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gentlemanthiief · 1 year

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♕ i've had this drabble sitting on a google doc for months, back when i first decided akira was from inaba and i never finished it. here it is now in all its adolescent gay glory. it's kind of self-indulgent and just slightly angst flavored. finn is another muse of mine from a pretty obscure vn, so if any of you actually recognize him you get a cookie.

Cigarette Daydreams

The peach blossom festival in Inaba was something to behold. The groves around the town were bathed in pink and white hues, petals fluttering into the streets and carrying the smell of spring wherever they went. When the sun started to creep towards the horizon, downtown Inaba was brought to life again with warmly lit paper lanterns, and music. In a few hours, there would be a fireworks display over the river. Plenty of Inaba’s residents milled about the park, enjoying food and dancing together under the trees to pass time before the other events began.

Akira was situated under one such tree, arms folded gently and his gaze locked distantly onto one Finnegan Kazimir; the foreign exchange student who ended up becoming much more popular than anyone in Yasogami High School had anticipated. When Finn had first arrived in the fall, he was treated like most foreigners, with little attention outside of what was necessary. But right then, Finn was teaching a girl named Aiko how to spin in a dance, with a small crowd of other first years clustered around them to watch. They laughed together, and Akira could hear one of the other girls ask for her turn to be taught how to dance.

Akira glanced away, scoffing lightly.

Such strange, silly behavior. The other students fawned over Finn like he was an exotic and beautiful creature from another world. Akira could agree about some things … well, a lot of them — but the sensationalism had grown to obscene levels. There had been a time when Akira had been just as enthralled by him, though. So much so it had frightened him.

As one of the few students who was better with their English, Finn had been drawn to Akira early on. Finn was all bright, toothy smiles and charming laughter, seeming to be almost grateful for Akira’s more casual attitude. But Finn was truly captivating, and it didn’t take very long for others to gather. Within a few months, Finn had friends around every corner, and Akira often found himself in situations just like this one. Standing aside, watching him share those incredible stories he’d told Akira first with everyone else.

“ Kurusu-kun ! ”

He snapped to attention as Finn closed in, trailed by a few of his fans. The evening sun behind him outlined his skin with an ethereal aura, making the honey-like amber hue of his eyes seem to glow. With each step closer, Akira felt his stomach sink further towards the ground.

“ I thought you said you weren’t going to come. ” Finn mirrored Akira’s posture, flashing another one of those damnable smiles.

“ I changed my mind. ” Akira shrugged, lowering his arms to slide his hands into the pockets of his jeans. His throat felt dry, but he still offered a small smile back.

“ I’m glad to hear it. ” There was a pause, an awkward shift in the air. Finn’s gaze lingered on Akira’s even as theirs fell away, like he had more to say. As usual, it wasn’t more than a few seconds before someone went to draw Finn’s attention; today’s edition was a boy named Hotaru. “ Kazi-kun, do we wanna head over to the docks ? The fireworks should be starting after sundown. ”

“ You go on ahead, ” Finn looked away from Akira to offer a friendly nod. “ I’ll meet you down there. I’d like to catch up with him. ”

Akira watched the small group exchange glances between him and Finn before saying their goodbyes and starting off, whispering amongst themselves. Akira sighed through his nose as he looked away to instead watch the flower petals nearby drift down from the tree above them following a soft breeze. In his pocket, one of Akira’s fingernails scratched impatiently at the cuticle on his thumb.

There were a few more beats of silence between them, unspoken words thickening the tension, before Finn would say something disarming, and eventually Akira’s shoulders would fall and it was easier to smile back. A lot of their recent meetings had started like this. And would likely end the same way as well. With Akira melting into the background once more.

“ I really wanted to see you. ”

Akira suddenly glanced at Finn again, startled. That wasn’t part of the protocol, now was it ? He was meant to say something witty, or tell Akira about the wild tanuki he met on his walk to school, or ask him what kind of food they should grab from the storefronts selling all kinds of peach treats for the festival. When Akira didn’t respond, Finn continued, tipping his head towards a footpath going into one of the groves. “ Will you walk with me for a while ? ”

“ Won’t you be missed ? ” Akira reached up and anxiously twisted one of his curls between two fingers, but his voice remained even, perhaps aloof.

“ That doesn’t matter, I didn’t come here for them. ”

Akira forgot how to breathe, but only for a moment. He swallowed the stone in his throat, felt it travel all the way down and land hard in his gut. “ ... Okay. ”

He pushed himself off the trunk of the tree he’d been leaning against, and soon fell into stride with Finn towards the footpath in mutual silence.

Akira’s expression remained unreadable, but his heart was pounding in his throat and it was making his head feel fuzzy. It shouldn’t be, none of this should be affecting Akira the way it was. Finn had grown apart from him, yes, but that wasn’t Finn’s intention and he knew that. Finn couldn’t help that he’d gotten along so well with everyone. And yet Akira couldn’t help but feel strange, that Finn was choosing alone time with him instead of continuing in his spotlight.

Well, perhaps that wasn’t the right wording. Finn stood in spotlight wherever he went as far as Akira was concerned.

“ It’s so beautiful, ” Finn’s voice pulled Akira out of his thoughts, his attention back on the brit as they drifted away from the crowds and the music faded further into the background. “ Never see anything like this back home. They’ve got nature preserves and parks and all, but this is a paradise like nothing else … ” he sounded deeply awed, eyes scanning the branches above them as they walked under them, deeper into the grove.

Akira hummed in agreement and looked away again, eyes trained on the path instead. It was getting darker out, and most of the people in the park were filtering out while Akira and Finn ventured further in.

“ You’re so lucky, getting to see this all the time. ” Finn continued, the more usual charm returning to his tone. Akira blinked at him. “ To have this much beauty right in your backyard, wherever you go, your whole life. I envy you. ”

It wasn’t often Finn brought up the fact that his visit to Japan was a fleeting one. He’d gotten used to hearing Finn express how much it felt like this was home. It was even less often that he admitted such things like being jealous of anyone, let alone Akira. “ It’s not like it’s every day, ” he pointed out, shaking his head as he looked back towards the path. “ Spring only lasts so many months. ”

“ True, ” Finn conceded, nodding once. “ But that’s what makes it so important to live in the present. This beauty is incredible, but only temporary. It reminds us how fragile beauty can be. How much it has to be cherished while we have it. ”

Finn stopped walking, and it took Akira a few paces to notice and look behind him. Finn was no longer smiling.

He turned his head towards a bench, about a dozen meters off the footpath, facing a small creek running through the grove. Akira watched Finn follow that gaze and head over to it, pausing only to glance back at Akira, a wordless invitation to join him. Akira dipped his head and followed.

By now twilight had set in. Stars were starting to peek through the lilac sky, the sun no longer visible behind any of the trees. As Finn reached the bench, Akira stopped walking this time, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “ You’re gonna miss the fireworks if we don’t go back. ”

Finn looked unbothered, brows raised. “ Did you want to see them ? ”

“ Well, I came out here, might as well. ” It was a half-assed answer, and from the way Finn tilted his head, they both knew it.

“ They’re gonna be doing fireworks all week. You’ll have plenty of chances to see them. I wanna spend some time with you. ”

“ I just feel — ”

“ Aki … ”

Akira hesitated, the name firing down any arguments or excuses he could’ve crafted. With a defeated sigh, Akira continued over to join Finn by the bench and sat down beside him, crossing his arms again.

They were quiet for a while, listening to the spring cicadas and the delicate babbling of the creek in front of them. Akira wasn’t sure what to say. The uncomfortable pit in his stomach hadn’t gone away, and neither had his heart stopped racing. His fingers rubbed the fabric of his shirt in the crook of his elbow, needing something to distract himself from the sensations.

He didn’t have to ponder it for much longer. Finn nudged Akira’s knee with his own, catching the other boy’s attention. He met Finn’s gaze, finding a vulnerability there Akira hadn’t seen in a while. “ I’m sorry for not trying harder. ”

“ ... What ? ” Akira furrowed his brow, confused. Finn turned his body to face Akira, and reached up to pry Akira’s fingers from his elbow and took his hand. The touch froze Akira’s lungs again, but he recovered shortly after, waiting for Finn to continue.

“ I’m not an idiot. They pull me away from you intentionally. And I know you don’t want to be confrontational about it. ”

Akira stared at Finn’s hand holding his own, unsure how to respond. He’d been content to just let it slide. It wasn’t his place to ask it to be any different. While Akira missed the time he spent with Finn before, Finn only had so much time to spend with everyone he’d befriended in his time in Inaba. It wasn’t the early days where Akira was the only one talking to him all the time. “ It’s not about being confrontational, ” Akira tried to laugh it off, but his nerves were betraying his voice. He was tempted to pull his hand away, even hidden behind the bench. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. “ It’s only reasonable for you to make other friends while you’re here — ”

“ But you were a friend I never should have neglected like that. ” Finn’s voice was earnest, and he moved closer to Akira, squeezing his hand gently. When it happened, it felt like another hand had closed around Akira’s heart and squeezed the same way.

He pushed through the discomfort, and tried to give Finn a more reassuring smile. “ Don’t be ridiculous. It was never going to be just you and me, that would be — ”

“ Yeah well, I miss when it was just you and me. ”

Akira’s smile faltered. The hand around his heart squeezed tighter, almost painfully. This wasn’t a conversation Akira had been prepared for. Finn wasn’t supposed to like Akira back, and he most definitely wasn’t supposed to to tell him that he liked him back.

“ It was nice … ” Finn continued, “ It was like this. Just the two of us, able to be however we want to be, and say whatever we want to say…It was genuine. ”

Akira finally was able to respond, surprised by Finn’s choice of words. “ Genuine? ”

“ Yeah, ” Finn finally smiled again, not in that bright and twinkly way that was meant to be infectious, but in the way he smiled at Akira when they were alone like this. The way that looked truly happy. “ All these people...they’re nice, and I know they like me because I’m the fancy shiny foreigner who’s just really good at pleasing people. ”

“ You do deserve the attention, though. ” A little bit of Akira’s usual humor made its way back into his voice. The grip on his heart loosened a little as Finn started to gently play with Akira’s fingers in his hands. “ You were crying for it at one point. ”

Finn laughed softly, the sound like the bubbles rising and popping in the creek beside them. “ Well yeah, I guess you’re right. But at this point it’s exhausting. I’m just one bloke, man. ”

“ So that’s why we’re here. ”

“ It was so I could spend time with you, Akira. ” Finn was quick to respond, almost talking over Akira, who had looked away again. Finn tightened his grip on Akira’s hand, encouraging him to meet his gaze again. “ Because I miss you. And you’re right, I did ask for this attention and brought it all upon myself. But at this point I’d throw it all away just to get to spend time with you again like we did before. ”

Akira’s throat was dry again. “ Your entourage of school girls would be devastated. ”

“ Maybe they’re jealous of you. ”

“ Jealous ? ” The word came as a breathless laugh. “ What do they have to be jealous of ? I’m not a threat. ”

Finn watched Akira for a moment. Then, he lifted a hand and gently placed it on Akira’s cheek. “ Ohh, Aki … ” Finn sighed, his voice barely above a whisper, listless. His gaze seemed to linger on Akira’s lips. Akira was starting to feel a bit dizzy again suddenly. “ I think they should be terrified of you. ”

As he finished the words, his eyes met Akira’s again and searched them for a moment, gauging his reaction. Akira was frozen with shock, and yet buzzing with energy. He couldn’t hear anything over the deafening beat of his heart. And before Akira had any more time to process, Finn leaned forward and captured Akira’s lips into a soft, tentative kiss.

It was nothing like the clumsy fumbling he’d experienced when learning to kiss Izumi last year. When Akira closed his eyes and kissed back, Finn moved closer and kissed deeper, the hand still holding Akira’s shifting to link their fingers together. Warmth bloomed from somewhere deep in Akira’s body with each kiss, spreading further outward. This was terrifying. Dangerous, even. For a multitude of reasons. And yet Akira couldn’t bring himself to pull back.

Well, he didn’t end up having to. Finn was the first to break away when the cannon-fire boom of the first firework echoed from somewhere far behind them, bathing the night sky in a flash of light before others began to join it. Finn and Akira glanced up, catching glimpses of the fireworks from behind the tree tops. It was only a temporary distraction, the boys looked back at each other almost at the same time. Akira’s breath was uneven, and he knew his skin was flushed with heat.

Finn was right. Beauty was fleeting, temporary, and fragile. He’d be damned if he didn’t do his best to cherish it while he had it. The hand that wasn’t still interlocked with Finn’s was shaking slightly when Akira lifted it off his waist and onto Finn’s, rushing forward to kiss him again.

#memories { drabble }#fought it out in the debris ; now we know that life will change { the thief }#{ pre canon }#// takes place in his first year at yasogami #// also if u caught that tlou2 reference no u didn't #// let me pay homage to the best gay kiss scene i saw in my whole life #// even if it's the only good thing that came out of that entire goddamned game dkfvhdskd

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redvelvetnat · 3 years

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little valentine

natasha romanoff x reader x wanda maximoff

summary ➞ the hottest and richest married couple in town have a dirty secret - the pretty little thing down the street that they like to indulge themselves in from time to time.

disclaimer ➞ strong language, legal age gap, threesome, smut, food play, dirty talk (praise + degradation + pet names), brief mention of sexual punishment

a/n ➞ this is late for no other reason than i am an idiot. this piece of work is not to be copied or translated anywhere. thank you for reading!!! comments and reblogs appreciated <3

“Go on, peach, don’t be shy.”

Natasha’s encourages fall onto unattuned ears, too busy with the urgent sound of the heart beating in your chest and the guttural moans escaping from the other redhead in front of you. She watches you stutter in action and a breathy chuckle rumbles in her chest.

“Look at her, Wanda. That pretty head has already gone all stupid and she hasn’t even been touched yet.” Wanda fights between breathy moans to muster a laugh and the sound makes your eyes flicker, momentarily, onto the vibrator hard at work between her quivering thighs.

Natasha’s hand brushes adoringly against your blushed cheek, wraps around your jaw, and guides you towards her wife’s shoulder where a dollop of whipped cream decorates her ivory skin. “Don’t you want a taste, sweet girl?”

You don’t have to answer as Wanda takes it upon herself to bury her hand into the roots of your hair and pull you towards her neck, black nails scraping against your scalp. Your lips enclose around the sweet condiment and three satisfied hums ring out in unison.

Wanda doesn’t let go of you, reveling in the feeling of your tongue stroking against her shoulder and up her neck, and you don’t protest either. It would take much stronger hands to pull you from her as your teeth sink into her throbbing pulse point. “Oh.” She whimpers against your ear, tightening her hold on your hair.

You can hear the hissing of the canister once more and throw a glance over your shoulder but Wanda pulls you into a frenzy of hot kisses and you can’t be bothered to investigate the noise any further.

Tongues clash, fingernails sink into unmarked skin, and both of your lungs seem to be void of air. “You’re so filthy.” Natasha comments from somewhere behind you, hand sliding down between your legs to collect your arousal on her fingers and spread it over your clit. “And so perfect.”

Your head falls back into a moan and Wanda takes her chance to attach her lips to your throat. Her hands are hot and burning on your oversensitive nerves when she slides them down your back.

“Let me have a turn. We’re supposed to share around here.” Wanda parts reluctantly at the older woman’s huffing and, before you know it, you’re being bent over her knees.

You know a punishment will follow and you wonder what you’ve done to deserve it, though you don’t very much care as long as you’ll be rewarded afterwards.

But there are no heated slaps to your ass or harsh spew of degradation from either woman. Instead, a cold runs up your back like a snake slinking itself around your spine. The canister sputters as Natasha sets it down and you can smell the sugary cream wafting through the air.

“Open.” Wanda commands gently, turning your head to her. Your mouth falls open without question and she raises a single strawberry to you, wedging it between your teeth and collecting the juice that dribbles down your chin with the pad of her thumb.

“Good girl.” She sings, bringing the digit to her mouth to suck it clean. You almost feel bad, as you dwell on the taste of the fruit, that they’re wasting so many of their Valentines treats on you. But you’re sure if you dared to call it ‘wasting’ out loud, they would punish you then.

It’s Natasha’s tongue that you feel next, at the base of your spine where it warms the icy skin. You moan at the feeling but the strawberry between your teeth only plugs the sound. “Be still, dove.”

You whimper when she draws her tongue up the middle of your back, collecting the cream in her mouth without leaving a single drop on your dampened skin. When she reaches the sharp edge of your shoulder blade, you can feel her breath creep up your neck.

She comes around you and wraps her lips around the protruding end of the strawberry, biting off as much as she can and Wanda’s disembodied voice instructs you to eat what is left.

Natasha’s mouth is on yours a second later, tasting of nothing but strawberry and cream. She kisses you hungrily and her hands explore whatever of the naked skin she can reach.

“No wonder we keep you around.” She comments against your mouth, Wanda’s fingers delving inside your cunt without much warning. You squeak in surprise, hand flying to Wanda’s leg to hold yourself steady.

“You’re just so good. Our perfect little Valentine.”

#rvn : sydsblurbs #rvn : sydwrites #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #wanda maximoff imagine #natasha romanoff smut #wanda maximoff smut #wandanat x reader #wandanat smut #wandanat imagine

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hes-writer · 2 years

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Notes on Camp

summary: harry is the head counsellor and y/n is new

warnings: none for this chapter but angst and fluff coming your way

word count: 1.7k

a/n: this piece has been on my patreon as an early access fic for a while now and i've finally got the balls to upload it here! i'd say it's one of my fics that are not completely drowning in angst so i guess that's why i've been having some doubts about it.

i aimed this to be an 'x reader' piece but it might fit better as an 'x oc'

___

There was nothing that calmed Harry down like watching the stillness of the lake. The faint waves were sculpted by the crisp air, creating junctions on the body of water with dips of the blue spectrum from light and dark as the shadows of the sun highlighted the twilight zone. Trees surrounded the large lake. A backdrop of swaying branches and pine needles that fell to the dirt in a life cycle that passed through months at a time. The sound of birds chirping in the clear blue sky. His shoes plateaued in the slightly sinking sand. Beside the deck that bridged metres away to the cerulean water, a stack of kayaks piled high on the rack. Colours of bright green and sunny yellow dried with the excess sand grains as Harry hauled it across the shore a few minutes ago.

He loved the summer season. Even as his red hat collected sweat on the rim, his sunglasses tanning his face unevenly resting on his slant nose. The smell of sunscreen adorning his pale body which he knew would change to a golden bronze by the end of the season. Mosquito bites lingered on his skin when he forgot his bug spray for the day. And most especially, Harry adored the sounds of excited chatter as the campers exited the bus near the entrance of the camp.

Harry craned his neck just in time to see the crowd of children looking for their friends, some were still stepping down the raised stairs of the yellow school bus when the other counsellor stationed to welcome them opened the carriage that contained their bags for the next two months.

“You ready for this, H?” Belle, a fellow counsellor, spoke up from behind him. Her pitched voice reached his ears as her manicured hands rested on his shoulder, recalling the day she arrived that she had just come from the nail salon to have her fingernails painted with peach acrylics. Belle jutted her chin towards the vehicle, waiting for his response.

He nodded, a smile stretching over his skin making his dimple pop out. Belle giggled, “Of course, you are,” Their legs walked in stride with each others’, her tall stature keeping with Harry’s large paces.

“What’s that s’pposed to mean?” Harry teased in mock offence, the metal clipboard in his hand swinging back and forth.

“I mean,” Belle emphasized, “You’ve been here for what? Four years? And you’re still not sick of children?” She asked incredulously, blonde hair flowing as a gust of wind relieved their balmy bodies from the rays of the sun.

Harry was a camper himself before becoming a counsellor at the age of eighteen. It started as a summer job while he took a gap year from his studies. One year turned into two and soon enough he was promoted as the head counsellor just last year at the age of twenty-two.

He chuckled at the facts, “Wha’ can I say, I love making children happy,” Harry had always enjoyed seeing the campers’ laughter as he told them one of his jokes. Their excited cries of his name as they reach the top of the climbing wall while he gave a thumbs up, one hand gripping the rope.

A shrill squeal echoed in the open space followed by a wailing cry coming from a little girl with pigtails. “And so it starts,” The blonde smiled as they reached their destination. Harry stood in front of the lines of children, separated into their cabins.

“Hello everyone!” Harry greeted cheerily, “I’m Harry and I’m the head counsellor here,” He paused as everyone repeated his name, “Hi, Harry,”

“I’ll be seeing your faces for the next two months and I will be seeing yours every day. I hope that you enjoy your time here. Make friends, follow the instruction that your camp leaders plan for you and most importantly, have fun,”

From his peripherals, he could see a girl wearing a purple shirt crouched on her knees. Her mouth moved to console the crying little girl as she wiped her chubby cheek with the back of her hand, nodding slightly. “Today, we’re going to be settling in your cabins, have lunch and do our first camp bonding activity,”

He could see the antsy feet tapping on the gravel, beaming faces looking back at him, “Does that sound good?”

“Yes, Harry,”

“Great! Do you guys have any questions before you head to your cabins?” Harry tilted his head to see if any hands shoot up. “Yes, you over there. What’s yer name?”

The shy boy near the front clasped his hands together, swinging his upper body back and forth. The children around him nudged his hip, “I’m Jacky,”

“Shhh, Jacky has a question for me, don’t ya’?

The boy nodded, “Will we be having s’mores?”

“S’mores? Of course, we are! What kind of camp would we be if we don’t let you guys have s’mores?” Harry bugged his eyes out in delight, deepening his dimple into his skin when he heard a collective cheer. He turned his attention to his co-workers, assuring them that everything was alright before leaving the responsibility to them.

“Great speech, Harry. Can’t wait to have somethin’ sweet later,” Belle whispered in his ear, causing shivers to run up his spine. She bit her lip as she walked backwards, “Alright, Beaver cabin. Follow me!” He watched Belle and her pre-teen campers walk to their cabin, a mass of brown-coloured shirts moving amongst the crowd.

“It’s alright, don’t cry,” A gentle voice quipped from behind him. It was the girl with the purple shirt holding a camper’s hand.

“Oh no, what seems to be the problem, little one?” Harry asked, going down on one knee to inspect the child’s face. The girl stared at the ground, small lips held in a pout. Her thick lashes glistened with tears.

“She forgot her favourite stuffed bunny at home,” The counsellor answered with an empathic tone. Her shirt read ‘bunny cabin’, yet Harry had never seen her before. He assumed that she was the new hire for the season to replace Brie. “Told her it’s okay because we’re gonna be making stuffies in a few days, right Emy?”

Harry smiled gratefully, “That’s right! You’ll have your own bunny in no time,”

“Okay,” Emy answered with a shy voice, grinning up at Harry. She let go of Y/N’s hand to clap her hands.

Harry stood to his full height, patting Emy’s head adoringly. “Hi, ‘m Harry. Head counsellor,” He stuck his hand out for a friendly shake.

“Oh hi! I’m Y/N, I’m kind of new,” She grinned sheepishly, but her bright eyes showed Harry just how excited she was to be here. “Bunny cabin counsellor, so I better get going.” She gestured to the line behind her, a sea of purple shirts follower her. “Nice to meet you, Harry,”

“Want me to come with?”

Y/N shook her head, “It’s fine. I studied the map for ages,’ She drawled out, giggling slightly. “Don’t wanna pull you away from your duties,”

“Nonsense, s’ my job to help out,”

“If you say so, c’mon then. They’re getting antsy,” She directed the kids to follow her, Harry preferring to stay at the back in case anybody gets sidetracked and loses sight of their cabin leader. Harry watched as Y/N walked ahead, often looking back to make conversation with the campers, laughing frequently as they exchanged jokes. There were only five campers per cabin and hers were around six-year-olds.

“Y/N, Y/N!”

Her hand grasped the doorknob of the cabin, “Yes, lil’ missy?”

“Do you like bunnies?”

“I love bunnies,” She gasped out animatedly, pawing at her chest for an effect that made Harry bolster a laugh. Y/N looked at him, almost forgetting that he trekked along. “Are you guys ready to see your beds?”

Before he knew it, the door was pushed open. A storm of footsteps stomped on the wooden cabin. “Here it is!”

Harry stepped closer to Y/N, the smell of old wood engrossing his senses, but not as captivated as he was with her. “Thanks for walking with us, Harry. You really didn’t have to,”

“Don’t mention it, jus’ helping a counsellor out,”

She beamed at him, “You’re really nice, Harry. The kids love you already,”

“Jus’ the kids?” He joked, raising a brow in suggestion. Her fist punched his shoulder, “Ow, ‘m kidding, but really, you like me?” Somewhere deep inside him, his narcissism and people pleaser personality coincided with each other, searching for validation from a cute stranger. “Need t’a know if you can work with me for the next coupla’ months,” He added, seeing the surprised look on Y/N’s face.

“Well, it’s hard not to,” She responded, absentmindedly twirling her finger in a loose strand of hair.

He returned a smile, “Same goes to you, Y/N,”

She blushed at his comment, glancing at the ground.

“Harry!”

“Hey sweets,” He called out, stretching an arm as Belle tucked against his side, “Y/N, this is Belle. Belle, this is Y/N. She’s the new counsellor that Lydia hired,” His kind nature introduced the two to each other, scanning back and forth to see their interaction.

Y/N plastered a smile on her face as she shook Belle’s hand. “Sorry but I need to steal Harry away,” Belle tugged on his tattooed arm, fingers clasping around his wrists as he started walking along with her.

“See you, Y/N!” Harry greeted, turning around with his arm draped over Belle’s shoulder.

“See you,” She whispered under her breath, looking at his retreating figure towards the cafeteria. Y/N couldn’t help the disappointment she felt, her shoulders slouching at the realization that it was too good to be true. Of course, he had a girlfriend. A gentleman with chiselled features and a caring personality complimenting her? No way.

Still, she wasn’t too sad about it. It wasn’t like they’d known each other for long. Plus, they were co-workers! It would feel wrong to start a relationship anyway. Y/N pulled the door close, shrieks and squeals filling her ears as soft pillows smacked her body, having entered a pillow fight.

______

let me know what you thought!

#harry styles one shot #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x oc #harry styles angst

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bucksfucks · 3 years

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Sex by the fireplace but after he shows you his cool old record player and his favorite records his has and his got one playing in the background 😩😩

— by the fire ; bucky barnes

pairing: neighbour!bucky x f!reader

word count: 761 words

warnings: drinking [reader & bucky are tipsy], age-gap [reader can be read in late 20’s - 30’s & bucky in late 30’s], unprotected sex, pet-names [peach & baby], fingering, multiple orgasms, soft sex, praise kink — 18 + ONLY • MINORS DNI. BY CLICKING READ MORE YOU ARE TELLING ME YOU ARE OF LEGAL AGE.

notes: my messages aren’t working i’m gonna throw hands at tumblr

As the wine glass got lighter, so did you.

Bucky was humming along to the song that he had placed on the record player — his favourite as he picks up his tumbler of scotch.

It was a dark and cold winter night, you didn’t know what time it was, your phone somewhere on his kitchen counter.

“Want another?” Bucky asks, pointing to your emptying wine glass.

You felt a little hazy, lighter than usual and you knew your eyes were glassy.

“No thanks, James.” You reply, watching the way his jaw clenches as he walks closer to you until he’s standing right in front of you.

“You know what happens when you call me that, Peach.” He purrs, placing an index finger under your chin.

“Mmm,” you hum, cocking your head. “So then why don’t you give it to me.”

Bucky never needs to be told twice, seemingly always one step ahead of you as both your glasses are discarded onto the coffee table.

The fireplace is warm, hot, even as you fall onto the floor with Bucky.

He’s also warm, soft and smells like scotch and spice as his lips slot over yours.

“Was thinkin’ ‘bout you last night,” he admits, panting slightly.

His eyes are sparkling under the crackling of the wood, cheeks blushed slightly as your fingers tangle in his growing hair.

“Couldn’t stop thinkin’ of you on your knees last weekend.” He smirks, “remember? How pretty you looked with your mouth stuffed?”

You were nearly vibrating, his lips grazing down your jaw and neck.

The ache between your legs was delicious, Bucky’s thick thigh was providing just the right amount of friction as clothes started coming off.

“That’s a good girl,” he purrs. “S’okay, use my leg and make yourself feel good.”

It was enough to make you whimper before he dipped a hand beneath your panties and slid through your folds.

“Fuck, Peach,” he groans. “All for me?” Bucky asks, placing his finger in his mouth and relishing in your taste.

“Jus’ can’t get enough of you,” before his fingers are buried knuckle deep inside of you.

It’s a fullness you can’t quite describe, a fire in the pit of your stomach as Bucky shushes you and kisses the apple’s of your cheeks.

“I’ve got you, pretty girl. Shh, don’t worry, ‘m right here.” He coos softly, “gonna make you feel s’good.”

You’re gripping onto his biceps now, letting him rock his fingers inside of you until you’re coming undone with a soft yelp followed by a series of whimpers because there’s barely any air left in your lungs.

Your head feels heavy, but your body light.

“Love watchin’ you cum, baby. Look so pretty, lips parted, soft little pants, have any idea how hard I am for you?”

You did. His cock snugly settled against your hip before you’re wrapping your hand around him and stroking gently.

It’s enough for his head to fall against your chest, teeth sinking into the skin right above your breast as he groans, “fuck.”

His hips move with your hand, needing the friction as his breathy becomes a little less steady.

“God, Peach,” he breathes. “Wanna be ‘side you.”

Bucky’s eyes are heavy and glossy, pupils engulfing the blue in his eyes as your fingernails are pressing crescent shapes into his back as he sinks into you.

This fullness is one you’ll never be able to fully describe, fitting like puzzle pieces as Bucky moves rhythmically in front of the fire.

You’re lost in the feeling of him, tummy bulging as he pulls out nearly all the way before sinking fully back in.

When your eyes flutter open, meeting his, there’s a wide smile on his lips.

“There’s my pretty girl,” he purrs. “Was worried I fucked you into a catatonic state.”

Oh, you were real fuckin’ close.

You couldn’t find the words, instead, blubbering out his name pathetically as you wrapped your legs tighter around his hips.

It drove Bucky wild.

“S’that what you want?” He teases, “wanna be full, s’that it?”

You whine, nodding your head, arching your back, “’m s’close.”

Is all you manage to squeak out before Bucky’s fingers meet your clit and send you totally and entirely over the edge.

All it took for Bucky was the feeling of your walls fluttering around him, “that’s my girl, yeah. Fuck, gonna make me cum, Peach.”

His hips stuttered, body shivering as he managed to catch himself as he opened his eyes with the biggest grin on his face.

“I wanna make you my wife.”

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes headcanons #bucky barnes headcanon #bucky barnes oneshots #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction

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hansolmates · 4 years

Text

(secret) lovers | m

summary; the (not) best friends 2 lovers spin-off where jungkook and you are trying to hide your relationship from his old best friend pairing; jungkook x reader (f) genre/warnings; established relationship, jiyu is now an old friend and mc went to high school w them, weeb!koo, jk n mc be kinda stanky bc they’re only going to this party for the free booze, soft dom!mc, switch!koo, whiny koo, mc calls jk a slut, cockwarming, gets really soft n’loving at the end, heavy use of the pet name [redacted] i really think this couple is meant to be diabolically dumb together w/c; 2.7k a/n; this couple is really out here living rent free in my mind. jk, mc and jiyu really just are that thruple that i love to hate and hate to love. hope u enjoy this lil spin off!

[series masterlist]

“You made it!”

Jiyu flings her hands out, knocking both your heads with hers in the middle in a surprisingly strong hug. It’s a complete episode of déjà vu, from the way her body smells like the peach lotion she used after gym class to the shade of coral lipgloss. From the corner of your eye, you can see the caramel brunette’s tiny face is inching closer towards your ride, her head tucking in the crook of his neck.

“Jiyu,” you beam. You’re the first to speak, the first to dip their toe in the water. “You look great!”

“Thank you!” she pulls away, popping her hip against the doorway. The silky material of her coverup gleams in the sunlight, the silvery material showing off the silhouette of her bikini-clad body. Despite the fact that you’re the one who compliments Jiyu, her gaze floats over to the person next to you, “what a coincidence you two came at the same time and—oh my, and where are my manners! Come in, come in!”

She moves away from the door, revealing an ornate lobby and two twin stairwells. You can’t help but light up at the beautiful crystal chandelier, flecks of pink and blue flickering in your eyes. Further down the hallway you spot open glass doors that lead to a large backyard that overlooks the lake. Some people are already sitting by the dock, lounging about with drinks and happy smiles on their faces.

“Actually,” Oh, he speaks. You think with a small smile on your face, side eyeing the man of the minute, “I forgot the rest of my luggage. We’ll meet you inside.”

“Okay!” Jiyu smiles, “I’ll make you guys some drinks.”

As soon as the door shuts, Jeon Jungkook, your boyfriend for three years blurts out, “She still has a crush on me.”

You snort, taking off the duffle bag that’s hiding behind your back. Continuing to stand awkwardly at the front door, you prepare yourself to console your boyfriend’s worries. “She still has heart-eyes for you, Koo,” you tease, pinching his side.

His eyes are big and swimming with guilt, “We should tell her.”

“Oh, baby. We can’t break her heart this weekend.”

“But love, it’s her birthday.”

“Exactly,” you chirp, bumping your head against his arm, “can’t break her heart on her birthday.”

Jiyu is an old high school friend. Class president, straight As, and even vied for prom queen. The only thing she wasn’t able to obtain throughout her high school years was Jeon Jungkook, the object of her affections. They were best friends in elementary school, eventually turning into distant friends as their interests changed and they got older. Yet, Jiyu still tried to insert herself into Jungkook’s life. Back in high school it was surely cute, the way she’d pine from the back of the room and place anonymous love letters in his locker, but Jungkook wasn’t interested and avoided any of her advances. Fast forward ten years later and it seems like old flames never die out.

The meetups with Jiyu have been scarce since college and only in large groups. As former class president, she decided to hold a little reunion for her old friends, taking advantage of her stellar job benefits. A weekend in the woods, perfectly balmy and far away from the city.

“I don’t wanna lie,” Jungkook nearly whines, pink lips warbling at your inability to budge.

“Mm,” you hum, tracing the fingers across the seam of his back pocket. His boardshorts hide nothing, and you curl your fingers around the swell of his plump bum, “be good for me and tell a little white lie, will you?”

Jeon Jungkook, former President of the Anime Club, prom king candidate and your favorite nerd in the entire world.

A teeny tiny lie won’t hurt anyone. After all, you haven’t seen your high school buddies in literal years, and they wouldn’t dare bother to make a fuss about your relationship. In fact, they don’t know of your relationship with Jungkook. The two of you reconnected randomly, some spontaneous holiday party Kim Seokjin is always inclined to throw. You barely made eye contact the first two hours into it, not really wanting to go back to the hellhole that was your late teenage years. Nevertheless, by the end of the night the two of you couldn’t help yourself.

As you look around the room with utmost confidence, the two of you have made the finest glow up by far. At first you wanted to keep the white lie to save face, you don’t owe anyone an explanation as to how you and the President of the Anime Club hooked up. However, you’re starting to enjoy the ruse.

Jungkook’s sitting on the other side of the backyard, looking absolutely delicious as he sips on whatever fruity cocktail he created. Judging from yours, you have a feeling his drink probably consists of 95% orange juice and 5% alcohol.

Jiyu and him are sitting in the large netted hammock, swinging lightly. Gravity is doing its thing, and Jiyu is practically laying on top of Jungkook’s lap, her body pooling to where his meets in the middle. As soon as his thigh touches hers, his eyes flicker to you in panic. He’s shirtless, only with a pair of mid-cut shorts to protect him. The skin that touches him probably burns.

You wink and wave him away, assuring him it’s fine. Pretending to flip your hair, you turn back to the conversation you’ve been ignoring for the past five minutes. “Man, Jungkook’s so sexy,” Im Nayeon cooes, looking longingly at Jungkook’s form.

“Jiyu’s so lucky,” Rina eggs on, taking another shot from the tray (a tray for herself, you might add.)

“Do you think Jiyu’s gonna get some birthday sex tonight?”

Nayeon snorts, covering her flared nostrils with her hand. That hand eventually loops around your thigh, eagerly pushing you two together by pressing on the meat of your bare skin. “If she’s lucky! Besides, we all know Jungkook had that big crush on you junior year!”

Her pretty bunny teeth tease you, and you can’t help but smile back in return. “What do you mean, he really liked me?” you ask innocently.

“Oh yeah! Drew so many little pictures of you in the margins. Little anime versions of you in his favorite outfits.” Of course, you know about Jungkook’s old crush on you. He’s mentioned it in passing, paired with an adorable blush on his cheeks. Hearing it from Nayeon, the shameless grin on her lips and the ease of champagne on her breath is much more entertaining. “Rina, do you remember when Jungkook set up her desk with rose petals and chocolate in a little heart? And then in the morning the janitor sweeped it up? He was so sad!”

“Yes! I really felt for him,” Rina pouted.

“Oh, poor baby,” you didn’t know that bit of information. You put a hand over your heart, watching as Jungkook shares a drink with his old friend Kim Mingyu. He looks so different, yet all the same since you’ve been acquaintances in high school. He carries his own weight now, an air of confidence that he’s finally reached over time.

“Definitely not a baby anymore,” Rina scoffs. She clicks her tongue back to where Jungkook is seated.

The sun is doing wonders for him, highlighting every crevice of where his biceps curl and twist as he lifts his hand in another drink. Their side of the lawn is doing a toast. For what, you don’t know. You do know however, that Jiyu is trying very hard to cheer right over Jungkook’s thighs, spilling some liquid over his knees. You smirk when Jiyu sends him an apologetic grin, dabbing a napkin up and across his thighs, far away from the wet spot.

Jungkook, the poor guy, discreetly shoves her off. He brushes his hands and gets up, letting Jiyu fall back in the hammock all by herself. Avoiding the teasing gazes of his friends, he looks into the lake, hiding his blush.

Still a baby, you think. Your baby.

“Jiyu was practically sitting in your lap, baby boy,” you card your hand through his dark locks, fresh and shiny from the shower. The feeling is soothing to Jungkook’s scalp until you tug, arching his neck towards your lips and twisting, “did you like that,” you mumble into his Adam’s apple, “my little slut?”��

“N-no! Never, ohgodnever—” Jungkook is sweating, fat beads rolling down his hairline and glistening across his face. His fingers are practically phasing through your skin, the crescents of his fingernails sinking into the swell of your bottom.

You clench around his dick, your soft folds urging Jungkook closer to his release. But he knows better not to move, and instead shudders from the ministrations, breaking apart from you to dip his head into your chest. His nose pokes at the bouncy flesh, nuzzling into your breast like the softest pillow.

“Sh-shit, love,” he cries into your skin, “you feel so warm n’soft.”

“You need to be quiet, baby,” you murmur, playing with the curls that hang around the nape of his neck, “unless—you want someone to hear? My little slut wants everyone to hear that I’m fucking you?”

“Mm, no,” you grin at his honest reaction, and you can feel his neck heating up at the thought. Your fingers make their way, finally ending towards the apples of his cheeks. You squish lightly, loving the way his tanned skin puffs under your fingers. “I’m—ah—not a slut. I just really love you, only you. Really wanted to hold you in my lap today and show you off,” he whimpers at the unconscious clench of your folds, “just uh—slut for you, love.”

You giggle, tightening your thighs around your boyfriend’s tiny waist. Your other hands trail down to the ridges of his abdomen, where you two are connected. You absolutely love the way your thighs wrap around his lean waist.

Jiyu split the floors by girls and boys, as if you’re still in high school. It took forever for everyone to fall asleep, but you managed to sneak away with your bare feet slapping against the hardwood floor. Call yourself needy, but you couldn’t imagine yourself falling asleep with at least one good night kiss. Jungkook was ten steps ahead of you. Your boyfriend was already naked when you arrived, pumping his cock across the bed and getting himself ready for you. His eyes instantly zeroed in on you in his shirt, the black material hanging off your shoulder and begging to be pulled away by his teeth.

“If I crawled in your lap today,” you murmur into his shoulder, “our whole secret would’ve been thrown out the window.”

“I wouldn’t have minded, even if Jiyu got hurt,” Jungkook admits, running his hands up and down your back, “I wanna marry you, y’know.”

You freeze in your ministrations, suddenly feeling the room go cold. Not in an unpleasant way, but the room freezes, the blue-white light of the moon igniting the seriousness in Jungkook’s gaze. You force yourself to stay on his lap, let his cock settle between your folds. The juices of your coupling are dripping down each other’s legs, cooling at your thighs and onto the white blankets.

“You wanna marry me?” you echo, running your thumbs across his shiny lips.

Of course, you’re at that age. Everyone around you is getting married, heck many people your age are already in the middle of creating a family, going on vacations to Disney and picnics in the playground. And yes, you also have thought about marrying Jungkook, he’s the only man you can picture marrying. Yet, hearing it out loud and from him only further fuels your desire to make these thoughts a reality.

He kisses your thumbs, lips smushing against the pads. “Of course I do, love. You’re it for me.”

You relinquish, slowly pulling yourself off of him. He’s still hard as you untack yourself, his member slapping against his belly button as he watches you in confusion. You make a show of fluffing up the pillows, arching your back and wiggling your ass as you make yourself comfortable to lay on your back.

“Show me, baby,” you spread your legs for him, gesturing for him to come closer with a curl of your finger, “show me how much you want to marry me.”

Jungkook smirks, hands immediately pumping with a squelching sound resulting from yours and his combined arousal. You love it when Jungkook takes the lead, just as much as you do. It makes you feel like a pillow princess, especially when you feel lovey sex is on the way. “Will you be quiet? Just like you tried to make me quiet?” he rasps, wrapping a hand around your waist to arch you up.

“Depends on how good you are.”

The head of his dick rubs against your clit, slapping lightly at the shiny skin. You both moan when he finally gives you what you both need. As soon as the tip of his dick sinks down, you feel like you’ve both hit home. It doesn’t take long for him to find his pace, naturally throwing your leg over his shoulder for added leverage.

“Oh—fuck, baby,” you tug at his hair, pulling him in for a wet kiss. You don’t care that you’re slobbering all over him, the bed creaking and squeaking against his minstraitions. “I—uh, you feel so deep—yes!”

“When we’re married I’ll fuck you every day like this, love,” he whispers between your lips, thrusting in a particularly sensitive spot that has you arching your back and pulling your chest to his, “I—ugh, I love you so much.”

“Love you. Love youlovelove—ah! Kook, I’m—”

The two of you don’t spare any time, the sun will eventually rise and you’ll be back to playing strangers. Jungkook pounds you into the mattress, nails you with enough cum for you to last the next day without having to sneak into each other’s room like horny teenagers. The roughness is smoothed out by love and bliss, eager at the thought of going home and anticipating a permanent life together.

Five minutes later, you’re starting to feel a little too sticky. “Ohmygod—I need to fucking pee,” you pull yourself away from Jungkook’s sweaty body, palming around for your t-shirt.

“Just pee on the bed,” Jungkook grins.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you,” you make a face, “nasty.”

“You like that I’m nasty.”

“Yeah yeah.”

With one last kiss, you skip away from his bedroom and close the door behind you. Unfortunately, as soon as you take five steps in the direction of the bathroom, somebody emerges from the shadows.

“Holy shit, Jiyu,” you put a hand on your heart, eyes widening at her peeking in from the hallway. “You scared me.”

“I’m so sorry,” she frowns, squinting her eyes to make you out in the dark. It’s easier to see her in her white slip, a thin chiffon material that barely covers her thighs.

You don’t question why she’s out in the hallway in really pretty lingerie, or why she’s on the boy’s side of the house. So much for being discreet. Then again, there must be an ulterior motive for her if she’s already here, five feet away from Jungkook’s room. You wouldn’t have been caught if she hadn’t been so sneaky. (Well, not so sneaky. You got to him first.) You smell like sweat, arousal, and Jungkook. The shirt you’re wearing feels far too short and the cum in your panties feels tacky and gooey. You feel like a teenager being caught smoking.

“Why?” Jiyu’s voice suddenly sounds as dark as the early morning, no sign of the sun.

“Why what?” you answer, furrowing your brows at the sudden change in demeanor.

“Why?” she hisses, eyes wide with pain and confusion, “why Jungkook?”

You frown, not liking her attitude. Did she think it was a contest to who would fuck Jungkook first? Did she think she was being slick, sneaking away into a bedroom she has no business being in, even if he was single? You could laugh. So despite your height you steel yourself, looking at Jiyu straight in the eye.

“Because Jungkook’s mine, and I’m marrying him.”

As you pad down the hallway as fast as you can, you send Jungkook a quick text.

[5:44AM] love: pack it up. Plan b go fake a fever we gotta go lol

#jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #btsghostie #kwritersworldnet #btswritingcafe #btsguild #jungkook fic #jungkook fluff #bts fic #bts smut

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littlefreya · 4 years

Text

Set me Free

Summary: Part Two to Let Me In - After a night of being an asshole, getting drunk and then falling asleep when you were just finally getting into the mood. The Captain wakes up finding himself in somewhat of a pickle.

Read Part One

Pairing: Captain Syverson x Reader (You)

Word count: 4.1K

Warnings: Explicit Smut, Male Sub / FemDom, bondage, sex toys (woman playing with a vibrator), oral preformed on a male and a female (face-sitting), power play, teasing, unprotected sex, bodily fluids. All the good stuff.

A/N: SmuttyWeekend Commences! Guys this is my first MaleSub and I was struggling with it being a FemSub. So please gimmie feedback. 😥😥😥😥 Many thanks to @agniavateira who edits my work.

Title: Set me Free

The big military grunt is lying in the middle of an ocean of navy blue sheets, utterly nude as the sunlight beams through the window and kisses his rigid abs with a warm, golden haze. From all the men who ever fell unconscious in your bed, Syverson has to be the most delicious treat of them all.

Taut muscles stretch across an incredibly large, triangle-shaped upper body and thick, solid thighs. His glowing skin is covered by a dusting of black hairs which flow from his wide chest to his torso, leading to his delightfully enormous cock that nestles between a bundle of dark curls.

He is the epitome of masculinity, especially with that thick beard which he refuses to shave.

You sit on your small IKEA chair, lounging lazily with your ankles crossed together while sipping your latte macchiato and enjoying your new morning view.

The big man usually sleeps around 3 to 4 “generous” hours if he’s lucky to get any proper sleep at all, and not be consumed by night terrors. It’s something you’ve learnt to deal with, at least sort of. But with the amount of alcohol he consumed, he’s been out of it even after you woke up.

You indulge yourself looking at his sleeping form. Watching as his chest gently rises and falls and his cock semi-hardens from the stream of blood that gravitates to his loins.

If only you could wake up to this impressionistic vision of beauty every day for the rest of your life. But no, you had to go and get yourself involved with a military bloke, a captain, nonetheless.

Finally, he begins shifting on the mattress, the muscles of his chest flex inward and his stomach sucks in, followed by a low roar emitted from his defined lips.

There is much of the beast in him, sometimes even more than the man.

You capture your lower lip beneath your teeth, waiting with mirth and anticipation for him to open his beautiful blue eyes.

His face curls with what you assume to be a mild sensation of pain. The strong scent of whiskey wafts from his body as if he bathed in a brewery. You wouldn’t be surprised if the captain is nursing a minor hangover, which you have the perfect cure for.

The metal bars shake and then thud against the wall as he foolishly attempts to move his arms. Sharp, ringing sounds thunder in your ears as the small chain of his cuffs grind against the peg. You smile, placing your empty cup on the study, watching your man as he wakes from his deep slumber to find himself in captivity.

“What in the n…”

His eyes blink open. He observes the leather cuffs around his wrists and begins moving around wildly, attempting to free himself by shaking his hands back and forth with force. The bed creaks and shifts beneath his weight. A slight tension rises in your chest; a man as strong as Syverson might actually break the bars and the bed too, possibly.

You clear your throat to redirect his attention, only to be greeted by a furious glare.

“Morning, Captain.” you hail, your voice smooth and relaxed, contradicting Syverson’s blazing temper. A mixture of daze and anger drapes his face as he focuses on your sight.

You wonder, does he even remember the little performance from last night? Because you sure as hell are going to remember that for the rest of your life.

He angrily narrows his blue eyes, giving you a menacing look. His jaw clenches hard beneath the rough thicket of his beard.

Syverson is a force to be reckoned with; he is not a man who enjoys these types of silly games. Everything about him is hard, down to business, and with him saying the final word in the conversation.

Too bad that right now he is no longer in a position of power.

“What the hell is this?”

His eyes take you in, gliding down the sheer black night robe you’re wearing, intentionally left untied. A hint of the roundness of your breasts winks at him through the open slit and the very outlines of your nipples tease through the translucent fabric. There is a flinch in his cock as more blood stirs down to fill his organ at the sight of your divine body.

You decide to step up your game, placing your legs on the floor and spreading them to allow a glimpse of your ripe little peach. Syverson attempts to lift his head and get a better look while your giggles fill the room.

“This, my darling, is your punishment for one, being a complete asshole and embarrassing me in front of your friends-”

Syverson gives you a slow eye-roll and attempts to fight the cuffs again to no avail. “Je-sus, woman! You’re still at this? Fine. Remove these cuffs and I’ll give you my very ardent apology.”

You chuckle and shake your head, rising from your chair and moving toward the bed. The pink silicone toy Syverson bought for you hangs from between your manicured fingernails as you wave it around casually. Sy follows your movements with the diligence of a trained special forces soldier, learning every possible detail as if you’re the enemy right now.

Might as well be.

“What are you doing, woman?” he speaks slowly, his voice holding a tad of a warning as you climb onto the bed and settle yourself between his feet. You sit straddled, ankles folded beneath your behind, letting your juicy cunt to be openly presented to the helpless man.

You can hear the low pitched growl rumbling in his chest, like an approaching storm. It makes your skin prickle and your lungs squeeze inside your ribs. Even bound to your bed, he effortlessly holds a brooding presence. A huge Texas bear, all muscles and dripping of control. Every time you sleep together, he pins you down and charges your body as if you’re some target that needed conquering.

He never leaves you a fighting chance. Not up til now.

“Two,” you emphasize the word, lazily trailing the tip of the toy against your inner thigh. His eyes follow every movement, his jaw locked tightly. “- you left me wet and waiting last night, after giving me a very nice singing performance.”

The big man scowls as the vague memory of banging at your door starts sinking in. By the look on his face, he hates every single moment of it ever happening.

Probably prefers blaming you rather than taking responsibility.

“Don’t be like that, Texas.” you lick your lips, offering him a cheerful smile. “You have a gorgeous singing voice.”

“Final warnin’, kitten.”

You click your tongue and smile mischievously. Discarding the toy at his foot, you move on your knees, giving him a vixen grin before beginning to crawl forward. The delicate material of your gown caresses his naked skin as you snake your way between his open legs until you are at his pelvis, facing his very solid cock.

Your nimble fingers reach to grasp him, barely managing to circle his generous width. A low groan forms in his throat as you squeeze him roughly and run your hand up and down.

Syverson looks mesmerizing, the temptation to take a polaroid photo and have this moment forever imprinted in chemicals and light tickles your brain. More than anything, you ponder at the war that wages in his mind:the conflict between wanting back his control and enjoying the way your hand kneads him.

“This is an ego thing, isn’t it?” you ask him while licking your lips, inching your head closer and closer to the swollen head.

His chest rises and sinks urgently as his breath becomes heavier. Involuntarily, he bounces his groin, his body begging for your mouth.

You allow the tip to graze you, collecting a few drops of pre-cum on the plush of your lips, letting it spread on the velvet flesh. “I bet they teach you how to withstand torture and questioning in case you’ll fall captive.”

“Not that type of torture,” he replies and then gasps as your tongue dips at the small hole in his cock. You push against it, tasting the salty drops before circling your tongue around the head. His teetering gasps and the way his biceps swell larger when he moves in his cuffs are enough to make you throb with arousal.

No wonder Syverson likes to be the one in control; seeing someone so helpless and bound at your mercy is quite the aphrodisiac. This is especially true when it’s a man like Syverson, a brooding hulk who weighs more than twice your size.

Ironically, Sy doesn’t even need to yell or use his fists to be intimidating. He can talk anyone into submission with his voice. He has this energy about him, a confidence that makes men, even who are just as big, to cower with fear.

Even now, as he lies in captivity, his eyes are shooting daggers at you, sending you a clear message: “You’re goin’ to regret this, darlin’.”The punishment is probably going to involve you being unable to walk for a week, but you’re certain that it’s worth every second of him being subdued to your bed.

Ever so slowly, your tongue glides down his length, tracing the ridges and the thick tendons that throb against your tongue. Motion-synced with the captain’s forced moans, you roll your tongue and slide it all the way back up.

You pause, staring at him as he pants, eyes hazy with lust, his abs sucked in. There’s a strained anticipation on his face, begging for the wet cavern of your mouth, but he never utters a word, only sucking in his lower lip with desperation. Your big army gruff doesn’t beg.

He“ain’t no pooch like them city boys.”

Pumping his cock with one hand, you give him a mischievous grin while pressing your cheek against the muscle of his thigh, feeling it flex beneath your touch. Every sinew of his body is straining, anxious for pleasure and release.

“You want to fuck my mouth, baby?” he releases a low growl, his eyes narrowing at you, his teeth grinding together. “You know I do, so put that damn mouth of yours to good use.”

Your nails trail around his thigh, tickling him feverishly. You watch how he jolts against your touch while one hand still squeezes his cock, making torturous pumps that are too slow and moderated to bring him closer to what he needs.

“Yeah, you want your big fat cock inside my mouth?” you raise your face to his towering erection, your lips part open slowly. You leaned down to lick him up and down before biting onto him, only to watch how he spasms with ache.

“You know I do, kitten.”

To your disappointment, he still remains composed, despite the anger and arousal that spikes his blood. It infuriates you; you want him to beg, to say he is sorry for being such an idiot and for ruining your first night together ever since he returned.

You squeeze him hard enough to make him grunt and descend to devour his cock again. Your lips wrap around him, tasting the bitter salt on the lush of your tongue before sucking him hard, just the way he likes it. Your throat relaxes to take him deeper, deep enough to hear those mellow groans and watch as he throws his head back, blissful at the way your warmth surrounds him.

You suck harder, working up and down his shaft, humming with him inside your mouth while your hand twirls and tugs at the base of his cock. The vibration of your hums makes him grunt, and those grunts and moans are the sweetest melodies to your ears.

It’s easy to lose yourself in the sensation, in these sounds and the way he fills your mouth. You’re in love with him, your heart flutters in the thought of making him feel good, especially since you’re forced to spend so much time apart. It wrecks your heart every time, yet the thought of not having the captain in your life at all is unacceptable.

He longed for you too, you are certain of it. And not just for your mouth and the way his cock reaches the edge of your throat while you pump in and out. He has a shit way of showing that, being such a hardass and saying “I don’t do romance, darlin’” while slapping your ass as if you were some broodmare.

But the raging ocean in his eyes is enough to say all those words he could never utter.

You hear his low voice cracking and sense the swelling of his cock against your tongue. Quickly, you withdraw with a loud wet pop as his cock exits your mouth.

“Fuck!” you hear him utter, the cuffs dangling against the bar while he frowns at you. “Why did ya stop, kitten?”

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you lift your head, allowing a sneer to linger on your lips like something out of a horror film. You arch your back and crawl on top of his body, your knees bracing themselves at each side of his wide frame, and your nails scratching the slight fur of his skin.

“You’re not coming in my mouth, dear.”

You climb onto the big bear until finally, you are sitting on his chest. You slightly moan at the softness of his hairy chest that tickles the drenched spot between your thighs. Syverson grits his teeth, his jaw pushed forward, eyes red with rage altering between your naked breasts and your dominating glare. The soothing palm you press against his coarse cheek does nothing but humiliate him, which of course, makes you press your lips and coo at him tauntingly.

“Still not going to apologize?”

“Untie me first and I’ll give you the apology you deserve,” he demands, still struggling to remain in control but you can see the fuzzy haze of arousal in his eyes, the way his lips part and his breath becomes rigid. He can smell you, he senses the wetness of your mound as you sit on his chest. It makes the animal in its cage become enraged.

You shake your head, sighing with false disappointment and lift yourself to your knees, carefully targeting yourself above his face with preparation.

“I consider this a prize, Sy,” you murmur, looking down onto the slightly scarred face of your soldier who now returns a fascinated gaze to you. “I know how much you love to eat my pussy.”

He scoffs at you yet still licks his lips with anticipation as you lower yourself onto his inviting mouth. This was always his thing. There was no doubt that Syverson mastered the art of oral sex as another form of domination. Yes, he was an attentive lover. Making his lady squirm with ecstasy brought him joy, yet it was also another way he controlled you.

This is going to be tricky, yet you’re devoted to turning his little game around.

“You better make me come, Sy,” you warn, landing your pelvis onto his lips and releasing a deep moan as you feel the warmth of the captain’s skilful mouth around your mound.

“F-u-c-k!” you utter loudly, placing your hands above the bars for leverage. His velvet tongue meets your cunt, drawing wet circles around the seam and collecting your juices before plunging into you with earnest devotion. You gasp and throw your head back, clenching yourself around him and riding his bearded jaw.

“Like it when I fuck your mouth, Captain?” you call out breathless, trying to mimic the way he speaks to you when he shoves his cock down your throat on the occasion and fucks your mouth.

“Yes, like that, thrust your tongue inside me.”

You gasp the command at him, moving harder, your clit brushing against the moustache of his beard, eliciting a tickling sensation that stimulates you to the point of losing the ability to speak coherent words. Yet, you claw your talons onto control, your knuckles turning white around the edge of the headboard as you fist it in your sweaty palms and buck your hips and ride his face.

“Yes!!! Fuck! Like this! Suck it, harder!”

Even in his subdued position, Sy sustains every inch of mastery, eating you out as if you tasted of heaven. His tongue glides between your slit and your clit, rolling across your delicate nub. The sobs you make only urge him to increase the pressure around your clit and thrust his tongue harder. And just when you think you are close enough, the bastard mumbles something against your lips and the vibration of his bass throws you across the edge.

You come violently, slamming the headboard against the wall and pushing yourself hard onto his face. You can feel yourself soaking his beard yet he continues to lick you dry, sending slight aftershocks through your body.

Breathing heavily, you slowly climb off his face, looking at him as he glares at you darkly. You can see the little cracks appearing behind his eyes, his dominative nature stretching to the point of pain. He wasn’t amused to begin with but now he is close to being berserk.

Still sitting on his chest, you turn your sweaty chin across your shoulder to glimpse at his tortured cock which now looks painfully red and desperate for some attention.

“Are you done playing games?”

There it is, the thing you’ve yearned for. Despair, helplessness. His brow is covered with sweat and his feet kick at the mattress. Oddly enough, you hardly care anymore if he apologizes or not. You know he won’t, it’s not because he doesn’t care, it’s because it’s all part of the battle.

And if anything, Syverson hates losing.

“Not even close,” you answer while you crawl backwards, maintaining fierce eye contact with your enemy. Your glare returns the fight which is now escalated to a whole new level. Like a cougar ready for assault, you snake yourself to the starting point. Your hand meets with the pink toy, which is laid just where you left it.

His eyebrow crooks up, looking at you suspiciously and somewhat concerned. “What are you doing?”

You hold the toy firmly in your hand while spreading your legs across each of his. Your index finger smoothes over the length of the silicone toy, flirting with the on and off button against your tip.

“Remember how you told everyone at the bar that I fuck myself while you watch on Skype?”

“Stop it,” he shoots a warning glare, his neck stretching up with frustration. You tilt your head, puckering your lips sweetly into a pout before flicking the toy on, letting it vibrate in your grasp.

“For fuck’s sake, woman!” he growls and his eyes widen as you position the toy against your clit and instantly begin gasping as it brings you to incredible pleasure in less than a second.

“Oh god, baby!!!!” you gasp, closing your eyes and curling your toes. You massage your clit slowly, letting the vibration coax you just enough before the sensation turns painful. You slip the entire length of the toy inside you while screaming loud enough for your neighbours to hear.

“Sy!!!!” his name is on your lips while you drive the vibrator in and out, angling it at the right spots that make you mewl like a whore. Your eyes flick open to glimpse at the man who stares at you, eyes drenched with hopeless desire, mouth gaping open as his cock flinches with pain and need. The fact that he cannot have you right now is throwing the animal in him to a new length of frustration he never knew before. He squirms on the bed, throwing his head back and then shaking it at you, his lips pressed to a thin line beneath his messy beard.

“Fuck this, I am sorry! Okay?!”

You pump the toy in and out and yip while your finger ticks the button for a higher speed. “Not… good… enough!” you cry out, feeling your walls shuddering. You look at Syverson’s cock, imagining it inside you instead, his wider girth, the warmth of his body.

You need him, not a toy to replace him and still, you come, your body clenching around the soft silicone.

“Will you stop with the games already!? I said I was sorry!” he shouts at you with his face on the verge of panic. His eyes were glossy with anxiety and misery. If you weren’t as desperate to make love to him, if only you didn’t miss to feel him, sunken at your depth, you would have been able to go for hours.

You chuckle viciously, brushing a sticky strand of hair from your forehead while finally shifting yourself to straddle his hips. His chest heaves with eagerness, his breath loud and urgent as your fingers seizes his cock one more time and you lift your hips. He growls once you lubricate his erection against your slit before taking him into your core.

Ever so slowly you let yourself fall on his shaft, taking him inch by inch, enjoying the pure harmony that releases from both of your throats.

“Fuck!!!!” Sy shouts, his frustration finally being answered by the slippery heat of your taut canal. Not stopping, you sink down until the soft edge of your ass rests neatly on his tight balls. Until he is bottomed out inside you, pushed against the rim of your womb.

Painfully engorged your organs throb against one another, blood pumping fast with fury, yet you remain still. You give Syverson one last cruel smirk of triumph.

“Oh come on, woman!!!!” he grunts and bucks his hips, making you rise with him as he lifts you from the bed with ease. “I’m sorry, okay? I love you, I didn’t mean to say that stupid thing. I am just a jarhead, I don’t know how to be different.”

The evil grin quickly fades from your face. For a second, your heart beats abnormally fast while your eyes feel moist. A joyous spasm runs through the knot in your stomach.

“You love me?”

Sy looks at you with a deep frown, the usual fierceness his eyes hold is now replaced by something as fragile as a butterfly wing. You know better than to touch it.

He never said it before, not to you, not to any other woman.

You are flooded by a whirlpool of emotions, hitting you all at once, assaulting your heart and your loins. Your senses are at a complete loss, forgetting all about the stupid battle for control. You want nothing but to have him, to fuck him until you cry out of love. Lifting yourself up, you begin to ride him with incredible force. Hips rising up and down on his girth, nails digging into his torso and sliding up his chest.

“Sy!” You cry out his name, feeling full of him. He groans with amazement, finally praised by the sweetness of your body which he achingly longed for in months.

“Yes, baby,” he calls for you, jerking his hips to meet you as you sink down and throw your head back. “Ride me, fuck me, darlin’.”

You roll your hips and dance on his cock vigorously, your back arching while you sing with ecstasy. His cock is swelling inside you, locked between your closing walls as they attempt to drain him of everything he has. You know it won’t last long yet right now you don’t care, you don’t care if he comes without you.

Because he loves you, the warmth that spreads from your heart onward is just as good.

Yet still, you come, grinding your clit against his pubic bone while tears spring down your cheeks. You hear his voice calling your name in a blur, throwing an onslaught of praises before he lifts you up with his body.

All spent, you collapse flat onto his body, humming to yourself as the hot sprout of his semen fills your womb. Your head rests on his chest, listening to the beating drum within while your fingers draw circles onto his skin.

“I love you,” you say it back, slightly tilting your head to meet his eyes. He smiles at you relaxed, finally released, his breath is still irregular, small gasps of air break between his lips.

“Now uncuff me, kitten, let’s get some breakfast.”

You lift your head and slide further up so your face is levelled with his, your fingers play with his beard while you observe him.

“I am not sure I am done switching just yet.”

_____________________________________________________

disclaimer: I don’t own Sand Castle or Captain Syverson

#Smut: Captain Syverson #Captain Syverson #Henry Cavill #Captain Syverson Fanfiction #Sand Castle #Netflix Sand Castle #Captain Syverson x Reader #Henry Cavill x Reader

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chocosvt · 4 years

Text

⚬ pairing: ghost!jihoon x fem!reader ⚬ word count: 9242 ⚬ warnings: abusive relationship, suicide ⚬ genres: heavy angst, romance, ample fluff

✧✎ synopsis: freedom was a word that had completely lost its meaning - unable to escape from a toxic relationship, you can only find happiness upon confiding in jihoon, the spirit of a writer who died a century ago.

✧✎ a/n: SORRY this took so long to post! i have a habit of holding onto completed fics for a while, bc i feel the need to endlessly proofread. i rly appreciate everyone’s patience :D

You didn’t understand him. You hated him.

You wanted to conjure a pair of scissors and cut the invisible rope that connected your piteous relationship. Tight around your wrist, you could still feel the indents left by his fingernails, how they pushed blunt into your skin like a stamp to a liquid, wax seal. There was no taste of freedom unless you left him, and yet, you lacked the strength, instead rotting in your own indolence.

The doorway to your cottage home burst open as you thundered inside. Smells of the cinnamon bread and ginger tea you had for breakfast lingered in the air, when the morning was soft and you were unaware of his incoming anger that would inevitably cumulate. Gleaming on the edge of the kitchen table was an old pocket mirror, a century-dull shade of gold with a rose engrained into its shallow dome.

Within the next moment, you were sitting inside your closet, frustrated tears pooling slowly down each cheek as you held onto an ignited candle. The flame rippled and danced in response to your ragged breaths. It was the only source of light, for darkness pressed in from every angle. Hands shaky, you set the candle to crackle on the floor, behind the pocket mirror you had opened. Looking into its small reflection, you saw the wet flakes of mascara stuck to your skin, how your lips were so bitten they became mottled with blood spots.

“If I ask for you,” you sighed, eyes falling shut, “will you come to me?”

You waited and listened to the dancing wick, then snuck a peak at the mirror.

Nothing.

Inhaling a deep breath, you closed your eyes and warbled again: “If I ask for you, will you come to me?”

The mirror was still open, casting an image of your broken countenance, marred by viscid trails of tears and a patience that turned thinner than the air itself. Every mark, every scratch left by his fingernails only sunk further into your wrist, establishing this control he had over you, until one day, his reign might become permanent. The thought forced you to hiccup a burning sob.

“Please!” You whimpered, tasting the sharp salt on your lips, “If I ask for you, will you come to me?”

Snap.

The sound of the pocket mirror being shut was accompanied by an overwhelming sensation of cold, like an arctic breath had just been exhaled into your face. Cautiously, you eyed the candle, in which its flame had stopped dancing and instead stood tall, almost as though it were afraid to flicker. The gentle light glinted off the mirror’s gold dome. At last, you picked your head up and met his eyes, honey-brown, like crisped sugar.

The noise that crawled up from your throat was a feeble squeak.

“Jihoon.” You said his name.

Even though each syllable felt like solace, that didn’t smooth the tremors in between. Unlike your boyfriend who was so assailing in nature and unreceptive to your heart, Jihoon read the pain from your body like it had been scrawled with thick ink. He reached out his hand for you to grab.

Head bent down, tears streaming toward your chin, you cried to him in that small halo of light, squeezing his glacial fingers, crushing his bones, yet he never protested or shook you off.

You had asked for him. And if it’s you, then Jihoon will always be there.

“A peach?” Jihoon murmured, staring at the sunset colour of the fruit in his palm. “I haven’t eaten a peach since… Since…”

“Since a century ago?”

Jihoon looked up at you, his face illuminated by the wax candle. “Yeah.”

He seemed hesitant to sink his teeth past the fuzzy, orange flesh, and kept stealing oblique glances at you. Wiping away a delicious trail of juice that streaked your chin, you encouraged him to just take a bite and stop ogling the fruit like it was plucked from outer space.

A peach was nowhere close to the strangest item you’d brought him. In fact, the sole manner in which Jihoon could connect with the simple indulgences of when he’d been alive was through you.

At first, he sighed, followed by slight apprehension, and then he stopped prevaricating. Jihoon brought the peach to his mouth and buried in his teeth, a loud slurp indicating he’d suckled out the juice just before tearing away a reasonable chunk. He chewed, chewed a little bit more, crinkled his nose and continued chewing. You raised an eyebrow once he swallowed, curious if its sweetness still held true to when he’d eaten the fruit in his youth.

“Not bad. Rather messy.” Jihoon rated with little mirth, his tongue then licking at a trail of liquid dripping to his wrist.

You eyed him whilst taking another bite into your own fruit.

The next time you met, you brought him purple orchids, wrapped in a crinkly, pale mint packaging. He buried his nose into their petals and took a breath. Jihoon had long forgotten the rain, it’s scent, but that’s exactly what the aroma reminded him of.

It was close to midnight, the autumn wetness clinging in a sheer mist, a cobweb almost, that drifted down the road. You stared into the fog, wondering if it might swath around you until you couldn’t see or breathe, only to thin away at the last moment, revealing a place that was warm and brushed with sunshine. There would be no boyfriend, no pain or fear, and you’d have freedom— a word that seemed to have lost its meaning as time wore its grit against you.

Leaning into the side of your boyfriend’s car, you watched him pace back and forth next to the gas pump, cellphone at his ear, occasionally tossing his head back in a splitting chortle whilst he blew plumes from a cigarette. A light rain pattered against the roof of the gas station.

You wanted to go home. You wanted to be tucked in bed, beneath sheets that smelled like summer lilacs. You wanted to close your eyes and dream about the phantom boy who lived in the closet, where your fingers would trace his skin and you might feel the heat from his blood. Yet you lacked bravery. Taking one look at your wrist constantly sore from his steel grip was enough to snuff out any defying fire. He laughed again, kicked his boot into the gravel, brought the cigarette up to his mouth in order to fulfill a toxic addiction.

Headlights suddenly pierced through the mist and tires rolled against the damp pavement. You thought about running onto the road with your arms flailing, hoping the driver would pull over and let you into their vehicle. They might ask where you wanted to go.

You’d say, “just get me away from him. Anywhere, I’m begging.”

“Hey!”

Turning your head, you saw him stalking toward you. In an unconscious attempt to give yourself space, you unpeeled from the vehicle and a took a step back, intimidated.

“Get in the car,” he spat, opening the driver’s side, “m’taking you home.”

With the decaying cigarette hanging from his lips, cellphone now stowed into his pants pocket, he slammed the door. The air inside the vehicle was acrid, stifling, ashes tumbling onto his lap as the engine revved to life. Grey smoke prickled against your eyes until they lined with water and glass. Just before you exited the gas station, your boyfriend rolled down his window and tossed the cigarette, only to reveal another from the glove compartment.

Sticking the wand in his mouth, he tossed you the lighter.

“Spark.” He demanded.

Your whole arm was trembling whilst you positioned the lighter close to the cigarette, thumb pressing down in an anxious flurry, teeth grinding together as you piously prayed the stupid flame would just blossom already so he wouldn’t get foul. Once he exhaled the first puff and took back the lighter, you sunk into the upholstery, hoping he didn’t see your tears.

“Jihoon?”

The boy had been occupied pulling pink tufts of cotton candy apart. The last time you two met within the closet, you were discussing an autumn carnival that took place each year in your town, how you spent the night with a pocket full of tickets and sugar floss melting against your tongue. Jihoon said he couldn’t remember the taste, the smell, the texture, so you promised to bring him a large bag stuffed with cotton candy. He glanced up at you, candlelight swimming in his eyes like a brightly coloured coy fish.

“What did you write about?”

He paused. Then, Jihoon was sitting with a straight spine, rubbing his index finger and thumb together, as though he were attempting to lure an ancient memory from hiding. You wondered if he missed literature, how a ballpoint pen glides across cream paper, the specific click that echoes from a typewriter, running fingertips across a leathered hardcover just to feel every bump and divot. You wished it was possible to read one of his books. He told you he burned them all, every page disintegrating into dust and cinders.

Jihoon looked at the last clump of cotton candy in his hands.

Delicately, he tore the floss in two pieces. Something deep inside your chest fluttered when Jihoon gave you the other tuft.

“Love.” He said, finding the vivacious reflection in your eyes, “I wrote about love.”

As a child, the darkness used to scare you. It was impossible to fall asleep without the dim glow of your aquarium or the fluorescent stars tacked to your ceiling. Things looked different in the dark, they became unfamiliar and colourless and shapeshifted into malignant creations that stopped moving only when the light touched them. Even now, the darkness was still harrowing, but you’d grown to realize that tenebrosity was much scarier when it lived inside human beings.

No light existed which could freeze them in their intent to hurt, no light which transformed them back into the coat over the back of your chair or the laundry pile lumped in its basket. And as you sat next to Jihoon on the closet floor, his gaze thoughtlessly wandering to your wrist, he knew you’d give anything to stay in the dark closet if it meant you never had to see your boyfriend again. You kept rubbing at your skin, squeezing in an anxious pattern.

“Stop.” Jihoon couldn’t stand to watch you repeat yourself. It felt like you were going to erase the flesh clean off.

“It helps.” You told him, though your argument was inconceivably frail, emaciated.

Suddenly, Jihoon reached across the space, his fingers falling over your wrist to bump away your pesky hand. The second you were unable to scrub at the fingernail indents, the scratches, the dull throb of every bruise he’d ever printed upon your skin, the breath died in your throat and there was a stinging sensation that burnt your eyes. Your boyfriend had ruined you. The wounds controlled you, left you in prostration and agony.

Before you could erupt into tears, Jihoon’s thumb began stroking back and forth over a fading scratch, a rhythmic movement, one that managed to calm you down until the tears slowly dried up and the flame no longer illuminated the glossiness of your eyes. He urged you to take a breath whilst he continued to brush soft reassurances across your skin. At first, you were offended by Jihoon’s interference, even slightly angered.

But the way he was so gentle with you brought you to capitulate.

“I’d never try to hurt you.” Jihoon whispered when you caught his gaze in the candlelight.

“I know.” You sighed, placing your hand over top his, “thank you.”

Your hands curled around the handlebars of the bicycle, slightly raised from the uncomfortable seat as you pedalled into town that autumn morning. An impending cold front gushed from the north, sweeping against your face in a harsh frigidity that caressed away any remnants of sleep. Tucking your chin into the fleece of your pullover, you stopped pedalling and allowed the bicycle to simply glide, maneuvering over the small pebbles and gorges in the cement.

A familiar house at the end of the block became closer, closer, closer, to which you bit down on your cheek’s inner flesh, your knuckles tensing like they could burst from the thin covering of skin. You stared straight ahead. It was too early for him to be outside. He was too lethargic.

Or was he?

“Hey!”

You’d been caught, a disarrayed haze momentarily warping your vision. The tires skidded to a halt on the sidewalk, your sneaker touching the ground whilst the northern wind nipped at your cheeks. He sat on his porch, wearing a burly-looking coat that appeared to be seldom washed, a flimsy cigarette perched at the corner of his mouth. Blowing a weak cloud of smoke from between his lips, he gestured for you to approach him, and your heart dropped.

Step by step, you walked the bicycle up his driveway, a few scarlet leaves from an oak tree spiralling down and colouring the gravel. Not even their warm tint could sugar coat that wicked, tight-lipped smile dancing from one spot of his mouth to the other. It was like the devil sat behind him, a myriad of strings on his fingers, and he was pulling each and every one.

“Where’re you off to, sunshine?”

“Into town. I’m getting some groceries.”

His eyes, bloodshot, much too hollowed at the early hour, gave you a once-over. You felt the sponge in your bones deflate. If a person’s stare could be washed from your skin, then you’d find the nearest hot shower and lock yourself inside.

He tapped some ash off his cigarette. “You don’t need to do that now, do you?”

“I-It’s a good time, actually. It won’t be busy.”

Don’t break down, don’t break down, do not let him infiltrate.

In an abasing fashion, your boyfriend laughed, like it was impossible to fathom that you could uphold a life, responsibilities, independence, beyond him and his fallacy of omniscience. He stood up and took another hit of nicotine from the cigarette. Then he was balancing the wand between his teeth, smiling down at you again, the devil’s strings metallic and unbreaking.

“Come inside,” he said, tipping his head toward the door, “leave your bike and we’ll share a nice drink, sunshine.”

You knew through mistake that it would be an unkind fate to deny him. Resting your bicycle against the porch, you trailed a few steps behind him into the house. Just before you closed the door, you drew in a long breath, examining the leaves on the oak tree, feeling that crisp air touch your face, looking up at small gaps of morning light between the grey clouds.

You always tried to remember the natural world, just in case you prematurely became a part of it.

Jihoon had set the notepad overtop his knee, one hand holding the papers still whilst the other clasped a black pen. Upon waiting for him to finish his prose, you fidgeted with the gold pocket mirror, pressing the edge of your nail into its infinitesimal grooves that created the rose. Time and time again, you wondered about the pocket mirror, a robust relic from the nineteen-twenties that the boy had gifted you.

“Done.” Jihoon announced, lifting the pen from the notepad.

The candle was rather inept at providing sufficient light, though you managed to read his looped, cursive writing with a surprising ease, with familiarity, like the words had been from a love letter you read every dusk.

Peaches and cotton candy are sweet. Orchids smell like rain. Scratches can fade.

You smiled at him. The inside of your chest was warmer than a July heatwave. After exchanging the gold mirror for the pen, you brainstormed a set of prose to match his. Jihoon had never looked at his reflection since he was alive, when oxygen still pumped to his heart and his veins hadn’t been replaced with frost. Suddenly, an idea sparked, and you wrote quickly.

Once you handed him back the notepad, he returned the mirror.

I’ll admire you so that you don’t have to. I’ll keep your beauty alive.

He circled the pen between his fingers. With knees pressed tight against your chest, you watched Jihoon’s teeth sink into his bottom lip before he hunched over the notepad, printing a line of clean cursive. Out of all the items you’d brought him, this seemed to be his favourite.

Jihoon passed you the notepad.

Letting the pocket mirror sit between your crossed legs, you held the paper close to your face, hoping it would help conceal the flustered grin.

If I had a second life, I would find you. I would take you away from the pain you have now.

“I wish you had a second life too.” You told Jihoon in a delicate, almost trembling voice. “I wish I could bring you into my life, even if it were just for one night.”

The boy nodded whilst he stared at the wax candle, one that a priest let you take home after you spent a visit to the church, hoping to discover some sense of purpose, some form of guidance. That was two years ago. Even though you had thanked the priest for the candle, it seemed completely useless. Or so you thought. Now, it was the only way you could differentiate every detail of Jihoon’s face, his skin constantly basked in a golden aurora.

“I think…” Jihoon murmured, sitting up slowly and staring into the warm light, “I think there is a way.”

Something seemed to be revolving in his mind, something that planted hope in your belly, and as he explained to you the procedure, you hadn’t realized his fingers gradually interlacing with yours.

The night of October thirty-first, that was the only sliver in which Jihoon could ever separate from the closet, the cottage house, and reacquaint himself with the earthy air and moonlight. It was the only time when the barrier between the human realm and spirit realm was significantly thin enough. Jihoon stood in your bedroom, dressed in an auburn, corduroy button-up vest, the sleeves of his white dress shirt cuffed to his elbows, his trousers hemmed along the leg.

Could those be the same clothes he wore upon taking his own life? You were always curious, though refrained from acting too inquisitive. The boy suddenly reached into his right pants pocket, shifting his fingers as though he were attempting to fish something out, until he glanced at the gold dome in your hand and a pink dust developed along the arch of his cheeks. These days, you’d been holding onto his mirror like it was a personal ligament.

He shrugged. “Old habit.”

Jihoon followed you into the living room. Whilst you tossed on a water-proof jacket and wriggled each foot into a pair of degrading tennis sneakers, the boy paused just in front of the fireplace. He touched the crimson brick, then stuck out two ice-cold palms. The embers were radiant and warm. They drew a beautiful glow to his skin. If Jihoon felt the energy of the heat, he didn’t express it. You stuffed the mirror into your pocket and called for him.

There was a slight drag as Jihoon seemed hesitant to part from the flames, twirling and alive, like he’d been trying to seek for a lost artifact that might still remain amongst the ashes.

“Nothing is the same.”

With his head constantly pivoting in order to gauge every detail, Jihoon seemed to realize that the town he moved into during the last century was starkly and scarily different. Houses now built over cobalt roads, where the wealthy had once let exhaust tumble from the pipes of their timely vehicles. A shopping centre stuck the middle of what was once a cornfield, always rife with healthy, luminous green stalks during the balmy summers. His favourite diner, where he used to gather all his papers and write until his pen lost its ink, listening to revolving tunes on the jukebox, had been replaced by a furniture store.

Jihoon didn’t sound upset, but jaded perhaps.

He’d moved from his homeland, Busan, South Korea, at twenty years old, taking with him little to no belongings apart from some clothes and a pocket mirror his girlfriend had gifted him. He desired a meaningful existence with his writing, hoping to make something, be somebody.

And yet, three years after leaving Busan, Jihoon had killed himself in his cottage home.

“A lot can change in a hundred years. Good and bad. ” You sighed whilst waiting at a crosswalk.

The boy shivered due to the crisp, autumn wind. “It appears so.”

He then clenched his teeth together. “Say, do you think I could get some new clothes? These have a few holes. They’re scratchy too.”

You glanced at the enormous, neon sign anchored to the shopping centre across the street.

“I think I can help you out.”

For the first time in a century, Jihoon stared at himself in a mirror. It was a tall, thin mirror stuck to a changeroom door. His decaying articles were folded on the bench, faintly stitched with the scent of wood pyres and dust and potent ink. It took Jihoon less than a minute to discover his new clothes, a dark blue hoodie and black sweatpants. The hoodie swallowed his upper-half. He seemed comfortable, warm, his fingers rubbing the inside of the fleece sleeve.

In a peculiar way, it hurt.

He no longer held the appearance of a middleclass writer who’d burn out his cigars on paper, always had a whisky shot coursing through his blood, some ash from the fireplace constantly rubbed to his cheek. He had no longer just stepped through a time portal into the most recent era. Instead, Jihoon looked like a student you might brush shoulders with before a lecture, or a modest stranger who’d catch your eye at a party.

If only Jihoon had actually been that stranger, rather than the boyfriend you have now.

“Don’t let go of my hand.”

You asked Jihoon wearily whilst stepping onto a cement ledge next to the sidewalk. Truthfully, it wasn’t that high. Truthfully, you just wanted feel his cold touch caress your skin.

He blinked up at your figure, the moonlight glowing behind you, outlining you in a silver, narrow frame.

“I won’t. I promise.”

Once you were steadied on the ledge, you began placing one foot in front of the other, taking attentive steps that had little to no breadth, and yet they felt like immeasurable strides. Jihoon held your fingers with a sweet pressure. You were almost near the end of the ledge when that autumn wind decided to ripple hard and fierce, and as you braced against the current, you lost your balance. With a small shriek you nearly stumbled over the edge.

Jihoon didn’t waver. His hands fastened upon your waist and he caught you in his arms, feeling your heartbeat that drummed through your chest and into his.

“W-Whoops…” Your laughter was anxious, embarrassed.

Never having been pressed against each other before, there was slight uneasiness. There was racing thoughts and cotton-hearts, a fleeting catch of the other’s eye and faces so close that you shared the same breath. His hands cupped at your waist; your palms flat against his shoulders. If you kissed him, would he taste like a Cuban cigar? Or a soft, warm peach grown beneath summer sunshine? Jihoon thought you smelled like an orchid.

However, you both peeled away from each other.

“Wait—” you remarked before continuing down the sidewalk, “you promised not to let go of my hand.”

Jihoon intertwined your fingers, his thumb smoothing quickly over the ridges of your knuckles.

“Better?”

“Yeah.”

The stars burned in their own soot, twinkling intermittently and spread apart across the blackness. Some were passionate and lurid, whilst others were dim, barely there, only glistering to indicate that their radiance still lived. You sat next to Jihoon on the train station bench, the heated rim of a paper cup touching your lips, stained with hot chocolate. After taking a sip and feeling the velvet against your throat, you handed him the drink.

Upon purchasing Jihoon’s new cloths, you’d emptied all the bills wadded in your pocket. A small palm of coins remained and you counted them aside to buy two train tickets in addition to a hot chocolate. The tip of his nose was slightly pinkish from the cold. His eyes focused on the steam, which he impatiently dispersed by forming his lips into a tiny O shape. You continued exchanging the cup until there was nothing more than a ring of wet cocoa powder at the base.

Jihoon began softly bumping his knee against yours whilst you waited for the train. He seemed unaware, though you couldn’t be certain. He had quite the array of small, endearing habits.

Suddenly, you felt a slight vibration inside your coat pocket. And then another, another, and one more after that. Once you slid out the device, something that was thicker than dread surrounded you, absorbing every ray of starlight. His snarl jeered at you through the texts.

[11:15PM | DO NOT ANSWER]: Why haven’t you responded to me?

[11:15PM | DO NOT ANSWER]: Where are you??

[11:15PM | DO NOT ANSWER]: What did I tell you about going out and not saying anything?

[11:15PM | DO NOT ANSWER]: You don’t just fucking do something like that.

You could already feel his ironclad grip suctioned around your wrist, his fingernails submerging into your flesh, carving out new scratches to replace the ones that had faded.

In the distance, you heard the train rattling and smelled the burning coal. You stuffed the phone into your pocket and pretended the texts were non-existent, yet, that characteristic glint in your eyes was much too candour. How was there a point in pretending when you gave away your own lies?

“Come on,” Jihoon stood from the bench, his breath ghosting into the nighttime air, “you have the tickets ready?”

As the train slowed to a trill halt, you nodded, revealing the two tickets from your pocket.

“Good, good.” He gently traced his fingertips down the back of your wrist before encompassing your hand in his. Jihoon squeezed firmly, leaned into your ear where his breath was ticklish.

Somehow, you didn’t feel afraid anymore when he whispered, “let’s go home, alright? I’ll help warm you up and we’ll go to bed together.”

The conductor accepted your tickets with a tight-lipped smile, and Jihoon’s fingers played with yours whilst the man readied his hole-punch. For some reason, your eyes drifted to the side of the boy’s neck, where ever so faintly, a reddish-pink scar curled around his pearl skin. It was the first time you ever noticed the mark now that Jihoon was no longer blanketed in the closet’s meagre light. The mark seemed painful, like something had been taunt against his windpipe.

You knew Jihoon had taken his own life three years after leaving the comfort and familiarity of Busan. You knew Jihoon had a girlfriend back in his hometown that he wanted to marry. He put love on hold to become a writer. He sacrificed everything yet gained nothing.

The universe was awfully typical.

Upon exhaling a soft breath through your nose, eyelids droopy from the drowsiness, you rested your temple against Jihoon’s shoulder during the train ride home. He must have thought you’d fallen asleep, for his fingertips brushed sweetly against your exposed cheek, his lips pressing to the top of your forehead, leaving behind the warmth of a tender kiss. Jihoon’s touch was always cool, yet it translated into heat.

Forcibly, you gulped down a surprised cough. You knew that was what an intimate relationship should be.

It was more so the fact you had never experienced it.

You kissed the boy’s jaw. His shoulder became rigid, though you were smiling with eyes shut tighter than a locket.

Jihoon mumbled lowly against your forehead, “you were supposed to be asleep.”

Refusing to open your eyes, somewhat petrified that gazing upon his face would further embolden just how attached were to him, you simply shook your head.

“I am asleep. I talk in my sleep. I’m sleep-talking.”

“Do you kiss people in your sleep too?”

Your eyebrow quirked. “Didn’t you just kiss me?”

“Because I thought you were asleep.”

“I am aslee—”

Jihoon’s palm gently cupped overtop your mouth, muffling the syllables. Your laughter was hot against his skin, and your eyes finally opened. No, you didn’t want to fall asleep. It just meant that the next morning Jihoon would be gone.

You removed the little mirror from your jacket and placed it on the night table, then pulled the cloth curtains shut as though you were going to disrobe. However, you only removed your jacket and flung off your bra, much too cognisant of your dwindling time with Jihoon, afraid that even changing into your pyjamas would waste the precious minutes. He observed each of your movements as he lounged on his side, taking up the left half of your bed.

How long had it been since he last sunk into a mattress, since he last had a warm body to share the space with?

Jihoon stared at the dull, golden dome of the pocket mirror. He remembered his past lover’s face, the pain she attempted to make imperceptible as Jihoon stood with only a single luggage case at the Gyeongbu Line station. It was the nearing the terminal of nineteen-seventeen.

His twentieth birthday had transpired only a week ago.

“Just come back, alright?” She had been thumping her fists lightly against his chest, long strands of black hair draping her cheeks, “promise you’ll come back to me?”

“I promise, Jieun. Everything I am is you.”

He framed her beautiful face in his hands, kissed her slowly, wanted to permanently grain the taste of her lip gloss against his taste buds as well as the powdery notes of her perfume. Before he could leave, she slipped her gold, shiny mirror into his hand, a momentum, a memory, something that would preserve her significance to him.

Three years after leaving Busan and Jihoon would only remove the mirror from his pocket so that he could polish the surface. He wrote her love letters, filled every one of his notebooks with limerence-indulgent poems until the twine could no longer keep the pages from bulging open. His typewriter clicked from every pale-yellow morning to the midnight crickets. Being in love felt like a high. He dreamed of their wedding, their first house, a baby tucked in their arms.

Three years later and Jihoon’s rotary phone started wildly buzzing. It was his best friend, Soonyoung. He was sobbing, pouring out hiccups and inarticulate fragments that Jihoon could hardly understand. It wasn’t until the impatient boy snapped at him to clear his nose and take a breath that those words pulled taunt and impaled straight through Jihoon’s heart like a crossbow. There was no blood, and yet it seemed to fill his lungs and bubble thickly in his throat.

“I’ve been sleeping with Jieun. For almost a year now. I had to tell you. It’s eating me alive.”

That same day, Jihoon received a postcard with a picture of cheerful Songdo beach, a place they had often visited to walk the waterline, wondering about their future The back was blanketed in Jieun’s rushed, tear-stained handwriting.

It was true.

They both admitted it.

In that cottage home, Jihoon threw a match into the brick fireplace. Every poem, every notebook, every piece of literature he’d ever written were gradually enveloped and burnt up by the monstrous flames. An hour later and he was standing in his closet, an apple crate under his feet and a segment of durable rope in his hands. The fire continued to crackle in the living room whilst the smoke drifted from the chimney. Buried in his pocket was the gold rose mirror.

In due time, the flames had become the only live part of the house.

As Jihoon continued to stare at the mirror sitting on your night table, he was consistently poked with a truth that made him ache so terribly: his spirit could only be freed if the mirror broke.

But if the mirror broke, there was no possible method for you to contact him. Jihoon could not be summoned, and in no way, shape, or form could he interact with your life, rather he’d be an invisible observer with infinite freedom. This became information he never shared. The conflict was too saturated, and as much as Jihoon despised his condemnation to that dark little space, it was how he discovered you. He’d quickly learned you didn’t have freedom either.

Your freedom only seemed to develop in the presence of each other.

Suddenly, the bed dipped. Jihoon snapped from his musing. The sheets wrinkled below your hands and knees as you crawled toward him, eyes sleepy, intent to create the comfortable position where the curve of your spine was seamless with his front. When your gaze flitted downward, you spotted Jihoon’s hand resting on your hipbone. He waited, and you grinned.

“It’s okay,” you reassured him, “I want you closer. Please?”

Jihoon’s small huff tickled your ear whilst he slid his palm flat under your t-shirt. It stilled, pressing to your abdomen, the cold of his fingers meeting your soft warmth. His thumb began drawing strokes just under your navel, to which your eyes fluttered shut and a calm sigh rose in your chest. Somehow, you wanted to preserve this moment, like how petals could be sealed inside an amber stone so that their beauty never degraded. Jihoon’s hand etched further up your torso, his fingertips tracing the supple underside of your breast.

He kissed that tender sweet spot just below your ear, until your eyes opened, gaze falling directly onto the pocket mirror. Aside from the intense heat, another sensation overwhelmed you, and with a breath that was nothing short of unease you looked back over your shoulder at the boy who’d be gone by morning.

“I don’t want you to leave,” your voice emerged in a telling crack, “I need you.”

Jihoon shook his head. Leaning forward, his lips brushed yours in a gentle kiss.

“I’m not leaving. You know that. I’m always here.”

The tears brimmed your eyes. “N-No, I need you out here. In physicality. Not just in a c-closet.”

Your emotions mimicked a violet insurrection, where they could not be quelled no matter how fiercely you took your bottom lip under your teeth, or how rapidly you blinked, hoping the liquid would retract itself. Instead, they flowered in one big uprooting. You suckled in a sharp inhalation that gave them even more fuel and greed.

“Dammit—I didn’t want to cry, but I c-can’t help it!” You covered your eyes with your palms. “I had so much fun with you tonight, Jihoon – I just don’t want this to end. I don’t want to have this pain. My happiness is ripped away every time I see him. I want it to be you but it’s not!”

The boy tugged at your wrists, urging you to uncover yourself. He succeeded at catching your eyes despite how distorted they were with water.

“Relax, alright?” He cooed, his face hovering over yours. “Let yourself breathe.”

The backs of his fingers brushed up and down your far cheek. Before a tear could roll onto his thumb Jihoon had already pecked it away. Heeding his words, you drew in a slow breath and felt the coolness fill each lung, all whilst he comforted you using a benign hand.

“You have me. You’ll always have me. Whether I’m palpable or not doesn’t change that.”

“I-I know…” It squeaked out with little conviction, “If I couldn’t have that mirror, I don’t know what I’d do.”

Jihoon traced his thumb below your teary eye. “You’d be fine, even without the mirror.”

He was met with a doubtful glance.

“Trust me,” his reverence shone through each word, “whenever you speak to me, I will always listen. Even if you can’t see me, or grab my hand. Even if you feel completely alone. I will always hear you. It seems unlikely, but it’s true.”

Honesty consumed the boy’s gaze. His reassurance was akin to a sewing needle that wove back together the collapsing fabric of your heart.

Jihoon’s tone then became even more earnest, and your eyes burned into his.

“I love you. It’s a bit cheap of me to say that considering my circumstances, but I need you to know that having met you… You reunited me with what love is, when I thought it was impossible to feel it again. Life is cruel. We can’t be together in the way we want. I can’t steal you away from him and make you mine no matter how badly I wish I could.”

His fingers paused atop your cheek. Jihoon swallowed and pressed his forehead to yours.

“It’s too late for me, but you have your whole life.”

He kissed you deeply, slid in his tongue to taste the cheap hot chocolate, his chest aching when he heard one of your soft gasps melt into his mouth. Your fingers carded through his hair, but then Jihoon pulled away, rubbing his thumb to your bottom lip whilst you cradled his nape.

“You deserve someone who will cherish you, protect you, sing to you, let you be vulnerable in every way and adore you all the same.”

With a ginger smile, Jihoon looked deep into your eyes.

“And you need to have strength. Okay, my love? Will you promise me?”

Another tear trickled and soaked into your hair. Jihoon was right. There was no second life, and you didn’t want to spend any remainder of your first anchored to a boyfriend who would never love you like Jihoon did.

“I promise.” You spoke quietly, printing a kiss to his thumb. “I love you too. I always will.”

Then it was time for bed.

After reaching toward the night table and plucking off the lamp, you nestled your head against the smooth slope connecting his neck and shoulder, smelling the faint tang of an ancient cigar on his skin. One arm draped across his waist, your leg over his hip, every bit of your warmth seeping through Jihoon’s cloths and into his cold body. As a goodnight rhythm, Jihoon’s fingertips swept along your arm, the contact slightly ticklish but a reminder he was still tangible, still holding you, still positively in love with everything that fabricated you.

His heart wouldn’t change, even if he was no longer burying kisses to the top of your head by morning.

“You better watch your tone, sunshine. That’s all I’m saying.”

He leaned back against the kitchen counter, next to the sink crammed with grimy, porcelain dishes that had most likely been collecting for a week. The windowsill above the faucet was lined with dead flies, the glass adapting a sallow hue, as though some type of algae was beginning to develop. A vase sat on the small dining table, filled with orchids, though the purple petals were shrivelled and the bulbs drooped like they were trying to escape the stem.

A cigarette was held between his fingers, to which he smeared off the ashes by rubbing it against the countertop. Squeezing your hand even tighter around the pocket mirror, you stood ground.

“I’ve been watching my tone for the last two years. I can’t do it anymore.”

“Oh yeah?” He huffed, folding an arm over his chest. “Then I taught you well. Don’t make me teach you again.” The smoke wafted from between his lips, and he hacked dryly.

You couldn’t believe you were doing this. The only reason you weren’t blubbering through every word was due to your unwavering grip on the mirror and the tearful promise you made to Jihoon. Maintaining an ember of hope, you prayed this would be the last time you smelled the poison from his cigarette. Freedom felt like a walk out his front door.

“The way you treat me is disgusting. You don’t know anything about a real relationship.”

He might have been dense, but his instinctual evil knew contempt like the back of his palm. His eyes flashed, recognizing your defiance, your desperation to break free. Rather than the slumped posture against the countertop, he started to straighten himself out and bare his teeth.

“What the fuck do you know about a real relationship? I treat you like you’re supposed to be treated. I made you a better partner, and you’re not even goddamn thankful?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” You felt not a grain of fear, but great astonishment, in which months of belligerence bled through your negation. “You made me better? Did you really just fucking say that? You put me in the worst position of my life! You’re an empty-headed, narcissistic, manipulative asshole!”

It was like a pin dropping in an empty theatre. The words that harped from your tongue merely skimmed the surface of your resentment, and you might’ve kept barrelling down if it weren’t for the obsidian in his eyes. You knew that soulless look. Already, you could feel the ache in your wrist, see glimpses of his iron hand reaching for your skin. He ripped the cigarette from his mouth, smacked it into the sink, and immediately loomed over you, wrestling for your wrist.

“H-Hey, don’t fucking touch me!” You cried out, whipping your elbow backward.

“Don’t act up then!” He roared, clutching onto your arm and wickedly shaking it until your grasp loosened around the pocket mirror.

With a horrified countenance, you watched the artifact fly from your hand and rattle against the plastic, stained tiles. The fragile clasp broke, its gold dome popped open, cracked glass crumbling out from the inside. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t speak. Air stuttered on the tip of your tongue whilst you stared at the hundred-year-old mirror, now decimated and irreplaceable. It felt like the universe had an unforgiving hand around your windpipe. No breath left your lungs.

“What the fuck,” he muttered, his brow furrowing, “why were you holding that?”

Why were you holding that?

With your mouth agape, you locked eyes with the man in front of you, and for once, he seemed afraid. The pain upended itself in your stomach, it burst into your atrium, your veins and blood. It was electricity. A frustrated growl reverberated from deep inside and suddenly you were slamming your hands against his chest, pushing him backward, making him stumble and wheeze and fear your aggression until he was caught against the kitchen counter.

“What the he—,”

“Shut up,” you choked out like your whole life had been ripped away from you, tears leaking down your face, “don’t you ever come up to me again. Don’t ever put your hands on me. Don’t you ever speak to me. Don’t you ever look at me. You can’t keep me trapped in your little cage anymore. We’re fucking through.”

He was heaving in quick-paced breaths, and you could see the disorientation cloud in his gaze. Before you left, you scooped the broken mirror and all its fragments into your hands.

You stalked through his front door, but it didn’t yet feel like freedom.

Darkness pooled around you, exempt from the yellowish flame that wriggled up candle wick. Gently opening the pocket mirror, you placed it on the closet floor, holding back a brittle sob as the tiny glass shards collected against its bottom. Glass shards that could never be fixed or glued back together. It was unadulterated heartache. You wondered if that was how Jihoon felt when he watched all his books smoulder in the fireplace, having to accept the voice at the back of his head which told him his literature would be lost forever.

Your eyes were damp and welting with tears as they fell shut. Quietly, into the small space you whispered: “If I ask for you, will you come to me?”

But the world was silent.

You felt not a single gust of arctic air against your face, nor did you hear the pocket mirror snapping shut. Jihoon’s soft fingertips weren’t brushing your arm, your teary cheek, the tender inside of your thigh, assuring you he was right at your side. A shudder split through your body. It couldn’t be true.

You entreated him again, “if I ask for you, will you come to me?”

A terrible sickness disseminated from your gut. You felt lightheaded, dizzy, saliva coating the inside of your mouth as though your system was preparing to vomit. Perspiration dappled your forehead, and you were burning hot, yet your hands were trembling like you’d been confined outside during the coldest winter. You leaned over into your palms and let out a petulant shriek. It was unclear how long you stayed in the closet, wetly hiccupping and mourning. The pain needed to escape, no matter how viciously.

And even though you couldn’t see Jihoon, he was looking after you as a free spirit, absorbing your agony, ensuring you didn’t have to feel such torment all by yourself.

Eight months later

It was around lunchtime as you picked up your bicycle, resting against the ivy that coated the sun-soaked wall of the cottage. You decided to pedal into town and grab groceries. June summers were always pleasant, colourful; the heat was rarely unbearable or notably sticky and when you rode your bicycle, the breeze blew the scent of the neighbourhood honeysuckle into your face.

Soaring along the sidewalk, you felt – for once in your life – remarkably free.

When you neared that ominous house at the end of the block, you weren’t afraid, rather you continued pedaling with contentedness, brushing right by the driveway as though it were any other house one might pass on a bike ride. You didn’t think about your wrist. The scratches had long since faded. There was no more bruised tissue or blunt carvings from fingernails. Upon nearing the grocery store, you were creating a small list in your head.

You knew you wanted peaches. Ice cream if they had your favourite flavour. Vegetables and meat and spices for a stew. In fact, you were so concentrated on making the non-existent list that you didn’t even note the young man who’d just rushed out the market door. At the last second you jammed the breaks and gasped, feeling the inertia against your body.

Some of the papers and photographs tucked under the stranger’s arm dislodged, fluttering to the ground.

“Holy shit,” you set your bicycle against the store wall, “I’m so sorry! I wasn’t paying attention at all—here, let me help you.”

“I-It’s alright,” he replied, sounding a bit shaky as he joined you in collecting the papers, “I wasn’t paying attention either.”

When you grabbed one particular photo from the ground, you immediately froze.

It was grainy, black and white, but you could recognize that face amongst hundreds. His eyes, his lips, even the corduroy button-up and crisp dress shirt. He was leaning against a jukebox, hands in his pockets, a pen tucked behind his ear, grinning like he’d just struck the lottery. You were so entranced with the photograph that the stranger could only stand before you, a thick blush on his cheeks whilst he waited for you to finish ogling. It wasn’t until he slightly cleared his throat that you budged.

“Do you know this guy?” You asked after handing him back the picture.

“Well, not personally…” He scratched the nape of his neck. “But I know who he was. Lee Jihoon. I have this culminating project in my writing class. I thought it’d be cool to choose him since his story is so intriguing. I—,” Suddenly, he stopped, and laughed anxiously.

“Sorry, you probably don’t know what I’m talking about.”

His amber complexion turned increasingly pink. You’d never seen him around town before, but god—he was cute. He had these thin, circular glasses that sat on his pointed nose, a mole doting the upper arch of his cheek, the deepest brown eyes you’d ever seen. His hair was a bit disarrayed after you nearly struck him with your bicycle, the black strands fluttering against the summer breeze. And interestingly enough, he knew who Jihoon was.

“I know of him,” you smiled, though it was hollow, “his story is intriguing, according to what I’ve heard.”

The stranger seemed to sense your aching.

“Yeah… kinda sad stuff. Um, I-I’m Seokmin by the way. I heard Jihoon lived in this town so I’m trying to collect resources.”

You glanced at him thoughtfully and returned your name. Seokmin started organizing his papers, proceeding to shove them back under his arm.

“Resources?” Came your inquiry. “Like what kind?”

“Anything, honestly. I started researching him when I lived in Korea. I even got my hands on some copies of citizen records. I know he had a cottage around here too, but I don’t know the address. And that’s weird right? Knocking on the owner’s door asking about a deceased writer.”

“Seokmin.”

He pushed up the silver bridge of his glasses and gulped. “Yeah?”

“I think I can help you out.”

After taking Seokmin on a curt tour through the cottage, he seemed speechless, and quite frankly a little bewildered considering his luck at encountering you. Much of the cottage had been renovated and refurbished, all but the closet and the crimson fireplace.

The tour ended in your bedroom, where Seokmin shot a wary glance at the closet you had always kept empty, knowing what the cramped space entailed in terms of the writer’s premature death. You thought he needed to sit, so you assured him it was fine if he took a couple minutes on the edge of your bed.

With his documents next to him, Seokmin’s eyes once again probed around the room. He then sighed as you leaned against your dresser, to which you pondered on what had disturbed him.

“I can’t believe he burnt all his work. It’s just gone, y’know?”

Tapping your fingers against the wood, you nodded. “It’s unfortunate.”

“When I was poking around for information back in Busan, I heard he had this girlfriend who cheated on him with his friend. All his books were these amazing love stories based on her, but I guess he felt they were tarnished… So, he just… Destroyed them. I wonder if there’s anything of his left.”

Immediately, you stiffened. Stowed away within your night table’s compartment was the gold pocket mirror. You had removed the broken glass after slicing the edge of your finger on a shard, and only the antique shell remained. It was too painful to keep the mirror with you as frequently as before, so you stored it in a special place, and only accessed it when you needed to talk with Jihoon, when you really needed to feel his presence, even if it couldn’t be what it once was.

Worrying your bottom lip between your teeth, you approached the table and pulled open the compartment, revealing to Seokmin the pocket mirror, dulled and broken after a century of hardship. He outstretched his palm when you allowed him to hold it.

“S-Shit, I heard about this mirror. His girlfriend gave him this. Is it the actual thing?”

Folding your arms over your chest, you nodded. “I promise, it’s not a fake.”

Gently, Seokmin opened the broken clasp.

“No glass?” He questioned.

“Um…” You were nibbling your lip hard enough to draw blood, “Just… something happened, and it broke. It was too dangerous to keep the glass.”

“Oh,” Seokmin hummed, “that’s fine. It’s still beautiful. I can’t even believe I’m holding it.” His chest rumbled with disbelieving laughter.

“It’s so hard to see it broken…” You sighed, feeling your lungs shake and your throat tighten.

Seokmin looked up at you, how you gazed at the mirror as though it were a lost love. He rose from the bed and delicately placed the momentum back into its compartment.

“I don’t think it’s necessarily a bad thing.” The boy pointed out in a soft voice.

“Why not?” You sniffled, tears stinging your eyes, yearning to fall.

“Well, there’s this myth, I guess. People who take their own life are condemned to their personal grave. When items that were precious to them break, like that mirror, it sets their soul free. So, even if it’s painful for you, it could have been a good thing. If you believe in spirits and all that.”

For a moment, you simply held yourself firmer, staring deep into the kind earth of Seokmin’s eyes whilst this catharsis bloomed inside you. Even though you knew the mirror wasn’t necessary for Jihoon to hear or see you, it had been the most difficult tribulation you ever knuckled through. Trying to accept life as it was, not as what it could have been. Seokmin’s brow knitted together concerningly, his bottom lip pushing out, hoping he didn’t upset you.

“Are you oka—,”

He lost an ounce of his breath when you wrapped your arms around his waist, holding onto him tight whilst a few tears beaded toward your chin. Seokmin was at first stunned, though it melted off easily, and you felt his hand rub tenderly against your back. He murmured some small reassurances. His voice was incredibly dulcet, almost velvet-like, and you thought he’d make a good singer. When you took a step away to wipe up any tears, Seokmin gazed at you fondly.

“I’m really sorry,” you chuckled, fingertips brushing against your eye, “but thank you for saying that. It’s something I needed to hear.”

Seokmin shook his head. “Don’t apologize. Pain is pain.”

You smiled at him. He wasn’t wrong.

Realizing he needed to move on with his day, you lead Seokmin downstairs and to the front door, where he stood next to your lilac bush, the afternoon sun adding a touch of honey to his cheeks. Just before he left, you couldn’t help but note that he was fumbling with his words a lot, licking his pretty lips, running a hand through his black locks. Eventually, the boy found his words.

“Do you want to meet up again, maybe?” He quickly adjusted his glasses. “And we can do something? I-I think you’re really nice and cute and I still can’t believe you showed me around when you didn’t have to. I’m sorry if that’s too soon. I totally understand if you’d rather ju—”

“I’d love to.”

The overwrought nature to his face immediately cleared. Instead, Seokmin looked vibrant, so much in fact, that you could feel a familiar sense of warmth rise in your face. It was a sensation you hadn’t experienced in a long while, but it made you happy, inconceivably happy.

“Really? Okay, cool. Do you want my number?”

As you removed the phone from your pocket, your heart skipped a beat.

“Sure,” you eagerly complied, “let’s do it.”

And on that day, your life began in the way you always dreamed it would.

✧✎ a/n: again, i just want to apologize for my lack of posting (pls refer to my last update if you’re curious). I HOPE THE ENDING MADE UP FOR THE PAIN AND SADNESS lolll.

#caratwritersclub #seventeen scenarios #jihoon scenarios #seventeen angst #jihoon angst #lee jihoon #seventeen woozi #woozi scenarios #svt fanfic #svt angst #jihoon x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagines #abuse tw #suicide tw

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prettyboypeterparker · 4 years

Text

Peter waddles in front of Happy as the older man escorts him through the underground car park, Peter’s suppose to be meeting Tony in his office for lunch but Peter’s appointment ran later then expected so he’s going to surprise him during his meeting, Peter had made sure with Pepper that it wasn’t an important one so he wouldn’t be interrupting his loves work.

“Do you need me to carry you?” Happy asks as they step into the elevator, Peter shakes his head and cradles his overly large belly.

Twins. Peter hasn’t expected twins but he got them anyways, Tony had been so stoked when he had told him, cried like a baby and had fallen to his knees to kiss Peter’s belly even though they were the size of a walnut at that point.

“I’m fine, honest.” Peter smiles at Happy and leans into Happys arm and scents over his jacket.

Peter never was really affectionate, his parents when he was young weren’t affectionate either so when his hormones started changing with his pregnancy suddenly he was over everyone. Peter had to scent everything with his Omegan smell so it would put him at ease. He usually rubs his neck raw when he scents Tony’s jaw, stubble burn is real and it fucking hurts.

“Are you sure? Because you’ll never be too heavy to pick up.” Happy insists, hand coming around to brush his scent along Peter’s wrist.

“Mmhm, I’m good. Thanks anyways.” The elevator dings when it reaches the eighth floor.

They walk out onto the floor with Happys hand on the small of Peter’s back, hovering nervously. Peter walks down the hallway until he reaches the red door at the end, it’s shut and most likely locked so no one wanders in, Peter stands by the door while he waits for Happy to unlock it.

“I’ll be here when you’re finished.” Happy says as he holds the door open for Peter.

“Thanks Hap.” Peter leaves the man by the door as he walks in, the first thing Peter notices is the smell. Tony must be in session.

Walking further into the room and around the small corner Peter sees Tony standing over a tied up man who’s slumped in his chair. Tony grabs the man’s chin and forces him to look up, the man looks like someone’s taken a meat pulveriser to his face. Their eyes meet and Peter watches as Tony throws a glance over his shoulder when he realises the guy isn’t looking at him.

“Hey sweetheart, I missed you at lunch. You good?” Tony says causally like he isn’t about to beat the man’s face in even further.

“My appointment ran later then I thought it would, peanut was being stubborn and wouldn’t let Dr Cho get a look at ‘em.” Peter and Tony has taken to naming the twins peanut and bean since they chose to keep the genders a surprise.

“Takes after you that’s why, you got any pictures for me gorgeous?” Peter moves closer and takes the sonogram from his satchel.

“Wish you coulda been there.” Tony drops the man’s chin and wipes his bloodied fingers on the guys shirt before taking the picture.

“Jesus, they’re so big now.” Peter stands beside his husband and leans into him, scenting him.

“Just think, in a couple more week they’ll be here with us.” Tony purrs deep in his throat causing Peter to chirp in return.

“Went by too quick, I’m gonna have to put more pups in you so I can keep you glowing baby.” Peter nods and leans up to kiss Tony softly.

“Anything for you Alpha.” Tony chuffs before taking a step back to breath.

“Why don’t you sit honey? I got some business to settle.” Peter sighs happily and drops into the leather sofa pushed up against the far wall.

His ankles thank him profusely and his spine blesses him from the relief.

“You need anything before I start?” Tony stands by the guy again hesitating as he hovers over a small metal table full of all types of good things.

“Nah, unless you got something good to eat on that table of yours?” Peters body is starting to go lax as the plush chair sucks his body further into its stuffing.

“No luck darling but I promise after I’ll buy you whatever you feel like, okay?” Peter nods and watches sleepily as Tony draws his fingers over a few metal instruments.

Tony decides on a pair of pliers, he squeezes them a few time’s in front of the guy before grabbing his hand specifically his index finger.

“Look, I’ve got a heavily pregnant Omega sitting over there who needs my undivided attention, so we can do this the quick and easy way where you tell me exactly what you told Beck or we’ll do it the hard and slow way where I pull each and every one of your nails out of your filthy fingers until I hear what I wanna hear? You don’t want me to disappoint my wife do you? You heard him, he’s real hungry and waiting patiently like a good Omega, so choose. Fast.” Tony threatens as he moves the pliers down to grab onto the guys fingernail. He starts to tug when the man stays silent.

“No no, stop I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you!” Tony smiles smugly.

“Good, that’s what I like to hear.” The guy groans and lets his head drop before starting.

Every once in a while when Tony doesn’t feel like he’s getting the whole truth or answer he pulls at the nail more and more until by the end he’s fully dislodge it.

“I’m glad we could do this the easy way.” Tony drops the pliers on the guys lap before picking up his switchblade, the one Peter bought him for their first anniversary.

It slices through the man throat like knife through butter, he chokes and struggles against his ties as Tony wipes the blade down on guys shirt.

“Tony?” Peter asks gently as Tony places the switchblade back on the table.

“Yeah honey?” Peter watches as Tony walks over to the industrial sink and turns the tap on, he holds his hands under the stream of water and scrubs.

“Need you.” He whines, hand coming to pull at his aching nipple through his dress.

“Course you do, watching me kill always gets you going doesn’t it angel?” Peter nods furiously as he shoves a hand between his legs, not getting far with the baby bump.

“Need my Alpha!” Peter squeals when Tony slams the tap off, he grabs at a towel and dries his hands quickly before stalking towards Peter.

“Hands off.” Tony demands as he kneels on the sofa, knees digging into the edge.

Peter stops touching himself and lets his arms hang by his sides.

“Good boy.” Tony reaches forward and starts to unbutton Peter’s dress until it parts for him.

“Alpha... Tony.” Peter moans as Tony’s mouth comes to suck on his puffy nipples, mouth tugging and drawing at the skin until it stings.

Peter holds Tonys head against his chest until he’s done laving his nipples, Tony draws his mouth down Peter’s chest, over his belly giving it a long kiss before dropping to the floor so his mouth is level with his panty covered cock.

“Such a delicate thing aren’t you? All wrapped up in the pretty things I buy you, living comfortably and happily. God it turns me on how much you’re kept. Turns me on that you let me take care of you baby, makes me feel like a good man when I know I’m not.” Tony says in between sucking bruises into Peter’s chubby thighs, another thing pregnancy has given him. He’s all curves and chubbiness now. Tony loves it.

“You’re such a good Alpha, taking care of his little ‘Mega, taking such good care of me.” Peter insists as he runs his fingers through Tony’s salt and pepper hair.

“Always. Mine. Forever.” Tony bites really hard into Peter’s thigh and he shakes as his orgasm is ripped from him.

Peter screams and claws at any thing his fingers can grab.

“Yours. Forever.” Peter promises, moaning when Tony laps at his panties, sucking useless Omega cum through the peach pink fabric. Gently brushing against his small cock, stimulating him in the worst and best of ways.

When Tony is done he stands and unbuckles his belt, harshly tugging his cock out and stripping it hard and fast. Peter manages to just rest the head on his lips, Tony’s knuckles brushing his swollen lips on every upstroke. With just a little suction on Peter’s side Tony’s coming quickly splattering over the bridge of Peter’s nose before he can suck the head into his mouth fully, cum flooding his mouth before being swallowed.

“Such a good boy.” Tony murmurs as he brushes a few curls off of Peter’s face, thumb rubbing the cum into his skin until it’s gone. Marking Peter.

Peter suckles on the head for awhile sucking until no more comes out, then just waiting for Tony to go soft so he can suck him back to hardness again.

“Gotta let me go if you wanna eat bug.” Tony says as he starts to pull away.

“But I can just have this. Always fills me up.” Peter sticks his tongue out, a small pool of fertile cum sits in the curve of his tongue. Peter swallows it loudly before looking up at Tony.

“Fuck. You’re gonna put me into an early grave brat.” Tony let’s Peter take his cock back into his mouth after a few minutes of Peter nuzzling at his crotch.

“Not before the babies are born.” Peter says around a mouthful. Tony nods and thrusts gently into his mouth.

Peter smiles and sucks happily. Hands cradling his belly.

#starker #tony x peter #peter x tony nff #nff starker #blood tw #a/b/o dynamics #pregnant peter #mafiastarker

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aria-writes · 4 years

Text

[Non-]Confession

Dear Tegan.

When I think of you, I’m reminded of fruit. Something sweet and citrus with a tough and slightly bitter rind, but once you really dig your fingers in there, the shell falls away to reveal the bright softness underneath.

Or perhaps it isn’t really that thick, and it’s more like the skin of a mango– easy enough once you know how, it’s just that no one really bothers to put in the effort to do so.

But when the right opener comes around, the long wait was worth it, saving the beauty inside for the perfect moment.

One fruit I personally find perfect and beautiful is the peach, which is ironic, because you definitely do not have one of those as advertised in emoji form, it’s more like a pancake than anything ;D

Insincerely, your frenemy Viktoria

P.S. ahahahahaha please don’t hate me

Tegan swiveled in his seat and glared at Viktoria and Tyler, who were sitting behind him and failing to contain their laughter.

He shook his head slightly as they high-fived. “Did you really go through the trouble of thinking of and writing down all that just to lead into ‘lol your butt is flat’?”

Viktoria clenched her hands on her desk and composed herself just long enough to say “Yes,” completely deadpan, before dissolving into another round of giggles.

Of course my best friend and my crush would team up against me, he thought to himself. Fate is a cruel mistress.

...Okay, tone it down, Kylo Ren.

“That’s just so...extra.” He inclined his head, considering. “Okay, fair, extra is kinda Arlington’s thing I guess, so if—“

“Mr. Novak! Please!” The teacher’s exasperated tone called out from the front of the room.

Tegan’s shoulders slumped as he gave Viktoria the most pity-inducing look he could muster, who mouthed ‘Sorry!’ at him and at least had the decency to look sheepish in response.

***

Tyler jostled Viktoria’s shoulder as they left class. “Congrats, you’ve finally made it into the ‘lost cause’ club!”

Viktoria pumped her fist into the air with a sarcastic grin. “Every parents’ dream!”

Tegan hiked his backpack farther up his shoulder. “I don’t know how I've managed to avoid entry for this long.”

Tyler gestured with his hands. “You just gotta act out more, in less passive ways.”

Tegan groaned and flopped sideways as he walked, leaning his head on top of Viktoria’s. “See, but that requires effort.”

Viktoria grinned and patted the top of his head. “Poor baby.”

Tegan righted himself with a groan and half-heartedly attempted to fix his hair.

“Viktoria, sidebar.” Tyler grabbed her by the arm and pulled her into the garden area before she even had the chance to blink, let alone protest.

“Why haven’t you told him?”

Viktoria fiddled with the hem of her skirt and glanced at the blades of grass peeking out from underneath her shoes. “Told who what?”

Tyler crossed his arms and scowled in a scarily accurate impression of Tadashi. “Don’t play dumb with me, Vik. It’s not cute.”

Viktoria collapsed onto the bench, head in her hands, and let her bag fall to the ground. “I just… I dunno, I feel like it’s so painfully obvious, I guess, then if he can’t tell then it’s because he doesn’t want to. React. Or see it. That I am�� or, that I have, um...”

Tyler took a seat next to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Okay, listen. I love Tegan. And he is denser than liquid mercury.”

Viktoria’s brows furrowed. “But—“

Tyler gestured grandly outwards at their surroundings.

“Call it Newton’s third law or perfectly balanced as all things should be or whatever, but somehow, despite his IQ of like, 200, he’s not going to get a hint unless you physically drop it in his lap.” He cocked his head. “Maybe not even then,” he said, mostly to himself.

Viktoria took a deep breath, then sat up straighter and squared her shoulders. “What can I do?”

Tyler half-shrugged and braced one hand against the seat.

“Honestly, the only way you’re going to get through to him is to walk up and say something really straightforward like ‘hey, I like you and I would really like to go out with you sometime, what do you say?’...and you might have to clarify that yes, you mean as in a date date and not just as friends.”

Viktoria recoiled. “What? Tyler! That’s gonna kill him!”

Tyler rolled his eyes and leaned back against the backrest of the bench. “He’ll survive! Probably!”

Viktoria started down at her lap and picked at the skin at the edges of her fingernails.

“I’m still trying to figure some things out. In the meantime, do you mind not telling him about this?”

Tyler sighed and crossed one of his legs over the other so one ankle was resting on the opposite knee. “I can’t lie to him.”

Viktoria bit her bottom lip. “I wouldn’t ask you to. But could you please not bring it up out of nowhere otherwise? Or like, unless he directly asks you.”

Tyler solemnly raised his right hand. “Scout’s honor.”

Viktoria squinted at him. “You were a scout?” she asked, dubious.

Tyler grinned suddenly. “No, but I will swear on my most prized box of thin mints.”

Viktoria grinned back and reached over to high-five his raised hand. “Even better.”

Tyler let his hand drop and shifted his weight. “So who else knows?”

Viktoria winced and pulled the hair back out of her face. “Um, Alistair, Tadashi, Ellie, I think Neha, maybe Claire—”

Tyler blinked owlishly and motioned for her to stop. “Bruh, at this rate everybody in the entire school is going to know before Tegan does.”

Viktoria wrapped her arms around herself. “Well, at least I didn’t tell Raquel. I get the feeling that she’s not exactly a vault of secrets.”

Tyler pursed his lips and looked over her shoulder at the lattice. “Oh, you sweet summer child.”

Viktoria swallowed thickly and slumped backward in her seat. “And I just set a ticking time bomb for myself.”

Tyler raised an eyebrow and patted her on the knee. “Look, whatever it is that you have to work out, you better make it quick. I’ll do my level best, but I make no promises that I cannot keep.”

Viktoria reached over and gave him a gentle punch on the arm. “Snitches get stitches, Williams.”

Tyler shivered involuntarily. “Ooh, I just felt a chill. Did you just feel a chill? Two can play at this game, Lin. No, that’s not really–“

“–it’s too short to be threatening,” Viktoria finished, glancing up and to the left as she recalled her friends’ surnames.

“Drew. See, it just doesn’t work well.”

Tyler furrowed his brows and leaned forward. “Collins. There we go. Durand.”

Viktoria smiled slightly and rested her arm on the armrest nearest to her. “Novakova. Pereira-Carma— no, that’s on the other end, it’s too long.”

She reached over to grab the strap of her abandoned backpack. “Dude, did we just skip class?”

Tyler scratched the back of his head. “Hm, I think we did. Well, it was the last one of the day, so…”

Viktoria sighed and pulled herself to her feet. “Alright cool, I’m going to hide in my room until morning.”

Tyler grinned and shot finger guns at her. “See you then. And good luck.”

***

The next morning, Viktoria headed to the bathroom first thing. She had just set her bag of toiletries down on the sink counter when Tyler came rushing in, frenetic.

Viktoria broke into a cold sweat and whirled around to wave her toothbrush at him. “I’m brushing my teeth! I am brushing my teeth! I promise!”

“Ugh, you would not believe– well maybe you would, but I digress—“ Tyler barreled on, ignoring her.

“I stayed strong for as long as I could, but the constant battering of ‘does she like me Tyler? But like, like like me, Tyler? are you listening to me, Tyler?’ cracked me like an egg so I finally blurted it out and he goes, ‘No, I think you’re either reading too much into things or trying to make me feel better.’ I can’t take this anymore!” He threw his arms skywards, then collapsed in a heap on the floor.

Viktoria began brushing her teeth and stared at him, as other people filed in and out without paying either of them any attention whatsoever.

Extra, as ridiculous as it seems, may have been an understatement.

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Magnetic Moon (Jankie) - Mumu

A/N: My poetry roots showed in this one. It’s inspired by Magnetic Moon - TIffany Young. Read it on AO3 here.

Summary: Some nights are hard for Jackie, but Jan makes it better. (or: Jackie stops fighting the moon’s pull.)

The first time Jackie stays over it’s because she’s lonely. Her roommates have both gone back home for Christmas break, so it’s just her and her blankets and an empty apartment and the cold air that comes through the gap in the window.

Jackie doesn’t know why but the tears find their way down her cheeks, cold and salty, and there’s a metallic taste in her mouth. She can feel the unease brewing in her gut, her breaths getting shorter and her vision going staticky, so she does the only thing she can think of: she goes over to Jan’s.

The blonde girl doesn’t ask questions when she opens the door to find Jackie there. She just takes one look at Jackie’s shivering frame and ushers her in, wrapping her in a thick coat and bringing Jackie her signature “magic hot chocolate.” The name makes Jackie smile softly through the fog in her head.

Jan stays with her through the night, arms wrapped protectively around her, the tv playing at a low volume so that it’s not totally quiet. Jan knows Jackie doesn’t like it when it’s quiet. Her thoughts get too loud.

When Jackie wakes up in the morning, her mug of hot chocolate is sitting at her feet, cold, and the marshmallows are melting.

The sunlight makes everything too real. She splashes her face with cold water in Jan’s bathroom and slips out, mind already working double time at the mere thought of how much study time she missed. When Jan catches her eye in Psych 101 the next day, she pretends not to notice.

Jackie’s fine. She always is.

The second time it’s because Jackie stays too late at the library by accident and misses curfew. She’s still carrying her textbook and notebook when she knocks on Jan’s dorm door, praying that Jan’s roommate is out.

Jan lets her in. She holds Jackie’s hair back when she throws up into her trash can, covers Jackie’s shaking hands with her own and sings Ariana Grande lyrics to her softly. They might have some kind of meaning, but Jackie’s too drained to understand.

She still doesn’t ask questions, and Jackie’s grateful for that. Nighttime is always hard for her. Something about the crisp air and moonlight always seems to make her feel so insignificant, like everything she’s done isn’t worth anything at all.

Jackie doesn’t sleep that night, but Jan stays up with her anyways, braiding her hair and then unbraiding it again for hours. They don’t speak, the atmosphere too sacred, both of them too worried about spooking each other. Jackie swallows over the fuzzy feeling in her mouth and the half-formed words in her throat.

In the morning she swishes coffee to get rid of the remnants of those unripe confessions, relishing in the way the ice clinks against her teeth and goosebumps rise on her skin. There are three unread texts from a number Jackie doesn’t have saved in her phone, but one that she’s memorized. It’s Jan, and Jackie presses delete without reading them.

She skips her classes, cramming for her next exam in her apartment on her own instead. She doesn’t eat, basking in the lightheaded feeling for the rest of the day. When she feels sleepy, Jackie presses tea bags to the purple skies under her eyes and rubs lemon balm on both her wrists to get rid of the peach smell of Jan’s perfume.

She tells herself she can’t afford to go back to Jan’s again, not when it’s getting harder and harder to leave.

Jackie ends up at Jan’s two weeks later anyway. It’s raining outside, and she doesn’t have an excuse. Does it even matter why she’s here anymore?

Jan pulls her into her lap and lets her cry, lets Jackie be childish and make grabby hands at her every time she shifts positions, scared that Jan will leave.

Jan’s skin is warm against hers and Jackie likes it, likes how she feels safe in the familiar cloud of Jan’s scent, likes the smoothness of Jan under her fingertips. Jackie wants her over her skin.

“Jan,” Jackie whispers. Her voice comes out hoarse, and she regrets speaking as soon as the other girl’s name passes her lips.

Jan’s fingers still. There are a few moments of silence, and Jackie feels cement start to set in her veins.

Jackie turns her head to face Jan, and their lips collide softly. She lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding in a rush. Jan sweeps a hand over to the back of her neck, fingertips sliding against Jackie’s hair.

Jackie’s convinced her skin has gone translucent where Jan’s touched her, that all the colour has been leached from the section and if she were to hold a mirror up that spot you would be able to see a spider web of veins, all the purple and blue and red in all its glory: the inner workings of herself laid bare for Jan to see.

Jan’s free hand falls from her hair and the feeling makes Jackie panic, makes her come back down to earth and slide off of Jan’s lap.

She feels the soreness build at the back of her throat, the familiar shaking of her hands when she goes to gather her stuff. Jan’s saying something, voice soft and gentle like she’s speaking to a toddler, and Jackie can’t make out any of the words.

She’s out of the apartment as quickly as she got there, barefoot on the dirt lawn. She can’t suppress the shudder that racks her whole body when the wind envelopes her. Jackie’s cold without Jan’s skin over hers, and the thought makes her hurl Jan’s hot chocolate up into the bushes.

The streetlights are reflected in the puddles on the ground, and Jackie catches her reflection in them too. She’s not sure whether to laugh or sob at the sight.

Her hair is wet, her clothes completely soaked. The sky hasn’t fallen, and the world is still turning, and the revelation makes her even more horrified.

Jan’s chased her outside, trying to get close to her. Jan’s hands go to hold her, to lead her back inside, and Jackie flinches away, rambling something about I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.

At some point, Jan gives up and just stands there. The moonlight accents her cheekbones, backlights her until she looks some sort of angel. Jackie can’t meet her eyes.

“Stay,” Jan says.

Jackie shakes her head, feels her whole body tremble with a sob. She bites it back, choking on the pain when her teeth sink into her left cheek.

“Stay,” Jan says again.

The rain pours down on them. The two feet between the two girls feels so far now, like the ground’s opening between them, cracking and heaving until they are continents away from each other. Jackie’s bangs are stuck to her forehead, dribbling a thin stream of water into her eyes. The feeling of Jan’s hand in hers has begun to fade, and the smell of mud overpowers the peach that usually trails Jackie after each visit.

Jan goes back inside.

It doesn’t hurt like Jackie’s expecting it to, not when the rain is heavy enough that she can convince herself it’s washed everything away, even the last wisps of whatever they were.

A month passes.

Jackie goes to the grocery store and buys a bottle of wine. She doesn’t mean to drink it all, but there’s no one to share it with. She falls asleep with stained lips, tongue pressed against the roof of her mouth like the tension might keep the tears at bay, body curled into an absent form. Her pillow’s too cold, and her blanket too warm.

She’s been skipping her lectures, grades only kept afloat by her previous scores. She trails the campus like a ghost, afraid that touching anything will make it all too real.

Another month.

It’s been a year since that first visit. Jackie feels hysteria bubbling against her teeth every time she sees a flash of blonde hair. Sometimes she dreams of Jan’s voice, softly singing, and afterwards, she wakes up with sticky cheeks.

Maybe they’re just out of time. And words.

Jackie doesn’t know how she ends up at Jan’s that night. They click into place, and nothing shatters.

Jan’s hand snakes to her waist, her body on top of Jackie’s. They’re on the rooftop, under the night sky. The air is sharp, and Jackie’s delirious off of their gentle sin.

Look, she wants to call out to the universe, I’m still here. Why haven’t you struck me down yet?

She couldn’t leave right now if she tried.

“Stay,” Jan says, when they’re done. (Or undone, Jackie supposes.)

It’s not a question this time. The moon is softer tonight, and something pepperminty and midnight blue is blooming under Jackie’s fingernails. Jan runs a fingertip over her bottom lip. Two bass notes sound in Jackie’s head, and then static.

When the morning comes, Jackie’s still pressed against Jan’s chest.

#rpdr fanfiction #jackie cox #jan sport #jankie #lesbian au #university au #college au #hurt/comfort #angst #magnetic moon #s12 #mumu #concrit welcome #tw mental health

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naptoons · 5 years

Text

Cravin - Lunay

Warnings: sexual content and mild language

Theme: smut duh

A/N: this was requested by the beautiful @cncogirl18 hope it’s great and I hope you enjoy it!! I did not proofread and its google translated Spanish sorry.

Lunay and i were just chilling at his studio, he was recording some songs he had an idea for and wanted me to tag along. For his excuse he said “mami, you’re a great manager you know? So help me pick out some songs” but my hunch is lunay has something else in stores. Laying on the couch my back against his chest as we’re devouring on pizza. At least I was I haven’t eaten anything since this morning. And the scarlet bold font read “6:45” grabbing my cup of Pepsi I try to drink and watch the movie. Lunay said I had too watch insidious. At first I wasn’t into but now I am and I couldn’t take my eyes off the screen.

Placing the cup down I lay my back on his chest as he wraps one arm around my chest laying his hand on my shoulder. Fifteen minutes have past and I feel his hands traveling down from my shoulder to the center of my breast caressing it through the fabric. I didn’t think anything if it because Lunay is very handsy. Specially in public. He begins to slide his fingertips on my exposed skin sliding the shirt up as he goes, exposing my chest to the air, stealing all the heat from me. I decided not to question it because like I stated he is very handsy. And he wouldn’t do anything while we’re watching a movie.

Let alone in his damn studio.

Lunay slips his hand into my bra, playing with my nipples pinching them in his cold fingers. His teeth nibbling on the outer corners of my earlobe. “Bebe...” I let out quite desperately. “Qué pasa mami?” His smirk spreads upon my flesh, feeling the bubbles of ecstasy in my throat I stay quiet hoping he gets the message. I feel him sliding his hands up my chest to my neck wrapping the cold jewelry around my neck, him in jewelry is what turned me own even more. The fact that it is on my neck now sends pools between my legs. His other hand slipping between the fabric feeling the heat of despair between my thighs. Teasing he rubs circles on the out frame of my thighs close to the spot that needs to be touched.

“Bebe...” I let out again bucking my hips up to his fingers. With one hand in my pants he pushes me down sticking my body to the bed. “Tell me what you want I can’t hear you mami” his voice stings with dominance. “Tell me and I’ll do it” he continues

“I want your fingers inside me” I plead, without any hesitation his fingers are coated in my essences, my lip being pulled in between my teeth. It was just a simple touch but I’m thrown into euphoria. His fingers drawing circles on my bud in a painful but slow motion. My fingers digging into the fabric of his jacket, while his hand is busy wrapped around my neck. “Carajo you’re so beautiful, let me hear those sweet precious moans” adding a third finger he presses against my bud my moans escaping through my pierced lips as my body begins to heat up and squirm. My legs begin to tremble the faster his tempo goes. By now my eyes have rolled to back of my head and my sounds are muffled by the feeling.

“Oh Babygirl you’re coming?” He asks with his lips on my earlobe “yeah come for me princess” he rasps in my ear, my legs start twitching , attempting to close my legs but Lunay holds them open by taking his hand off my throat “give me another one beautiful let me see you come again” Lunay asks quiet teasingly the knot begins to filling up in my stomach again along with strangled moans, my body lifts up off his shoulders digging my nails into the sheets as my knuckles turn white.

“I’m coming I’m coming” the adrenaline in me speaks, just as I’m about to come Lunay pulls his fingers away squeezing my clit in between two of his fingers, i gasp in elate just melting into his arms. Slowly sliding his hands away from my heated area I squirm slowly, Lunay lifts his fingers up to his mouth, raising my head up I watch him taste my juices smiling sheepishly at his face of delight. “ taste good babygirl, I see you’ve been eating right huh?” Lunay pushes me forward a little to get up from the couch. Thinking we were done I lay down on the couch to watch what was left of the movie, Lunay grabs my ankles pulling me towards him I giggle softly as my fingernails caress his hair.

Lunay pulls my pants down staring at the mess he created. “Fuck baby” he groans, his tongue lapping my folds slowly, Lunay throws one of my legs over his shoulder diving in between my legs again. Sucking on my swollen clit I flinch biting my lip again. My hands fumbling through his hair. Trying to focus on the movie I feel a finger insert into my slowly. Causing my back to levitate of the couch. Whimpering in pleasure, Lunay looks up at me as his other hand caresses my boob. Lapping up my juices as the filled the air drowning out the terror screams from the movie to me screaming of pleasure. Replacing his fingers with his tongue he locates my weak spot.

My hands tugging at the roots of his hair, almost squishing him in between my legs. I scream his name and stutter some curse words the faster he goes. Gasping at the sudden touch of his fingers back on my clit acquiring the same tempo as his tongue. “I’m coming baby I’m coming” I choke up him, Lunay looks up at me as he’s devouring me. My legs spasm out of control from the flick of his tongue. Lunay removes himself from my legs his face glistening in my fluids. My eyes look at the print on his pants he slowly pulls his shirt off exposing his tanned body to me. Following the outlines of his carved body with my eyes I didn’t notice he was taking his pants off and ripping a condom.

Lunay pulls me closer, his hands on my waist as he thrusts himself into me slowly, my eyes filling to brim with water. The agony of pain scratching on his forearm. “Hey hey babygirl what’s the matter?” His face furrows up I push him off me “stop stop” I shake in pain. Lunay caresses my back grabbing the covers to wrap my body in, sliding his boxers back on he holds me in his arms. Sighing softly I wrap my arms around myself. “Que pasa princess?” His thumb caresses my arm “did I hurt you? Or did I trigger a bad memory? Who hurt you?”

Getting my composure together I wipe my face, but Lunay cleans it for me with a napkin “my beautiful babygirl, who hurt you, I’ll beat their ass if I got too”

“No nobody hurt me, I hurt myself” I mumble

“Tell me princess, I’m here for you”

Sniffing I find his eyes are already on me “I didn’t tell you, but I’m a virgin baby, so I kinda hurt you know just then” Lunay pulls me in for a passionate kiss his hands caressing my back. The mixture of salt and peaches. I slowly pull away to catch my breath out foreheads connecting like glue. “It’s not your fault you didn’t mean too” I sensed his emotions from his kiss.

“No baby, I am sorry if I would’ve known I wouldn’t have so aggressive, I hurt you” his voice sounding so crisp, like the New York winds in the wintertime

“I wanted it” I answer truthfully and honestly. My hands cupping his face as the covers drop from my bare body. My legs straddling him. Now he was the one with the air caught in his throat. “There is no one else in this world I’d rather have be my first other than you” I mumble

“I don’t know about that you was giving Becky g them flirty eyes mami” Lunay jokes

“She would be my first for girls” I smile, but he doesn’t find he funny smacking my ass hard, making me gasp and moan at the same time. I grab onto his shoulder blades. “You’re so nasty babygirl” he threats me.

“Of course when a man like you is my boyfriend, so why don’t we pick up where we left off” I bite my lip grinding on his clothed member, feeling his muscles twitch with every stroke. “You are walking a thin line babygirl” Lunay’s eyes glow in lust. “I’m glad I am” I smile. Flipping me over he hovers over my fingernails caressing his shoulder blades.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want” he advises me

“And what if I want too?”

“You might wanna recall how easy I made you come, I may not be able to hold back” Lunay smirks

“I want this, so give it to me” I whimper, Lunay tears off a new condom sliding it on himself “you sure you’re ready?”

“Couldn’t be more sure about this” I smile proudly, Lunay dips into my soaked folds, my back raising off the couch, he stops to check on my facial expressions. My eyes knitting in the pain I felt before. But not as bad, because this time it wasn’t forced. “More” I whimper feeling the pain disappear into thin air. My walls engulfing him, the weak groans falling from his lips. “You okay?” He whispers, nodding my head he grabs my hands intertwining then together. As his hips bucks against my pelvis bone, the pain converting to pleasure instantly. Through my hooded eyelashes I gaze upon the man whom I’ve fallen in love with.

You were once a celebrity crush, and now here you are on top of me, my eyelashes hitting my eyelids, gasping at every thrust. Lunay’s hips slam into me picking up his paxe the sound of our bodies sticking together fills the room while his member explores me. Lunay takes his hands and places it around my neck,repeatedly hitting my g-spot as I let out sporadic moans. My walls clench around him as I’m coming to another climax. “Fuck look at you taking this dick” Lunay grunts. My hands wrapping around his wrist. Twitching my legs I scream his name sinking my head further into the pillow.

“Come for me baby that’s right” Lunay groans and growls; “you’re so beautiful baby” Lunay groans in my ear. Letting go on him my body sticks to his chest shaking from his slow steady strokes. “Mmh you’re so beautiful” Lunay nibbles on my neck leaving soft kisses traveling down to my chest. The sound of his lips smacking against my soused skin. My fingertips fiddling with the chains around his neck. Lunay lifts me up flipping then roles .

“You look beautiful as a top and bottom” Lunay whispers painting a thin layer of pink on my face, staring at his jewelry on his neck I fiddle with it, he starts to take them off and place them upon my neck “shit you’re fucking hot”

“Did I discover a new kink?” I smile; Lunay doesn’t say anything but slowly inserts his way inside of me; “ride me babygirl” his voice coming out so soft and smooth; I take on his request as I bounce upon him with my hands flat on his chest; the sound of my ass sticking to his legs, while my legs struggling to be still; Lunay knew he was big, but that didn’t stop him from making me climax four times in one day. Gripping onto his shoulder blades; hearing the groans escape his mouth makes me change the tempo as I rock back and forth on him; his hands firmly on my waist digging into my silky flesh; my toes curling up as they lift off the floor. Lunay’s Gand collides with my ass; his lips sticking to the hollow depth between my collar bones.

The burning sensation making me wrap my arms around his neck while my moans ring in his ears; one of his hands fiddling with my clit matching our speeds in unison. “Fuck baby I’m coming” I cry out; Lunay is a over-stimulator. My fingernails making cat prints on his back with the rasped growls leaving his lips onto my chest. My legs shake in milliseconds as my cream drips down on him. Slowly I slide up and down on him letting him feel how tight my walls are. Lunay thrusts into me as I gasp for air; he takes one thrust at a time smirking at the tremors my body is doing. Lunay raises his hips at me bouncing my whole body against him. Scattered moans try to be known while his hand is on my neck choking me ever so slightly; my eyelashes touching the roof of my eyelids, his thumb pressed on my bud again in a circular motion.

I was so clouded in euphoria I didn’t notice the door opening; frowning I ask quite out of breath “why’d you stop?” A blanket covers the both of us mainly me, my back is towards the door.

“ ¡¿qué te pasa?! “ (what is wrong with you) Lunay yells; my head whips over at the site of his managers; blushing I sink my head into Lunay’s shoulder, softly whining in embarrassment.

“Lunay, se supone que debes grabar hoy, ¿recuerdas?” (lunay, you are supposed to record today remember?) His manager speaks;Lunay rubs my back up and down.

“si bien, así que vete !!!” Lunay leaves; they all hurriedly scatter out of the room; leaving this awkward tension between us. How could I ever see them the same again? Lunay kisses my neck softly making me smile again. “Babygirl you’re so beautiful” Lunay nibbles my earlobe squeezing my boobs with both hands. He drops the blanket off my shoulders onto the ground with out clothes.

“After that and you still want more?” I ask curiously,

“Who said I was done with you?” Lunay smirks. Lunay flips me over on my stomach holding my wrists with one hand behind my back “we’re going to finish what we started” he groans before slamming himself inside of me, repeatedly hitting my gspot. Stunned by his dominance. Pushing himself deep into my walls and pausing there my juices drip down to my knees and painting the couch, repeatedly he does this making my toes curl, I’m completely soaked. Lunay rocks his hips against my ass smacking it occasionally; Lunay was so electrifying. Groggy moans leave my mouth and sinking into the pillow with every thrust. Letting go of my hands he grabs my neck placing my head on his shoulder still pounding me. His lips connect with my ears whispering sweet nothings to me.

“Look how pretty you are taking my dick, yeah take it all” Lunay growls in my ear; the speed of his hips making it harder and harder to be audible. His groans become louder and louder by every thrust. His one to my millions. “Come with me princess come” thrusting one last time inside of me pausing we both come at the same time; finally the bubble in my throat pops letting out a loud whimper gasping for air. Slowly my head falls in the pillow. Lunay kisses down my neck to my back. Feeling drained out I let him. I can barely move my body. His tongue cleaning my up while I flinch at the sudden Ecstasy.

“If that’s your first time, you got me cravin babygirl” Lunay whispers; finally regaining my strength I sit up and kiss him softly. “So what were they bagging you about?” I ask grabbing my discarded clothes trying to stand with my jello legs.

“I was supposed to record a song today; but I couldn’t resist you” his voice making me feel even weaker; god he is literally sweet poison. Putting my shirt on Lunay’s smile blades bigger at me. “What?” I ask confused.

“You just have this glow now, it’s beautiful, feels like the snow poking through after it snows” I smile at his compliment. Lunay grabs me by the waist crashing our lips together; getting a little carried away I bite his lip softly as the groan resonates softly in our mouths. Pulling away I give his swollen lips one last peck. “Keep it up, I’ll give you round two and it won’t be nice”

Lunay went to his mangers to hear whatever they had to say “ I’m here now what’s the song I gotta do?” Lunay asks quiet pissed off they interrupted him, “so we thought you should record a sex song” his manger tells him,

“Okay yeah let’s do it” his cheeky smile. After recording the song it took approximately three hours, because believe it or not Lunay is a perfectionist. Lunay places the headphones down, grabbing his keys. “So how was sex with bre?” One of his managers asks. Debating if he should pop off or play it cool.

“I loved fucking her brains out, did I forget the mention that part I was her first? Sorry seems like you can’t have her now, if you’ll excuse me, my girlfriend is waiting for me”

I went back home to get changed and take a shower Lunay said to meet him at his house, and wear something nice. This boy is full of tricks, never know what he has up his sleeves. I decided to wear a nude long sleeve bodycon dress with a pair of wet heels. My hair was silk back showing off the necklace and earrings Lunay bought me. I don’t like to dress up often but when I do. It’s great. My uber stops in front of my house. Getting in it and driving to Lunay’s house, I knock on the door. Waiting for Lunay to open the door, the weather was quite chilly today.

The man of my dreams finally appears at the door, smiling I peck his lips, “what are you up too?” I ask smiling sheepishly “oh nothing” he replies sarcastically, everyone pops up telling “happy birthday!” Throwing confetti on us both along with strings. My hand covering my mouth at the amount of people in his house.

“For me?” I smile

“All for you babygirl, you thought I’d forget your birthday?” Lunay wraps a arm around my shoulder kissing my forehead, I grab his face pressing a soft kiss upon his lips. “Thank you”

The night consistent drinking and dancing along with opening presents every now and then Lunay stealing me away from boys he deemed to be too touchy with me, I honestly never cared for my birthday that much. I forgot what today’s date was. But Lunay showed me he cares and will continue to care about me and what makes me happy.

After five whole hours it was midnight and Lunay and I were in bed cuddling, both tipsy while watching a tv show. “Hey baby” his voices echos tilting my head up to him I smile. “How about you move in with me?” He asks nonchalantly “you really would like that?” I ask

“Why wouldn’t I? Baby I love you and I can’t stand to be far away from you, I would love to see you in my hoodies around the house, or coming back from a show and you’re wrapped up in my sheets, making breakfast together” Lunay’s êtes glow with admiration. “I want all the husband and wife shit, but I don’t have the ring yet” Lunay laughs off

“So what you say?” Lunay smiles

“Hm, that doesn’t sound to bad” I say seductively, straddling his lap my hands rub his forearm “I’ll say yes if you show me; how you act when you aren’t nice” Lunay wastes no time flipping me over with hunger in his eyes.

We were craving each other; and I don’t think I could ever get tired of you yet.

#lunay #lunay imagines #lunay smuts #lunay concepts

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angrylizardjacket · 4 years

Note

No thoughts Head: Angry Ben Smut ✨✨✨✨

okay okay okay okay here’s a messy teaser about two assholes who hate each other and yet, agree to do unspeakable thing to each other in the bathroom on set;;;

You can’t quite believe you’re letting him get away with this, with pushing you back onto the shallow bathroom counter, legs dangling off the edge as he pushes your skirt up around your waist. You’re fighting the urge to kick him in the ribs.

“Go slower why don’t you,” you scoff, since he seems to be taking his sweet time with your underwear. You’re half tempted to just get rid of it yourself. This had better fucking be worth it. When he looks at you, there’s fury in his eyes, despite his dark and shiny, wide pupils.

“You say one more word and I’m leaving, got it?” He says, voice a quiet growl, and something catches in your throat at his tone. You kick him in response, but he grabs your knee, fingernails digging into your skin, just past the point of comfortable, starting to sting a little; it’s actually kind of thrilling, not that you’d ever admit it.

Neither one of you wants to be the first to break eye contact, and slowly his grip is getting tighter, trying to get you to be the first to back down.

“Push me again and see what happens,” you snarl at him, leaning forward and into his space, taking hold of the wrist of the hand that’s holding your leg, applying pressure of your own to him. You’re inches apart, still refusing to break eye contact, and fuck, he even smells good, a fruity cologne mixing with the peach setting spray the makeup team are all using. Oh you’re getting lost in it. Damn him. You wonder for a moment if he does that thing that some ladies do, putting their perfume the pulse point behind their ears, and now you just want to lean in, bite his neck as an excuse to see if it’s true.

He seems to sense your change, however, because his grip loosens on your knee, but he doesn’t let go. He leans back, out of your space, regarding you warily as his hand slide up your thigh, pushing your legs apart.

He sinks to his knees, looking up at where you were leaning back on the counter, legs swinging just a little, quietly enjoying the warmth of his hands on your thighs.

“Just keep your mouth shut; I’d like to keep up the illusion that I have good taste in women, and I can’t very well do that if people know what’s happening in here.”

That almost sets you off again, sitting up straight, and you can see that he’s unfortunately not joking, though he is smirking like he knew it would rise you up. Your smile turns poisonous, however, as you card your fingers through his hair, before fisting your hand sharply, pulling his head back and making him hiss involuntarily, whole expression scrunched up at the sensation.

“If you don’t get me off, not only will I tell everyone that we hooked up, but I’ll be able to tell them with absolutely confidence that you’re bad at it.” You promised sweetly. You let go of him, and you’d never seen a person so full of loathing before, which only made your smile widen, “unless you really are full of shit. You can go now, if you want, save face; I promise I won’t breathe a word to anyone.”

“I hate you,” he hisses, and you sit forward, emboldened having him on his knees between your legs, and you lean in, kissing him hard. His hands move from your thighs to hold your face, to pull you a little closer as he bites at your lip; it’s messy and angry, too much teeth, gasping into his mouth when his hand moves very suddenly --

✌️✌️✌️ so there’s that to look forward to.

#angry ben smut #call and response #Anonymous

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hollywooduniversityalumnus · 4 years

Text

8. no power over me

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

The day she went with Elaine Peaches, Margot was so numb that she didn’t feel her knees scraping against the concrete when she tripped on the way to her house, or the hunger that rumbled through her body. Though she had been provided with jam-dotted cookies, water, and an apple, food after however many days alone only whetted her appetite. Her body ignored all pain signals (the scraped skin, the little rocks embedded in her palms when her hands broke the fall, her eyes’ sensitivity to light), focusing its energy on keeping her upright long enough to get to wherever she was being taken.

The police had asked a lot of questions and she didn’t know the answers. She didn’t know her mother’s real name, or where anything that could have her name on it would be, or where she might have gone. Margot didn’t even know how long she had been waiting inside.

“First time I saw her mother, she was on her way into the shed with some groceries,” Elaine Peaches had told the officers. “I thought it was peculiar for her to be keeping groceries in there, but Ned – Ned Kulpturn, the man who owns the big house - told me he’d rented the space out, fixed it up with amenities.”

“Ned Kulpturn.” One of the officers scribbled the name onto the paper balanced on his thigh. “Where might I find him?”

Elaine lifted one of her shoulders. “Beats me. Haven’t seen him since last Sunday. Sometimes he takes his boat and disappears for a week or two. Normal for Ned.”

As the adults kept talking, another officer – Bailey, according to her uniform - knelt by Margot’s side, offering her an apple she’d rinsed in the sink.

“You’re a brave girl,” Officer Bailey said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “You were in there for a while.”

Margot only nodded, taking the apple in her hands. There was a bump on it that was darker than the rest of it, but it was otherwise perfect, like an apple she’d drawn. She dug her fingernail beneath the small sticker and peeled it off, pressing it to her bare knee while Officer Bailey looked on.

The officer speaking to Elaine came over and joined Officer Bailey by Margot’s side. He was much older than his co-worker, graying hair on his temples and wrinkles sagging his face. He did not smile.

“Margot,” the officer said quietly, “we’re going to need you to come with us now.”

Margot, whose mouth was already poised around the apple, pulled away from the fruit. “Why?”

Officer Bailey’s hollow smile reappeared. “You can’t stay alone here.”

“But I have already.”

Officer Bailey’s lips pressed together in a thin line, and she looked away, shoulders shaking.

“It’s not safe,” the other officer said sternly. “You could get sick or hurt or worse without supervision. You’re . . . how old are you again?”

Margot threw her two hands up in front of her, fingers on both hands flying up to convey the number.

“Seven. All right.” The officer rubbed his forehead. “Look, Margot, I know this must be scary, but we have to make sure you have somewhere to stay tonight and-”

“Wait.”

Elaine Peaches crossed the yard in a few strides and stood on Margot’s other side defensively.

“I live next door,” Elaine continued. “I have a spare room with a bed all set up. I can keep an eye on her. It wouldn’t be any trouble. If her mother comes back, or if something happens, I’ll call right away.”

And, though Elaine and the officers kept talking over each other for a while, in the end Margot was pushing herself off the ground again and again on the way to the front door that led directly into the neighbour lady’s kitchen.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

“Hold still.”

Margot tried not to move as one of the makeup artists rubbed more crumbled eyeshadow onto the skin where her costume was torn. Beside her, in the cramped (for lack of a better word) passageway, Oliver was getting similarly dirtied up, though his artists were circling him with a gun-like contraption that oozed fake blood with every squeeze of the trigger.

“It looks too neat. Remember, they’ve been through literal hell. He’s staring in the face of death. She’s beginning to accept that she may never escape.” Penn Cattrall’s strong voice echoed around the area. “I want them looking halfway to decayed.”

“Yes, Penn,” the artists said in unison, as if they had practiced it. Margot wouldn’t be surprised if they had; Penn Cattrall’s crew was mostly made of previous collaborators who’ve known him for longer than he’d been in the spotlight for his work.

Once her makeup artist, Milla, deemed her look suitably “halfway to decayed,” Margot sidled up to Penn to do their typical pre-take talk. It was something Penn implemented after seeing her and Oliver struggle through their first few scenes in the catacombs, and she was grateful for it.

“Miss Margot,” Penn Cattrall greeted, eyes glued to the monitor they’d squeezed into the part of the catacombs they were filming in. “Do you have any questions or concerns about the scene we’ll be tackling?”

Margot smiled. “No more than usual.”

Penn finally looked away from the monitor, nodding to himself at the sight of her bloodied skin peeking from beneath the torn fabric of her shirt and jeans. “You will do well.”

“I will.”

“Remember the signal if you need to stop.” Penn did the gesture, and Margot mirrored it. “Good.”

And then the director turned away and began barking orders, giving Margot the out she needed so she could escape back into the passageway and stick her head between her knees.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

“Do you think my mommy will come back?”

“Eat your cereal, Margot. It’ll get soggy.”

Margot made a face at the O-shaped bits in her bowl of milk. They didn’t taste like chocolate or sugar. And they were already soggy; the milk soaked in them as soon as Miss Peaches poured the cereal in.

(Yes, Miss Peaches put the milk in first. Margot would always think that was weird.)

“Come on, Margot, or you’ll be late for school.” Miss Peaches reached up to fix her bun, which had two unsharpened pencils sticking out of it in weird angles.

“Your education is important.”

“Why can’t I stay here with you today?” Margot argued. “My mommy let me stay home all the time.”

Miss Peaches frowned. “School is good. You will learn lots of things. Important things, like multiplication and division.”

“I hate math.”

“You dislike math. Hate is a strong word for you to be using.”

Sensing that Margot was not going to shovel any more Cheerios into her mouth, Miss Peaches finally relented and had the garburator noisily make a mush out of the soggy remains. Then, she swung the bright blue backpack she’d purchased for Margot over her shoulder and held out her hand. Margot’s closed around it, and they slipped through the front door and down the steps.

The school Margot had been lucky enough to get enrolled in late was not the best school – far from it, to be honest – but it promised an education, and that was what she needed. Miss Peaches had to sign a lot of papers to get her in, but she figured she had to suck it up; weeks had passed and neither Margot’s mother nor Ned had returned. She had allowed Margot to stay home for the first two weeks while they both got used to each other, and because Margot was visited often by Officer Bailey, who always had a new question that she couldn’t answer. But it was time for her to go to school and keep her on track, so off she went. She’d been attending it for a little more than a week and was still dragging her feet whenever they made the walk over as if it were the first day all over again.

“I’ll be here at two-thirty to pick you up,” Miss Peaches said, holding out Margot’s backpack while she readjusted the Velcro on her shoes.

Margot nodded.

And Elaine Peaches watched Margot walk through the doors, standing there until she couldn’t see the bright blue backpack through the window anymore, before heading home.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

“Action!”

Oliver lay on the ground, leg bent in an unfortunate angle that exposed bone and pulp. A pool of blood slowly grew beneath him. Beside him, on her knees, Margot held one of his hands between both of hers, fingers lightly tracing the rune he’d cut into his palm in an earlier scene.

“We’re almost out,” she said, and even she could hear the falseness in her words. “Just hold on.”

“No.” The urgency in Oliver’s voice was tinged with his obvious pain. “You can still . . . make it.”

Margot pressed a hand to his head wound, closing her eyes upon feeling the blood rushing between her fingers. “Don’t leave me here, Peter. You promised.”

Oliver choked. “I’m so s-sorry.”

Margot began to cry, cowering over his body as he slowly slipped away. She let the tears fall onto his clothes, and did what came naturally to her, like raking a bloody hand through her hair as she sobbed.

And then the flashlight she’d propped up in the middle of the passage died, plunging her into darkness.

Margot felt her heart seize upon being cloaked in mostly darkness. A little light came from where the camera had been set up, and she knew that Penn was using a night-vision lens that would capture her movements even in the dark.

But still, the tears that slid down her face were real.

She remembered ants on a peeling windowsill, searching for crumbs on that cold concrete floor.

An unnecessarily loud sob tore from her throat.

And then, as if a ghostly hand had pressed itself against the small of her back, she was surged by a memory, a small comfort, a glow in the darkness.

You are not alone.

There are people here.

You will never be alone like that again.

She ground the palm of her mostly clean other hand into her eyes, as if to suppress the tears she allowed to spill over anyway. Then, she scuttled over to her flashlight, shook it a few times, and flipped its switch. Enough light for her to see the only other hole in the passage that she could go through. Big enough for her to fit into, but not much bigger than that.

Setting down the light, she lifted one of her legs and notched her feet into the hole. Then, with her hands on the top, she pushed herself through.

Or, at least, she did a pretty good job of pretending.

“Cut.”

One of the crew members flicked on the lights. Another helped Margot out of the hole they’d built into a false wall they had to make, disassemble, bring into the catacombs, and reassemble. The makeup artists circled like vultures, descending upon Oliver as he opened his eyes and blinked at the bright light.

“I think we got it.” Penn checked the monitor again, before clapping his hands twice. “Nineteenth time’s the charm.”

“Up we go?” asked a makeup artist hopefully, already zipping up their touch-up bag.

Penn smiled. “The usual people stay behind. Everyone else, great work today. Rest up. Tomorrow’s a big day.”

“Every day’s a big day,” a boom operator named Jaime retorted.

At the director’s words, Margot strained to remember what was planned for the next day’s shoot. They’d conquered Peter’s death scene, most of the traps, and the first appearance of the Presence, so . . .

“Your call time will be early tomorrow, Miss Margot,” Penn reminded her as Oliver began ushering her out. “Come ready with energy to fight.”

Oh. Right.

That scene.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

After grabbing dinner with some of the crew, Margot returned to her hotel room to unwind after yet another exhausting day “in the ’combs,” as Milla called it. She indulged in a bath in the old-school clawfoot tub in her spacious bathroom. Steeped tea without doing the mindfulness bullshit. And finally, wrapped in a fluffy robe with the hotel insignia stitched into the lapel, she opened her laptop.

No new comments.

The production progress journal entry she’d inputted the night before had been seen, as per the checkmark next to the date. But no comments. No smart aleck responses or biting criticism about her “bordering-on-whiny progression notes” from the man eight hours and an ocean away.

She really missed them.

The responses.

Oh, who was she kidding?

She missed Hunt. She missed Thomas.

She missed whoever he was when he spoke to her, for sometimes she swore he was a hybrid of both identities, of both people she knew he was and could be. Sharp, critical, cold. Thoughtful, heartening, spirited (well, as spirited as Thomas Hunt could get).

He seemed not to care anymore, now that her and her limitation have learned to co-exist long enough for the cameras. After the phone call she’d made the morning of her first solo shoot in the catacombs, and the resulting entry about how she’d managed it, his replies went from encouraging to non-existent.

She felt hollow every time she opened the program and found a checkmark next to the last entry’s date, but no little pencil symbol indicating a reply.

It had been like that for too long.

Still, she started a new entry and wrote the expected things. How she was doing, how the production was going, how she dealt with the scenes she shot that day, and so on. And then, wholly unsatisfied, she submitted the entry and tucked herself into bed.

Tomorrow’s a big day, she reminded herself.

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Her sobs rend the night, shaking Elaine from her dreams of muscular men on horses with billowing white shirts and flowing hair. She pulled herself out of bed and padded barefoot into the hallway, stopping just outside the spare room’s door. She held her breath and listened, then knocked upon hearing another wail.

“Margot?”

Elaine twisted the knob, and the door swung open with a creak loud enough to wake the dead.

Margot sat on the centre of the bed with her forehead balanced on her knees. The only source of light came from the moon illuminating the room through the spaces between the blinds, casting a bluish light about the sparsely furnished room Elaine had originally planned to convert into a home studio.

Elaine flicked on the light, and Margot’s head snapped up to look at her.

“Margot, what happened?” Elaine came over to her and pressed a hand to her forehead. “Are you sick?”

Margot’s voice was watery. “I miss my mommy.”

Elaine smiled sadly.

“Margot, sweetie.” Elaine sat beside the girl’s legs. “What can I do to help you feel better?”

Margot stared up at the ceiling light, blinking into the brightness like it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. The streaks of tears on her cheeks shone.

“Bottle the sun so my room never gets dark,” she replied.

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Long before she’d enrolled in Hollywood University, Margot amused herself by watching movies and guessing how they’d filmed parts of them. Any and all live-action movies that had CGI character components, like a certain reboot of a beloved animated children’s show, brought her joy to dissect, watching scenes over and over again to see how the actors coped with talking and acting seriously to something that, at the time of their filming, was a silly prop stand-in, like a tennis ball mounted on a mini-tripod that would later be digitally replaced with a fan-favourite lightning-blasting rat-like creature.

She’d seen behind-the-scenes videos of how certain cinematic creatures were filmed, like the faun in Pan’s Labyrinth, with the green screen suit that hid Doug Jones’s lower legs that were not part of the end result look. After that, she usually imagined a person or a small team of people puppeteering the creatures, squinting to see if she could tell where the creature’s body ended, and the green screen suit began.

She didn’t think too much about how horror movies might use the same techniques. She was more focused on the fantastical elements.

But now, staring at the figure fully encased in a green screen suit, she realized she definitely should have looked into it before.

“Miss Margot.” Penn beckoned her to come over to where he and the green-suit stood before the monitors. “We are just placing the mats, then Erika will work you two through the blocking.”

The green-suit seemed to look at her. She couldn’t tell; there were no holes for the eyes or mouth, but the indentations indicated that there was indeed a nose and lips under there.

“Hi,” she said to it.

The green-suit did not respond.

“This is a pivotal moment in the film,” Penn continued. “The Presence is upon her. She either fights or dies, and she has come too far and lost too much.”

She nodded along with his words.

“We will most likely have to reshoot parts of this on the sound stage,” Penn admitted, “but we hope to capture most of the scene here. The more authentic, the better.”

“And the less work the editors have to deal with,” chortled Lewis, the boom operator for the day.

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The stunts for the day weren’t hard to do, especially since they’d picked a surprisingly spacious area to film in. They took take after take, adjusting for different angles, and though she found herself embarrassingly out of breath by the time Penn called for their lunch break, she had to admit that she was relieved that the green-suit was there to guide her movements and ground her desperate struggle to survive in realism.

After all, it would be pretty hard to fight and tumble with thin air and make it look convincing.

She smiled upon reaching the surface with her group – “Buddy system!” Lewis crowed – soaking in the sunlight while pinching her nose shut at the smell of piss that seemed to waft around the area. As she made her way to her favourite panini stand, she watched as the green-suit slipped into a nearby trailer and closed the door behind them. There was no name on the door.

“Hungry, are we?” Milla slung an arm around Margot’s shoulder, catching up with her stride easily. “You’ve probably burned more calories today than I have this whole year.”

“Feels like it, too.” Margot rolled her shoulders back. “I have to admit, the green-suit person makes it pretty easy to be scared.”

They reached the stand and made their orders to the kind old man who ran it. As he layered smoked salmon, spinach, and creamy cheeses between slices of bread from the market a short walk away, they sat and chatted on a nearby bench.

“Who’s the green suit, anyway?” Margot asked. “I tried to ask for their name, but they weren’t talking. Method actor, I guess.”

Milla took a sip from her water bottle. “Oh, yeah. I have no idea, either.”

“Do you think that’s, like, on purpose, us not knowing?” Margot watched the old man press the paninis on a grill pan.

Milla rolled her eyes. “Probably. I can never tell what Penn’s got up his sleeve.”

“He’s very accommodating,” Margot said. “I mean, between you and me, I was giving him absolutely nothing to work with at the start. Though, in hindsight, I guess it was pretty obvious.”

“He’s not yet hardened by Hollywood,” Milla replied. “I kind of doubt he will ever be just like the other directors preening on red carpets and delegating their work to lesser knowns who won’t get credit for it.”

“And dating nineteen-year-old models when they’re in their late sixties,” Margot added.

“Yeah, what is up with that? Every time I see someone more than three times my age, I don’t think, ‘Wow, a viable sex partner.’ I think, ‘Cryptkeeper.’”

Their laughter was explosive, scaring away the nearby birds pecking at crumbs.

“Maybe it’s a sugar baby thing?” Milla guessed. “I mean, why else would a twenty-something bombshell play with some old dude’s saggy-”

“Shh, Milla!” Margot clapped a hand over her mouth. “I don’t want the mental image, thanks.”

“Mademoiselles,” called the panini man.

“Saggy,” Milla whispered into Margot’s ear as they headed up to the stand.

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After they ate, Margot came up and put a few bills in the tip jar without looking the kindly old man in the eyes.

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She was choking, choking, and she was sure she was going to die.

Her fingers raked along the floor of the passage, trying to find something to grip onto, to give her leverage to buck off the Presence climbing over her. Her fingers closed around the wrist strap of her now-broken flashlight.

She struggled under the Presence’s hold. Grinding her teeth together, she mentally chanted that empowering line that always came to her now when filming in the dark before letting herself go limp. Tears spilled down her face. Her eyes began to close. She mouthed something to the air, an apology, an acceptance.

“Pete – Peter -”

Her grip loosened on the wrist strap.

The Presence slowly climbed off her, walking backwards to the wall from which it burst through.

She silently counted to ten.

Then her eyes sprang open, and she gasped for air, hands rubbing at her throat in confusion.

“Cut!”

Margot looked up at the green-suit, who silently offered their hand.

“Thanks,” she said.

They nodded at her before turning to look at the monitor.

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“I think we’ve got it all for today.”

Penn was practically glowing, and everyone on set felt its warmth. It was a stark contrast to when production began, and the two leads kept getting panic attacks or violently ill. Now, the energy was infectious. And, since everyone had the next day off, there were whispers of finding a bar or club to loosen up at after the shoot.

Margot just wanted to go to her room and bury herself beneath her bed’s thousand-thread-count sheets. Maybe order Labyrinth, one of her favourite fantasy films, to watch on repeat until the next shoot. But a drink, especially after being tousled around by someone whose identity was still unknown to her, sounded good, too.

As the crew packed up, Penn shouted, “Don’t go too wild tonight and tomorrow! Your days off are for rest and recuperation. I do not want to hear of sprained ankles.”

“Yes, Penn,” Margot said in unison with the rest.

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Two cocktails, one shot, and a hit off Lewis’s dab pen later, Margot felt like she was floating a foot above the ground.

Kamil, a member of Penn’s regular film crew, had found the nightclub with the private room and texted the address to every person in the production group chat. He had bought the first round, dedicating it to “their whip-cracking director and his wild-ass ideas,” then disappeared into the crowded dance floor with a few other crew members. Oliver had shown up and downed three shots before he and Milla took refuge in the corner to make out. And then Jaime had dragged Margot out for a dance, which turned into two, which turned into three, before Lewis and a few other guys from the crew she had barely interacted with usurped her for dances.

Her hands were on some tattooed, muscular forearms, and she didn’t quite know what she was doing with the rest of her body, but she was having fun. Her dancing partner was handsome, almost clichély so, and she sort of wanted to cry over how pretty his eyes were. In the strobe lighting, they flashed green and gold. The musky smell of his cologne clashed with a nearby dancer’s classy perfume, and the mix of those scents made her press her thighs together.

She impulsively ran her fingers through his dark hair. Ran a finger over his sharp jawline, his high cheekbones, the lone freckle just beside his nose. He leaned down, for he was so, so tall, and pressed his mouth to her neck.

“You got a boyfriend, Miss Margot?” teased the man she was dancing with.

He meant no harm. A simple question.

But it blew the wind out of her sails.

She began to touch the ground again, and everything around her was discordant. The flashing lights, the lit-up dance floor, the writhing bodies bouncing and grinding. A mouth against her ear, whispering something about a hotel and making her feel good.

She pushed him away.

The shock on his face morphed into worry. “Are you all right, Margot?”

“I-” She swallowed hard. “I’m tired.”

She was. She felt like her body had reserved all its tiredness until that moment and dropped it upon her like she was some cartoon villain standing under the conveniently placed anvil.

“I’ll walk you to your hotel.” At her look, he held his hands up. “Not to, you know. I just want to make sure you get there.”

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True to his word, the man walked her to her hotel, distracting her from the darkness between lamp posts with small talk and pointless stories. He offered his jacket and his arm, both of which she took gratefully.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he reminded her.

“Which was?”

He smirked. “Is there a boyfriend waiting for you at home?”

Margot wanted to match his smirk but was too tired to bullshit. “There’s no one waiting for me at home.”

His eyebrows rose. “I doubt that.”

“Don’t. It’s true.” She shrugged as they entered the hotel lobby. “Just how it is for me.”

“So, just to be clear,” the man said, “no boyfriend.”

“Nope.”

“Girlfriend?”

“Nope.”

He hesitated. “Anyone under the impression that they may be in a relationship with you, whether it’s exclusive or not?”

She burst out laughing, startling the clerk behind the counter.

“How specific,” she remarked dryly.

It was his turn to shrug. “Can’t be too careful these days.” He cocked his head to the side. “So . . . ?”

Margot thought of dark hair, dark eyes, suits.

You are not – and will not be – alone. You will never be alone like that again.

He had not replied to her. Had not spoken of the masquerade, of that night on the set, of the date auction, of the Fairy Kingdom Formal. She did not know how he felt about her or them, other than how it “cannot be.” He had shown his kinder side to her time and time again, but did that mean anything?

To her knowledge, her feelings were unrequited.

And there was a handsome man standing in front of her, kind and courteous and funny, to whom she felt attracted, who certainly would not give her the cold shoulder or tear her self-esteem down if she kissed him right now.

She did not doubt he’d be a man of his word, making her feel good.

Still, she reached up and pressed her palm against his cheek. He leaned into her touch, and she smiled.

“Thanks for walking me back,” she said.

He nodded. “Thanks for humouring me.”

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It was only when the elevator was rocketing her up to her floor – alone – that she realized she didn’t catch his name.

And that it didn’t really matter.

Not then, anyway.

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Production Progress Journal Entry 24:

Today was one of the hardest days. I had to fight the entity known as the Presence, which was physically portrayed by someone in a green screen suit who never actually identified themselves to me or the rest of the crew. I suspect Penn knows who it is, but he didn’t volunteer the information.

Anyway.

Four weeks into production. We’re right on schedule, which is apparently very rare for a film production. Within the next two weeks, we’ll be working on the sound stage.

I’m sure you’re wondering how I’m coping. It’s going okay. I think I’ve found a failsafe way for me, and it really doesn’t require a lot of work on my part.

If the great Thomas Hunt has ever deigned to watch it, he would know from which movie I had adopted my mantra, which I repeat to myself during harder parts of filming:

“You have no power over me.”

I’m learning a lot about myself and what I can handle. I won’t let what happened to me hold power over me anymore. At least, not enough to interfere with what I’m most passionate about. I want this film to be something I am proud of.

And so far, I am.

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After submitting her entry, Margot slipped into the bathroom to wash off the grimy feeling the nightclub left on her skin. The hotel provided adorable miniature bottles of body wash and hair products, and she used a sample of a hair mask she’d gotten with her last Sephora order. On a whim, she decided to hop into the tub, using a complimentary bath bomb that smelled of citrusy sweetness and had a core of dried rose petals and lavender buds that clung to her body. She had to hop back into the shower to rinse them off.

More than an hour later, she stepped out of the steamy bathroom to a notification on her laptop.

One new comment.

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Thomas Hunt’s comments on Production Progress Journal Entry 24:

I am well aware of 1986’s Labyrinth, thank you very much.

Still, I’m pleased to hear that you are coping. You are working with your limitation. Perhaps it’s not much of one now.

Good luck with the rest of your production, Miss Schuyler. Professor Singh will be marking these entries from hereon out.

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#only fools fall for you #thomas hunt #thomas orson hunt #hollywood u #hollywood university #fanfiction

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