table to fulfill his request. She caught on to his tone quickly and read it loud and clear.

Naturally his order was the first one to be completed. Jill returned with his drink in-hand, along with a wrapped straw and a saucer of potential add-ins for the beverage. Bi-Han offered a small nod to thank her, fixating his senses back on the group of men across the room. Absently, he unwrapped the straw and slipped it within the glass, taking absent sips through it to not reveal his face. The preparation in the States certainly didn’t do the authentic drink justice as it did in his native China, but still he managed to swallow it down as he kept his eyes on them. Although the drink had ice in it, it didn’t suit him. His hand reached around the cylinder, his fingers releasing their icy powers to chill it even further, finally making it satisfactory to his liking. Bi-Han sat with his back pressed against the glass window that separated himself from the outside world. The rain continued to fall, pelting against the window pane. He could just as easily end the waiting and watching. He could turn every plunging bead of water into a lethal bullet to litter all of the men in holes, taking care of every lead. Still, he blended into the foreground, motionless and silent.  He wasn’t sure how long the men would lounge in the diner but he would be observing for as long as they would be. Someone was bound to slip and reveal themselves, reveal their arcana… something. If Bi-Han was anything, he was patient.

[moonlit-han]

the constellation of cup noodles ↠ bang chan

genre: idol!au, angst, fluff pairing: bang chan x non-idol!gender-neutral reader word count: 3.3k warnings: angst, suggestive, a bit of swearing request: yes

✧ masterlist & tag list info in bio ✧

↠↞

You weren’t used to being at work this late, since tonight was your first night working the night shift. It was 9:33 pm when the door to the convenience store opened, the bell jingling obnoxiously. Looking up from the book you were reading, you saw someone in dressed in all black with a black face-mask covering their nose and mouth, and a baseball cap pulled down over their eyes. They made a beeline for the mild instant noodles on the back shelves. After a few minutes, they came up to the counter with not just one pack of noodles but a whole case of thirty.

“Good evening,” they said politely. “Is it possible to buy the whole case?”

You were a bit taken aback—people never wanted to get quite that much of the instant noodle goodness. “Um, sure!” you said. “There’s no reason why not. Is that it?”

“Great,” the customer said, and held out a card for you to run. “Um, here you go.”

You took the card, trying to ignore how pretty their voice was. You had the feeling they might be famous in some way, as they kept their mask and hat on and didn’t try to make much smalltalk. Sometimes you got idols in the shop, and this person fit the general stereotype of a person trying to be inconspicuous but being more conspicuous in trying. Making a point not to look at the name on the card, you rang up the crate of noodles and handed it back to the customer with their receipt.

“Have a good evening and come again!” you said as they made their way out of the shop. Then, you realized you should actually be a good person and rushed out from behind the counter. “Wait! Let me get the door for you!”

The customer waited, holding the crate of instant noodles with surprising ease, then walked down the two steps down to the sidewalk. “Thanks, Y/N,” they said, surprising you with the use of your name. “Have a good night.” With you totally not staring after them, they walked away, turning their head up to the sky to see if there were any stars visible that night.

A week later, it was raining harder than if you had stood under a waterfall. Person after person had come into the shop that day to buy an umbrella, most of them business people but some students, too. Around 9:30 pm, the bell jingled and you fought the urge to knock it from its hook. You heard a grateful sigh as someone came in out of the rain. Peaking around the counter, you saw someone wearing all black and a black face-mask pull down their hood and take off a baseball cap. They shook out their slightly damp, black hair and ran their fingers through it, shaking their head, as they made their way to the instant noodles. You wondered, idly, if this was the same person who’d come in the week before.

When they came up to the counter carrying a whole crate of noodles, you knew it was the same person.

“Hey, Y/N, right? You were working last week when I came in,” the customer said. It was evident to you now that they were a young man around your age—you could hear a foreign accent dancing around the edges of his speech, but it wasn’t noticeable enough for you to tell what it was.

“Yeah, I remember you, too,” you said, studying his face. “If you don’t mind me asking, why the mask and hat all the time?”

Even with the mask on, you could tell the young man was smiling a little nervously, to the point it almost looked like a grimace. “Well, I don’t really want to be recognized,” he said, voice low, and unhooked the mask from around one of his ears. “But I guess I’ll make an exception—you seem chill.”

You had to school your expression so that it wasn’t obvious that you immediately found him attractive. Wildly attractive. He had wonderfully sparkling eyes and a mouth that clearly smiled often.

“A- Are you an idol?” you said and mentally kicked yourself. Of course he was an idol.

The young man in front of you laughed lightly and nodded. “Yeah. My name’s Bang Chan and I’m with JYPE.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Y/N . . . as you know already,” you could feel yourself blushing.

“Nice to meet you, too, Y/N. Um, could you ring this up, please?” Chan asked, smiling ruefully.

“Oh, yeah—sorry!” You rang up the noodles, then said, “Could I ask a question?”

“Sure—as long as it’s not too personal.”

“Why are you buying thirty packs of instant noodles every Saturday?” you asked, not caring that it was a slightly silly question. You gave Chan his card and receipt.

Chan laughed, the sound bright and delighted. “It’s for my members, who like to eat way too many,” he patted the crate of noodles, “of these. I mean, I do, too, but it’s mainly for them.”

You were about to say something, but Chan continued. “Um, I’ve got to get back, and it looks like the rain’s letting up a little. I’ll see you around, Y/N!” he said, and flashed a small smile at you.

Still not believing that you’d just met one of the handsomest people you’d ever seen, and actually had a coherent conversation with him, you stared after Chan as he left the shop. The rain had, indeed, let up a bit, but he still jogged through the puddles on the sidewalk, crate of instant noodles in hand.

After he’d come in around 9:30 pm on three Saturdays in a row, you thought it might be becoming a pattern or already was one before you’d changed your shift. So, when Chan came in to get the noodles, starting toward the back shelves, you called, “I’ve already got it up here!”

Chan turned and came toward you, a wide smile on his face. “Y/N, hey, what’s up? Thanks, by the way.”

“Have you had a good week?” you asked, smiling back.

“Eh, I’ve been busy, but at least I’ve gotten enough sleep.” Chan ran a hand through his hair—he seemed to do that a lot around you.

“Hey, that’s good! Make sure to drink enough water, too.” As you said it, you realized you were probably telling someone who drank more water than you to do so, but so what! He should!

Chan laughed lightly. “So, how was your week, then? Anything interesting happen in here?”

“Nope, not really. Honestly, you coming in is probably the most exciting thing that’s happened,” you said, trying not to sound like you were flirting with every fiber of your being. (You were, in fact).

“Well, it’s a small but genuine highlight of my week, too, Y/N,” Chan said. He leaned on the counter.

You felt yourself blush a little, and looked down at the register. “Oh, I still need to ring you up,” you said, trying to ignore Chan’s eyes on you. No way. No. Way. An idol from JYPE flirting with you? That just didn’t happen . . . did it?

“Um, Y/N?” Chan said a little hesitantly. “You alright?”

You realized that you’d been standing there, lost in your thoughts, despite having said you needed to ring him up. “Oh my god, sorry. Yes, okay, thanks.” Taking the card, you quickly completed the transaction and gave him the receipt. “They just changed the policy, so could you sign the store copy, please?” you said, feeling bad for asking him to do one more thing.

“Sure!” Chan said and signed, taking slightly longer than you’d have guessed.

As he picked up the instant noodles and made to leave, he said, “Can you check that I gave you the right copy back? I’ve been known to take the wrong one.” He smiled ruefully.

You looked down at the receipt and saw “Store Copy” printed at the top, but your attention was drawn to the bottom where he’d scrawled his signature. Below the line, he’d written a phone number. You looked back up to see him still standing in front of you and you raised your eyebrows, as if to say, What? Chan just grinned and winked, then headed out the door. Yet again, you found yourself staring after him.

As soon as your shift ended, you typed the number into your phone and sent: “Hi, this is Y/N. I hope this is the right number.”

You got a response back immediately: “Hey, Y/N! You definitely got the right number 😊 I’d keep texting right now, but I’ve gotta go to bed right now bc I’ve already been up too late hoping you’d message 😅 I hope you have a peaceful sleep and lovely dreams. Goodnight! —Chan💕”

You squealed. What else would you do? You squealed with absolute glee over the fact that you were definitely flirting and texting a) someone, b) someone extremely attractive who somehow thought you were, too, and c) an idol! How the hell had this happened?

As you got ready for bed, you would occasionally look at the message, just to make sure it was real and you hadn’t imagined the whole thing. Nope, still there and cute as ever. You went to sleep with a smile on your face and did, indeed, have lovely dreams.

↠↞

For weeks, you'd been counting down the days and then hours until Chan had to leave to go on tour, and now that it was the night before he was leaving, you had no idea what to do. While you were happy for him and the others to get back to touring, and prouder than he could ever imagine, you couldn't help but feeling lost. You chided yourself—Chan hadn't even left yet and you already felt like a baby bird pushed too early from the nest. After deliberating over idea after idea for what to do for his last night with you until two months from now, you’d decided that just staying in was the best choice.

You brought Chan through the entrance to your apartment complex to the rooftop garden where you’d set out a meal on a small area of grass, looking out over the city to the mountains. You’d made or bought all his favorite dishes, and even nestled candles in two jars to provide a little light as darkness descended. The late summer air was cool in the evening, which, you thought gleefully, would be perfect for cuddling.

As Chan saw the spread, he turned to you, a bright smile on his face. “Is this all for me?”

“Of course!” you said, leaning against him and wrapping your arms around his waist.

“Oh, my sweet dove,” Chan said, wonderingly and kissed your cheek, turning to fold you into his embrace. You twined your arms around his neck to properly kiss him, relishing his warmth and solidness. After a moment, Chan looked over your shoulder, sniffing curiously.

“Is that—” he began.

“It’s all your favorites, babe,” you said, keeping an arm around Chan’s waist. There was no way in hell you were letting go of him until the morning when he would have to leave. Together, you sat on the blanket you’d spread on the grass.

“You’re the best, you know that?” Chan said, wonder in his voice. “I still can’t believe I’m dating you.” He leaned his head against yours.

“Yeah, I know,” you said, smiling. “I can’t believe it either.”

You distinctly remembered the weeks before Chan had received the “OK” from his company to date you—it had incensed you that your love life would now be dictated by the whims of some entertainment company. And when he’d said he was going to ask if he could officially date you, you were on edge for the long weeks until you got the best news of your life. Some mornings, you still pinched yourself to see if this reality was real. Sighing, you brought your thoughts back to the present where your boyfriend was clearly just itching to dig into the food spread before you.

“Channie, you should eat,” you said, running your hand up and down his side encouragingly.

“You have to, as well, though,” he said, concern coloring his voice.

You chuckled. “Get yours first, babe.”

Chan clapped his hands together excitedly, wriggling like an happy corgi. He took some of everything you’d prepared, making happy little noises as soon as he began to eat. You filled a plate, too, and the two of you sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the sunset. The last rays of the sun lanced through clouds that were being driven away by a light breeze—you might even be able to see some stars later.

As you finished your food, your thoughts turned again to the fact that Chan would be gone for two whole months. You set your plate down and rested your head against your boyfriend’s shoulder, trying not to feel too down. Chan’s arm went around you, pulling you closer and you snuggled into his side.

Chan, ever sensitive to your moods, murmured in your ear. “I’ll only be gone for two months, dove. And then, I’ll fly right back to you.” He carefully pulled you into his lap and you nuzzled his neck, which must have tickled him because he let out a soft chuckle. “We can message all the time and even video chat, if I have strong enough WiFi. We’ll be fine, I promise.”

“But Chan, you’re going overseas. On tour. I- I just want you to be safe,” you replied, fighting the catch in your voice.

Just admitting that you were worried for him made you feel even more like your world would start to crumble in less than twenty-four hours. It wasn’t that you were unhealthily codependent—far from it, since you were in school and he was an idol with a busy schedule. You couldn’t be codependent. But, there was still comfort in knowing that he’d be there to hold you when you couldn’t deal with the stress of classes anymore and you’d be there when his job became too demanding or when unknown fans sent wholly unnecessary hate. After almost a year of dating, you were used to having him in the country, at least.

“I’ll be with the others,” Chan reassured you. “And the company always makes sure we fly and travel well—don’t worry. My dove, my dear one, please don’t worry too much for me? Save some worry for me to have for you.”

“Baby—” you began, but Chan stopped you by bringing his mouth to yours. His lips were slightly chapped as usual, but you didn’t care. The kiss tasted of resignation, sadness, worry, and, of course, love. You let yourself get lost in the feeling of Chan’s body against yours, the way his hands found their way into the back pockets of your jeans, the softness of his kisses. More than anything, you were going to miss this: casual, simple affection that was never hurried nor heated, but just what was needed in the moment. You’d miss waking up beside him and rolling over to curl into his side, or being the big spoon when he just needed to be held and comforted. You’d miss going on walks in the park along the river, eating street food late at night, and— Dear god, you’d miss the sex. You really weren’t sure how you were going to stand it.

You drew back after long moments of languid kissing in which you’d still managed to slip your hands up under Chan’s shirt, and looked at your boyfriend. Tears pricked your eyes, and you hastily wiped them away. He would be back—that much was certain. The look in Chan’s eyes told you that he knew was, in truth, just as distraught to leave you for so long.

“Can’t you stay a little longer?” you whispered, holding his face in your hands and kissing him over and over again.

“Dove, you know I can’t. I wish I could, but then I’d never leave. It’s- It’s our world tour—I have to go. Fuck, I’m gonna miss you, Y/N.” Chan’s voice finally broke as he said your name and he held you to his chest as tightly as he could, burying his face in your neck.

You clung to him and he to you, whispering that you loved each other as the stars began to appear overhead. His lips found yours again, and you were certain that you wouldn’t be able to stop kissing, stop holding him unless someone pulled you away. Once you were both thoroughly breathless from wonton kissing, you looked up at the sky, which had turned a deep, velvety blue.

“Channie,” you said, threading your fingers through his hair over and over again as you sat together. He was tracing swirls onto the back of your hand, fingers light on your skin. “Look at the sky.”

He looked up, and sighed. The breeze had blown away the clouds and even some of the smog, revealing the first pinpricks of stars above you. Chan pulled you down on the blanket beside him so you could lay and look up at the stars. You simply watched them seemingly fade into existence as the last vestiges of light left the sky, true dark folding you in its embrace like a cloak made of shadow. Once there were enough stars out, Chan began to point out constellations.

“See? There’s Orion with his belt of three stars. Oh! And there’s Andromeda—it’s almost a double-u shape.” Chan pointed them all out to you, even though he’d taught them all to you before. “And that,” he said confidently, “is the Constellation of the Cup Noodle. Note the single noodle trailing down its side.”

You gently elbowed him, giggling. “You made that up!”

“No, really!” Chan protested, reaching for your hand to hold. “There’s the round top and see those stars on either side? Those are the container itself. And then that line of stars down there,” he pointed, “is the one noodle hanging over the side!”

“You get sillier every day, babe,” you laughed, and rolled over so that you were partially on top of Chan. “If you say it’s the Constellation of the Cup Noodle, then I guess it is.”

“You know you love it, dove,” Chan said, rubbing your back and leaning his head forward to kiss your nose. “Hell, it’s cold now. Let’s go back to your bedroom and warm up, shall we?” He said, and even in the dark, you could see him wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Bringing your linked hands to your lips, you kissed along Chan’s palm and then to the tip of each of his fingers. “Mmmm,” you mused, “you’ll have to put these pretty fingers to good use, then, won’t you?” You sucked his index finger a little, giving him the most innocent doe eyes you could.

Chan’s soft laugh shook both of you. “Oh, dove, how you’re tempting me. You’ll have to wait until we get back inside.” He moved to sit up and you found yourself laying in his lap. “Although, I think I could arrange a little preview, if you think you can be quiet . . .”

You nodded eagerly, and clamped your lips shut just as Chan brought his lips back to yours and his hand snaked under the waistband of your pants. It was lucky that he was kissing you, you thought. Otherwise, the whole city might have heard you in what was only the first of many times that night. 

[consumeconstantly]

Small Buff Girl Sightings Ch. 5

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | ao3

3:00AM | CoffeeVamp: bb bat update us TheOG: ^^ more info on the situation in paris

3:28AM | Demonspawn: It is difficult to obtain information on Hawkmoth. The butterflies disperse after they are cleansed, and before they land their target, they don’t show up electronically.  Coffee Vamp: o how the mighty have fallen i thought u said u could best me bb boi

3:42AM | Demonspawn: I’d like to see you do better. Coffee Vamp: IS THAT A CHALLENGE Coffee Vamp: ill take u up on that gimme 24 hours and ur going down TheOG: he has had a whole month so dont be too sure of that LadyLady: would you guys SHUT UP its two and some of us have jobs to do Coffee Vamp: cmon babs u luv us dont deny it LadyLady: Don’t make me hunt you down, Tim. Coffee Vamp: oOooO proper punctuation im shaking TheOG: just shut off notifications Babs TheOG: Bruce does Jesus: i don’t think the man has checked this chat in years Coffee Vamp: wdym brucie checks the chat all the time hes just a silent lurker Coffee Vamp: he doesnt even set himself to invisible

3:57AM | Daddy is away. Coffee Vamp: im so glad i have admin privileges imagine if i didnt bruce would have a boring normal nickname like his actual name LadyLady: good lord, why am I even in this chat?? Daddy: You’re supposed to keep them under control. Coffee Vamp: SEE I TOLD U BRUCE IS A SILENT LURKER> THIS. IS. SOLID. PROOF. IN YOUR FACE TheOG: nobody said otherwise Coffee Vamp: also how are the people have you made friends Jesus: Demon spawn? Making friends? Id be less surprised if he told us he has a new fling Coffee Vamp: is j right? Got a winter fling? 

4:12AM | Coffee Vamp: ur lack of a response tells us nothing  TheOG: im sure he’s just adopted his usual icy persona Coffee Vamp: haha hes the bb of so many things Coffee Vamp: bb vamp bb demon spawn ice ice bb Coffee Vamp: getitt im so funny

4:36AM | Coffee Vamp: guys?

“I told you I could get her to write her number on your cup,” Marinette grins with pride.

“And I told you I didn’t want her to.” Damian scowls and kicks a pebble in his path.

“You’re still wearing the clothes I picked out for you,” she points out.

“You told me to wear it. I wore it. I’m not interested in her.” 

Marinette squints at Damian, evaluates whether he’s telling the truth or not. “Huh, you really aren’t interested. I guess it’s a good thing you didn’t wear the other outfit I picked out for you-- that one would have gotten her to ask you out on the spot.”

Damian groans. “We’re going to have to find a new coffee place.”

“Or we could just come when she’s not on shift and run away like mice when we do see her?”

Damian gives her The Look.

“But they have good coffee here,” Marinette whines.

“Maybe you should have thought about that before dressing me up and sending me to my death.”

“It’s not my fault! You only have your parents to blame for your looks.”

It’s true; both of Damian’s parents are good-looking. His whole family is, actually, adopted or not. All of the good looking people he meets are talented and have a tragic life story. Which is the cause and which is the effect, Damian isn’t sure. But it holds true even in Paris. All he has to do is look at Marinette or Adrien, though he’s not a hundred percent sure where the tragedy kicks in for Marinette. Probably the time when she was at odds with Lila, but he hasn’t looked much into the situation. He can even use Lila Rossi as an example. She has even worse color coordination than Damian is, but her features are model worthy. Lila Rossi is also definitely fucked up in ways that Damian doesn’t care to explore.

The effects of Marinette’s well-placed compliments has Damian thinking about himself in a positive manner that he never has before. Bruce is always stingy with praise, and the other senior members of the Justice League of America see him as another Robin that doesn’t need praise because competency comes with the mantle. Dick and Barbara compliment him occasionally, but that’s rarer now that his place is more firmly cemented in the family. Damian doesn’t think he’s ever had someone so willing to genuinely compliment him. Marinette’s compliments extend to more than just his looks, as well. She praises his technological skills as he sets up her website and has complimented him as he helps her out with whatever altercations she inevitably comes across on the streets. If he reveals his skills as Robin, reveals himself as Damian Wayne, will he receive even more praise?

“But since we did buy you that absolute knockout of an outfit, you’re going to have to wear it eventually. So whose heart do you want to steal?”

“I don’t want a relationship,” Damian repeats. They seem like more effort than they’re worth, and he always sees couples fighting and complaining about each other. Plus, they have to make time for each other and his alter ego doesn’t allow for that, though he supposes that he isn't Robin. At least, not right now.

“You don’t need to want a relationship just to flirt with somebody. Who’s it going to be? The intern at the Louvre? My parent’s newest hire? Oooh, how about Nicolette?” Marinette’s voice takes on a more mischievous tone. 

Damian will give Marinette this much: her taste in the aesthetics of people is far from bad. The intern from the Louvre is two hundred pounds of lean muscle with a devil-may-care smile and a deep, belly laugh that makes people laugh with him, but Damian and he don’t have anything in common. Her parent’s new hire is knockout gorgeous, with warm brown eyes, and definitely the kind of girl Damian would have gone for as a one night stand back in Gotham. However, he’s also 98% sure that she has a very possessive boyfriend who stops by the bakery every time she has a shift. Nicolette is considered her college’s belle, and her intense gaze paired with her surprisingly friendly demeanor might have been appealing to Damian if she weren’t ten years older than him. 

“I’m not into any of them,” he says, simply.

“Then who are you into? Surely someone has caught your eye in the past month?” Marinette looks genuinely curious, but her expression shifts into horror. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I never asked your preferences, if I was being insensitive, I’m sorry, I mean I’m pan, but you absolutely don’t have to tell me, it’s your right if you’re not comfortable.”

Damian does look slightly uncomfortable now that she’s looking at him more closely. His arms are crossed over each other, across his chest, and his hair is tousled. Then, he lets out a small laugh, and Marinette melts. “It’s fine, Pigtails. All of the people you listed are attractive, but I’m not attracted to them. I’m more of a personality guy, though I can’t say that personality has stopped me from things more than dates before.”

He’s had his fair share of hook-ups and makeout sessions in the past when feeling particularly frustrated with something that wasn’t going his way, though his primary method of relief is through sparring. Short missions and one night stands go fairly well together; he doesn’t ever have to deal with people wanting long term relationships, and even if they do, he’s gone before they know it. So far, he hasn’t hooked up with anyone in Paris, but then again, he’s only been here for a month and this is a long term mission. Whatever time he’s not with Marinette or at school is dedicated to piecing together the mystery that is the Miraculous and trying to figure out Hawkmoth’s identity. 

“Oh,” Marinette continues to blush.

She’s clearly too embarrassed to bring up any other topic, so Damian decides that he’ll shoot the same conversation topic back at her. Marinette is attractive, and people she meets ask for her numbers and dates often enough. She’ll accept the former if they aren’t a total creep, but she always turns down requests for dates.

“And you? Why aren’t you out there questing for love? No crushes or significant others that I need to beat off with a stick?”

This does manage to lessen her flush. She frowns, turns something over in her mind. 

“No crushes right now, no. I used to have a huge crush on Adrien just a year ago. He’s such a sweet person, but we don’t see eye to eye on important matters.” And also not into sex, either. Even physical affection hits him the wrong way sometimes, which makes Marinette worry even further for his well being with Lila’s constant touches. Still, he hasn’t said anything, and Lila hasn’t done anything more than grasp his arm or shoulders every now and then, to reassure the class that yes, they are the golden couple. Marinette also suspects that he is very unwilling to talk about the whole situation in general, and it’s not as though they’re super close.

Of course she had a crush on Adrien. Damian can see it now, Marinette looking at Adrien with her big blue eyes, her lashes fluttering when she gets close to him. Stuttering when she gets embarrassed or when she gets close to him. It makes his lungs constrict, but he’s not sure why.

“As for past relationships, there’s only really Luka. We had a pretty good run, but he’s out of the country, touring. He wanted to try long distance, but I didn’t really want that. But he’s respectful-- there’s no need to beat him off with a stick or anything.”

“I’m surprised a pretty girl like you doesn’t have more suitors,” Damian says, stepping over a crack in the sidewalk as they walk towards the park.

Marinette gags. “There are some other people who have been interested, but I wouldn’t exactly consider them relationship material. If you’re going after a girl just because she looks exotic, that’s sort of nasty. I guess I’m just unlucky in love.”

“At least you’re not as bad off as Ladybug is,” Damian jokes.

She looks at him strangely. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, first there was that creepy sculptor who must have been twice her age, then there’s Chat Noir who keeps flirting with her despite her requests not to, plus all of the random love akumas. I’m not even going to talk about the hordes of guys who chase after her, trying to get a date just because she’s a superhero. It’s not even like she can kick them between the legs because she has an image to uphold and all that.” He smirks, nudges her with his arm. “I’m surprised you haven’t done that with some of your stalkers.”

“Oh. You’re right, huh. Though, I don’t think Chat Noir has actually flirted for a while now.”  Chat Noir has been very subdued as of late, and it makes Ladybug worry.

Marinette feels uncomfortable with the way the conversation has shifted. How does Damian know about all of these past akuma attacks? As far as Marinette is aware, most information about anything Miraculous related is difficult to get a hold of abroad, largely because the Miraculous try to hide their existence as best they can, and partially because Mayor Bourgeois doesn’t want word to get out that he hasn’t flushed a supervillain terrorist out even though he’s had three years to do it.

“Copycat happened three years ago.” It’s a question, almost.

“I figure I might as well keep up with the heroes of Paris. I’m here and they’re interesting.” Damian figures this is as good a time as any to bring up his interest in Hawkmoth. Marinette has been nothing but helpful and she’s definitely the kind of person whose heart is in the right place. Not to mention that she’s definitely smart and seems impartial; the one time he asked her about her thoughts on the heroes, he found out that she didn’t see them as perfect. She was able to critique Ladybug in full, which seemed pretty odd considering the rest of Paris seemed to have nothing but glowing praise for the heroine. “You’ve had some awful luck with akumas yourself. Weird how Ladybug didn’t show up when you got kidnapped by Evillustrator. One of the only times she didn’t show up for an akuma.”

“And what happened to the other heroes? It’s mostly Ladybug now. She must be in an awful state with her civilian life.” He looks off to the park, occasionally flicking his attention back Marinette’s face, evaluating her expression.

She catches his eyes and he swiftly looks away, looking almost nervous. Marinette stiffens. He knows, he knows, he knows, he can’t know. But how? How does he know that she’s Ladybug? She hasn’t let anything slip around him. She's been careful not to. Everything she’s ever said about Ladybug has been brief and curt, taking on an almost angry tone.

“If you’re so interested in Parisian heroes, I’m sure you saw the press conference Ladybug and Chat Noir gave last year about why the other heroes would be showing up less often.” Marinette keeps her voice carefully neutral. She needs to play this safe. She’s probably over reacting-- she’s been on edge with Hawkmoth sending out an akuma attack nearly every single day for the past few months.

Damian shakes his head. “It didn’t seem like good reasoning. Ladybug and Chat Noir are too untrained. They haven’t beat two villains in three years. They should let someone else take over.” 

Marinette has come across a good number of Ladybug and Chat Noir haters throughout her time. Those who dislike the Parisian heroes often make the exact same arguments Damian is now. That they’re not fast enough. That they should have taken down Hawkmoth and Mayura already. This is nothing new to her, though it does hurt hearing it from Damian, for some reason. She can’t even argue with most of the points he’s brought up. Going mostly solo was because of her own, selfish reasons. She really should have beaten Hawkmoth and Mayura by now. 

“The only thing they have going for them right now is that they’re keeping their Miraculous out of Hawkmoth’s hands.” She pretends that the reason why Chat Noir doesn’t show up to battle is to ensure that Hawkmoth can’t get both of the Miraculous in one fell swoop. It feels hopeless to fight villain after villain without any movement forwards. Her mind wanders to the increasing frequency of akumas and smiles, sardonically. “Some people think it’s only a matter of time until Ladybug and Chat Noir lose.”

“Hawkmoth almost seems to be the better strategist.” The two of them pass store front after store front. “Do you ever wonder what they look like, under the mask? Who they are?”

Marinette stares at the concrete underneath her feet. Hawkmoth, the better strategist? Laughable, and entirely incorrect. Even the people who hate Ladybug admit that her plans almost always work out, and that her plans are second to none. Really the only person who can possibly think that Hawkmoth is a better strategist is--

She can’t think like that. Damian is her friend. He’s just curious about Paris. Her lack of sleep and increase in paranoia re making her imagine things that are impossible. Besides, Damian isn’t on her list of suspects-- he told her he’s only been here for a short time, and Hawkmoth’s Miraculous definitely has a limited range. It’s a real pity that the world of Miraculous makes concrete evidence hard to come by, otherwise, Marinette likes to think Hawkmoth would have been behind bars already. 

“No,” she lies. Hawkmoth haunts her dreams and every waking hour. She spends hours and hours on theories and scouring out information and people who fit the clues she’s painstakingly pieced together. “Not really.”

Damian’s eyes are a piercing green, and for a moment, Marinette thinks she stops breathing. “Is that so? I’m really interested in who Ladybug is under the mask. I’d love the opportunity to talk to her in person, especially about her Miraculous. The powers she has are… very interesting.”

No. There’s no way that Damian can be Hawkmoth, right? This is all just her paranoia speaking. Damian is just a foreigner who is interested in super heroes. It’s no biggie. Still, she can’t shake off the idea that there’s more to Damian than meets the eye. The way he walks-- no, prowls-- commands respect. Marinette can tell that he knows how to fight, and knows how to fight well. He’s very good at finding information on people-- she sent a whole case file to her on Renee and his situation with his mother within twenty four hours of going into the precinct, complete with video evidence Marinette knows should have been impossible to procure without hacking-- and keeps up with her critiques on Ladybug and Chat Noir’s techniques like he’s watched their battles over and over again. He remembers akuma battles Marinette has half forgotten, because they happened so long ago.

She stares up at him, hands shoved in the pockets of the jacket she chose for him when they went on their wardrobe makeover. Damian is surprisingly wealthy; he purchased anything she even glanced at with passing approval. He looks straight forward, apparently waiting for some response from her. Just because Damian is her friend, doesn’t mean she can immediately expunge him from her list of suspects. So far, she has taken all of Damian’s words at face value. It didn’t matter to her that he rarely talks about his family or his life before Paris. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t brought her to his home during all of the weeks that they’ve been hanging out together. Really, Marinette just figured that he had a rocky relationship with his family, and that he may have been on the poorer side and was embarrassed to show her where he lived. But clearly. Damian is well off enough to afford brand name clothes without batting an eye. Things aren’t adding up. All of the red flags that she’s blatantly ignored start to crop up in her head.

The book on the species of butterflies that akumas are made of, tucked under his arm. The way he showed up after every single akuma attack when she rarely saw him in the area before or during it. His knowledge of the three languages that form the basis of the Miraculous Tome-- Mandarin, Arabic, and English.

If he is Hawkmoth, what sort of emotions would he be feeling right now? Some sort of euphoria, maybe, realizing that he could get infinitely closer to Ladybug when she is Marinette. Anticipation, too. Has Marinette been hanging out with a super villain for the past month? Has she really come to the point where she can call a supervillain her best friend?

Marinette takes another look at Damian’s outfit. Master Fu said that the Miraculous Hawkmoth owns is in the shape of a brooch. Marinette sees no such object on Damian, which could either mean that he’s not Hawkmoth or that he’s just been taking it off whenever he’s with her. She’s really hoping it’s not the second option.

She needs to gather her thoughts, make a plan on how to proceed. When she’s sure that Damian isn’t looking, Marinette sets off the ringtone that is saved for her Maman’s texts and calls. This catches Damian’s attention, and she waves looks up from her phone as though she’s responding. 

“Maman wants me to do a delivery. If you’re looking for more information on the whole superhero situation in Paris, I can get you Alya’s number. She runs the Ladyblog-- I’m sure she’d be glad to talk with you.” Alya also has some of the worst conspiracy theories that Marinette has ever seen. She doesn’t often keep abreast of what the Ladyblog’s portrayal of Ladybug is, but back when Marinette and Alya were friends, she was subjected to wild theories that made her stomach nauseous with how little logic there was. Which means that if-- if-- Damian is actually Hawkmoth, he might be thrown off by what she says.

“I’ll see you on Monday? Jagged texted me last night and wants me to change the embroidery on his commission.” This isn’t exactly a lie; Jagged wants one of the smaller details to be changed, but it certainly won’t take as long as she’s suggesting. Marinette hopes that it’s enough of an excuse to get Damian off her back for the rest of today and tomorrow while she reevaluates her game plans and life choices. 

Damian waves her off. “I don’t think that Ladyblogger girl knows anymore than I do. She’s of no help to me. I’ll see you on Monday.”

#

Marinette’s reaction to Damian’s questions are weird. There’s an underlying tension that she exuded before they parted ways, and he’s still thinking about it a day later.

Marinette, who he always finds near an akuma attack right after it occurs. Marinette, who is emotionally and physically superior to most other Parisians. Marinette, who hasn’t been akumatized in a class full of idiots and other victims. Marinette, who doesn’t like Ladybug even though she seems like a fairly competent and kind hero, despite the fact that she hasn’t caught Hawkmoth yet. Marinette, who rarely talks about akumas despite all of the time he spends with her, which is highly unusual because even people he only briefly meets manage to slip in something about akumas into the conversation. Damian feels like there must be some sort of connection between Marintte and the akuma situation that he’s not getting, but it’s eluding him.

He sits down with his laptop in his apartment and looks up information about Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She’s definitely just as talented as he suspected; in her ninth year of schooling, she won a Gabriel competition, participated in a music video of Clara Nightingale’s, and collaborated with Jagged Stone on an album cover. So that was how she met him-- he wondered, but never asked. There are also a few instagram posts that have tagged her as a good samaritan and a few articles that detail a small, asian girl who’s going around Paris helping random people that are in need.

The weird things that Damian finds are contained in her school records. She’s apparently in very good company with her IQ, but what’s more interesting is all the dates that she is tardy or absent from school. They line up perfectly with all of the dates that akumas appear. He feels dread gather in his stomach. 

A few more searches seem to cement his growing suspicions. Around the same time that Marinette obtained a truce with Lila matched up with when theorists believed that the Italian girl started working with Hawkmoth. He reads the instagrams and tweets of her classmates from the first year that Hawkmoth arrived, which talk about how excellent Marinette is at calming them down and guiding them to a better place. He also reads the posts of Chloe Bourgeois and Alya Cesaire and the articles about Marinette and Evillustrator that tell a slightly different story-- that Marinette is capable of manipulating others into more unpleasant situations.

Damian jolts. There is an incoming call from his father. 

“Are updates on Paris, Damian?” 

Should he give them a clue to his growing suspicions that Marinette is Hawkmoth? No, he can’t tell them until he gathers more information. 

“No,” he says. “Information about Hawkmoth and the Miraculous are hard to come by.”

There’s a sigh and what sounds like the rustling of papers from the other side. “I figured. Tim and Barbara can’t find anything over here, either, but the Justice League is worried. They want results.”

“The Justice League and I agreed that having Robin make an appearance would be beneficial. Gain Ladybug and Chat Noir’s trust, or find Hawkmoth. Information might come easier with your alter ego.”

“All right.” 

Another pause. He and his father have always had an awkward relationship. Bruce didn’t know of his existence until he was ten, and by that time, the most formative years of Damian’s life had already passed. Bruce Wayne may be many things, but good at dealing with children, he is not. Even after adopting so many children, he doesn’t know how to raise a child. Damian and his brothers have all raised themselves, with Bruce only stepping in when one of them is really going off the rails.

“Is everything else going well in Paris? School is good?”

“School is fine.” Damian wonders whether he should tell his father about Marinette. About the girl who is kind and capable and scarily efficient at dispatching criminals for a citizen and-- he can’t think about her like that. He decides against telling his father about her. She might be Hawkmoth, after all, and confirming her existence to his father means that he’s denying that possibility. “Gotham?”

“Nothing out of the usual. A few run-ins with the Joker.”

Another silence. The lapses in conversation aren’t awkward, but Damian thinks of the playful banter Marinette has with her parents and frowns. 

“Goodbye, Father.”

“Goodnight, Damian.”

Damian looks around at his empty apartment. There is nothing in it, except for his suitcase and a few pieces of furniture. It’s nothing like the manor, where he knows that Tim is up at all hours slaving away on another project that Damian rarely gets to see, or that Jason is in the training room with Dick joining him occasionally. He can’t pick a fight with Tim or have Dick try to mediate the conflicts between himself and Jason. No nightly patrols with three or four people talking over the comms, or near instantaneous backup when he gets into a tight spot. There is no Alfred or Barbara or Cassandra or Bruce here. Only Damian. 

He looks down at his laptop, at the various information and images of Marinette that he has up on his screen. In good conscience, he can’t continue being friends with her. Not with the possibility that she is the person he’s trying to hunt down. 

He remembers her saying that being lonely is different than being alone. 

Damian is lonely.

#

Patrol is a necessary evil. 

Ladybug doesn’t hate patrol. She’s not very fond of it, though. It cuts into time that she could be spending sleeping or designing or anything else, really. In the beginning, it started as a way to figure out how everything worked under the guise of the dark and without the constant threat of an akuma hanging over head. Then, it progressed into disproving the theory about Ladybug’s age, because civilians aren’t inclined to believe that a teenage girl who has school the next day would patrol every day in the early morning. Now, it shows the Parisians how devoted Ladybug is-- that’s something that she’s struggled with ever since withdrawing the Miraculous from all of the part time heroes-- and lets Marinette blow off any steam that she has. 

Right now, Marinette needs to blow off a lot of steam. Still, even as Ladybug, as much as Marinette wants to scream to high hell and back about how she’s been friends-- very close friends, she’d dare to say-- with the same person who has been terrorizing Paris for years, she can’t. If she screams, there will be media coverage on it, and she doesn’t want to deal with what the press would write up some article about how Ladybug was overworked and needed to bring back the other heroes, or that Ladybug wasn’t mentally sound enough to take care of Paris, she should just give up the Miraculous, or that Ladybug’s scream was [insert some poetic nonsense that English teachers wax about for hours even though the author never intended the audience to read that deeply into it].

Marinette doesn’t want to admit it, but she’s gotten close to Damian. She’s as close to him as she is with Kagami, Luka, Jagged and Penny. Damian knows that she’s MDC. He knows her hopes and aspirations. He knows her family, knows the majority of her friends, and knows what’s important to her. It will be so easy for him to tear her apart now. Marinette isn’t sure what Hawkmoth is waiting for, but she almost hopes that he’ll get it over with sooner rather than later.

What will Hawkmoth do first? Go after the website that he helped her make, probably. Cut off the financial support that she could use to run away and create another identity. Then, he’ll go after her friends, few and far as they may be. Renee next. Her family, last. She wonders who Mayura is, if he is Hawkmoth. She hasn’t seen anyone that’s close to him. Then again, Damian reveals next to nothing about himself. She’s never even seen where he lives.

There’s a shadow on the rooftops. 

God, of course Hawkmoth would send out an akuma today. He knows how horrible her mental state must be. There’s no way he wouldn’t take advantage of that.

She yoyos over to the shadow, not close enough to strike or apprehend, but close enough to easily give chase without the akuma being able to give her the slip.

“Ladybug,” the akuma says.

“Cut the crap. We all know you want the Miraculous, Hawkmoth. Let’s get to it.” The shadow steps forward where a street lamp illuminates its costume, and once again, she is assaulted by the barrage of colors on her eyes. After seeing how awful Damian’s color coordination was, it’s easy to come to terms with the awful designs of all of his costumes. Still, she’s surprised that the boy who dresses in the same outfit every day creates such outlandish costumes for all of his minions. 

The akuma frowns, tenses. 

“I’m not Hawkmoth,” it insists. “I’m Robin, a vigilante from Gotham. I’ve come to learn more about the current situation and aid you in taking Hawkmoth down.”

 Ladybug scoffs. She’s not sure what this akuma’s tactic is, but none of the others have tried to lie to her so blatantly about their identity. And ripping off an identity? That is a new low, even for Hawkmoth. She’s sure that the real Robin didn’t agree to this, and if she were close with the vigilante, maybe she could get him to throw a lawsuit or two at Hawkmoth once he was in custody, just for kicks.

Robin the akuma scrambles, apparently looking for something that can verify his identity. 

Ladybug strikes. There’s no pride in striking an opponent when they are distracted, but it’s a means to an end. If Damian is dumb enough to send out an akuma confused about its identity tonight of all nights-- a night where Ladybug is distressed and it would be all too easy to take advantage of her-- then she’s going to take advantage of it.

It’s easy to bind the akuma. Startlingly easy. The akuma is different tonight, then. His powers have something to do with close contact, maybe? Ladybug looks on his person for things that could be the point of akumatization, eyes flitting from Robin’s waistband to his mask.

She comes to an unpleasant conclusion. The measurements and the coloring are a perfect match. Hawkmoth has come to meet her in person.

“Damian,” Ladybug hisses. 

Damian’s eyes widen, like he doesn’t know how she’s pieced together his identity. How stupid does he think she is? He’s been dropping hints constantly. Information a transfer to Paris shouldn’t know. Never telling Marinette anything personal. Always being near an akuma attack when it happens. It’s almost like he wanted her to figure out his identity.

“How did you know?” 

“Please, Hawkmoth, did you really think that Marinette couldn’t connect the dots? You must have thought awfully little of her if you thought that your constant appearances near all of the akuma and questions about the Miraculous didn’t lead me to your identity.”

“Hawkmoth? Ladybug, I’m not Hawkmoth, I’m Robin.”

“And I’m the queen of England. Renounce your Miraculous now, Hawkmoth. Or I’ll beat you until you detransform and take it from you.” 

Damian looks confused before his face contorts to an expression of resignation. He recognizes a cold fury in her eyes that is distinct to people who won’t give up until they get their way, and there’s really no other way around this right now. He should have brought his comm with him, but he wasn’t expecting to meet Ladybug tonight; he just wanted to assess the situation as Robin, to get out from his apartment for a second. Rookie mistake. 

True to her word, Ladybug beats Damian unconscious and also until he’s black and blue. She’ll be lying if she didn’t say she took out some of her fury from the past years on him.

But here’s the thing; Damian doesn’t detransform. He stays in his god-awful costume that has the same disgusting shade of mustard yellow as that one top Damian owns. That’s not what’s supposed to happen. When Miraculous users faint, they detransform because it takes a sort of mental awareness to handle the powers bestowed upon them. Is it different because Damian is an akuma? Is there some sort of Miraculous bylaw that if a Miraculous user gets akumatized, they get to stay in their alternate form? Oh wait, that’s right, he’s an akuma, not Hawkmoth right now.

Ladybug stumbles forward, breaking all of the weapons that are on his belt, taking off his mask and breaking that as well. No akuma comes out. She tries his gloves, then his boots. She pats him down, seeing if there’s anything she missed. She rips his suit, too. Nothing. There’s no brooch in his personal effects either.

What is she supposed to do now? 

Seeing no alternative, Ladybug picks Damian up and yoyos back to Tom and Sabine’s Boulangerie to safely detransform and figure out what the fuck is going on.

He’s not Hawkmoth, is the conclusion Marinette comes to after a side by side comparison of pictures of the vigilante and Damian. The horrifying conclusion: the person lying on the floor of her bedroom is actually Robin, the vigilante from Gotham. 

Marinette knows it’s better to err on the side of caution, but she still buries her head in her hands in embarrassment. How can she have gotten him so wrong? She really needs to get better at reading people, because deciding that random civilians are Hawkmoth clearly has not paid off. 

She also cannot believe that the Justice League has decided to step in now, and with a sidekick from America, of all things--Marinette is pretty sure that she sent the videos to the European branch. It must have been three years since her first notification to them. She contacted them immediately after Stoneheart, and again, after Syren when she was distraught at the death that surrounded her. With no response, there was nothing she could do. She has to start relying on herself and her own skills. 

Ladybug only contacted them once more, after Heroes’ Day. At that point, Ladybug had been thinking for a while that someone who was naturally superpowered or someone with a high grade of intelligence-- like the heroes affiliated with the Justice League-- would do more harm than good if they were allowed in the city. After the devastation of her teammates being akumatized, and the nearly week long battle that ensued, she was certain that she could barely fight her teammates, let alone trained professionals. So with shaky hands and red rimmed eyes, she said to please disregard her earlier messages; the situation in Paris wasn’t that bad, and Ladybug could handle it. 

Damian groans. Marinette jumps; he is waking up far earlier than she anticipated. She wants to transform back into Ladybug. Being in her spots gives her a pseudo sense of security. First, though, she has to restrain him. Even though he isn’t Hawkmoth, she’s not sure whether he’s a threat or not. She makes quick work of it, using the thickest zip ties that she has on hand and restraining his arms and legs.

She doesn’t get the chance to transform back into Ladybug, but that’s just as well, because at the end of the day, Marinette is the foundation of anything that makes Ladybug a hero to the public. Damian opens his eyes almost immediately after she has finished restraining him, taking in his surroundings and the person in front of him.

“Marinette? Where’s Ladybug?” No questions of how he got there; Ladybug can clearly carry her own weight and more. No questions as to why there are zip ties cutting into his wrists and ankles; he has seen too many of Marinette’s victims on the streets.

“What do you mean, where’s Ladybug?” Marinette is right in front of him. She might not have the suit on, but at the end of the day, she does have the Ladybug Miraculous, which means she’s Ladybug through and through, and Damian must know that. Otherwise, there’s no real reason for Robin to be spending so much time with Marinette. The fact that she feels more real and true to herself as Marinette than as Ladybug probably means nothing to him.

“She knocked me out on a rooftop. Didn’t know that you two knew each other personally. I’m not Hawkmoth, by the way.” He twitches, then realizes that he’s been tied up. “Why’d she leave me with you?”

So he doesn’t know that she’s also Ladybug? This whole thing keeps getting more confusing. Still, the less people that know about her alter ego, the better. Marinette will keep him in the dark. She attributes his blatant misunderstanding to the identity concealment magic of the Miraculous. It’s powerful stuff. If it didn’t exist, she’s sure she would have found concrete evidence as to who Hawkmoth is by now. 

“She asked me to assess whether you were a threat or not. Whether or not she casts the Miraculous Cure is contingent on my response.”

“Ladybug wants you to assess whether I’m a threat or not? Why’d she leave a possible super villain with a civilian?”

“I help Ladybug out with many things.” Her voice turns to clinical detachment. She uses this method to dissociate as Ladybug when things get overwhelming. Assess the situation. Get in, deakumatize, get out. Marinette needs to distance herself. It’s bad enough that the situation is this convoluted, but she doesn’t need Damian to doubt Ladybug’s capabilities as well. “Ladybug knows that you’re not Hawkmoth now, and she knows that I can handle myself with any run of the mill bad guy, even if they are a supposed vigilante.”

“Tell me, Robin,” Marinette spits the name like a curse, “Why should I tell Ladybug that you’re not a threat? That you are who you say you are?”

In all honesty, all Marinette wants to do is knock Damian out again so she can collect her thoughts. She’s not sure how she should address his presence as Robin in Paris and is still reeling from the whiplash of thinking he was Hawkmoth only for him to turn into a foreign vigilante. Next thing she knows, he’ll tell her that his name isn’t even Damian Grayson. Well, now that she thinks about it, he’s definitely not. After this encounter finishes, she’ll look up Damian and Gotham and see what she gets.

He looks flustered, like he never expected anybody to question his identity or presence. It’s laughable, really. Marinette doubts that the Justice League actually sent him; he’s probably here to explore on his own. That means he’ll only be a pain in the ass to deal with. Maybe she needs to get into contact with the Justice League again, if only just so she can deport Robin with more ease. 

“I can call Batman,” he says.

Marinette doesn’t think this is a very good solution. There’s no way for her to prove that the person on the other side actually is Batman and not some actor. But after racking her brain, she can’t come up with a much better solution. It’s not like Robin has any superpowers that she can request to see, and she doesn’t have a direct line to anybody from the Justice League.

“Fine. Call Batman.”

“It’s in the pocket near on my right side.” Marinette doesn’t bother going closer to him. She destroyed everything on him earlier, in case it was the akuma’s vessel. Ladybug thought she came across a phone, but now she’s glad she smashed it and left it on that random rooftop. He probably has some sort of tracker on his phone. In any case, Marinette thinks it’s weird for a vigilante to have a phone on them while on the rooftops. Shouldn’t he have an earpiece or something? 

“Your phone was destroyed by Ladybug. Tell me the number to call. I’ll put it on speaker.” Marinette isn’t sure if the number he’ll have her call will be some sort of secure connection or direct line that is only accessible through Damian’s phone, but she doesn’t particularly care because the Miraculous Communicators are exactly that. Miraculous. Master Fu assured her that all communications were private and impossible to crack unless they also had a Miraculous. Which is why she’s using the Miraculous Communicator to call Batman.

Damian winces, then speaks into the offered phone. 

“Batman, it’s Robin. I need to verify my identity in order to proceed.”

“Are you with Ladybug?”

So he is on a mission, then, and not just playing hooky. If Batman is involved, Marinette has no doubt the rest of the Justice League will follow soon. This will be a dreadfully unpleasant call.

“I’m making it a video call,” Marinette says. “And no, he’s not with Ladybug. I’m Ladybug’s point of contact, and she doesn’t take kindly to people encroaching on her territory without permission.”

“Robin, what happened?” Batman isn’t accepting her video request.

Marinette cuts off whatever Damian is about to say. “Damian was suspicious; I reported his activities to Ladybug and she believed that he could be Hawkmoth. Then, she caught him on the roofs and took him back to my place after verifying that he wasn’t Hawkmoth. Video call, Batman. I’d like to see that you are who you say you are, before I send Robin back to the states.”

“She knows your civilian identity? Two people know that you’re Robin?”

“Turn your video on. If you can’t prove that you are who Damian says you are, Ladybug and I will do everything in our powers to deport him and make sure that the Justice League is not allowed in Paris again. Ladybug said that she doesn’t need any unknowns in her city, and I’ve been hoping Robin came here of his own volition. It sounds like that isn’t the case.”

Marinette thinks that Batman curses in English, but she’s not sure. Fluent though Marinette may be, she is not well versed in curses, colloquialisms, or American memes. The camera turns on. It’s Batman, or at the very least, an actor wearing a very good knock off costume.

It’s annoying that Marinette can’t see his eyes. There’s some white film where his eyes should be, and the fact that his cowl covers more than half of his face isn’t doing her any favors in letting her read his facial expression. She moves herself so that Batman can see both her and Robin.

“Why is Robin restrained?”

“Like I said: he was suspicious. I’m not taking any chances.”

A moment of silence.

“How do you want me to prove my identity?” 

That’s good. He’s not asking who she is, though she’s sure that there are cameras pointing at the screen on Batman’s end, running facial analysis and background checks on her. The Miraculous magic will ensure that any connections between her and Ladybug will not come to light. Other than her identity as Ladybug, Marinette has nothing to hide.

“If you’re Batman, then you should have access to the League’s calls, European and otherwise. Play me the last video that Ladybug sent you. I know what she said.” She spares a glance at Damian. His jaw is tight, but when he looks at her, she finds what looks like regret. It’s not entirely Damian’s fault. A mission is a responsibility, and Marinette understands that in order to be a hero or vigilante, one must be willing to do anything to accomplish the mission. Really, she’s only Ladybug because she feels that heavy weight of the words duty and responsibility on her shoulders. Fu’s fault.

“Behave. If you try something, I’ll knock you out.” Marinette sets the communicator on her desk and eyes him. The zipties are so tight around his arms and legs that he is bleeding. Marinette feels a flash of sympathy, then pushes it away. It was his fault for-- why was he at fault, again? 

“I have the video.” Batman sounds even peakier than when they started the call. He plays the video.

“Justice League. This is Ladybug. I rescind my requests for help; I can take care of Paris with my own team. Any help from you at this point would be a detriment and could potentially harm the citizens of Paris. Hawkmoth manipulates strong emotions, and I don’t need to handle a metahuman or tactical genius to gain more power to wreak havoc on my city. I will not contact you with any further requests for assistance.”

It’s an awful video. Marinette had to wait a day after the Heroes’ week fiasco just so her eyes wouldn’t be red. At least her voice doesn’t waver in it. There’s a conviction in the whole video that was unique to that moment. 

Marinette looks at Batman, then at Robin. 

“Clearly the Justice League refused to listen. Ladybug doesn’t want or need your help at this point in time. Why are you here?”

“The Justice League is at fault for not paying attention to Ladybug’s other videos. But Mayor Bourgeois and President Macron can only cover such alarming incidents for so long. Ladybug and her… team clearly need help in order to find and take down Hawkmoth, so once the American branch of the Justice League found out half a year ago, we started to investigate.” Batman speaks in lieu of Damian. Marinette briefly wonders if Damian knows who Batman is under the mask. She bets he does. They’re probably close, what with how worried Batman sounds. 

“What makes you think that the Justice League is any better equipped to handle this situation? Ladybug and her team have been fighting for the past three years and resolved every akuma with no help from you. She needed your help in earlier years. Now she doesn’t.”

“Exactly; it’s been three years and she still hasn’t caught Hawkmoth.”

“You say that like the Justice League doesn’t have a team with more wealth and manpower than Ladybug does that’s been looking into Hawkmoth and the Miraculous for the past half year and clearly has not found any reasonable leads. Ladybug has only been actively looking for Hawkmoth for the past two years, not three. The police handled the first year, not that you’ve done any homework on the situation. Thought that a field agent would help your chances?” 

There is fire in Marinette’s stomach. Batman sounds so dismissive of all of the work that she’s been doing. It’s been hard on her; she doesn’t have the support that she needs and doesn’t have the experience or expertise to hunt down Hawkmoth on her own. She trained briefly under Master Fu to learn spells and ways to expand her powers as Ladybug, but that was an equivalent exchange: she no longer trusts that other holders won’t be akumatized. Her growing cynicism and physical training from Maman came at the expense of Chat Noir; after the whole Lila incident in her first year as Ladybug, she found out that Chat Noir and Adrien were one and the same. And Gabriel Agreste is not afraid to use his son until Adrien is stretched far too thin, which forced Marinette to nearly bench her partner.

“Three years,” Batman says again.

“If the Justice League can’t figure it out nearly unlimited resources and funding in half a year-- both ordinary and super human-- then clearly it isn’t a question of time. It’s a question of capability. Get off your high horse, Batman. You haven’t given me any reasons why Ladybug and I shouldn’t deport Robin here, and you’re definitely not making a good case as to why she shouldn’t go to Mayor Bourgeois and France’s president to ensure that the Justice League and its affiliates and ban hero travel into Paris. Bourgeois already doesn’t want information on it’s supervillain situation to get out.” 

“Marinette,” Damian pleads.

As Robin and as Damian, he doesn’t pose a threat. He hasn’t been helpful, but he certainly hasn’t messed with the status quo for the month that he’s been here. Still, he is a liability. If he stays in Paris, he is the gateway for the other members of the Justice League to fly in and try to commandeer the fragile balance that she has found. She can’t afford for something like that to happen.  

“You’re not any better, Robin. Why did you even hang around me? Thought I was a threat?” Her eyes narrow in realization. It makes sense why he decided to hang out with her, despite his initial cold front. He was playing a role.“You thought I was Hawkmoth.”

His silence is an agreement.

“We just want to help,” Damian says, and against her better judgement, Marinette believes him. 

Her shoulders round, and Marinette sighs. She can’t truly begrudge Damian for that train of thought, not when she believed the same about him. She’s been a little harsh on them so far, in part due to old resentment that they never responded to her in that first, awful year when she needed the help. 

There’s a dull tiredness that comes with knowing someone who she considered one of her closest friends suspected her of being a supervillain, though she did believe the same of him, so maybe they’re even. It still hurts, though. It hurts like when Alya decided that Marinette was mean-hearted enough to stop the members of their class from reaching their full potential. It hurts like when Marinette finally realized that she couldn’t repair their friendship, not to what it used to be. It hurts like when she looked around the classroom and realized that she couldn’t talk to anyone there. It hurts like when Marinette decided that she couldn’t risk helping her friends the way she wanted to. 

“What kind of help can you offer us? We don’t need any more of you to come out here.” Resources are nice. More money to fund therapy programs around town won’t hurt. Master Fu doesn’t help on that part. Really, he doesn’t help at all. Even though she has Chat Noir and had a team, she often feels like it’s herself against the world. Some days, she reaches up to her earrings and feels an aching emptiness, like there’s something more to the Miraculous that’s been sealed away.

“We can give you resources. Money, connections, experience. Robin is good with technology. He can help you track down where Hawkmoth is.”

Marinette’s laugh is bitter. ���Sure, he can try, but the butterflies Hawkmoth sends out aren’t visible by the normal human eye or electronically until they’ve found their mark. Once they’re purified, they’re just normal butterflies, and they go off in random directions.”

“Normal human eye? It sounds like there are exceptions.” Damian readjusts himself. He has fidgeted his way into an uncomfortable looking seiza position, where his ankles are bleeding. 

“A true holder can see the butterflies at all times.”

Marinette also decides to throw them a bone so there’s no questions as to why a mere civilian is working with Ladybug. “That’s why Ladybug recruited me. I was Multimouse.”

Multimouse was in the file that Damian sent his father, but he asks, just to make sure. “The one that can split itself?”

“That’s correct. I guess now is as good a time as any for the two of you to get your questions answered.”

“Why are you the point of civilian contact instead of any of the other more frequently used heroes? Didn’t you appear only once?” Damian avoids looking Marinette in the eyes, and that makes her feel slightly better. He’s ashamed of his actions. Good. 

“Ladybug said that the other hero’s civilian forms were either compromised or not in a good position.”

“Ladybug knows who all the holders are.” Batman speculates. He looks less tense now that Damian is no longer tied up, but his voice remains gravelly and distrubed. Maybe that’s what he sounds like all the time.  “Who else knows? Do you?” 

“Only Ladybug knows.” Marinette lives in half truths. She’s not sure that they’re much better than lies, but they’re all she has. Secrecy is the only thing Master Fu has sincerely taught her.

“Why have all the other heroes disappeared?” 

“Ladybug said that it was too dangerous for someone who could be akumatized to hold a Miraculous. Rena Rage, Shell Shock, Queen Wasp-- they were all frighteningly powerful akumas. It’s also why Chat Noir has been showing up less and less; his home life is not the best, and she’s trying her best to ensure that he doesn’t get akumatized.”

“She’s not worried for herself or,” Damian’s eyes flick to Marinette, away from Batman. “For you?” 

“She knows that both of us are good at dealing with stress. We have our own methods of coping.” She looks at Damian, her mouth tightening into a frown. “If you want to stay in Paris, I’ll cut you a deal. We can work together for two weeks, and if we don’t get any results, you have to leave and the Justice League must promise that they won’t interfere again.”

“Two weeks isn’t enough time,” Damian objects.

“If you don’t think it’s enough time, just leave now. I’ll say now that I’m only willing to work with you during the night. That’s the time I work on Miraculous related stuff now, anyways. And stay out of the akuma battles.” She doesn’t actually think that working together will help anyways, and she wants Damian gone sooner rather than later. He’s been making her feel too much and emotions that are far more explosive and easy to take advantage of than Marinette has in a long time. She doesn’t want to be targeted by an akuma because of her inner conflict. 

“Two weeks, then,” Batman agrees. “Robin can contact me if you need any extra resources.”

Marinette hangs up and assesses Damian. He looks almost pitiful, with bruising around his eyes, tousled hair, a ripped suit, and cuts where his skin is exposed. She opens her trap door in a clear gesture for him to depart. Downstairs is dark; her Maman and Papa have long since gone to sleep, and it’s only a few more hours until they wake up to start baking. “We start tomorrow. If you need Ladybug for anything, tell me.”

He’s half way down the ladder when he looks back up at Marinette, into her eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” he says.

Marinette can’t breath. She feels like vomiting. His eyes are so green in comparison to the purple bruising on his face. She did that to him. She made him look that way. All she’s ever wanted to do as Ladybug is protect the people she cared for. But Damian-- Marinette doesn’t know. She doesn't know whether what Damian has done can actually be described as bad. He was just trying to do what Batman told him to do. Keeping an eye on a threat. Marinette wonders how long he thought she was Hawkmoth. She wonders if he ever thought they were friends. 

“I’m sorry too,” Marinette says, and shuts the trap door.

They’re both sorry for very different things.

[slasherholic]

synopsis: Michael’s stalking is interrupted when someone tries to hit on him. You have to break the news to him: it’s because he’s stupid sexy.

Oblivious | Michael Myers x Reader

He stands on the curb at the edge of the park and watches her like a hawk from the shade of a gnarled oak. The girl sits on a swing and her pen moves back and forth across her page and the breeze tousles her hair into loose strands and he can see her shivering.

His breaths come slowly. He barely moves. The urge to pounce seethes in every fiber of his muscles and his body is wound with all the tension of a loaded pistol. 

Soon. Her back is turned towards him; she wouldn’t see him coming. Soon. 

But not yet.

A man with a dog walks past on the sidewalk. A woman in tight clothing runs down the street. Two boys throw a ball on the grass. The others do not see him. Some glance in his direction—and they notice him, but they do not see him. They cannot see him. Because he does not wear the mask. 

If he strikes, they will see. They will see on his bare face the mask and in his empty fists the knife and they will know him as he truly is. 

He will wait.

He had followed her from the house on foot. He had lurked just out of view as she stood in her room and gathered up her books and her bag and all the while her head was like a swivel. She was looking for him. Expecting him. An eagerness swelled in his chest and his fingers twitched and sought the familiar weight of deadly steel. She had been well-within striking distance. One lunge and he could have had her by the throat. His body pulsed with excitement. But his mind was clear. Focused. 

It was not time yet. The girl had not seen him then—but she felt him. 

He had filled his lungs with strong breaths and resigned himself to patience. He would watch her. Follow. Wait. And when she no longer saw him lurking in every shadow, when she no longer steeled for his approach at every creak of the house around her, when she no longer felt his hands on her body in every gust of wind, when she thought he could not reach her, when he was the furthest thing from her mind, when she was safe—

Then. Then he would strike.

He watched the girl as she zipped up her bag and flew down the stairs and turned the doorknob and slipped out the door. He followed her down the street. He kept his distance and matched her pace. The girl walked for a block and then thought herself safe from him. She stared down at the sidewalk beneath her feet as she went and did not look around. 

She turned off into a park. He watched her sit down and take out her books and begin to write.

She has not moved since. And neither has he.

The park is empty when the girl stands up from the swing. She gathers her books into her arms. She cuts back across the grass. He watches. The running woman in tight clothes passes him on the street again. Closer this time. But he does not turn his head to study her; his focus on his prey is steadfast.

The prey starts down the sidewalk again and now she is coming closer to him. Closer to the shade of the oak. Closer. She is looking at the ground. Closer. He will strike fast. He will clamp his hand down over her mouth. And trap her against the tree. And watch her eyes grow wide. And let her squirm. And let her struggle. And let her—

“Hey.”

...An Interruption. 

His head turns slowly. 

It is the woman in tight clothes. She leans against a park bench. He stares at her. She looks at him. She smiles. 

“I know it’s super out of the blue, but do you live around here?”

He breathes. She is not talking to him. He waits for her to look away. 

...But she does not look away. She smiles more. Laughs.

“Sorry if I’m being too forward.”

She steps away from the bench. He feels her eyes sweeping his body. She watches him. She watches him like he watches the girl.

“I swear I’ve seen you somewhere before.”

...She is not talking to another. Her words are meant for him. 

She sees the Shape. She knows.

~

“...On the cover of a magazine, maybe?”

Comes the flirtatious voice from off to your left, followed by some nervous giggling. It pulls you from your thoughts and you glance up from the sidewalk. A jogger in spandex tights stands in the shade and coils the end of her ponytail around her finger.

Your mouth falls agape and you nearly drop your bag. Because then, you notice who she’s talking to.

A tall figure lurks in the shade of a thick tree trunk. It’s Michael. He stands perfectly still and melds with the shadows like a panther. The winding sidewalk would have taken you right past him; an ambush. 

Your heart races. Twenty more seconds and he’d have had you.

But now, his cover is blown—and if you’re overhearing this tragically one-sided conversation correctly he’s about to be asked out.

Although his hands are not around the woman’s throat just yet you can see the quiet bloodlust brewing in Michael’s eyes. The woman is offering herself up to him on a silver platter.

Please don’t do something stupid. You beg him, as if he can read your thoughts. Please don’t do something stupid.

You gather the pieces of your shattered composure and abandon the sidewalk, beelining across the grass. Michael’s eyes flit to you as you approach. He studies you callously. Then turns his head and stares again at the woman in front of him. You are no longer his priority.

“Anyway, I just thought I’d try my luck. Would you wanna grab a coffee with me some—?”

“Excuse me,” You interrupt. The jogger’s voice trails off. She glances over her shoulder at you. Her lips press finely together and she glares like you just called her some foul name.

Without thought, you do something that you know could very well get you into deep shit later. You do it anyway, because you need to get Michael away from here. Away from these witnesses. Out of this public place.

You brush intimately up against Michael’s side and intertwine your fingers through his. You grip his calloused hand with the eagerness of a star-crossed lover. And you try your damndest to look normal for the both of you, because you know that Michael won’t.

“He’s taken.”

Michael doesn’t even look at you as you touch him. His fingers twitch impatiently. He starts to squeeze your hand. He squeezes until his knuckles turn white. It takes all your willpower to keep the grimace off your face—Michael is telling you where he’d rather be putting his fingers right now. 

The woman pouts at you.

“Alright. Have a good one, then.” She says, in a too-sweet tone, before turning on her heel and jogging away down the sidewalk. Michael’s stare lingers after her.

“Please,” You whisper up at him. “Let’s just go.”

You take a step back and try to pull him away from the tree. Michael doesn’t budge. He anchors the two of you firmly in place and studies the retreating jogger, and just like that you know the woman’s fate is sealed. You try not to think about it. You just need to get him home.

“Michael.”

He ignores you. Doesn’t move a muscle. Hardly even breathes.

“She doesn’t know. I promise.”

You hear him exhale, long and steady. Still he ignores you. You doubt he’s even listening. You abandon tact and jump straight to the point.

“Look. Listen. She wasn’t threatening you. She was just flirting. Do you even know what that means?”

A beat passes. Michael looks down at you and his stare is cold. It always is. But it is not totally impassive; a glimmer of inquisitiveness flashes in his eyes. Something you said has caught his attention.

“It...well, it means you’re hot.”

Now, Michael’s stare is blank. No hint of understanding flickers on his face. A poor choice of words on your part—he’s not following. 

You force out an exhale and try to reiterate. This is going to be hard. 

“I mean, you’re attractive. Like, your face. And your body. Really attractive. In a way that makes people want to have sex with you. And… ask you out for coffee.”

Michael blinks. You can almost see the gears turning in his head. You aren’t sure if you’ve gotten through to him; either way, you’re grateful that his curiosity has kept him from committing a murder in broad daylight.

You shoulder your bag and unzip it with the hand that isn’t currently being crushed in Michael’s grip. He watches you closely as you take out your hand mirror and hold it up for him to see.

“Just... look. I know you don’t care. But please. Look at yourself and try to understand what I’m telling you.”

Michael’s harsh gaze lingers on your face as you speak. Then, his eyes flitting down to the mirror, he turns his scrutinizing glare on his own reflection. 

He doesn’t blink as he studies himself. You wonder what he sees. 

You wonder if he notices the way his unbrushed hair falls in gentle waves around his face. You wonder if he notices the symmetry in his features, in the graceful curve of his jaw, in the slight pout of his rosy lips. Most of all, you wonder what Michael sees in his own eyes. You wonder if he recognizes his piercing gaze for what it is—the leer of a ruthless predator. Captivating. Mesmerizing. Hard to look at; harder still to look away from.

Or if he just sees eyes. Just a face. As unremarkable to him as all the rest.

~

He looks at the mirror. The smudge on the glass is more interesting to him than the reflection. But still he looks. The face in the mirror is his own. It is different now than it had been; the hair is dark. The eye that no longer sees is scarred and white. 

His curiosity in these things is momentary. His interest fades as abruptly as it was sparked. He does not understand the girl’s meaning. And he no longer cares.

~

Michael studies himself for hardly five seconds. When he looks away from the mirror his grip eases off your hand. The jogger is now a blurry figure in the distance, and as Michael starts down the winding sidewalk after her you know that there is nothing on heaven or earth you can do to make him see the meaning behind your words.

Just as a tiger could never comprehend that is renowned for its beauty,

Michael will never understand that he is, in fact, stupidly gorgeous.

[artificialqueens]

Whiskey Girls, Chapter 1 (Branjie) - Mac

AN: Hi hi! So this is a little thing I’ve been working on for a bit! Thanks to Meggie for betaing and being a gem of a human. Hope you enjoy!

Summary: Brooke plays lead guitar in an all-female rock band. Vanessa owns the local bar in the tiny town of Walls, Mississippi. It’s the late 60s and it’s hotter than hell.

The oppressive heat and small town backdrop act as the perfect set for their chance encounter.

The summer of ‘68 brought record high temperatures to the Mississippi Delta, Desoto County ranking among the top ten hottest places in the US that year. Temperatures reached upwards of 110 degrees for two straight weeks.

But if you asked any local, they would tell you the same: it’s not the heat that gets you, it’s the humidity.

…

Rolling up into the little town of Walls, Brooke smiled instinctively, the small town ambiance reminding her of her own upbringing in a little community on the outskirts of Ontario. Though to be fair, Walls had that southern American flair that not many other places could boast. In that, it was ridiculously hot and housed a maximum population of 3,000.

This was made evident by the lack of buildings, or maybe Brooke had just gotten used to the bustling city streets of Los Angeles. Even after only a few month’s residence in the city, she had already become accustomed to the fast-paced nature of life there.

It was oddly refreshing when their tour bus pulled up to the only motel in town, the age stains on the outside of the establishment calming in their simplicity. The garish aqua of the doors clashed with the faded rust-red window trimmings, making the whole layout horrendously outdated.

But Victoria Motel stood proudly in its place, not looking a day over ancient.

Brooke liked it that way.

She and her fellow bandmates piled out of the bus, bags thrown over their shoulders, as they headed toward the small office just off the collection of rooms.

Nina went in and got their room keys, as was customary after they sent Yvie in a few stops ago and got the cops called on them. They were even deeper in the south now and attracted enough attention as an all-female rock band as it was, they didn’t need any more trouble.

As the group stumbled down the long corridor, dragging their feet in their exhaustion, Brooke chanced a look around, noting vending and ice machines just past the farthest room. She felt sweat on the back of her neck begin to slide down her spine, slipping down each vertebra with every step she took. As more sweat began to prick at her hairline, Brooke was faced with a hard truth, the heat was inescapable.

They had barely unlocked the door to room 138 when Yvie launched herself onto the only bed in the rundown room.

“Dibs,” she mumbled against the off-white comforter.

Nina just rolled her eyes and looked to Brooke who shrugged. They both turned in time to see Scarlet get a running start from the door and launch herself on top of Yvie, the younger of the two shrieked at the sudden weight on top of her.

Nina and Brooke just backed away slowly, content to let the pair fight it out.

They walked a few steps over to the adjacent room, pushing open the door with a bit of extra force as it stuck to the frame initially.

They surveyed their home for the next few weeks.

The walls were a drab sort of yellow that was patchy in some places, exposing the much rougher green pigment beneath it. The comforter on the bed looked worn in the middle.

But Brooke set her things down anyway, her precious guitar in the far corner of the room next to the bathroom. Nina smiled when she wasn’t looking.

The older woman stretched out on the uncomfortable-looking bed as Brooke turned around.

“You hungry?”

Nina shook her head.

“You about to pass out?”

Nina nodded, letting her eyes drift shut.

Brooke smiled softly to herself before turning to look at the still-open door to their room. “Well, I’m gonna go look around the town a bit.”

Nina pried one knowing eye open. “I knew you would.”

Brooke wiped at the back of her neck sheepishly.

“Go on.” Nina nodded toward the door.

Brooke gave her oldest friend an appreciative smile before shutting the door behind her quietly.

Brooke breathed in the hot Mississippi air, and a part of her felt like it never left her lungs. She walked down a few dirt roads before coming upon a paved street that led to what she presumed to be the heart of the town.

There was a collection of storefronts: a hair shop, a grocery store, and a municipal building all shared one edifice. Across the street was a drugstore and hardware shop. Each local business named after presumable residents of Walls.

Brooke continued walking down the sidewalk, noting the smattering of flyers on a bookstore front.

She came to the end of the street to find a bustling diner and the town’s local bar, Vanjie’s.

It was a bit run down, looked a bit like a barn, felt every bit what Brooke had expected from the small town.

The cheery music and boisterous conversations that could be heard just outside the establishment filled Brooke with surprising calm. The windows were wide open. They had to be with the Mississippi heat being what it was. But they also allowed the combination of music and conversation to flow freely out to her, drawing Brooke closer.

The well-worn wooden steps creaked as Brooke ascended them. The crisp summer night air brushed against her cheeks, and she smiled instinctively as warm light spilled out of the building and across her form.

She pushed open the door, noting the chime of the bell above her head.

The bar was crowded, but not overly so. Locals were gathered in groups around tables or waiting in line for pool. Brooke eyed an unused dartboard in the far corner next to the bar.

But what really caught Brooke’s attention was the pretty girl tending said bar.

She had her head thrown back in a raucous laugh that beat and echoed against the dark wood walls. Brooke found herself helplessly pulled closer to the gorgeous woman, whose chocolate brown eyes and wavy dark hair framed her face almost angelically.

Brooke pulled up a stool, the rough wood scratching against the floor.

The woman didn’t notice her at first, enthralled by an older man’s outrageous facial expressions coupled with his wide sweeping gestures.

Brooke watched for a while, as the pretty brunette gave laugh after laugh to the poor soul.

She only noticed Brooke’s presence when the man she had been paying so much attention to nodded in her direction. The bartender thanked him with a gentle hand that lingered a bit too long, before making her way over to Brooke’s side of the bar, sidling up and leaning across the counter.

“Haven’t seen you ‘round before,” the woman drawled, her accent thick, but not strong enough to overpower her words.

Brooke looked up from where she had been fiddling with the corner of a napkin, and god the bartender was even more beautiful up close.

“No, you wouldn’t have,” she mused.

“Just passin’ through?”

Brooke smiled to herself. “My band is on tour. We’re making a stop here for a few weeks.”

“Oh, you in a band?” The woman raised an eyebrow. “That supposed to impress me?” she teased.

Brooke chuckled and looked down to fiddle with the napkin again. “No, but I play guitar.”

“And why’s that impressive?”

Brooke glanced back up with a devilish smirk. “It means I know how to use my fingers.”

Usually, when Brooke came on strong to women they did one of two things, they either melted on the spot or rejected her without another word.

But this woman, this gorgeously fascinating woman, just whistled high and shook her head knowingly. “You sound like trouble.”

“You seem the type to like trouble,” Brooke shot back.

The pretty bartender hummed noncommittally, but the corner of her mouth quirked up, which Brooke counted as a win.

She smiled and eased back in her seat, mind suddenly swimming with possibilities.

It wasn’t often that she came across other people like her. The world was changing, albeit at a glacial pace, but it was changing. Still, setting foot on southern soil always made unease pool in Brooke’s stomach. The constant worry, and even fear at times was crippling.

But for some reason this girl seemed to ease that nagging. She made Brooke feel brave.

“What can I get you to drink, Miss Famous Guitar Player?”

“An old fashioned.”

The woman smiled to herself before nodding and turning away.

Brooke watched her walk, openly admiring the view.

She knew she was being ballsy. More reckless than she probably should be seeing as they were in rural Mississippi. But she couldn’t seem to help herself, the charm practically rolling off her tongue of its own free will.

And who was she to deny herself?

When the pretty girl flirted back.

Brooke let her eyes stay fixed on the bartender as she made her way over to the unoccupied dartboard in the corner, beginning to fire shot after shot against the board.

The woman came over to place Brooke’s drink down on the table behind her, and much to Brooke’s surprise, she sat down at said table and propped her feet up on the stool across from her, eyes never leaving the dartboard.

Brooke soon learned her name was Vanessa and she owned the place. Brooke thought she was awfully young to be a business owner, but Vanessa didn’t elaborate. She got up every now and then to top off drinks and keep everything running smoothly, but she always came back to watch Brooke throw dart after dart against the board.

She didn’t say much, only made discontented noises under her breath when Brooke messed up a throw.

After one particularly lousy shot, Vanessa stood up with a huff, her irritation reaching a boiling point. The stool scraping against the floor set Brooke’s nerves alight, but she stood her ground, watching from over her shoulder as Vanessa took three confident steps forward so she was practically flush against Brooke’s back. The younger woman’s hands moved almost in slow motion up toward Brooke’s shoulders.

Her eyes flicked upward in that suspended moment in time, question clear in the dark brown orbs.

‘Is this okay?’

Brooke nodded dumbly, surprising herself with how much she suddenly craved skin to skin contact.

Vanessa smiled, and time moved normally once again as her shorter arm ran the length of Brooke’s outstretched hand, wrapping loosely around Brooke’s that held the dart.

“You gotta line yo’ hand up with the center.” Her breath tickled the base of Brooke’s neck, sending pleasant shivers down to her toes.

Brooke did her best to focus, her mind feeling hazy as Vanessa’s warm exhales beat against her already overheated skin.

“Keep lookin’ at the center,” she instructed. “Don’t look away.”

Brooke focused, lining up her shot with Vanessa’s steady hand as a guide. She breathed in and out slowly, steadying her suddenly racing heartbeat.

Vanessa led her hand slightly back toward their faces.

“One. Two. Three.”

Brooke turned her head just the slightest bit at the last second and the dart went flying, landing with a resounding thud just off center of the bullseye.

“You looked away!” The bartender exclaimed, eyes wide, one hand planted firmly on a hip.

“I couldn’t help it!” Brooke threw her hands up dramatically. “You’re too pretty. It’s distracting.”

Vanessa chuckled and shook her head disbelievingly, “I dunno where you come from, but down here you ain’t talk to another girl like that.”

“Well, where I come from you don’t blush like that unless you’re interested.”

Vanessa bit the inside of her cheek to hide a smile.

Brooke made no attempt to hide hers.

The two women stared at each other for a beat, letting the past few minutes wash over them, getting lost in it.

“I gotta get back to work,” Vanessa finally said, cutting into silence.

Brooke nodded, making no attempt to stop her.

Vanessa lingered a moment, seemingly torn about what to say. She shook her head and made to get back to the bar, but stopped a second later.

She turned back to Brooke. “You’ll come back tomorrow, yeah?”

“Was that a question or a request?”

Vanessa rolled her eyes. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Brooke chuckled and nodded her head. Yes. She would come back tomorrow

…

As Vanessa locked up the bar for the night, she found her mind kept drifting back to the beautiful blonde stranger. Her long legs and bright blue eyes and her incessant flirting that Vanessa really should have put a stop to sooner.

She still wasn’t entirely sure why she didn’t. If anyone else had been half as brazen as the woman, Vanessa would have kicked them to the curb without a second thought.

But for some reason, the playful smile at Vanessa’s lips wouldn’t abate.

No matter how much she wanted it to.

[foolishlovebugbaby]

skz’s reaction to their s/o being a classical musician

requested by @wxnterlee​!! i hope you like it, sorry it took so long hkjdhfkhsg <33

bang chan

The first time he’s introduced to you is at a busking event at a christmas market

It’s the holiday season, so skz being skz they wanted to really feel that christmas spirit

But as they’re strolling, they reach this live band playing christmas tunes

And usually those mellow, low-key songs would play around this time of year but this band was anything but that

It was lively and every synonym for jolly

And as he scans the band, his eyes finally land on you

You’re playing the saxophone with so much energy and really feeling the music that his eyes are just so drawn to you

He can’t explain it, but he can’t take his eyes off of you

It doesn’t help that you’re extremely attractive either

His eyes never leave you through the entirety of the performance, and you definitely take notice

Mans is as subtle as a gun lmao

You make it a point to smile at him directly after the first set of performances because ure cheeky like that, and you immediately see him flush in the cold

So now he frequents the market and always makes sure to catch at least one performance of yours 

But then one day you approach him and chan internally yells because he’s in a hetero panic 

But then he chills out because you’re so warm and inviting and you both get to know each other slowly

Needless to say, the rest was history

As a boyfriend, chan is your number 1 hype man

And i mean Hype Man

He always makes it a point to watch your performances whenever he can

Esp whenever you have big recitals that get you all nervous, he’s always there no matter what to cheer you on and give you a pep talk and take you out for a celebration dinner afterwards

And he loves the way you light up when you play

The sheer passion in the way you perform and in everything you do in general makes him fall so deeply in love with you each time

He’s also a clown and never fails to try and attempt to play the saxophone whenever you have it with you

He fails miserably, but he’s cute and you love him more than anything else :’)

lee know

Knowing the crackhead he is, the only reason why he was able to meet you was because instead of booking a cinema ticket for frozen 2, he booked a musical titled Frozen II

The show had nothing to do with badass sisters and magical talking stones (it was some winter musical or sumn, minho wasn’t sure), and the moment he realised this, he was all pouty

But then he scanned over the orchestra and thought that for once his dumbass worked with him and not against him

Because there you sat, looking as ethereal as ever, playing the harp

He swore up and down you were a goddess

Like, hera or aphrodite’s reincarnate

The only magic he saw that night was you, and he was more than happy about that

He tried his hardest to meet you, to tell you what an amazing job you did, but alas, he couldn’t reach you because visitors weren’t allowed to go backstage

So he got all sulky and :(( as he exited the theatre

But by a miracle, as he was walking back to his car, he saw a certain someone struggling with bags and equipment of all sorts as they walked out of the back entrance, and minho’s heart skipped a beat when he realised it was you

Of course he rushes to help you bea=cause chivalry 

And he makes it a point to compliment you and make small talk as he helps you to your car

As fate would have it, the two of you become good acquaintances, then close friends, and even closer more-than-friends until you finally had the guts to just ask him to be your boyfriend and you don’t even take a breath before he says yes

Minho as a bf is minho as a bff but on lsd i swear to god

He already goes to majority of your performances, but when that boy is cuffed jesus christ he makes sure he’s in the front row for every damn performance no matter how small

You’re his harp-playing goddess who walked straight out of eden in his eyes, how could he not???

He’s also humorously afraid to go near your harp because he knows the moment he’s within arms length from it, something will go wrong

Being the weirdo he is he always finds a way of personifying your harp and whining about how you spend much more time with it than with him

And you’re like??? And he’s all like :((( 

So you just have to give him a cuddle and boop

Ugh what a cutie

changbin

Dark rapper meets classy cello player???? 

An aesthetic.

Because you both are polar opposites in the music world, the only reason you knew about him is because your mutual friend had dragged you to an underground rap battle (much to your dismay) as a way to “get you out of your shell”

As much as you thought you’d hate it, you really enjoyed yourself

Esp when you laid your eyes on Changbin

Just everything about his aura was so enthralling to you and you so desperately wanted to get to know him and asked your friend to introduce you, but to no avail :((

After that, you didn’t really see him again

But one fateful night, unbeknownst to you, your friend had dragged changbin all the way to your music studio because he was in desperate need of a recording booth as the ones in the company were all occupied 

When he entered, what he did not expect was to witness an absolute daydream right before his eyes

You sat inside the booth playing the cello, recording a snippet of a symphony you so desperately needed practice on, and hadn’t noticed them walked in, too concentrated on the music sheet in front of you

But oh god, to say changbin was impressed was an understatement

Dang he thought he produced good music, but the music that you made???? 

Absolutely magical.

When you ended the piece and looked up, you almost had a heart attack

Literally jumped out of your seat a lil bit because they both were just staring at you

But once you both introduced yourselves, it was like you both were two sides of the same coin

You both grow closer and realise that you really are opposites of each other

But in a good way??? like everything is so complimentary

So you shared your playlist of symphonies and he shared his playlist of lyrical masterpieces and these songs suddenly become the soundtrack to your love story 

Ugh he’s such an amazing boyfriend because he helps you with his recordings and vice versa

You’re both super critical of your own work so the pair of you make it a point to remind each other of how good you’re doing 

And just being with you opened up this whole new world of music for changbin 

He’s so grateful for it that he can’t describe it in words

He even asks you to record small pieces so that he can add them into his music

And you have a habit of turning skz’s and his own music into cello versions

Thank god opposites attract

hyunjin

Mister dancer over here loves going to dance workshops of different types

Hip-hop, contemporary- you name it

So when he signed up for a 2-week modern dance class, he definitely got more than he bargained for

He didn’t know what he was supposed to expect, but goddamnit he did not expect to have his limbs feel like they were falling apart

So after class, when everyone had left, he literally just laid on the floor all sweaty and tired wanting nothing more than to crash n sleep

But then !!

He heard a piano melody echo through the room, a mix of melancholic yet romantic notes floating through the air

And when he lifted his head up to look for the source of the sound, his eyes settled on your figure at the other end of the hall

As it turns out, you were the pianist for this specific studio and for all modern dance productions

You didn’t notice him at all- mostly because the lights were dimmed and mans was too busy dying on the floor to make his presence known

But dear lord did your music make him feel some typa way

He just wanted to dance to it, express himself through it

So once you finished, he just clapped from where he was on the floor without getting up

Think lazy seal on its back

Nevermind the fact that he literally almost made you scream

But you both introduced yourselves properly to one another, and let’s just say that hyunjin started to look forward to his bone-breaking classes a lot more than he would’ve thought

At first it was purely because he thought u were cute and he had a middle school crush on you

But then as the days progressed, he found himself more and more drawn to you and the way you played the piano

Always so concentrated and the expression on your face mimicked the piece you were playing

And agghfhf he loved being able to dance to your melodies

So when his lil 2-week excursion was over, he was all :(((((((((((((x10009283 because he knew he wouldn’t be able to see you as often

So he mustered up all his strength to ask you out on a proper date

Now, when you both become official, dear lord is this man always going to ask you to play something for him

Literally the ABC’s would suffice 

He’s just so smitten with you and your love for the piano that he always wants to see you play because it lights up your entire face

And when you compose pieces just for him to dance to, his heart m e l t s

He also always begs you to teach him, but he’s such a flirt that not much teaching goes on lol

It makes me feel loopy imagining hyunjin dance to the melody his s/o plays like do u feel me ohmygod idk what to do w myself

han

Han’s first encounter with you was purely accidental

Like a literal accident

As in, he was just walking down the sidewalk not really paying attention when he ran into you

You, a clumsy violinist who had just exited your apartment complex in a rush to get to your lesson that you were already late for, suddenly found yourself knocked over and on the sidewalk in a daze

Jisung was h o r r i f i e d

He rushed to your aid, helping your disoriented self stand up but

Your fall was the least of your worries

Because there, strewn across the sidewalk, was your life your love your baby

Your violin

You rushed to it and inspected it for any dents and scratches and phew

Thank god your hard case protected it for the most part, save for minor dents and scratches

So you let out a breath and finally face the culprit of your heart palpitations

And suddenly you’re given a different set of heart palpitations because big, round eyes of an extremely, unfairly handsome man looks at you with concern and guilt and you suddenly forget how you ended up there in the first place

Lots of apologies from han’s side and he offers to buy you a drink 

But you’re in a rush so you tell him nah

But he’s like pls pls and so you’re like but i have to go and he’s like i’ll wait for u and you’re like O-O o-ok,,,

So he sits awkwardly outside your practice studio, but the moment he hears and sees you play through the glass window, he feels the wind knocked out from his chest

So now he just makes it a point to get to know you by asking you out more and more 

Like changbin, when you both become a thing, your relationship revolves so much around your mutual love of music 

And he lovesss getting to help you improve and vice versa

And on your one year anniversary he bought you a replacement violin to make up for the one he scratched up during your first meeting and you’re just like :’)))) i would’ve destroyed my violin a thousand times if it meant getting to meet you :’)))))

felix

Like minho, it’s Felix’s sheer crackheadness that allows fate to cause the two of you to meet

Like one day he decides on a whim that he wants to learn the viola so he books classes on the first learning centre he sees on the internet

But when he got to the class,,,,

As it turns out, the one that he booked was for beginner kids, not beginner adults

Cue tiny heads plus yours snapping to the door and staring at a blushing felix

Not only did he just embarrass himself in general, but the moment he saw how attractive you were he just wanted the world to swallow him whole

But he paid a good amount of money for it so he sucks in his cheeks and decides to stay for the class

He’s so awkward when he comes into the room ksdfjs you find it so cute because even though he’s like more than twice the height of the kids, his face and expression are just as small

You introduce yourself and vice versa, and you begin teaching everyone the basics

Immediately felix has a crush on you

And he wonders whether there’s a big age gap because uhm you’re a teacher and he’s a student

But turns out you do this as a side job and are a performing arts school student with the same age as him and he’s just like :DDD 

So now he always makes sure to come to class on time

Actually, even earlier than on time because he wants to get some alone time with you before the rest of the class cockblocks intervenes

And slowly you both develop a strong bond

Even though he’s a crackhead and it’ll take you 2757264597 years to explain to him the difference between a viola and a violin, you don’t mind because at least with him being your boyfriend, you can give him a kiss to shut him up abt it :)

Even after his viola classes ended and you both became official, he still had a lot of interest in learning that instrument so you always teach him

And he offers to pay for lessons but you always reject it because duh hello you’re my bf shutup just give me a kiss and buy me ice cream instead??

And he teaches you a thing or two about dance, even though you look like those blow-up mascots in front of car dealerships whenever you do

He thanks the universe that he’s goofy and a crackhead, because at least he now has you :))

seungmin

So on a trip to a jazz house is when seungmin first met you

Yes, a jazz house

Don’t ask why but skz just wanted to go okay let them be

They watched multiple groups perform and were having the time of their lives

But something about you just caught seungmin’s eye

You were apart of the last group coming to perform and you played the double bass

He thought you looked so goddamn cool and slick whenever you played 

And he found it adorable the way the instrument was almost the exact same size as yourself

Like chan, he’s about as subtle as a gun with the way he looks at you

And he’s so enthusiastic during the performance, always hooting and clapping after each song 

And you take notice and find him so absolutely adobable because who wouldn’t

And after the performance he even yells encore so loudly and the rest of skz just laughs at his antics

But mans is so shy to approach you afterwards

He can barely move towards you 

It takes a jeongin a hyunjin and a whole ass changbin to mentally and physically push seungmin to say hi to you

And after a whole 10 minutes of convincing, he finally does

And you both talk and talk and talk that he doesn’t realize all the boiz left him

Traitors

So the two of you make plans to meet up another day

Another day becomes two

Then three

Then ten

And soon enough (after much pushing again from the entire skz) he asks you to be his officially

He always tries to show up to any and all of your gigs, big or small

And he’s sooooo boastful about it it’s so cute like he’ll have videos saved on his phone of you playing and send them to anyone and everyone

His parents, the skz gc

Almost sent it to jyp himself too lmao

You’re just so cool to him that he wants the rest of the world to know it as well

But, like minho, he won’t go near your instrument

He’s so intimidated by it it’s hilarious

So he sticks to watching it from afar and hfkjhkgjfh

Big smooch 

i.n

During a music event is when jeongin first laid eyes on you

But not because he saw you perform

Your performance group shared the same backstage lounge as skz and everyone was just getting to know each other

And you and jeongin really clicked well because you both were the youngest and the same age 

He had absolutely no clue who u were tho and he didn’t want to be rude so he didn’t ask what kpop group u were from

But as it turns out you weren’t apart of a kpop group at all

You were apart of an orchestra doing a special stage and you played the flute and jeongin was just like O_O when he found out 

You played the flute and damn did u play it well

Jeongin just stood in front of the screen astounded and seungmin did not and will not stop clowning him for it

After it ended, jeongin was quick to congratulate and compliment you 

And he rambles about how it was so unexpected and you blush so much because he’s so cute

And so you both exchange numbers and frequently text from then on, becoming really good friends

And then slowly developing feelings for each other

Cue cute highschool confession tingz

Jeongin as a bf is super adorable

He’s always asking you to send voice notes of you playing the flute

But not just to any song

He’ll request crackhead ones like the wii music, some trot song, into the unknown

And you’re just like????? Okay, my quirky king

And in return you force him to send voice notes of him singing more trot songs

He attempts to play your flute

But he always messes up but he’s so adorable that you tell him he’s doing great just so that he keeps playing cutely

:’))))))))))

choosing to do ot8 now,,, it’s difficult to imagine skz as ot9 in my head then be brought back to reality of ot8.. please understand :( but i will take separate woojin requests

[strawbbylino]

not even the greatest artworks compare to you - leeknowcantswim

Cross posted to my ao3 & insta by same name.

Minsung, 1419 words, fluff

Jisung goes to an art show and accidentally rambles about his love of the art pieces to the artist - a very handsome boy who finds his rambles endearing

Jisung carefully pushed his glasses up on his nose, shivering against the cold wind that bit at his cheeks, turning them red as he grinned widely towards the huge building in front of him. 

Silently he squealed, nearly squishing the ticket in his hand as his eyes landed on the beautiful stained glass windows that cast rainbows on the sidewalk in front of him. He beamed, ignoring the strange looks he received from those around him, understandable confusion on their faces as they watched a young adult nearly wet his pants in excitement to go into a museum. 

But it wasn't just any museum. It was an art museum. And Han Jisung was nothing but an art glutton even though he was a music student. 

Besides, The Reflection, the newest art exhibit that had caught his eye, was currently in the museum. He didn’t know much about the artist apart from the fact he was some prodigy painter that created only masterpieces, his works hung in all the great art museums of the world. 

He had seen photos of their art online and Jisung will admit that he might have cried a few times looking at the beautiful pieces, scaring his roommates and friends who simply just didn’t understand the pure emotion that the artist depicted through his paint strokes. 

It was like Jisung was looking into the artist’s deepest thoughts and feelings - and that was reflected through a screen. 

He quickly walked inside the museum, looking around in awe at everything as he joined the lineup of people waiting to get inside the exhibits.  

Jisung bit this lip, shifting uncomfortably as he stood behind the ground of, well, snooty, people that stood in front of him. They all looked classy and rich like they fit in and here Jisung stood in his faded jeans and black hoodie, blue hair messy and falling over his eyes. He looked down at his dirty converse, a fine blush covering his cheeks as he handed the attendant his ticket. 

But all feelings of discomfort faded as soon as he stepped inside the actual exhibit. 

His heart pounded, jaw-dropping as he took in the beautiful paintings all around him. He barely noticed as he stumbled closer to one that caught his eye. 

His eyes raked over the smooth strokes painted in watercolour and ink. He took in the painting and saw it for what it was - desperation, fear, longing - and was left in amazement. 

How could it be so simple for someone to paint something so beautiful with such emotions attached? The artist was incredibly gifted Jisung had to admit, wanting to reach out and trace the paint strokes but holding himself back. 

“It’s quite nice, isn’t it?” A soft voice startled him, Jisung shooting back from the painting to look to the side, a very handsome boy around his age standing next to him with a soft smile. 

Jisung blushed, “It‘s...it’s wonderful.” The boy smiled again, not saying anything in favour of straightening his back, hands clasped behind his back as he looked at the artwork in front of him carefully. 

Jisung couldn’t help himself, softly speaking to the boy next to him, “The pure emotion that the artist manages to pull from simple paint strokes is outstanding - it’s like I’m with them at the moment, watching as they painted it. I’ve never seen anything like it before, the combo of black ink against the soft colours, it’s so eye-catching, yet so pleasing.”

The boy hummed in agreement, eyes looking over the painting before he let his gaze fall onto Jisung, who blushed again. 

“I-I’m so sorry, I rambled-” Jisung fumbled with his words, cursing himself and wanting nothing more than to bury his face in his scarf and die. 

Death would be so much preferable compared to the pain of embarrassing himself in front of someone attractive. 

The boy giggled softly and Jisung nearly swooned. Was that a giggle from the heavens? Or was he hearing things? 

“No no, I quite enjoyed your thoughts on it,” the boy replied before gesturing towards the next one. “What about this one?” 

Jisung swallowed, cautiously letting his eyes wander over the painting. This one held a different emotion. Deep reds and blues mixed together highlighted in pink ink that dripped down the canvas - love, loss, confusion - the ends of the ink trailing together to create a rose petal, “This one's emotions are different but I still feel as though they are a reflection of the artist themself in the moment they created it.” 

He stopped, glancing at the boy beside him who looked interested in what Jisung had to say, glancing from the framed canvas to Jisung and back with a tilt of his head and a smile. 

So Jisung continued. He rambled over and over again on the topic of every painting to the boy next to him, slowly opening up as he cracked soft jokes now and then, eyes always on Jisung with a look of pride as he made the other laugh.  

Was he flirting with Jisung? Yes, Jisung decided as the boy sent a cheeky smile towards him, Yes he was flirting with him. And Jisung was flirting back. 

He blushed at the thought, the two coming to stand in front of the final painting in the exhibit. 

But before Jisung could start his ramble, an older male with greying hair and bright eyes came striding over, a bright smile on his face as he stood in front of them. 

At first, Jisung was confused, but then the man spoke and horror filled him. 

“Ah, Mr. Lee! You did make it in to see the show after all!” The man reached out a hand towards the boy next to him, smiling even wider as the other took it, “Enjoying the placement of your pieces?”

The boy, Mr. Lee, smiled back, “The show is wonderful Mr. Seo. I’m glad I came, after all, you did an amazing job with the placements.” 

“I’m happy you think that way,” Mr. Seo grinned widely, pride in his eyes as he stepped away, “I do hope you consider us for future exhibits.” 

“Your gallery is on the top of my list,” Mr. Lee replied, bowing in goodbye towards the older man as he bid them both a quick farewell, already darting towards a high-class looking lady wearing a fur coat. 

They both were silent for second, realization hitting Jisung like a train as he looked towards the boy next to him with growing horror. He had been ranting about the artwork to their artist for three hours. He had been flirting with him! 

“I am so sorry-” Jisung started, eyes wide as he faced the boy, “Mr. Lee, I hope I didn’t offend you or-” 

The boy waved him off, “Please, Mr. Lee is my father. Call me Minho.” 

Minho. “Minho I’m so sorry for ranting and everything-” Jisung felt his ears turn red. 

But Minho just smiled at him softly, gesturing towards the last painting behind them, “Please, tell me about this one? It’s my favourite.” 

Jisung took a deep breath, refusing to look at Minho as he spoke. The painting itself was to put it simply, beautiful. It was bright, highlighted in white and gold. The image itself was of a boy without a face, it blocked out by larger paint strokes in brilliant reds and oranges, “Hope. The emotion I get the most from this one is hope. The colours...the paint strokes...the image itself depicts hope in its rawest form. Its hope for the unknown.” 

Minho was silent for a second, eyes looking over his own work before he turned to Jisung, “Would you like to go get a cup of coffee with me ...?” 

Jisung blushed when he realized he had never even mentioned his own name, “Jisung. Han Jisung.” 

Minho beamed, bright and brilliant and Jisungs breath caught in his throat, “Would you like to you go get some coffee with me Jisung? It’s on me this time.” 

Jisung laughed softly, “This time? Confident in the ‘next time’ aren't we?” 

Minho smirked cockily, holding out his arm for Jisung to take, “Shall we go?” 

“We shall.” Jisung giggled, in awe of the man beside him as the sun from a nearby window caught in the other’s eyes, making them glow. 

And even surrounded by some of the most beautiful art pieces Jisung had ever seen, at that moment, Minho was the most beautiful thing Jisung had ever seen. 

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

Past Due

Characters/Pairing: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Dean x OFC (Mature Female, First POV)

Summary: She’s the helpful aide at the local library in Smith Center, Kansas that Sam and Dean have known for years. She’s a little older, a little wiser (sometimes), but what happens when Dean displays interest in her outside of research?

Word Count: TBD

Content: language, angst, fluff, smut

Am I being checked out while checking him out? 

I scan the barcode on the back cover. His eyes are trained on my face with a little more interest than usual.

Do I have some spinach between my teeth from the salad I had for lunch? God, why does he have to do that thing with his tongue?

I readjust the glasses on the bridge of my nose and make some quiet small talk with the gorgeousness in front of me. I do most of the talking and he does most of the nodding.

No. Dean Winchester is not checking me out. He’s just existing and breathing and short circuiting my brain as he tends to do on occasion with his proximity. 

I will not fuss with my hair like I always do when he’s close enough for me to smell him. Oh, Goddammit.

I feel like a sixteen year old around this man. Every damn time. It’s not fair. It happened the first time I met him six years ago. He’d handed over the paperwork and I processed his library card application. He smiled that lopsided grin that says, You poor unsuspecting creature. I’m so handsome I don’t even have to make much of an effort.

That was the day he and his mountain man of a brother, Sam, walked into the Smith Center Library. Back when they had used Campbell as their last names on the application. And before they had helped with a haunting that blew their aliases. At least with me. It was a “job” for them that involved my brother five towns over. The house he had bought for a song at a sheriff sale, turned out, came with a supernatural squatter. 

“No shit it was cheap. Because someone was murdered in it. No offense, but your brother was pretty much asking for trouble knowing that going in.” I still remember Dean’s very accurate logic when they’d gotten the full history. 

I shouldn’t feel like a sixteen year old - when I’m 46, speeding toward 47 in a couple months - with a man five years my junior. Even if it is Dean Winchester. 

He reminds me of my second husband, Lou. Full of sass, rounded out with some grump, and a sprinkle of edge. He drinks like Lou did. I only know that because I’d bought Dean and Sam a round of drinks one night a few years back. It was a thank you after they’d burned the remains of the poor soul that was stuck in what they called a death echo in my younger brother’s house. Top shelf scotch is Dean’s preferred drink of choice when someone else is buying, by the way. And he has a high tolerance for alcohol that one only gets after decades of experience. Like my second husband, Lou.

He drives a vintage muscle car like Lou did, too. You can hear it ten seconds before it turns onto West Court Street and pulls up to park in front of the library. That engine sound always gets my fellow co-workers on high alert and wide eyed, just like me. It’s a disappointment to all of us when it’s not Dean.

He flirts with every female between the ages of eighteen and eighty that crosses his path. Again, like Lou. It’s his default setting. He seems to prefer a tight skirt from what I’ve gathered through my research. But he rarely slights and denies the opposite sex his charms or thorough assessment if they decide to don pants or shorts.

My brain finally registers the title of the book he’s checked out on the computer screen. The attraction fog has lifted for a brief second. I turn the tome over on the counter and read the title aloud. “Fairies and Wood Nymphs? Do I want to ask?”

He shakes his head. I twist my fingers near my mouth to indicate my lips are sealed. Then he flashed me that weird look again. Almost like he’s processing some data. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t been in here for over a month and I’m paying every flinch and twitch even more attention than usual. I realize in real time I’m cataloguing all of these In case I don’t see him for another month. Or, God forbid, two months. “You really are, aren’t you, Winter?” He finally pipes up with a question, using my surname as usual. The smile returns to his face.

“What’s that, Mr. Campbell?” I respond with a way too giddy smile and slide the book back to him. My coworkers are probably snickering at me behind the periodicals as they watch the show. Sure, like they wouldn’t be putty in this man’s hands, either. Even Ronald turns into mush around Dean.

He bends and leans back a bit to rest those thick forearms on the counter. Plaid clad shoulders, green eyes, freckled skin, and pouty lips are now at eye level with my five foot four frame. “Good at keeping a secret.” He mumbles and lowers his voice more with every syllable.

That voice triggers the floodgates down below.

What the hell is going on right now? “Friends don’t call me ‘The Vault’ for nothin’.” I somehow get the sentence out. Being this close reminds me of the night at the bar. When the scotch had worked its magic at the Mexican restaurant. The neon green cactus aesthetic and terra cotta motif had lulled Dean into some sort of sarape security blanket. He’d divulged a lot after Sam, downing only one drink, had left in the Impala with the promise to pick up his brother in a couple of hours. By the end of the night, Dean said I was a good listener and not quick to judge. That I had a nice calming presence. That I’d must have seen some heavy shit in my lifetime, too. 

“Can I ask you something?” His brows raise.

My mouth has dried up so I can only nod in response.

He cocks his head to the library entrance. “Do you have a minute to talk outside?”

I nod again. I may not be the boss, but my seniority and elder status give me a little leeway.

He rises up, taps the counter and grabs the book. “I’ll be waitin’ in the car.” I get a full smile this time and almost pass out.

I push the front door of the library and spill out on the sidewalk a couple minutes later. His black beauty of a car is still there, waiting. The nippy Fall temperature is enough for me to wrap my cardigan tight around my middle. Dean is in the driver’s seat, windows open, with Lynyrd Skynyrd playing on the radio.

He has an eager and appreciative look on his face when he exits the vehicle and walks toward the hood to meet me. “Thanks.”

I shrug. “What did you want to ask me?” I wrap some stray, windswept strands back behind my ear.

“Sam and I, we could use some help at the bunker.”

I can’t help but gasp at the word. Bunker. This legendary place I’ve gotten sparse, verbal descriptions of here and there over the years. Their home base. Sam has boasted of its library to me.

“Well, mainly Sam could use some help. Because I’m useless when it comes to the library. And, he also doesn’t trust me when it comes to the books.”

Library. I’m able to stifle another gasp. I stand in silence, waiting for more.

He sighs. “Let’s just say we had an accident. A lot of the books got damaged, flew off shelves into a massive paper mountain.”

My head nods in a fury. “Yes, I’d love to help.”

He chuckles at my eagerness. “Great.” He hands me a note, like we’re in high school. “Meet me at this intersection and I’ll show you the rest of the way there?”

“When?”

“Whatever's good for you.”

I realize how non existent my social life is lately and offer, “Friday night?”

He nods. Another grin. “Eight?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“It’s a date.” He winks.

Lou NEVER winked.

PAST DUE Updated/Parts Published Weekly on my PATREON - early access to my DEANcentric Fics before Tumblr and AO3.

[corviddenart]

Delectation

Prompto Argentum has been a masseur for a few years now, and he’s gotten pretty damn good at it. He’s only had a few odd complaints, nothing that really affected his reputation though. He loves his job, takes a lot of pride in it, but it’s simple work and often rather dull. Until Tredd Furia walks in.

de·lec·ta·tion

/ˌdēlekˈtāSHən,ˌdelekˈtāSHən/

noun FORMAL•HUMOROUS

pleasure and delight.

"a box of chocolates for their delectation"

synonyms: enjoyment, gratification, delight, pleasure, happiness, satisfaction, relish

Fic below the cut

AO3 

Business, or pleasure? That was a question Prompto had never thought he’d find himself genuinely asking, especially not in this line of work. After all, being a masseur meant that dealing in any sort of pleasure outside the basic relief of muscle and joint pain was illegal. Then again, he’s seen plenty of porn for it that he was pretty sure was filmed in an actual spa facility. So maybe he shouldn’t be so surprised that he was currently leaving his manager’s office with that phrase turning over in his mind again and again. 

He was supposed to actually ask that question now, not of everyone, and not all the time, but his boss had offered him a chance to make extra money off those he thought might be more… willing. Honestly, he had half a mind to just report him, because this was highly inappropriate, and he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the idea of actually offering that sort of service. The problem was, it was a lot of money that he was offering. Money that Prompto desperately needed.

Walking back into the lobby rubbing his eyes, he looked over the empty waiting room feeling nothing but confusion and frustration starting to bubble beneath the surface. Snatching up the appointment book he flipped to his section to check over his list of appointments. Today was going to be a slow day it seemed, he only had one slot filled so he’d have to rely on walk-ins to make any decent amount of money then. Unless, of course, he tried his manager’s wicked idea. He could feel a headache coming on at the thought but ignored it for now. The one appointment he had wasn’t bad though, it was a full hour, full body, those weren’t cheap. Focus on the positive, he told himself. Just focus on the positive and pretend that conversation never even happened. 

“Furia,” he murmured to keep the name in mind, tucking the book back into its home on the desk he checked the clock on the wall for the time. 10:07 glared back at him and his stomach sank again. “You’re late.” Likely a no show then, so much for that. Sighing heavily he plopped down into the desk chair and let it spin, the receptionist was just out front letting the plants drain on the sidewalk from being watered, so he really didn’t need to wait out here, but he had nothing better to do at the moment. His room was already fully set up, all of his towels cleaned and folded, oils and lotions fully stocked. He’d done that first thing this morning when he came in, before being called to his manager’s office for that strange conversation. 

Ever on time, ever eager to work. 

He really hoped this wasn’t going to put a sour taste in his mouth about his job, he actually really enjoyed it. This new place was so much nicer than the last spa he’d worked at. 

Just as he was about to give into the idea that the day was going to be a colossal waste, he heard the door open, spinning back around in the chair assuming it was the receptionist. He was already ready to hop up and get the door for her but who he spotted was not the receptionist at all. No, instead this had to be one of the most gorgeous men he’d ever laid eyes on.

He was fit, like really fit, but not bulky like a bodybuilder. Clearly this man had to be an athlete or something, either that or he’d found the perfect routine at the gym and he needed to know what it was. His mind didn’t wander down that road for long though, far too lost in eyeing this god before him. His jaw was square, sharp, bone structure carved out of marble, all smooth and angular. What was most striking to him though were his eyes, a deep brown but so bright, like the sun hitting the water on a creek making the rocks sparkle beneath. His auburn hair was a little messy, damp from what he assumed must be sweat because it was far too clear a day to be raining out. Or maybe that was wishful thinking tying back into the idea of this man working out. 

Six, he needed help.

Prompto wasn’t aware of just how long he’d been staring until he saw a flash of pearly whites, a smug grin breaking across that handsome face. Six, he had just the right amount of scruff too, this was just not fair. “I’m here for an appointment, name’s Furia, Tredd,” his voice like velvet, rich and deep and leaving Prompto screaming internally. 

Placing a hand on the desk the man fished his phone out to check the time, hip cocked slightly leaving just the barest line of skin visible. Enough to see the v of his hips. Prompto was quite literally dying inside. “Hope I’m not too late, I lost track of time during my shower. You know how it goes.” So that explained the damp hair, though he probably could have guessed as much because he certainly smelled too nice to have been sweating just now. Floundering for a moment, trying frantically to get his brain to catch up before he spoke and said something absolutely ridiculous, Prompto sat up and grabbed the book with likely far too much gusto. If Tredd noticed, he didn’t give it away. One small blessing.

“Not a problem at all, actually, I don’t have any other appointments at the moment so you’re in luck,” the blonde grinned back at him, quickly scribbling in that he’d arrived before tucking the book away again. “Slow day, and all,” he tacked on hoping he wouldn’t think his lack of appointments meant he was bad at this. He was probably just overthinking it, nerves kicking into overdrive as they often did when he was caught off guard like this. Or was this a panicked attempt to seem cooler to him? Either way it was foolish, he was foolish. Why did he have to make himself look like an idiot in front of every man he’d ever found even remotely attractive? This had to be a curse, the gods were laughing at him right now, he just knew it.

“So what you’re saying is, I get to have you all to myself,” Tredd smirked, more a statement than a question, and Prompto swore he thought his stomach was going twist itself into a knot that he couldn’t undo. It wasn’t his first time having an attractive client, that was for sure. Usually he was controlled enough to not let his professionalism slip around them, but between the conversation he’d just had and the fact that this man was a whole other level of attractive? Well it was proving to be a bit harder to do this time. 

The flirting wasn’t helping either. Was that flirting? No, that wasn’t flirting, he was just being nice. He could probably feel the nervous energy radiating off of him and was just trying to help him relax. Ease the tension. Since they were both about to be stuck in a room alone together for the next hour. He just needed to breathe, that was all, stop staring too. Definitely stop staring.

“Only if you plan on paying for the time,” Prompto shot back, his calm tone surprising himself, considering the whirlwind going on in his mind. “Follow me please,” he moved to open the side door for him, holding it and letting the taller man pass, forcing himself not to eye those broad shoulders as he did. Stop. Staring. It was going to become a mantra in his head long before this session was over. “Have you ever gotten a massage before?”

“Oh hell yeah, been a while, but I know the drill. You new here? Can’t say I’ve seen you before, I think I’d remember a cute little blonde like you.” The small talk would have helped to settle some of the nerves, but Tredd just had to go and add that last little bit on and send him reeling all over again. So maybe he was flirting. At first he’d felt a wave of excitement at the prospect, a sudden spark of confidence, but it was ruined by the sound of his manager’s voice in the back of his mind again. 

Watch for the tells, you’d be surprised how many people might be open to the idea of a happy ending. Yeah, he was going to die of shame before this was done, better to quit now. And yet, his feet carried him to the massage room without an ounce of hesitance despite himself.

“New here, yes, but not new to the profession, I’ve been doing this for 3 years now,” he slipped past, partially to keep from staring but mostly to get in front and hide the fact that he was blushing so furiously. Oh and to get the door for him again, because that’s what he’s supposed to be doing. Working, not whatever this is. “I’m sure you know the drill, you can change in there, towels and robes are inside. I’ll get the oil warmed up, when you’re ready you just let me know what we’re focusing on today.” That’s it, he told himself, just keep talking, keep the routine going and you’ll be good. The hour will be up before you know it.

Of course, because he was trying to steer his mind away from such things, what he hadn’t expected was to turn around and spot the man already taking his shirt off before even entering the changing room. He was just glad he’d managed to get everything he needed to say out before doing so, because he was pretty sure he would have audibly choked with the way he found himself suddenly gawking. Again. His second blessing today was that Tredd wasn’t looking, if anything it just seemed like he was too impatient to wait until he was actually inside the changing room to start. Of course that also meant that Prompto got to zero in on the dimples on his lower back just above the waist of his jeans. 

Damn it. 

The moment the door was shut behind him Prompto heaved out a heavy sigh, dragging his hands over his face as he looked up at the ceiling praying to whatever deity may be there that this would pass quickly. “If anyone is listening up there, you’re all evil and you’re doing this on purpose, I just know it.”

“You good, kid?” Tredd’s voice sounded after a moment, making Prompto jump slightly and look back to the changing room to see his head poking out the cracked door. “There’s no towels in here, so unless you don’t mind me coming out naked--”

“No, you’re so right, I’m sorry, they’re right here,” Prompto quickly whipped around, grabbing the stack off the nearby table. Of course he’d folded all of the towels but had failed to actually put them back in there, why would he do that? Why would he do anything to make this day go just a little bit smoother when he could just make an even bigger mess of it and go home and cry later? All he could do at this point was hope that once they actually started it would be the same as their small talk, sans flirting. He could just slip into the routine of it and let the awkwardness melt away again. 

The conversation with his manager could be completely forgotten, and he could just roll right back into his usual professional ways and not stare wantonly at this man anymore. Because he really didn’t need a complaint about inappropriate behavior put on top of this. He could almost see the online review now. 

It was a sheer miracle that he managed to not let that train of thought spiral out of control, keeping his anxiety from getting the best of him he handed the man the stack of towels, not looking down at all when he realized he was already naked. Nope, he most certainly did not. Not at all. Not even a glance. And his ears were most certainly not turning red, he was just going to ignore the warmth he felt in them and go on about his business. He could do that, right? 

He quickly made a beeline back to check the bottle of oil sitting in the warmer and turned the heat down a little bit, pursing his lips and listening for him to come back out and get on the table, because he sure as hell couldn’t face him again yet. Hearing the shift of the material he glanced back and saw him laying down on his stomach, adjusting himself a bit before resting his chin on his arms, towel untucked from around his hips already so Prompto could move it as needed.

“Sooo… what brings you here today?” Prompto asked, adjusting the towel some, pulling it a little further up only to fold it back down, careful to make sure he was fully covered where it mattered but exposing more of his thighs and back to make his job a little easier. If the better view came with it, it was just a plus. Not at all intentional.

“Captain says I overdid it in training the other day, been a bit sore. It’s not anything I can’t handle but he wouldn’t drop it so. Here I am. It’s mostly my lower back and shoulders, legs started burning a bit this morning though,” Tredd shrugged, looking over at him with a wicked little grin on his face. “Be gentle with me, won’t you? I’ve got new recruits to train later.” So he was a Crownsguard then or maybe a Glaive? Well that certainly explained a lot. But now he was picturing him in one of those all too flattering uniforms. He really needed to get it together, this was not going to help any. Tredd also needed to stop with the flirting, he was going to drive him crazy if he kept it up. This was hard enough as it was, and it almost felt like he knew it too. That was infuriating to think about, but also highly unlikely because why would he do that? Why make this experience awkward intentionally just to tease him? 

“I’ll do my best, but I make no promises,” he pumped some oil into his palm, lathering his hands up before starting on his shoulders. “Arms down at your sides please, relax, and let me know if I need to back off or put more pressure,” he murmured, watching the way the muscles of his back rolled as he did as he was told, feeling them flex under his palms. Suddenly his manager’s proposition didn’t sound so bad, but he still just couldn’t bring himself to even try. What was he supposed to do? How did you casually just drop something like that into conversation? Oh hey, by the way, you’re already naked and I’m already touching you, want me to-no. Nope. Nope nope nope. He was cutting that off right now.

“Well you don’t need to treat me like I’m glass, you can put more pressure than that, just don’t break my back,” the man laughed only to let out a surprised groan when Prompto dug the heels of his hands into the arch where his neck met his shoulders. “Ooooh, yeah, that’s perfect… you got strong hands, kid.”

“I kinda need to in this field,” the blonde grinned to himself, feeling him slowly relax more and more into the table as he worked out the knots of tension in his muscles. Once he was into the swing of it, it was actually easy to not pay attention to how muscular he was. His mind just zeroed in on all the knots he could feel under his tan skin, focusing on working them back out. “How long did you say it was since your last visit?”

“Shit, I don’t know, 6 months maybe?”

“You may want to rethink doing that again, I can’t imagine all these knots make your life any easier. You’re holding a lot of stress here in your shoulders,” he chastised playfully right as he pressed his thumbs down into one nestled just between his shoulder blades, earning another small groan that he really wished he could ignore.

“Yeah, well who knows, you keep this up I may be here every week.” Prompto was pretty certain he’d die from stress if he did that. That said, the prospect of doing this every week also sounded absolutely lovely.

“Don’t flatter me already, I’ve barely started,” the younger man laughed, glancing up to see a small smirk on Tredd’s face finding he was looking directly at him. He’d had no idea he was watching him, far too busy focusing on what he was actually doing, and man did he wish he hadn’t looked now. Without meaning to, he paused, hands still pressed to his back but stilling for a moment. “So you’re a soldier then?” he quickly asked, far too quickly, changing the subject as he moved to focus on his left shoulder, pausing again only to put a little more oil in his hands before continuing.

“Glaive,” Tredd specified. “Figured you would have guessed that from looking at me.”

“I thought you were an athlete,” Prompto shrugged.

“How many athletes you know from Galahd?”

That was a fair point, but he didn’t really think much of it when he met someone that wasn’t a Lucian, not being a Lucian himself he understood how exhausting it could be to be measured based on where you were from and not who you were. “So a Glaive then, that’s gotta be a hard job, you’re sent out before the Crownsguard aren’t you?”

“Depends,” it was the vaguest answer Prompto could have received but he figured it was either a confidentiality thing, or Tredd simply not wanting to talk about work anymore than he’d already had to. So he’d figured they’d stop there and he’d have to think of something else to talk about, until Tredd piped up again. “Pays well, and I enjoy it most of the time. So I can’t complain.”

“A thrill seeker then?” Prompto teased, pushing into an especially hard knot beneath his shoulder blade, earning a small hiss until it released and Tredd sighed heavily. “I take it that one’s been bugging you for a while, hm?”

“You have no idea,” he felt the laugh rumble under his hands, but it was nowhere near as enticing as the sound of it was. Which was truly saying something considering his palms were tingling like static had rolled through him. “And no, I can dig a bit of adventure but that’s not why I like the job. It’s just nice, having something worth doing, something I can really devote my time to. Balances out the douchebag fuckboy lifestyle.”

“How noble,” the sarcasm was there, but it wasn’t entirely genuine. Prompto could tell he really meant it, despite the fact that he seemed to like covering anything real up with a joke. “So the King’s first line of defense is an asshole and a party animal, I’m guessing you’re also a troublemaker. Ladies man even?”

“What am I, an open book?” He grinned up at him again, and surprisingly Prompto didn’t feel that twist of nerves that time. This was easy, comfortable, Tredd was a charming man. Probably far too charming for his own good if you asked him, but it certainly helped relieve any lingering awkwardness Prompto might have been feeling. He’d been so nervous at first, he was worried he’d spend the whole hour fretting over the conversation with his manager, but as it went on he found himself only worrying that he might actually want to try. He wasn’t sure which was worse in all honesty. “You must not get out much, I’ve got a bit of a reputation.”

“Or maybe I just don’t care for gossip,” he quipped, catching his eye as he moved on to the right shoulder, mimicking the same attention he’d given the left. “Or maybe we visit different bars.”

“Not possible, I go everywhere, there isn’t a place in town I haven’t put my mark on.”

“What are you, a dog?” he snorted lightly, grinning right back when he saw a spark of amusement on the older man’s face. “Marking your territory, claiming all the women you desire? Honestly that’s probably why we haven’t crossed paths.”

“Because you’re not a woman?”

“Because I’m gay,” he said simply. It was the first test, without him even realizing it was. He tended to avoid these conversations, especially with male customers, it could easily make his clients uncomfortable and he really didn’t want to do that to them. He could deal with the comments on it, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d gotten a review mentioning his sexuality, though generally it was from men who’d made assumptions about him. But with Tredd it was different, maybe it was the flirting, or maybe it was simply how easy he was to talk to. Either way it just slipped right out.

“Ha, I guessed right. Bet with myself won.” Okay that wasn’t the reaction he expected, and it pulled a surprised but genuine laugh from Prompto. “Hate to say it, kid, but everything about you screams twink.”

“Well, not everything,” he countered with a wink, and there came the twist of nerves again. It was a rare burst of boldness, he had them more frequently in clubs, a little less afraid of repercussions there because at most he’d get a gentle rejection but this was work. And this was a man he knew nothing about.

“Oh, is that so?” Tredd smirked pushing up onto his elbows suddenly, making Prompto pause, slipping his hands away as those brown eyes trailed over him. “Guess I’ll just have to see it to believe it.”

What?

Did he hear that correctly or was his brain just short circuiting, because he really wasn’t very sure at the moment. He probably looked like a deer in the headlights then, if Tredd’s burst of laughter told him anything. “Relax kid, I’m just teasing. No need to spontaneously combust.” Damn did he really think he was going to though. He still didn’t respond as Tredd laid back down, getting comfortable again. “Clock’s ticking and you’ve still got 80% of my body to fix or I’m gonna have to explain to my Captain how it’s your fault I’m broken.”

“Right--right, sorry, I just-it’s been a morning,” he laughed awkwardly, putting some more oil in his hands and smoothing it over his back, trailing down along his spine. “Breath out when I push, please,” Prompto muttered, listening to the joints pop one by one as he worked his way down.

“By the gods I needed that,” Tredd breathed, melting into the table as Prompto’s thumbs began to work circles into the base of his spine, pressing into the taut muscles just between his hips. “Where you been hidin’?”

“At an awful location down on 6th, they shut down about 4 months ago.” He doubted the man actually cared, but the subject change was a welcome distraction because he felt like he still had those eyes on him. And as nice a feeling as that was, it was not one he needed right now. “Too many health code violations, I’d been trying to get out of there anyway so it was a blessing when it happened.”

“Seems we were both blessed then, I think you’re my new favorite.”

“There you go flattering me again and we’ve barely started,” Prompto snorted, his thumbs dipping down under the towel for a moment as he realized he’d let his hands drift down too low. Either Tredd didn't notice though, or he didn’t mind because nothing was said on it, nor did he tense any. Did he dare try again? No. No, he needed to move on. “Shall I move onto your legs or do you think your back could use some more attention?”

“Don’t ask me that, I’m going to tell you to never stop.” Prompto couldn’t help but smile at that, letting his thumbs drift under the towel again with a little more pressure this time. He felt Tredd tense slightly then, and that boost of confidence was gone as quickly as it came. Quickly, but not so quickly as to seem like he’d done something wrong, he moved his hands down over the towel to work on the backs of his thighs. Spreading more oil over them first he started down by his knees and worked his way up watching him slowly relax again. “So do you hit on all your customers or am I lucky?” Tredd’s words broke through the sudden silence, confusing him a bit.

“I don’t know if lucky is the word I’d use.”

“So it’s just me.”

“Yes, it’s just you,” the blonde could feel his face heating up again, brow furrowed slightly as he refused to look up at him.

“And that was definitely you getting a little handsy with me just now, wasn’t it?” Prompto was immediately trying to apologize, stumbling over his words but he felt a hand grab his wrist suddenly, making him stop before he could pull away as Tredd turned on his side slightly. “I didn’t tell you to stop, did I?”

“... No,” he blinked, his violet eyes connecting with Tredd’s again expecting to find anger but only finding interest and maybe a bit of apprehension in them.

“Keep going.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me, keep going. You take that to mean whatever you want it to.”

Prompto could hear his heart beating like it was nestled where his brain should be, those calloused fingers lingering on his wrist for a moment before Tredd laid back down again, closing his eyes this time. Take that to mean whatever you want it to. What did he want it to mean? He was so embarrassed at being caught that he really just wanted to finish this and move on with his life, maybe leave early and call it a day. Go hide in his apartment and slowly die of shame. But he also wanted to know, did Tredd really mean that? Was that an invitation? Was this what his manager meant about tells?

“Tick tock,” Tredd’s voice snapped him back to reality, running his hands up the back of his thighs, pressing in slightly until he reached the curve of his ass and stopped again. He knew he should stop there, he knew he should just finish the massage and write this off as a weird fluke, never to see this man again. But he didn’t. He let his hands drift further up, sliding up under the towel pushing it up with them. He felt him tense again and paused, finally looking back up to see what his reaction was. His face looked so serious, focused even, it looked the way Prompto felt. It was like he was nervous too, but trying so hard not to be, and that was when he noticed the way his ears had turned red. He was nervous. That was entirely unexpected.

“I can stop--”

“No, I’ll tell you if I need you to.”

“If you don’t want--” Prompto stopped, seeing his eyes open again, his gaze so intense in that moment that it completely took his breath away.

“I’ll tell you if I want you to stop.”

“You better,” he murmured, pulling the towel away entirely, letting it fall to the floor and listening to Tredd let out the smallest puff of air. He wasn’t exactly sure what that sound meant but he trusted him to say if it was too much. Oiling his hands up again he made his way back down his thighs, trying to help him relax again even as he spread them slightly, letting his hands drift down between them more. That time he knew the sound he heard was a moan, it was small, and it was clear Tredd was trying to keep it in, but he heard it. And that was all he needed to know he should continue.

He took his time, trying to ease him into it, afraid that if he took it all on too quickly that Tredd might break and leave. And while he was more concerned about trying not to scare a customer off for good, he wasn’t really ready to stop whatever this was either. There was a thrill that coursed through him as his hands wandered down his calves. Something about the fact that he shouldn’t be doing this only made it even better, which he found a bit ironic. After all it was only moments ago that he was teasing Tredd about being a troublemaker, and here he was. Working his way down seemed to give the other man a much needed moment to breathe, to collect his thoughts or maybe even just ground himself again. They both needed to be sure this was something they wanted to do before it went too far.

As he worked his way back up, his gaze zeroed in on where his hands were at all times, he realized he had no idea how long it had been, or how long this might take now that he’d started. Should he charge more for this really? That hadn’t been discussed, and somehow the idea of making him pay for it just felt wrong. Even as he thought about that though he moved to the side, both hands gliding up his inner thighs, fingertips brushing along the underside of his shaft. He heard Tredd’s breath hitch, felt his body go rigid for a moment before easing again. “You don’t need to be shy about it.”

“I’m not,” Prompto said, and he meant it. “I’m simply taking my time, this is still about you relaxing, giving you a feeling of relief. If I go too fast that kind of defeats the purpose doesn’t it?”

“Going too slow will just drive me crazy, even more counter productive if you ask me,” Tredd shot back, in a way his tone was almost impertinent. It was kind of adorable honestly, the way he seemed to get on the defensive. Had he never been with a man before or was it simply because of the kind of situation it was? He wasn’t offended by it in the least, in fact, in an odd way it made him feel better. A grin spread across his lips as he slid his oil slicked fingers between the swells of his cheeks, watching a shiver roll up Tredd’s spine as he gasped.

“Who’s the professional here, you or me?”

“Alright, alright, point proven,” he groaned, hiding his face in his arms, covering up the growing flush on his cheeks. Prompto kinda wished he hadn’t because he was enjoying the view, but he understood why. Besides he imagined it was about to get considerably worse. Sliding his thumb back down he pressed in, feeling it slip past the tight ring and feeling him tense immediately. A hand shot back grabbing Prompto’s wrist to stop him from going any further. “Not-not that,” he said, still refusing to look back. “Anything else, just not that.”

So it was his first time. Slipping back out carefully he smoothed his free hand down the outside of his leg. “I won’t, anything else I should know not to do?” he smiled, feeling his grip on him ease but he didn’t let go entirely yet as he thought of his answer.

“Let me flip over.” Prompto pulled back at that, letting him go entirely and watching him turn onto his back. There was no need to hide his wandering gaze now, trailing up his strong legs intentionally glancing over his cock and further up along the lines of muscle to his terse face. He softened seeing such a stern look, sliding his hands over the front of his thighs in an attempt to relax him again.

“Breathe,” he said softly, finally turning his gaze back down to his prize. He hadn’t expected him to be quite so hard already considering how tense Tredd was. But there it was, flushed red, resting against his lower stomach thick and rigid and leaking. Prompto was practically salivating at the site of his cock, he was the perfect size, not so big as to be uncomfortable to deal with but thick enough to leave someone feeling very full. Leaning in he let one of his hands travel up over his hip, fingers dancing along the lines of his abs as he brushed his lips against his length. The sound he earned now was no less soft, no less surprised as it had been before, but it melted into a moan the moment his lips wrapped around the head.

It wasn’t long before he felt Tredd’s fingers tangling into his soft hair, his own hand wrapped around the base of his cock, stroking slowly to meet his mouth as he let his tongue move in teasing dips along the tip. Like he’d said, he was taking his time, and this was something that was universal across all genders. It was safe, familiar, sure he was a man and that may make it different for Tredd but the sensation wasn’t. When he felt the older man’s hips push up slightly he finally sank down, careful of his teeth as he eased more of his thick shaft into his warm mouth.

“Fuck-kid, what did I say about driving me crazy?” Tredd groaned, finally looking down at him. Violet eyes looked back, framed by thick pale lashes, his soft lips curling into a smile even as he bobbed slowly, hollowing his cheeks around him. “Six.” Something about the way Tredd said that made Prompto blush, he wasn’t sure exactly what it meant but there was something almost reverent? No that wasn’t the word, that was too much, whatever it was though, he felt seen in a different light for a moment. He felt attractive, not exactly a feeling he often got while doing something like this. That’s not to say he never felt good, he enjoyed giving head too much for that, but Tredd’s voice was just so much softer then. He wanted to hear him say something like that again. He wanted to make him moan out, to feel those strong fingers tangled in his hair tightened, driving him down on him. He needed to know that this was good, that this was what he was looking for. He almost got exactly what he wanted when he pushed down further, moving his hand aside taking more of him into his mouth, opening his throat around him.

The sound that left Tredd was lost somewhere between a groan and a gasp, his back arching as he fought not to push up, already feeling Prompto swallowing around him sending a jolt of pure pleasure through his body. He was left panting when Prompto pulled off, the wet sound of his lips popping off of his cock only making him twitch. “Don’t stop now, fuck, that was just getting good.”

“I’m not,” Prompto purred, climbing up onto the table with him, nestled between his thighs as he pulled his own shirt off, dropping it onto the floor. “But I can’t have you making a mess on my uniform.” He didn’t wait long, hands planted firmly on either side of him he bent over and delved down to take him into his mouth again. Still slick with his own saliva, Prompto had no trouble taking him in, bobbing faster now as his lips stretched around him. It was sloppy, wet, his own moans vibrating around Tredd’s cock. Some people teased him about it, said it was an odd thing for him to take pride in but he did. There wasn’t much he had an ego over, but his head game was one, and he was determined to prove just how good he was to this man.

“Alright so, maybe not a complete twink, wasn’t expecting all that muscle hidden under there,” Tredd breathed, pushing up onto his elbows to watch as Prompto worked his tongue along the underside of his aching cock. “Damn… You enjoyin’ yourself? Because you’re swallowing that dick like it’s your last meal.” Prompto almost laughed at that, flicking his gaze back up to him as he reached down to palm himself through the front of his scrubs to answer his question. He let out a lewd moan, sinking down again to take him all in, choking slightly as his cock pushed against the back of his throat. Tredd huffed out another low groan in response, reaching down again to wind his fingers in his blonde locks, guiding him back up only to press down again. “So that’s a yes, you like it so much then, why you holdin’ back?”

Oh but if only he knew. Despite the grip that the other man had on his hair, Prompto pushed down, stretching his jaw until it ached as he took every last inch of him in and held him. His throat closed around the head of his cock making him gag but he didn’t budge, too wrapped up in the sudden moan that left Tredd’s lip. “Fuckin’ hell--” He felt the grip tighten in his hair, trying to draw him back but he held strong until his hips bucked before pulling off again. Panting slightly himself, he licked his lips to catch the saliva that had collected on them, fully prepared to make a comment about who was enjoying themselves more when he was dragged into an unexpected kiss. This was probably not what his boss meant at all, but he wouldn’t be caught complaining, leaning right into the press of those soft lips against his own knowing he could taste his own precum on his tongue. “You do this for all your clients?”

“No,” he murmured against his lips, taking his slick cock in his hand and slowly stroking him, watching the way his pupils dilated and lashes fluttered as he tried to focus on his words.

“Startin’ to feel like you’re lying to me--”

“Do you not want to feel special?” he teased, though he was being completely honest with him. He never once would have thought about doing something like this before today. Well, maybe he would have once he saw him anyway, even if his boss hadn’t put the idea in his head. He had a much stronger sex drive than he liked to share and a man like Tredd walking in all smug and willing? It still would have crossed his mind. But he probably wouldn’t have had the balls to go through with it without the added push of knowing it wouldn’t mean he’d lose his job. “Smug as you are, figured you’d get off on knowing you’re my first happy ending.”

“That was this is?” It was obvious he was still trying to maintain the upper hand in the snark department, but his dark eyes were hazed with lust, his gaze flicking back down to the blonde’s lips as he warred with himself on whether to kiss him again or push him back down onto his cock.

“That’s what it would be if you didn’t interrupt me,” he smirked, drawing back to make the decision for him only to stop with a small whine when the grip on his hair turned vice like, holding him where he was. “Hey--”

“How much are you charging me for this?”

“I’m not,” he admitted, hesitating slightly at the confusion he saw in his face. “It didn’t feel right to, since we didn’t talk about it first,” Prompto felt the creep of his nerves crawling back into his stomach, twisting tight and taunting him with the idea that he’d just ruined it with such a small thing. What if not charging made it weird? Sure he’d been honest and told him he was gay, and clearly he was into it. But it was one thing to have someone who enjoyed their work, and a whole other thing to have someone shirking their job to take advantage of a situation.

“So you really are just that into it?” the smirk that curled across Tredd’s face made his cock twitch with want. Gods could he get anymore attractive? “How far can we take this then since it’s off the books?” But before he could ask him what he meant he felt one of those calloused hands slip down the back of his pants, gripping the swell of his ass.

“O-oh, uh, far as you like then,” Prompto breathed in response, cheeks flushing brightly at how quickly he said that, pushing back into his touch. “As long as we can find a condom.”

“Find? You think I look like this and go anywhere unprepared?” Tredd laughed, giving his ass a firm smack to signal he needed to move, to which Prompto quickly hopped off the table. He was flushing brilliantly now, absolutely floored with embarrassment. Was this really happening then? Should he back out and just finish what he started? Or maybe not at all. Maybe he should just finish his massage and send him on his way. That would be the right thing to do. He didn’t even watch as Tredd got up, shuffling back into the changing room to fish a condom out of his jean pocket. Walking back in he stopped, seeing the panic in the blonde’s eyes he sighed. “Kid, we ain’t gotta do this.”

“No, I want to,” he breathed quickly looking back up at him. “I just-like I said, I’ve never done anything like this. I don’t want to mess this up. This is my job.”

“And you’re doin’ great at it, I’m feelin’ real fucking relaxed,” he practically purred, rounding the table and catching his jaw, dragging him in closer. “Now bend over so I can give you your tip.” The way his voice dipped low was like honey in his veins, thick and sinful, and impossible to ignore. Prompto didn’t hesitate this time, slipping his pants down as he bent over the massage table, exposing himself to him. He was so certain this was not what his boss meant when he said to offer a happy ending, but there was no way he was going to stop now. The drag of Tredd’s fingers, slick with the oil that he didn’t see him grab, made him whine softly, spreading his legs further pushing back against them. “God damn you got an ass on you…” he breathed, giving it a sharp smack and watching it jiggle.

“Doesn’t really help with my argument against the twink status does it?” he laughed slightly, his ears burning as he refused to look back at him. He knew he was blushing terribly right now and he really didn’t want to seem anymore inexperienced than he already did.

“Not really,” the grin could be heard in his voice, the drag of his cock against his entrance making the blonde’s lashes flutter before a moan was forced from his lips as he sank in slowly.

“Fuck, did you--”

“If you’re not about to ask if I got bigger, I don’t want to hear it,” he smacked his ass again, groaning low at the way Prompto clenched around him in response. “Tight little twink, aren’t ya?”

“You’re gonna make me regret this if you keep calling me a twink--” Prompto groaned, bracing his arms on the table as he was almost knocked forward with the sharp thrust, gasping out a breathy moan. His cock twitched still in the confines of his pants, he could imagine there probably was precum staining the front of them now.

“Bull shit, you’re loving this,” Tredd wound his fingers in his hair, his other hand sliding up to grip his shoulder tight as he drove forward relentlessly. The pace was sharp and fast, entirely unexpected and leaving the smaller man reeling. He’d no time to prepare, his body tense as he tried to keep from crying out at the heady mix of pain and pleasure suddenly coursing through him. “Oh come on, ain’t no one here, you can moan for me.”

“Fuck you, my manager’s still here,” he grunted out, moaning around his words, reaching down to grasp his cock and stroke himself. This wasn’t supposed to be about him or his own pleasure, but it was undeniable how turned on he was. He’d probably come without touching himself anyway at this rate, but this man clearly had enough of an ego. He didn’t need the satisfaction of knowing he could do that too.

“Maybe he’ll come join us then, put that mouth of yours to better use again.” Prompto wanted to be mad at him for that but the idea was actually rather… hot. His silence must have been enough to affirm it too, because Tredd was suddenly pulling out, flipping him onto his back and hefting him up onto the table better before sinking into him again. “I felt that clench, you liked the sound of that.”

“No-” Prompto wheezed around a broken moan, arching up slightly when he pressed deeper. “No, I don’t want to think of him like that.” Not only would that make working with him more awkward than it already was, but he also just wasn’t attracted to him like that.

“You want me to bring a friend next time instead?”

Prompto blinked up at him in surprise, quickly brows rising in shock. Next time? Was that just dirty talk or did he really intend to come back again? Well he did say earlier that he was his new favorite masseur, but he thought he was just being nice. Just trying to butter him up.

“Gods, you’re easy,” Tredd laughed, hooking his arms around his thighs, dragging him close as he snapped his hips forward with a low groan. Prompto watched as his dark eyes trailed over him hungrily, nothing to hide the flush on his skin or the way his hard cock bobbed with each thrust. Precum dribbled from the head of his cock, smearing on his stomach as he covered his face in embarrassment, shuddering out a moan with each press of his hips. “Dripping already? How badly did you want this?”

Why did he have to keep taunting him like that? Hearing how smug he was as he practically mocked him, it was only making him harder, if that was even possible. He was so ashamed of himself right now, but this man seemed to be absolutely thrilled by it. “Please--”

“Please, what? This ain’t enough for you? ‘Cause from the looks of it where I’m standing, you’re ready to burst, kid. And I can’t tell what’s turning you on more, me or the fact that you definitely shouldn’t have my dick inside you right now.”

“Gods-please just-stop talking like that I can’t--”

“Oooh, I see. You worried you’re gonna come too quickly. Wouldn’t that just be embarrassing, getting off on being mocked by some random asshole while he’s fucking you?” Looking up Prompto saw nothing but hungry eyes and that wicked smirk again, a whimper passing his lips before he could stop it. “Let’s see how much you can handle then, ‘cause I got plenty to say.”

“No,” he sobbed, moaning wantonly as he only snapped his hips forward harder, knocking him back across the table only to be dragged back by the strong arms around his thighs.

“Weak, look at you, you’re on the verge of tears already? I haven’t even said anything mean yet.” Wrapping his fingers around his cock he squeezed until he keened, stroking to counter his sharp thrusts, watching the blonde arch desperately beneath him as he shook his head. “Stop fuckin’ hiding, I want to watch you fall apart. Not like it’s a secret at this point, kid. I can feel you trying not to come.”

Panting softly he hesitated before shakily dropping his hands, looking up at him with wide violet eyes, darkened with his own desire. His pale lashes were clinging together with unshed tears, lips parted around a silent moan, he felt like he looked absolutely ridiculous but to Tredd he was positively sinful. “Tredd…”

“Shit--” he grunted, forcing his gaze away from his face, railing into him with an unforgiving strength now, gritting his teeth against the growing swell of pleasure he felt himself. That was not how this was supposed to go, sure he expected to enjoy the look on his face, but that was just downright illegal. “You gonna come or what? Because this hour’s almost up and I got shit I gotta do.”

“I’m close,” he whined, rocking back into him. “Just keep-keep talking.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, twink. I’ll be perfectly happy finishing without you. I’m sure you’ll have no problem jacking off in shame after I leave anyway.” Either he hit just the right spot or he really was into this whole shame thing because the way he clenched around him then almost made him lose it himself. “Fuck!”

“Don’t finish,” Prompto gasped, quickly pushing up onto his elbows, swatting his hand away from his own turgid cock. “Not yet.”

“The fuck you doin--”

“Come on my face,” the smaller man breathed, tongue flicking out to wet his dry lips. Tredd balked but only for a moment, a crooked grin curling across his lips as he scrambled to pull out of him, dragging him down onto his knees ignoring the pained grunt he made when they hit the floor. Clearly the blonde didn’t seem to mind too much either because he was instantly mouthing at his cock, pulling at the condom with his teeth. “Please…”

“Holy shit-hold on,” he huffed quickly shucking it off onto the floor with a wet plop, stroking himself quickly, his gaze trained on his doe eyed expression. “Fucking hell, kid.”

“Please.” Prompto fisted his own cock, stroking just as desperately, panting as he stuck his tongue out for him, quickly blinking his eyes shut when he felt his warm cum spill in thick ropes across his face. His own hips twitched desperately as he moaned low, spilling into his palm shortly after.

Tredd stood over him for a long moment, feeling his heart rate start to return to a steady normal pace, watching the other man flick his tongue out to catch some of the cum dripping down his face. “Alright… you’ve completely screwed yourself into being a twink. Just a fuckin’ nasty one.”

“Mm… is that an official complaint?” Prompto grinned slightly, peeking an eye open at him, careful not to open the other as he currently still had cum on it. “Because I don’t know how my manager will feel about hearing that.”

“Put me in again, same time next week,” Tredd snorted, looking around before grabbing one of the towels to toss at him. Snatching the towel up, he wiped the cum off of his face and hands, watching him walk back to the changing room to redress like that hadn’t just happened. Slowly standing up, he tugged his pants back on, looking around the room at the strewn about towels.

“So I guess… that’s our time?” He blinked, as he came back out tugging his t-shirt on.

“Pretty much on the dot,” Tredd gestured to the clock, smirking at the confused look he saw on the younger man’s face. “I’ll leave your tip with the receptionist, see ya next week,” he crooned marching right out of the room with a wave over his shoulder.

Prompto was left standing there absolutely dumbfounded, shirtless and still holding a rather soiled towel that he was pretty sure he couldn’t just toss in with the rest of the laundry they had. “...What the fuck just happened?”