#less 'neat and tucked away' and more 'disheveled'

[frida--y]

Enter pics compilation 2!!! I still like him :)

[blueprint-han]

soothing — lee felix.

pairing — felix x (gn) reader

genre — fluff.

word count — 1.9 K

warnings — the reader has hair long enough to braid, other than that, 

note — husband felix brain go bzz bzz <3

“Whoa—” Felix immediately lifts his coffee cup into his hands when you plop down headfirst on the sofa right next to him, groaning in relief as the soft couch fabric surrounds and engulfs you. You throw your bag onto the floor, squirming your way out of your coat before doing the same with it. Felix giggles, the motions you’re adopting to try and not move from the couch but still get yourself a bit more free looking way too funny to the other person.

Your hair is out of it’s ponytail that Felix had surely seen you leave in, and completely disheveled, as though to prove how tired you truly are. Placing his coffee cup on the center table, he scoots closer to your sprawled out figure on the couch, biting his lip to hold back his laugh, but failing to do so.

“Hello to you too, welcome back!” He says all happy and smiley, which you can clearly hear in his tone. His voice instantly brings you some calm, and you sigh, pulling yourself out of your comfortable position to give Felix what seemed like the most adorable expression your husband had ever seen. Your shoulders are slouched yet they seem stiff, as though you’ve been housing tension in them all day. There’s a pout on your face, directed towards Felix for indirectly making fun of your actions, but he knows it’s not serious.

“Hey, I’ve had a terrible day today. Cut me some slack.”

“I can see that,” Felix points out, reaching out to push away the hair that falls over your face and restricts your eyesight. Your eyes immediately flutter shut, and you lean into his touch, almost landing headfirst in front of Felix’s lap if he hadn’t started giggling again in that awfully serotonin-inducing tone and propped his hand against your forehead.

“There, there. Why don’t you go to our room and sleep for a while, hm? We’ll order takeout today, if that makes you feel better.”

Mm, yes. Pizza. Comfort Food.

“That sounds good…” You smile dizzily, still resting the weight of your head against Felix’s hand. Then, you open your eyes, meeting his soft ones and let yourself admire the beauty of your husband for two seconds. He’s been growing his hair long nowadays, and that long hair is tied into a neat ponytail behind him. His smile is as bright as ever. It’s the kind of smile that makes you want to cry and tear up, but also makes your heart flutter whenever it’s directed at you, or literally anything.

His eyes twinkle when they meet yours, and you let your eyes trail over the freckles littering his skin and nose. He’d still be in his makeup most of the times when you’d get home, so this sight is definitely an invited one. You had to admit — to you, there was nothing more beautiful than Felix’s beauty without any makeup, or filter, or editing. He was best when he was himself, his smiley, cute, adorable self. The only one who could make you feel calm without even doing anything, the only person who could make everything seem better with just the smallest gesture.

The only person who made your heart flutter the way it did right now.

You breath in before leaning closer to him, giving him an expression he knew very well. Even after two years of marriage, he could still never not melt whenever you gave him puppy eyes, or whenever you tried to act cute for him to give you something.

“Okay, I know that look-” Felix shakes his head and laughs heartily, leaning toward you too and squishing your cheeks. 

“Pleaseeeeee~” You drag, scrunching up your face in the way you knew your husband would give in to your advances. “I’m tired and plus you petting my hair whenever I fall asleep on your lap is very soothing.”

“Okay, but only on one condition — you go change and freshen up before that.” Felix points to your formal clothing, and you huff in disapproval. “Not going to lie, you smell- kinda.” He makes that cute scrunchy face that you can’t help but malfunction over, even though he’d just teased you.

“Alright, fine.” You roll your eyes playfully, getting off the couch and slouching your way to your shared room, letting yourself change and wash your face. It does make you feel a lot less tense and relieved, but all in all, more excited to fall asleep on your husband’s lap. His touch is always gentle, like a violin bow sliding off it’s strings to produce gentle, calming music.

When you come back, Felix has already cleaned up the couch, the blanket that was sprawled on it now neatly spread for you to tuck yourself into. Obviously, this wasn’t your first time falling asleep with Felix on the couch — it happened more often than one would think it would, to the point where Felix insisted there always be a pillow and a blanket on the couch. The pillow is placed against his lap, and he’s already finished his coffee up and scrolling through his phone.

When he feels your head softly land against his lap, he smiles to himself, placing his phone away and immediately tangling his fingers into your hair as you pull the blanket on top of you, tucking it under your chin and snuggling yourself all warm and cozy against him.

“There, doesn’t that feel a lot better than slithering around in your work clothes?” Felix asks, placing another hand on your thigh to rub small circles into it. 

“Yeah, it really does.”

When Felix starts running his hands through your hair and drawing soothing patterns on it, your whole body immediately feels like it’s melting into the couch. The warmth from the blanket combined with the magic his hands possessed was enough to push you into a deep slumber, until a question pops up in your brain, and halts your train to slumberland.

“When was the last time you braided my hair?” you ask, any signs of your sleep vanished all of a sudden.

“Huh- that’s sudden.”

“Just something that I remembered.”

“Hmm, I guess it was in the early time of our marriage? I don’t remember doing your hair after that, to be honest.”

“Ooh!” You perk up, turning to meet Felix’s gaze. “Why don’t you do it now? I’ll get the comb! One second-” 

“Wait, wait, wait.” Felix pushes you back onto his lap, smiling brightly at your eagerness. “What happened to hey I’ve had a terrible day and I'm tired?”

“Like I said, your hands in my hair is always soothing, plus, my hair's a mess and braiding it would be better.” You push his hand away, running over to your room to fetch the comb before scurrying back to him. You sit down at the couch in front of Felix, pushing the comb into his hand and facing forward.

Felix smiles fondly at you, his heart pounding at your excitement for something so small. He’s lucky to have such a wife, really. A person who knows him truly, a person who loves him for who he truly is on the inside, and a person who can always find happiness with him in the smallest things.

As for you? You’ve lucky to have such a husband. Such a bright, outgoing, empathetic person. You’ve been really blessed to have someone as pure hearted, kind and lovely as him. You’ve been blessed to be the woman he finds his happiness with.

“Okay…” He runs the comb through your hair, and owing to its effect, instantly, your eyes flutter close when he places his hand on top of your head. There was something so exquisite about his touch, it was so soothing. It was like a soft feather running against your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake but always led you to feel relaxed. 

Once Felix has smoothed down your hair, he begins braiding it, and you're already half asleep at this point. It’s like a warm cocoon of love and pure adoration for each other is surrounding the both of you, lulling you into the blissful intimacy of just being with each other and sharing this comfortable silence.

You can hear Felix’s laugh and it pulls you out of your trance. You then realise that you’re almost close to falling asleep on Felix’s knee — clearly, you were still sleepy regardless of your excitement.

“Y/N, you’re leaning to the side.”

“Didn’t I say your hands were soothing?”

Felix blushes. He still can’t help but feel shy of your reaction to his touch even after so long, especially when you’re so direct and open about it. He ignores the heat rising up to his cheeks, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to your hair and forehead before combing through it again and gathering your hair into a ponytail.

“Okay, just stay straight until the first two plaits, and then you can sleep.”

“Mmmm, I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep myself up for so long though. This feels nice…”

“Y/N, come on!” Felix slaps your shoulder slightly, feeling himself blush even more. Of course, you can’t see him because you’re facing forward, but you can sense the overly chirpy, bright tone he’s speaking in. You’d be the first to know about your husband that he gets very shy when he’s praised for anything.

“Okay, okay fine. But do it quickly.”

Felix hums in reply before running his hands through your hair one more time, gently crossing the sections of hair over each other over and over again. The room is filled with a soft, quiet comfortable silence — one that Felix loves a lot. He wants nothing more than such soft and pretty moments, such lovin moments with his wife.

As he braids, your body leans more and more to his knee, and by the time he’s done, your cheek is pressed cutely against his thigh, your eyes closed shut in slumber. He quickly ties the end with a hair tie, and silently stares at your calm figure snoozing on his knee.

“So cute…” He thinks, not being able to hold back his smile as he lets himself admire your sleeping figure for a quick moment, before mischievously poking your cheek.

You whine at the intrusion, squirming around and you’re almost about to fall asleep again if it isn’t for your husband being a little shit, poking at your cheek again.

“What is it?” You whine louder this time.

“You’re gonna sprain your neck.” Felix says as a matter-of-fact.

“Ugh, okay fine… you’re gonna have to give me more of your ramen for disturbing me.” You pout, lifting yourself up before crawling into the blankets and lying down on Felix’s lap again.

“Hey! Who’s the one who ignored their sleep and got their poor husband to braid their hair?”

“You say that like you weren’t just blushing two minutes ago, sunshine.”

Felix has no words for that, and ends up stuttering. You giggle in victory, tucking yourself into the blanket once again before fluttering your eyes close. You bask in the calmness of the surroundings, letting yourself revel in the feeling of warmth that seeps through you.

Except, one thing’s missing.

“Hey!” You call, snapping your husband out of his admiring gaze. He doesn’t know when he got so engrossed into admiring your beauty, but nonetheless, he can’t stop himself from feeling warm internally when you pout once again. 

“Your hands.” You rub your head against where it’s rested against his thigh, a frown on your face due to the lack of, to quote you, soothingness.

So cute, Felix thinks again in awe, tangling his fingers into your hair before finally, finally watching you drift off to sleep peacefully.

networks: @inkidz​ @kpopscape​ @kdiarynet​ @fluffyskzclub​ @destinyverse​ @skzwritersclub​ @kwritersworld​ @lovesick-net​

taglist: @cafejjunie​ @sleepylixie​ ​ @coco-riki​ ​ @stayndays​ ​ @yutassecretheaven​ ​ @lost-midnight-flower​ ​ @p2q3r4​ @anskiie​ ​ @happiestgirlontheeastcoast @cuddlychrisbang @orphic-chan​

[guqin-and-flute]

In Your Hands--Interlude [Peony to Lotus!Verse]

[Chapter 1][Chapter 2][Chapter 3][Chapter 4][Chapter 5]

[This whole fic is the second chronological installment of the Peony to Lotus!Verse]

[First Installment] [Ao3 Series]

[CW: Unreliable narrator TW: Hanging mention (metaphorical), brief allusion to forced prostitution that does not happen]

He has been staring at this missive for over a quarter of an hour without truly seeing it.  Instead, his mind is very hollowly itemizing all his earthly possessions for packing.

It had been quiet all day, no hint that they will expel him--but he has learned in his life that this doesn’t mean anything. And he will be prepared, this time. When he had fled the brothel at 14, all those vultures had left of his mother’s things was one crumpled blue hair ribbon he had managed to snatch from the floor. The rest had been sold for her medicine before her death or appropriated as the beginnings of payment for her debt just as soon as she stopped breathing--and he had been next. The Madam had looked down her nose at him, crumpled beside his mother’s now empty deathbed and said, “You’d better be prepared to start actually being useful, tomorrow.”

And so he had escaped that night with just the clothes on his back and that disheveled ribbon. 

His banishment from the Unclean Realm had been equally as abrupt and so he had been equally as empty handed, left only with the robes he wore, the ribbon in his inner pocket, and Huaisang’s hand-me-down guan that he had ended up having to sell. There are books he misses, gifts and letters that he….It doesn’t matter. By his stay at the Nightless City, he had learned his lesson. He had collected nothing of sentimental value and anything of import stayed on his person at all times. His knives, Hensheng, and his mother’s ribbon had followed him to Lanling. The parting there had at least been longer and more prefaced, but no less excruciating. He hadn’t stayed long enough to accumulate anything more than a new name and a newly refreshed patina of rejection. Even his Jin robes had been left behind for Jiang colors.

Here at Lotus Pier, he has no notion of whether or not this departure would be drawn out or sudden. And so he draws up a mental list. He has Hensheng, his name, the ribbon, and his robes--at least these last he can sell.

And he has...A-Li’s lotus guan. The hand embroidered handkerchief. The silk cord. Will he be allowed to keep them? He’s certain the guan was expensive. 

...Does he want them? 

(He doesn’t. He does.)

He blinks slowly, transfers his empty gaze from his desk to the pillar inset on the far wall. He can take the notebook he had tucked away behind a panel, there, the one he had started when Jiang Wanyin had allowed him to begin work on the Clan’s fiscal affairs. It is organized and neat, a record of commerce, spending, contacts, weak points and anything he had thought might possibly benefit his father to know about the Jiang. A desperate project, begun at the very beginning when everything inside him had been panic and scrambling damage control. All he could do was try to gouge out handholds wherever he could reach. 

He hasn’t touched it in days. Because he has allowed himself to be distracted. It’s Nie Mingjue, it’s Er-ge all over again. Someone shows him warmth or defends him before others and he loses focus; immediately and repeatedly throwing himself on metaphorical rocky shores or literal blades for their sake, losing sight of his ultimate goal.

All he needs is to figure out how to return to his father’s side. That’s all he needs. That’s all that matters. Leaving here was always the Plan--it’s useless to feel rejection like a sting, now. Useless to feel crushed. Again. 

And how will you return? You were cast here as garbage. Madam Jin will never let you return to Lanling, and Father never wanted you in the first place--that’s what all of this was for. He came to convince his father that he can follow his orders, that he can still be an asset--anything he needs.

Who wants you? 

“I love you, A-Yao.”

His fists ball up and he closes his eyes, fighting sweeping nausea, clenching his jaw. He has let his heart run away from him again. He is too old, he has been burned too many times to believe pretty lies anymore. He knows better. Knows she is lying to be kind, because she has a soft heart. And yet he is here once again, feeling the ache of approaching abandonment. Having started courting her. Wanting her safe, wanting her happy and smiling--starting to care so horribly, so deeply. It’s stupid. It’s unbelievably and unforgivably stupid.

She is kind. Too kind. She doesn’t know what she’s doing, doesn’t understand the depth of it. 

She will tire of it all--him, his reputation, his hang-ups, the lies she will have to tell him and herself, the energy it takes to handle whatever ugliness her patience might draw out of him. She will stumble across something in him that he will fail to tuck away in time and recoil in disgust. Horror. It has happened before. Chifeng-zun….

(He has already hurt her. If he had known… If he had seen the bruises, he would have….)

And he doesn’t want this. He doesn’t. He doesn’t. This isn’t what he has been working for.

There is nowhere else to go.

Er-ge’s soft smile swims up in his mind’s eye, the memory of a dingy house with just one bed--hands on his cheek, the words, ‘If you ever need anything, A-Yao, I will be there…’ 

Then he really will have done the rounds, passed around every main Sect like some whore being lent out. 

His fingernails dig into the fabric of his sleeves as he pulls in a harsh breath through his nose. No. No. No, he will dig himself in, he will find the security to be still long enough to figure out his next move back. Staying here...staying here is the best place to do that. If he is thrown out now, he will be starting from nothing. Again. 

He finds himself sitting back, reaching into his inner pocket to draw out his mother's ribbon--but when he pulls it, A-Li’s handkerchief also falls out, into his lap. He feels, at once, the almost insane, overpowering urge to fling it from him. So he cannot be contaminated. Swayed.

Instead, he picks it up with shaking fingers and runs his thumb over the careful, smooth stitches. It really is beautifully made. Two mandarin ducks, a drake and a hen, their bodies two halves of a circle, their heads turned toward each other in the middle. A simple golden peony flowers over the drake, a delicate purple lotus next to the hen. His heart aches in his throat.

He presses it to his nose and breathes in the scent of the incense he had gifted her, sandalwood and orchid. When A-Li had first burned it in their room, he had been startled at its familiarity--it smelled like Er-ge’s hair had when Jin Guangyao had held him as he shook and cried silently over the loss of his Clan, half delirious with fever as they hid in Yunping from the Wen. In purchasing it, all he had done was ask He Si what sort of incense A-Li preferred and chosen one from the list. He hadn’t known it would be almost the exact same blend that Er-ge uses. It had seemed like synchronicity, at the time, like a golden thread from his heart to theirs, the fact that two people that are so unbearably kind to him could share this in common. Two people that he….

Now, it feels like a noose delicately brushing his neck, a dangerous pitfall he could hang himself on if he isn’t careful. Watchful.

His mother’s hair ribbon hasn’t smelled like her osmanthus hair oil for years. It is worn, fraying at the tips, and there are slight discolorations where creases had been ingrained in by sweat and weathering, back before he had the means to tenderly press it back to smoothness. Back when he was still nothing and no one. When he kept becoming nothing and no one, over and over again. 

He stares down at them, ribbon in his left hand, handkerchief in his right. This, more than anything, should be a wake up call, not an unpleasant surprise. He is being weak. He is betraying his mother’s dream. 

He’s spitting in the face of all she had ever done for him. This isn’t where he belongs.

Though they will not want him here, he will fight to stay here, for now. He will focus. He will prove that he is useful. Indispensable. He has to.

[plant-flwrs]

helloooo angelface!! could i request a reader x george where george loves playing with her hair and she acts like it annoys her but really she likes it a lot but george only realises it doesnt bother her when maybe smth happens and shes upset and asks him to do it? idk if that made any sense but xx

studying // george weasley

masterlist!

a/n: ugh i love comforting george it makes me so soft. thank u for requesting!

summary: Exams are stressing you out, but George always seems to be there to help you relax.

(1.6k)

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Exams were rapidly approaching and your workload was getting a bit too heavy for you to carry.

You sat at the Great Hall, using the massive table space to study. You had so many papers, and none of the table in your common room could hold them all without some getting lost in a shuffle. You had a plate of food discarded to your right. You had woken up early, granted you had barely slept at all, and devoured your food, only so you could move onto your studies quicker. 

George stumbled into breakfast, his overgrown and disheveled hair falling into his eyes. He pushed it back, yawning. He crossed his arms, pulling the sleeves of his sweater over his hands and trying to trap some of his body heat. The weather outside was getting nicer, but it seemed like the stone castle walls were clinging to the cold weather.

He made his way over to you, furrowing his brows with a sympathetic look as his eyes began to blur just with a glance at your course load. He picked up a textbook that rested on the outskirts of the mountain you had created around you, and flipping through the pages, he immediately felt overwhelmed for you. He put down the textbook, and looked over to you. Your face was about five inches away from the paper you poured yourself into, and you bit your lip harshly.

He moved to stand behind you, gently tugging your shoulders back and into him. He felt the tenseness in your neck, and as you leaned into him, he felt you relax. You pressed the back of your head into his stomach, and let your quill fall from your hand. He moved his hands from your shoulders and into your hair, gently running his finger through it and raking his short nails over your scalp. You felt yourself dissolving, but not for long.

Your mind was plagued with the Potions essay in front of you, and you retracted from George’s grasp, your hair trailing from his fingers.

George wasn’t surprised, if anything he was surprised he had gotten you to relax for as long as you did (20 seconds). He loved playing with your hair, he loved the grin that you tried to suppress when he did it, and he loved the way your body seemed to fall at his mercy by such a small gesture. You never let him do it for long, feeling embarrassed by the reaction it elicited from you.

“Anything I can help you with?” George asked, but he already knew the answer. The only subject he could even compare to you in was Charms, and you had finished your revisions for that class a few days ago.

“Sadly,” you mumbled, still writing furiously, “I don’t think so. Go ahead and look around though.”

You made a sweeping gesture with your hand, motioning to the papers that lay around you.

“Why’re you down here so early?” George asked, settling into the table and filling his plate.

“I didn’t want to wake my dormmates,” you said, rolling up the Potions essay after you proofread it, “and I couldn’t sleep anyways.”

George moved a hand to your face, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. He smiled at the short lasting peaceful look on your face, but you turned your head away from him and reached across the table for your Arithmancy work.

“You could always sneak up to my dorm,” George said, shoveling some eggs in his mouth, “Fred and Lee don’t go in there to study.”

You chuckled at the idea of Fred, George, and Lee sitting around studying together.

“Maybe. Afraid you won’t be able to see your floor once I put all my papers down, though,” you said, flipping through a textbook and running a quick finger over the words.

“I wasn’t attached to it,” George replied, making you smile again.

You had learned to work through any distractions George presented while you studied, because having him around seemed to make you significantly less stressed. Just his tired and glazed over eyes made you feel comforted. His slow morning movements made you feel homely.

“Any plans for the day?” you asked him, knowing he wasn’t going to be working on his revisions.

“Fred said he had an order dispute he needed my help on,” George said, lifting his arms over his head to stretch. The bottom of his sweater rose, and in the corner of your eye you admired his toned stomach and the tuft of ginger hair that sprouted from his waistband. Your cheeks warmed, but you focused your eyes back to the confusing subject in front of you.

“Do you think you’ll be doing this all day?” George asked, lowering his arms and looking at the side of your face.

“I hope not,” you mumbled, and began to move your fingers through the piles, taking register of the work you had left, “I have a few hours worth of Arithmancy, but I think Hermione offered to help me with some of it, so it shouldn’t take that long. I just finished Potions, and I wanted to go over Transfiguration one last time.”

George sighed heavily, watching the work pile up as you grouped it together.

“Are you going to the library again?” 

“I think Hermione wanted to meet in the common room,” you said, setting your quill down for the rest of breakfast, “I could work in there for the rest of the day.”

“Like I said,” George smirked at you, “my bedroom’s always open.”

You rolled your eyes and bumped your shoulder into his. You rolled up your parchments, organizing them into neat stacks. You stuffed your textbooks into your bag and piled the papers on top. George helped you, rolling the last bits of parchment and handing them to you.

You finally breathed, setting your elbows on the table. You picked a piece of fruit from George’s plate, and he wrapped an arm around your shoulder.

“It’s almost over,” he said, breathing in the smell of your shampoo, “then it’s summer, and you can visit The Burrow.”

You nodded, closing your eyes and trying to pull memories from last year at George’s house. You tried to remember Molly’s cooking, the days in the garden with Ginny and Hermione, the nights you snuck into Fred and George’s room and talked all night.

These were just about the only things getting you through exams. 

Studying with Hermione went as well as it could. You had agreed to study with her because she usually had firms grasps on the subjects, but Arithmancy ended up taking longer because you had to explain a lot of it to her. Large bags formed under her eyes, and her already frizzy and uncontrollable hair was even more frizzy and uncontrollable. The time together sort of boosted your ego, really, giving you confidence in your knowledge about the subject. 

You had started Arithmancy when the sun had just risen, and by the time you closed your textbook, the sun was fading and an orange sunset floated through the tall windows of the Gryffindor common room. You paid little attention to Hermione sinking into the couch with her Charms textbook, and moved over to the window. Your Transfiguration textbook tucked under your arm, tabs and writings marked all over it, was long forgotten. Your face lit up in the glow of the sunset, and you imagined you were at the Burrow, watching the sun disappear over a grassy hill.

George came down the stairs, still in his pajamas he had eaten breakfast in, his hair just as messy. He had figured you were done with studying, and came to save you. He looked towards Hermione on the couch, but found you missing. A quick glance around the room and he found you by the window. The orange hue from the receding sun glowed in your face, and he watched you. Your eyes were closed, your chest slowly rising and falling. Your grip on your marked up textbook was so loose, he thought you might drop it. You rocked a little on your feet, and it looked like the slightest bit of wind could knock you over.

He came to your side, and at his hand reaching for your waist, your eyes slowly opened. He smiled down at you, taking the textbook from your hands and placing it on the table behind you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and breathed deep. 

“George?” you said to him in a hushed tone.

“Hm?” he hummed back to you.

“Would you play with my hair?” you asked, feeling no shame about the grin that would spread across your face.

His smile only widened, and he nodded his head enthusiastically. He brought his hands from your waist, setting each on the side of your face. The heels of his hands started near your eyes, and he ran his hands through your hair. Your head tilted back at the motion, and you let it roll with his hands. He grouped your hair like he was going to put it in a ponytail, using both hands, and lifted it from your neck. He twisted it, and then let it fall, watching as some of it landed in your face.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his cold lips brushing against your forehead in a loving and chaste kiss.

“I love you, George,” you mumbled, resting your cheek against his strong chest.

He ran a hand soothingly over your head, brushing your hair down. The other pulled you tighter to him.

“I love you too, Y/n.”

[fandom-puff]

hi i have a request! imagine for tommy he picked you up at the bar so he doesn’t know you very well but you guys ~do the nasty~ and later he overhears from your one friend telling lizzie that you faked your orgasm and he hunts you down determined to make you cum for real

HI! thanks so much for this request- I adored writing it!

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings: SMUTSMUTSMUTSMUT also swearing bc... peaky blinders?

It was the grand opening of the Shelbys’ new bar, and naturally, almost all of Small Heath was crammed into the main room. The whiskey and gin (from Shelby Company Limited, of course) was flowing, and the Swing Band was playing loudly, much to the joy of the inebriated men and women dancing. You hummed to yourself, touching up your lipstick before calling for another round for you and your girlfriends, Ada and Lizzie. “You want another drink, Linda? Maybe just stout?” you asked, getting your coin purse out. 

“Don’t bother yourself. I won’t succumb to that temptation. Just tonic water for me,” you rolled your eyes and soon received your drinks. “So you won’t touch gin, but you’ll happily play in the snow, eh?” Ada smirked, winking at you as she sipped her drink. You spluttered into your own. 

“Come on, ladies,” you said, sensing the tension growing between sisters-in-law. “Let’s dance before the band starts playing that American rubbish,” 

Together, you joined in with the dancing, giggling and cheering each other on. “C’mon Lizzie! Spin me around! I wanna be twirled,” you squealed, and the taller woman happily complied. You were new to the company, and she wanted to make you feel welcome before the boys scared you off. Soon you left the dancefloor, leaving the girls, to get another drink. You arrived at the bar, giggling and breathless, and ordered your favourite drink.

 “Miss YLN,” a low voice rumbled next to you as the bartender poured your drink. “I don’t believe we’ve properly met. Been keeping the books, eh? My brother John says you’ve very neat handwriting, and hardly cross any number out,” You nodded as your eyes met Thomas Shelby’s.

 “Oh… yes, Mr Shelby,” you murmured. “I try to make them neat so you lot don’t get muddled up,” you said. He nodded. The bartender put your drink in front of you and you reached for your purse. Tommy stopped you and gestured to the bartender that your drink ought to be on the house. 

He soon took you into the side room, kicking Finn and Isiah out. “My secretary, Lizzie, recommended you to me,” he said as you perched opposite him. He lit a cigarette, rubbing it along his lip before taking a drag. “And I’ve been trying to figure you out. Couldn’t find anything,”

“I didn’t grow up ‘round here. When my mum died I took her maiden name. Most of her lot were killed. The Somme, I think,”

“And your dad?” he asked, watching you as you drank.

 “The bastard died in France too, as far as I know. But I left home after Mum died. That was before the war,” 

An hour later, you were still talking, although the pair of you had drained a bottle of whiskey. You were giggly and warm when drunk, but Tommy only closed in more. This didn’t bother you in the slightest. You leaned forward and smirked. “So, Mr Shelby, do I meet your approval, eh?”You were so close to him, and your pupils were dilated with what could only be described as a mixture of inebriation and desire. 

“Yes. Yes, you do. C’mere,” he grunted, dragging you into his lap. He pressed his lips to yours in a bruising kiss, his hand already running up your thigh. You groaned and wriggled, sucking his lip into your mouth, grinding your heat onto his tenting trousers. He growled, unbuckling his belt and shoving his trousers down, and tearing your knickers down. He stood up, bending you over the table, before rutting into you animalistically. You whimpered, crying out, pushing back into him. His thrusts soon became sloppy, and you reached to stroke your pulsing clit- but he grabbed your hand as soon as he saw you moving, pinning you down and shouting out his release. It was a good job the band had started playing a popular song, otherwise, the whole of Birmingham would have heard you. 

You panted, expecting him to carry on thrusting to bring you over the edge. Instead, you heard the sound of a belt buckle and the door slamming shut.

 The experience sobered you up slightly and you straightened your dress, fixing your lipstick and hair before slipping out of the side room. You bumped into Lizzie and told her you were going home, as you were working in the morning. She nodded and took in your dishevelled (despite your best efforts) appearance. “Get some rest,” she said knowingly, giving you a wink.

 The next day, you arrived at work despite your headache. You lit a lamp, as it was still a little dark out, and started on the books, flicking through the notes scribbled by various members of the Shelby clan. You worked in peace for ten minutes before Lizzie and Pol came into the room, chatting. 

“There she is. How’s your head?” Lizzie grinned, sliding you some aspirin. You smiled gratefully and took the tablets.

 “Holy shit,” Pol commented, staring at the bruise on your throat. You blushed deeply and tugged your collar closed. You hated wearing this blouse buttoned all the way up, but needs must. 

“Wild night, eh?” Lizzie asked, getting her own paperwork sorted as Pol went to fix tea. 

“Not really,” You sighed, looking down. You wanted to ground to swallow you whole. 

“Oh, piss off. You came out of that side room five minutes after Tommy, looking like you’d been dragged through a hedge backwards, and you show up to work with a dirty great love bite on your throat,” she grinned. “I’m not judging you, by the way. If anything I’m impressed. He’s been a right prick lately,” 

“And he was a right prick last night,” you hissed. “Moody bastard, and a lousy fuck as well. Didn’t even finish me off, I had to fake it in the end,” you glared down at your paperwork. Lizzie chuckled and rubbed your shoulder gently. Polly came back into the room with the cups and teapot, pouring for you all.

 “So who’s the man? Boyfriend we haven’t heard of?” She asked, smirking. 

“It was Tommy, Pol,” Lizzie explained. You kept your eyes down. “Apparently he’s a lousy fuck. Our poor YN was treated worse than the back alley whores by the sounds of it,” 

Prolly frowned and set your tea in front of you. “Wouldn’t think a lousy fuck would leave that mark,” she said slyly. “Use a cold spoon and some powder when you get home,” she advised. 

“And then tonight, go dancing and get a man who’ll treat you right, eh?” Said Lizzie. “You deserve better than someone rutting against you like a dog,”

The two women had cheered you up significantly and you smiled weakly until Arthur’s loud voice cut across your conversation.

 “Rutting like a dog? Was that what you and Tommy were up to last night?” He grinned, having overheard,  and you flushed angrily. 

“Hey, no need to be embarrassed, YN, you are a pretty little thing-” he said, his smile dropping when he saw that his banter wasn’t making you laugh like normal.

 “No. I’m not embarrassed. If anything, I’d be embarrassed for your brother. Who would’ve thought Thomas Shelby didn’t know his way around a woman, let alone how to properly please her!” You turned around. “Pol, I’m going home. My head is banging and I need to concentrate on these books. Arthur’s done all the adding up wrong. Dock my pay if need be,” You took the heavy leather-bound book and tucked it under your arm, before storming out of the betting shop, right past Tommy without even noticing. 

The peace of your home was what you needed. You brewed yourself a pot of tea with the nice teabags you had picked up from the market, and settled yourself at your rickety old desk, going through the books and copying them up neatly, and more importantly, precisely. You even hummed to yourself, soon letting the stress of the previous night slowly fade away. 

That was until there was a sharp knock on your door. You sighed, getting up. There was another knock. “Alright! I’m coming. Rent’s not due for another week, though!” You called, going to take the door off the latch. 

There in the doorway, in all his glory, was your boss. His cap was drawn over his face and he blew out a breath of smoke. “YN. Can I come in?”

 You wanted nothing more than to slam the door in his face and lock it, put the chain on and drown him out with your rusty gramophone.  But-

“Fine. But put that cigarette out before you step over my threshold. The last tenant was a bad smoker and I’ve only just got the smell out of the cushions,” when the door shut, you turned around, crossing your arms. “What do you want, Mr Shelby?” 

“Mr Shelby, is it now?” He asked, smirking. “That’s no way to greet a guest, is it. Are you going to offer me a drink?”

 “No, I’m not. You don’t take me as one for cold tea with no milk,” you quipped. “What do you want?”

 He arched his brow, looking you up and down as if you were a fresh cut from the butcher. You stood a little straighter, determined not to look small. “What I want, YN, is to know what your little fuss was about earlier on,” he said lowly. 

You scoffed. “Oh please. You know exactly what it was about, and even if you didn’t, I’m sure the boys would’ve informed you,” you said coldly. “If you must know, I was pissed. Still am. Because I let you… have me. And I’m pissed because you treated me like a common whore, and I’m pissed because everyone knows and will think less of me,” you said, flushing, brow furrowed. 

“And what’s all this about being a lousy fuck, eh?” He asked, face like stone. 

“Oh you heard that part well enough, didn’t you?” You suppressed an annoyed laugh. “It’s true. You are a lousy fuck. D’you bend all your women over and hump them like a dog in heat or am I just special?” 

“YN…,” he said, voice low, standing up and walking to you.

 “You know, I’ve had better shags when I was a teenager. At least the lads I used to go out with had the decency to finish me off once their balls were empty!” You ranted, unaware of him stalking closer and closer, like a panther on the prowl. 

He pushed you against the wall, arms braced either side of your head. You gulped. Had you pushed him too far? You looked up at him through your lashes, and couldn’t help but lick your lips, your breath already becoming shallow. “Finish you off, eh? Is that what you want?” He asked lowly, leaning to growl in your ear, sending a shiver that crawled all over your skin and made your eyelashes flutter. 

You bit your lip and nodded. “Y-yes…” you whispered.

 “Yes, what?” 

“Yes please, Mr Shelby,”

 That was all he needed. He gripped your hips and pulled them tight against his, kissing you ferociously, his hands gripping, squeezing, stroking every inch of you he could reach. You moaned against his mouth and scrabbled at his heavy coat and jacket, pushing them to the floor. You began fumbling with his belt when he grabbed your wrists, holding the, above your head.

 “Ah Ah Ah,” he said roughly. “I intend to make up for last night. And believe me, YN, I’m feeling particularly generous tonight,” He hoisted you up by the thighs and held you against him, carrying you to your bedroom and kicking the door shut. He deposited you onto the bed, before looking down at you. “Dress. Off.” He demanded, and you all too eagerly complied, much to his satisfaction, casting it aside, quickly followed by your slip, leaving you in your knickers and bra. He chuckled darkly at your eagerness, and when you went to undo your garter and stockings, he halted your hands, shaking his head. You nodded obediently and watched as he kneeled down in front of you. You pressed your knees together, but he tutted and caressed your legs, from ankle to thigh. 

“Don’t be shy, YN,” he murmured.

 “No one’s ever…” you whispered, shifting your thighs together. He cocked his brow up and smirked. 

“No one’s ever what, pet?” He asked, pushing your thighs apart and making quick work of your stockings. “Tasted you? Not even all those boys who knew how to please you, eh?” 

You nodded and bit your lip, gasping at the new sensation of his hot breath skittering across your core as he pressed filthy, open-mouthed kisses against your heat. He nipped the inside of your thighs to get you to spread them further and inhale your musk, shuddering at the scent of your arousal.

 “You won’t even remember your own fucking name once I’m through with you, love,” he promised, stroking his finger lazily up the seam of your underwear, pressing it against your clit. You clenched your fists into the sheets, thighs already trembling. This did not go unnoticed, and Tommy chuckled darkly at your desperation. “So responsive,” he murmured, dragging your underwear down torturously slowly, before burying his face between your legs. You whimpered as you felt his tongue running up your slit, gathering your arousal before he swallowed with a groan, gripping your thighs tightly and holding them apart. He traced your sopping folds with the very point of his tongue, his nose occasionally bumping your swollen clit, but giving it nowhere near enough attention for your liking. 

“Tommy please!” You whimpered after at least ten minutes of him scrubbing the flat of his tongue against your heat, nipping at your thighs, and even pushing his tongue into you. He pulled away and looked up at you with raised eyebrows, your slick glistening obscenely on his chin.

 “Please, what, YN? Use your words,” he demanded.

 “Please, touch me!” You cried, shifting your hips, trying to get some friction to your needy clit.  

“Touch you where YN? I can’t help you if you don’t tell me,” he said smirking cockily, pinning your hips down to still you.

 “On my… my… here!” You whimpered, reaching a hand down to flick at your throbbing nub. “Please, Tommy, please!” 

He growled and knocked your hand away, instantly attaching his lips to it, sucking like a man starved and flicking his tongue under the hood. You cried out and tipped your head back, gripping whatever handful of hair you could, swearing like a sailor. “Oi. Watch. Eyes on me.” He commanded, although slightly muffled by your writhing hips. You whined softly but nodded, focusing on watching the gorgeous man devouring you. Your eyes fluttered when you felt a familiar tension building up in the pit of your belly, your clit beginning to throb against his tongue. Your breath came in sharp gasps, and you bucked your hips up, desperate to tip over the edge, so close already-

Then… nothing.

 You groaned, glaring down at the man before you, who still held all the power despite being on his knees. You whined trying to grab him back. “What the fuck? Please, I was so close!” You said, intending to sound angry, but actually sounding needy and desperate. He grinned. 

“I know,” Bastard. He repeated this routine several times, bringing you right up to the edge, but dragging you away at the last moment, until you were practically sobbing with need. When he had taken his fill of your nectar, he worshipped your breasts, sucking and nipping and kissing and lathing his tongue over your nipples until you were writhing, arching your back, convinced you would cum from this stimulation alone. 

“Please, Tommy!” You whined, fingers tangled in his cropped hair as he sucked a dark mark on your breast. “Please, Tommy, you’ve proved your point, please!” You sounded pathetic, begging like a whore, but to be quite frank, you could give a bigger fuck if you tried. “Just… please, Tommy, I need you. Need to feel you,” you whispered, stroking his jaw as he resurfaced, his piercing eyes trained on yours. “Need you to fill me up, claim me… I’m yours, Tom. Don’t you want to feel me cumming all over your cock?” 

Your words were meant to rile Tommy up, but they made you shift and whimper and buck despite yourself. “Good girl,” he whispered. “I’m very impressed with you. I’m going to fuck you, YN, and I’m going to do it properly,” You nodded eagerly and watched with glazed eyes as he discarded his waistcoat, shirt and trousers. You licked your lips as he dropped his underwear, groaning at the sight of his long, thick cock bouncing free, already leaking.

 All for you. 

You whimpered as Tommy crawled up the mattress towards you, already spreading your legs for him. “Please,” you whispered, reaching for him. He nodded, slowly pushing himself into you, bracing his elbows either side of your head. You cried out at the stretch of him, arching your back to press into his warm chest. Already, you were digging your nails into his back, and he grunted at the feeling of your walls clenching onto him for dear life.

 “Fucking hell,” he groaned into your neck, drawing back almost completely, before driving back into you with slow, measured movements, his forehead pressed to yours as he fucked you slowly, yet each thrust was ended with a sharp snap of his hips. You whined out, throbbing around him, trying to meet his thrusts with faster, needier ones of your own.

 “More, Tommy, more!” you cried out, scrabbling your nails down his back, clinging to his shoulder blades. You raised your legs to wrap them around his waist, angling your hips up more, eyes rolling at the deeper penetration gained by the new angle. “Please, faster,” you begged, writhing eagerly beneath him. “Please?” you whimpered, practically sobbing with need. 

Tommy grunted and nodded, holding you tight to him as he fucked you harder, faster, more relentlessly, growling into your ear, before suckling dark marks down your throat and to your collarbone. Moaning, he pistoned his hips into you, each thrust bumping delicious pressure onto your aching clit. It was too much. 

You moaned wantonly, arching your back and biting his shoulder. “Fuck Tommy, I’m gonna cum,” you whined, clinging to him, not wanting him to pull away before your release again.

 “Good girl,” he groaned. “Cum around my cock, love, that’s what you want. That’s what I want,” he grunted, his thrusts sloppy and harsh. With his permission, you yelped out, crying his name as you came, seeing white spots, even when you clenched your eyes shut. Feeling you clench around him like a vice, he shouted his release, spurting into you, filling you with his hot cum. 

Panting, he pulled out, and for a moment you worried he would buckle up his belt and leave you like a whore again, but the mattress dipped beside you as he lay down. He drew you into his side, holding you close. 

“You alright?” he murmured, kissing the top of your head. “You okay, love?” you nodded, resting your head on his chest, breathing deeply. 

“I-I… more than alright,” you murmured, causing him to chuckle. He lit a cigarette and grinned, rubbing your side as you drew the covers around you both.

 “So, still think I’m a lousy fuck, eh?” he smirked. You grinned and looked up, reaching to kiss him.

 “Not sure,” you said cheekily. “That might have been a fluke. You’ll have to repeat that display a few more times so I know you didn’t just get lucky,”

 “Oh, I got lucky all right,” he smirked. “Sleep. We’ll take the day off work tomorrow, and I’ll show you that wasn’t a fluke, eh?”

[vodkassassin]

Hello again :)) if your ask box about svsss prompts is still open---

*deep breaths*

CUCUMBERPLANE KABEDON SCENE PLEASE [accidentally saw a kabedon scene in Pinterest and im LOSING MY MIND.] In private?? In public?? Platonic?? Romantic??? Up to you 😂😂

Asdfghjkl I failed to get up close on this scene, because JQS demanded to be the narrator, but I’m tempted to write ANOTHER one because it is absolutely hysterical and I’m living this @bubble-milk-tee

—

Beside him, Rong Qingsheng sucks in an almost pained breath, leaning forward in his seat to press his palms to his temples, eyes fixated on a point on the far side of the room.

Ju Qingsong startles, pulling out of his daze to pin his best friend with a sharp look of examination. “Qingsong? What—”

“I,” Rong Qingsheng presses out through his teeth, eyes wide and frantic, “am losing my mind.”

“What?” Ju Qingsong quickly sits down beside him. Their legs press together from the proximity, but he pays it no kind as he normally would, instead raising his hands to hover in uncertainty over his clearly unwell friend. “What’s wrong?”

Rong Qingsheng lets out another harsh, wheezing breath, smothering it between his teeth, and juts his chin out in the direction of where he’s been staring, absolutely beside himself. Ju Qingsong hesitates, before turning to follow his gaze, and his jaw drops.

Across the room, against the wall and away from the larger crowd as they are nowadays normally to be found, Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua stand. Or rather, Shen Qingqiu stands, one arm braced against the wall, looming over where he has a grinning Shang Qinghua cornered. He stands almost a head taller than the An Ding peak lord, usually, but the way that Shang Qinghua has slid down partially with his back to the wall, Shen Qingqiu looks significantly taller, and Shang Qinghua looks more and more like he’s being bullied the longer that their positions remain unchanged. Bullied, and absolutely delighted by it, if his beaming smile and the way that his shoulders tremble with laughter is anything to go by. Shen Qingqiu stares down at him with an imperious express across his face, before a smirk slowly slides over his sharp and aristocratic features, and he reaches out the hand that holds his folded fan to gently tap Shang Qinghua’s forehead with the end of it.

Rong Qingsheng releases a quietly tortured sound, beside him, and Ju Qingsong slowly, with great effort, picks his jaw back up off the floor.

He leans over and presses his shoulder into his friend’s. “Oh, my gods,” he says, for lack of anything else.

He’s unable to tear his eyes away from the scene their two martial brothers make, but he’s close enough to feel the way that Rong Qingsheng nods.

“I am going to die,” his best friend says, quietly, and Ju Qingsong isn’t able to withhold the snort of laughter that bubbles up from his chest.

Any reply he would have made (forever unknown to either of them, because Ju Qingsong is, right now, ultimately at a loss for words) is interrupted when Qi Qingqi comes skipping over to them, like an excited junior disciple instead of the domineering peak lord that she is, and plops down directly on Rong Qingsheng’s other side.

Ju Qingsong is momentarily distracted by the way that all six of their thighs have lined up in a neat, unbroken row. Then, Qi Qingqi reaches an arm around the back of Rong Qingsheng’s neck to roughly slide her fingers into Ju Qingsong’s hair and give it a teasing ruffle.

He shakes his head to dislodge her, good naturedly but for some reason feeling a little short of breath. Glancing over, he sees the way she’s ducked down to press all their heads together, grinning in clear enthusiasm.

“Are you seeing that?” She demands, eyes sparkling, and Ju Qingsong doesn’t have to ask what she’s talking about, because yes, yes he does see them.

Rong Qingsheng gives another quietly pained whine.

“I’m going to die,” he reiterates, and this time both Ju Qingsong and Qi Qingqi roll their eyes in unison.

“You’ll be fine.” The woman says, and then adds, teasingly, “You know, after a week or two, once your dreams have had time to settle themselves and leave you alone.”

Rong Qingsheng shrinks down in his seat, offsetting her arm and causing it to slide down his back. His face is red.

Ju Qingsong feels their shijie’s hand come to rest on his upper arm, and casts her an annoyed look.

“Mean, Qi-shijie.” He says, reproachfully.

“The truth, though,” she replies cheerfully, and then points across the room. “Oh, look!”

They snap their gazes back to the opposite wall, where Shang Qinghua has slid down far enough that his outer robe is beginning to look a little disheveled. It does not help the scene, at all. Much less so, when Shen Qingqiu actually tucks his fan away into his belt and reaches out with his now freed hand to fix his shidi’s robes for him.

“Do you think… ” Ju Qingsong begins a little weakly, “Do you think they remember that we are, uh, in public?”

“That we can see them?” Rong Qingsheng’s squeaks out, and Ju Qingsong carefully doesn’t look down at him, for all that he is practically pressed against his side. His cheeks feel too warm to chance a glance.

Qi Qingqi covers her smile with a sleeve and giggles coquettishly.

It causes the few guest cultivators who aren’t caught up in staring unabashedly at the scene their shixiong are making at the other end of the room to turn and cast her fond looks of attentiveness. Only to frown when they notice how closely the three of them are sitting together.

Nothing would come of anything they try, anyway, Ju Qingsong thinks in amusement. Qi Qingqi would never be interested in them. Especially, seeing as she could beat them all in a fight using only her pinky.

“I’m pretty sure they’ve forgotten where they are,” Qi Qingqi admits, but doesn’t sound at all concerned. She reaches into the front of her robes and pulls out her ever-present set of charcoal pencil and parchment scroll, and Ju Qingsong withholds a sigh at the way her actions make the men who are watching her go wide in the eyes and red in the faces.

“Could you not,” he tries, long sufferingly. “We’re in the middle of a banquet! Where are those lessons of etiquette your Shizun taught you?”

“I can’t not take notes!” She says, scribbling furiously. Her eyes flit from the scroll back up to their shixiong several times. “They’re right there! I have to immortalize the scene!”

“Yeah, I see them,” Rong Qingsheng replies. He’s leaning into Ju Qingsong instead of pushing him away, and that’s how he knows that his friend is nearly at his wits end. “Absolutely fucking shameless.” And he sounds wistful, saying it.

“This is a little too much for you.” Ju Qingsong sighs, and wraps his hand around Rong Qingsheng’s arm to help his friend stand up. “Actually, it’s too much for our current setting, at all. Someone should go and fetch Zhangmen-shixiong.”

“Don’t you dare,” Qi Qingqi threatens, but her frenzied note-taking picks up in speed.

“It’s for the good of the sect, shijie,” Ju Qingsong says, and drags his nearly catatonic friend off with him.

Honestly. Sometimes, it feels like Ju Qingsong is the only level headed peak lord besides their leader! It’s absolutely an insult.

But, really, someone should go and unobtrusively remind his two shixiong of where they are, before they cause a scandal or something, and it’s not going to be him.

[sevlgi]

chemistry

requested: yes

group: red velvet

pairing: irene x fem!reader

genre: fluff, angst

contents: college!au, tutor!irene, chemistry pickup lines

warnings: none

synopsis: When you end up with your ultimate crush and the goddess of the school, Irene, as your Chemistry tutor, you can only think of one way to woo her-chemistry pickup lines. But is that enough to woo the beautiful ice queen?

a/n: I can absolutely do an Irene drabble! I haven’t gotten many requests for red velvet, but I’m happy to write for them. also, happy birthday, Irene!

word count: 2.8k

Getting Bae Joohyun assigned as your tutor is probably the best thing that has ever happened to you.

Joohyun was recognized by everyone on campus as a literal goddess. Even among her friend group of the most illustrious and beautiful girls on campus, she stands out as the leader of all of them, the prettiest and most brilliant one of all. Armed with knife-sharp wit, stellar grades, and a gorgeous face to top it all off, Joohyun could have the world at her feet.

Despite how cold she is to everyone outside of her friend group, everyone is infatuated; you swear you’ve seen her receive at least a dozen marriage proposals in a week from guys and girls alike. If you had enough courage, you’d probably be one of those girls, although you’d probably be turned away like the rest with a scathing remark from Jennie or a sympathetic smile from Nayeon.

Recently, though, you’ve become friends with one of the sweeter girls in the group, Joohyun’s friend Wendy. She’s in your Chemistry class and is just like Joohyun, only nicer.

You groan as you spot the fat red D scrawled at the top of your paper as it’s handed back to you. “Ah, come on! I studied so hard this time!”

Sitting next to you, Wendy watches sympathetically, silently turning her own paper over to conceal the A at the top. “Hey, it’s okay, Y/N. I heard that the class average was a 61.”

Glaring at her halfheartedly, you mumble, “Yeah, well, I’m not far off from that.”

Wendy sighs, leaning down to get to eye level with you as you like face-down on your desk. “You studied hard, but maybe you just need some outside help? What about a tutor?”

“Are you offering to tutor me? I’m not that dumb. I just- I just can’t seem to get it. You get it.”

“Yes, but I’m one of the top students,” Wendy laughs lightly, placing a hand on your shoulder. “I can’t tutor you, though, I’m already signed up as a Calculus and History tutor.” You groan immediately; having one of your friends as your tutor is embarrassing enough, but it would be way worse with a stranger. “Come on, Y/N, a tutor isn’t bad.”

You open your mouth to retort but quickly clam up when you see Joohyun and Jisoo heading over. “Hey, Wendy. Are you coming to the tutoring meeting today?” Jisoo asks, giving you a polite smile. Jisoo’s pretty, and she’s definitely nicer than Joohyun, but you can’t help being infatuated with the other girl. You notice her eyes stray from your face to the D on your paper, her expression remaining impassive.

“Oh, of course. Joohyun, you’re signing up as a Chemistry tutor, right?” Wendy asks. She sounds innocent, but you’ve known her long enough that you know she has something planned.

Joohyun shifts her gaze to Wendy now, and the ice in her eyes melts a little at her smiling friend. “Yes,” Joohyun says, and you barely manage to not smile at the sound of her voice. “Jisoo finally convinced me to use my intelligence for good.”

“Ah, great!” Wendy grins, nudging you under the table. “It just so happens that Y/N here needs some help in that department.”

At a harder shove from your friend, you gulp and stutter out, “Y-yeah. I’m not doing so hot right now.”

Joohyun flashes you the tiniest of smiles that doesn’t reach her eyes, tugging on Jisoo’s elbow to leave. “Yes, great. I’m sure I’ll see you there, then.”

As soon as the two girls are out of sight, you smack Wendy as hard as you can with your rolled-up test. “What. The. Hell?” you hiss.

“I know you like her,” Wendy smiles innocently, rubbing her arm. “And you really need to get a tutor, so it was the perfect opportunity. Come on, Joohyun’s even better at Chem than me!”

You can’t deny the genius of her plan, but you’re sure you’ll embarrass yourself either way. “Fine,” you grumble, resting your forehead on the desk. “I guess I’m going to the tutoring meeting.”

“Stop fidgeting, you look great.”

Despite Wendy’s words, you can’t help but pick at your T-shirt, tucked into nice pants, and frown. You refused to wear a dress, but Wendy was able to force you into nicer pants than your beat-up jeans. She herself looks stunning as usual as she maneuvers the two of you through the crowd to sit by her entire posse of friends at the front. “Hey, Roseanne, mind if we sit here?”

You don’t hear what the blonde says in response, but you sit down between her and Wendy with your eyes on Joohyun, a few seats away. You signed up for a tutor right after class two days ago, so you can’t do anything but hope you get Joohyun assigned as your tutor.

Everything else the professor says goes in one ear and out the other, until he begins announcing the tutors. “Kim Jisoo, you’ll be tutoring Jeon Jungkook. Bae Joohyun, you are assigned to Y/N Y/L/N.”

Wendy clutched onto your arm with an excited smile as soon as he was done with calling out names. “See? This is great!”

“What’s great?” You look up to find Joohyun standing there with her arms crossed, expression impassive as always. She sticks out her hand to shake. “You can call me Joohyun, I’m your tutor.”

“Y/N,” you respond breathlessly, shaking her hand. Your hand is probably sweaty, but Joohyun’s face reveals nothing. “Um, we should probably set up a time? For our first tutoring session?”

Joohyun nods, already tugging Wendy up. “Yes, I’ll get your number from Wendy. Come on, Seungwan.”

Wendy flashes you an apologetic smile as she leaves, but you don’t mind- you’ve got your crush as your chemistry tutor, and she’s going to text you. All is well, as far as you’re concerned.

Joohyun doesn’t text you for a full week. You’re too scared to go up to her in Chemistry, and Wendy says she doesn’t know what’s going on, so you’re left to stare at your phone, waiting for that first text.

Finally, at 2:17 a.m., it comes.

Unknown number [2:17]   Is this Y/N Y/L/N? It’s Joohyun.

You [2:17]   yes, it’s me!

Joohyun [2:19]   Good, I thought Seungwan would give me the wrong number.

You [2:19]   I’m glad she didn’t haha

You [2:20]   when are you free to meet up?

Joohyun [2:24]   How about at 3?

You [2:25]   like 3 this afternoon?

Joohyun [2:26]   No, in half an hour.

Joohyun [2:26]   Unless it’s too early for you?

You [2:27]   no, it’s fine!!!

You [2:28]   see you in half an hour at the library!

“Ah, where is she?” You rub your eyes, swaying a little bit as you survey the mostly-empty library for your tutor. You spot her in the corner, dark hair thrown up in a bun and her back to you, books heaped on the desk. “Hey, Joohyun!”

When she turns around, you notice the glasses perched on her nose and promptly fall down. Her footsteps echo as she walks toward you, and her face appears above yours, the slightest hint of amusement glinting in her eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” you groan, sitting up; your face flames hot red as Joohyun picks up your bag and leads you over to the desk. “Thanks for being my tutor, by the way.”

Joohyun glances at you, her face still cold. You can’t help but think about how incredibly beautiful she’d be if you could make her smile, just the tiniest bit, or even laugh. “I’m not doing it for you, it’s my job. I always tutor who I’m assigned, it doesn’t matter about my feelings.”

“Right.” You’re sure your face is even warmer now, but when you spot an open textbook, you blurt something out to change the subject. “So, what’re we learning today?”

“I thought we’d start with exothermic reactions,” Joohyun explains, pointing to the wall of text in the book. “Do you know what they are?”

“I think you’re an exothermic reaction,” you blurt out. Joohyun quirks an eyebrow, slightly confused but letting you go on. Your cheeks burn even brighter as you continue, “You spread hotness everywhere.”

Unless you’re so sleep-deprived that you were seeing things, you see the slightest tinge of pink in Joohyun’s pale cheeks, right before she rolls her eyes and sighs, “At least you know they spread heat.”

“Well, you look terrible.”

You roll your eyes at Wendy, plopping down in your usual seat next to her with a heavy sigh. “Yeah, Joohyun tutored me from 2 in the morning to 4. I’m dead inside.”

Wendy smirks at your disheveled state; your dark circles and messy hair are nothing like Joohyun’s flawless skin and neat clothes, despite the fact that she probably slept even less. “Yeah, I can see that. Did it help?”

“No,” you groan, throwing a paper with a C- glaring up at you on the desk. “It’s an improvement, but not much. Not enough.”

“Keep trying,” Wendy sighs, patting you on the shoulder. “With Joohyun’s help, you’ll be a genius in no time.”

At almost the same time the next morning, Joohyun texts you to go to the library. You arrive, armed with more pickup lines this time to try and make Joohyun actually smile. “Hey, Joohyun,” you smile.

“Hello,” she murmurs in response. “I was thinking we’d review the periodic table today; I saw you labeled oxygen as the first element on the quiz.”

“Forget hydrogen, you’re my number one element,” you grin, leaning back with a satisfied smile. “Do you like boba, by the way?”

Joohyun rolls her eyes and pushes the book toward you, ignoring your question. “Read,” she commands. You oblige, but you see a faint hint of a smile on her face as soon as she thinks you aren’t watching.

At that moment, you realize something--   Joohyun isn’t an untouchable ice goddess after all, and you really need to find more pickup lines. “Hey, Joohyun? I have a question.”

“Yes?”

“Do you have 11 protons? Because you’re sodium fine.”

Joohyun groans and shakes her head, pushing your head towards the book. “Keep reading, Y/N.”

After two weeks of midnight study sessions, your grades improve significantly and your dark circles are getting drastically worse. However, you’d been rewarded with a smile just the night before, so today, you’re going to ask Joohyun for coffee.

“Hey, Joohyun!” The girl turns at the sound of your voice; Jennie, at her left, looks exasperated, probably taking you for another desperate suitor, and Wendy looks surprised, especially when Joohyun gives you the faintest of smiles and stops Jennie from warding you off.

“You know, we always study at midnight. I was wondering whether you could tutor me this afternoon?” you ask, nervous that she’ll reject you. “Get boba, learn some more about chemical reactions?”

She seems like she’ll say something at first, but then agrees with a sigh. “Sure.”

“Great!” you beam, just happy that she didn’t turn you off. Right as she turns away, though, you call out. “One more thing. You must be made of uranium and iodine because all I can see is U and I together.”

She gives you an exasperated look before turning away and tossing over her shoulder, “4:28 sharp at Red Velvet Tea. Don’t be late.”

As she and her friends walk away, you swear you see Jennie whisper something in Joohyun’s ear and look at you with a questioning look in her eyes.

“You’re early.”

You grin as Joohyun sits down opposite you, setting down her books on the table and staring at the 2 unopened bubble teas between the two of you. “Yeah, I wanted to get a table and buy you something.”

“I don’t drink sweet things,” Joohyun raises an eyebrow, pushing the drink back at you.

You push it right back. “Ah, come on, Joohyun, just try it.”

She sighs a little harder than usual and pulls it towards her, but she doesn’t sip at it before she questions you, “Who told you to call me Joohyun?”

“Oh. Um, I hear your friends call you that, and we’re friends now, right?”

Joohyun looks like she’s restraining herself from saying something, but she gives you another one of her small smiles that doesn’t reach her eyes and responds, “Sure. Friends.”

She takes a sip and doesn’t frown or scowl, which you take as a good sign. “Hm. It’s not bad.”

“See?” you exclaim, victorious. “You know, I might be a physics major, but I’m no Bohr.”

“You’re not a physics major,” Joohyun deadpans, shoving yet another textbook at you. “Now read.”

Joohyun [3:19]   Are you still awake?

You [3:20]   always, for you xx

Joohyun [3:22]   Give it a rest, Y/N. Ready for tutoring today?

You [3:23]   ahh, it’s too early

You [3:23]   meet me for lunch today? you can yell at me then

Joohyun [3:24]   Fine, but don’t you dare order me a cheeseburger.

“You must be a magnetic monopole because all i get from you is attraction,” you flirt as soon as Joohyun sits down in the restaurant.

She walks right back out, but she comes back reluctantly after you chase her with a promise to never say that line again.

You made her smile that day, and you made it your mission to do so more often.

Two months or so later, it’s safe to say that you and Joohyun are pretty close. She’s even introduced you to some of her friends although Jennie remains hostile, and for some reason, almost all of them give each other knowing looks whenever you join them for lunch and make Joohyun laugh at your jokes.

You aren’t failing Chemistry anymore- in fact, your recovery is miraculous. Still, you’re pretty sure you failed the final exam.

“Ugh, and the question about prevalent bonds?” you groan, putting your head in your hands, your bottle of soju in danger of being knocked over. You’re out for drinks with your friends; the boys who elected to come out with you are all drunk to hell, dancing as if they’ll die if they don’t, and most of the girls have joined them. Wendy stays with you, listening to you complain. “I’m dead. Hey, where’s Joohyun, by the way?”

“Ah, she’s-”

Your question is answered by a fuming Joohyun bursting through the doors of the bar, but you and Wendy are the only ones who notice her as she storms towards you. “You-” she hisses, pointing a finger at you.

“M-me?” you stammer. You’ve never seen this much emotion of Joohyun before, and especially not anger. It’s admittedly scary as hell, but also the tiniest bit hot. “Uh, Joohyunie, what’s-”

“Come with me,” she snarls, grabbing your arm and leading you out of the bar. As soon as you’re out of earshot of the other girls and in the streets, she stops, and her expression turns to some mix of anger and sadness.

You step closer to her, watching her carefully to determine whether you’re in real danger or not. “Hey, Joohyun, what’s going on?”

Joohyun shoves you away at first, glaring at you. You notice the shine in her eyes, and if it was anyone else, you’d think they were tears.

“I failed the test,” she chokes out, putting her face in her hands. There are real, actual tears spilling down her cheeks, and you’re not quite sure how to react.

“What? Come on, no way,” you stammer out, putting your hands tentatively on her shoulders. Miraculously, she doesn’t push you away. “You’re like the smartest person I know, how could you have failed the test?”

She looks up at you, and you can’t help but think she’s so incredibly beautiful even with her nose reddened and her eyes shimmering. “You.”

“What?”

“It’s all your fault,” she sniffles, rubbing her nose harshly on her arm and tearing out of your grip once again.

You’re bewildered; how in the hell could you cause Joohyun, star student, to fail her best subject? “W-what?”

“You!” Joohyun is sobbing now, tears trailing down her cheeks and her nose redder than her lips. “I- I couldn’t stop thinking about you. During the test, during tutoring... I just can’t!”

“M-me?” You step forward now, taking Joohyun’s hands in your own. “How could I do that to you?”

“I like you, you idiot,” Joohyun blurts out, her eyes widening in surprise. She clamps her hands over her mouth. “Oh no, I-”

You take a few strides forward and snatch her hands away again, this time pressing your lips to hers. She’s stiff at first, and you almost pull away, but her hands fist in the collar of your shirt as she pulls you into the kiss.

It seems like an eternity has passed when you finally pull away for air. You stare at each other, eyes shining with something other than tears, before you eloquently decide to start the conversation again. “Uh...”

"I... I’m sorry,” Joohyun mumbles, her hands still loosely clamped on the front of your shirt. “You’re just... so unlike me. You know? You’re so beautiful and kind, and so warm.”

“Warm? The hell?”

She rolls her eyes, smudging her tears away roughly. “You know what I mean. You tried to make me laugh even when I was so cold to you... and you smile so much and you look really pretty when you smile, you know that?”

You smile and kiss her again, sweeter than last time, and you feel her smiling against you too. When you pull away, your foreheads are pressed together, and you can’t stop yourself from saying breathlessly, “I guess we’ve got chemistry”.

That breaks the spell, and Joohyun groans and rips herself out of your grip, running into the bar. “H-hey! Joohyun!”

You chase after her, and you can’t help the cheesy grin on your face. There’s no doubt about it- getting Joohyun as your Chemistry tutor is the luckiest thing that’s ever happened to you.

[galli-writes]

(Click here to read on Ao3!)

fandom: Teen Titans

pairing: BBRae

genre/warnings: AU - Canon Divergence; Implied/Referenced Abuse, Abusive Parents, Childhood Trauma, Graphic Depictions of Violence

additional tags: Angst, Family Issues, Friendship/Love, Protectiveness, Slow Burn, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions

summary:

There are a few things that Beast Boy knows for certain:

He’s 21….and a total lightweight. He’s a vegan (but not like…a pretentious vegan). He’s not going to be single forever.

And the Teen Titans are the only family he’ll ever need.

a/n: Hello! I am bad at updating. Please forgive my sins.

Chapter 6: The Invitation (words 5,129)

The TV buzzed in the background, images flashing against the rising sun. Beast Boy stared at the screen without really looking at it as he poured some orange juice into a glass at the kitchen counter. His hand shook ever so slightly as he took a sip, and he tried to convince himself it was purely from a lack of sleep. But he knew that was only part of the problem at best. As he looked around the room, he locked eyes with the eerie monkey statue, still on display, and put his glass down with a hard swallow.

Beast Boy never brought up Galtry. Raven hadn’t mentioned him either, though that was probably less intentional. Even so, with each day that passed, his conviction only grew stronger. It had to have been Galtry. It just made sense. Didn’t it?

Beast Boy set his glass back down on the counter--and it was a good thing too, because if he had still been holding onto it when the doorbell rang, it definitely would have shattered on the floor.

Everything in the room went still for a moment. At the other end of the counter, Robin suddenly looked up from his phone, finishing off a bite of french toast. Cyborg had turned away from the TV, looking toward the door and then down at a screen on his arm in mild confusion.

“Uh...Well damn.”

“What is it?” Robin asked, already starting to get up to answer the door.

“I’m looking at the cam now,” Cyborg continued. “Whoever that was, they sure left in a hell of a hurry.”

Beast Boy tried to turn his attention to the TV again, and was able to do so with some effort. Above him, men and women wearing either red or blue aprons dashed around a kitchen at full speed. Pumpkins and fall leaves decorated the scene. A smiling scarecrow was pegged in the corner next to one woman’s prep station. At that moment, the host was asking a contestant about her pumpkin spice cinnamon rolls, which were already in the oven. It wasn’t the most creative approach to the challenge, but it was only the first round. So playing it safe was still acceptable.

Then the screen cut to commercial. Beast Boy looked back down at the counter, suddenly shoved back into reality. A reality that became all the more treacherous when he heard Robin returning--and heading his direction.

“Who was it?” Cyborg asked casually, turning back to the TV.

“I’m...not sure,” Robin said slowly. “But they left this. Beast Boy--”

“Huh?” Beast Boy nearly jumped, feeling Robin next to him now.

“It’s...for you.”

“Me? ”

Robin handed him a small card, which he took willingly despite himself. His name was unmistakably clear on the front flap. Well, not his name, but the name of someone he knew was supposed to be him. Galtry’s name wasn’t present, but it was clearly his handwriting--an elegant cursive Beast Boy had regrettably memorized by now. Even so, he had to squint to make out the words on the front of the card. He flipped it over. In slightly more legible text, there was a time and address. The lack of a date could only imply today.

“Any idea what it is?” Robin asked.

Beast Boy knew his curiosity was well warranted, but he froze under Robin’s expectant gaze.

“I mean....it kinda looks like an invitation or something,” Beast Boy said, trying to avoid eye contact. “But I’m not sure how we’re supposed to RSVP.” He managed a small, unconvincing laugh.

“Do you know who it’s from?” Robin continued, in the same awfully unassuming tone.

“No.” Beast Boy shrugged, pocketing the card. “I don’t.”

And that wasn’t technically a lie.

***

The forecast for the night showed more rain—this time enough to warrant a flood watch. Residents of certain parts of the city were advised to stay inside and avoid driving altogether.  Unfortunately, this didn’t apply to the restaurant they were to meet Galtry at. Of course it had been decided that Beast Boy wouldn’t be going alone, and for that he was grateful. In truth, he didn’t really want to go at all. But given the circumstances, Robin had decided the matter was ‘probably worth looking into.’ And Beast Boy knew better than to disagree.

In his room, Beast Boy knelt before a pile of clothes, rummaging through them without a clear goal. He didn’t know what he was going to wear--what he was supposed to wear for something like this. Probably something pretty nice if he was going off of Galtry’s handwriting alone.

Eventually, he came to the decision that the clothes on the floor were too wrinkled anyway. And when he couldn’t find anything reasonable in the closet, he turned to the dresser in desperation. He barely kept any clothes in there, but there had to be something . He yanked open the bottom drawer with some effort, finding nothing but a collection of mismatched socks, useless knick knacks--and a picture frame he’d intended to keep buried.

The picture was of course the same as it had been the last time he’d seen it. His own dark, disheveled hair contrasting with his mother’s blond waves. His father’s tight smile and focused gaze. When he was younger, people had always told him he ‘had his father’s eyes’. So dark they were nearly black. Beast Boy caught a flash of his reflection in the glass frame. His eyes were still quite dark, but in the light they betrayed a subtle green glint.

He frowned. With a new sense of purpose, Beast Boy got up, the frame tight in his grip as he turned his back on the mess surrounding him.

In the common room, he quickly found a small box of trinkets with ample space to house the frame. Using some discarded bubble wrap, he neatly repacked the picture, tucking it away next to some old books. Beast Boy glanced around the room, searching for something he could use to seal the box up for good. With a few carelessly ripped off pieces of packing tape, he folded the box shut and shoved it back with the rest of them.

And immediately afterward, a stream of guilt flooded over him.

One curse at a time, he ripped off more and more tape to finish off the rest of the packages before he changed his mind. With some effort, he pushed them into a neat pile at one end of the room. He would have to ask Dr. Galtry—whoever he was—to come have them picked up as soon as possible.

“What’re you doing?”

Beast Boy jumped slightly, taken off guard by the sound of someone’s voice. He took a breath to steady himself and turned around.

It was only Raven.

“Oh, uh, nothing,” he said, scrambling to his feet. “Just...cleaning.”

Raven simply raised an eyebrow in uninterested disbelief. She was standing next to the fridge with a can of ginger ale in one hand and a hefty book in the other. Neither of those things were particularly remarkable for Raven.

But what was strange was the way she was dressed. Opposed to her usual baggy sweaters and leggings, she was wearing jeans and a cardigan over a blouse he’d never seen before. It even looked like she might be wearing makeup. Real makeup that had clearly taken more effort than her everyday eyeliner.

“So I guess you heard about dinner tonight, right?” he asked only now realizing he was staring.  

“Yeah. Sucks for you guys,” Raven said plainly, taking a sip of her soda.

“What do you mean?” Beast Boy said, genuinely puzzled for a moment. “You ’re not coming with us?”

“I have...plans.”  

Beast Boy eyed the book in her hand. “Sitting in your room reading doesn’t count as plans.”

“ Real plans,” she said defiantly, tossing the now empty can in the recycling.

“Well you’ll have to reschedule,” another voice said suddenly, short and stern.

Beast Boy and Raven both turned around to find the rest of their friends approaching from the nearest hallway, Robin at the lead.

“I can’t,” Raven replied, her tone just as sharp and uncompromising.

But Robin didn’t budge. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, arms crossed against his chest. “But this is official Titans business, and you know what takes precedence. That’s all I’m gonna say about it.”

Raven frowned, but she didn’t put her book down. She merely stuffed it into her purse, which was much too small to properly contain it.

“Uh...car’s all ready out back,” Cyborg said, gesturing to the garage with some hesitation.

Raven sulked past them without a word, not even bothering to try and call shotgun.

The drive was awkward and uncomfortable. At least for Beast Boy.

At some point he realized Starfire was talking to him about the latest Netflix series she’d been binging. It was a clear effort to distract from the all consuming depressive aura of the back row. Beast Boy nodded at the appropriate moments, but couldn’t even remember the name of the show two minutes into the conversation.  

Raven didn’t look up from her book once during the entire trip. But it was obvious she was only pretending. Beast Boy couldn’t help but notice that she never once turned the page--and Raven was a fast reader. He didn’t mean to notice the slip of paper tucked between the pages--didn’t mean to see what was scribbled on it. The messy, half-cursive script was almost illegible, but it was clearly a reminder of some sort. A date, a place, a time--the last of which was circled aggressively in dark ink.  Beast Boy made a conscious effort to try and stare straight ahead. He didn’t want to be caught staring again. But of course, it was hard not to notice things like that when you were sitting right next to someone.

What plans did Raven have? ...Not that it mattered to him, of course. Whatever Raven did in her free time wasn’t any of his business, really. Even still, it was hard not to wonder what could be important enough to pull the world’s biggest introvert out of her room. In an actual put-together outfit no less. Then, for a brief moment, a disarming thought flitted through his mind. Hypothetically, in a world where Raven actually dated people, it would probably be safe to assume that she would never tell any of them about it. And why should she? But more importantly why should any of them care ? He didn’t.

Of course, the thought was utter nonsense to begin with. Raven had always made it abundantly clear that she had no interest in being in a relationship. Unless of course she’s been lying.  

Beast Boy began to feel a pit forming in his stomach for the millionth time that week. Just letting his mind wander as far as it had made him feel guilty--like he was prying into things that were none of his business. He tried to shift his train of thought to something-- anything --else beyond the uncomfortable terrain he’d stumbled into. And he didn’t know why it was so uncomfortable. Maybe it was because now he couldn’t stop thinking about the state of his own love life. At least Raven had the angsty brooding down pat. Any time he felt bad for himself--which was a little too often for his liking--he imagined he looked less like the lead singer of a pop punk band and more like a toddler who’d spilled their cheerios in the backseat of mom’s minivan. Right now he would have leaned up against the window and stared into the coming downpour like someone in an early 2000s music video...had he not been stuck in the middle seat again.

As they drove, Robin talked briefly of a ‘plan’ he’d been constructing in the event that things went south. Starfire and Cyborg seemed engaged enough, hyping themselves up for what they’d decided was going to either be a five star meal or an equally satisfying smackdown. But Beast Boy couldn’t find it in him to join them. Outside, the rain was picking up fast. The gray clouds above had brought on the night of their own accord, and even the thousands of city lights couldn’t entirely pierce through the darkness. Beast Boy slunk down further in his seat, sticking his hands deep in his pockets. In doing so, he realized abruptly that he had never actually changed clothes, and a familiar card was still tucked away in his pocket. Unfortunately, no amount of fiddling would make it disappear.

It was easy to recognize when they’d arrived at their destination. The traffic came to a complete stop, as cars—and even a limo or two—fought for a spot on the narrow strip of asphalt in front of the shimmering building before them. People poured out of the vehicles like liquid gold, as men in suits and women with designer handbags scrambled for the attention of the underpaid valet workers.

“Well this looks like...fun,” Cyborg said, hands gripping the wheel tighter, despite the utter standstill.

“I think we might be a little under dressed,” Robin said, peeking out the window and then down at his jeans and flannel. He sounded much less like a boy about to embarrass his family at the yacht club and much more like a detective who was going to blow his cover.

“Well I guess it’s too late for that now,” Cyborg said, automatically pulling up in line next to a man dressed in valet attire weilding a crisp black umbrella.

“Good evening, sir. May I have the name of your party?”

“Uh...” Cyborg hesitated.

Without thinking, Beast Boy reached for the card in his pocket. In a matter of seconds it had acquired some impressively deep folds and a slight tear in one corner, but it was still easily readable and recognizable. He leaned forward and silently passed it to the man like he’d been rehearsing the action for months.

The man’s eyes widened instantly. “Oh, of course. Dr. Galtry has been expecting you.”

A brief moment of silence hung in the air between them as Cyborg continued to grip the wheel.

Beast Boy stared straight ahead. The tension was palpable. For everyone else, the sound of Galtry’s name must have conjured some form of excitement. Good or bad. Some sense of progress in unearthing a mystery. For Beast Boy it only stirred up the guilt surrounding how much he’d withheld.

“If you would—“ the man said, clearing his throat slightly. He nodded toward the driver’s seat as he spoke. “I would be happy to take care of your vehicle.”

“I...uh,” Cyborg hesitated again, his hands gripping the steering wheel even tighter.

“That would be great, thanks,” Robin interjected from the other side. Cyborg shot him a quick look of doubt, but it was quickly followed by a sigh of resignation as he let go of the wheel.

From the safety of the covered curb, Beast Boy watched with his friends as the man stepped into the driver’s seat and fumbled for a moment with the controls.

“Be safe, baby,” Cyborg half whispered as the car disappeared into the fray. And despite all of the nerves clouding his mind, Beast Boy couldn’t help holding back a smile, patting his friend on the shoulder in consolation.

The inside of the restaurant was just as extravagant as the exterior suggested, even more so as the former had certainly been dulled by the weather. Immediately upon entering through the crystal double doors, Beast Boy found himself brushing shoulders with men and women who looked like attendees of a red carpet after party. The entire building—which was completely packed beyond any sense of personal space—was littered with dark wooden tables, velvet curtains, and chandeliers. Light bounced around the room off silver plates and platters carried around by elegantly dressed waitstaff. Even from the distance of the foyer, the scene was simultaneously beautiful and nauseating.

“The party for Dr. Galtry?” A young woman’s voice rang out from behind a tall podium in the corner of the entryway. “We have you in our private dining--” the woman started, pausing as she looked up to meet the group before her. Her eyes grew wide and a clearly unscripted smile came across her face. She had to be in her late teens or early twenties--and was one of the youngest people in the room.

“Sorry,” she said, the smile still on her face. Her brilliant emerald jewelry sparkled as she began to move. “Um...If you’ll just follow me right this way.”

Weaving through the tables turned out to be even more dizzying than just looking at them. And with every step, Beast Boy felt more and more like he was walking straight back into the cave of a hungry beast hoarding its jewels. When they finally came to a halt, it was in front of a large wooden door at the back end of the restaurant. Like the den of a sleeping dragon, this area of the restaurant boasted an even greater number of precious gems and wrinkle lines.

“Dr. Galtry will be waiting for you all inside,” the young woman said, nodding her head slightly.

An awkward beat of silence passed as she continued to stand there without turning to leave, her eyes darting down to her feet.

“Sorry, I know this is like, super unprofessional, and I know you guys are busy, but I was just wondering...if I could maybe get an autograph?” she said quietly, the words spilling out a million miles an hour. She was looking up now, and despite referring to the entire group, it was clear her attention rested on Starfire.

“Certainly!” Starfire smiled.

As if by magic, a small receipt notepad and chewed up pen had already appeared in the young woman’s hands.

“I love your bracelet by the way,” Starfire beamed, taking the pad of paper and beginning to doodle on it.

“Oh, this?” the girl laughed nervously. “Thanks. I mean, it’s nothing really.”

Starfire handed the paper back with a smile, the pad now feverishly adorned with hearts and stars surrounding her signature.

The young woman seemed to be beside herself with joy. She managed another clumsy string of thank yous before disappearing into the crowd again.

There was another long silence.

“I hate it here,” Raven said abruptly, shattering any lingering sentiments of the preceding interaction.

The look on Starfire’s face was more than enough of a response.

“I’m not talking about the girl,” Raven huffed.

Beast Boy looked around. It was true. The suspicious glares were more than enough to tell that the rest of the diners weren’t fans. Maybe coming here had been a mistake.

“Is it really--? Oh, yes, finally!”

Beast Boy blinked hard, a smooth but animated voice bringing him back into the room.

“I’m so glad that you all agreed to meet me here,” a man said, approaching them eagerly.

Suddenly everything seemed to blur. The motion of the restaurant became nothing more than a swirling backdrop of light. For the third time that night, Beast Boy caught himself staring. He looked just like his picture. Too perfect to be real--and yet there he was. Black hair, dark eyes, perfect smiling complexion. The only indicator of his age was the shadow of graying stubble around his chin--and even that looked somehow manicured and intentional. But he walked and talked and was standing right before them just like any other human being. It felt like being in a dream. Or a nightmare.  

“I’m so sorry. I had to step outside to make a phone call,” the man continued. “Galtry. Dr. Nicholas Galtry,” he said, proceeding to shake each of their hands with an unprecedented force. “Really, it is an honor meeting the rest of you.”

“The...rest of us?” Robin asked, wiping his palm on his pant leg.

The man stopped short, a look of pure bewilderment washing over his face. “Oh...don’t tell me you didn’t get my letter?” As he spoke, he turned to look at Beast Boy directly.

“So you’re the letter guy?” Cyborg said, with a somewhat forced laugh.

“I had hoped Garfield might at least mention my name,” Galtry said, slowly.

For a moment, Beast Boy felt the same sense of crippling guilt returning, coupled with the discomfort of hearing his ‘name’ spoken aloud by someone he didn’t know. Or didn’t know well . He was still deciding.

“Well, I’m sure you all must be tired, called out like this on such short notice,” Galtry continued. “Again, all of my apologies, but I just couldn’t wait any longer to speak to you. Here, let’s go inside, shall we?”

The private dining room certainly was private. Almost to the point of being soundproof, which Beast Boy found to be more of a concern than a comfort. Robin automatically sat the closest to Galtry, which was unsurprising but still a relief. Beat Boy opted for a spot in the middle of the long table, where he reasoned he would be least likely to garner extra attention from their host.

Just then, the door swung open again, and another member of the wait staff entered to pour water into the intricate crystal glasses before them. He then proceeded to take drink orders—a cherry coke for Beast Boy and pinot grigio for Dr. Galtry.

“So,” Galtry said, swirling his wine like he was on the cover of a food magazine. “I understand you all have been on Arsenal’s trail for some time now.”

The room went still. Until, of course, Robin eventually broke the silence.

“Arsenal?”

The question would have sounded redundant on anyone else’s lips. But Robin said it with such confidence that it was Galtry who looked embarrassed.

“Oh. Of course. I’m sorry. I had assumed you were familiar with them.”

As one waiter exited, two more replaced him, setting various cutting boards piled high with expensive cheeses and sausages down the center of the table. Galtry sliced a piece of smooth white cheese off the cutting board, spreading it on a piece of toast without even looking down. “They’ve been causing me trouble ever since I first got here.”

“You sound like you know ‘em,” Cyborg said, his eyes resting on Galtry as he skewered his own kebab of sausage rounds.

“Unfortunately,” Galtry grumbled, mostly to himself. “They’ve been after some research of mine for some time now. I don’t pretend to know why. I’m not sure they would even know what to do with it if they were to get a hold of it.”

“What exactly are you researching?” Robin asked tentatively.

Galtry looked up at him suddenly, an expression akin to embarrassment flashing once more across his face. He was clearly not the type of man accustomed to having to introduce himself.

“I’m sorry. I’m getting a bit ahead of myself, aren’t I?” he cleared his throat. “I haven’t even properly introduced myself. That’s what happens when you frequent limited social circles your entire adult life,” he said with a short laugh. “Right now I hold a position as Research Chair for the department of Genomics at the University of Pretoria. I primarily conduct research regarding the development of new gene therapy technologies.”

“Why would the genes need therapy?” Starfire asked, already on her second round of charcuterie.  

Galtry fought back a bemused smile. “It’s not literal. Though that would be something, wouldn’t it? It’s a type of medical procedure,” he explained. “The sort of thing that would help us treat genetic disorders like cystic fibrosis or even reverse the production of cancer cells. The details are a bit...complicated,” he said thoughtfully, looking into his glass.

“As for my being here in Jump City, I admit it’s a bit of a surprise even to me. The U.S. Northeastern Scientific Board regularly invites me to present my work at their annual symposium, which is usually held in Gotham. But I understand there’s been somewhat of a crime spike there recently. And criminals do love the smell of science they don’t understand,” he said with a sardonic smile.

“You’ll have to excuse me for being so blunt,” Robin interjected. “But what does this have to do with us exactly?”

“Well that's a simple question with a rather complicated answer,” Galtry said, a slight frown coming across his face. “The less complicated aspect has to do with Arsenal themself. When I learned that they had found some opposition after following me to the states, I knew I would have to meet with whoever was tracking them. Lucky for me it turns out you all are pretty famous around here.”

“Well I wouldn’t say famous ,” Cyborg said, barely pulling off airs of humility.  

The doors swung open a third time as if on cue, this time letting loose a small string of waiters, each steering a cart laden with different shapes and sizes of covered plates. One was placed in front of each person at the table with expert precision and lifted dramatically to reveal the contents. Beast Boy was more than surprised to find that his dish was completely different than everyone else’s—stuffed mushrooms that looked like they’d been specially prepared. He didn’t remember mentioning that he was a vegan, and had the harrowing thought that maybe he had reached a stage where people knew without asking.

“So how do you know Beast Boy?” Starfire asked, head tilting slightly to one side like a puppy.

It was the question Beast Boy had been dying to hear the answer to--though he knew he would have been incapable of asking it.

“Of course. That’s the other half of the matter. And a bit more complicated,” Galtry said, rubbing his hands together meditatively. “The simple answer is that I was a friend of his parents’. Back during their tenure at the University of Pretoria.” There was a soft smile on his face, but it didn’t seem to exude any kind of joy. “Small world, isn’t it?”

“But all of those artifacts...all of their belongings--you sent those?” Robin tried to clarify.

Galtry nodded. “After their unfortunate passing, I was designated Garfield’s legal guardian by the court that sorted their affairs. They were always very private people, and I was the closest acquaintance they had. Their son was supposed to inherit their entire fortune--the only problem being...well...no one knew where you were,” he said, looking directly at Beast Boy now. “Seeing as you had still been under close medical watch at the time of your disappearance, it was the general belief that you had died somewhere in the jungle shortly afterward. But because there was never any actual proof of that being the case, the money was never dispersed by the government or anyone else. Instead it’s in a bit of a state of limbo held by those same officials—where it’s been utterly useless given the circumstances.”

Galtry looked down at the table, shaking his head. “I had just about given up hopes of ever finding Garfield—you wouldn’t believe how difficult it is to find someone once they’ve essentially erased their given name from their identity. Even through legal means. Surprisingly, the small detail of him being green didn’t help very much either,” Galtry said with a small laugh. “I only recently learned it was even an aspect of his...condition. The side effect hadn’t quite developed completely before he disappeared.”

Galtry spoke to his friends as if this was knowledge Beast Boy had always possessed and merely neglected to share with them, which, as far as he knew, was not the case. Though the historic tirade made him wonder just how much of his life he had forced himself to forget.  

Galtry shook his head once more. “There were always flitting rumors of what had really happened to the Logans’ son, but I was always too stubborn to believe them.” A small ironic smile crept over his face as he looked directly at Beast Boy. “You have to understand. I’ve dedicated my entire life to the sciences. And, quite frankly, your very existence seems to defy its most basic principles.”

The silence that followed was unlike any other that had filled the air that night. There was a certain quality to it that went beyond discomfort. Beast Boy felt himself instinctively clench the sides of his chair as he struggled to keep his expression neutral. Galtry’s words felt eerily like a compliment, and somehow that made things worse.

Robin cleared his throat suddenly, making a point to stand from his seat. “Thanks for the meal, it was really delicious. But this is all a lot to take in. We’ll need a little more time as a team to consider whether or not we can help you.”

“I completely understand,” Galtry said with a smile. “Especially considering we’ve only just met.” He folded his hands in front of him, like a compassionate leader about to make a compromise with some of his disheveled citizens. “If you all would like to know more about what it is I do, I would be more than happy to show you around my lab this weekend. Perhaps a better understanding of my work would convince you?”

“We’ll have to think about it,” Robin repeated in the same definitive tone.

“Of course,” Galtry said automatically. As if this were a dance he’d done many times before. “Here,” he rose from his seat. “For now the least I can do is see you off.”

The man known to them as Nicholas Galtry made his way through the door, exiting the restaurant the way they’d come in. But this time, Beast Boy noticed that it wasn’t the green skin and glowing eyes or robotic arms and legs that captured everyone’s attention. It was Galtry. The doors were opened for them as if on cue, valets and restaurant staff trailing behind them without Galtry so much as lifting a finger. When they got to the outside of the restaurant, Cyborg’s car was already there, running and ready to go.

“I could really use your help,” Galtry said, passing the keys from the valet’s hand to Cyborg’s. “I hope I’ll be hearing from you soon.”  

The second they were in the car, the doors shut tight behind them and a quiet voice broke the heavy silence.

“Did I mention I hate it here?” Raven mumbled, the first words she’d said since they’d met Galtry. The only words she’d said all night.

Beast Boy didn’t say it, but he had been thinking the same thing. Though maybe hate wasn’t the right word. Not exactly.

He turned to look out the back seat window, and watched as Galtry watched them drive away.

[that-70s-page]

Fluff request

Roger Taylor x Reader

Warnings: None! Wholesome fluff for all ages ♥️

Words: ~1.5 

I got carried away, my apologies ;)

Prompts:

3: It’s too early to get out of bed

11: I wish I could kiss you all day

A/N: I was listening to really loud music while writing this so it might be incoherent blabbering, but enjoy the clingy Rog fluff! ♥️

“Rog love, move your arm, your trapping me,” you groan into your pillow, squinting slightly against the pale morning light that filters through the half-drawn blinds of his bedroom window.

He grunts and makes no effort to move, instead curling his arm around your waist even tighter. You sigh and turn your head to glance at the clock on his bedside table, the second hand ticking slowly to the right, making soft clicks that break the relaxed silence that fills Roger’s small bedroom.

The clock reads 6:24 am, and you stifle a moan of protest at having to get up so early. The boys have a flight to catch at 8:30, and the drive to the airport usually takes about an hour and a half, so you and Roger are already behind schedule.

“Shit,” you mutter, throwing off the thick quilt that has you trapped to the bed.

“Roger, hon, you need to get up, we’re going to be late.”

No response.

“Roger, c’mon. Up and at ‘em, we needed to leave twenty minutes ago.”

Still nothing.

“Roger Taylor, wake up this instant, or I’ll smother you with your own bloody pillow.”

“That would be hot,” comes a muted reply, earning an exasperated snort from you as you roughly pull the pillow from underneath his head.

He whines in objection but you ignore him, pulling the quilt down the rest of the way and exposing his almost naked form, sprawled across the bed with one arm still draped over your midsection.

He curls his legs up against his chest to try and salvage some of the warmth from the thick covers, and you tug his arm off of your stomach, freeing yourself from his tight grasp. You clamber over to his side of the bed until you are on top of him, placing your arms on either side of his head to hold yourself up, and frown disapprovingly down at him.

“Roger. Wake up.”

“Mmm.”

“Now.”

“Jus’ a bit longer, love. We’ll be fine.”

“We will not, the flight leaves in less than two hours, and we still need to get ready. Now move your ass, or I’ll do it for you.”

“It’s too early to get out of bed,” he murmurs, voice barely audible due to the fact that he is laying practically face first on the mattress.

You lean down until your eyelashes brush against his cheek, and you begin to blink rapidly in attempt to tickle him awake. He smiles against the sheets and opens his eyes, turning his face towards yours.

“G’morning, darling. Do you have any idea how incredible your hair looks right now?” he teases, knowing how much you hate your bedhead. 

You scoff and sit back on your ankles, pulling away from his outstretched arms as he attempts to gather you into a warm hug.

“Hey, come back!” he complains, his voice raspy and soft from sleep, and you can’t resist his needy pleas.

You lean forwards again, lips fluttering into a smile as you brush them against his cheek, laying down on his bare chest.

“Lovie, we really do need to go.”

“Not until I get a kiss.”

“Alright, but only if you promise to get out of bed and put some clothes on. We can brush teeth and organize our kits at the hotel, m’kay?” you suggest, brushing a clump of blond hair out of his eyes.

“I can work with that,” he replies, leaning in to trap your lips in a soft but eager kiss, his breath warm against your face.

You return the kiss and you feel him sigh contently against your lips, his large eyes fluttering shut and his hands wrapping around your waist. His thumbs rub slow, methodical circles against your hip bones in perfect time with the small clock beside you that is telling you with each passing minute to get out of bed. 

But who would want to disrupt such a perfect moment? It’s as though the two of you are trapped in your own little bubble of contentedness, and no one could ever break you apart. You pull away from the kiss right before Roger has the chance to deepen it, and he whines softly at the loss of contact, leaning his head up to try and coax you back towards his lips.

You give him a knowing smile and put a finger over his lips to stop him, causing Roger to squint his eyes in reproach. 

“One kiss. Now you get dressed,” you remind him, easing yourself off of his torso and onto the carpeted floor of his bedroom.

He huffs a complaint but rolls out of bed with a long yawn and shuffles to the closet to find a shirt. You slip into a comfortable dress and make your way to the bathroom to run a brush through your hair, frowning at your disheveled appearance when it greets you in the dull mirror.

Roger’s foggy outline appears behind you in the mirror, and you smile at his equally scruffy appearance, though much more flattering than your own. His hair sticks up in tufts, but he pulls it off almost effortlessly, looking as though he spent hours teasing and styling it instead of simply waking up. 

He has put on a flowery orange button up and black flared jeans, and it reminds you of the time the band spent at Ridge Farm, when Roger would wear that shirt frequently. 

He wraps his arms around you from behind and tucks his nose in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent as you continue trying to tame your messy hair. 

He begins to kiss your neck and shoulders, which is thoroughly distracting your efforts at detangling your hair and you attempt to squirm away from him, but he holds you tightly by the waist, fingers pressing delicately but firmly into your hip bones as he continues his ministrations.

“Rog, it’s incredibly difficult to get anything done with another person attached to you.”

“Mmm, sorry love, couldn’t help it,” he responds, lips twitching into a smirk against the skin above your collarbone.

“Let go for just a minute, then I’m all yours,” you smile fondly at him through the mirror, smoothing the rest of your hair out with your hands.

Roger buries his head into the back of your hair and you let out an exasperated sigh, giving up any hopes of keeping it neat.

“You’re always mine. Always will be.”

“That’s sweet, love, and as much as I want to stay here and be with you all day, Fred will bloody kill us both if you’re late.”

Roger pouts and finally loosens his grip on your waist, although he keeps his head planted firmly on your shoulder, and you give his arm a reassuring squeeze.

He brings a hand up to your face and gently tilts it towards his own, leaning forwards to capture your lips into another kiss, this one more needy and passionate than the first. You turn your body around so that you are facing him, never breaking contact, and kiss him back fiercely, all concerns about reaching the airport lost amongst the searing feeling of his lips on yours.

It never gets old with Roger; the kisses never become meaningless, his embrace never loses its appeal, the moments never cease to be full of wonder and that spinning, stomach-flipping, world-turning effect he has on you never shows any signs of slowing or stopping.

You open your mouth to allow Roger to slip his tongue past your teeth, melting under his touch, and you feel his breathing start to increase with each motion of your lips. You tap his chest lightly and pull away, your nose brushing against his as he stares down at you in confusion, irises blown wide with lust.

“I could kiss you all day,” he breathes, eyelids fluttering as he gazes down at you with a look of complete adoration.

You return his affectionate stare for a few moments before breaking away and stepping out of his reach, making sure that he can't distract you with another flurry of kisses. 

“But then we'd never make it to the airport,” you respond, voice slightly unsteady from trying to regain your composure.

“That’s the point, lovie,” he whispers, puffy pink lips curling into a gentle smile.

“Roger, I love you, but we need to leave now. As your responsible girlfriend, I’m in charge of getting you where you need to be on time, and you kissing me is making me do a right shit job.”

“Alright, fine, I’ll try to keep my hands off of you until we reach the hotel,” he gives you a mock look of disappointment, but his eyes twinkle with warmth.

“Thank you, I’m sure you’ll be able to manage five hours without me,” you smirk, grabbing your coat and bag from beside the door.

“Right, I’ll just have to make up for all the lost time tonight,” he smirks back, pinching your hip suggestively as he glides past you to pick up the other luggage.

You blush at the thought, and pray to yourself that the flight goes smoothly and you reach the hotel with time to spare so you and Roger can finally have some time alone.

Hope you liked it, @roger-taylors-drums <3

[chocosvt]

⚬ pairing: mob!wonwoo x reader. ⚬ word count: 4.3K ⚬ warnings: blood, violence, guns. ⚬ genre: primarily angst BUT with a happy ending.

— ✧✎ synopsis: wonwoo isn’t at home as often as he used to be. you know he doesn’t exactly have a regular job, but you still can’t help this feeling of isolation. the less you see him, the more questions you have, which provokes one question above all - does he even have the time for you anymore?

— ✧✎ a/n: i rly cant stand not posting anything, so i wrote this today!!! it has a slight xmas theme, but only slight! i will ofc post works that have nothing to do with the holidays too since not every1 celebrates!!

It wasn’t until the months became colder that you finally coincided with Wonwoo’s numerous absences. There was something a little eerie about how the house creaked and groaned against the wind when there was no laughter to snuff the noises, something a little discomforting about how the winter draft prickled beneath the silk of your skin when there was no warm, eager body curling you closer.

Yet, above everything, there was a gaping loneliness that you hadn’t felt before, demanding to be acknowledged more than the whistling wind and the shivers that split up your spine.  

You loved Wonwoo, but you certainly didn’t love his profession – if that was even the correct term for the dirty work he tended to, slithering around in the shadows as if they belonged in his blood. For the most part you stayed out of his business. When he shuffled silently into the downstairs bathroom with crimson stained up to his wrists, you had learned to bite your tongue.

A few times you attempted knocking at the door, heartbeat thrumming in your fingertips as he opened no more than a crease of space with a single eye flitting at you darkly.

Running water could be heard gushing from the sink and suckling down the drain, the basement lightbulb buzzing, softly sparking at times, when Wonwoo would deeply mutter with brass in his every word, ‘Go back upstairs. I’m fine.’ The basement was unfinished anyways, the floor was ice-cold cement and one half of the wall was just wooden planks and insulation. Wonwoo’s desk was downstairs too, always littered with papers that you itched to stack in a neat little pile.

On the one occasion where your peeving got the best of you, you had tapped together a messy pile of documents with an agonizingly tiny font size, yet when you lifted them from the desk, you found your body stiffen harder than iron. There was a gun beneath the paperwork, probably one Wonwoo had forgotten to stuff back into his safe.

Since then, you truthfully hadn’t done much dawdling around in the basement.

Now it was nearing midnight, the outside world coated in a thick blanket of snow that glimmered under single shafts of moonlight. Your loneliness seemed to echo throughout the house, wandering to all the creases and nooks that might as well be just as void as your chest. The fireplace was crackling so quietly it was almost a whisper, yet even with its warmth and the strength behind its brilliant, orange embers, you still felt cold.

When was the last time Wonwoo had lain with you on this very couch?

Your stomach twisted almost nauseously when your mind stuttered in remembrance. It’d been so long ago you had to wade through a tide of cobwebs to properly unearth the memory. It was back near the beginning of autumn. Quiet rainfall had been flickering on and off all morning, which was coincidentally when you first fell into his arms on the couch.

“You never came to bed last night.”

You remembered purring against his chest, your cool palms slipping beneath the white dress shirt he hadn’t stripped himself of from last night’s meeting. As you pressed into the slight tone of his stomach, he smiled.

“Didn’t want to wake you,” He murmured with his nose lightly nuzzled into your hair, finding that the fresh scent of your shampoo always seemed to make his heart still like calm water.

“But I want to see you, always,” You couldn’t repress how you cooed up at him, staring widely and glossy-eyed into the deep earth of his gaze. “I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but you’re not really home a lot these days.”

Even then, his job was constantly requiring him to be away from home.

Whenever the phone rang it was commonly assumed to be Seungcheol summoning his dearest protégé for another heist or uncharted siege or whatever else that involved copious bloodshed. It was apparent on Wonwoo’s face that he understood how strenuous it was for you, how the pain of his absence often mixed with the salt that beaded at your eyes when it had just been too damn long.

The boy gathered your soft cheeks in his hands, holding gingerly onto your face as though it were a beautiful pearl before poking his head down to kiss you. It was nothing more than an intimate peck, yet it had garnered the strength of a supernova to bloom beneath your ribcage, the fluttering sensation remaining steadfast as Wonwoo drifted from your mouth poignantly. Your palms etched further up on his stomach whilst he sighed,

“I know, sweetheart, and I’m sorry. I’m going to make it up to you one day, and we’ll have all the time in the world together,” He spoke tenderly, his fingertips brushing the dampened glisten that quickly seeped below your eyes, “I promise.”

The rainfall picked its way back between the heavy, ashen clouds in the sky. Though the air had grown crisp and slightly chilly, Wonwoo imbued a current of warmth to ignite in your blood as he tucked you close into his body. Your small breaths feathered along his collarbone. Very faintly there was a lingering aroma of copper, smoke and cigarettes. For a fleeting moment you thought of the people Wonwoo surrounded himself with, the petrifying dangers of his work.

Yet when he smoothed his hand along your spine, the other slipping under his loosened shirt to hold your wrist at his stomach; all the worries whisked away.

But then so did his promise.

What you wanted most was for Wonwoo to be home before the holidays.

You attempted contacting him through his phone a litany of times; however you were routinely met with drawled instructions from his voice machine. No matter the amount in which you left a message, there was never a response to reciprocate, so you eventually abandoned any phone calls altogether and found yourself wallowing in a secluded silence.

Wonwoo was busy, you were well aware of that, yet he couldn’t seem to whittle even a sliver of time to keep tabs with you.

In the beginning you were willing to understand, but now irritancy was welling up to a very palpable point.

It was another midnight in which the sky was consumed by wind. You could hear how the brisk howling beyond the glass blew torrents of snow down the empty street. The creaking noises began multiplying; flooding between old, dry woodwork that kept your house standing upright. You were curled beneath the sheets with an ocean of space to swing your limbs, yet you remained a tight little ball that burrowed at your half, blinking into the darkness that cloaked the room.

When had Wonwoo last circled his arms around your waist under the linens?

Honestly, you didn’t want to remember. It was most likely a bittersweet moment that would engender a hot, stinging sensation to burn the fragile flesh around your eyes, tearing it as easily as tissue paper.

Suddenly, the firm sound of a door clicking shut just managed to lap at your ears.

Footsteps scuffing against the floor drew your attention from the wind and the cracking of aged wood. Though the entrance to the bedroom was closed, you knew there was somebody in the kitchen, and simply by the weight of their steps and the prolonged pauses between their movements, you knew who it was.

The air was frigid, a finicky breeze that ghosted at your warm skin as you slipped from beneath your covers. Tugging on a plush, long housecoat over the black t-shirt and flannel you pretended were adequate pyjamas, you slowly, ever so slowly, twisted open the brass handle to the bedroom and padded toward the yellow lighting humming from the kitchen. You hovered by the corner, arms folded over your chest as you saw Wonwoo at the island.

The white dress shirt he wore so often had been tainted with dark, russet splashes that seemed to crinkle the fabric, the sleeves haphazardly cuffed up to his elbows with a few buttons split open and leading down to his pale chest. Thick fronds of satin-black hair were curling before his eyes, incredibly dishevelled, as though he’d raked his fingers through each clump one-hundred times.

You said nothing, simply watched him slap a briefcase onto the counter and unbuckle it.

Wonwoo tugged out at least four, shiny velvet bags. They were colours of royal blue and kohl black, tied around the top with golden, frazzled string. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen those bags either, as they quickly became an emblem for one of the organizations Wonwoo commonly heisted against. You knew that underneath the velvet pouches were cash bundles. After emptying the case, he buckled it shut, opened the basement door, and threw the bags downstairs.

It wasn’t until he turned back to the kitchen that he noticed you.

He remained silent. It was an increment no longer than a second, yet you felt that a whole century had shifted the world beneath your feet when you caught his gaze.

Why couldn’t you read it?

When had been the last time you looked into his eyes and recognized their love?

Wonwoo tousled the hair curled by snowfall from his face, but you weren’t able to gauge his expression any longer, not when the usually magnificent ore of his gaze had fallen flat, so impossibly dark that it swallowed any hope of reflection. The holidays were roughly two weeks away. If you wanted to ask him to stay, the window was right there. You gnawed your bottom lip, heard the deafening thumps rumble in your ears as your heart became electric.

But then—

“I have some business I need to finish,” Wonwoo’s voice reverberated throughout the house’s stillness, his eyes gleaming in a manner that made the fine hairs on your neck bristle.

The floorboards groaned as he walked toward the island to collect the suitcase. It was at that moment you looked to his hand, noted the deep, red gorges on his knuckles and the speckles that mapped like stars up his wrist and forearm.

Again, you bit your tongue, stared into his broad backside until it disappeared around the corner.

The door yet again clicked open, then shut, Wonwoo’s silhouette striding through a curtain of snow before you assumed he had reached his car. And suddenly all the noise you solely when heard when you were alone became amplified.

“I’m breaking up with you.”

It was Christmas Eve. Wonwoo was sitting at his desk when you wobbled down the wooden staircase, fingernails pressing crescent moons upon your skin that was nearly sizzling. It was ten o’clock at night and he managed to slip into the basement unannounced. The fact he even had the nerve to do so considering you’d been wilting in isolation for the past month tipped you a little too far. The last time you caught a glimpse of him had been that bleak, windy night, after he’d tossed the money downstairs before scurrying off to finish his dirty work.

He sharply glanced up from the papers strewn across his desk. “No you’re not,” Wonwoo scoffed, clicking his pen before scribbling something down on one of the sheets.

“Yes,” You enunciated, “I am.”

“[Y/N], I don’t have time for this,” He quickly recoiled. His pen seemed to push harder into the paper as you slapped your hands at your sides and barked,

“There seems to be a-fucking-lot you don’t have time for.”

“What do you want from me?” Wonwoo’s tone sunk to a deeper octave, almost in warning and foreshadowing, “I’m guessing you wanted me home before the holidays, and I’m home.”

“You’re home?” It felt as though a gust of wind had slapped the hair into your face, “At ten pm on Christmas Eve? Wow, you’ve really outdone yourself, Wonwoo.”

He dropped the pen, his eyes igniting in tendrils of black fire as he rolled back in the chair and his brow sternly crinkled. This wasn’t the first time you had embarked on an argument, but this had certainly been the first time you were both equally defensive. The manner in which Wonwoo’s voice boomed throughout the shadows of the basement drew ice into your veins, yet you couldn’t simply discard the pain that had tortured you day in and day out.

“You think I didn’t try to get home before Christmas? You think I didn’t plead with Seungcheol every chance I got just so I could get off early to spend time with you? I did everything I could, [Y/N], but I don’t exactly have a regular job.”

Folding your arms over your chest, you mimicked his scoff from earlier, “Thanks, I know! And I guess that excuses you from even calling me back too? Just a little five second message saying, ‘hey, I’ve tried my best to be excused, but no luck. I love you, see you soon.’ But no, I don’t even get that!”

Wonwoo stood from his chair at such a hasty pace it almost tipped over. He was quite a tall person, yet in that moment he could compare with a skyscraper.

“Why are you starting this, [Y/N]? It’s ridiculous.”

“You started this by acting straight up neglectful and generating more concern about bloodying your hands than being an actual boyfriend!”

Immediately the air was parched from existence. The basement felt no larger than a box for a ring and the desk that separated the two of you seemed to shrink into a crumb. An unyielding heat scorched like magma behind your eyes, turning them to thin glass on the brink of shattering with even the smallest huff.

When Wonwoo stepped from around the desk and hovered above you, his gaze was veiled by an anger that flamed. It had never been so painful to swallow back your own tears.

When had been the last time rage seeped into his skin this potently?

“It’s not like I can just leave it all behind,” Wonwoo spoke with venom swimming in his speech and his teeth gritting together, “If it weren’t for Seungcheol taking me in and giving me a job all those years ago, then I might not even be here now. You don’t know anything about my work, [Y/N], or who I deal with, or what it means to me, so just leave whatever remarks you think are clever and witty out of it. I’m sorry I can’t be with you as much as you want, but I’m doing my fucking best, and if you don’t think it’s good enough, then fine.

Break up with me, scream at me, and tell me I’m selfish, I don’t care. If it makes you feel better to use me as a punching bag for all the time I’ve been away, fucking go for it – means I won’t have to listen to your barking later. Now, will you let me enjoy the last two, measly hours I have left of Christmas Eve, or are you going to keep sounding off since you’re just so damn insecure and sensitive?”

Your lips parted, notably trembling like frail flower petals. The strength in your neck had conjured someplace else, leaving your head to fall, limp, weak, facing the cement where the first tear had rolled to the very tip of your nose before wetting the floor. It wasn’t until Wonwoo heard you suck in a breath that the snarl on his mouth was flattened out, his eyes widening as he saw that the cement had been splashed with dark droplets.

“[Y/N]…” Wonwoo murmured whilst raising his hand to graze your shoulder. He could see how your frame began shaking, how your sniffles sounded somewhat like hiccups.

“No,” Your voice cracked as you knocked his hand away and took a step backward, “Don’t touch me, please.”

He caught sight of the glister on your cheeks. Whatever anger he’d been brewing before had disintegrated, slipped between his fingers like a palm of sand.

Wonwoo took a step forward to match your step back. “Sweetheart, I-I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what the fuck came over me, I—“

“S-Stop talking to me,” You choked, the hot tears that masked your eyesight causing his figure to coalesce into a single blur, “I-I don’t want to see you anymore.”

Not desiring to waste another breath, you spun on your heel and charged for the staircase, arms locked around your body as though you were protecting yourself from a bitter, icy wind. Wonwoo pursued after you until he reached the foot of the stairs, though stopped himself when you looked back at him, down at him, from the doorway. He could see your eyes glittering as you distraughtly mumbled,

“I-I just wanted to spend time with you, like you promised we would. I’m sorry that pisses you off so much.”

And in conclusion, you slammed the door shut.

As the walls rattled with your forceful departure, Wonwoo lost whatever grains of composure he had left, an immediate growl scratching in his throat and his fingertips vividly burning to completely act out – throw something, punch something, rip his own hair out if need be. He was always careful picking his words in an argument. Often times it was nothing more than one needing to blow off steam and the other absorbing the punches.

Yet Wonwoo had done a little more than blow off steam. He completely smoked a hole right through your heart that he knew was so delicate and precious, the distinct sound of your voice cracking replaying over and over in his head like a mantra. Tearing himself away from the staircase, Wonwoo paced back and forth with his fingers balled in his hair.

From his peripheral vision he stole of a glimpse of something that glimmered – the velvet pouches coloured in blue and kohl that were stuffed with his enemy’s money, leaned against the wall. The anger in his chest flared brighter than lightning, and suddenly Wonwoo was filling in the combination belonging to his safe to throw the money bags inside. He then slapped the door shut with a clenched jaw because yes, he had neglected you, had obsessed over the high of seeking bloodshed in his profession.

When was the last time he had spent a week with you?

The last time he cupped your face in hands and assured you he was in love with you?

Looking to his desk only fuelled more rage to froth at his fingertips. Wonwoo knocked all the paperwork from its surface, watched the individual pages flutter into the air like autumn leaves before they landed silently in the basement shadows. The world had never felt so quiet. He could hear how the single lightbulb dangling from above rhythmically buzzed, how the exposed pipes in the ceiling creaked and moaned.

Wanting to escape everything, he sped into the washroom and snapped the door shut. He fastened his hands around the taps at the sink and let them openly stream water into the musky porcelain. It was the first time Wonwoo had been in the downstairs washroom without someone else’s blood caked to his skin, in which he would spend half an hour tirelessly scrubbing at because when he was with you he no longer needed to act cold and detached, living within the shell of a killer who did as he was told.

Yet if there was one thing Wonwoo certainly wanted to scrub away at in that moment, it would be every word he thoughtlessly spat to you.

It was Christmas morning.

You didn’t bother glancing at yourself in the mirror before leaving the bedroom, instead reaching for your housecoat and bundling into its thick fabric, knowing you would only be greeted by swollen eyes, bruised lips and a hollow, defeated face.

Wonwoo hadn’t come into the bedroom at all last night.

There were a few startling noises you heard echo from the basement before weeping yourself to sleep, presumably Wonwoo releasing whatever anger still curdled in his blood. He was usually a very calm, observational person, however, that concluded his words always came with the bitterest sting when he found it necessary to rebut. Maybe you shouldn’t have cornered him like that after a gruelling journey at his work, but you had to put some worth to yourself at least occasionally.

When you walked into the kitchen, aimlessly opening cupboards despite your stomach feeling full on misery rather than empty on hunger, you knew he was staring at you from the couch.

“Can I talk to you?” He asked, his voice rougher than usual.

You estimated he had woken up maybe a few minutes before you, or he had an equally terrible sleep. Afraid that if you even attempted at using your vocal chords they would string together in a broken cacophony, you opted for silence instead.

“Even if I spend all of today apologizing to you, you won’t forgive me, will you?”

There was nothing for you to eat; therefore you were forced to stand with your back toward him, blankly staring into last night’s dishes and concentrating on not allowing a single tear to leak down your cheek.

“Ah, [Y/N], won’t you even look at me? I waited so long to see your pretty face and now you’re hiding. Please, I need you to look at me, just for a second.”

Tucking your chin into the plump collar of your housecoat, you swallowed your pride and hoarsely mumbled,

“I said I don’t want to see you anymore.”

You were concentrating on an empty box of take-out sitting next to the sink as Wonwoo huffed almost in amusement, “You’re breaking up with me? On Christmas? For real?”

“Yes,” You sniffled whilst raising a fluffy sleeve to wipe your nose, “You’re mean and stupid.”

“Well, I know that, sweetheart,” A tiny curl yearned to trace its way onto your lips at his response, but you quickly flicked it away, “I’m mean and stupid and I said a lot of horrible, ugly things that made you upset, but I’m ready to do anything to make it up to you because you mean the world to me.”

You hated that your body was keening to pivot. Wonwoo had made your eyes well to the brim with tears the night before, and yet this Christmas morning he was crooning to you from the couch with the gentlest undertone to his voice.

Without having to look at him you could picture the messy curls of his bedhead, the soft undulating in his gaze and the smile on his rose mouth that was always so endearing. It then dawned on you that it was no longer just the house that wobbled in the wind alongside your breathing. The air finally felt warmer, smelled of fresh firewood and pine. When you peered down at your feet before quietly suggesting, ‘you could call yourself stupid and mean again,’ Wonwoo’s chuckle at long last eliminated the eerie silence you despised so much.

When was the last time the house sheltered laughter behind its walls?

“Is that really what you want?” He chided.

Casting a glare over your shoulder, you huffed, “You said you were ready to do anything!”

His eyes were no longer opaque with an undecipherable darkness. They were clear again, reflecting vibrant protrusions of happiness and relief that you were willing to work through this rough patch together.

“I am!” Wonwoo called as he sat crossed-legged on the couch.

“So say it then.” You provoked.

“I’m mean and stupid.”

“Well, I agree.”

“Do you also agree to come over here so I can apologize?”

For a moment you were glued to the floor. Knowing perfectly well that the gold embers in his gaze would persuade your convictions, you looked to the side and let your teeth graze the bruised flesh of your bottom lip. To contain yourself from continuously whimpering the night before, you had no choice but to fasten your mouth shut and let each tear absorb into the pillowcase.

“Why can’t you just say it from where you are?”

Wonwoo uncrossed one of his legs and let his foot touch the floor, his knee beginning to jump as he said, “Because, I want to this to be right.”

It was painful to bite your lip, but the sting reminded you of how much his words had lacerated you to your core. Folding your arms closer against your body, you shrugged, feeling exponentially uncertain and weakened.

“Please,” Wonwoo implored, his brow knotting, “I know you hate me right now and most likely wish I would just disappear or something - and I don’t even deserve to hold you or kiss you or have you in my fucked up life, but right now I need you to come lay here with me, just for like, two minutes at least.”

At long last that little voice sought courage at the back of your head.

When was the last time he’d been so eager to hold you up?

With a tiny sniffle, your feet slid across the floor until you had reached the couch. It was only transient, yet you caught how his expression was nearly shining, how he immediately made space for you to cuddle with him. After climbing over the arm, you collapsed into Wonwoo’s embrace as though your bones were nothing but particles of dust.

He didn’t waste much time before his fingers brushed beneath your chin, delicately titling your head up with a silent plea beaming in his eyes. Almost as quickly as you read and accepted his request, he was kissing the lilac bruises of your mouth with a newfound softness.

Your face was still feeling tight and leathered from last night, therefore even the tiniest pluck of emotion at your hearts’ strings brought a silver, tearful lining to your eyes. But Wonwoo was utterly swift and observational - it’s what made him so remarkable and in high-demand at his job after all. Before the beads could even descend to your chin he’d swept them up with his thumbs and pecked them away.

“I’m really really sorry,” Wonwoo ushered sincerely against your mouth, “I swear that being away from you for too long turns me into someone I don’t want to be. I’m the luckiest person alive to have you, and… I’ve never been so angry with myself for hurting you. I need you to know that I care about you more than anything and anyone, okay? I couldn’t come home early enough, but we still have winter break together...”

The corners of his mouth flitted upward in a bashful smile, “I’d kind of love to spend every day of it with you if that’s alright?”

The last few tears trickled into the fabric of Wonwoo’s sweatshirt. Sniffling, you roundly blinked up at him as though he held the cosmos in his gaze and hummed, “I guess I don’t mind.”

Whilst keeping contact with the entrancing, copper depths of his eyes, a frown tugged on your mouth immediately after.

“I’m.... I’m not that sensitive, am I?”

Wonwoo felt your palms shift beneath his sweatshirt to rest at his stomach as they had grown accustomed to doing. Laughter from deep within his chest escaped his lips just before he pressed them to yours once more.

“No, no,” He crooned, “I love how sensitive you are. I always want you to be like that, because it lets me know when I’m being a real big jerk.”

Your expression crinkled and brightened, “True.”

“But, I have a question for you now.” Wonwoo suddenly proposed.

Swallowing the little lump in your throat, your fingers brushed against his the tone of his stomach, anticipation and slight anxiety prickling within the system of veins flowering under your warm skin.

“Are you still as in love with me as I am with you?”

Without even having to think, an immediate heat surged to your chest and you blurted, “Yes,” a once broken but revived smile pulling up to the apples of your cheeks. It was then that Wonwoo gently curled his hand around the back of your neck and tucked you into him, your face buried in the smooth slope between his shoulder and neck, his lips at your forehead, continuing to mumble on and on about your significance to him until you had to kiss him into silence.

Even if you certainly did not love Wonwoo’s profession, or how the house enforced feelings of isolation and loneliness when he wasn’t around, you were certainly in love with him.

And that was a bond that could not be questioned.

✧✎ a/n: I KNOW THAT WHENEVER I WRITE WONWOO ANGST I ALWAYS DROPKICK THE POSSIBILITY OF A HAPPY ENDING OUT THE WINDOW, but seeing as ‘tis the mf xmas season’ i decided to be generous!!! i know wonwoo is actually a fairly gigantic ball of fluff, but ive wanted to do a mob or gang concept for so long that i jus kinda played w his cold exterior. i know its like... “generic” to have a character that is bitter/closed off to everyone else except their s/o,,,, but honestly no one gives a fuck BC THATS THE GOOD STUFF!!!

ANYWAYS, THNK YOU FOR READING, HOPE YOU ENJOYED!!! as always feel free to leave any comments or th0ts. i know that i havent been active w posting fic lately, and my sole reason for that was stress! i was just really stressed w school sjfherfhegt and felt exhausted 24/7 :-( as always, if there are any spelling errors in this let me know abt that too!! im terrible at proofreading!

oops, this was a rly fucking long author’s note :o im hoping that during winter break i can get out lots of stories!!! anywho, see yall l8er!!!

[ncturn-e]

❛❛ ¡cherry bomb! ❜❜

❛ el mañana ❜

✰ ‘verse

⤷ sɓuᴉɥꓕ ɹǝɓuɐɹʇS

♡ pairing

⤷ dr. alexei / laura garcía (oc)

☹ warnings

⤷ none

word count

⤷ 1,845

tags

⤷ @justice-for-dr-alexei

a/n: this is the shitty start to hopefully something lovely for a man who never received the love he deserved. lemme know if you would like to be tagged on updates to this story :)

╔═.✵.══════════╗

╚══════════.✵.═╝

If there was one thing to be anticipated upon opening the bunker doors and lumbering inside, Laura knew the mean end of a shotgun was not the first on her list. Her first reaction was an ungodly squawk as she stumbled onto her backside, the guitar case clattering off her back and the bag of paints spilling onto the ground.

“Son of a bitch, Murray!” was her second, her anger rightly placed as she struggled to get to her feet while simultaneously gathering her strewn paraphernalia. Her hair was in massive disarray, and her tanned hands were splotched and smudged with still-drying paint.

“‘Knock before you walk’,” Murray seethed as he withdrew the shotgun, tugging on his beard in a sort of annoyed manner. “You know you're supposed to buzz the warning before sashaying in unannounced - you know that!”

“And I also know I'm the only other person besides you who knows how to get inside,” the Latina mumbled. The man slid to block her back before she could walk inside, and she produced a loud, tired huff. “It's been a long day, Murph. I just need a place to crash for the night. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“If you would've buzzed before bursting in,” Murray stated, clearly tense as the short Latina tried to bob around him. “You'd know that I was a bit busy at the moment -”

“- busy fucking around with the Girl Scout at the door when there are more important things to -”

Laura cut off the unfamiliar voice, “Another human being! Murph, I thought I was your only connection to the world above, you minx!” She seized the opportunity to dart past the eccentric and his shotgun just as he opened his mouth to object. The girl skipped through the armoured doors and into the main room, halting in her steps to visually greet three brand new individuals with a weary-but-still-pleasant disposition. There was a short, bleary-eyed, and oddly expressive woman, an angry moustached wall of a guy who resembled a father at the end of his wit, and a very unsettled, dishevelled man curled up in one of the loveseats. Naturally, Laura was not at all surprised by the oddities of the company - after all, she was friends with Murray Bauman of all people - and she set down the case of her guitar with a smile.

“Of all places a nice girl would be, I would never have guessed the home of a paranoid hermit,” the first man grumbled, placing his face in his hands and rubbing at the weariness lining his expression. The woman beside him sent her elbow into his arm lightly, shooting Laura an apologetic look, though she didn't appear to disagree with his assessment.

While the first stocky slab of a man ran a thumb over his moustache with an utterly exasperated noise, the woman next to him quickly got to her feet, moving to attempt an awkward introduction as she began to consolidate a clutter of wrappers and fast-good carnage together on the coffee table. The third man, likely younger than the other two, was staring at the newcomer through his glasses, wearing an aura of newly introduced confusion.

As Murray came bumbling back into the room, he seized Laura by the shoulders and attempted to steer her back towards the front door. She wriggled free with a wince, and, after casting another quick look at the trio around the table, quipped, “You never have company. Either you're doing something illegal, or convening to stop something illegal illegally.”

“How about Russian translations and a wild goose chase?” Murray muttered, massaging his forehead before nodding in the vague direction of the younger man. “This is Dr. Alexei, our very own foreign menace, graced by the company of Officer Jim Hopper and Joyce Byers.” He added in a tired tone, “Ne bespokoysya Ona bezvredna,” waving his hand. The young man, Alexei, loosened his shoulders slightly, still eyeing the little Latina with both wariness and interest.

“Okay. So, Jim -”

“Hopper,” the first man grunted.

“Oh - okay, Hopper. Joyce. Alexei.” Laura recited each name. “Neat. Anyone want something to drink?”

“You're not - Laura, I swear to Christ - can you at least stay in the other room?” Murray spoke exasperatedly, trying and failing to guide her out of the area.

Laura feigned offence. “You haven't even offered your guests a drink besides that crap Burger King calls edible?” she scoffed as Murray threw his hands into the air. She looked at the doctor, saying with playful sympathy, ���I'll bet he didn't even get you water.”

“Apparently a strawberry Slurpee was worse than water,” Hopper growled before Joyce yanked at his arm as if to say ‘shut up, you big oaf.’

“He said strawberry was fine now!” the woman protested, but he waved her off. They then descended into what was most definitely a lover’s quarrel before Murray made a loud and obnoxious shhing noise through his teeth.

“Shut. Up.”

The others complied, except Laura, of course.

“So, what is going on here?” she queried, picking at a spot of dry paint on her knuckles. She moved to hoist her guitar case over to leave against the nearest wall, still observing the others.

There was a beat of silence, puckered by an annoyed whine from Murray before Joyce began to speak up. “Are you from Hawkins?”

Laura shook her head. “No. I'm just two towns over. Read what happened last year, though - that's some crazy stuff -” She cut herself off. “Byers. Byers - you're the woman who found her son two years ago! Er, what was his name -”

“Will.” Joyce showed a soft smile. Murray seemed to have given up on trying to reign in the conversation and had gone rooting through the kitchen, presumably for alcohol.

“Yeah! I'm glad you found him,” Laura went on with a shrug before perching herself on the armrest of one of the empty seats. When she caught the man called Alexei watching her with friendly intent, she shot him a grin before turning back to Joyce. “How's he doing these days?”

“Good - well, better!” Joyce answered, the smile remaining on her features before she was interrupted by an unintelligible grumble from Hopper. “Oh, what is it now? Do you need a Slurpee now? You big - baby - man.”

“Just saying,” the policeman said slowly, tone wavering with restrained irritation. “Not solving the Russian situation with small talk.”

“Russians? So they've finally broken through our defences?” Laura sounded only half facetiously.

Hopper gestured halfheartedly to Alexei. “Ask Smirnoff over here. He's the one with a big-ass base under the goddamn mall.”

Laura creased her brows, turning back to Alexei and repeating, “Base?”

“He can't understand you,” Joyce piped up, just as Murray came strolling in with a glass of what was probably whiskey.

“Doesn't know a lick of English,” Murray confirmed tiredly before falling back into the seat adjacent to the Latina. “I'm the nearest local translator, apparently,” he added with a gallon of absolutely sarcastic glee before tossing the whiskey down his throat. He winced before smiling way too widely.

Laura outed a small ‘ooooh’ as tucked a curl of hair behind her ear, looking at the scientist apologetically. Jamming a thumb into her chest, she made a clear introduction by saying, “Laura.” The Soviet repeated it slowly, thick and hesitant from his tongue. The grin that lit up her features sent a blossom of red spiralling into the young man’s face.

“Alrighty then. Since everyone knows my name now, why don't you all get me caught up on what the hell is happening?”

She humorously took the gurgling sounds of malcontent from Murray’s glass as an affirmative.

»»»

When all was said and done, it was an understatement to say Laura was baffled, if not utterly blown away by the massive import of information that had just been funnelled into her brain, all in a little less than an hour. However, visibly to Murray’s amusement, the presumed couple - who made it a point to announce that they were, in fact, not involved - went off into another minor argument before Murray had cordoned them off into another room.

Laura had taken it upon herself to sit on the floor beside the coffee table and sort out grocery baggie of paints, attempting to clean her hands off in the midst. “Russians have invaded America, and they chose to do so in the ass-end of nowhere. That was clever on their part, I will admit,” the woman mused over the muffled shouts coming from the other room. She rubbed her eyes tiredly, watching Murray come out of the kitchen and situate himself next to the Russian scientist on the sofa across from Laura. ”And he really doesn't understand English?” she requested confirmation, gently nodding her head at Alexei.

”Not a word.”

”Ah,” she murmured, drumming her paint-stained fingers along her leg. She sounded disappointed.

Alexei appeared to notice this, sitting up a smidge as he looked between Murray and Laura, eventually mumbling something to the other man with raised brows. Murray shook his head and replied, pausing in the middle before finishing with the babbling syllables, “Yedinstvennyye drugiye yazyki kotoryye ona znayet eto ispanskaya i umnaya zadnitsa.”

When Laura looked at him expectantly, Murray rolled his eyes and translated, “I told him you only speak English, Spanish, and Smartass.”

The Latina held up a very special finger. Murray chortled tiredly, muttering, “Yeah, you too, Lottie.”

After a reprieve, looked up again and asked slowly, “Do you, ah - do you think I could talk to him? Through you, I mean -”

Before she could even finish, Murray was out of his chair and fleeing to the kitchen for what was presumably more alcohol. “No, no, no, no, don't get me started. No. You already never shut your mouth as it is.”

Laura raised her hands in defence. “Jesus, Murph … I just want to talk to the guy. And I think you owe me for putting your thing in my face.” A pause, then through a sly grin, “Me pregunto cómo reaminará la Mamá cuando escucha cómo trataste a tus invitados.”

Murray gripped his glass with white knuckles and resignation, staring down the young woman - plus Alexei, who had no idea what was going on - before leaving the room, only to return with an armful of paper and a few dull pencils. “Comprise. Knock yourself out with a round of Pictionary first. I'll ‘repay’ you by being a translator tomorrow. Deal?”

Laura clicked her tongue and scrambled over to fetch the supplies, responding with a coy, “Es un acuerdo,” before watching Murray dramatically excuse himself. Looking over to the confused Russian, she smiled, scooting closer to his seat as his eyes followed her movements curiously. He opened his mouth to ask a question but shut it after remembering only one person in the bunker understood him. His brows furrowed, and he sat back with a faint little huff until Laura edged up next to him. He appeared a bit confused by her smile. Nevertheless, she raised a pencil and said anyways, “Let's play some Pictionary, comrade.”

[whenimaunicorn]

Spa Day with Bobo

Fandom: Wynonna Earp Characters: Bobo del Rey x Reader (gender unspecified) Rating: explicit

Summary: from the best anon prompt I have ever received - “ Imagine he overhears you telling the girls that you'll treat yourself to a home spa day after the latest evil had been turned to dust. Next thing you know, you hear some noise while you're relaxing in your bathtub and suddenly Bobo stands in the doorway, a bottle of wine in hand and a dirty grin on his face. "I thought I'd come by and help you relax." 😏 “

What a day. Wynonna and the rest of her crew might prefer to blow off steam from that kind of clusterfuck with a bucket of beers at Shorty’s, but as for you, all you want to do is wash this demon goo off you with a power sander… and then re-hydrate and replenish with your entire home spa routine. You told them all as much, before retreating solo to the little house you’ve been renting on the quiet side of town.

You probably exfoliated 5 layers of epidermis off in the shower, but at least now you’ve got the heavy-duty cleansing out of the way.  Your pore-opening face mask and full-body moisturizer are ready on the bathroom counter, but before you get to that step you decide to ease your aching muscles by setting the stopper in the drain and filling up the bathtub for a little soak. It’s too bad you didn’t think to set yourself up with a bottle of wine within easy reach of the tub first.

As you let the hot water loosen your muscles, you find your mind wandering. The strangest thing about today wasn’t even the monster you all had obliterated. It was the fact that Bobo del Rey and his gang of revenants had actually been fighting alongside you and the Earp crew this time. Working with him was… weird. He had a surprisingly useful amount of information about the occult, and local history, but it all came out garbled and sideways. It was almost cute, really, if you could get past the hyper-aggressive attitude he spat out between helpful tidbits and actually-useful ideas. By the time the demon exploded in a ball of stinking slime, you had almost felt a little bit of friendly camaraderie with Bobo. You can still feel the way his hand clapped on the back of your neck, a gesture that at the first moment had felt affectionate.

Turned out, he was just trying to pull you away from the monster’s corpse, knowing it was about to spew hell goo everywhere in a twelve foot radius. Maybe he was just using you as a human shield against it, but you could have sworn he said ‘watch out’ just before he tugged you closer to himself.

You sink deeper into the bath, sacrificing leg coverage to get that hot water on your aching neck. And maybe to erase the feeling of Bobo’s grasping fingers. Thoughts of the enemy are not supposed to give you the sort of dreamy longing that just tugged at your chest.

You shoot up when you hear your front door creaking open. Then it slams shut. A masculine voice calls your name through the house, playful and friendly. The way it stretches around the syllables in unmistakable. Bobo del Rey is in your fucking house. Looking for you.

The kitchen floor squeaks as he steps across it. “Yoo-hoo, Y/N,” he calls again. What the fuck are you supposed to do now? You’re naked in the bathtub; you didn’t even bring any clothes in here. You could stay silent, try to pretend you’re not home, but from the tone of Bobo’s voice he seems pretty sure you’re there. “Heard about your little spa night,” he says, voice loud and a little amused, coming now from your living room. “I brought supplies.”

It’s a small house. By the time Bobo crosses the living room, all that’s left is the bathroom to his left and your bedroom to the right. The back of your neck tingles as you imagine him standing there, filling up the threshold to the back hallway, looking in one direction at your disheveled bed, the clothes on the floor, and then turning his face to the closed door with the light coming from underneath it.

The game’s up. You should probably say something. “Um, what?”

Smooth. Real smooth.

The doorknob turns and you shriek, grabbing at the shower curtain so Bobo won’t be able to see anything but your face as he barges right into the tiny room.

Bobo grins when he spots you, face just above the rim of the tub with the sheet of semi-opaque plastic tucked tight under your chin. He leans his hip against the counter and brandishes the “supplies” he’s brought. A bottle of red wine in one hand, a giant bag of M&Ms in the other.

“You’re in my house.” It’s so strange to see him like this. He still moves with a swagger, but his usual edge of malice is gone. Like the monster under the bed decided tonight it just wanted to relax and hang out.

Bobo’s head tilts to the side. “This spa idea sounded so nice, I just had to invite myself to the party. My skin’s been feeling really dry lately.” He turns to look at himself in your bathroom mirror, setting the candy on the counter so he can swipe one paw down the side of his face. He snatches up your package of face mask goo, peering at it dramatically to examine the label. “Is this good for combination skin?”

“Um, I think?” you answer dumbly. “It’s noncomedogenic.” You should be telling him to get the hell out, but once again you’re struck by how cute Bobo is when he’s not threatening everyone in sight. His face is almost soft as he examines his pores in your mirror, the handsome lines of his eyebrows arching up in concentration. Suddenly your bath water feels like it’s getting hotter. “So… you promise you’re not here to kill me.”

Bobo hops his butt up to sit on the counter, then angles his head as he looks down at you. “Why would I do that? We’re teammates now, remember?”

You don’t believe he believes that for a second, but you’re really hoping you can trust that just for tonight, he doesn’t have any ulterior motive. “This isn’t the beginning of some crazy hostage plot,” you doublecheck, with a skeptical upturn to your voice. “Because I’m not really worth much to anybody. You’d really be wasting your time, just making Wynonna hate you worse than she already does.”

Bobo straightens up, puts his hand over his heart. “I’m not up to anything. Just to help you relax. And hopefully getting some fresher-looking skin, too.” He turns to the mirror again. “You got any kind of peel around here?”

This is too bizarre. “Uh, the mask is supposed to take care of that,” you answer, still feeling like your head is spinning. But… as your eyes run down the stylishly shaved side of your intruder’s head, admiring the lines of his muscular neck, you think that you kind of like the feeling. “OK. You can stay.” Bobo flashes you a wide grin in response, catching your eye through the mirror. “But you gotta step out for a minute.”

He looks back at you quizzically.

“I’m not getting out of this tub with you just standing there.”

The phrase ‘shit-eating grin’ has never been so personified. “I can hold your towel!” He grabs one off the rack and flips it out wide for you.

You roll your eyes. “Out.”

At the disappointed pout he shoots you before moving to comply, you realize there might in fact be at least one ulterior motive to Bobo’s presence here tonight. And you’re not even sure if you’re mad about it.

* * *

Ten minutes later, you’re in shorts and a tank under your favorite jersey knit robe, bending over Bobo who’s relaxing on your couch in the much puffier, plush white bathrobe you keep in the back of your closet. You can’t quite believe it even fits him. But his fur coat smelled a little bit too much like demon goo; after you wrinkled your nose in complaint he promised you he’d take it to a dry cleaner tomorrow before chucking it onto the front porch to air out.

You already can’t recall what excuse Bobo used to get you to apply his face mask for him; now he’s sitting with his arms spread along the back of the couch like a king while you carefully rub little circles into the skin around his eyes. Kneeling on the couch cushion beside him is a little precarious; you can’t get the image out of your head of what might happen if you lose your balance and tumble into his lap. You lean in to cover his opposite cheek with bright green, citrus-smelling paste and can’t avoid pressing your knee into the side of his thigh.

He doesn’t seem to mind; Bobo just keeps on studying your face while you work on his. His eyes are as intense as ever, but he seems to keep reminding himself to tone it down, to relax his jaw and make sure to appear more harmless. You avoid awkwardness by not quite letting him make eye contact with you, keeping your own gaze fixed on covering the small pores in his forehead, following the lines of his cheekbones, keeping the line of paste neat along the top edge of his beard. You wish you hadn’t put your own mask on already, so maybe he might be able to find you attractive right now.

Not, you know, that you want anything to happen tonight, right? Just, it would be pretty flattering if Bobo del Rey had the hots for you. It would be something you and the Earp girls could have a good laugh about tomorrow.

That’s all.

“It tingles,” Bobo comments. The low sound of his voice, so close, almost startles you as it interrupts your thoughts.

“It’s supposed to.” You risk eye contact to flash him the most winning version of your smile. “That’s how you know it’s working.” It’s encouraging how he chuckles a bit at your quip. So you keep chattering as you apply the final touches above his eyebrows. “Have you ever done one of these before?”

His smile is just a little shy. “I did get curious, picked one up once before. But it didn’t tingle like this.”

“This one is the best.” You lean back, inspecting your work. Bobo del Rey looks much less intimidating when he’s got his face covered like a teenage girl at a sleepover. But even that thought reminds you that this is your arch nemesis with his arms spread along the back of the couch, alone with you in your house, and plush bathrobe or no, he’s still a dangerous and unpredictable man.

His lip curls in an arrogant smile and he cocks his head, like he can smell your sudden rush of nerves. “I knew you’d take care of me tonight.” His fingertips dance over your knee, the one that’s been resting against him.

You stand up in a rush. “Your face is all done,” you announce. “I just need to get one more thing.”

In the kitchen, you try to catch your breath before opening the fridge to grab a cucumber for the eyelid covers. What is even happening right now? Your brain refuses to even try and interpret that touch Bobo gave you, your scattered thoughts sweeping you along with the next stage of the spa program instead.

“Have you got some glasses for this wine?” Bobo calls to you from the other room.

“O-of course.”

You chop four cucumber slices onto a plate, and grab two wine glasses by the stems that are thankfully actually clean. You’re feeling that tingling from the mask now too, unless things are just so awkward that your face is starting to go numb. ‘Spa night’ is starting to feel like ‘date night’ really damn quick.

Bobo plucks the glasses from your hand when you return. He’s already got the bottle open, and pours a generous portion of dark red liquid into each one as you sit down on the loveseat set at an angle to the couch he’s occupying. You slide the plate of cucumbers softly onto the coffee table.

He hands you a glass. “To past victories,” he says, tipping his own drink up in the space between you, “and to future conquests.”

The way he looks at you as he says it… shit. Still, you clink your glass against his and then take a hearty gulp of the wine as you try to decide what to say. Are you his next conquest? Or, even worse, you realize, is he trying to make an alliance here? Seduce you to some nefarious goal on his side of the moral line?

His eyes remain intent on your face. As you remove the edge of the glass from your lips, Bobo squares his shoulders in a way that reminds you of a cat watching some oblivious small animal as it gears up to pounce. The effect is only partially spoiled by the green shit covering both your faces.

You glance at the plate of cucumbers on the table, and his eyes follow yours.

“The final touch,” you explain. It’s also a perfect excuse to cut the tension. “Time to lie back and relax now.” You take your two slices and lean back on the loveseat. Just as you are about to put them over your eyes, you hear a soft ‘chomp’ sound.

You roll your neck and look over at Bobo. There is a big bite missing from one of his slices.

“Those weren’t for eating,” you say, lifting yours by the sides and holding them up in front of your eyes in demonstration.

“Oh, right.” Bobo actually looks a little sheepish. “What does that do again?”

A small giggle escapes your lips. “Honestly, I don’t really know? It’s just part of the aesthetic.”

Bobo’s grin is wide. “Thought you were just making me a snack.”

Somehow you are the one who feels embarrassed. “I’ll cut you some more,” you offer, already starting to get up, but he stops you with a hand on your arm.

“It’s fine,” he says. “Relax.” He pops his other slice into his mouth whole. “Don’t want to cover my eyes anyway.”

Honestly, the most terrifying thing is how nice he’s being. “Ok, if you’re sure,” you say politely, and settle back down into the loveseat. Whatever this is, all you can think to do is just go with it. “We’re supposed to leave the mask on for about ten more minutes.” You lay back, set the cucumbers over your own eyes, and do your best to relax with the palpable presence of your unexpected guest tingling over your shoulder.

The last thing he said, about not covering his eyes, tugs at your mind. You know that traumatized folks don’t often like to relax with their eyes closed, in an unfamiliar place. You can’t help but start to wonder what Bobo might have gone through after Wyatt Earp’s bullet sent him to hell. Or how many times an Earp descendent had sent him back there. What did it feel like to die like that, and more than once? Was hell all fire and brimstone, or were there a wider assortment of terrors that Bobo del Rey had endured?

The unpleasant thoughts make you feel twitchy. But it’s more sympathy than it is fear welling up in your heart, behind those uncomfortable prickles. You wish suddenly there was something you could do to ease this man’s pain. And then suppress a wild giggle, as you realize that this is the villain of your friend Wynonna’s story, who you’re sitting here hoping to offer comfort to. Is this really happening right now?

* * *

There’s another moment between you two, when Bobo follows you back to the bathroom to wash the mask treatments off. You give him the first turn at the sink, and he doesn’t leave the room after toweling off, while you bend over to rinse your own face.

Your eyes are squinted against the water running down from your forehead when you straighten back up. Bobo is standing closer than you thought he was, and there’s something almost intimate in the way he puts the driest corner of the towel he just used into your hands. You press it to your face quickly, and when you can see again, Bobo is inspecting his pores once more in the mirror. “I think that actually did something,” he announces, tracing spidery fingers down his own temple. He turns to you with a crooked smile. “I’m glowing, don’t you think?”

Something shifts in his expression as he regards your freshly-cleansed face, nodding up at him. You feel somehow naked under his gaze, like the exfoliant washed off some less-than-tangible layers of protection, leaving you more visible, more vulnerable. One of his rough hands scoops up your jaw, almost tenderly, and he tilts your head this way and that as he inspects your skin.

Your breath stopped as soon as he touched you. Part of you wants to glance over at the mirror, see what he is seeing, but you absolutely cannot tear your eyes from the hints of distant tenderness gracing Bobo’s face. “Worked on you too,” he says, voice almost a purr. “Not that you needed it.”

The compliment breaks the spell; you blush, and duck out of his hand. There was a pause just before you broke, a moment that felt like the part of a movie where two characters might kiss. And the ludicrousness of that happening in your lame little bathroom with Bobo del Rey was just too bizarre to sit still for.            

Bobo follows you out of the bathroom. “So what else happens on a spa day?”

You grasp for an idea as you retrieve your wine glass from the living room. “Manicures?”

Bobo curls his fingers to inspect his own hands. He’s got black polish on both his pinkies. “I am looking a little chipped.”

“I’ve got black,” you offer.

“Manicures it is.”

* * *

So now you’re sitting with Bobo on the big couch, files and little bottles of paint and chemicals laid out in front of you, holding his right hand between both of your own as you work on trimming his cuticles.

There was no denying your attraction to him now. The pull of him had led you to choose the seat alongside him on the same couch, to seize every opportunity for a casual touch even though each one made your heart leap into your throat. You realize you’ve set yourself on a dangerous path, leaving yourself within his reach like this. But maybe you like a little danger…

You can’t help but wonder if Bobo only keeps one nail on each hand painted because he just can’t stand to be still for longer than it takes to do one. You’re just about wrestling his arm to keep him steady as you work; meanwhile he’s telling you some terrible story about a particularly wild night of drinking, and he just can’t resist punctuating every sentence with some kind of physical gesture, your manicure goals be damned.

“So by then, me and the boys decided it was time to high-tail it out of there,” he concludes, flipping his left hand wider to try and keep his right hand still. “But not without taking the horse with us.”

You chuckle, clutching his whole arm against your side to hold it steady, and wonder absently how long ago this story actually happened. Was it before Wyatt Earp killed him, or after? You’re afraid to ask.

When you’re done with his nails, Bobo traps your left hand between both of his own. “Massages are part of the spa thing too, right?” His voice rumbles low and makes the back of your neck prickle.

His thumbs start kneading into your palm; it feels so good that all protest dies on your tongue. A strangled little “mm-hm” comes out instead, its tone reminiscent of the cry of an animal caught up in a trap.

His fingers are skilled. And contemplating the strength in Bobo’s hands makes more than just your neck tingle. “Close your eyes,” he says, somewhere between suggestion and command.

What does Bobo want from you? What do you want from him? Even with your eyes closed, you can’t seem to follow any thoughts to a useful conclusion, not with the slide and press of his powerful fingers working down past your wrist, not with his presence filling the room, the feel of his breath on your cheek as he draws closer.

You’re nothing but a ball of hormones by the time you open your eyes, finding Bobo’s face not two inches away from your own. The want in his predator gaze is naked now, held back by barely a question. Your body answers with a rush better left untranslated into words. Words would only damn you; for letting an enemy in, for letting him fill you with such quivering, just-take-me-now lust.

Something changes in your face, some softening submission of the muscles that Bobo knows exactly how to read. His lips quirk, and then they cover your own.

His kiss is warm and sweet; not what you would ever have expected, but somehow fitting for the way tonight has gone. The soft nipping of his lips is enticing, coaxing, and just a breath away from actually pushy. Playing nice, like he knows that this is still happening against your better judgement, and he wants you to want him anyway.

And it’s working. You open your mouth to his curious tongue, taste the wine on his breath. One of his hands comes to the side of your face. Spidery fingers travel down your cheek, around your head to hold you steady, to pull you in closer.

You start to relax into the couch, slowly falling more and more into his body. You haven’t kissed like this since high school, when it was called “making out” and no one was ever sure if it was going to turn into something more. Bobo laces his fingers through your own, and you wonder how far you’re going to let him get with you tonight. His kiss stays slow, snaring you in more decidedly as every minute passes. His tongue works against yours with a playful sort of lust, stirring you deeper the longer you let this go on.

You still dread what’s going to come after this. You expected Bobo to have been more crass, and more direct, if he had come over here just to try and bang you. He wouldn’t have put up with all of this spa shit just to get into your pants, would he? He must want something else from you, to have taken such time with this seduction, to put such effort into making you feel comfortable with him in your house.

You should stop kissing him, and demand to know what he’s up to.

Your hands ignore the screaming of that rational part of yourself, smoothing across the black cotton that covers the hard planes of Bobo’s chest. He pulls the robe off your shoulders, and with a little shudder of defeat you let him take it the rest of the way off you, all the while keeping your lips locked onto his.

This is ok, because he started it. It’s not so bad if you just let him kiss you, right? Let his hands roam, let him push you back into the soft cushions of the couch. Just the villain of the story making you his victim, right? You’re not culpable, you’re not responsible. But you sure can enjoy it.

Bobo stops, pulling back just far enough to examine your face. “I knew you had a soft spot for old Bobo.” He tugs at your hips. “Come up here and straddle me. I want you in my lap, sweet thing.”

He won’t let you get away with being passive. A fresh rush sweeps through your body as you comply, a pleasure centering squarely between your hips. You feel drunk on your lust for him. And now, you also feel entirely on display, as Bobo leans back and drags his eyes over your body wiggling above him to find the most comfortable position with him between your thighs.

He shrugs out of his own robe, and then his hands follow his eyes along the bare skin of your limbs. You never thought it would feel so good for him to touch you, but you press your face back into his just so you don’t have to look at him looking at you anymore. His kiss is harder now, more insistent, and his hands roam more freely. He takes two handfuls of your ass and squeezes hard, pulling you closer. You’re really going to have to make a decision soon; this isn’t going to stay just kissing for long.

Then his fingers curl under the hem of your tank top, starting to pull it up. Now he’s trying to get you naked. Your elbows come in snugly against your own flanks, slowing him down. “We shouldn’t,” you say softly against his mouth. Your tone sounds half-hearted, even to you.

“We should,” Bobo replies with much more confidence, and tugs the fabric against your resistance. “What’s the point in taking this slow?”

What’s the point, indeed. A one-night stand sounds a lot more excusable than some kind of long-term seduction, some unspoken thing between the two of you across enemy lines… and it’s not like you’re holding out for him to buy the cow or anything. The idea of actually dating Bobo del Rey is much more ludicrous than skipping to the end and fucking his brains out right now. Maybe you might as well just enjoy this strange night to the fullest.

Your hand finds his cock, almost of its own accord. You know he’s going to take this as encouragement, but you find that you absolutely cannot resist. The hard press of flesh under the crotch of his pants is enticing, and his length seems impressive as you slide your whole hand up and down the outline of his shaft.

Bobo rolls his neck and groans, distracted from trying to remove your shirt in favor of giving you room to work on him.

It’s absolutely entrancing to watch the effect you’re having on his face, how easily he cedes control in favor of closing his eyes and savoring the feeling of your fingers gripping him. He fumbles with something just above your hands, then you hear his belt buckle clink and you realize he’s opening his pants up for you in a silent offer.

This all becomes very, very real when you slide your palm under the elastic edge of his underwear, watch his eyelids flutter as you push past thick, silky hair and curl your fingers around his warm, naked shaft. A little thrill runs through you too, as you contemplate how absolutely large his cock is. Like you might be getting yourself into more than you can handle, in more ways than one.

Somehow you end up staring into each other’s eyes as you softly rock up and down on him, moving your whole body to get leverage on the monster in his pants. You watch Bobo’s eyes pool dark and drowning as you work him up, until you realize you’re just teasing a beast that’s about to devour you whole.

He sinks his teeth into his bottom lip. Then with a ragged groan, Bobo grabs your wrist, stilling your hand, and uses his entire body to lift you up and flip you over onto your back on the couch. You feel his teeth scraping against your neck a moment after impact, then with a wild, purring sort of growl he’s grinding his cock against your crotch and devouring all the skin between your ear and shoulder.

And just as you’re panting, letting him take your pants off you, just as you know that you want to let him have you, any way that he wants, you hear your front door creak open for your second uninvited guest of the night.

“Hey, Y/N,” Wynonna’s voice rings out from the next room, “got too drunk to drive back to the ranch tonight, is it cool if I crash here?” The high pitch of her voice, the edge of a giggle behind it, confirms her state of inebriation to you instantly.

Bobo rears up onto his hands above you, looking over the back of the couch at the open doorway to the kitchen, from which Wynonna’s voice emanates.

Wynonna keeps talking before you can think of anything to say, either to her or to Bobo. “Did you know that fur coat laying on your porch looks just like fucking Bobo del Rey’s?” she slurs.

This is so bad.

Bobo’s legs are still pinning yours to the couch, but you lift up onto your elbows underneath his looming torso, so you can at least see the doorway Wynonna is about to walk through. Bobo growls softly, one of his hands coming up to clutch around your back, grasping the nape of your neck from behind. Possessive? Or just irritated that he’s about to have to give up his new toy?

Wynonna’s eyes widen almost the instant she comes into the room, as she recognizes both of the faces peering up at her over the back of the couch. “Wha—OH MY GOD!” your drunken friend shouts.

Her hand scrambles at her hip. You have one moment to curse as you realize she’s going for Peacemaker. She probably thinks Bobo’s on top of you without your consent, given the way her eyes are flashing dark and angry. “Wynonna, wait!” you cry, though you can see that your words don’t register.

“Back the fuck off, Bobo, and get up right fucking now,” Wynonna orders, even though she’s sloppy getting Peacemaker out of the holster. She steadies it with both hands, the muzzle already glowing gold.

Bobo’s whole body flares hot when his revenant face burns through in the presence of his mystical bane. You think you hear him growl “Mine!” as his grip pulls you in tighter, his right hand flying out for that nifty telekinetic defense he has.

His arm cuts to side, and Peacemaker is flung at the same speed toward the wall. Drunken Wynonna stays attached to it somehow, hurtling a few feet before they both clatter to the floor.

“Bobo,” you scold, glaring up at him from your intimate angle. “Same team, isn’t that what you said?”

He’s still in revenant mode when he peers back down on you, and the effect is chilling. His face fades back to human as quickly as he can swallow that darkness back, but you’re still shaken, and he can see it. Regret tinges the corners of his eyes as he observes your reaction to him. “She was gonna shoot me,” he whines, retreating into his characteristic irreverence.

“She wanted to protect her friend. In her defense, this doesn’t look good.”

“I was thinking it looked very good,” Bobo rumbles back, eyes sweeping down the lines of your intermingling bodies, both your pants halfway off, intriguing bits of flesh exposed and others pressed together still.

You chuff at the unexpected flattery, looking away from the promise that’s still there in his eyes when they lock onto yours again. “Wynonna,” you call over to the section of floor where you saw her go down, “it’s alright. He wasn’t hurting me. You ok?”

An ornery grumble emanates up from behind the couch. “Like hell he wasn’t….” You hear her scrambling around on the floor.

“You’d better go,” you whisper quickly to Bobo. “You can’t reason with her when she’s like this.”

He looks ready to argue at first, but you see his eyes clear up as, one can only assume, he finally realizes the mood has been ruined.

He reaches down. You’re assuming it’s so he can pull his pants back up, but he finds your hand and laces his fingers into yours instead. You’re speechless as he lifts your knuckles to his lips in an old-fashioned, gentlemanly kiss. “Well then, until next time,” he murmurs, voice so low and throaty that it wraps around you like an overly-affectionate cat.

There’s a little smirk left on his face as he rises to his feet, buckling his belt back on while staring at the confused and panting mess he’s left of you on your living room couch.

“I swear to God, Bobo,” Wynonna snarls from behind you, killing even that last little moment, “if you don’t get the fuck out of this house right now—”

“Oh, keep your panties on, Wynonna,” Bobo snaps back. “You don’t want me to just run out on your friend, without even a polite goodbye, do you? After what we were just getting up to, that would just be rude.” He zips his pants back up loudly, making sure Wynonna can’t misunderstand what she had interrupted. “The last thing I want is to hurt anyone’s feelings.”

“OUT.” Wynonna climbs to her feet, finally with a sure grip on Peacemaker again.

With two fingers on his lips, Bobo blows you a kiss before he hops to it, backing away from Wynonna’s glare and toward the open door. You imagine he’s trying to get out of your sight before that gun turns his face all red and black and glow-y again.

There’s a little hollow behind your chest as you watch him leave, and a disappointed aching remaining down south. But really, maybe it’s better for him to get kicked out so suddenly. So you didn’t have to hear him say something soft, make promises he wouldn’t keep. Or be disappointed when he didn’t do those things. Or so you wouldn’t have to hear whatever evil proposition you expected was likely to come after the sex. Bye-bye, Bobo.

Now the only one you’re left having to talk to is the woman holding the gun in the other corner of the room. As she turns to you, her face is so twisted up in confusion that she looks almost pained. “Are you really ok?” she asks.

A heavy sigh, more than a little shamed, bursts from your lungs. “Yeah, I really am.”

She keeps staring at you, sitting up now on the couch with your clothes askew. Her mouth opens, then closes again.

Time to try and explain. “Wynonna—”

She cuts you off with a wave of her hand. “I’m too drunk to talk about what I just witnessed.” She holsters Peacemaker. “Or maybe too sober.” She grimaces. “Fucking Bobo?”

“Well, we weren’t exactly fucking—”

“Nope!” she interrupts again, drawing the word out with exaggerated flair. “Definitely can’t do this tonight. Get some sleep. Both of us. Maybe we can talk about it over coffee in the morning. Or bloody marys. Or maybe just our own graves. Cuz I’m really thinking I’d like to never talk about this one.”

**Thanks for reading! If you liked this, try this drabble about running into Bobo at the mall...

Tagging: @demoncrypt1066, @that-was-not-supposed-to-happen, @writingfromasgard ... let me know if you want to be on a Bobo del Rey taglist, and/or prompt me for more like this with him... I just can’t get enough of this guy and the enemies-to-lovers thing...

[roseamongroses]

PP part (3): “cold park-benches and too bright screens are inadequate places for roman’s break down, but he’ll take it”

Warnings:Aftermath/Part of breakdown, self depricating/ self blame thoughts (along the lines of existence), home sickness, probably some dependency issues, somewhat violent hyperboles cursing tbh (pls tell me if i missed something) 

Characters/Sides: Roman Sanders, Logan Sanders, Patton Sanders (brief) 

p(1) p(2) p(4)

Ao3

On paper. Patton and Roman were Inseparable

His hands were numbed, holding his lolled head from completely collapsing onto the park bench he was curled into. His clothes were scratchy, the stains from earlier that night still angrily present across his thighs and shirt.

Ignoring how the cold pressed into his thighs, into him, he scrolled through his phone, not noticing how he squinted at the light, not noticing how he didn’t even bother turning down the light, and not acknowledging the worried streams of text he got from Patton. He’s not even sure they were from Patton. 

He wasn’t sure about much nowadays.

Life after high school was really the cold jump in the lake Roman sure as hell didn’t sign up for. Nothing was right, not the classes he wanted, no, strived to get into, not his teachers, not his now blurry future plans, and certainly not his relationships.

Because he certainly knows how to fuck up basic human interactions. He doesn’t even know when it happened, he was usually so in control, everything was in his grasps. He had the confidence, the charm, he could carry a conversation without feeling the bile in his throat follow through with it's threats. He was perfect.

But it was fucking exhausting.

School piled up quickly, homework seemed to be an endless game of catch up of things he isn’t even sure they learned, and all around him it felt like everyone was mocking them with their ease, with their achievements. People getting diplomas, finishing top of their class, even just managing to go out to get some shitty cold coffee with their friends without their body going into full panic mode. All he could feel, all he got was him slipping. Slipping and slipping. Until he did it, he finally reached his grand climax, the finale to end all finale’s.

He fucked up.

And now he might as well disappear.

His fingers mindlessly scrolled faster as Roman blinked back the familiar sensation fogging his mind.Nothing really on the screen to comfort or calm him, more like the sensation of feeling something, even as simple as the cool, surprisingly unshattered phone in his palm provided a sense of weight and comfort. Eventually the fogg slipped away, quietly, job done.

His throat untightened, his body untensed, and now he just existed. Amongst the barren trees, the foreign nipping air, and the stench of the city not too far from here. He let himself become one with this picture, let his mind fade into the noisy, car horns sometimes faint voices. He picks out each, puts them into their boxes and moves on, ignoring how he embarrassing wishes he could hear the damn cicadas screech their heads off.

Instead he hears the shuffling of footsteps approaching, slow and steady. Roman huffed, dropping his head into his arms in a lame attempt at hiding… everything really. He peeked, curiosity ever the bitch, catching a glimpse at the familiar, faintly worn in brown [shoe name] that stopped in front of him.

He didn’t greet them, it just felt...wrong to speak at all. He could speak now, thoeretically like he could theoretically shoot a puppy. He could, but he wouldn’t. It was wrong by the sheer fact that every sense of his being felt like it was stuffed with cotton and freshly sewn up.

“Roman,” he greeted, voice freshly woken up and hoarse, and Roman winced.

He woke him up.

A few beats of silence, before they sighed, the creak of the park bench beside Roman grabbing his attention. A few more and Roman finally dragged himself to at least look at the man, he could do that much he thinks.

Dark brunette hair, their neat waves tucked behind their ear in defiance. Glassless eyes only making the sharpness of the blue stand out even more against their tanned skin. Said eyes flickered over him in a brief display of concern and Roman tried not to let that feed his ego.

“Roman, you know he worries about you. ” Logan said, no more no less could be said.

So Roman didn’t say anything, instead focusing on Logan’s shoes, noting his change in shoelace color. Black to brown, a bold choice.

Another pause, another silence. It was weird, weeks of staying with Logan abroad was constantly filled with some noise. Yelling, pens clicking, coffee brewing. A different type of cadence then home, one that matched his pace, challenged his pace. But today, it was slow moving, a hesitant crescendo. It’s soft, yet strong  cadence stirred him with familiarity.

“You don’t have to talk about it with me.” Logan finally said, voice firm but not final, “We can argue another time, hell we argue all the time, but” He paused, eyebrows twitching, searching, “When you’re ready you  do need to call him. To call home, talk to someone, anyone else if you feel like you can’t talk to me. Even if it’s just your blog, anything , please. ”

Roman’s shoulders sagged, only mildly alarmed to not feel the urge to lash out. Instead he croaked in agreement, face cringing at the sound.

Tension unraveled from Logan all at once, shoulders rolling back and he almost held an air of dishevelment as he silently he slumped across the bench, shoulders barely brushing Roman’s.  

”You wanna stay for a bit more or head back?” He asked, the escaped strands of his bun curling definitely in his face , clouding his expression with an air of innocence.

Mumbling incoherently, Roman’s body surprisingly leaned into his touch, head lolling, “Here’s s’okay for a bit, “ he grumbled, pointedly not looking at much of anything, but he found he couldn’t ignore much of anything at this point as well.

[annewithagee]

More than Pride vol. I (1)

She was a mistress of her own fate, ready to curve her own future. She was a fighter, refusing to give in to her own, cruel demons. And no one could take it away from her, not anymore, neither with words or deeds, because right now she felt strong enough to stand up for herself.

If only Gilbert Blythe didn't spoil it with his jokes.

Shirbert, Anne with an E versed. AO3 / fanfiction.net

Chapter 1 I Like Imagining Better

Anne Shirley-Cuthbert didn’t sleep well that night.

In all honesty, she wished she hadn't slept at all, for in such case she would have been nothing more than tired, instead of weary and disturbed as she was right now. No, she didn't lack sleep – and that was what made her night so feverish, so painful. It was those scraps of time when she fell into slumber, the short naps that instead of rest gave her that horrible, irrational exhaustion.

It was the dreams, the nightmares that came to her every time as she as much as closed her eyes.

No, not dreams; not nightmares, even.

Memories.

"You red-headed witch."

She took a deep, sharp breath, still unable to decide whether she wanted to get out of bed in one jump, leaving the horrors of her past behind her, or whether she'd rather tuck herself neatly under the duvet, curling up and pretending this false protection from the outside world would be enough to make her feel better. Maybe if she focused on something pleasant, like Princess Cordelia and another adventure of hers, she would calm down a little; maybe she'd even feel happy.

"I like imagining better than remembering."

Even this, however, didn't seem to work that well that morning. Summoning Cordelia did not make her think of balls and castles, but of the constant, merciless mockery. The girls at the orphanage laughing, always laughing at her – her imagination, her big words, her looks.

Her skinny silhouette.

Her many, many freckles.

Her hair.

She shook her head and opened her eyes, determined not fall into the hole of fear and despair that was once again looming before her. She shouldn't be thinking of her looks right now, Marilla had already told her so more times than she could count – and if the last year had taught her anything, it was that she should not try to change her appearance, let alone her hair. No, one haircut was more than she wished for for a lifetime.

And yet, it still hurt so much.

A noise came from downstairs, clearly indicating that Marilla was up, starting the day together with the rising Sun. Anne sat up on the mattress, listening closely, half-expecting to hear her guardian's step on the staircase; but she heard no such thing. It was still early, and although Miss Cuthbert certainly wasn't the one to tilt to anyone's lazing around, Anne realised she wasn't expected to be up and ready for at least some time now.

She plumped down on the bed, her cheek hitting the soft pillow once more. She frowned when she felt the wet stain left on it, something she hadn't been aware of earlier. Again, she lifted herself on her elbows a little, ready to examine the damage caused by -

Her tears, of course.

She had been crying again.

She blinked repeatedly and felt another drop slide down her face before she wiped it away. She'd assumed the only reason why her vision had been so blurry was her tiredness; now she knew there was more to it.

Anne held her breath as another sound reached her ears as the realisation dawned on her. Skinny or not, freckled or not, she must have looked terrible after a night like this. Her hair was not only red, but completely dishevelled as well, and she was more than sure she had dark bags under her eyes, which in turn probably matched her hair in colour at the moment. It wasn't vanity this time, she knew that much – at this moment she had much more noble reasons for paying her own appearance so much mind.

Marilla would notice.

And then she'd get worried, which was bad enough on its own, and would become even worse after, when she'd start asking questions. No matter if Anne would answer truthfully, the inquiry would surely bring the memories back and Heaven only knew whether she could bear to keep her emotions hidden inside.

In a second, she made up her mind. She got up from the bed and folded her covers neatly, all while trying to remain as silent as possible during such a task. She walked towards the mirror, ready for the most terrifying sight on earth, only to be greeted by a slightly strained face and hair far less spiky than she'd expected it do be. Her sleepiness was gone too, making her look much more lively, even if it wasn't peaceful.

All in all, not all hope was lost for her.

Still, her eyes spoke of her exhaustion and as long as she didn't take care of that, she had no business in coming downstairs or even more so, greeting Marilla in her own little room. So she wiped away the rest of the tears that still lingered on her lashes and set off to work over the wide metal bowl, ready to splash the cold water on her face. The water was, indeed, icy – but just this once, Anne found herself grateful for the fact. In a few seconds the embordering of her eyes went from red to pink, allowing the girl to believe that by the time she combed and braided her hair all traces of her untimely distress would be gone and, with a little work and luck on her part, even forgotten. Her tangled hair turned out to be of help in that, as she needed a few good additional minutes to gain any control over it – but, as mentioned afore, it only made her gain the time necessary for her flushed skin to come to its regular hue.

She sprayed some more water on it just to make sure she hadn't neglected anything – and with that, she was gone downstairs.

She could handle this, couldn't she?

"Good morning, Marilla," she announced cheerfully, hoping the tone of her voice wouldn't seem forced or worse, fake. It was a good morning, after all, and she knew it; she just didn't feel it entirely just yet.

Marilla gave her a stern, astonished look. "You're up early."

"Oh, I really am not," Anne protested, sending her guardian a radiant smile as she walked towards the cupboard and took out their everyday dishes and cutlery. "It's barely twenty minutes before my usual get up time, and to be completely honest, how could one sleep in – or simply sleep at all – on a morning so lovely as this?"

Again, her words, so seemingly far from the truth, were nothing but genuine. The morning was indeed beautiful – crisp but fresh, chilly but bright, and Anne knew it would only grow more delightful as time progressed. Focusing on her work made her think less of the disturbances of the night as well and she was already beginning to feel better altogether. It was Green Gables she was at, for goodness sake, not any of the horrid places she had ever had a misfortune to live at.

It was also real, unlike the lands she'd so frequently dreamt of. She was here, and she was loved – and all of it was true.

Maybe that's the point, she realised suddenly, placing the plates on the neat, empty table. Maybe imagining, while most certainly better than remembering, is still nothing compared to actually living.

Hadn't she once said that coming to Avonlea was better than anything she could ever imagine on her own?

"Lovely or not, you're as skittish as always," Marilla's voice tore her from her reverie the very second she came to her revelation. "Matthew's gone to Carmody, he won't be accompanying us at breakfast. I told you that twice last evening."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Anne stuttered in surprise. "I did not think of that. Matthew's presence at breakfast is such a natural thing, it didn't as much as cross my mind it could be otherwise, no matter the circumstances. Although now that I think of it, I can remember you say he was to be absent today. Would you mind telling me why he went, again?"

"Why, business, of course," the older woman responded matter-of-factly, as usual trying to make her voice sound harsh and scolding; an attempt as noble as pointless, for everyone, Anne included, knew she could not be truly cross with the red-haired girl she'd come to call her own. Still, Marilla believed it was her duty as Anne's warden to keep up appearances, as feeble as it may have seemed. "Although I don't see why I should tell you anything more, since you're as good as forgetting it now."

"Oh, that's not true at all," Anne opposed, her grin not fading in the slightest. "I have great memory, even Miss Stacey says so, if only I choose to use it properly. That's what Miss Stacey says too, for she also believes the only reason I sometimes fail to provide a good answer is because I decide to remember things not worth remembering. At least she doesn't mean remembering poetry by that, as so many people I've met so far did. I am pretty sure Mr Phillips did as well, even though he was – he is – a teacher and it is my belief that teachers of all people should encourage children to read poetry and to learn it by heart. In fact, Miss Stacey agrees that -"

"Oh for Heaven's sake, Anne!" Marilla decided to cut her off at last. "Almost two years spent in this house and you still talk as much as on the day you first came here. Now, I don't doubt Miss Stacey agrees with whatever crazy ideas you shared with her, but she won't be any more understanding towards you when you get late to school than she is to the other children."

Anne laughed quietly over her untouched food.

"I'm sure I won't be," she protested. "I got up earlier today, after all – or didn't I?"

"Yes, and you're on the best way to waste all of that precious spare time on your blabbing when you could eat your breakfast in peace for once."

Anne did not dare respond to that. With a smile, she bit onto the slice of bread she'd been holding and proceeded with her meal in silence, only sending her older friend teasing, yet most loving glances which the latter tried to ignore.

Yes, Anne thought, out of the three – remembering, imagining and living – living surely is the most pleasant one.

[jae-bummer]

Promises II (Hades!Jinyoung AU)

Request: Got7's Jinyoung + the Hades AU part 2 with prompt 8 💕💕 8) “Why am I so afraid to lose you when you aren’t even mine?”

Part 1 can be read HERE. 

Convince me that you want to be here It’s not my trick that keeps you so near You chose me. You love me. This is real.  No silly seeds sealed the deal. ... No need to say; I know why you go I won’t block your way, make a big show Just tell me you weren’t hungry that day.  Just tell me I’m the reason you stay -Lee Ann Schaffer

“Really it’s your father’s fault,” Demeter sighed as she tucked your arm under hers. She patted your hand gently as you both walked slowly toward the now familiar beach that led it’s way to the underworld. 

“It’s no one’s fault but my own, mother,” you sighed, taking a last look at the mortal world for the next six months. The trees and plants dotting the edge of the sand line were already beginning to turn brown and a crisp wind cut through the air. 

“Oh no,” your mother clucked, shaking her head. “It was your father, and that bastard, Hades.”

“Don’t talk about him like that,” you sighed. You were already wary with this argument considering it had seemed to drag on for the past half of a year. “He is my husband after all.” 

“Just because he’s your husband doesn’t mean he makes good decisions,” Demeter grumbled, pulling away from you, and crossing her arms. 

“Mother,” you groaned. “Can you blame him? To be honest, I think I’m the only person outside of the underworld who had treated him with any sort of compassion. And he’s the only person who’s ever showed me such passionate attempts at lov-”

“If I didn’t know any better, it sounds like you actually don’t mind disappearing into the land of the dead for months at a time!” she snapped, turning away from you. “Don’t you miss your poor mother? Your worried father?” 

“You were literally just blaming my father less than two minutes ago,” you sighed. “We can’t change this arrangement, so I’m not going to make the worst of half of my life. You’re going to have to get used to the idea that I’m married to Jinyoung and-” 

“You call him Jinyoung?!” your mother gasped. “What has he done to my little girl?” 

“Nothing yet,” a familiarly cold voice sounded from behind you. “Are you ready, dear?” 

You turned, surprised that Jinyoung had made the trip. His familiar, black umbrella shadowed him, protecting him from the sun’s bright rays. He was just as handsome as you had remembered, and you couldn’t help but feel comforted that you would be making the journey down with him. 

“I should have known you were close,” Demeter hissed. “The wind carried the scent of rotting flesh through the air.” 

“Now, now, momsey,” Jinyoung smirked. “No need for such harsh comments. I’m taking good care of your girl.” 

“My girl, Hades,” Demeter spat. “My girl who needs her mother.” 

“Let me carry this for you,” Jinyoung hummed, ignoring Demeter and taking your bag instead. “I’m happy to see you’ve brought things to stay this time.” 

As his fingers graced yours, he leaned down, placing a light kiss on your temple. You shivered at his touch, momentarily pleased before realizing he had only done it to infuriate your mother. You let out a groan and winced as her expression grew darker. 

“Six months,” Demeter muttered through barred teeth. “I will be here at exactly this time to retrieve me daughter.”

“You’re always welcome to visit before then,” Jinyoung smirked coyly. “My home always has room for family.” 

“You are no family of mine,” Demeter whispered, leaning forward to place a kiss on your forehead. “Stay strong.”

“Right, gotta go,” you grumbled, shifting your weight. “See you, mom.” 

“It’s been lovely as always, Demeter,” Jinyoung nodded, shifting the items in his hands so he had a free hand to place behind your back. He gently guided you down the beach and toward the next half of your year. 

“You’ve been quiet the entire way here,” Jinyoung sighed, finally breaking the silence between the two of you as you arrived back to his mansion. 

“I was taught that if I didn’t have anything nice to say, I shouldn’t say anything at all,” you muttered, shouldering open the front door. 

“I’m guessing you learned that lesson from Zeus?” Jinyoung chuckled. “Because surely it wasn’t something passed down from your mother-”

“Stop! Okay?” you gasped, raising your hands into the air. “Can’t you just stop already?” 

Jinyoung’s eyes grew wide as he watched you spin toward him, your arms flailing in exasperation. “Darling, I-”

“No!” you croaked. “Do you know how hard it is to be placed in between you two? Half of the year I’m busy trying to ignore your passive aggressive comments about my mother and during the other half I have to defend you to her! I’m still not even sure how I feel about you sometimes, Jinyoung!” 

Jinyoung’s mouth hung open as he internalized your words. He shut it and opened it again as he attempted to gather his thoughts. “Is - is that right?” 

“You don’t make this the easiest situation sometimes,” you groaned, turning away from him. An expression of hurt covered his face and you knew if you gazed at him for too long, your resolve would crumble. “Do you recall...when you first brought me to the underworld? Before the contract you agreed upon with my father? Do you remember how kind you were? You treated me with compassion and respect. I was your Queen ruling beside you. You considered my thoughts...always...but ever since you had tricked me that day...that day you knew I would be forced to remain in the underworld if I ate that pomegranate...you haven’t exactly been on my list of favorite people.” 

“The last time you visited-” Jinyoung began. 

“You mean the last time I was contractually obligated to visit,” you hissed. 

Jinyoung took a deep breath and shut his eyes for a moment. “We had grown. We had come to terms...” 

“We had agreed that both of us were too selfish to miserably continue,” you sighed. “But maybe I’m too head strong to forgive. Just when I think my husband is someone I can manage to love...he reminds me of the situation we’re in.”

Jinyoung nodded, his jaw tensed as he began to grind his teeth back and forth. “If you were given the choice,” he whispered. “Would you be here now?” 

“If I were to be honest,” you nodded. “I don’t think I would.” 

Jinyoung had gone numb. He was used to feeling cold and emotionless, but never this deeply affected. His heart, if it were to beat, had frozen. All of the emotions he had harbored for you stung like a venom he had injected within himself. As you spoke, he attempted to come to terms with the fact that there was no antidote for this type of love, and he would rather be hurt by you a million times over than ever have you return to the mortal world. 

But wouldn’t that be what was best for you? Returning to a land in which he no longer belonged? 

He supposed that wasn’t his decision to make. 

“Y/N,” he croaked, his voice raspy. You prepared yourself for a harsh comment, a statement of anger from him, declaring for you to leave his home and never return, but instead, what he said made your hair stand on end. 

“I need you.” 

You paced the large expanse of your room, the stone beneath your feet echoing with every footstep. 

You were terribly confused and near grief stricken. 

He loved you. He loved you terribly and with great need. He didn’t know how to function without the idea of you constantly lingering somewhere in the recesses of his mind. He had an obsession that he wasn’t yet ready to part with. 

And that frightened you. 

You had never been loved with such fervor when someone had such difficulty conveying it. You had never expected someone with as much power and intelligence as Jinyoung to fall love sick when you hadn’t done anything to entice him. 

He had loved you from the beginning, so he had an advantage. You could only learn to love him. 

But the situation made it so incredibly difficult. 

You bit your lip as you paused, staring at the lock on the door. You knew Jinyoung. He could unlock your meager attempt at solitude with a flick of his hand. 

But he didn’t. 

He knew you needed time. 

Just like he needed you. 

You continued your pacing, your thoughts sprouting in almost every direction. You wanted to love him. You really did. You wanted to enjoy the time you were forced into a completely different realm because you had him to spend your time with. 

But could your want be enough? 

You shuffled back toward the door and clutched the sterling handle you had grown familiar with locking. You pushed it open and tilted your head to view any happenings in the hall. You were met by the quiet R&B music you were used to hearing radiate down the hallways of Jinyoung’s mansion and couldn’t help but smile. You followed the sound as you had many times before and found yourself standing in the doorway of his study. 

Jinyoung took a shaky breath in as he leaned over his desk. His papers sat in neat piles around him, a reminder of how clean and uncomplicated he liked to keep his life. 

Honestly, you were probably the first thing in some time that had made it become complicated. 

Your eyes played across his curved frame. His clothing was a bit different than usual, looser than you had ever remembered. His hair was disheveled and he repeatedly attempted to push it back on his forehead, but to no avail. He cleared his throat as he began to flip through a few pages in a book opened before him and began to scribble in the margins. 

“What are you reading?” you asked, keeping your voice low. You were unsure if you were disturbing him, and didn’t want to be any more of a nuisance than you had become. 

“Nothing of great importance,” he sighed, not bothering to turn and look at you. His body relaxed as you spoke, melting into the furniture before him as he leaned. “How may I help you this evening?” 

“You don’t have to be so formal,” you sighed, taking the few short steps into the room to bring you beside him. “I wanted to...well, I wanted to apologize. Not about what I said...but how I said it.” 

Jinyoung straightened his stance into a standing position, glancing over his shoulder at you. “It’s understandable.” 

“But not what I intended,” you hummed. “Jinyoung, I know I can’t break a contract of the Gods, but-”

“But I can,” he nodded, turning toward you. He took your hand into his and smiled sadly. “Y/N, if you don’t want to be here, I won’t be the one to force you. It will be painful, and I don’t think I will ever hurt more than I will in that moment...but you’re free to leave. I’ll talk to Zeus, I’ll talk with the Fates. But I won’t be the one to imprison you any longer.” 

“What?” you breathed, your eyes growing wide. 

“If you love someone, set them free, right?” he continued, smiling through his pain.  

“And they’ll return if it was meant to be,” you whispered with a small nod. This was what you had needed. This is what you had needed all along to help you make your decision. “Jinyoung, I-”

“Why am I so afraid to lose you when you aren’t even mine?” he chuckled bitterly. “Why am I afraid at all? I’m Hades, for Zeus’s sake.”

You titled your head and narrowed your eyes. “When I’m not even yours?” 

“Not truly,” he whispered. He lifted his hand, placing it gently on your face. “I stole you...and you aren’t mine until you truly want to be.”

He retracted his hand, letting it fall to his side with a sigh. He nodded to himself as he bit his lip, his eyes filling up with a foreign matter he could only identify as tears. “And until then...you are more than welcome to return home.” 

Your heart fell to your toes as you listened to him, taking in his defeated stance and broken heart. You ached as you watched the scene. You knew what had to be done. 

Taking a deep breath you reached forward and placed your hand on Jinyoung’s chest, nodding to yourself in order to gain confidence. 

“I am home.” 

Jinyoung’s face lifted with your words, his eyes shining with a new brightness you had yet to see in your time spent together. 

“Well...at least for now,” you chuckled. You pushed yourself forward, entangling your arms around his back and burying your face into his neck for the first time. He remained frozen for a moment, his own hands hovering over your body before they finally closed the distance and encased you as you had secretly wanted. He nuzzled his face in your hair and let out a genuine laugh. 

“So you’ll stay?” he asked, his smile heard in his words. 

You grinned as well, leaning back to get a full view of his handsome face. “I will. And it won’t be for those stupid, six seeds anymore, Jinyoung...it’ll be for you. Just promise to lay off my mom, okay?” 

He nodded, kissing your forehead lightly. “Okay, okay. I promise.” 

[mangled-dreams]

Dealings with a Devil (Part 9)

Dealings with a Devil (Part 9)

Reader X Darkiplier

You, Reader, have made a deal with what you believed to be a fantasized version of your favorite YouTuber’s alter ego, Darkiplier after he’d visited you in a dream. You believed Darkiplier to only exist in your dreams and on Markiplier’s YouTube channel, but by some impossible way he’s real and he intends on collecting on your debt to him.

Some how you manage to appear normal and not in a complete crisis about reality. You've been watching Mark and Sean for any sign that things have been a big joke. Neither acts any differently towards you, or with each other. This in isn't self is reassuring in a ways, but then again, it means your world really is more mysterious than you had initially thought.

“Hey, are you feeling okay? You seem a bit out of it.” Mark says walking you out to his car at the end of the convention. You'd both ended up staying a little later than the previous day.

You look at Mark and shrug. “I'm feeling okay, just a little tired. I've been... having very odd dreams lately. I think it's just being so far away from home.” you tell him, partially being honest with Mark. You mean, how much can you reveal before it just sounds like you're crazy?

“I can understand that. It was hard when I first moved out here, but you get used to it.” Mark says smiling. You return the smile. “But you get to go home in a day. Oh, speaking of which, we'd like to take you out for a goodbye dinner tomorrow before your flight out.”

You mull it over. You'd planned to spend the evening packing, but you can do that in the morning. You'll be skipping the last day of the convention to do a little sight seeing before you leave LA. You've done a little here and there, taking photos for references and for your personal collection, but you wanted to see the Santa Monica Beach.

“Sounds fun. What time were you thinking?” you ask standing near the rental car.

“How about being at my house around 4 and we'll leave from there.” Mark suggests getting a nod from you. You bid him a goodnight and let the hotel's car take you back.

Entering your room you turn to find a cocktail dress waiting for you in the living room. You inspect the gown, not sure why it would be there. Near the dress on the table you find a note from Dark. Giving it a quick once over you look to the dress and sigh.

A gift for such a beauty. I will be arriving at 5 o'clock sharp. Be ready. ~ Dark

You shower, take care to lather your hair in conditioner for at least five minutes before rinsing it out and exiting the shower. You take your time getting ready. Dark would expect nothing less than perfections, but unfortunately for him, you don't believe in perfection outside of art.

Running your hands through your hair, you fluff it a few times then go into the bedroom. You carefully slip the dark navy blue dress up your legs and secure it over your shoulders. It fits like a dream, which leads you to wonder how Dark knew your dress size? Then again, it is Dark and he seems to know everything...except how to properly woo you.

Looking at the clock on your night stand you see the time. 4:58 PM. Slipping on a pair of black flats you'd packed you walk into the living room. The clock strikes five.

“You look wonderful, my dear.” Dark greets you as you enter the living room. You pause and look back at Dark. You're slowly getting used to his sudden appearances.

Looking him over you notice his hair isn't as neat as he usually has it and his coat isn't buttoned. Now that you really look at him, his tie is gone and the top three buttons of his dress shirt are undone. You give him a look that says 'not bad'. You actually find him quite attractive like this... well, he's freaking hot right now.

Not that he isn't hot all the time, but something about Dark being so casual around you strikes a nerve. If you weren't still questioning your sanity, or whether Dark is physically in the real world, you might give into your interest to kiss him again. Perhaps more...

Stop that. You can't think of things like that right now. “You don't look bad yourself.” you say walking over to Dark. Reaching up you button his shirt and straighten his jacket. He's too tempting in a disheveled appearance. Smoothing out his shirt, palms pressing into his chest, you savor the feeling of his solidity.

“I thought you enjoyed me looking disheveled.” Dark says looking down at you, he doesn't move to stop you or push you away.

You hum in response. You do enjoy him looking less than perfect. “You are correct, but if you are taking me out for dinner, you have to look your best. I assume you are taking me to dinner.” you say stepping away from Dark.

Dark smirks at you. Obviously very proud, or happy about your response. “Yes we are.” In turn Dark tucks a lock of hair behind your ear, opening up your face to his view. “You shouldn't hide your face.” he tells you letting his fingertips brush along your jaw.

“And you should knock before you enter the dwelling of a woman.” you tell him turning away to head to the door. You're still not sure where Dark plans on taking you. “Are you coming, or am I going to be eating alone?” you ask looking over your shoulder at Dark, opening the door.

Dark sits across from you at the restaurant on the third floor of the hotel. You had almost expected to go elsewhere, but thankful it's so close to your room. You won't admit to it, but you are tried from another exciting day at the convention. You met quite a few more fans of your art work and even gave your email out to a few that want to commission you.

“So,” you begin softly, the light instrumental music and low lighting setting quite a romantic mood. “What do I owe a dinner with Dark?” you ask taking a sip of your lemon water.

Dark chuckles. “It is so odd that I take you out for once? It is thanks to you that I am free.” Dark says.

You rise a brow at that. “Free? Were you not free before?” you ask. Dark shakes his head at you. Before you can question him further the waiter stops at your table.

“Would you like to see the wine menu?” He asks.

“Yes.” Dark answers and take the menu. Part of you is impressed, and another part of you is finally coming to terms with Dark's actual solidity in the real world. Dark looks over the menu, carefully analyzing and weighing his options. You on the other hand have never really liked wine, so you don't voice a concern or request to see the menu.

“We'll take a bottle of the pink champagne. Two flutes.” Dark orders. You watch the waiter nod his head, take the menu, and leave your table.

“Pink champagne? I would have pegged you for a dark red kind of guy.” you tell him smoothing out the crinkles in your dress.

“Usually, yes, you are correct. However, a pink champagne is a good introduction, for you.” Dark says, his eyes locked on your face.

“For me? What's the occasion?” you ask. In your house wine or anything considered fancy is reserved for special occasions.

“To mark the end of your first, of many, vacations.” Dark responds coolly. You're unable to inquire what he means as the waiter comes back, setting a bucket of ice with a bottle of pink champagne on the edge of your table. You wait in silence as he pops the cork and pours two flutes and sets one before you and Dark.

“Are you ready to order? Or would you like to spend a few more minutes looking the menu over?” he asks looking from you to Dark and back again.

“I know what I would like, what about you Dark?” you ask looking at Dark.

“I too have chosen my entree.” he responds. You both relay your order to the young man and he goes off to then give it to the cook.

“Have a sip.” Dark says, but it sounds like an order.

“You can suggest I take a sip rather than ordering me too. I'm not quite sure what your end goal is, Dark, but if you plan on being in my life we should have some ground rules.” you tell him softly, playing with the flute next to your right hand. You don't rightly know how this conversation is going to end, but it needs to be done.

“I know of your... we'll say, hesitations to my presence in your life; however, I do plan on being in your life for a long time.” Dark says taking a shot drag on his flute. You bite the inside of your cheek. What is Dark truly planning?

“Dark, are you a human, or are you something else?” you ask keeping your tone low.

“Something else.” He responds instantly.

“Do you age?”

“No.”

“Have you ever been in love?”

“Once, long, long ago I thought I was; back when I was much younger and naive.” Dark responds. Well, that's new.

“Are you in love with me?” you ask softly, you're not sure how you want him to respond.

Dark pauses, taking a few seconds before responding to you. “You make me want more.” Dark tells you, puzzling you.

“More?”

He nods. “I do not understand this myself. It is... new. I simply know it is you that had invoked this feeling.” Dark says staring directly at you. You feel slightly unsettled by his admission. This is the most open Dark has been with you since he started appearing outside your dreams.

“Does this really have to do with our deal? Was it a binding contract?” you ask seriously. Dark nods, his eyes flickering to the flute you're still twirling between your fingers.

“Please,” he says softly, a tone he rarely uses. “Try the champagne.” You look at the flute and cave. When he uses this tone you want to do anything to make him happy.

Twisting it once more you lift the flute to your lips and take a drink. It bubbles on your tongue and down your throat. The flavor isn't as strong as you've had before. It's sweet with an after taste of bitterness, but nothing unpleasant.  You mull the taste over before taking another sip. It really is better than anything your mother or brothers have tried to make you drink. You've never been very big into alcohol, but on occasion you can imagine yourself enjoying a glass or two of pink champagne.

“It's very good. Not at all what I was expecting, which is a pleasant surprise.” you tell him setting the glass down. Dark smirks, but it looks more  like a smile, which in turn makes you smile.

“I'm glad.” he says. You watching as he sits across from you, looking for any hint that you're just sitting at a table talking to yourself. “I'm not going to disappear.” he tells you earning a confused look from him. “I know you are expecting me to disappear.” Dark says.

You look away, blushing. You keep forgetting Dark is very attuned to you. “Sorry, its just hard to believe this is actually happening. I keep wanted to ask the waiter if he sees you or not.” you say glancing around. No one is looking at you odd or in question.

“Y/N.” Dark says, no, commands. You look up at him, watching as he extends his hand to you. “I am here, simply touch my hand and know this.” Dark tells you sternly. You look at his hand then up to his face and back again.

Without thought you lay your hand in his. His long fingers curl around your hand, locking it in place. You can feel the subtle warmth emitting from his touch. “Are you sure I can make you happy?” you ask feeling a tight squeeze in your chest at your own question.

Dark doesn't answer right away, he waits, squeezing your hand, for you to look up at him. When you do, he smiles. A genuine smile that makes you feel light and bubbly inside. “You already have.”

Part 10