#literally shut the fuck up about your trust fund why do you have to mention it twice

[peppermintack]

i’m seriously not even looking for reasons to bash noah but in book one i’m noticing that he keeps harping on min and her temper every time ethan’s around. ethan shows up specifically to bully and harass her and her best friend and noah’s always like 🙄 time for min to overreact again. as if literally two days later he doesn’t throw the world’s dumbest temper tantrum and declare her his nemesis because she doesn’t want to be evil with him

[wiypt-writes]

Murder, He Wrote

Part 1

Co-written with @southerngracela​

Summary: You’re sent by your asshole boss to do a review of a Celebrity Host Haunted Mansion, hosted by none-other than the arrogant, wild-eye browed actor Lucas Lee, but you’re worried you’ve missed the boat…that is, until at the last minute, an email arrives to say they can let you in on the last admission that night, which just happens to be Halloween… When you arrive, you’re actually kind of excited and intrigued…but it isn’t long until that excitement and intrigue give way to fear when you find yourself in a helpless situation.

Warnings: A creepy house, bad language words. MATURE (NSFW 18+) NON-CON situation, kidnap, violence. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER… READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N:  So this is a collaboration between myself and the wonderful @southerngracela​ for @jtargaryen18 ‘s  Haunted House 2020 challenge…and will be a mini-series, with an as of yet undefined number of chapters.

Once again READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ us if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and by writing it does NOT mean I agree with or condone the acts contained within. This fiction is classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.

"Y/L/N," your dick editor poked his head into your office rather gruffly. "I'm gonna need that celebrity haunted mansion review on my desk by tomorrow morning. I want to run it ASAP.”

"I can't even get in, not even with a press pass, I've been trying for two weeks, Mick!” you looked at him, your mouth slightly open. You’d told him this countless times at morning briefings. You hadn't even heard back from the organizers about sneaking around the press pass issue and offering an exclusive on the joint, a small fact you kept Mick in the dark about.

"Make it happen." He said simply, before he turned and left.

You glared at his retreating form. What the fuck did he not understand about the situation? Mind you, what did he understand about anything? There was a reason everyone working for him called him Mick The Prick.

There was also a reason he was being extra prickish to you. Earlier in the spring time of the year you’d run an article on Ransom Drysdale- the stuck up, trust fund asshole who had literally gotten away with murder. He’d confessed to murdering his grandfather’s house keeper, attempting to murder his grandfather and then, in a violent showdown with 2 police officers and a private detective present, he’d attempted to murder his grandfather’s nurse, Marta. And he would have succeeded, except the knife he’d used had been a stage prop. It was like some fucked up Murder, She Wrote plot, and when you’d interviewed the real life Jessica Fletcher (in this case the rather charming PI named Benoit Blanc who’d been a character to say the least) it got even more confusing. Ransom had hired Blanc in some elaborate scheme to frame Marta for Harlan’s death to do her out of the inheritance via the Slayer Rule. That had back fired spectacularly when she had unwittingly switched back the vials of medication Drysdale had tampered with, meaning Harlan had truly committed suicide. 

The article was supposed to be done showing his side of the story, a way for him to set the record straight, but the more you’d dug and spoken to people surrounding the case, the more you were absolutely convinced of his guilt, not least because he’d been acquitted on the murder and attempted murder charges on technical grounds due to his confession being, allegedly, obtained under duress and without a brief being present. The only thing they’d managed to pin on him was the arson which had burnt the Chief Medical Examiner’s office to the ground, and when his brief had successfully argued mitigating circumstances- he wasn’t of sound mind given the shock surrounding him being cut from his grandfather’s will- he’d basically ended up being released on license.

It was a joke, and that was basically what your article had said. You’d written a scathing attack on how money could basically render you untouchable by the law, highlighting the failures of the Criminal Justice System. At the time, Mick the Prick had been delighted with it, publishing it under your suggested head line “Murder, He Wrote”- ha, go figure, and copies had flown off the shelves, the article online going viral.

And then money had talked once more, and the Drysdale’s had threatened to sue for defamation. That in itself was a joke, as you knew full well his mother, Linda, was only doing it to salvage her own reputation, the same reason she’d worked so hard to find a lawyer to get him off the charges despite the fact she knew full well he was guilty as sin. Mick The Prick had attempted to throw you under the bus spectacularly when the board had come looking for blood, but as editor the buck stopped with him, and he was given a formal warning whilst you were forced to publish a retraction and offer a written apology much to your utter chagrin.

Which was why he was now making your life as hard as possible, and your Investigative Journalism skills, that you’d honed over the last decade; from high school paper, college tribune and now your current employer, over the last 10 years or so since graduation were now being focussed on covering stories about housewives who found Jesus’ face in a slice of toast, or in this case a fucking Celebrity Host Halloween Haunted House review. Whereas you had dominated the first 2 pages once upon a time, you were now lucky if you made it further up than page 11.

With a groan you banged your head on your desk. Why had you not listened to your dad and become a damned teacher instead of a journalist. Dealing with snotty nosed brats would be easier than this.

By the end of your day, you were burning what felt like the midnight oil however it wasn't very late at all. Dark had settled in but it wasn't late by time. Just before you were to log off and leave for the night, a TV dinner and pint of mint chip waiting for you in your freezer (and probably a job search too seeing as you would no doubt be fired tomorrow morning for failing on your deadline) your email pinged on your desktop. You frowned at it, wondering who could possibly be emailing you this late but then you recognized the sender.

It was the reply you'd been waiting on from the organizers from the Celebrity Host Haunted House. Clicking the email open, your eyes scanned the message. The organizer was setting you up with a private tour, TONIGHT. "9 pm," you finished reading aloud, relief flooding your entire body. It meant a long assed, sleepless night whilst you wrote your article, but it was better than the looming threat of unemployment. Plus, on the upside, as it was a charity gig the organizer had pulled out the big guns and the blurb on the email told you that it was to feature none other than Lucas Lee, a once-upon-a-time famous A-List Movie star, who was possibly just as arrogant as Hugh Ransom Drysdale, but you had to give it to him, in the films you’d seen he was actually damned good, and also pretty hot so…every cloud.

Glancing at your clock, you had just enough time to clock out and grab a quick bite at a drive thru on your way. The location was nearly an hour outside the city so you needed to get gone and fast. A quick reply telling the organizer you were on your way was sent out and you grabbed your coat, pulling it on over your sweater dress and were gone. 

It took a good hour like you'd estimated and that was with stopping for a quick meal, to reach the address your GPS brought you to. It was creepy even at its first glance so you could only hope this payed off. With a quick swig of your watered down and flat fountain drink, you grabbed your bag and phone, exiting your vehicle and locking it shut. The cool night air bit at your exposed cheeks and you were glad you'd worn your coat and tights.

As you stood, gazing at the dilapidated house you shivered, as though, ice had replaced you spine. The walkway leading up to house was cracked, blood red roses grew wildly in thick batches by the gate and the moonlight cast a ghoulish glow on the house. Vines formed a twisted maze upon the side of the of the house's walls which showed the black decay of neglect, in between which splotches of original paint hinted at the house’s former prosperity. Cobwebs covered the corners of the doors, tiny black spiders threading towards their prey and you gave another shudder, as far as first impressions went, yeah, it was fitting for a Halloween Haunted House tour.  

Pulling out your phone, noticing you had no reception (of course you wouldn’t, wasn’t that the cliché?) you took a few photos to use in the article and then gave a little squeak as the door creaked open on its own. Arching your eyebrow slightly, in a manner very much like the man you were here to meet, you strode forward and into the house. Immediately a musty, dank odour crept into your nose. The house was deadly silent except for the intermittent creaks and moans typically associated with a property that age. Black and brown mold dotted the ceiling of the tall hallway you stood in and the windows that framed the door on either side were covered with grime and dirt meaning the calm moonlight struggled to penetrate the darkness in thin thread rays, the main source of light being the open doorway. Sharp shadows roamed around the room and as your eyes adjusted to the dim light you noticed that there was a bright white envelope almost perched on the wooden table to the side of the hall. It was the newest thing in the room, so was obviously there for you.

You crossed over, the heels of your suede boots clicking loudly out in the silence of the hallway, and gently reached out for the envelope. A single word- Start- was written on the front in cursive, looping scrawl, very fitting for a spooky note. Another detail you committed to memory for your write up. You slid your finger into the crook of the envelope and slid it open. Inside was a small, white card, containing a message written in the same writing.

To ensure that you don’t become tomorrow’s big news, In this envelope you’ll find the first of 6 clues Of your super sleuth skills you should be proud, So make sure that you read your answers out loud. As one by one they lead to your ultimate demise. Which may or may not be a scary surprise…

Okay, now you were interested. This wasn’t just a walk through some scary assed, supposedly haunted house where Lucas Lee was no doubt set to jump out at you in some ridiculous disguise. This was a scavenger hunt, and your natural inquisitiveness was piqued. 'This could be fun', you thought as you reached for the next card that was in the envelope, reading the first clue. 

I’m tall when I’m young, and I’m short when I’m old. I also give heat but, not enough to prevent cold

You pondered for a second, heat was leading you to think of a fire, and they certainly grew shorter with time, well eventually when they burnt out…but then again, the longer they went the hotter they got, and they certainly prevented the cold. Scanning the hallway for anything that might fit the description, your eyes flicked up to the ceiling which held an elaborate, but tarnished candelabra style chandelier. And then it hit you. Tall when young, short when old.

“Candle…” you spoke “The answer is Candle…”

At that the door leading to the outside slammed shut behind you, and you gave an involuntary scream as the dominant source of light was sealed off. You spun round to look at it, and then your scream turned in to a laugh as you shook your head, for an Investigative Reporter you prided yourselves on steely nerves but so far that was twice this adventure had caught you off guard.

Turning back round, you then spotted that the door at the end of the hall was open, and you could clearly make out a Jack-o-Lantern looking at you, the candle inside flickering. Its face was creepy, really creepy. The nose and eyes were harsh triangles and the grotesque, twisted smile it sported was constructed of sharp, jagged teeth. You reached into your pocket and pulled out your phone. You may have had no service, but the flashlight was working. Keeping the light held in front of you so you could watch your step on the cracked tiles of the hall, you made your way towards the lantern and found yourself in a large, run down kitchen. The lantern and your flash-light provided the only light in the room as the windows were all overshadowed by gnarly trees, their branches every so often scratching the glass as they swayed slightly in the wind outside. The only other sound to be heard was the drip, drip of the faucet in the porcelain Belfast sink. 

A closer look revealed the discoloration of the water, a brownish concoction as it swirled down the plug. There was an envelope on the side of the counter by the lantern and as you crossed towards it, a movement in your peripheral made you spin round only to see a lone mouse scuttling away across the dirty wooden floor. You placed your phone down, flash-light up causing it to light up an area of the Artex plaster ceiling, and picked up the envelope, tearing it open to find your next clue

Mr Jack-o-Lantern lights the night His eerie face is shining bright The ????? that shaped him lies around And holds your next clue safe and sound 

“Oh come on…” you muttered, “That’ ones obvious. Knife, the answer is knife…” You picked up your phone and shone it around the various surfaces of the kitchen and your eyes honed in on a wooden knife block containing a solitary knife. You crossed the room towards it and as you closed in on it, you noticed that the handle of the knife was an ornate silver filigree. It was no ordinary kitchen knife and as you pulled it form the block you realised it was in fact a dagger, antique by the looks of things. The blade was curved slightly, reaching a sharp point, the silver tarnished. But the more you looked at it, the more you suddenly became horribly aware that it wasn’t merely a dullness of colour at all. It was blood. 

“Dramatic…” you mumbled, and with a sigh you then realised there was no clue attached to it. Was this a distraction? A decoy? You were just about to stat ransacking drawers to find the actual knife you needed, when you glanced back at the block the dagger had been held in and noticed a flash of white peeking from underneath. Picking it up and moving it aside you smiled as you saw the same cursive writing, spelling out the word three. Seeing as you might as well play along, you used the dagger to slit the envelope open, tossing it back down on the counter as you read the next clue.

Many a Child on me they may play Any time be it night or day. My surface is hard, on it you can knock I have many keys, but can’t open a single lock…

“What has keys but doesn't open a lock?" You pondered aloud. Adjusting your cross-body strap, you sigh. Then the answer came to you, "a piano."

You fell silent, your mind racing to how the hell you were going to find a piano in this decrepit and yet enormous house. Then, your ears heard it. The subtle note from deep inside the house. It was a single key. But now that wasn't your concern, no, it wasn't the mice or the bugs or even the brown water. Your heart raced at the notion that someone was in fact in the house with you. 

"Alright, Lee, you were always one for a flare of the dramatics, let's see what you've got."

Step by step you followed the note that chimed every few steps and you found yourself beginning to wonder if it was a recording or if someone were really playing it, timing their play with the sound of your boots over the rotting floor. You wound your way through the narrow hall, ancient wall paper peeling from its tack, mastick and plaster falling away to reveal studs in places. 

Finally, to your left you heard the key loud and clear. It was in that room. Steeling yourself for a possible encounter, you carefully pushed the sliding door away from its hinge. Your booted feet traipsed across the brittle carpet, dust swirling in the air in front of your face. Cobwebs adorned many of the surfaces and there were dirty white sheets covering the various pieces of furniture in the room. Apart from, that is, the large ornate grand piano that sat in the middle of the room.

The stool in front of it suddenly jolted back and tilted toward you, making you scream at the  gracious invitation by an as of yet invisible host. 

“Get a grip Y/N” you mumbled to yourself. You were surprised to find just how much this place was starting to set your nerves on edge. You took a deep breath, the pounding of blood in your ears began to quiet and you took a look around the room. There was no one in there with you, you were alone.

With slow, deliberate steps you moved towards the piano, your eyes sweeping over the mahogany surface, searching for an envelope with the next clue, but there was none to be found. The surface of the piano was thick with dust and grime, but as you scanned over it you suddenly stopped. On one of the white keys the dust was disturbed, as if it had been wiped away and you instantly realised that had to be the key that your so far elusive host must have been playing. You paused, biting at the nail on your thumb of you right hand, before you reached out with your left and tapped the key. The melodic note rang around the room, clearly, echoing in the silence and for some reason you were taken back to a part of the article you had been thinking about earlier that day, and how Detective Blanc had told you that he had ‘played a key’ during the various family interviews ‘to make my point without interruption’. It didn’t pass you by how fitting that actually was at that moment but you didn’t have much time to reflect on it, as you heard a creak and a grinding noise and you spun to your left to see a panel in the wall sliding open. It made you jump slightly, but this time you didn’t scream. 

Not for the first time, you had to admire the effort Lucas was going to here. It was clear he had a flare for the dramatic, anyone could see that from his films and interviews but this was pretty damned good. It was making you wonder how he was doing it. Was he somewhere watching, pressing buttons to enact the various parts of his show? Instinctively you glanced up, looking for a camera or something you were being monitored by but you found no evidence of anything. 

“Well, in for a penny…” you muttered, crossing towards the small hatch. It was just wide enough for you to get your hand into, but you really didn’t want to. You grabbed your torch and shone it into the hole, finding nothing but the envelope so deciding it was safe you reached in and pulled it out.

Sometimes coloured, sometimes plain sometimes frosted, sometimes stain Be you short or thin, or fat or tall, this simple invention, lets you look right through a wall

You pondered for a moment, before the answer came to you. Fairly quickly you might add. Feeling a little smug you smiled and cleared your throat.

“Window. It’s a window.”

Usually, at that point, something happened to point your attention to the place you should be looking but this time, there was nothing. Instinctively you looked out of the one on the wall by the piano, but as you stared at nothing but the darkness outside you realised that was too obvious. Just then your ears picked up a sound you couldn’t quite figure out, but it was familiar all the same. And then it came to you, it was the familiar click and clack of a skateboard, the wheels gliding over the brittle old floor and you span round in the direction it was coming from to see a window you hadn’t noticed before, this one was an ornate, stained glass window which bore some kind of flower design that faced directly out into the hall. 

He passed by slower than a flash but just enough to allow you to catch only a glimpse. You audibly gasped, your breath coming in a sharp intake of fright, because until then you had been alone on this chase. But it appeared you dramatic host had finally come out to play. He was merely a shadow, bulky in frame, tall and dressed all in black as he moved past but it was enough to puzzle you. You didn’t remember Lucas being that broad, or tall. With a frown you ran into the hall to catch him but saw nothing, and heard nothing, the only thing to indicate he had been there was a faint smell of the cedar and amber of what you assumed to be cologne. 

You paced quickly down the hall in the direction the figure had gone but as you passed the stairwell the light flickered on, instantly attracting your attention. You’d only briefly noticed the ornate staircase before, but with the lack of light you certainly hadn’t noticed the writing on the wall, dripping in fresh paint. Swallowing, as you mouth suddenly felt dry with fear you stepped onto the first stair, and as soon as you did you were plunged into almost complete black. Letting out a shriek as, once again, he’d managed to get the drop on you, you shook your head and reached for your phone, taking another few steps up so you were level with the next clue which you read aloud.

“Tonight is not all fright and fear, a trick or treat is waiting near, the bedroom holds a sweet surprise, there solve the clue to claim your prize.” You bit your lip and looked up at the top of the stairs, wondering when someone was going to jump out at you. Taking a deep breath, you made your way up, cringing at each creak your feet caused on the old warped wood, but it didn’t sway your determination to make it to your destination. 

Halfway up, a shadow flickered at the corner of your vision at the top on the landing and you froze, your mouth going dry once more. As you stood there, shining your light into the dark you caught the same scent from moments ago lingering in the air only this time it was stronger, far more powerful and you were able to denote even more of the notes within. Alongside the amber and cedar your heightened senses picked up deep, earthy, sandalwood notes with a hint of citrus in the background.  And it was familiar for reasons beyond the fact you’d smelt it down stairs. But, as you’d surmised earlier, it was a cologne. Probably one worn by a few people you knew.

Yes that was it.

“Jesus Christ Y/N what has gotten into you?” You rolled your eyes and continued up the stairs, clearly your ‘Celebrity Host’ was once more nearby. 

You cautiously got to the top of the stairs and glanced around. Nothing. So turning to your left you entered the first room you found on the hall. It was empty bar a creepy looking doll that had been separated from its head which lay about a foot to the right. As you looked around the room, the wind intensified outside, the rustling of the leaves and branches became louder, as did the creaking of the house…and then you gulped, as you realised it wasn’t just the house that was creaking. In the corner of the room, the little chair had begun to rock, slowly. Blowing out a breath and shaking your head, you looked around at the thin strips of wallpaper which showed little trucks. Crayon markings scrambled upon the wall where wallpaper used to stick but other than that there was nothing in there bar some pretty good theatrics. You had to hand it to Lee, the creepy feel was fantastic and you were going to give him one hell of a write up for this. You took a while longer to take in the detail, smiling to yourself before you closed the door and headed to the one over the hallway. 

This room was a little lighter thanks to a lamp which stood on a nightstand. It wasn’t bright, by any means, but it was enough so that you could clearly see the bed in the middle of the room. And there, placed by the pillows was a thin box. On unsteady legs, you shuffled slowly towards the bed, the box before you making you quiver, your insides churning. A shaky hand tilted the lid open slowly, afraid something would pounce in a sneak attack. You shut your eyes ready to protect them in case a bat or bugs flew at you and when nothing happened, you opened them slowly and inspected the boxes contents. There was no envelope this time, just copy of a newspaper. Your newspaper. And you felt your blood run cold as you recognise the bold headline across the top. Murder, He Wrote: A twisted tale of Inheritance, Crime and Exoneration "Drysdale," you whispered in realization. But now, while you were well aware of what the article meant and who it was referring to, your brain shut down processing how on earth Lucas Lee and Ransom could possibly be connected. Your breathing deepened and you moved to pick up the article, but then the lid to the box caught your eye and you froze, for on the inside of the lid was another clue, only this one was a straight forward question which was spelled out using cut-out letters from the newspaper in question.

I’m light as a feather, yet the strongest person can’t hold me for five minutes. What am I?

You froze, for the answer was simple. Breath. And that was it, you needed to get out. You started to back away from the bed, but before you had so much as made it 3 steps you collided with something hard. A forceful arm across your front pinned you to a firm and broad chest that engulfed your frame while a cloth with a distinct smell and cool moisture covered your airways.

"Surprise" The voice in your ear, calm, deep and known, was all you heard before nothing consumed you.  

*****

When Y/N went limp in his arms, Ransom laid her across the bed only leaving the room to hurriedly cover his tracks, blowing out candles and removing any trace of her that had been in the house. His time as his grandfather's research assistant gave him far more experience than it should have. When he returned to the bedroom she was still out cold but light as a feather as he carried her downstairs and out the back door to the awaiting SUV, smug that his plan had gone so well.

But then, didn’t everything for him? He was Ransom Drysdale, and he was fucking untouchable.

He drove away from the scene of his new crime towards the city, driving through the dead of night, on the beltway, and continued twenty minutes outside downtown Boston before pulling into the garage of a large red cedar and quartzite home. He killed the engine and closed the garage door, pulling Y/N from the seat she was slumped in when it was clear to do so.

He couldn't be seen, he wouldn't be seen. He carried her inside the spacious home, his boots tapping heavily against the dark marble floor of the kitchen and finally the lush carpeted staircase that wound down into the basement.

This is where he laid her, in the basement, on a bed, but not just any bed, the one that would now become hers. He adjusted the lighting in the space, low enough not to disturb her, but bright enough to give the room a glow so he could finish what he'd set out to do. In the shock of the struggle in the bedroom, she’d dropped her phone and he’d made sure to smash it long before he left the haunted house, making sure there'd be no device to track her. He'd already disposed of her car while she was playing his little game, every loose end as far as he could see was tied up.

And now she was all his. 

He brushed the hair away from Y/N’s face where it had fallen over her eyes.  With gloved hands he manoeuvred her undone, black woollen coat off her body, leaving her in the bottle green turtle neck sweater dress and thick tights she was wearing before he tossed it over the chair in the corner of the room and then undid the zips on her brown suede knee high boots. He dropped them to the floor, kicking them towards the same corner with the equal carelessness he’d shown her coat. With a final meticulous movement he rearranged her on the bed, so he’d appear more comfortable and just before he left the room, he wrapped the cool, metallic cuff around the ankle. It locked in place with a clink and with a final glance at her still unconscious form, he turned and exited the room, the door latching shut and with the snap of the deadbolt he locked her in.

*****

Your head pounded, your nose burned and your mouth felt dry with the faintest taste of something foul lingering as you swallowed. The light was low but still your eyes ached. You tried to decipher exactly what the hell had happened to you while you got your bearings. You tried to sit up but your body felt heavy, the soft bed you now realized you were lying on was not your own. Your breathing rapidly increased as you started to move in fear but a clink caused a screech to escape your throat. You felt the weight of the cuff around your ankle and a full panic set it.

Your night flashed quickly through your glutamate and adrenaline flooded brain

You remembered getting the email from the Haunted Mansion supposedly hosted by Lucas Lee. You had arrived and were sent on what you thought was a fun and exhilarating maze littered with clues and riddles and then you remembered the last piece of the puzzle. You gasped as you remembered how his breath felt hot on your skin and how his voice registered in your mind.

"Drysdale," you repeated the last word you had spoken in a shaky, frightful voice. "No."

Rage and fear collided in your chest as you screamed out the only thing you could think of, "HELP!" A strangled sound left your chest followed by another cry out for help, "Please, someone, HELP!" 

The door to your room, now coming into focus around you, flew open and there he stood, smug smirk, raging ocean blue eyes, hair neatly in place, dismantling frame clothed in a black sweater and dark denim, heavy footfalls sounding against the thick carpet under his feet. 

"Nice to see someone's awake," Ransom deadpanned.

You stared for a brief moment and screamed for help again, louder, and louder, and louder until you felt your voice crack and strain, your cords burning as the sound shattered away. 

"Are you done?" He cocked his head to the side and folded his arms across his chest as he stood firm and tall in front of the bed.

"What the hell are you doing? Why am I here?" It hurt to speak but you had to ask. 

“Because I want you here, Sweetheart.”

"I...I'm not, don't call me that," you spat defiantly as he moved closer, taking you in, his predatory eyes moving over your body. This was it, you were going to die all because some trust fund prick was a hurt baby about an article (that you forcibly apologized for) revealing the sick and sadistic truth about him, his family, money and the justice system. 

"Are you gonna kill me?” You watched him carefully as he crossed the room towards you, trying to keep your voice calm so as not to betray the utter fear that was coursing through your veins at the fact you were trapped, fuck knows where, shackled to a bed with a murderer being your captor. “That's what this is about, right? My apology wasn't enough?"

"Your apology was forced bullshit.” He responded, his voice carried a hint of amusement, because of course, this was all a game to him. “You smeared my name, dragged my reputation though the mud and you expected an apology like that, half assed and full of more crap than your original hatchet piece, to be enough?" He was standing damn near over you now, a hand moving up your leg that was held by the cuff, your body frozen in a confused silent argument of fight or flight.

"You... Killed... Him." You grit out through clenched teeth, and his hand was on your throat before you finished your breath, squeezing just enough to make a point.

"No. I. Didn't." He lied and you had to hand it to him, a lesser person might have bought the garbage he was talking, because he was good at it. Lying must have been enough of a second nature for him that he actually believed everything he said himself. But then again, it wasn't actually a lie was it? Sure, he'd planned on indirectly killing Harlan and that plan had backfired and Harlan had actually slit his own throat. So at most he was indirectly responsible for his death, but none of that had stuck with the prosecution and so now here he was, a free man.

A struggled chuckle came from your tightened throat, "Jesus Christ, you actually believe your own bull shit don't you?"

"You've got a fucking mouth on you," he breathed as his body loomed ominously over the bed and your frame, tiny in comparison to his.

You swallowed, feeling the hard lump strain to pass his grip, "Not really, you just don't like hearing the truth."

His eyes bored into yours and you struggled for breath as his hand constricted around your neck whilst he squeezed a little harder "Oh shut up Y/N."

"Or what, Hugh?" You croaked. 

A little flash of anger tore through his ocean blue eyes like lightning in a storm. His eyes bored into yours as you fought to swallow. 

"Or I'll shut you up myself."

"Try me, you son of a...." You didn't expect his lips to cover yours but they did. Unexpectedly warm and soft, despite the painfully harsh kiss. You managed to pull away but his hand still gripped at your throat and you felt the fear constricting your chest. But you were damned if you were going to show him a shred of weakness.

“You’re an asshole, Hugh…” It was all you had, the only thing you could use in your arsenal given your situation. You still had your voice. And you’d noticed that for whatever reason he appeared to hate that name.

“Don’t... fucking call me that!” his voice rose to a loud, angry instruction, apoplectic rage seeping from him to you, and it was almost stifling.

“Or what? You'll kill me?” your voice rose in both volume and pitch as your desperation began to show. “We both know you're gonna do that once you've fulfilled whatever sick, twisted little fantasy this is. What are you waiting for, Hugh? Huh?”

Ransom scoffed, "Kill you, no, see I'm gonna teach you a lesson. One about how money and status get you anything you want.”

You frowned, as you looked into his icy blue eyes, utterly confused “Anything you want? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You'll see Princess” was the sole explanation you got as he knelt between your legs.

You stayed stock still as large and surprisingly gentle hands trailed your curves up the outside of your thighs to your hips. As he reached the hem of your sweater dress he paused as you wrapped your hands around his wrists.

"Don't" you squeezed, attempting to stop his wrists and close your legs.

“This will be much easier if you just play-along, sweetheart” he muttered as he pressed his lips to your neck. You let go of his wrists and raised your hands, laying them over the wool of his cable knit, palms flat against the plain of muscle as you attempted to push him off.

“I said no.” you tried to keep your voice stern, despite the fact you were fighting back the fear and sadness at the realization of his task was now at hand. His large hands smoothed over your dress, cupping your breasts and he let out a moan as you bit back the bile in your throat that was threatening to spill from your mouth. You pushed harder trying to force him off of you but it was of no use, his broad frame caged you in, engulfing you under him.

“I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.” He ground out, his lips inches from your ear as he nipped at your skin. He was impressively strong and balanced, his weight even through his body as he kept his knees between your legs, a hand against your breast and the other stroking your sides and up your thigh. All the while, his lips sucked at your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point as you turned your head away, tears filling your eyes

"Please, stop," you managed. "Hugh, stop!"

“I told you not to call me that.” He growled against your skin and pulled back, his eyes blazing as they locked on to yours. In sheer desperation, you managed to wrench a free hand from between you and gave him a slap, nails biting at his skin. Instantly you knew you’d pissed him off. His nostrils flared, his jaw set and as his eyes filled with fire and rage.

And you knew then, you were in for it.

“Bitch…” he snarled as he raised his left hand to his face where you had struck him, and then both his hands grabbed yours, yanking your arms up, pinning them above your head. You bucked upwards, violently in an attempt to shake him off, but it was futile. He was far too strong. His grip on your wrists grew tighter and despite yourself you let out a small whimper of fear.

In one hand he had the ability to cuff both of your wrists and he did so while his other grabbed at your dress, shoving it further up your body, fingers curling over the waist of your tights and panties, a handful of the material fisted in his palm. They wouldn't slide down quick enough and you felt your body lift away from the mattress slightly as he ripped away the material, the snap burning your skin. You fought, boy did you fight. You had no control of your hands or arms as he had them easily pinned, but your legs and the rest of your body gave as good as they could. You thrashed from side to side all the time screaming your objections. You drew your knees up to your chest in an attempt to buck him off. You screamed protests, threw every insult you had at him, but it was no use. He was simply too strong.

He didn't even bother with his belt or button, he just unzipped the flies on his jeans, pulled his solid cock free and slid in. You were wetter than you expected to be, but it still burned with friction and ached from the thick stretch against your tight walls. It hurt, definitely hurt.

"You know you want this. I know you want this." He rasped as he pulled out before thrusting back in, his face twisted in a look that was halfway between being smug and satisfied. Just looking at him made you feel sick but for some reason you were unable to look away as he continued his slow assault, before he picked up the pace slightly, his groans of satisfaction filling the room as he bottomed out, balls deep and it was at that point you closed your eyes and tried to block out what he was doing to you. But try as you might to remain mentally detached from the situation, your body was anything but. And the more he moved in and out of you, the more you could feel your physical reactions. You were powerless to stop them and the heat between your legs and in between your belly was spiking with each thrust into you.

It felt good. And you knew it shouldn’t. So you fought it, but eventually, you couldn't fight it anymore, not with  the way his thick cock filled you, velvety smooth skin sliding in and out of your defiant core. You didn't want to cum, but your body told your brain it was going to and Ransom nearly puffed his chest as he fucked you into your body's submission. 

"You're gonna fucking cum, aren't you, Sweetheart? I can feel it," he ground out, chasing his own release. You remained silent, breathing heavily as your insides coiled and tightened. "Fucking tight ass pussy," he gritted. You refused to cry out, not wanting to give him anything you were able not to, and it took everything you had to remain silent. In desperation, to quell the cry that was rising from your throat, you bit your tongue, tasting the coppery taste of blood in your mouth as you came hard around his cock.

“Fuck, yeah…see…” Ransom’s hips began to move faster, and then with a sudden movement he pulled out of you, making you wince involuntarily at the sting. He shot his load all over your thighs, a growl bubbling from his throat, the warmth of his release trickling down your leg made you feel even more dirty than you already did. 

“Not so fucking smart are we now, huh, miss Investigative Reporter…” his snap was snide, and childish, but you knew he couldn’t help himself. Your head remained defiantly in its position on the pillow, turned to the right, eyes focussed on a spot on the wall. “Look at me, bitch.”

When you didn’t do as he asked, he grabbed your chin bruisingly, making you wince as he pulled your face round so he could see you. You knew he would be able to see the tears on your face, and you hated that. Hated that he would see how much he’d hurt you, scared you even, 

His hand let go of your face and you stared at him, swallowing, trying to gather your voice in your painfully dry throat.

"That's all you got? You're a fucking child, Drysdale. It's why you’re doing this." You said, your voice trembling and croaking from the fear and exertion of what he had just put you through and you shook your head. “You’re a fucking man child with mommy and daddy issues. A spoilt, little whiney brat who can’t bear to be told no.”

That struck a nerve, you could tell, as his jaw clenched tight and his fists clenched around the sheets by your side to the point they were shaking. He grabbed your chin once more with his right hand and pinned your face still, forcing your eyes to look back at his 

“You'll be begging me to accept your apology.” He snarled, his face contorted in rage “You'll see who the whiney child is soon enough. I promise Princess, it's not me”

As you looked at him, you felt your anger starting to simmer. This fucking ass hole had just raped you, and he had the gall to be saying you were going to tell him that you were sorry. No chance in hell. You knew you were screwed, literally and figuratively. Whilst he had you captive behind a bolted door, shackled to a bed you had nowhere to go, he knew that you knew that too and you could see it in his face as a smug smirk flickered on his lips. Well fuck this, if you were going down it was with a fight. With a sudden movement, that caught him off guard you moved your head slightly as much as you could in his painful grip, and spat right in his face.

Ransom blinked, his anger morphing to shock, then back to fury once more as he released your face and with a flash of his hand he back handed you straight across the face. The blow to your right cheek snapped your head to the left, sucking the breath from your lungs and leaving you a little dazed.

“Fuck you.” He sneered as he rose to his feet, wiping his face. Silently he rearranged his pants, tucking his now soft cock back inside them, and swept from the room, locking the door behind him.

***** Ransom stormed up the steps to the kitchen of the house, slamming the top door behind him and bolting that one shut too. He was furious that little bitch had scratched him and no doubt marked his face. He strode over the marble tiles of the room and walked into the large hallway and across into the den. He made his way straight to the bar, poured himself a healthy measure of good scotch, slopping a little on the dark wooden counter, before he glanced up at the large mirrored surface of the bar behind the shelves.

He could make out three vivid red lines down his left cheek where she’d dug her nails into his flesh and his jaw clenched. His hair was out of place, his cheeks flushed and his normally cold eyes were blazing with anger. But as he stood there staring at his dishevelled reflection, he knew it wasn’t the fact she’d scratched or spat at him that was pissing him off so much. It was the fact she had persistently voiced a name he despised, one that was used to control those lower than him in his every-day life. One reserved for The Help, for outsiders. It reminded him of his family, of his mother and father, the two people in his life who should have loved him unconditionally but instead had him out of ‘duty’ and had taken every opportunity to pass him off into the care of others they could. It reminded him of Walt persistently telling him he was a no-one, that he would amount to nothing over than a trust-fund baby. 

It reminded him of Harlan. The one person in that entire fucked up patriarchy that had shown him an ounce of care. But who had screwed him over in the end. 

The anger that had been simmering inside him boiled over, the blood pumped into his ear and with an angry yell and an almost involuntary action Ransom hurled the glass tumbler straight at the wall where it smashed against the tasteful silver and white wallpaper, the 25 year old single malt trickling down the wall…just like the tears and trickled down Y/N’s cheeks as he’d forced her to look at him whilst he took what was his. 

As she’d glared up at him he’d noticed a fierceness in her eyes that he was surprised to find had unnerved him a little, because she clearly wasn’t going to be as easy to break as he thought. 

“Fuck it.” He mumbled to himself, grabbing the bottle from the bar before he turned and left the room, taking a large swig as he went, the burn in his throat going someway to settling his nerves.

This would work out, because he was Ransom fucking Drysdale, a man who always got what he wanted in the end, and she was going to be no exception.

**** Part 2

[itsthestutterforme]

I Reject You (Ransom Drysdale)

Summary: Ransom has a friends with benefits relationship with Y/N recently learned that she is pregnant with Ransom's pup but rejects him as the father because of how he treated her when they were together.

Notes: GIF is not mine, slight smut, fluff, A/B/O dynamics, mentions of human trafficking, mentions of depression, implied sexual assault (if any of these trigger you, please do not read. Take care of yourselves.)

--

Here you are exactly where you promised yourself you weren't going. As soon as you saw Ransom sitting in your office chair, you knew where this was headed. He picked you up from your job and drove straight to his house.

Your body shakes when he lazily thrusts into your soaked cunt as you both are laying down on your side. Leaning your head against his collarbone, your mouth falls open when he rubs your clit when his thumb.

You follow his hips when he pulls out of you, leaving just the tip in before drilling into you hard and fast. "You are such a slut for my dick aren't you? No matter how many times you say you never want to see me again. You. Are. Mine. Omega." He whispers into you ear and you were starting to see stars.

A sharp gasp leaves your lips as you cum for the fifth time today. His knot pops open and his seed decorated your walls. He pulls out of you and you lay on your back, mustering up the strength to get up but he grabs your chin roughly so you could look at him.

"No one can make you cum like I can. No one." You pull away from his grip and swing your legs over the edge of the bed. You curse at your body for trembling. You needed to get out of there and quick before he notices something is off.

You noticed a different abouf a week ago and went to the doctor. Only to find out that you were pregnant by no other than Ransom Drysdale. The trust fund playboy. There's no way you were going to tell him the baby was his. You needed to end whatever this is and you needed to end it now.

"You smell different," he says, trailing his nose along the curve of your neck. "Is your heat starting?" He asks and you choose not to say anything. What is there to say to a man that calls you a cumslut one second and is worried about your well being, the next?

You stand on wobbly legs and slide on your underwear while in search for the rest of your clothing. "When I talk to you, I expect you to speak." He says, standing from the bed and you jump into your dress pants. When you reach for you blouse, he rips from the your hand and tosses it across the room.

Attempting to get the blouse, a growl emits deep in his chest and you still your movements. You don't meet his eyes but you could feel the anger blossoming in his gaze. He grabs your throat sharply and lowered his head until his blue eyes met yours.

"Speak, Omega." Chills rolls down your spine at his command. "There's nothing to talk to you about." "You could have just said that. You didn't have to ignore me." "I didn't peg you as the sensitive type, Drysdale." You snark, and he allows you to pull his hand away from your throat.

"You're not going to shower before you go like you normally do? What, am I that bad of a person?" "There's nothing normal about this, Ransom. And to answer your question, yes, you are." You walk across the room and button up your blouse.

"What's up with you? You've been acting bitchy all day." "Wow, you talk like you're a ray of sunshine." "You know what, you want me to speak. Fine, I'll speak. Don't talk like you give a shit about me because you and I both know you don't. The only thing you care about is getting your rocks off like a horny little bitch."

Oh your hormones are going to get you in trouble. The omega in you was trembling with fear of what Ransom was going to do to you. He snarls and before you could even think about running, he turns you around and shoves into the nearest wall. His eyes glowing a dreadful crimson as he growled in your face.

"You got a death wish, omega? Who the fuck do you think you're talking to." He snarls and you instinctively expose you neck to him. Your arm maternally drapes over your stomach protectively and he noticed. His eyes lost their glow and he stares down at your stomach with wide eyes.

He takes a few steps back and you could hear his anxious heart pattering in his chest. "Is it mine?" "No," you answer a little too quickly and he raises his eyebrow questionigly. "You're lying," he says, taking a step toward you with his eyes glazing over your mating gland.

"Absolutely not," you snap and he takes another step towards you. "Stop, Ransom. Please don't," you whimper as he blew warm air over your sensitive gland. Something else stirred inside of you that wasn't your omega part of you. It was something more dominant and heavy.

Your hand comes up and in between your neck and his face. Your gripped his face and shoved him as hard as you could with surprising strength. You sent him flying across the room. He initially landed on the bed and bounced off to land in the corner.

A deep, protective roar erupted from your chest and something happened that you dreaded for most of your life. Your eyes were glowing. Your eyes didn't shine a normal golden color. They glowed like a broken mixture between crimson and ogate from an unspeakable past trauma.

"What the hell are you?" He asks as your eyes restore to normal. "Baby," he adds, his features softened. "Stay away from me. And stay away from my pup." You threaten, before sliding on your shoes and walking out the door. You wave down a taxi who drives you back to your house.

"Hey, I stopped by your job and saw you- Y/N, are you okay?" Your mom asks as her eyes settle on your trembling frame. "He found out." You croak, she motions you to sit on the couch and you comply. "He found out about the baby?" She asks. "He found out," you repeat, watching as she realizes what you really meant.

"He saw your eyes?" She asks with disbelief. "He tried to forcefully claim me and I bellowed at him to protect my pup." "What are you going to do? Do you want to leave?" She asks, running a comforting hand down your arm. "I have no idea, Mom. I don't get it. I thought I wasn't able to get pregnant."

"This is a blessing, honey." She says and you shake your head. "It would have been a blessing if the father was a decent human being, but he's not, Mom. He treats me.." you trail off and your mother purrs sadly, resting your face on the sides of hers. "He's a terrible person, Mom. But I need him and I fucking hate it."

"I know, honey. We don't need to figure everything out right now. Take a deep breath." You take a deep breath and a series of sobs escape your lips. You're screwed and everyone knows it.

**

Ransom bounces his leg nervously in his Beemer as he parks outside of Y/N's house. He could smell her, she's in deress and she's feeling an immense amount of sadness. He doesn't even know what he's doing there. It's not like his presence would help anything. She hated him and he doesn't blame her.

He would always call you names and insult your intelligence to keep you rilde up so he wouldn't know how it was to be loved by you. He started to fall for you when you would talk back against his misogynistic tendencies. He loved how your nose crinkled just before you were about to snap on him.

You have guts and you stood your ground, regardless if you were an omega or not. He respected that about you. But now he wanted to show you that he was willing to change for you and that he treated you like shit because he was scared of what your love could to him.

But he knew you. You would tell him to fuck off and leave because that is what he was good at. He had a plan to get you to trust him, but if that doesn't work. He has no idea what to do with himself. With a deep breath, he hops out of his Beemer and stalks towards the front door.

He knocks firmly and he heard footsteps ascending to the door. His heart races in his chest but he swallows it down. The door opens and he meets the gaze of a very angry mother. "How dare you come here?" "I need to see her," "I think you've done enough."

"She's carrying my pup, I can't just leave her." Ransom's explains, desperate to be given the benefit of the doubt. "I've heard terrible stories about you. You trust fund, prick. My daughter made a mistake and I'm sure she'll learn from it without your help." She snaps.

"Did she say that?" "She did," "You're a terrible liar. Just like your daughter." He sighs when she growls defensively at him. "What happened to her? To her eyes?" He asks. "Please, I want to be in her life. She makes my heart tingle and that scares the hell out of me, so I tried to push her away by.."

"By treating her like trash. You have no idea how to deal with women, do you?" She asks and he shakes his with defeat.

"Come in," she says with a sigh. Ransom walks into the house much smaller than he's used to. That's what a family house looks like. The entire living room is the size of his walk in closet. But he understands why Y/N would call it home. "Stay here, I'll be right back." Y/N's mom says before disappearing down the hall.

He sits down on the side of the couch where your scent is the strongest. His eyes fall to the shut door closest to the kitchen. Your scent dripped from the room and it took everything in him not to burst in there and pull you into his arms.

Y/N's mom returns with a thin stack of newspapers. The looked to be a few years old by the font and the faded lettering in some places. The newspaper crinkles in his hands as he read the headline on the first page.

HUMAN TRAFFICKING VICTIM FOUND AFTER 7 YEARS. Below the headline was a picture of a young girl with bruises litering her face as she pulled the blanket close to her.

The most heart wrenching part about the picture was how hollow her eyes looked. It was like looking into a dark tunnel with no light at the end of it. Whatever she experienced ruined whatever childhood she had left. Ransom's eyes scan over the article and flipped through the rest of the pages, growing angrier the more he read.

"How long ago was this?" Ransom asks. "Five years ago. She was twelve when she was taken." Ransom shakes his head with disbelief and sets the newspaper on the table in front of him. "Can I see her, please?" He asks desperately.

"She hasn't moved since she came back from your house a week ago. She barely talks and eats. Hopefully you have better luck than I do." She says, motioning for the door.

Ransom stands up and opens the door within a few strides. Goosebumps littered his skin when he inhales Y/N's miserable musk. Tears threatened his eyes but he wiped them away quickly. She already been through hell and Ransom made it worse by treating her the way he was. She deserved better than him.

"Y/N?" Ransom starts but Y/N doesn't move a muscle. Her bed covers were draped over her entire body, leaving a small opening above her head so she could breathe. Her breathing was barely audible, she could easily be mistaken as dead. The room was dim from the closed curtain and lack of light.

Not knowing what to say, he decides he was going to stay there with her. Maybe.. hopefully.. his prescence is enough to comfort her because he has no idea how to do that as he was never comforted as a child. He was just told to suck it up and stop being a baby. He's a Drysdale. And Drysdale's aren't weak.

He shrugs off his peacoat and pulled off his cable knit sweater. He stepped a little closer to admire her nest but notice the lack of his scent. He drapes his cable knit over the headboard of her bed. Not wanting to push his luck, he walked away from the bed and slid down the wall a distance away from you.

He smiles when he hears you purr softly in your sleep as you notice his scent. "Baby, I'm going to stay here with you, if that's okay." Ransom says and you continued to purr. Guess that wasn't a terrible sign.

Later that night, Ransom left your house to grab a week's worth of clothes plus an assortment of clothes you could add to her you. You still haven't said anything but your vile scent of shame and sadness has lessened.

When Ransom came back, Y/N's mom offered him the guest room but Ransom claimed it was too far from her. So she pumped up an air mattress for him. He's spent every day in the room with Y/N without saying a word. One day, Ransom came back with sushi for lunch to see you out of bed.

You froze when you saw him down the hallway after closing the door to the bathroom. "You came back earlier than I expected," you say and a sigh of relief leaves his lips. You both stay in your spots and stare at each other, waiting for someone to make the first move.

"I'm not good at comforting people. But I am good at telling people what I know. And I know that I feel like absolutely shit for how I treated you. And I know what happened to you when you were younger. Why your eyes are the way they are." He starts. "The fact that you can stand up for other people despite your past makes you strong. A strong mate and a strong mother." He adds.

He sets the sushi on the counter and you shove your hands into the pockets of your sweatpants. "We're not meant to be parents, Ransom. This could be the worst thing that could happen to us." She explains. "Or the best thing. I don't know about you, but I've been looking for a change. And then I met you and that was the change I was looking for." He explains.

You eye him suspiciously, unsure of where this verbal affection came from. "Why are you saying these things? Did my mom put you up to this? I told her I would be fine." You say, walking down the hall and into your room. "She didn't put me up to this. And no, you're not fine." He says, leaning against your door frame.

"Baby, we're in this together." "I don't trust it. I don't trust you. I've seen what you're capable of and the way you treat people. And I will be damned if I let you treat my pup like that."

"Your pup?" "My pup," you repeat, placing a hand on your stomach. His gaze falls on your stomach and he nods to himself like he's making a decision in his mind.

"Mark me," he says, taking off his pea coat, cable knit sweater and tank top underneath that. He sets on the air mattress and nears you slowly. "What? No." "I'll honor the bond. I'll be yours and only yours. I won't mark you unless you want me to. Just please, mark me."

"This is insane," you start and takes your hand to place on his cheek. He inhales the scent of your pulse point on your wrist before placing your hand on his mating gland. You shake your head no and he sits down, pulling you into his lap and burying your face into his neck.

Your inner omega takes over and you wrap your arms around his neck. "Alpha," you whimper. "Oh, omega. I'm so sorry, baby." He whispers. He stares up at the ceiling as he tries to hold back his tears but it was no use. He always thought that he was fucked up because Linda never showed him any affection as a kid.

But to hear about what you experienced as a kid. The fact that you had nothing and you had your will and autonomy stripped from you. Ransom's autonomy was the only thing he felt like he truly had. He rubbed circles on your neck and you sigh into his. He learned that from a Google search he did but you didn't know that.

You pull away from his neck and cupped his cheeks, pressing a warm kiss on his soft lips. You were desperate for each other's touch, but it wasn't in a sexual way.

It was more like a tending to an internal scratch. Your eyes fluttered closed and he lifted your chin to deepen the kiss. Your tear stained cheeks rubbed against his and his tongue swiped against your lip, begging for access.

You glady give him the access he needed and his happy hummed vibrated your chest. He pulled away slowly and held you gaze before exposing his neck to you. You couldn't believe your eyes. The Ransom Drysdale was exposing his neck to you. Submitting to you. Maybe he wasn't bluffing after all.

You ghost your fingers over his mating gland and he sighs at the touch. You look to him and he nods, encouraging you to continue. Your tongue darted out to moisturize your dry lips and press a kiss to the sensitive skin. You purr as you inhale his musk of honey and crackers, his favorite childhood snack.

."Y/N, please." Giving him one last look before sinking your teeth into his neck, his mouth falls open and you bite down harder until you could taste the metallic drops of his blood.

You lick away the droplets of blood escaping the wound before pulling away. You lick away the blood from your lips and expose your neck to him but he gripped your chin and shook his head.

"You have to want it." He says sincerely. You barely recognize the Ransom in front of you. His ogate eyes dilate as they met your Y/E/C eyes. And in that moment you realize that Ransom was just as broken as you were. He truly was yours.

[darker-soft-starker]

Starker High School AU Pt. 7 (1...6)

tw: general Howard Stark warning

----

So, here’s the thing.

Peter meant to ask May about the letter the night he got it back from Tony, He really did. But then everyone was in such a good mood, he couldn’t bring himself to shatter that to satisfy his own curiosity.

So then he meant to ask the next day.

And he tries, he really does.

But the letter feels as heavy as an anvil in his desk drawer and Peter is too nervous to ask about it. Something always comes up or he gets too scared to shatter the image of the good, obedient nephew he is, one who doesn’t go rifling through mail not addressed to him, prying into personal business.

So he flusters and stumbles pretty badly for the first couple attempts. He changes topic quickly, pretending like he was going to ask about something else, asking himself where exactly his business ends and where his curiosity begins.

Once during a gymnastics comp he stopped mid routine to check on a rival who had fallen from the rings and injured themselves. His coach asked when he was going to stop being a goddamn martyr.

He shakes the Magic 8-Ball on Monday morning and asks the universe if it’s an appropriate time to approach May.

Reply hazy, try again.

Well, that’s not what his flagging courage had hoped for. He shakes it again.

Ask again later.

One more time, harder.

Better not tell you now.

“What the hell,” he whispers, placing it haphazardly upon where he took it. “That’s bullshit.”

“What’s with the potty mouth,” May asks suddenly from behind him. He turns as she’s affixing some dangling earrings to her ears. “What’s wrong, kiddo?”

“Nothing,” he sighs. “Just - do you have a minute?”

She checks her watch. “I have about forty seconds. Is something wrong - are you okay?”

“No - I mean yes, I’m okay. Are...are you?”

“Top of the world, bubby,” she scoops her keys from the bowl, approaching him with a curious expression. “Why do you ask?”

There’s no easy way to ask without blatantly admitting to going through her things, and the last thing he wants her to think is that she can’t trust him.

“I just mean. If you weren’t. If there was something wrong, you would tell me, right?”

“Of course,” her face falls. “You’re acting strange, Pete.”

“I just worry, that’s all.”

You’re all I have left, is what loops over and over in his mind, but doesn’t say. She seems to hear it anyway, rushing forward and kissing his forehead, her perfume filling his nose.

“Everything is fine, bubs. The second it isn’t, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Okay.”

“I gotta go, but stop worrying okay? That’s my job. You have a good day.”

She hurries to scoop up her handbag and closes the door before he’s broken out of his thoughts long enough to reply. He sighs and shakes the stupid ball again before he leaves as well.

Cannot predict now.

Of course.

Just for once he’d like fate to be firmly on his side.

---

Something smells weird.

It’s sharp, chemical and not entirely unpleasant. Noticeable, however, sharp enough to cut through the usual musty smell of the library. It’s like apple cider, but overpowers the usual library smell of old books and dust and pencil shavings, a scent Peter has long associated with study, solitude, and the easing of his anxious heart from a gallop to a steady stride.

It’s not a bad smell, just misplaced.

And Tony’s been acting strange all study period. Like, weirder than normal - and his resting state of normal is already ineffably frenetic and bewildering, so this was an entirely different carton of eggs.

Peter doesn’t exactly want to bring it up, they’re kind of on a tenuously peaceful truce, a silent lay down of arms, so to speak.

Well, as peaceful as a truce can be while they call each other all sorts of names and rib each other over literally any sign of weakness, but still. They have some sort of an understanding now, and it’s all relatively innocent, good natured banter.

Mostly.

Peter for sure could have done without being called fuck-face-mcgee upon entering the library, but he’s willing to let it pass. He was late, after all.

“Anyway,” Peter says, sitting across the table from Tony, “so I think if we removed the monthly gym membership, we’d have an extra sixty per month that could go towards other stuff.”

“Like what?” Tony’s face pinches.

“I don’t know, like a college fund?”

“Ridiculous idea. I need that membership,” Tony rebukes, shrugging his leather jacket off, hooking it over the back of the chair. “When else am I supposed to get a reprieve from you and the cabbage patch?”

“When do I get a reprieve? I’m the money-maker. When do I get my break from work and childcare?”

“At work. What are you, like an art teacher or something? Your whole day is like a rich, white woman's vacation. Parents don’t get a lunch break.”

“Right. I’m sure watching Dora and burping an infant is as hard as teaching a class of thirty.”

“Wow. So dismissive. I mean, if you were a good spouse, you would give your withered and weary husband a break from screaming babies and shitty diapers.”

“Mhmm. That would mean I’d have to do something nice for you, and that doesn’t sound like me.”

Tony shakes his head. “We’re getting a divorce as soon as Molly is old enough to pick me as the superior parent,” he points to Peter’s papers. “Put that in the notes.”

Peter closes his eyes and sighs, willing himself not to lean over the table and smack the other boy.

“You are not the superior parent. You’re the deadbeat that forgets to pick her up from school and day drinks.”

“And yet, she loves me the most. You’re just the breadwinner who comes home grumpy every evening. I’m the cool dad.”

“Fine, keep your druglord baby. I never wanted kids anyway.”

“Fine. I’m keeping the car.”

“I’m keeping the apartment.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

They snicker quietly in a rare moment of camaraderie before a lightbulb goes off in Peter's head.

“What if we used the membership, but cut costs elsewhere, like, cutting our own hair and stuff. We could save for a yearly holiday, go to the beach or something.”

“Florida! Disney, roadtrip, yes,” Tony clicks his fingers towards Peter, smiling wide. “Look at you getting all savvy. Call the judge, the marriage is back on.”

“You can’t go to Disney for a few hundred dollars, dumbass, that’s barely the price of admission,” Peter scribbles on his pad, making note of their ideas. “You ever been?”

“Nope.”

“Really?”

“Not even once.”

“That’s surprising. Isn’t that where all rich white people take their baby sociopaths to beat up their first mascot?”

“One, I was never a baby, I emerged fully grown, and two, could you imagine Howard Stark within a mile of the happiest place on earth? He’d have a fucking stroke,” his face changes like he’s had an epiphany. “Not a bad idea, actually.”

Peter doesn’t mention that he doesn’t personally know Howard Stark but is willing to take Tony’s assessment at face value. That being said, he can’t imagine Tony, now, voluntarily heading to Disney without coercion or the promise of copious quantities of alcohol. He’d probably smoke and cuss and scare away small children.

He mind lingers on that particular characterisation, and for a moment tries to picture what Tony looked like as a kid, if he was a chubby, toothless little brat, can’t help then imagining him with Mickey Mouse ears, gleefully running through his gigantic home, harried caretakers running after him.

He must have been the worst.

“I’ve never been further than Washington,” Peter offers, “but that was for AcDec, so it wasn’t like we got to see much.”

“You did Academic Decathlon?”

“Yep.”

“Ew, why would you do that to yourself.”

“I still do it. It looks good on college applications and it’s fun,” he shrugs. “I like it. I’m good at it.”

Tony’s hands cover his mouth, but it doesn’t stifle the rising apple of his cheeks or the mirth in his voice.

“I’m feeling so much second-hand embarrassment for you right now.”

“Shut up,” Peter huffs, kicking him under the table, satisfied when the other boy winces. He fails to smother his own wince when he gets a kick in return, right in the kneecap. “Nothing wrong with being an intellectual.”

“You’re a fucking nerd, four-eyes.”

“What about you?” Peter rolls his eyes, keen to change the subject. “Been outside New York?”

Tony shrugs, tapping his pen on the pad, looking anywhere but at him. “When I was younger I’d sometimes go on my dad's business trips to Europe or Japan or whatever. And we have a house in Malibu.”

“That sounds awesome.”

Tony snorts. He shuffles on his seat, sliding their notes over and making further amendments in quick strokes, the cheap pen spurting bright red ink over the paper like arterial spray.

“Oh yeah, it was a real blast.”

Spoiled brat.

“Are you going anywhere for Thanksgiving?”

“With my family?” Tony looks up. “No, I’d rather stick my head up a turkey’s ass. You?”

Without warning, Peter’s hand flies to cover his mouth, unable to  but snort at the imagery, He’s not sure if Tony just doesn’t get along with his family or if he’s still stuck in that churlish, ‘too cool to be around my parents’ stage of adolescence. It’s one the idiosyncrasies that would have annoyed Peter before, his ungratefulness of having a family that’s still alive would be just another thing for Peter to hate him for.

Now, he thinks, he’s beginning to parse out when Tony’s being sincere and when he’s  hyperbolic, finally recognising the latter as a mechanism to throw someone off a topic that makes Tony uncomfortable. He sees it - the warning lights and stop signs in barbed coding, wrapped up in dry wit and sarcasm.

Peter is like that sometimes, too.

And what the hell would Peter know about having a normal family.

“Yeah, actually, for once,” he says softly. “My aunt - not May - and uncle have a holiday home up north, so we’re staying with them over the long weekend.”

“S’cool. May’s family?”

Peter shakes his head. “Sort of - they’re not actually related, but May and Margaret have been best friends since college, so.”

“Is Margaret a babe, too?”

Peter throw a chewed-up pencil at him that he catches easily.

“Don’t be gross.”

“I’m not,” he throws the pencil back, overshooting and hitting the shelves behind them. “What are we talking, on a scale of haggard to hottie.”

“I don’t know, man. You seem to have questionable taste in the people you are attracted to.”

Tony grins crookedly, eyes shining with something Peter can’t decipher. “Ain't that the truth.”

“What’s the supposed to --” he stops himself, suddenly recognising what the strange scent was that he’d been picking up. “Wait - dude, are you wearing cologne?”

Tony’s mouth opens and closes a few times before he responds. “No,” he denies, just as the bell rings. “Oh, look at that, time to get to class.”

Saved by the bell.

“So, this is it,” Tony nods, shutting the lid of his laptop as the bell signals the end of their free period. “We’re done. The assignment. That’s the last of it, right?”

Dazedly, he watches Tony stuffing his laptop and notes into his backpack, brow creasing as his mind catches up.

“Uh, yeah. I guess.”

“Send me your notes tonight, I’ll stitch them together with mine and send them back.”

“Okay,” he sluggishly collects his own notes, picking up the bag by his feet. “That’s - that’s good.”

“Well, Parker,” Tony slings his backpack on his shoulder, shuffling backwards, “we didn’t kill each other. I mean, not for a lack of wanting on my behalf.”

‘’Yeah, from Wednesday we’re free. We can go back to normal.”

“Yeah,” Tony’s grin fades. They stare at each other for a long moment that could have been seconds or hours, he doesn’t know, until the second bell rings.

“Hey, um --”

“I’ll send you the notes later,” Tony interrupts, sotto voce. “I gotta get to class. See you around.”

Something in his stomach deflates, sadly and slowly, like a balloon with a pinprick, emptying itself until it’s an uncomfortably hard to digest crumpled mass at the base of his stomach. He pastes on a smile and looks out the window, hoping the feeling doesn’t show in his eyes.

That’s when he notices the leather jacket Tony has left behind, still slung over the back of the chair.

“You left your…” he trails off, turning back, but Tony is already long gone, probably already halfway to his next class. Like a bat out of hell, Peter thinks wryly, picking up the jacket, the leather smooth like butter under his touch, still warm around the collar where Tony’s had been leaning against it.

No good leaving it here to get stolen or be tossed into lost property. He decides to take it with him, folding it gently over his arm. He’ll give it back when he sees him again, maybe after school.

“Nice jacket, Parker,” Flash says approvingly when Peter bumps into him out in the hall.

At first he thinks he’s referring to Peter’s ratty hoodie, and it confounds him for a moment because it’s decidedly not nice, but then he realizes he’s referring to the leather in his arms.

“It’s not mine,” he replies a little too late, because Flash is already down the hall, out of earshot.

Peter sighs. It’s beginning to become a depressing theme.

---

The weird feeling in his chest doesn’t subside all afternoon, and into the evening Peter is starting to think maybe he just has indigestion, like acid reflux or something. Must be the chilli surprise from lunch. Maybe he’d missed his meds.

He sends his portion of the final notes to Tony’s email, turns off his computer and switches on Colbert.

---

It’s not until hours later, well after midnight and the infomercials are playing, only then does his phone buzz against his thigh with a response.

Figures that Tony would be a night owl like him.

> soz was distracted > youtube spiral

Peter shifts downwards on the bed, holding the phone over his face. < s’ok  < what were you watching  > say yes to the dress  < lmao really > lol no > anyway, looks good. ur notes > will print off for u to sign tomorrow < is that a compliment or an admission u were wrong about me 

> neither. One subject does not a genius make  > unlike me, an actual genius

In your dreams, dipshit, he wants to type, but doesn’t, not really keen to provoke a muddy discussion on who is the smartest (it’s definitely Peter).

< u left ur jacket in the library btw, I have it, he texts instead, his pulse jumping when Tony replies with crying emoji’s.

Tony sends him a snap, unexpectedly, a sad face that makes Peter snort. His face seems distressed, the caption reads, thought i lost it for good.

Shifting down further on the bed, he’s feeling suddenly and inexplicably courageous, fire burning up from his belly button to his fingers.

Peter takes a silly photo of himself and sends it back. > didn’t want it to get stolen < aw u care

“I do not,” he whispers to himself.  > i do not. come collect it after school tomorrow or im throwing it out. < u wouldn’t do that to me > there’s a lot of things i would do 2 u  > ....  > um  > lol 

 Peter’s face flames at the implication. He reads over what he just so carelessly typed, stomach positively knotted with embarrassment. Oh god, that is not what he meant. His fingers fly over the screen at record speed as he types out a response. < NOT LIKE THAT < I MEANT IT IN A THREATENING WAY < I’M LITERALLY GAGGING > yikes > ur dirty talk needs work < no it DOESN’T bc we’re not sexting > sure jan > damn. didn’t kno u had it in u bubs < i don’t have it in me > not yet > ;)

Despite the deep blush still heating his face and his heart galloping in his chest, a laugh breaks out of him. The phone in his hand vibrates again. > jk jk, not ever > need to bleach my brain now 

Slowly gliding back to earth he types out a response. < ikr me too < ugh.

He puts his phone down on the bed, looking up at the water-stained ceiling, amusement slowly fading. His pulse though, that doesn’t return to normal.

How could it when his mind suddenly runs away from him, evoking short-lived, but nonetheless strikingly vivid images of intertwined legs, planes of pale skin, and lush lips. How can the heat in his stomach escape when his thoughts conjure phantom sensations of a soft mouth sucking on his neck, the punishing grip of hands on his hips and the warmth and weight of another body on top of his own.

A forehead leaning against his, brown eyes that knocked his pulse off kilter.

The taste of nicotine.

Stop it.

That is dangerous territory right there. And a line he doesn’t want to cross.

Shaking his head, Peter swings his legs over the side of the bed and sits up, looking anywhere for a distraction; his window, the posters on his wall, his figurines on his shelves, anything to douse the low-burning fire in his gut.

Standing, he heads to the bathroom to get ready for bed, banging their crappy old heater with his fist to get it working again.

He takes a very cold shower.

----

It’s not that Peter doesn’t enjoy sex.

Not that he’s had it.

But he enjoys jerking off, at least. Like a regular amount, whatever that is for a teenage boy. He likes kissing. Likes thinking about one day being in a real relationship and exploring someone's body and he likes exploring what turns him on and what he doesn’t.

It’s just that he doesn’t let himself think of anyone he knows personally that way, no matter how conventionally attractive they are - not Thor, and especially not him.

Typically, his fantasies are people with vague features, sometimes with bodies like those he has seen in porn, all shapes and sizes. And that’s safe for him.

He doesn’t want to have to look anyone he knows in the eye and wonder what their lips would feel like pressed against his own. If they’re any good at kissing. If they’re the type to take control or cede it.

He does wonder, sometimes though. No matter how much he denies what or who he wants.

Because it doesn’t matter if it’s a person or a thing. Want is never superficial in his experience, it doesn’t feel good most of the time. It’s deep and sometimes dark, it sinks itself into him with its hooks and it tugs, and keeps tugging. It yields to craving and yearning.

Back in his bedroom, his eyes land on his wall-mounted mirror. It’s small. Like the Mona Lisa. Small enough that he doesn’t have to see his whole reflection if he doesn’t want to.

He doesn’t want to crave and yearn for anybody, because he knows it will always be one sided. He’s well aware that he isn’t exactly centrefold material.

Who is gonna look at his weird ears or thin lips, and think, shit, that’s the guy of my dreams. Not with his big glasses or the way his hair twists itself into frizzy, unruly curls once the gel wears off and he starts looking like an unkempt labradoodle.

Who would want to wake up next to him? No one.

So it’s better not to risk imagining anyone real. It’s only in his head that anyone could ever want him back.

His eyes go from the mirror to the jacket folded and placed on his desk. It was intended to be plain sight so he remembers to bring it in - out of sight, out of mind, is what Ben would say. He can still smell the cologne Tony denied wearing earlier.

Once he’s in bed, he turns to face the wall.

Out of sight, out of mind.

---

Maybe Tony subscribes to that mantra as well.

Peter forgets to bring the jacket in all week and Tony doesn’t ask.

---

Danvers wants him fit and ready to be harpooned into the mud by next week; that’s why she looks the other way when Thor and Peter take their informal training in the boundaries of the field, stretching out on the grass as the JV team runs their usual morning drills - drills Peter would have been a part of before his stupid injury and his stupid wrist-brace.

This school is stupid too. Now he has to pay to see a doctor so he can get medically cleared for a sport he doesn’t really care that much about.

Like he didn’t have enough medical bills to deal with.

In any case, he’s not really in a position to complain, because he has the opportunity now to run through his warm-up with Thor, who is taking his direction to spread his legs into a butterfly position so beautifully, even as his knees raise from the ground to make a v-shape, whereas Peter’s lie flat on the grass.

If the last few days had been different, he might have blushed and used the situation at hand as an opening to place his hands on Thor’s knees and applied pressure. But now he just smiles encouragingly and reminds himself that he has no chance - no place - and his hands do not belong anywhere but his own body.

And surprisingly enough, he’s okay about it all.

Thor was a good guy. Peter will never say no to having more friends.

It’s a dreadful, bitter morning. Icy cold, wind biting into his shirt, the grass below them is damp. He has to keep rubbing his hands together so he can restore feeling in his fingers.

To make things worse, Tony is back on the bleachers. White v-neck, jeans and dark sunglasses. Sprawled out over a set of steps, legs askew, arms behind his head, unmoving as if he were napping or sunbathing, appearing like a cocky main out of an eighties movie.

Or a king surveying his kingdom.

Rhodes and Potts slouch on either side of him, swapping phones over his idle figure, taking pictures and laughing amongst themselves.

“It burns,” Thor says lightly, hands on his thighs in an attempt to aim his knees to touch the ground.

“Yeah,” Peter agrees, despite the ease in which he can lean in. “It just takes practice, dude. Twenty minutes a day, warm up and don’t over-do it. You’ll be limber in no time.”

“You can do this better than I can,” Thor argues, accent thick as he tries to lie flat like Peter.

“And you can lift a hundred pounds better than I can,” he tries to rebut, even as they switch positions, hip flexors aching with old injuries.

While the stretches are like second nature, he doesn’t miss the pressure of training for competition. The eagerness to get into a flat butterfly or oversplit. There was no argument that he spent nights on crunches back then, and he was somewhat toned - but he was shit at weight training. He hated lifting. Reps were more boring, more tedious and difficult and the diet required to give them any value was frankly not worth giving up a great hotdog or a loaded sub from Delmars. He wouldn’t go back to it now.

None of that old heat is there when he inspects Thor’s form. That quick simmer, the call to be closer. That terrible thing, want. All but gone. awe is still there, as he suspects it always would be with someone as outstanding as Thor, but the butterflies have very much flown away.

As he suspected would be the case. He has someone and they’re happy. With the cat out of the bag Thor had shown Peter pictures of his boyfriend all morning. He’d gotten a puppy, apparently, which just tickled Thor. He was so happy it was almost sickening.

When is it gonna be him that sickens someone with photo’s of his partner?

“Hey, Parker,” Tony yells from the stands, “you suck!”

Looking over, the idiot is raised on his elbows and grinning, like he’s proud of himself for a spectacularly unoriginal insult.

Rolling his eyes, Peter gives him the finger and he gets one in return.

His stomach twists and he has to duck his head to conceal his smile.

“Your husband is somewhat rude,” Thor says, following Peter’s example and switching from a pike to a lunge.

Peter looks back over to the stands. A cigarette now dangles between Tony’s full lips, sunglasses slid to the tip of his nose.

That’s how Peter knows he’s looking at him too.

Even from afar his eyes are round and mirthful, framed with ridiculously long lashes like a cartoon mouse, far too outlandish for any real person to have.

“He’s the absolute worst,” Peter bites his bottom lip, quickly averting his gaze. “It was an arranged marriage, to be fair.”

---

Wednesday comes and goes.

Their assignment gets handed in, Peter signs it off to say he did his fair portion of the work and Miss Ahn beams at the both of them when she is handed the thick binder, looking all too pleased with herself.

They have a presentation of their work next week, after Thanksgiving, each pair expected to give five minutes of their life pretending that they’re passionate about schoolwork in front of their fellow students who don’t care.

After that they are completely unburdened. No study sessions, no car rides, and no fries dipped in milkshakes.

They’re embarrassingly hailed as a prime example of people working through their differences, as if they had come together and were now friends or something.

From the front row Tony sneaks a furtive glance at Peter when she applauds them to the class.

“See, kids,” she says, “it wasn’t so bad working together, was it?”

Their eyes meet briefly.

“Zero out of ten, would not do again,” Tony declares, brash and loud, kicking his combat boots onto his desk in a leisurely display.. “That guy is the human equivalent of watching paint dry. Awful.”

“Oh, come on,” she chides. “Be nice.”

Not one to be outdone, Peter lets his horse out of the gate too.

“Singular worst experience of my life. I once had a root canal without anaesthetic and it was less painful than working with him.”

“Alright, boys, that’s enough out of you,” Miss Ahn sighs deeply, walking to the front of the room. “Mr Lang, how did you find the assignment?”

“Very informative…”

From the front row Tony turns in his seat and winks at him.

----

“Thanksgiving plans?” Natasha asks, leaning beside his locker, smothering a smile as he struggles to get his locker open for the nth time that day with one functional hand.

“Visiting my Aunt and Uncle,” he says, finally prying the damn thing open. “They’ve got a place up at Otisco Lake, so. Probably watching old movies and swimming all weekend.”

“Oof,” his friend winces. “That’s a trip. Think the May-Mobile will make the distance?”

The May-Mobile of course to the ancient, ‘89 Volvo 240 that May has been driving ever since Peter was born. She adores it and refuses to trade in, despite the fact that it rarely gets driven, practically haemorrhages gas, and has cost more in repairs in the last five years than the actual value of the car. But May really loves it. It's sentimental. She says it was the car Ben and her picked out together.

“It better make it,” he dumps his books in, closing the locker. “I don’t want to spend the weekend waiting for AAA in the middle of nowhere. What’s your plans?”

She shrugs, walking with him down the hall.

“Probably go and annoy Yelena. Was supposed to spend it with Bucky and his mom, but that ain't happening.”

He bumps her shoulder sympathetically. “Do you think you two will get back together?”

“Probably. But he’s got a shitload of grovelling to do first.”

“Don’t maim him, please. We need him on the team.”

“No promises.”

“Speak of the devil,” Peter adjusts his glasses, spotting Bucky at the base of the stairs talking to somebody. He gets startled, heart jumping when Natasha grabs him by the waist, pushing him towards the wall and inching them closer to the stairs.

“What are you --”

“ -- Shh, I want to listen. Who is he talking to?”

Craning his head, he finds himself in for another surprise when he sees that the other person he’s talking to is --

“He’s… he’s talking to Stark - what...?”

She shushes him again and Peter listens, curious now too.

“... what do you want, Barnes?” Tony visibly grimaces, taking a cigarette from his pocket and tucking it behind his ear. “Make it quick. I got places to be and your noxious stench gives me headaches.”

An announcement goes off over the loudspeaker over their head, calling for Brendon Bennett, a dick of a senior, to move his car from where he has blocked a teacher from leaving. It would be funny at any other time, but as it goes, he misses a chunk of their conversation.

“...Rogers isn’t the boss of me.”

“Yes, he is, and I’m not getting suspended again because you’re a pussy and he has roid-rage.”

“I just need an ETA. C’mon, pal, I really need this.”

“I’m not your pal and I don’t give a flying fuck what you need.”

Ever the easy going guy, Bucky puts his hands up placatingly as a group of students file down the stairs, causing enough noise that Peter misses whatever is said next. As he strains to hear he tries to draw the line between the dots, but comes up short on exactly how these two are connected.

“That fucker,” Natasha mutters near his ear.

By the time the students clear, Tony’s descended the stairs and begun to walk away

“I have better things to do than to sit around and wait for you,” Bucky calls out, giving him the finger.”

“And yet you will.”

Not in any possible lifetime was Peter going to address that he was weirdly relieved that Tony didn’t flip him off in return, some part of him petulantly thinking that’s our thing, but that’s wrong - Peter and Tony are not friends and they do not have things, even when they do, it’s not like a thing thing.

Nat grips his hand and pulls him along when Bucky leaves as well, swiftly walking away to avoid being caught. His backpack jostles at the speed and he realizes he’s still clutching Tony's jacket from where he had retrieved it from his locker.

“What was that about?” He asks, struggling to keep up with his friend's furious pace as he’s led down the hall. “Tash?”

She drops his hand once they are outside, her disapproval near palpable, voice laden with fire and fury.

“That’s Bucky being a world class idiot, he’s gonna get himself expelled, I swear.”

Peter stops on the spot.

“Expelled?”

Something dark curls unpleasantly in his gut, heavy and not leaving.

“They have a thing,” she explains hotly, mouth turning down. “Bucky and Stark.”

“What?” Peter breathes, uncomfortably thinking back to the party and the way Bucky overtly complimented Tony’s body. “Like a.... like a sex thing? Did he cheat on you?”

“What? No.”

“Then what?”

Red strands whipping in the wind, his friend looks around to see if there is anyone nearby before leaning in to speak low. He leans in too, unabashedly curious.

“Do you remember when Bucky was having issues with his parents when school started?”

He nods, thinking back to the times Bucky slept over in the late days of summer and early weeks of the school year, once or twice a week to get away from the shouting in his own home.

Natasha continues.

“Don’t tell him I told you this, but he got really depressed and fell behind with his work and everything he was handing in was terrible. Danvers pulled him up and said if he didn’t get his grades up, he’d be risking his spot on the team. So Bucky paid Stark to write up a few assignments for him, apparently he was doing it for a few kids, like it was a thing.”

...Okay.

That was not good, and definitely disappointing, but -

“Rogers found out. He gave Bucky a warning, but with Stark he threatened to go to Fury.”

Peter thinks back to the fight between their captain and Stark and their fight not long ago. “That’s why they…”

“I’m told Stark snapped, but I don’t know. I found out about the whole paper thing after that and me and Buck fought about it. I just got so mad - he’s - he’s not stupid, you know?”

“I know.”

She exhales heavily through her nose. “He’s going to get himself kicked out of school and I’m so -- I could kill him. We’re supposed to graduate together and get away from our families and go to college, and then he does this.”

“I’m sorry, Tash, I didn’t know,” he hugs her, her body going stiff before relaxing in his hold. “That’s shitty. For both of you.”

“I’m sorry for thinking you were in on the loop.”

He smiles, self-deprecating.

“Nope, I’m as clueless as ever.”

“No, you’re just too good for that,” she shakes her head. “Look, I gotta go and blow off some steam. Please don’t tell anybody about all this.”

“I won't, I swear - but text me later, alright? Let me know you’re okay.”

She ruffles his hair before stepping back.

“You’re a bleeding heart, PP. Keep an eye on that, will you?”

Hearing a squeal of tyres, he whips his head around to the parking lot, the source of the noise. The Firebird squeals out of the lot and onto the road, the sound as angry, the glimpse Peter gets of Tony’s face, even angrier.

He turns back to Nat, but she’s already walked away. Which means she isn’t there to hear him mutter to himself.

“What are you getting into, Tony?”

----

His thumbs hover over his phone that night, as he writes i saw u with barnes today.

He quickly deletes that, not wanting Tony to think that he was following him or spying on him - or worse, thinking that Peter actually cares about what he does. He doesn’t. They’re not friends.

A dread settles in the spaces between his ribs, like thread trying to squeeze them together too tight, his lungs feeling compressed. Maybe it’s his asthma, or allergies.

It’s not and he knows it. He’s disappointed.

He rubs at his chest on his way home thinking about the scene they just saw and about what Natasha said. How is it that so many people in his orbit had this entire entanglement going on without Peter having any whiff of it? It really makes him wonder if they were they good at hiding it or was he just really fucking stupid. Stupid enough to think Bucky was doing okay, that Rogers wasn’t as sanctimonious as he appeared to be, and that Tony was --

Nevermind.

It’s none of his business and it’s not his place.

He knows better than to ask. It’s not as if he can forget all his own secrets that he clutches tightly to his chest, so tight it feels like he constantly walks through life with his fists clenched.

That and, like May, the real truth is that he can’t claim any entitlement to their trust. He eavesdropped in more ways than one these last two weeks. He tries to brush off that dry, sobering thought; it’s none of his business anyway and he has enough on his plate without getting involved.

When are you going to stop being such a goddamned martyr.

So then he thinks about the sheer fury on Tony’s face, how his - how he used to look at Peter the same way, and how Peter used to think that angry and bitter was Tony's default mood. That was that. The status quo.

Well, that wasn’t entirely fair, was it. It was easier to dislike Tony when he was distant enough that Peter could pigeon-hole him into a stereotype.

Because Tony got into fights, sure, countless and petty, but he was the guy who pet puppies and snuck them food under the table. Not the guy who kicked them.

He looked like the puppy that was kicked, though.

Not angry.

Wounded.

And that’s what confuses Peter. Turns out he doesn’t really know anything about his friends.

Or Tony, it would seem.

----

May closes the drivers-side door and throws a packet of snacks into Peter’s face.

“Pretzels.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” he adjusts his glasses where they'd been knocked askew.

“Sorry, I thought your reflexes were better,” she says, and by way of apology, lobs a packet of sour gummies more gracefully on his lap. “Your favorite.”

“Apology accepted.”

From a plastic bag she fishes out two cokes and places them in the centre console, a bag of red licorice and crackers follow, also making their way onto his lap. She always buys too much food.

Then they’re turning back onto the highway that leads them out of where they paused at Monticello, the radio jacked up loud enough to be heard over the tiny droplets of raindrops sporadically hitting the windshield.

They’ve left early enough that it’s still dark.

Fog still hangs low on the roadside, intangible pale wisps that seem to disintegrate upon crossing, the road dotted with other travellers, but not too crowded, enough so they can easily cruise the speed limit and sometimes over. The Bangles play on a cassette tape and, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, May looks so carefree, driving her sentimental car with the noisy engine, singing along to the same cassettes she’s had since she was his age.

Peter can’t bring himself to say what he wants to. About the letters. One in particular. He knows something isn't right but who is he to break the peace?

So, he doesn’t and they keep driving.

The fog lifts and the tunes continue, both of them singing familiar tunes from ABBA to George Michael and Peter let’s go of what he can’t control and loses himself in the buoyancy of nostalgia - neither of them can carry a tune for shit and it’s funny, and when he rolls his window down he sticks his hand out to feel the frigid air, it’s the most free he’s felt in a long time.

Football and his after-school duties and everything else just drifts away with the wind, at least for this moment.

It was like when he was a kid. The route itself is mostly dark and dull, and this time without Ben, but their usual car games of ‘dollar every time you spot a windmill’ and ‘how many minutes until the next town’ are fun and easily pass the time. This will be another memory that he will gloss over with fondness, how even the boring roads will seem like rapture.

When the sky starts to turn from black to grey they stop for early breakfast at a diner just slightly off their trail in Windsor, both of them famished despite the hoard of snacks and in dire need of coffee.

The car is beginning to emit pale plumes of smoke from under the hood as they arrive at Davis Grove, Otisco Lake in the early morning. The sun rises low over the horizon, a slow ascent that turns the sky grey and brushes wriggling streaks of color over the lake.

The house is exactly as Peter remembers it.

Panels painted slate blue, brown-tiled roof. Two-storeys with a wrap-around porch and a private dock only a short distance away from the entrance. A swinging chair on the lawn that comfortably fits three and a half people.

It looks exactly as it did when Peter first came here as a kid, plucked straight out of his memories in perfect form, like it was set in a liminal space that time refused to touch. A piece comes back to his being at this moment, something that he didn’t know was missing.

Aunt Margaret is already standing at the door when the pull up. She doesn’t look a day older than when Peter last saw her years ago.

“Oh, look at you,” she coos, wrapping Peter up in a tight hug, curls brushing his cheek, “my darling little Petey-pie.”

“Hey, Aunt Margaret,” he returns the hug.

“You’re so tall now, let me look at you,” she holds him at arm's length, warm eyes roving over his form. “Oh my goodness, haven’t you grown a handsome young man? Last time we met you only came up to my shoulders and had braces.” She turns her attention to May. “Isn’t he handsome?”

His aunt nods, smiling at them, both women gravitating into a tight embrace. “It’s good to see you, Peggy. Thanks for having us.”

“Our pleasure. You look even more beautiful than the last time.”

“Oh, stop,” May releases her, wiping at her eyes. “Look who’s talking.”

She tilts her head to the porch and takes May’s duffle from where she has dropped it to the ground. “Come on you two, inside. We’ve got the fire going and scrambled eggs on the table.”

Inside it smells like the best parts of his childhood. A burning fire and butterscotch and lingering musky-but-floral scent from the bowl of potpourri high on the mantel. Even the sounds are the same, the same coo of early birds in the burgeoning daylight, someone humming by the stove.

Margaret leads them into the living room, where her husband meets them halfway from the kitchen, oven mitts still on his hands when he spreads his arms wide to welcome them.

“My goodness,” he beams, “look what the cat dragged in.”

He wears a cravat at the same time he wears an apron, looking every bit the formal yet whimsical man Peter remembers him to be and a crushing wave of nostalgia comes over him so suddenly he can’t help but rush forward and embrace him.

“Welcome, Peter. It’s so good to have you here.”

“Thanks for having us, Uncle Ed.”

“What have you taught him,” he points his query to May as he releases Peter to hug her. “You know you can call me Jarvis.”

---

Margaret ‘Peggy’ Carter and Edwin Jarvis had been young twenty-somethings when they first met. Both were born in England before moving to the US, but it wasn’t until they met at Margaret’s first college that their paths crossed. They worked in different departments, Peter thinks Ed was an engineer or something and Margaret an analyst, but the universe pulled them together eventually.

Margaret asked Ed out first and then a year later, May was the maid-of-honor at their wedding and Ben was reportedly a teary guest in the squeaky church pews.

And the rest, as they say, was history.

A photo of that day sits framed upon the mantle. May and Margaret have their arms around each other, Uncle Ben and Ed standing awkwardly at the sides of the frame, holding up flutes of champagne.

They look so young. Happy.

Peter observes the photo, smiling. He would have been a baby back then. Before his parents and Ben had -- well.

His mind does these weird calculations sometimes. Like, the May in this photo is only nine or so years older than how old he is now, and this moment, suspended in time, makes them closer than they have ever been, even though in real life they are over twenty years apart.

Looking at this picture, it makes him wonder how many people he knows now will live full lives and die of old age. How many people his age will stay forever young, and who will be in the future looking back at their time now, wistfully staring at pictures of those who only exist suspended in that time.

It’s funny, being a teenager. His peers are too young to die so they assume they won't. Even in their twenties and thirties or forties, death seems like an elusive thing that doesn’t apply to anybody until it does. It’s for the decrepit, the sick.

But in Peter’s case death comes like poorly aimed darts, always landing badly and scoring low. In his pockets, his hands turn in fists. He hopes the three people left alive in this picture get to grow old.

He smells her perfume before he sees her. Margaret approaches, bumping their hips together.

“This was a nice day,” she says softly, wistful. “I wish we’d kept more contact over these last few years.”

“Me too,” he smiles sadly, her expression reflecting his. With a hand on his back she leads him to the couch.

“Come on, munchkin, come sit. Tell me how you have been.”

---

“We weren’t planning on the big dinner,” Uncle Ed says as he finishes peeling a potato, handing it to Peter once he’s done. “But we’re so glad you two joined us. Neither of us have a lot of family here, you know.”

“Us neither,” Peter runs the peeled potato under running water to rid it of dirty residue before chopping it into quarters. “It’s really nice to see you again, it’s been way too long.”

“You really have grown into such a nice young man,” the man smiles. “Ben would be proud. Your parent’s, too.”

“Thank you.”

They haven’t got together like this since Ben died a couple years back. It wasn’t really anyone’s fault. Shit happened and it got harder to try. May got busier with looking after Peter full time and working more - and Uncle Ed quit his job and opened up a garage and Margaret lost a baby - all at the same time.

It was a lot for everyone. Even college best friends moved apart when fate put up walls at every turn.

It seems everyone in his circle is just does their best to survive. Or maybe that’s just what growing up is.

The remainder of their morning is spent eyeing the oven and skedaddling while Margaret prepares her pecan pie, ejecting them out of the kitchen with a forceful shoo.

“May says you’re playing football,” Ed says, leading him out to the lounge, passing him a can of soda. “How’d that happen? Last I checked you were doing splits over a pommel horse.”

Peter shrugs, tapping his can with his fingernails, idly paying attention to the football on the old TV. “Needed an extra-curricular, there was an opening and for some reason they accepted me.”

“You were so good at gymnastics,” Margaret comments from the kitchen, whisking away at her bowl. “I’m sure you’re exemplary in anything you do. They’re lucky to have you.”

“Yeah,” Peter says, sculling back the rest of his drink, bubbles burning down his throat. “Looks good on college applications in any case.”

“This kid,” May points to him with her beer bottle. “He does it all, I don’t even know how. He’s brilliant.”

I could do more, he thinks. He wonders again in that moment what it is that makes him so deficient that May couldn’t rely on him to accept the truth about their situation, that maybe he was just too naive. But he’s not. He’d drop his after-school activities and get a job in a hot second if he thought it would help. And for just a split-second he’s mad about that, about being kept in the dark.

But then he sees the strain around her eyes, how the bottle in her hands trembles ever so slightly, how much she makes the hard world soft around them. And it’s easy for him to let that feeling go.

“You’re still freelancing?” Peter asks Margaret, momentarily distracted when Ed’s phone lights up with a call.

“Excuse me, terribly sorry,” he says suddenly, picking up the phone and answering it, rising to his feet to converse in the adjacent room.

“Yes,” Margaret says, eyes lingering over where her husband has gone, his voice carrying over the walls in worried, muffled tones. “Well, consulting. I can work from home, which makes it easier to take care of all my non-existent children,” she gestures to the empty room around them.

“You could go work with Jarvis,” May retrieves a new bottle, popping the cap. “Look after the books, help him replace tyres.”

“Tempting,” Margaret says dully, rolling her eyes. “Can’t understand why I haven’t done that yet.”

Jarvis re-enters minutes later, hands held out apologetically; whispering to Margaret first before he addresses the room.

“Um, we have another guest coming up for dinner, if that’s alright,” he winces at their blank faces. “He works for me. Has a difficult family arrangement and needs a bit of respite. You know how it gets over the holidays.”

Peter meets May’s eyes and shrugs. Anyone working under the business and is vouched for by his surrogate uncle is good by him.

“The more the merrier,” May raises her bottle.

After that, the kitchen needs his hands again.

---

The afternoon is spent preparing the sides, checking in on the truly gargantuan turkey and indulging their cat with nibbles and head scratches. May and Margaret spend the time drinking beer and cider, reminiscing their college years. It’s nice to hear the house full of laughter, given how somber the mood was when they were last all together.

“When did you get a cat?” Peter directs his question to Jarvis, accepting a peeler from him to attack the carrots.

The cat in question is completely black and delightfully plump, not overly so, but enough to indicate it’s decently fed but probably also a little lazy. Or maybe he just thinks that now that it lies tall on the peak on its scratching post, tail flicking idly while it watches them work tirelessly in the kitchen from above.

“Oh, about a year ago. Gives Peggy some company while I'm in the garage. She’s a sweetheart, this one.”

“What’s her name?”

“Friday the Thirteenth. Friday for short.”

“That’s, um, unique.”

“Was the day we adopted her,” Jarvis reaches up to scratch her. “And she’s a black cat, so, you know; spooky.”

Peter tilts his head to the side, considering it. “I like it.”

“Not bad, huh.”

“Yep. It’s a better name than Molly,” he mutters, shaking a slimy carrot shaving off his fingers.

Jarvis pauses. “As in Ringwald?”

Peter sighs and continues peeling.

----

“Did I ever tell you about the time May came to class in a bathing suit?”

“I don’t think they need to hear that --”

“So we have this exam,” Peggy says, ignoring May, “Super important. Fifty percent of our overall grade. She comes in late, dripping wet, the biggest hickey on her neck I have ever seen --”

“Peggy.”

“-- Only thing saving her modesty was Ben’s shirt over her shoulders. I had to lend her a pen so she could sit the exam.”

“Did you pass though,” Peter asks curiously, shovelling a large lump of mashed potato into his mouth.

“Top grades,” she winks at him.

“She sat there for two hours, dripping water onto the ground and got flying colors. Meanwhile I’m the idiot who studied for weeks and got marked down twenty points for --”

The end of her sentence gets cut off by the sound of a car approaching the property, headlights flashing through the windows.

Then, a knock at the door.

“Ah, that must be…” Ed trails off, wiping his hand on a napkin before standing. “Excuse me.”

He goes to answer the front door, Margaret continues her story albeit much more quietly until the voices of Ed and their guest filter through, becoming progressively louder.

“Sorry to intrude, I know it’s the holidays --”

Wait. That voice is familiar.

“Nonsense,” Ed interrupts, “you know you’re welcome anytime. You’re practically family, kid. Come in, we’re eating now, you’re just in time.”

Peter’s fork clangs loudly on his plate when he sees their visitor, unable to keep his grip on the utensil as his limbs start to tingle. He forgets how to breathe for a second, entire body going hot.

Ed’s arm is around Tony Stark and they’re approaching through the living room, heading right for them. There’s a fresh cut on his lip and an ugly, wreath of bruising around his jaw and neck, deeply purple, speckled spots of burst capillaries visible from even where he’s sitting.

The worst part isn’t the intrusion. It’s how Tony looks unlike himself; he looks small and skittish, gaze flicking nervously around the room, arms curled around his waist. Something in his chest starts to feel the closer he gets, weird, hot and unwieldy, burning, like a hot poker has been drawn across his sternum.

“You’re the best, Jar...vis,” Tony trails off when he spots the Parkers, eyes zeroing in on Peter.

“Um,” Peter says, sharing a surprised look with May, not knowing what else to say.

But then suddenly Tony is shaking his head, shrugging out of Ed’s embrace and backing up, the skittish look gone and replaced with anger.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. No fucking way.”

Then he turns, and leaves.

----

*

*

----

tagging: @bylerboyfriends @ravens-starker-stuff, @starker-rays, @ironspiderstarker, @muse-of-gods, @notfor-temporaryuse, @tabbycat1220, @sugarfreecult, @rebel13lion39, @plueschpop, @spideravocados, @jellybbunny,  @booktrashme, @elfkido, @mycatislickingmybedsheets, @queerghostboyo, @disneyprincessdominatrix, @cherrygoldlove @starkerflowers@starkeristheendgame @thewolffearsher @starkersugar , @starkerforlife6969, @css1992, @parkerrbitch, @fuckmemrstark, @blankblankityblank, @ilovemoreid, @blaquedecember, @killmylonelysoul, @notfor-temporaryuse, @arvaen, @chaos-with-a-pen, @notnormallaura, @portiamarie02, @bloodymisanthropist, @ser-no-tonin, @staticwhispersinthedark

[hskrealm]

memories. (m)

pairing: min yoongi x reader

genre: angst, smut, a liiittle bit of fluff in some places

word count: 6.2k (it wasn’t supposed to be this LONG IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A DRABBLE)

 warnings: eh where do i start... reader is VERY traumatized, she’s kinda crazy too (just a little) mentions of major character death, familial issues, this fic is just very dark for like the first 2k words lol, yoongi loves his fucking sword, commoner!yoongi, king!yoongi, criminal!reader, exhibitionism, unprotected sex, hair pulling, dom!yoongi, etc.

summary: “We can save the details for later. I accept your apology, and I really want to fucking kiss you.”

notes: inspired by @dontaskshhhhh and the daechwita mv. there’s probably many typos as usual y’all—

Even though you were a lowlife, you couldn’t stand being handled roughly.

It wasn’t your fault that you had an unfortunate upbringing. Your parents were very wealthy when you were born, but after the family business failed due to illegal scamming and falsifying of information, you were left to support yourself.

Literally. They didn’t give you a single thing to live off of after the age of five, which was fine. Your grandparents took after you, and once you were able to have a say in it, you decided to never set foot in the presence of your mother and father again if you could help it.

All was fine up for the next twelve years after that, until your grandparents bailed out on you too. Something about not having the funds to support all three of you financially, although they had several beach houses to their names, and enormous retirement checks to rely on.

You had gotten used to being given up on by this point, so you weren’t as emotionally devastated as you should’ve been when you’d come home from school one day, and your grandparents had all of your belongings packed up by the front door with a nice little note on top to let you know that you’d have to find somewhere else to lay your head.

They didn’t even have the decency to tell you to fuck off in person. You laugh sometimes thinking about it, since that’s all you could do now. The past was behind you, and you can’t change it. You didn’t really want to, either, because you learned quite a bit from your younger self.

For starters, you learned from your previous encounters to never lay your trust in anyone ever again, even if they were to offer you everything you needed and more. You’d made this mistake too many times to make it again. Besides, if you couldn’t trust your own parents, then you’d be setting yourself up for failure if you decided to seek assurance in a stranger... no matter the relationship you may have developed with them.

Although you knew you couldn’t trust anyone, you quickly learned that it was okay to take advantage of help when it was given to you.

That is how you got back on your feet, after all.

You met a good group of people.

Well, good to you, but not to the law, or outsiders.

You didn’t trust them, but you allowed them to take you in. They were just like you; lost and traumatized, but they confided in one another. They didn’t really have a choice, since they only had each other.

You had an amazing run with them. They made you laugh, cry, and they supported you. Just like family, you supposed. You never had a stable family to compare the kind of love they gave you to, but you figured it’d be something similar.

You never had an abundance of anything, but you had just enough, and that was okay. You were never the type of girl who desired to live lavishly anyway.

It was remarkably easy for you to pick up on their habits. You had become keen on cheating, lying, and stealing after only two months of being in their company. It came easily to you, and you used your newly developed skills to wiggle your way in and out of certain situations.

You couldn’t wiggle your way out of this one, though. The cuffs on your wrists wouldn’t allow for that.

You sucked in a breath as you were thrown to the ground, your knees scraping against the material of your jeans as you made impact.

“Be any fucking rougher, could you?” You hissed toward the guard over your shoulder, although you wiggled your fingers nervously behind your back.

He smirked at you, stifling a laugh as he carried his muscular frame toward the large double doors that you were forced through moments prior to being manhandled toward the ground.

“Enjoy your last few moments of life, honey.” He spit, his face falling expressionless afterward as he allowed the doors to slam shut behind himself, leaving you to your thoughts. You couldn’t see his face, but you were certain that he was sporting a shit eating grin. If you could, you’d slap it off of his face.

You couldn’t see a thing in the room that you were in, and you began to grow anxious as the anticipation began to eat away at you, your heartbeat thudding loudly in your chest.

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth and held back a loud cry, your eyes watering as the realization finally settled upon you. You couldn’t keep up your tough girl exterior anymore, and you were going to die in this pitch black room at any moment.

What if this was part of the execution? What if the room was this dark purposefully? To add to the shock factor? That would be sure get someone shaken up, knowing they could be taken out by a gunshot, a quick slice of a sword, something hanging from the ceiling—

You paused, sniffing the tears away quickly. You knew your eyes would get puffy if you cried for any more than a few seconds, and you wanted to be remembered for being strong, not a wimp. News would spread quickly after your death, and you knew it would. It always did.

You evaluated your position for a moment. You were crying because you were afraid of death.

Seriously, you were afraid of something that was inevitable?

You choked back a laugh, a small smile cracking on your face before you burst out into a full on fit of giggles.

You wouldn’t be tortured to death, and you knew that for sure. That sort of punishment was only allowed for sexual crimes, acts of severe hatred, domestic abuse, or murder.

You’d be killed quickly, and you were crying because of that? You’d have lost all of your street credit if word got back to your little gang.

You looked like a lunatic. Knees pressed into the ground, hands behind your back, and laughing wildly as strands of your hair flew onto your face from the occasional draft that would flow through the room.

You knew it, too, but you picked up this tip from a certain black haired boy with a scar over his eye. He used to be involved with your group of criminals.

He told you to laugh in any situation where you were put under extreme pressure. You told him that he was crazy for giving you such shitty advice, but once you tried it after being taken into custody for the first crime, you realized that he may have given you some valuable information.

“You’ll either relax a bit and take some of the stress off, or they’ll think you’re crazy and let you go. Win win, right?”

You smiled as your laughter began to die out.

You’d always remember Yoongi, but he was dead to you now.

He was the only person in that group that you connected with. Still, you didn’t trust him, but you could rely on him to help you every now and then if you needed to.

He left without a word, something about wanting to better himself. He’d mentioned that a few times before he actually left, but you didn’t think he’d follow through.

That was the first time that you’d been physically hurt when someone important to you left.

You didn’t speak for a few weeks, laugh for months, or manage to take care of yourself properly for quite some time.

He was so important to you, and he knew it. He didn’t care though, because he still left. Why did you care then?

You didn’t.

You wouldn’t have to care about anything in a few more minutes.

You rolled your neck from side to side, shaking yourself free from any final thoughts as you waited patiently for your execution.

You considered begging for your life, but there was no reason to. You didn’t have anything to lose anymore.

You sat quietly for another minute or so.

Every muscle inside of your body tensed at the sound of leisurely paced footsteps striking against the ground. You felt like you were going to explode, but you managed to keep yourself together.

“Lift your head.”

You immediately obeyed the request, fearful that you’d be tortured immensely if you hadn’t.

You took a deep breath, stopping midway through it as you felt the cool metal of a sword press right under your chin.

The panic began to settle in again, and you began to fidget around like a fish out of water as the sword grazed the skin of your neck.

“Luckily for you, ________, stealing isn’t punishable by execution.” Your eyes ballooned out of your skull, and your mouth dried instantly as you fell into a coughing fit.

“You’d better hold your breath if you want to keep your life.” The person with the sword against your windpipe teased, and you shrieked in terror and disbelief as you confirmed that the voice belonged to who you thought was the rightful owner.

“YOONGI!” You screamed so loudly that your voice bounced off of the walls in the room and echoed back, possibly louder than the scream itself.

You weren’t sure if you screamed because he was the one threatening you with a weapon, or that there was still a very large sword pressed to your jugular even though he just said that stealing isn’t punishable by execution.

How would he know that, anyway?

The room began to lighten up at the same time the sword did against your neck. You were vaguely able to make out Yoongi’s figure in front of you.

You winced slightly as the lights brightened fully, and you came face to face with the sack of ass that left you to suffer years ago.

You checked your surroundings immediately afterward, confused to find that you were in the aisle of what you knew to be a temple.

Was this a fucking joke?

You weren’t sure of what to say. You had questions, obviously, but you also wanted to scream at him for being an asshat and playing such a dumb prank on you.

How are you supposed to start a conversation with someone that you hadn’t talked to in years, though?

Yoongi could read your confusion, a sadistic smile on his face as he walked toward you as if he had achieved something great.

He leaned down in front of you, a few pieces of his blonde hair brushing against your forehead. You thrashed around in the cuffs as he placed a light peck to your forehead, just as he did when the two of you were on good terms.

“Get the fuck off of me.” You threatened, and he hummed at your attitude.

“Still as gorgeous as ever, ________.” You bit down on the insides of your cheeks as he angled himself away from you.

He was as gorgeous as ever himself, the scar still perfectly etched into his skin as if it’d never heal, his face a bit more mature since the last time you saw him, and his hair a bright blonde instead of the shiny black it was a few years back.

You hated him.

“I hate you.” You voiced your thoughts, and Yoongi simply shrugged while taking a few steps backwards, maintaining his eye contact with you.

“You wouldn’t hate me if you knew what I’ve done for you.” He responded simply, his chocolate colored eyes squinted in distaste as he turned around on his heels, walking cooly to a chair that would’ve resembled a King’s throne.

It actually was a throne, but you didn’t understand why he was sitting on it. Min Yoongi was certainly no King. He was a rude and inconsiderate excuse of a friend.

Er, acquaintance, rather. You never really had friends, and you’d like to keep it that way.

“What are you talking about?” You asked, nose turned up in skepticism. Yoongi smiled a bit, licking his lips as he reminisced upon the events that happened a bit earlier today.

He saw you being dragged into the temple by one of his guards, struggling to keep your footsteps aligned due to the inability to control the pace of your walking.

He watched as the doors of the temple swung open and you were thrown to the ground harshly. He was hidden in the shadows as he observed the scene, immediately knowing that feisty voice of yours like the sword that he carried with him daily.

It was one of the things he loved most about you. After all, he was the one that practically made that part of you, and he didn’t regret it one bit.

It pained him to know that you were brought to him under terms of execution, but he assumed this would be the way you’d turn out if you continued to involve yourself with that group of people. That’s why he left you on your own.

Plus, the road to becoming King didn’t require the help of anyone else, and it certainly didn’t require yours. This was a task that he needed to complete on his own, and now that he had, his goal was simply to remain in power.

That’d be easy. People feared tyrants.

Yoongi was no tyrant, but he had tyrannical tendencies, one of them being participating in the execution of prisoners. Now, it was strictly prohibited for a King to execute a commoner, but he didn’t mind. Plus, he did sit back and watch most times as he was supposed to, so what was the harm?

He was the highest form of authority there was anyway, so who’d complain to him about what he could and couldn’t do?

He battled with himself to figure out a proper way to ease you out of this. He couldn’t outright call the execution off, and he knew that. No one would fear a King who spared the life of some measly village girl, and Yoongi craved the fear of his people.

Perhaps he could drag you elsewhere once the guard left. If he was to be questioned about it, he could mention something about needing to speak to you privately before your execution.

No, that’s dumb. Who’d believe that?

Maybe he could wait just until your execution was to take place, and halt it, saying that you were wrongly convicted of your crimes?

He couldn’t do that either. You’d been caught stealing multiple times before, and your criminal record was long enough to prove that you were the right person sentenced to death.

So, Yoongi lost about half of his dignity when he marched right up to the guard that dragged you inside, and asked him to let you be.

Of course, the guard agreed, but Yoongi’s ego had faltered momentarily.

He gained all of that dignity back, though, when he heard you scream his name while kneeling with your hands cuffed behind your back.

What a sight to see.

Yoongi glanced back down at you from his throne, a cocky smile on his face as he shifted his position in the gigantic chair, turning his body slightly sideways as he threw his legs over the side of it.

“Nothing, so I guess you’re right. I haven’t done a thing to help you.” He shrugged, bending over onto the ground to grab his scabbard. He slid the sword into it with practiced ease and dropped it to the ground.

The sound of the weapon scraping against the sides of the holder caused you to cringe, and you jumped as the sound of it hitting the floor bounced off of the walls a few times, just as your scream did earlier.

You gulped at the thought, wondering if he really would have killed you if he had gotten the chance.

“What’s your deal with them anyway?” Yoongi questioned after a few moments of thick silence. Your head snapped up to meet his eyes the moment he began to speak.

“I don’t have to answer anything you ask me, and it’s none of your business.” You responded, and Yoongi quirked an eyebrow.

“I would’ve assumed that you’d catch on a little earlier. You have always been a smart girl, but I suppose all of the thieving and lying caught up with you after a few years.” You said nothing, suddenly feeling overwhelming guilt.

“You do have to answer everything I ask you, actually. I can’t kill you for stealing, but I can kill you for treason.” You scoffed. There he was, playing the royalty card again.

“Treason? Yoongi, give it up. You can’t be executed for treason toward a commoner. Have you lost your mind?” He narrowed his eyes at you and stood up, taking the short walk toward you again.

“You are a commoner, ________. I am not.” You were tired of his dumb breakdowns.

“What are you supposed to be then?” You smirked, and Yoongi returned the smirk with a lick of his lips.

You watched with furrowed eyebrows as he shrugged the thick black jacket he was wearing off of his slim shoulders, and you inhaled a shaky breath as you vaguely made out the emblem of the kingdom on both of his shoulders in the dim lighting of the temple.

“Oh my fucking God.” Your voice cracked as you whispered, your bottom lip trembling in defeat as you realized your humongous fuck up.

You slowly lifted your head, immediately meeting Yoongi’s eye contact. He jutted his bottom lip out to mock you, before quickly twisting his lips into a sly smile.

“You know what to do.” You nodded, lowering your upper body to the ground slowly.

You weren’t low enough to the ground for his liking, so he grabbed his sword and retrieved it from its covering, and pressed the dull side of it against the back of your head to force you lower. Your forehead was touching the ground.

“Better.” He sighed, holding you there for a few seconds before placing the sword back at his side. When you no longer felt the pressure of it on your head, you deemed it okay to lift yourself up.

Your mind was pooling with questions.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He joked, placing the sword in front of him as he stacked both of his hands onto its handle.

“How?” You asked weakly, and he feigned confusion.

“How are you King? You can’t be King with that scar over your eye.” You wanted to find any plausible fault to the idea that he was King.

“Why can’t I?” He asked with a cock of his head. The question was meant to be unanswered, but you stupidly responded anyway.

“The scar symbolizes impuriti—“

“Then I must be pretty powerful, hm?” He laughed, swinging the sword off of the ground to rest on top of his shoulder. He gave you a pity glance as he took a few steps to land himself behind you.

“I’m not going to put you in prison.” He sighed heavily, as if the admittance of him allowing you freedom hurt his conscious dearly.

“Why not?” You asked eagerly, trying desperately not to show how excited you were as your fingers twitched behind your back.

“I’m not going to imprison you, but I need you to make me a promise.” He said, removing the sword from his shoulder as he slid it in the space between your back and the chain of the handcuffs.

You stood deathly still.

“Anything.” You responded instantaneously. You’d regret it later.

Or maybe you wouldn’t.

“Don’t let me see your face around here again.” What?

Around the temple? In the village? Where were you supposed to go?

“I—“ He placed his foot against your lower back, digging his shoe into your skin through the fabric as he tugged the sword forcefully toward himself, successfully breaking the chain of the cuffs and sending it flying backward.

You moaned at the feeling, bringing your wrists in front of you as you twisted each of them around a few times to rid yourself of any stiff muscles.

“Get out.”

•••

“You called me back here?” You sighed, leaning your head against the opened doors as Yoongi hummed with a small nod.

“Yes, I did. Come in, and close the doors behind you.” You raised an eyebrow, although you shut the temple doors and walked down the aisle that would lead you to Yoongi’s throne.

He stood up from his royal seat, walking halfway down the aisle to meet you. You took the time to notice his appearance. He was dressed just like he was when you saw him a few years ago before he completely vanished. Baggy clothes, low rise sneakers, and a few chains dangling from his neck.

You held an unimpressed expression as you stood face to face with him, but seeing him dressed like this gave you a small bit of satisfaction. Of course, you wouldn’t tell him that though.

Unknown to you, Yoongi chose to dress like this to keep you comfortable with him. He needed you to be a bit vulnerable if you are going to hear him out, and he knew this would be one step closer to achieving that vulnerability.

Plus, he was taking you out today. Yes, to explain everything that’s happened during the past couple of years while he wasn’t around, but also for his personal satisfaction.

He missed you just as much as you missed him.

“We’re going to that little spot a few minutes away from here. The one we always used to—“

“I know, Yoongi. I really don’t want to bring up the past anymore.” You stopped him, holding your hand up as you cut him off in the middle of his sentence. You didn’t mean to come off so harshly, but the years of emotional trauma didn’t make that easy for you.

Yoongi nodded once, although he felt a little pang in his chest in you basically admitting that you didn’t want to go to the special place the two of you created a few years back, and you probably didn’t even want to be with him right now.

“Sure, okay.” He sighed, clearing his throat as he walked toward a hidden back entrance that he used at times to leave the temple.

You watched as he took his first few steps, before turning over his shoulder to stare at you with annoyance written all over his features.

“Are you going to follow me, or are you just going to stand there and look stupid?” You rolled your eyes and began to follow after him, Yoongi turning back toward the front once you caught up with him.

He continued to walk, and you desperately tried to fight the smile that was tugging at your lips as bits and pieces of the Yoongi you knew were starting to shine through.

•••

The walk to the secluded spot by that small river that you remember so fondly was uncomfortable and stuffy.

Neither of you said a word, simply letting the leaves crunching under the both of your shoes fill the silence.

The sun was beginning to set, and the rays cast a beautiful shadow over the river. It looked just as it did the last time you were here.

That day… that day was the happiest you’d been in years.

That was also the day Yoongi got his scar.

“Where the fuck did you go?” Yoongi asked, laughing loudly as he stumbled over a few branches while searching for you behind the trees and shrubs near the river.

“I’m never playing hide and seek with you again. You’re an asshole for this.” You chuckled, immediately clasping your hand over your mouth as you hoped desperately that he hadn’t heard.

But, it was Yoongi. Of course he’d heard.

“Your cute little laugh is going to get you in trouble.” You ducked lower behind the shrub in front of you, peering out over the edge to see if you could see his shadow approaching.

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion when you couldn’t see him anymore, squinting and leaning forward a bit to see if your eyes were playing tricks on you.

Yoongi snuck up behind you, cursing under his breath when you snapped your head in his direction.

You hadn’t fully processed that it was Yoongi when he finally came into view and attempted to scare you, so you pushed him backward roughly. This sent him tumbling over a rock, and his face smashed against the forest floor.

“Oh my God!” You screamed, running over to him, your black combat boots seeming to be too heavy at that moment.

He was breathing heavily and holding one side of his face, and when you rolled him onto his back, the sight of the blood creeping between his fingers was enough to make you pull him up to his feet, and you dragged him all the way back to the village within a handful of minutes.

You had ripped off a piece of your oversized shirt and wrapped it over his eyes sometime during this process.

The two of you were spotted by a group of people as you neared the village again, and they helped you pull Yoongi to the home of a medic who would sew his skin together.

He had the stitches for two months, and even after they removed, he still had the scar.

You felt terrible, but you never got the chance to apologize.

He left the day after his stitches were removed.

“________.”

You gnawed on your bottom lip.

“________!” Yoongi shouted, and you came to with a small jolt.

“I’m sorry.” The words tumbled from your lips effortlessly, and it felt so, so good after all these years.

You walked quickly to meet Yoongi as he sat near the edge of the river, the wind blowing lightly which made his hair a disheveled mess.

“I’m so sorry, Yoongi.” You repeated, clearly this time as you sat down next to him, keeping a few feet between the two of you because you weren’t sure where your emotions were at the moment, and you certainly weren’t sure what he was feeling.

There was an awkward silence.

“What?” He laughed, the confusion evident on his face.

“What are you talking about?” You scratched nervously at your arm as he scooted a bit closer to you.

A part of you wanted to condemn him, but a larger part of you wanted him to stay right next to you.

“I’m really sorry about the scar. You left before I could apologize, and it’s been making me feel so guilty for the past couple of years, but—“ Yoongi shook his head, taking your hand into his as he intertwined your fingers with his, just like he used to back then.

You let your hand flop loosely in his.

“Isn’t it a little obvious that I don’t mind it? If anything, I’m happy that you fucked my face up.” He joked, his gummy smile slowly fading as he looked from the river to your paling face.

“Why’d you leave?” You asked, the light mood falling. Yoongi took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. He knew he couldn’t avoid this question, but he hoped that you’d at least wait a bit before bringing up this topic.

“I told you, I need to better myself.” You let go of his hand.

“Bullshit!” You exclaimed, Yoongi simply turning his head to look at you as your face began to heat in anger.

“It had something to do with me, and I know it does. Why lie now? Why bring me to this special spot to lie, Yoongi?” He took a small gulp, looking away from you and out toward the landscape. He couldn’t utter these next few words while staring at your face.

“I wouldn’t have become King if I was in love with a criminal.” He stated nonchalantly. You froze.

“What the hell are you talking about?” You stood up, and Yoongi stood up as well, just in case you were planning to run away and get yourself into trouble as you usually did when you couldn’t handle your emotions.

“I had to let you go if I wanted to change, ________. You’re not good for me, and I’m not good for you.” His voice began to thin out the longer he spoke, fighting back a sob.

“Are you trying to say that I’m a bad influence?” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

“Are you seriously trying to say that I am not good for you , when you’re the person that I got into the most trouble with in that entire fucking group?” You shook your head as you spoke, refusing to believe that he was saying you weren’t good for him.

“Why don’t you tell me the real reason that you left, hm? I can handle the truth, and I deserve to know after waiting for so long. Believe me, you won’t have to worry about seeing me again after this.” Yoongi was seething, his hands clenched into fists by his sides as he tried to steady his breathing.

He wasn’t going to get angry.

He was going to explain himself to you calmly.

“Did you not just hear me fucking say that I’m in love with you?” His voice dropped to a whisper, as he began to take slow strides toward you.

You’d seemed to have forgotten that in the midst of your yelling at him.

“I taught you a handful of things back then, but I’m fairly sure that knowing when to shut up was one of them.” You looked over your shoulder as you took a step backward whenever he took one forward, but if you continued like this then you’d end up with your back against a tree.

This was not some cliche love story, and you weren’t the main character.

You stepped to the side to avoid bumping into the tree.

Yoongi took a side step as well, standing still for a few seconds before he grabbed you by the collar of your shirt and pressed you up against the tree by his arm.

“You were going to hinder me from my goal, ________. There’s no way in hell I’d be able to focus while having you by my side.” His grip on you loosened as he continued to speak.

“I thought if I was away from you that I’d forget about everything, but that made it worse. There wasn’t a single day that came where you wouldn’t pass my mind.” You pressed your head backwards against the tree in exasperation.

“Why couldn’t you take me with you?” You asked, sadness evident in your voice. Yoongi’s heart clenched as he read you like his favorite book.

“I wanted you to be there for the result, not the work that it took to get there. I’d come back for you when I was better off, but I didn’t have to. You came to me.” Yoongi leaned in closer toward you.

“Well, you didn’t come to me, per say. I brought you to me.” You scoffed.

“You did what?” Dealing with him was an emotional roller coaster, but you still wanted the first seat on the ride.

“We can save the details for later. I accept your apology, and I really want to fucking kiss you.” You opened your mouth to respond, but Yoongi leaned in for this kiss anyway.

He molded his soft lips against yours with ease. You awkwardly left your eyes open, but upon seeing him with his closed as the passion radiated in the way he kissed you, you closed your eyes and allowed yourself to slip into his embrace.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, the kiss quickly shifting from pure and energetic love to uncontrollable and messy lust for one another.

Yoongi broke the kiss first, and you chased his lips as he pulled away. You whimpered in defeat as he used his grip on your waist to turn you around, your hands pressed against the bark of the tree.

He roughly tugged your jeans down your legs, not having the patience to unbutton them fully. You flinched as you heard a twig snap somewhere in the distance, and you looked over your shoulder at Yoongi with fear etched onto your features.

“We’re going to get fucking caught.” You laughed, although you were deathly afraid of being found with the King’s dick buried snuggly inside of your pulsing cunt.

“I’m a King, baby. I’m the boss. I don’t give a fuck about someone stumbling back here.” He spoke, while working quickly at the zipper of his jeans.

“Besides, I’ll be quick.” He moaned out in satisfaction as he finally freed his cock from its confines. He tugged your panties to the side with one of his fingers, slapping his length against your throbbing clit a handful of times before lining himself up with your inviting warmth.

“Kind of difficult—oh shit,” He paused in the middle of his sentence as he slid his cock into you, a shiver running down your spine at the feeling of being so full after so, so long.

“Kind of difficult to wait for something that you’ve been wanting for a—for a while, especially when it’s right in front of you.” He huffed into your ear, gathering your hair up in one of his hands to force you to arch you back more.

“Fuck. You okay, baby girl? I know this is a tight fit, cause you’re squeezing the shit out of my dick.” Yoongi waited patiently for your okay, although that didn’t stop him from rocking his hips against you slowly to offer himself some sort of relief.

“‘m okay. Just fuck me, please.” You begged, and Yoongi hastily obliged. He kept his hand tangled between your locks, as he brought his free hand down to your hip.

He set a gut-destroying pace instantly, the sound of his balls slapping against your ass somehow louder than they’d be if the two of you were in a secluded room.

“You can consider this your punishment for giving me so much shit talk yesterday. Look at you now, huh? Can’t get a single fucking word out, can you?” You whined as he dug his fingernails into your hip, his thrusts so vigorous and powerful that you would scrape the skin of your thighs against the tree every now and then.

Your legs twitched as you neared your high, a noise sounding like somewhat of a feminine growl climbing its way out from the back of your throat as you held your breasts in your hands, flicking your nipples between your fingers to coax yourself closer to the edge.

“Good girl. Lose yourself on my cock.” Yoongi was near his climax as well, the way your pussy was sucking him in combined with his cock grazing the material of your panties every few thrusts enough to send him straight toward that euphoric feeling.

There was something so primal about him taking you up against a tree, where seemingly anyone could find the two of you. No strings attached (yet), just pure, sexual need.

“Cum with me. I want that.” Yoongi snarled into your ear, and you nodded eagerly as he slid his hand across your stomach and down toward your clit.

He only managed to rub a few quick circles against the sensitive nub before you began to thrash wildly underneath him.

“Stay still.” He warned you, and you tried desperately to obey him as hot bliss took over momentarily, and your muscles spasmed beneath Yoongi as he used your pussy to chase his high as well, pulling out to cum on your back.

He slid your pants back up, before turning you around to try and button them. You were shaking too much, though, and it was starting to frustrate him.

“________, stay st—SHIT!”

Yoongi yelled as he began to tumble backward, making sure to pull you with him this time.

Your intense shaking caused Yoongi to trip over himself and fall backward, causing the both of you to end up plummeting into the cold river water.

“Damnit!” You cursed, and Yoongi just laughed as he rubbed his eyes free of the water that managed to seep into them.

“You’re quite the klutz.” He commented, running his hand through his hair as he slyly noticed the way your shirt began to grow more and more sheer as it soaked in the water.

“You’re quite the asshole.” You playfully rolled your eyes, squealing when Yoongi snagged your shirt into his hands and pulled you into his hold once more.

“Accidents just seem to happen at this river, don’t they?” You asked, and Yoongi shrugged, wrapping his arms around your waist as he tucked your head underneath his chin.

“Yeah, but they’re also the best memories.” You tilted your head up to look at Yoongi’s face, and his eyes were closed.

Why do you always miss the memo?

Just as you were about to close your eyes, Yoongi splashed your face with a bit of water from the river.

You gasped and pulled away from him, mustering up the most threatening glare you could give.

“Why would you do that when I’m already wet?” He smirked.

“Hell yeah you are.”

“YOONGI!”

tag list! (let me know if you wanna be on it!)

@bitchyaus @taesluttt @1-in-abillion @designjet @peachy-bhun @patpus @koracynthia120 @safi4x @lcnycto @someonewhowannadielol @dreamingsmile @rinastylesworld @fan-ati--c @sincemalik @bts-bay-bee @cestlaviecia @jeonjungkookiiee @bunny-kix03

[calypsoff]

Forty Nine.

Wrapping the robe around me as I rushed out of the bedroom and ran down the hallway to the door, it’s early in the morning and this is what I am doing “hey, hey. Where are you going?” Frowning at Chris leaving in the early hour’s “gym” his hand on the door about ready to just go at this time in the morning “but you abruptly got out of bed like that, you didn’t even mention gym Chris, why?” It’s so random of him, he literally went last night, he goes there every day “because I like it, it clears my mind. I will be back, be like mindful when you’re running though, you could have hurt yourself. I’m not doing anything more than just gym and coming back, go and rest. It’s fine” side eyeing Chris, my mouth is dry, and I can’t be bothered “whatever” turning on my heels and walking off “are you angry with me?” He questioned as I walked off “no” rolling my eyes knowing full well I am but if I say yes he will continue to push on why, so I said no, like why does he need to go there so early in the morning. What is the actual reason for it, he had me rushing out because I was thinking why so of course it seemed dramatic, but I wanted to know if he was ok because I am a concerned wife like that but he’s going to the gym of course, like he told me that. Slamming the bedroom door shut, he went to bed later then me, I was knocked out asleep by twelve and he stayed awake, hearing a light knock at the door which I know who that is “come in” taking my robe off “woke the damn apartment up there, I got worried” throwing my robe to the side “sorry” I apologised to Mel “has he gone?” Turning to her “he has, I’m going back to sleep, he’s gone to gym. He went last night, just annoyed me” walking around the bed “can I snuggle with you, but you sleep on his side” I huffed out walking back around the bed “fine, I need a snuggle” I said poking my lips out as I did, I missed Mel.

Not only is Mel is here I have Tina too just sat on my bed, I woke them all up “I feel so bad that I woke you all, I really am. Just he got out of bed so quickly, went to the bathroom and then left so I was like what the fuck. I ended up jumping out of bed and chasing him to find out, but I think I will be talking to him about going back to therapy, I think it’s something he needs. Talk about his feelings now and what is happening because I don’t like that he is feeling that way, as a wife I want to be there for him, but California really left a bad taste in his mouth, I feel like he’s not trusting either so yeah, I need to chase him up about it. Sorry ladies” I apologised for waking them up “it’s ok, I am checking on emails anyways, and I have one from Jay Brown. Let’s read” I wonder what he’s going to say about the magazine cover thing, I spoke to him about it yesterday so he must have got an answer by now “ok then, so he has a taker, please speak to Rih about this, we have Vogue, and they are willing to pay over a million, a million being starting but they will outbid anyone for this, let her know” raising an eyebrow “starting price a million? I am interested, I like that. Tell him I accept but tease them about it and see what he gets for it, I mean like if he can get more. So what you think I should do, I want to give the money from this to Chris, he’s saying no. Child fund, and I’m like what!? But he’s refusing, so I said a joint account, he can access it. We’re married now but he’s being stubborn” Mel groaned out “he’s married and still stubborn ok, open the joint and account and do it, give him the card. This man deserves no choices Robyn. Listen to me on this” Mel is right, I can’t give him that choice.

I am still laughing at Mel saying that this man deserves no choices, she is right, and I will eventually get Chris to come around and get him to understand things from my point of view “Tina, TT!” I shouted; she can open us a joint account “yes!?” She spat “open me a joint account, his date of birth is fifth, fifth, eighty nine. Thank you, I need to just take it into my own hands but be on Jay’ case about the Vogue thing, I also have an appointment today, my first checkup!” I shrieked “really!? You never said, that quick? You been here two days” I clapped my hands together smiling “I know! But Tina said who I was and what I need, and they booked me in straight away. See how my name travels, they heard Rihanna and they jumped but yeah, I am so nervous about it. They said they have a slot free for me. Tina said as soon as she said Rihanna they were saying we will keep her privacy, please come from the back of the hospital someone will meet you there and whatever but yeah, how exciting. My first prenatal appointment for my baby, I am so excited. I am a little nervous but excited. I can’t wait to see how my baby is, I want to make sure it is ok before I go to London. I do want to make sure it’s ok because anything can be wrong, so I have pumped myself up for anything bad, I have Chris with me but physically I know I am ok, I know I will be. I have been praying to god every night to keep my baby safe so yeah, please pray for me” Mel cooed out “that is sweet Rih, I know that baby will be fine. You have been careful within yourself; you’re not stressed out unless that caveman you married is up to something” I chuckled “you are so mean” Mel laughed out “No, I like Chris, but he talks shit. Like my nigga, the money is there take it. You’re his wife Robyn, sometimes you need to take the lead, don’t ask him things you know he will not want because of his ego, chile. The man is so egotistical” Mel has a point this is why I have just told Tina to do it, I can’t just sit here and let him say no when I want him to have it.

Looking over at Chris, he has taken his time, he comes back now “we have the appointment in an hour” he threw the keys to the side “yeah, I am here now. I will have a shower, but I got this” he made his way over to me “what is it?” I frowned looking at what he’s got, he placed the bottle in front of me “it’s for your constipation, I asked the lady and she said this will have push the stool out like she called it, she said it will help you” I laughed staring at the bottle “don’t tell me she recognized you” Chris shook his head “awww thank you, I do need something too. Give me a kiss” poking my lips out, he leaned down and pecked my lips “ok go and shower now, I am ready anyways” Chris walked off as Tina made her way in “morning” Chris said to Tina “oh morning, sorry. I am just busy, yeah. Robyn” Tina jumped over the couch with her MacBook in hand “watch it” she near dropped that “so, Jay Brown said call him on IM” I groaned out, I don’t feel like talking but I guess I will because it must be important.

Waving at Tina “call him” I want her to do it “lazy ass, I was already doing it because I know you” she placed it on speakerphone and placed the phone on the table “don’t tell me Rihanna can’t be bothered to talk” Jay knows me “I am here actually” I said “oh yeah, I am sorry. I am just so excited to tell you this news, Rih. You’re going to be the highest paid magazine cover in the world, you hear me!? In the world, forget Tom Cruise daughter or Brad and Angelina first kids’ photos, it is all about Rihanna and Chris Brown on Vogue, they are wanting the exclusives with an interview, no photoshoot needed because we have the pictures but are you ready? I know I said a million or whatever but this, because I said an interview, both of you. I mean it’s more but fifteen million Robyn, fifteen fucking million” my mouth hung open in shock “wait” I didn’t think this was even that serious “how!? Oh my god!” I shouted “you’re Rihanna, nobody knows you’re married. The only magazine in the world with the exclusive, so they will have the rights to the pictures so any other magazine wants to use it, they have to pay Vogue, so in a way they will get the money back from it, so what you think” I am shook “oh fuck! Yes! Where is the contact!?” I shouted “jheez, my girls. Fifteen milli? Ain’t nobody is doing it like you, no bitch!” Mel spat, I am so shocked “while I was offering around, I got GQ wanting to pay for you and Chris to do a little question time, a couple one. I know you said that you want Chris to be more known, they are paying well too if you can think about that one, but I will leave you to it, good choice that you are doing this” he disconnected the call “fifteen million? My ass he’s rejecting having that, we are getting a joint account and we can just use it from there” I am shook, my worth is high as hell.

I can’t believe it; I am still shook. I have been shook since I have been told. I haven’t told Chris yet; I haven’t even mentioned it to him even in the car. I was so just so quiet because I am shocked, that is a lot of money for some pictures. I mean they’re not any old pictures, they are precious but to sell them and to make that much money is crazy. I have just been in my own thoughts since arriving at the waiting room for my appointment “I can’t believe it Chris” I finally spoke, I think I am ready to speak on it “believe what? You have been rather quiet, you annoyed with me about something?” shaking my head, turning to Chris in the seat “so Jay Brown has sorted it out, meaning the pictures. Guess how much they are wanting to pay us?” Chris squinted his eyes unsure “well because you’re very excited I am guessing about five million? I mean that is a lot for some pictures” he just said that “you think we are worth just that, but anyways. Now listen to me, I want you to just listen to me first” Chris is not happy already “so I have opened us a joint account, whether you like it or not. We are married now and we need to be adults, we are going to be parents so I have opened one and that is what we will use when it comes to us, you can have your own bank account also but we have a joint one, anyways rant over but. They are paying Fifteen million” Chris’ eyes widened and jumped up, I mean I reacted crazy too but him “shut up?” he said shocked “I swear, fifteen million for the pictures and an interview with us both, we will be getting a little more from the GQ video thing but yeah, fifteen million Chris. And the money will be in the joint account, put the money back in your business and grow it, grow yourself and build yourself up, sit down though” I patted the seat, Chris is shook “Robyn that is a lot of money, we don’t ever need to work, we can hide away” he sat back down “true but no, money runs out, think of the lifestyle so, I want you to see your therapist yeah? Just check in on him, something is annoying you, you don’t need to admit anything to me, I just want you to do it, for yourself please?” I pleaded with him, I want him to do it “I will, I think I need too. I want to do it because I want to be better for you, so yes” smiling lightly at him “thank you, I love you so much. I know something is off with you” holding onto his hand “I am well though” he reassured me “I know, you are ok just sometimes you need to speak to someone that is not me. I can imagine I am annoying sometimes, right?” he can say no but I know I am.

Walking into the doctor’s office for the first time, just not any doctor’s office but my first prenatal “hello, I am Audrey Moruzzi” shaking her hand “Robyn” she smiled at me, more like to say I know who the hell you are “Chris” sitting down on the chair “I specialise in Obstetrics and Gynaecology, I will be with you throughout this whole journey, please ask me anything. Me and Keren will be assisting you, she will be on call for you every day and night, so you do not have to worry. How are you both?” she asked, looking over at Chris thinking he was going to ask but he is quiet “nervous to say the least, I am just excited but nervous with me losing the baby the first time around, but I have been ever so careful, I haven’t rushed into anything, I have kept calm about things and just had lots of rest, that is what I needed when I was first time pregnant, so yeah. We are both nervous” Audrey is writing things down ever so quickly, whatever these things mean “I see, well as long you are taking the necessary procedures to give yourself that rest then that is fine, I am sure you are feeling more fatigue?” nodding my head “very much so” sighing out “and constipated” Chris added, of course he did “and what he said, men” rolling my eyes “you tell them once and they never drop it” nudging him “all normal things to happen so, we will take urine, blood. We need to do these tests and we will do a full examination of your pelvis, this will be your longest appointment here, when did you find out you was pregnant?” she asked “I think I got caught in the middle of November, I was working it out that I would have the baby in August I think, but I found out just around December time, middle I would say again because I told Chris on Christmas Day” I am awful with dates “that is fine, we will work it out for you, shall we start” she got up from her seat.

She meant it when she said that it would be long, we had to wait for the results which of course have just come back now so we are back in the room, they took so many blood samples from me, I didn’t like it “so we got the results, and we can confirm that you are pregnant!” she spat “we have to confirm it ourselves and yes you are well and truly pregnant, your results have all come back perfect. There is no major concerns from me on my end, so if you what you are saying is true well about the dates, you will be seven weeks pregnant, now with a scan you won’t see much but what I am going to do is give you a transvaginal ultrasound now this is because you suffered a miscarriage already, we just want to check over everything is ok there. Twelve to thirteen week scan is the most important, we get to see more of the baby. Transvaginal is not comfortable to say the least but shall we see?” nodding my head, I am happy with anything. I really want to know if my baby is ok “and just to add, we may see just something ever so small or we may not see anything which is nothing bad because we will see the sac, but let’s not be concerned so early on, come. Let’s go and check” Audrey got up from the seat, I guess I got to go through this shit to see if my baby is ok, I hope it’s not that uncomfortable like she says.

Oh this is nor comfortable at all, she is right. Looking at Chris and he just looked at me “you all wide open like that” that is all he cares about “be quiet, this is actually the longest thing I have had inside me” I couldn’t help myself, I had to say it “see, now why are you lying? This is the stupid shit that come out of your mouth woman” I snorted laughing “I am joking, I needed some entertainment and you’re sat there mute thinking why my legs are wise open, childish” Chris squeezed my hand smiling “you just never this wide open with me, that is all” rolling my eyes “you’re annoying” pulling a face, I don’t like it “so the baby is seven weeks, you are correct with the dates. Now I am printing some pictures where I can explain to you, but it’s just a very small crows, the baby is about 8 millimetres. But I am happy with what I saw, very healthy Mrs Fenty-Brown” Audrey got up “Keren is just getting the pictures” Chris placed covers over me, I don’t know where he got them from but he did “some privacy” what is he like, of course he did that “Mrs Fenty-Brown” Keren held out a polaroid to me “as I said, you won’t see much but what you are seeing is a crown rump length of baby and the foetus is the gestational sac, which is filled with fluid” that is crazy “oh my gosh, that tiny thing is just a pea, you call it pea drop” this is crazy “yes, very tiny for now. But come twelve weeks you will see the change, the baby grows so quick” placing my hand over my mouth, I feel shocked “we are really going to be parents” my voice broke, Chris pressed a kiss to my forehead “I am so proud of you” wiping my tears that fell.

[general-mahamatra]

ahh im so glad!!! thank you for your answer! to expand on the protective hcs, how do u think each of the wolves show their protective side?? like, what kind of things would they all do for eachother? ALSO (i hope this isnt too much fknhknh) but sexuality hcs and maybe family hcs too? like the kind of families they have outside of pack and how it effects how they get along with their wolfy fam

Of course! I love the anons I've been getting and yours blessed my night so much! I really wanna give you a name so I can refer to you if you ever come back 👉🏻👈🏻

Maybe,,,, maybe timber anon,,, cmere timber anon I fucking love you so much

(damn this became long)

But protective sides!

Jack: Jack is the kind to do anything to protect his pack, even if it means going behind their backs to work with the order. His idea of protecting them is taking important tasks on his own and electing explicit help from specific Order members when necessary. He doesn't want his packmates to get hurt in some way so when it's life or death and only one person needs to get hurt or die? That'll be Jack. He will do anything to make sure his new family is safe, even if it means putting his life on the line.

He tends to ignore their please to help him, often shutting them out to do it all himself. He rarely tells them the entirety of his plans, even when they're as a group. He'll always give the instructions of grouping the other wolves together but he always scopes around on his own. Never, NEVER does he let someone accompany him. If someone is gonna get hurt, it will only be him.

Hamish: he's very protective, that's definitely known. Just not in terms of he'll go out and kill someone for it just because they're a threat. He's much more of a talking kinda guy. Pep talks, stern conversations, that sorta thing. He's much more likely to see how far he can get with his words before he moves on with anything else, but he's prone to get angry. While he isn't physical, his tone gets harsh and he'll do everything considered to be rage except for scream. When he's angry, he talks fast and sharp. His words will jumble together and he will get up close and personal, but never hit.

His protectiveness is more within the pack than taking out threats. He's one to give them a dose of reality and tell them what's up.

Randall: his idea of protection is using common sense. He will always point out when something is a terrible idea and makes a stand. He refuses to be swayed from his position and even if he loses a game of beer pong and is forced to agree, his mind is never changed. He will ways express his worries. "The Order is our ENEMY", "they tried to kill us a couple months ago!", "they literally stole our memory to control us", "this is a FUCKING DEMON HOW DUMB ARE YOU GUYS??"

Although the pack tends to make him a pushover, he will never shut up. In fact, being shoved to the side in big important missions is what makes Randall louder. He WILL be heard and he WILL make sure of it. And even if someone says his idea is bad, he will stew. He will sit and broil over until he figures out how to get his idea and pull it off. Even if it means risking his own hide to kill someone to complete a ritual.

Lilith: oh yes, Lilith. The girl named after the mother of all demons. You know her idea of protection is vicious. She is the one who will openly go to slit someone's throat for so much as looking at one of her packmates wrong. And she is snarly. She will growl and snap at whoever gets too close and will gladly punch someone for saying something wrong.

Her idea of protection is genuine killing. She is open about how vicious she is and uses it to her advantage to keep her pack safe. She refused to let anyone lay a harmful finger on her family.

-----

Sexualities!

These are my personal views on these characters from watching the show! I'm completely open to all other interpretations!

Jack: straight! He may have dabbled a bit with men but in the end, he came out preferring girls.

Hamish: he doesn't label himself. To the outside view he is bisexual but if you ask him, he will say he likes whoever. Labels just aren't for him.

Randall: bisexual! And he is VERY open about it. He is a genuine 50/50 with boys and girls and will openly admire them all. He's also definitely the most queer and accepting given how casual he is with cross dressing and how affectionate he has been with both Hamish and Lilith separately.

Lilith: bisexual leaning girls! She has expressed interest in boys (as seen with Randall) but in the end definitely prefers girls. She may end up being lesbian later on but for now, she still has minor interests in boys from time to time!

-----

Their families outside of the pack

Jack: we already know about his family. With basically all of them gone, Jack is left alone in the world with only his friends. Its why he's so protective of them. He's already lost his blood, he doesn't want to lose his found family.

Hamish: he isn't that open about his family but he has mentioned them. Given how we don't know how old he is, it's difficult to determine a lot about him. From my basic guess, he's in his late twenties given his parents are both still alive and how close he is with the pack despite being the senior member.

He is DEFINITELY a trust fund baby, but he's good with it. He's spoiled with money (probably from his mom marrying a sugar daddy or something--which could allude to why he's "hot for teach") and resources. But, given how he's genuinely mature and seen to live within the den, it's safe to assume his family taught him how to properly use his money. They seem like they have a good relationship.

He's definitely an only child and it's very much why he seems so much more mature. He grew up on his own and after years of learning how to deal with people, he is able to properly deal with the pack and assert himself properly while still being open and genuine. He never takes full control.

Randall: he has brothers for sure, it's why he's so athletic. He comes from a family centered around sports and football and every Superbowl they would send the boys out to play with the rest of the family at their parties. Its what got Randall so into working out and sports. Of course there were fights, but he got along with them pretty well since they were all close in age. Obviously, he was the youngest but shh, only by a year.

Its why he's so energetic and playful with all the pack. He's boisterous and loves to harass the others, especially Hamish with the nicknames. To be fair, though, he nicknames EVERYONE. Jack is only ever Jacky Boy in his mind.

Lilith: she isn't too close to her family. She isn't open about them at all and never mentions them to anyone else. Most of her times over the holidays are spent on campus with either the pack or some of her friends from other classes. Its not entirely known why she doesn't like her family, but it's suspected it may have had to do with her feisty attitude and tendency to lash out at those close to her.

It's possible she had a sister and was known to be close with her despite a bunch of arguments. They were probably the reason Lilith ended up splitting away from her family.

Its why she tries so hard to stay close with the pack while also keeping them at a distance. She doesn't want a repeat of what happened with her sister; she can't lose another family.

[hobiwonder]

A vase of flowers | (m)

Genre: Smut, enemies to lovers.

Pairing: Wealthy art student!taehyung x art student!reader

Warnings: slight angst. language. foreplay, descriptions of unprotected sex, dirty talk. it’s pretty tame otherwise.

Words: 10k

Summary: Art prodigy Taehyung comes to your art store out of desperation   when he doesn’t have enough paint to finish his latest piece. That wouldn’t be a problem if you didn’t hate his elitist ass. 

a/n: this was just to get back in to writing. Its not edited and probably doesn't flow the best. But it did get me writing so here u go!! feedback is much appreciated :)

(he’s a work of art himself!!1!!!1!)

The hustle and bustle of students – females in particular – in the hall outside the lecture theatre was more infuriating than you had anticipated. What else did you expect though? The one day you don’t come late to the lecture is the day Kim Taehyung had decided to show up to class so the hallways outside the room being cramped like a chicken farm was inevitable. Even Minnie sitting beside you was craning her neck forward to catch a glimpse of the artistic prodigy – never mind his out of the ordinary good looks – before the class started. He was very much a superstar at your university but you will never understand why people were so obsessed with people who were not actually that great if you just looked past the good looks and the talent. Talent didn’t automatically make someone a good person and everyone’s obsession with the teal haired artist really pissed you off.

“Ugh, when will these bimbos shut up. He’s not a god!” Your words are muffled against your sweater clad forearm as you try and rest your head before class started. Having the closing shift the night before was one of the few things you despised when you had a class this early in the next morning. But you still showed up to every one of them. Unlike someone else.

“Well it doesn’t help that he looks like one.” Minnie is just shrugging while she continues to lean over her chair to watch the girls twirl their hair, throw back their heads in laughter whenever Kim Taehyung says something ‘funny’, nudging his shoulder with their own to show their frankness when really – none of these girls probably knew him past his bedroom since he rarely showed up to class. But news of him being a womanizer was common although slightly more hushed than that of the football team captain and co-caption Jeon Jungkook and Min Yoongi. Those boys were a headache for another day.

Kim Taehyung wasn’t anything special. In fact – he rarely showed up to class, was given special privileges you were sure of it because he was always in the top three students despite showing his face once in a blue moon, had every professor whipped for his pert ass because of how well connected he was in the industry as well as his family being one of the founding fathers of your current university.

Sure, someone like that is bound to be more popular than your regular high achiever or talented artist but the fact that he had everyone absolutely nuts about him was infuriating. On top of th-

“Are you done with your inner monologue? You’re blocking my way.” The unmistakably deep voice belongs to none other than the boy who you wanted to punch so very much. But that wouldn’t be wise given that most of the class was watching. His annoyingly attractive smirk was always there. Like it was just how his mouth was shaped but you knew that he always made the look a bit more condescending when speaking to you. Not that he would let anyone else know though. Bastard knew how to keep his persona up and you just wanted to smack him even more!

“Oh sorry. Forgot your name was on that seat since you barely come to class. I’ll remember for the next time when you make your monthly appearance.” Minnie is nudging you with her elbow no doubt to shut you up and it’s not the first time this exact scenario had taken place. But you wanted to keep yourself in check since no doubt the rest of your comrades would give Minnie a hard time since they didn’t have the balls to annoy you because of your obvious dislike of Kim Taehyung.

“Missed me, did you?” Your little victory smile is slipping off your face when his smirk deepens and you have to physically grab your desk and grit your teeth from snapping at him again while you move your feet out of the way so his smug ass can get to his stupid seat. Thankfully his seat was towards the end of the row so you didn’t have to catch glimpses of his pretentious face.

“You wish trust fund baby.” Alas, he isn’t affected. Not even a bit as he winks your way while walking to ‘his’ seat.

“Leave the pet names for people who actually get to be with me.” That’s it. Youj will break his stupid obnoxious snobby face!

“Calm down y/n. Everyone is watching.” She holding on to your arm while your eyeballs glare at Taehyung’s direction without even blinking.

“All the more satisfying when I kiss him with my fist! Minnie let me go you knob.” While you’re trying to wrestle your arm free; your professor has walked in looking pleasantly surprised with the semi-full lecture theatre. His gaze almost instantly goes directly to Taehyung because even he knows that most of these new faces that show up once in a while as well are because of Taehyung. They nod at each other before he starts the class and your mouth is agape that no one even questions the favouritism in this class. A bunch of ass kissers!

“Are you seeing this? His daddy probably plays golf with the prof. Jung Soo!”

“So what, y/n? You’re forgetting the rest of them also have parents who play golf with Taehyung’s dad. Most of these rats are rich as fuck. Not everyone comes from humbler beginnings.” Minnie is smiling hopefully as she watches you pout but her response only makes you snort.

“Are you forgetting you’re one of these ‘rats’?”

“Don’t remind me.” She falls back in her seat while hiding her face at the mention of her filthy rich parents being business partners with Kim Taehyung’s. When you’d first found out how well off your best friend was it only made you more enraged. If she could be a decent human being and not get any special treatment – despite being extremely talented as well – then why stupid Kim Taehyung? Minnie had a banging body and a face to match not that it should matter but you were so sick of the double standards. Your best friend also deserved special treatment dammit!

“Why? You shouldn’t be ashamed of being rich, hot AND a decent human being. I would so be one of those girls drooling after that canvas demon if I was gay.”

“Bitch I’m almost convinced you aregay but the way you’re ready to drop your panties for Min Yoongi tells me otherwise.” You only try to muffle your laughter while smacking Minnie’s knee, mumbling a ‘shut up’ before you both opt to pay attention to what your professor is going on about. Not before you catch Taehyung watching you like he was about to grade your upcoming assessment. You just send him another glare and try to ignore his overtly attractive physical presence. How could someone just sittingseem attractive, you will never get it. God really favoured some people more than others huh?

“Thanks for coming. Have a nice day!” The chime of the register as it slid closed was a sound you were starting to hate. The smile on your face was tired and probably was becoming very obviously fake. But that was just a typical day at the arts and crafts store – the only one in the near vicinity of the university hence the more than average traffic even close to 7pm at night on a weekday. Since the store was employed with almost entirely all students, it was able to stay open longer than the regular hours to allow the students with day classes to work during the night shifts. You were an exception though. Being on the lower end of the income spectrum among your peers, you needed as much work as you could get. Doing a bachelors in fine arts helped too as you used the tools that the store sold, on a regular basis. It definitely came in handy when assisting first years and some mature aged students who needed extra help in finding the right type of brushes or paints needed for their canvases.

“You good? You can take off for the rest of the night you know?” You know that Sungwoon is trying to sound helpful but you knew his real intentions. Scoffing in his direction you just grab your blue water bottle to take a good swig and wake you up.

“So you can steal my shift and work instead? Not today satan.”

“You’re literally so dramatic.” He says while heaving the biggest breath out like he was any better. “Maybe I genuinely just want you to rest and not have your face turn in to one of those creepy smiling masks from that one movie.” He’s clicking his fingers s if that’ll help him recall the name of the film any faster. Lucky for him, you knew what he was talking about.

“The Purge?”

“That’s it! See, you knew exactly what I was referring to. You need sleep.” Sungwoon is nodding while looking at you like you stank or something. Ugh screw boys.

“If I did, you’re the first person I’ll get rid off.” You deadpan and you can almost pinpoint when he starts to realise you may not be joking. But you were of course. He was a little shit but all in good fun.

“Well,” he’s picking up his bag and making sure to clock out from the app the store used to make sure everyone was getting to work on time, “I’ll be going then. Have fun scaring off rest of the customers and drowning the revenue for today.”

His squealing laughter is the last thing you hear before he’s scuttling out when you try and smack him across his bicep. Sungwoon was probably one of the few boys you could stand and were actually close enough with for them to joke around like that with you because apart from Minnie, there weren’t many people who really liked talking to you. That much was clear when you’d moved near the campus from your town when you’d been accepted to the rather elite Art University.

Coming from a small town – you’d think you were more friendly but that wasn’t the case with you. You’d grown up with a strict father that made sure to discipline you if you ever messed up your tasks at his workshop. Ever since you could remember how to read and write, you had been helping him out with the business as he could not. His own father – your grandfather – had been even more strict on him according to your mother so there was no changing him. You had never really minded in doing the book-keeping for him or making sure the small town client paid on time after having their cars tended to. That’s until you had started your Junior year in high school and had the choice of choosing between subjects now that you were to apply for universities after. Or that’s what the plan was for most children. You had taken Art as a spare since it was the easiest class at the time and you really didn’t need any complicated subjects to study for because you were having to work at the workshop with your dad even more as you were getting older.

Being an only child also meant that all the expectations your parents had fell upon you to see them through. It also meant that the only time you interacted with your fellow classmates was during class. Not even after because as soon as school would finish – you’d have to rush to the workshop to help your dad sign out cars from the shop to the owners on time. He specifically made appointments towards the end of your school day just so you could be there and help him make sure the checks he was given by the more wealthier customers – only a few – were not for an amount less than he’d quoted them with. Believe it or not, it had happened and every time it did you had to stop yourself from smacking the bastards who had tried to take advantage of your father just because he couldn’t read. Ant to make the matter even more ridiculous, most of the people who tried to scam your father had been those who could actually afford his services. Not Joe who had a farm and sold eggs locally as his main source of living, not Jihoon’s father who was a delivery man and needed his vehicle to keep working and provide for him family and certainly not the old lady who had her truck serviced by your father so she could get to her appointments to the doctor, on time despite her only income being what her son sent from the city where he worked as a chef and had his own family to feed.

The world was filled with unkind people and most of them were those who could afford most things but still tried to take the less fortunate’s share too. Your father was a calm man but all his frustrations were usually taken out on you whenever you would rightfully insult those who tried to seek discounts despite knowing that your father wouldn’t be able to afford the tools he needed to do a fair job on the vehicles if he didn’t get paid the amount he had set on the pricelist which was dismal compared the mechanics you have seen in the city.

But of course, he wouldn’t say much to those low-lives because at least he was getting business. And that was better than nothing. When you’d finally let him know at the end of your senior year that you’d applied to an arts university rather than the business school he had hoped you would go to – things had not gone well, to say the least. Of course all his anger would be directed at you that day from the shop as well as finding out that his only child was not interested in business at all. You had done it as much as you could for the sake of helping out and honestly? Just not knowing what was out there for you to study and do with your life. But If there was anything that working with your father had taught you was that if you didn’t take a chance sooner than later – you’d end up having to rely on someone else for the rest of your life. Just like your father relied on you for so long because he just never got around to even finish school because of doing exactly what you had been – helping out your granddad.

The day you had left for university had been hard and was the second time you had cried. Your father hadn’t even looked at you but your mother had clutched on to you until you had to physically pull her away when your taxi had arrived. Even after making sure there was someone to help out your father at the shop, there was still apprehension present in your gut. It had all felt wrong somehow even as you had been unpacking your stuff in your flat the next night. Thankfully, all the hesitancy, all the fights and the sleepless nights had been worth it when you’d gone in to your first class the next day. You’d been excited to meet new people, make friends, make memories you didn’t even knew you had the option to make. But what do you know, getting accepted in to an elite university meant there were more of the same people you had fought off and defended your father from.

Meeting Minnie was almost a miracle. She had been the only one to come up to you being desperate to find a buddy to get lost around the campus with and not like the rest who had taken one look at your jeans and plaid shirt and moved on to find others with the same clothing or designer bags. People were so materialistic in the city it was almost unbelievable. In your town you had been able to find others who were more so on your social and economic status and feel comfortable. But in the city you were outnumbered. Maybe that’s why people like Kim Taehyung got on your nerves even more than usual. You’d noticed his elitist behaviour when invitations had been sent to attend the commencing party at his house in the first week you’d been attending the university and instantly you knew you would never be able to stand him or people like him. Only a certain number and certain looking people – girls to be exact – had been invited to the famous Kim estate. You’d only found out when Minnie had asked what you were going to wear to the party. The look on your face had probably given away your lie that you weren’t actually invited when you’d made up some excuse of not wanting to go. Minnie being the good sport and the only decent person you had known, had made some excuse about not ‘feeling it’ and stayed in that night and watched all of Harry Potter series with you. With you watching them for the first time.

“Bugger.” Your thoughts are interrupted when you almost trip over the bucket of sale items Sungwoon forgot to move. Taking a deep breath, you pick up the relatively heavy bucket that contained tubes of oil paint in colours such as black, white and red that were bought the most and move it to the stock room so it can be displayed again the next morning. Your shift was going to end in another 2 hours so now most of the work included moving display stock to the back room and print out labels for the discounts that were going up tomorrow morning. This is probably why you didn’t completely hate night shifts because other than a few customers – it mostly involved you working silently and most times even able to use headphones without having to worry about missing anyone at the till waiting for you.

“Hello? You guys still open?” You’d just finished putting away the tubes and the paint brushes when the front door had opened – as signalled by the bell atop it – meaning there was a customer.

“Coming!” Quickly getting down from the ladder where you’d been putting the paint in their designated boxes, you rush outside. “Hi, how can I- Oh. It’s just you.”

Taehyung is scoffing towards you when you roll your eyes seeing as it’s not a real customer. It was true. The last few time she’d come in – he’d browsed for all of 5 minutes before making a weird face and leaving. Probably going to buy his pretentious paints from his pretentious shop. It was as if he only came to the store to make fun of all the products most students living on campus – or not filthy rich like him – used.

“Isn’t that against some customer service code? To have this sort of attitude?” His bright hair has somehow made the place look a little less mundane, you hate to admit it. His very clear skin and the various rings he wore didn’t help either in making you feel less than. You hated how much he actually affected your mood.

“For actual customers? Probably yeah.” This time, it’s him who’s rolling his eyes while his hands comes up to have a feel of a synthetic brush that was hanging in front of him.

“What makes you think I’m not a customer?”

“You really want me to answer that?”

“I actually am here to buy something this time.” His response only makes you smirk as you hum.

“So you do admit that you only come here to flaunt your wealth. That’s a good sign Taehyung.” But for some reason, the teasing that would usually make you feel better doesn’t feel as satisfying when Taehyung is just looking around like he’s in a pickle rather than through an insult back at you.

“Look, I need some paint and maybe a few natural hair brushes. I would go to-”

“Your overpriced and pretentious art store?”

“-my regular spot but I need to finish this painting tonight.” He completely ignores you when you cut in with a smirk and almost sounds like he is pleading. Wait. He was. The new found info perks you up more than you’d anticipated and it’s almost exciting knowing Kim Taehyung’s fate lies in yhour hands. Okay, maybe an exaggeration but still exviting. So you do what anyhone else in your position would – milk out the entire debacle.

“Well, well, well.” Leaning on your elbows on the counter, you can’t help but feel sort of like an evil villain finally with the perfect opportunity to strike. Except, you weren’t the villain really. You were the good guy!

“For fuck’s sake.” Taehyung mumbles lowly under his breath but you could hear him loud and clear. “How long are you going to make me wait?”

You wanted to be cruel, you really did. You wanted to tell him you had ran out of the supplies but you were too tired and honestly, he was probably going to buya  bunch of stuff and if you made a sale above 50,000 won in one transaction then you would make some sweet commission. So whatever.

“Luckily for you, I’m a decent human being so,” stepping out from behind the register, you just deadpan at him, “right this way.”

He seems surprised and so are you. At yourself. Because you’re not sure why you’re being this nice to him when he’s made fun of you on more than one occasion.

“I’m slightly scared you’re leading me somewhere quieter so you can murder me.” His voice is slightly meek and you’re thankful that he can’t see your face because you’re trying to hold in ugly laughter that Kim Taehyung is actually scared of you when alone despite acting like hot shit when surrounded by a herd of girls.

“A good, educated guess. But not today.”

“…. So there is a chance for that to happen another day?” Spinning around to face him abruptly – damn okay maybe you should major in acting because Taehyung flinches but tries to play it off by shrugging his broad shoulders.

“Maybe.” You’re slightly too close to him because you have to crane your neck up to meet his gaze. Just when his own slips down to your lips, you quickly gesture towards the aisle you’ve just stopped in front of. “Here you’ll find what you need. Brushes and paints.”

“Thanks.” You just shrug before turning around to go back to the cash register. That plan doesn’t go too well because a warm grip on your wrist stops you in your tracks and almost on instinct, you’re ripping out your hand from the grasp as soon as you feel it.

“Woah, sorry! I didn’t mean to-” You just cut him off to move past the subject before he even brings it up.

“What do you want now?” Taehyung pauses for a few seconds as if not ready to let your jumpy reaction go just yet but thankfully decides to drop it.

“Look, I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t desperate and rally needed the sup-”

“Taehyung, I’m not interested in hearing how you would never set foot in a place where peasants like us – or normal people really – shop so just get to it.”

He however is just biting on the inside of his cheeks as if to burry a smile before it breaks through. “You’re not very patient are you?”

“I haven’t been put in many situations that really require it, so.” You just shrug in his direction but the flash that goes through his eyes that resembled molten dark chocolate sends an involuntary shiver down your spine and thankfully the air con is on and you could blame your odd reaction on to that if he noticed. Why was he looking at you like that?

“That’s too bad. Sometimes the rewards for waiting are quite fulfilling at the end.” And somehow, you’re not sure if he just means that in general or…

His heavy gaze travelling down the length of your body only makes you more eager to move on before you lose all the good comebacks you had at the tip of your tongue just because his looks were making you weak in the knees.

“Whatever.” You turn to leave once again and again, Taehyung reaches out to grab your wrist but pulls himself back before he can. Thankfully, you have already seen him this time so you just cross your hands under your chest, tapping your foot while you wait for him to spit it out.

“Just help me okay? I’m not familiar with these… brands.”

“That’s because none of them are Gucci.” He just rolls his eyes but follows you down the asile anyway.

“You do know that Gucci doesn’t make paint right? If they did it would be amazing though. Maybe I should write to them about this. Hm.” He’s started talking to himself but you start pointing out the different types you had available because you don’t have time to have causal chats with him like you two were friends. Despite his weird behaviour before.

“If you’re looking for oil paints, these ones are smoother and the colour payoff is better than others and if you want buildable colours then go for… this.” You’re about to say they are cheaper than the first brand you had pointed out but then realise that he most likely doesn’t care about the price. Though he doesn’t seem to be looking at you at the moment but only paying attention to the paints just like he paid attention the content in the few lectures you’d seen him at.

“Do they not say the ingredient at the back? That’s peculiar.”

“What’s peculiar is you using the word ‘peculiar’.” You mumble while still watching him inspect the different tubes as if he was going to drink them or something.

“May I get the list of ingredients for these ones here? And the lightfastness rating please.”

“It’s literally at the bottom of the tube.” His eyebrows furrow as he looks back at the tube and looks at the bottom again.

“Oh. Isn’t there like a booklet or something that comes with this so I can check?”

You just continue to stare at him.

“Taehyung, this is a campus arts store and our most expensive paint is 55,000 won. So no, we don’t have fancy brands that make ‘booklets’ for every paint. But if you must know,” You sigh, rolling your eyes at how high maintenance he was with his paints, “I can have a look at the delivery boxed for the ingredients. I know that all of these paints of this brand have a lightfastness rating of II at least.”

“Excellent! And yes that would be great, y/n. I just prefer my oils to be made from pure Linseed is all.” He has a bright smile on his face while he shrugs like that’s just the way it is. But of course, you want to punch him once more for making your job harder than it needs to. He was a college student. What did he need such high quality paints for? Ugh.

So you grit your teeth and walk back to the storage room and fish for the delivery boxes of the brand that Taehyung was interested in. “Stupid rich boy. Used to always getting what he wants.” The mumbling continues on your part while you try to locate the box as quickly as possible so he can go away and stop making your shift harder than it needs to be at almost 8:30 PM at night.

“Aha!” You have finally spotted the boxes that were stacked way at the bottom. Quickly reading through the large ingredient list, you confirm that the paints are unfortunately not made purely from Linseed oil.

“I have some bad news.” When you walk back out to where Taehyung is testing a few brushes, you can see his face drop because you’re sure he can guess what you’re about to say. “The binder used for these paints is a mixture of Linseed and walnut oil as well as a few others.” You shrug but Taehyung seems to be losing it.

“God fucking damnit. I’m screwed.” He’s started to pace around the aisle, looking like his life has just ended and his dog has died. Did he have a dog? You loved dogs.

“Why are you freaking out so badly?” He looks at you like you’re the one who’s acting weird.

“Because I have an auction in three weeks and it usually takes me that long to even finish a painting.” Of course he had an auction. It was common knowledge around campus that he sold his paintings for quite a sum at a few well known auctions. But you couldn’t remember another one happening anytime soon though.

“What auction? There isn’t one scheduled for at least 3 months.” Taehyung is hesitating when you question him. He looks like he would rather not mention it but in the end, sighs and tells you anyway.

“It’s more of an exhibition. Just for my paintings.”

“Oh wow.” Your eyes have widened at the mention of his solo exhibition. He was rich enough to afford to hold one so it shouldn’t be that surprising. But it still was a big deal even for a privileged student like him because you need to have enough credibility and a loyal customer base to attract enough people to an exhibition that is solely filled with your own artwork and not a collection of artists. “ I didn’t know you had your own exhibitions.”

He scratches the back of his head as he shrugs nonchalantly but you see the nerves showing through with how his hands shake slightly. “It’s the first one.”

“Oh.”

“Whatever I’ll just look somewhere else.”

“I use a medium of stand oil, linseed and turpentine, a little wax and add a small amount of cobalt drier to control drying time for my paintings.” You have blurted out your little trick before you could stop yourself. In your defence, he just looked so pitiful. You had to help. He also seems just as surprised at you suggestion and even more surprised when you walk around gathering the supplies you’ve just mentioned.

“Oh… thanks for the tip. I never really thought about that since I never really needed to…”

He silently follows you to the register where you place all the items and scan them so he can pay. Whatever. Maybe you helping him will bring some good karma and give your career a break too and your painting will finally be displayed at the Montero Art Gallery. It was a local gallery but a lot of successful artists you admire had started out from there and you were hoping that your work could be good enough one day to be displayed there too.

“How did you go through all your paints by the way? Should you have a ton of them because you’re supposedly always painting.”

“Supposedly?” Taehyung is smirking while his eyebrows are raised in mock disbelief at your suspicion. “Well, I used up most of them when I had sex on a canvas with Jihyo. Made for a good painting though. Maybe I’ll display that one too.” He’s grinning from ear to ear and you’ve just halted while he pays on the eftpos machine. Okay you definitely regret telling him your trick when he put himself in this position by being a horndog.

“You’re literally so gross.”

“Hey, abstract art is also a thing you know?” He looks serious enough that if he hadn’t said ‘abstract art’ you would think you had actually offended him. You obviously hadn’t when he just winks in your direction while he gathers his items and leaves.

“Asshole.”

It’s been a week since you first saw The Kim Taehyung pop by the little arts store that had previously been too beneath him to even consider buying his supplies there. Though ever since you’d told him about your little trick, he’d been bugging you non-stop on writing tips and you’re almost sure he’s doing it to… well, bug you. It’s as if he isn’t even aware that he’s an artistic prodigy because you’ve seen his paintings yourself and they were hyped up for a reason. Even a bitter person like you could admit that.

So when you get a special request by your boss one Friday evening, you’re surprised to say the least when you figure why you’re even asked to deliver supplies in the first place.

“Are you serious?” Your boss being the sweet old lady she is, is just pushing up her glasses as she nods vigorously at you.

“Of course dear! Must be some poor student who really is in need of help. He sounded quite desperate on the phone.” The old woman was way too nice for her own good. And while you appreciated her big heart, if she says yes to one person that the supplies can be delivered to his house then then word will get around and sooner than later, you’ll have a flood of students ordering their supplies over the phone and wanting them to be delivered. If that was going to be the case then you’ll have to quit since you can’t deliver because you don’t have a car. You relied on public transport damnit!

“Or he’s just lazy Ma.” Yes. Everyone called her ma upon her request. Short for Marion. Not that you minded because she was sweet as honey and really did remind you of your own mother. And she treated you like one too. Especially right now when she just scowls at you and asks you to stop being lazy yourself and deliver the package she’s prepared.

“Ugh fine.” You whine until the very end and she’s just wishing you a safe journey. Thankfully she’d leant you her car for today – it was her idea after all – so you wouldn’t need to spend an hour trying to find the place. It seemed to be quite close to the shop surprisingly. And unsurprisingly, the apartment is in a trendy but expensive neighbourhood. Most kids who went to your school probably lived in these buildings. The one you were supposed to go at though was on the top floor and you’re already angry that this buttcrack insisted on delivery and manipulated poor Marion into having his stuff delivered to his door rather than being at the front reception so the exchange could be faster.

When you reach the top floor, you pull out the receipt to hand it to him first thing as he opens the door and don’t have to spend more time than necessary in this place that you felt so out-of-place in. You’ve already rung the doorbell while you read the receipt and that’s mistake number one that night. It dawns on you who this person must be when you’re reading the names of the exact items Taehyung had bought from you last week. You could turn around and go really. Only if you hadn’t already rang the doorbell and he hadn’t opened it right as you’re setting the heavy bag down.

“Well hello there.” His deep voice is an anchor itself as you stop your movements right then and look up at his smirking face that looking down at you. Ugh. Like always.

“Hi.” Slowly, you straighten yourself up, the bag still near your feet as you step away, trying not to gawk at his perfectly toned skin that is showing way too much from between his unbuttoned shirt. “Here’s your stuff. Goodbye.”

“Oh good. You can set it inside in the kitchen.” You’re gritting your teeth in order to stop yourself from slapping his cheery voice right out of his throat with a punch. Okay maybe that’ll be too much. Maybe. You won’t know until you try though.

“Come on.” He’s gesturing inside his expensive apartment that shinier and cleaner than any place you’ve ever seen. He probably has it professionally cleaned.

“I’m not coming inside you weirdo.”

“Don’t worry, you’re not my type.” Somehow that makes you even more mad and you hate that it does. Fuck him honestly. You knew you weren’t his ‘type’. His type included skinny, rich and bad artists. Just so he could get off on a power-control dynamic you’re guessing.

You just pick up the heavy package without breaking eye contact and step inside, walking straight to the kitchen and placing the materials on the counter. The inside décor is surprising when you take in the various canvases strewn about in the living room on different easels. But what really takes your breath away is the familiar artwork that you’d looked at time and time again when you’d been lacking inspiration. When you’d been in a rut and everything had been too much and all you would want to do is quit. But looking at the work that evoked emotions from a place inside that even you hadn’t still made sense of it was the only thing that had kept you going many times throughout the years you’d been at university.

But how was Taehyung interested in such underrated art? You’d never heard him mention Vincent Van Gogh before. And yet most of his paintings covered the walls of his apartment.

“You like Van Gogh?” Taehyung has gone back to his pallet as he mixes the various shades of reds and oranges together.

“Who doesn’t?”

“Like, all of our school?”

“Nah. They pretend that better artists exist.” His answer surprises you. You’d never pegged him as someone who appreciated the more sombre period of art. His paintings usually were a lot more cheery and sometimes rather complicated.

You’re kind of lost in the long hallway covered with several paintings. The tall ceilings and the dim lighting only making you more excited to take in such beautiful art in silence with the only sound being the bristles of Taehyung’s brushes across the canvas.

“You like his work too I assume?”

“Mhm.” You’re too lost in the various paintings to really properly answer him. You’ve almost forgotten where you are until Taehyung speaks again. But this time, from somewhere far closer as you can smell the musky scent that always accompanied him.

“This one is my favourite.” His voice startles you a little when he appears just behind you, slightly to the side so you can look to the side and watch his long neck fall back when he looks up at the painting.

“I like it too.” Your voice is quieter than before. Like neither of you want to disturb the air surrounding you. It’s probably the first time you haven’t felt instantly annoyed by Taehyung’s presence. When you look besides you again, you don’t realise it’s the second mistake you’ve made that night. Because Taehyung is staring right back at you and this time he doesn’t stop. Your breath hitches in your throat when you catch his dimly lit face staring intensely at you. Or maybe it was the lighting that amplified every look. Every gesture. Whatever it was, in that moment, you’d never felt more attracted to Kim Taehyung.

“I lied.” His whisper floats across your skin and the light breeze that comes with the breath from his words has your eyes closing for just a few seconds longer when they blink.

“A-About what?” Taehyung has somehow moved even closer because you could feel the heat from his chest seeping through your own shirt. It also didn’t help that his shirt was fully unbuttoned and the smooth expanse of his chest was absolutely bare for your traitorous eyes to feast on.

He brings up a hand, slowly as if not to startle you like he had last week, and tucked the stray strand of hair behind your ear. “About you not being my type.”

The only thing your body seems to be able to do at the moment is turn your face back towards the painting, heart thudding in your chest as you feel his hands move all of the hair from your neck out of the way to the other side. Exposing the sensitive flesh to the cool air inside his apartment. “You’re exactly my type and better.”

This time the words are whispered s close to your ear that you have to physically clutch tightly on to yourself so you don’t flinch from his breath tickling the flesh of your neck. You’re biting your lip, trying not make any sudden movements or noise because honestly, you didn’t trust yourself to not jump his bones. How was he this sexy and annoying at the same time?

“I kn-know.” You’re hoping that teasing is evident in your voice but that plan has gone down the gutter as soon as Taehyung presses his luscious lips in to an open mouthed kiss against the side of your throat. So instead, your response comes out way too breathy and you can’t stop the moan escaping you in the end.

“You’re just always looking for trouble aren’t you, y/n?” How is his voice perfectly steady? He doesn’t even sound remotely affected as he brings his arms around you from behind, fully moving behind you as well while he continues to undo the strings of control you had tied tightly around your brain. Because seems like you’re only thinking with your vagina at the moment.

His hand have slipped beneath your shirt after playing with the hem for a few seconds and testing the waters. When you don’t push his hands away – you could barely breath at the moment – he slips them inside your thin shirt, tracing circles across your torso and up until his warm, large – so fucking huge – hands are taking handfuls of your breasts before he’s gently squeezing the mounds.

“Oh.” You feel like you’re going boneless by the second as your head lolls back and on to his shoulder and you’re just praying that your brain shuts up and lets you enjoy these sensations without the red alarm bells going off in your head that you hated him!

You hit mute on said alarms as soon as you feel his index finger and thumbs rolling your puffy nipples through the fabric of your bra into hardened pointy tips and you’ve finally lost the filter on your mouth. “F-Fuck. Taehyung, ungh.”

“Look at you. Thought you hated me, huh?”

“I still, mh f-fuck, d-do.” Being a slave to your stubborn ways, you’re retaliating with your words before you can even keep yourself in check. Taehyung doesn’t seem to be bothered though. He’s just chuckling at your pathetic attempts at trying to hold on to some autonomy even if your body is betraying the fuck out of you. The constant squeezing, rolling and pinching of your nipples has you almost mindless, you’re not sure you can survive much more than this.

“Sure. At least your body doesn’t lie though.” He’s squeezing the mounds firmly this time before he’s slipping one of his hands downwards again. You’re aching and wet and aroused beyond words but finally you’re up to the point where you can easily ignore the rational side of your brain and let your body take control.

Breathing loudly, you’re almost panting with every inch that Taehyung’s hand moves closer to your underwear. You’re so soaked that you can feel your panties sticking to the contours of your pussy lewdly and knowing that Taehyung was about to touch you there had you dripping in more. You can’t remember the last time you were this horny from just foreplay.

Taehyung closes his lips around your pulse point before he sucks a punishing bruise in that patch of skin. “Spread your legs y/n. That’s it.”

He’s cooing at you when you instantly comply, whimpering his name when he presses his entire palm on your clit, rubbing the hard nub in gentle circles while you’re about to cum just from his words alone.

“Look at you. So wet and soaking. Have you always been this wet when you’ve been giving me nasty looks baby? Hm? Tell me.” His pace is increasing and the audible sound of your arousal coming through the layers of clothing makes you want to hide your face from the sheer embarrassment.

“T-Tae. Please.” You’re pleading sounds like you’re on the verge of tears and it’s not too far off from the truth. Your legs are spread but not enough for you to completely enjoy the feel of his hands. Not that he seems to be in any rush though.

“Please what y/n? Please use your pussy as your apology? Are you going to be a mouthy slut or let me use your cunt to milk my cock? It’s the least I deserve after the way you’ve treated me in every lecture.”

He’s pouting in mock hurt as he leans his head forward to look in to your eyes as if you’re not being destroyed by the fast paced circling of your clit under his palm. Your eyebrows are furrowed, eyes half shut as the mind blowing orgasm looms around the corner. You’re about to cry from happiness and relief when he slips your underwear to the side, sliding his middle and index finger in without a warning and without remorse. The force with which he’s pumped his long, thick digits inside jerking back against him. Which only makes matters worse when you can feel the evidence of his own arousal pressing against your back. You’re slightly terrified from the sheer bulk of his erection too because it sits hot and heavy behind you. You just know he isn’t the average size you’re used to and that excite and scares you at the same time.

“Would you listen to that? Your cunt is singing for me babe.” You’d smack him across his chest for being so dramatic and cheesy but the sounds of your excessive wetness just has you hiding your face in his neck. But Taehyung is having none of it when he’s harshly tugging back your head as he weaves his hand in your hair.

“I said listen. You slutty pussy is leaking for me y/n. And you pretend to not even be able to stand my existence.” His words are harsh and said from between his gritted teeth. The sounds of the inside of his palm slapping against your clit with every thrust is obscene and rude. Yet, you can’t seem to care. Only moaning loudly and in a higher pitch with every smack against your heated flesh. Arousal drips steadily around his fingers while your symphony of ‘ahs’ and ‘ohs’ continues – almost sounding like you were in pain.

His grip around your hair is harsh and his pace inside your pussy relentless. It’s like he’s angry. Angry that you’re this wet. Angry that you’re ready to cum around his fingers just like this. That makes the two of you.

“Come on baby. Cum around my fingers. I’ll need it to prep myself before I enter this pussy, hm? You’re too tight for me to just impale you on my cock right now like you want me to. Don’t you?” You’re nodding enthusiastically as your breath hitches with your orgasm ripping through you like a wildfire,

“Taehyung! Fuck I-I’m cumming. Oh god…” You’re heaving and hiccupping as his rigid fingers continue to brush against your sensitive insides until you’re jerking back with each thrust.

“There you go. Easy… easy, baby.” You’re panting like you’ve run a marathon and your neck aches from being bent that way while Taehyung had your head captive.

He doesn’t give you much time to recover as he’s turning you around to pick you up and take you back to the living room, dropping your body down on to the fuzzy carpeted floor. He makes quick work of his shirt and his pants, ridding himself of every item of clothing – not that he was wearing much – before he takes his soiled fingers and wraps them around his extremely intimidating girth. He doesn’t seem nearly as nervous as you but you still don’t stop him. “Take off your clothes for me baby. I want to see you.”

Your body is moving instantly like it was programmed to listen to Taehyung’s every command. Soon, you’re laying back down on the ground, watching him stroke his incredibly hard cock that stood rigid against his toned stomach. He looks like a wolf that’s about to devour you as his pokes out from between the corner of his lips, eyes neve wavering from your own. You’re biting your own lips and squirming on the soft carpet when he just keeps looking and makes no move.

“Spread your legs again baby. Let me see you pussy.” He hisses as soon as your legs fall open, your red, slightly swollen pussy coming in to full view as he finally kneels down to his knees, grabbing your thighs to pull you closer until you were flush against his cock. His hands gently massage the area between your thighs and pussy, needing the rosy flesh and effectively making you drip even more when he looks directly down at his hands that work your labia softly – keeping in mind how sensitive you were.

“Look at you. So puffy. So wet. So fucking beautiful.” He leans forward to look in to your eyes and you’re holding on to your breath when you finally see his face so up close for the first time this evening.

“Can I make you feel good, honey? Will you let my cock make you feel good?” There is no hesitancy in your reply because you’re fisting the soft rug besides you and arching your body in to his.

“Fuck,” it’s the first time you can hear Taehyung’s voice shake as he adjusts his hips and rubs he blunt head of his blood fattened cock against your swollen labia. “I’ve wanted you for so long, y/n. I can’t believe you’re here. Are you sure baby? Because I won’t be able to stop or go gentle once I s-start. Oh fuck.”

You can see how desperate he is for you to say yes but nonetheless, your heart still warms at his concern and even though you were slightly scared of his above average length – and girth – you were mostly excited as the anticipation had built steadily. So you give him the green light, nodding for him to continue.

He seems to be surprised too for some reason and you’re caught off gard when his mouth crashed down to your own. His kiss is ferocious and passionate, tilting his head every which way to capture every noise you make, tongue playing with your own. You’re just enjoying the out of the blue kiss until it all makes sense. Because when you break apart from the kiss to shout out your surprise, you can feel all of his hot length pressing the deepest corners inside your pussy. The kiss had been a perfect distraction and you hadn’t even felt the pain when he’d pushed in.

In fact, the slight burn that was present as he let you adjust around him was more arousing than anything. “T-Tae ungh. You’re s-so big. Oh god.”

He’s watching every facial expression you make and he doesn’t miss the almost drunk expression on your pretty face when he drags his length out slowly, only to slam back inside. Your breasts bounce with every thrust that pushes you further up the carpeted floor. It feels better than good. Better than amazing. You’d never thought you’d enjoy penetrative sex this much after having several mediocre experiences but at this moment, all you wanted to do was egg Taehyung on to go as fast as he could. So you do.

“Fuck y/n.” The seat of his lap slaps against your damp skin as he pounds his leaking cock in to you unremittingly. “You’re so t-tight. The tightest cunt I’ve ever been inside. You like it baby? Hm?”

Taehyung was definitely a dirty talker. All throughout this encounter. He hadn’t stayed quiet for longer than a minute. Always wanting to say what he was feeling, wanted to do to you or was going to do to you. And until today, you never realised how much of a sucker you were for verbal stimulation.

“Y-eh-ess. I lo-uh-ve it.” Your words bounce and hiccup out of you with the same rhythm as Taehyung’s dragging of his cock inside you. It’s like he’d grown even larger and you could cry from how good he felt inside. In fact, you were sure you probably were crying with how blurry your vision was getting.

Taehyung had fully covered your body with his own, pulling one of your legs over his shoulder now to split you open even more before he increased his pace until you felt like he was actually splitting you open.

“Tae! I’m going t-to c-cum again. Oh god.” He was breathing hard, sweat dripping down his temples as his gaze never left your face. You were actually crying now; clawing at his back as you held on while he parted you open every time he pushed the entire girth of his cock until the base so that with every thrust, his balls slapped against your ass obscenely.

“Let go baby. Cum all over my cock.” He could already see the white, translucid creaminess forming around the base of his cock as it continued to slam inside you, signalling how close he himself was with his cock leaking pre-cum profusely. “Fuck, you look so delectable darling. Look at how your pussy gapes around my cock every time, hm? Your pussy was made to fit around my cock. You’re m-mine now. Made j-just for my cock.”

You could tell how close he was since he’d seemed to lost all and every filter on his mouth. Pounding in to you while you clutch on to him for deer life and finally release around his cock that shows no sign of relenting until he reaches his own release. Thankfully, he’s not too far behind as he grabs your legs for the final round, pushing his hips in to the hilt before he’s shouting out his release. You can feel the warmth of his cum explode inside the walls of your pussy, filling you up to the brim until you could feel his spunk leak around you thoroughly abused lips. Taehyung lays his head in to the crook of your neck very much like how you had at the start.

It's peacefully silent as you both catch your breath, your fingers lazily massaging his scalp without even realising. You’re finally gathering your bearings and coming to terms with the fact that you just fucked each other’s brains out when you could barely stand each other before. And you absolutely do not know how to proceed from here. Not when his cock was still inside you. Thankfully, you don’t have to worry about that decision for too long because Taehyung is pulling back his face to stare in your eyes deeply as if he’s also at a loss for words.

You search his face for any disgust or any realisation that will make him pull away from you and you don’t know why you’re this nervous and worried about his reaction. You didn’t care before so why now? Why was your heart beating so fast that you felt like it was going to come out of your mouth?

“Y/N,” Taehyung post-sex, sexy voice breaks you out of your downward spiral as he brings his hand up to caress your cheek damp from the tears earlier. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

You watch him for a few seconds before nodding slowly and that’s all the confirmation Taehyung needs before taking your lips between his once again. And just like that, he kisses you lazily, tangling his hot, sweet tongue with your own for who knows how long. You two stay just like that for a long time, kissing ecahother with so much passion that it scares you how much the thought of breaking away from his lips gives you anxiety. It seems to be the same case for Taehyung because when you break apart to breathe in much needed air, he pulls you back in – mouth open and tongue seeking your own.

Sometime during the night, he’s started to harden inside you once again and rather than breaking away, he fucks you exactly the opposite way he had earlier. This time, it’s slow, even more sensual and the space between your body is almost non-existent. By the time your phone rings and breaks you both out of the haze that had you both intoxicated in the apartment, it’s sometime around midnight. Though Taehyung doesn’t stop even for a second until he’s made you cum once again and spilled himself inside you as well.

The night had definitely taken a turn as you both talk – for once without the intention of insulting each other – and fuck. Mostly fuck actually. Turns out Taehyung made you insatiable and his eagerness and fondness for cumming inside you didn’t exactly help. After replying to Minnie and sending Marion a message of apology, you’re both dozing off on the soft floor.

_________________________________________________________________________

“Come to my art exhibition with me? I want you by my side.” He asks you in the morning, slightly breathless as he grinds his erection – seriously, how often did this boy get hard? – against your damp, soiled pussy, awaking you from your sleep.

“O-Okay.” You can only moan in reply as he takes a nipple between his lips, sucking gently as he coaxes out another orgasm from you before carrying you off to the shower.

“You’re such a horn dog.” Splashing water at his face, you’re laughing as he attacks your sides, tickling you in revenge.

“A horn dog you slept like, a thousand times with.” Your mouth is falling open in mock disbelief but he just kisses your frown away.

“It will be zero times if I see that sex painting at your show!” Taehyung is giggling at your pout and the frown that creases your brows as he kisses it away, promising you that you can burn his ‘sex painting’ before the show.

Maybe he wasn’t so bad.

a/n: thoughts? :ooo

[langdvnshepherd]

Good For You (Duncan Shepherd x fem!reader)

Summary: You’re a broke ass college student whose one night stand with the infamous Duncan Shepherd leads to the development of a rather interesting relationship between the two of you. OR This is literally just the birth of sugar daddy!Duncan.

PART TWO ~ PART THREE

Word Count: 6.7k

Warnings: (pre??) sugar daddy!Duncan, fem! reader, plot heavy (sorry y’all I got carried away agAIN), mentions of alcohol, smut, fingering, daddy kink, choking, das it i think

A/N: Alright girls and gays someone asked for sugar daddy!Duncan and this probably isn’t exactly what they meant, but it’s what my two remaining brain cells could come up with. Also, this is the first time I’ve ever written smut so pls disregard and ignore if its bad lol. Honestly I’m not half mad at how it turned out plot wise, but that’s just meeee. I was going to split this in half, but I couldn’t find a good place to stop so I just left it as one. As always please lmk your thoughts I thrive off of feedback!

     School had been kicking your ass lately, which is how you’d wound up planted in a leather bar stool in the lounge of an upscale hotel. The hotel was always swarming with D.C.’s elite, one of which was bound to buy you a few drinks before inviting you up to their room before fucking you senseless. Hitting up the hotel for a quick fuck wasn’t something you did very often, only when you were particularly in need of some stress-relief. Sure, you could have went to the grimy pub down the block from your shitty apartment, but men your age never tickled your fancy. Plus, finessing rich, middle-aged white men out of their money was pretty entertaining. Today was definitely one of those days where you needed release, so you shimmied into your most expensive dress that you kept in the back of your closet and made your way downtown to the hotel.

     You scanned the room occasionally, hoping to find someone that would be worth your time. No one had caught your eye all night, which had you contemplating on throwing in the towel and jumping on the next train home. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. By this time, you were usually way past tipsy on another man’s dime while a mildly attractive, salt-and-pepper haired lobbyist would creep his hand up your thigh. All of the men in the lounge tonight were either preoccupied with kissing their dinner guest’s asses or far too old for your already mature taste. 

     Just as were about to ask the bartender to close your tab, he slid you another martini. Before you could even open your mouth to tell him you hadn’t ordered another drink, he signaled to the group of men with a tilt of his head. They were all in suits and from what you overheard from your seat, were loudly and disruptively chattering about some congressman’s most recent sex scandal. The one in question was already staring you down. He had honey brown hair that curled at the ends, delicious looking stubble, and the bluest eyes you had ever seen. He was noticeably younger than the men you usually encountered at the hotel, but his good looks and dominating demeanor made up for what his age lacked.

     Bingo. 

     You locked eyes with him for a moment before taking the glass in your hand and raising it to him. A smirk lingered on your lips as you held his gaze and took a sip from your glass. He watched you with a pleased yet strained expression, like he was holding back from throwing you on the counter top and taking you right there. Good. The man quickly tossed back the rest of the dark liquid in his glass before patting one of his buddies on the shoulder, presumably signaling his departure from the group. Making his way over to you, he called for the bartender to whip him up another drink. You shifted in your seat as he took the open space beside you as an invitation for his introduction.

     “You mind telling me how a beautiful woman such as yourself ends up at a hotel bar all alone on a Friday night?” He posed as he took the first swig from his new glass of whiskey. A cocky smile was painted on his face as he spoke.

     Deciding to test him, you retorted, “What makes you think something went wrong? What if I just really happen to enjoy hotel sushi and being suffocated by the testosterone of middle-aged republicans?” He snorted into his drink at your comment before responding.

     “For starters, I’d say you’re a liar. I’ve had the sushi before. It fucking sucks.” You playfully rolled your eyes at him whilst trying to suppress your laughter. At least he has a sense of humor.

     “What’s your name?” He asked as he sat his glass on the bar top and began tracing the rim with his finger.

     “Y/N. And you are?”

     “Duncan. Duncan Shepherd.” He proudly stated with a shit eating grin.

     “Well, Mr. Shepherd,” he shifted somewhat awkwardly in his seat at your use of his name. Maybe he didn’t like being called that? Or maybe he liked it a little too much. “What brings you here on a Friday night?”

     “The foundation that I’m in charge of held a conference in one of the ballrooms to discuss the app I’m developing.” You could tell he was proud of that one. As if you were supposed to know what the fuck that meant in any kind of capacity. “What do you do, Miss Y/N?”

     You hesitated before you answered. Not knowing whether or not to make up an elaborate story like you always did, you opted to mostly tell him the truth. You told him you were in school, and only hit up the bar every once in a while. Leaving out small details like the part about you only coming here to get dicked down by some grown man that was born with a trust fund. As you two conversed, you found yourself getting lost in the blue of his eyes, and the way his lips moved as he spoke. There was something about him that was encapsulating. The conversation flowed from one topic to another, and the two of you had breezed through numerous rounds of drinks before realizing most of the patrons had cleared out for the night and left the lounge nearly empty.

     Duncan chewed on his bottom lip as he sized you up for the millionth time that night and leaned over his seat to position his large hand over the part of your thigh that was exposed from where your dress had ridden up.

     Like fucking clockwork. It was almost comical the way every man you’d met at this hotel seemed to take the same course of action when pursuing you.  

     “You want to continue this conversation up in my room?” He seductively muttered into your ear as you felt his breath tickling your neck. Just as you’d expected. You knew exactly what was happening next.

     “Lead the way,” you replied as you slid your cell phone into your purse and shook the numbness from your legs. You really had been sitting there with him for quite some time. Let’s get this show on the fucking road.

     Guess the night wasn’t going to turn out so boring after all.

     As soon as the door to Duncan’s hotel room clicked shut, he had you pinned against the wall with a firm grip on your hips. You let out a shaky sigh as you suppressed a moan. The elevator ride up to his room had been hell. You could have cut the sexual tension in the air with a butter knife, and the old lady you had to share the elevator with did nothing to help the situation. You’d been pressing your thighs together since before you’d even left the bar with Duncan, aimlessly trying to ignore the wetness pooling in your panties. When the elevator doors slid open and the woman walked out in front of you two, you were practically stepping on the backs of Duncan’s heels as he led you to his room. 

     Duncan’s lips immediately collided with yours. He tasted like whiskey and the scent of his cologne was like something you knew you were too poor to even pronounce. Teeth clashing, noses rubbing against each other, tongues fighting for dominance as you both finally let yourselves go. It seemed like he was just as desperate for some action as you were, which only added to how fucking attractive he was. He gave your bottom lip a tug between his teeth before he latched his lips on to your neck. Your hands found purchase in his curls as he left hot, wet kisses from your jawline all the way down to the bottom of your collarbones. 

     Just as Duncan hit that sweet spot behind your ear with his tongue, your hips jutted forwards into him to gain some kind, any kind, of friction. As you moved, you felt the growing bulge in the front of his pants graze your core. He let out a deep, guttural moan and decided he was done taking his time. Before you could blink, he removed the vice grip he had on your hip bones and snaked his arms around your backside to grab a firm handful of your ass while simultaneously pushing the hem your dress up, exposing your panties to the cool air of the hotel room. You wrapped a leg around his waist, once again grinding against him as you reattached your lips to his. He was trying so hard to keep his cool, to not let you know that you were driving him fucking crazy. In his attempts, he slightly pushed you back against the wall and lifted your dress the rest of the way up over your head. Not caring where it landed, he tossed it behind him and prepared himself to fuck you into the mattress.

     “Jump.” Duncan mumbled against your lips. Bracing yourself, you pushed off the floor with the ball of your foot that wasn’t wrapped around his waist and he caught you by placing both of his hands on the undersides of your thighs. Duncan carefully made his way over to the bed whilst making sure he never broke the kiss. Lowering you down to just above the comforter, he loosened his grip on your thighs and let you fall the rest of the way down as he climbed on top of you.

     Taking in the scene of you underneath him, Duncan nearly came on the spot. Your hair splayed around in a halo on the pillow, lips swollen and glossy with his spit, eyes glazed over, purple bruises already forming in a line down your neck where had marked you with his teeth and tongue. He still didn’t have a clue why you were actually in the lounge earlier, your story seemed to have a couple holes in it but he didn’t care anymore. You looked like a fucking goddess and you were at his mercy.

     Slowly, his hand trailed down to your underwear and cupped your clothed cunt. He rubbed small circles over the wet spot that had soaked through with the ends of his fingers. “God,” Duncan quietly sighed to himself as he felt the dampness of your panties. All you could do was grind down on his palm and let out small breathy moans. He had barely touched you, and you were already a mess. He took one arm and hooked it around your waist so he could lift your hips from the bed and remove your underwear. Tossing them away from the bed to join your dress on the floor, he used his free hand to unclasp your bra. After making sure to give each of your bare breasts a few hard kneads with his palm, he then parted your thighs and was able to see just how wet you really were. It was kind of embarrassing.

     “You’re so fucking wet. Look at you. Soaking through your panties. And it’s all for me, yeah?” he asked. You swallowed hard at his words and simply nodded your head. It was becoming almost unbearable how badly you needed him inside of you. Finally, he brought his hand back to your core and ran his fingers through your folds, swirling your arousal around your pussy. Your eyes immediately rolled back into your head and you let out a low moan as he sunk his middle finger inside of you until he reached his knuckle. Fucking finally. He pumped his one finger in and out of you slowly at first, his other fingers softly brushed against your clit each time he filled you. After making sure you were absolutely dripping for him, he seamlessly added his ring finger into your cunt without straying from his initial rhythm. Your arm instinctively went to grip Duncan’s bicep at the feeling of being twice as full. He began to mercilessly scissor his fingers inside of you, with his thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit. You were surprised how quickly you were coming undone from this random man’s touch, but it wasn’t that surprising once you considered how turned on you’d been ever since you laid eyes on him. When Duncan started to curl his two fingers upwards into your cunt, you knew you weren’t going to last much longer.

     “Duncan, I think I’m gonna c-”

     With that, he immediately withdrew his fingers from inside of you. You whimpered at the sudden emptiness. He took the opportunity of having free hands to finally begin undressing, all the while still kissing your swollen lips. 

     Growing tired of waiting, you figured you’d help him get out of his clothes. Once you tugged his under-shirt off over his arms, you reached for his belt buckle. His hands shot down to swat your hands away from their position, making it clear that he was the one in charge. You retracted your hands from his waist and laid them patiently at your side. When he removed his pants and slid off his boxers, his rock hard cock sprang from its restraints and was already leaking with precum. You couldn’t help but stare at the beautiful man before you that you absolutely knew for certain was going to have you screaming in a matter of minutes.

     “See something you like?” Duncan asked as he began taking back his place of hovering over your naked body. Such a fucking smart ass. You huffed out a sigh, watching him with hazy eyes, waiting for him to do something. Anything. As he made his way back up to meet your face, he took both of your hands into his large one and pinned them above your head. Looking you up and down once more, truly savoring the sight of you powerless and naked beneath him, he trailed his free hand down the valley of your breasts before reaching down to stroke his cock. Thank fucking god. The teasing was over.

     His expression softened momentarily, silently asking for the go-ahead from you. You responded with a quick nod, biting down hard on your bottom lip. He took his cock and agonizingly ran it through your slick folds before slowly inserting the tip into your cunt. As he inched his way inside of you, your mouth hung open in a small ‘o’ shape as your shallow breaths left your chest heaving and breasts bouncing softly. 

     When he had filled you to the hilt, he drew himself almost completely out before slamming back into you. The moan that came from deep within your chest was the most pornographic sound you had ever heard. Not being able to grasp at anything with your wrists pinned above your head, you were writhing underneath him as he set his pace. Soon enough, the room was filled with the sounds of your sweaty bodies snapping into each other and the huffs and grunts coming from both of you. After a particularly hard thrust that hit your g-spot, you let out a strangled, “Holy shit.”

     “You like that?” Duncan seemed to move faster at your words. All you could muster up in response was a short nod of your head. “I’m sorry, what was that? I asked you a question.”

     Closing your eyes and swallowing hard, you let out the shakiest, “Yes,” of your life. You certainly weren’t in the position to be speaking given the fact that Duncan was pile-driving his dick into your pussy without remorse.

     “Yes, what?” Oh. That’s what he wanted. It wasn’t surprising. Most of the big wigs you’d fucked in this very hotel were into the same kind of dirty talk, guess he wasn’t any different.

     “Yes, daddy.” You responded as seductively as you could, placing extra emphasis on the word you knew he was yearning to hear.

      Your words successfully triggered something within Duncan, because he abruptly grabbed the back your thigh and pressed it forwards into your shoulder so he could fuck you harder and deeper. His actions quickly flooded your stomach with a warm pooling sensation, and you felt the coil inside of you being pushed to its limit. “Fuck, I’m close.” you told him. He took it upon himself to speed up the process, dropping his head down to take one of your breasts into his mouth and running his tongue over your nipple. Your legs began to shake and your body was arching backwards so intensely that you thought your shoulders might pop out of place from where they were locked above your head by Duncan’s grip. Duncan himself began to falter as his head moved from your breast back into the crook of your neck, unable to pay attention to anything other than the way your cunt pulsed around his cock. You could feel his heavy breaths tickling the dip of your collarbones. He wasn’t going to last much longer either.

     “Let go of my arms,” you demanded, needing to be as close to him as you possibly could before you came undone. Based on how Duncan’s face shifted from one of absolute pleasure to something that resembled annoyance, you could tell he really didn’t want to. But he did it anyway, still keeping his ruthless pace of rocking into you. You immediately wrapped your arms around his chest and pulled him closer until he laid flush against you, raking your nails down his back. Duncan seemed to be caught off guard by your actions as he let out another deep groan.

     “Are you gonna cum inside me, daddy?” you egged him on as he placed one of his hands at the base of your throat to use as leverage while he moved even closer towards his release. You wrapped your hand around his and squeezed, forcing him to apply more pressure to your throat. Duncan’s eyes turned almost black at the sight of you blissed out from being choked by him.

     “Is that what you want? You want daddy to cum inside of you?” This time, you really couldn’t answer him with words. A nod of your head was going to have to be enough for him. The feeling of Duncan’s fingers closing in on your throat and his cock felt like it was damn near hitting your cervix was overbearing.

     It only took Duncan rubbing a few small circles against your clit for you to come crashing down around his cock. You let out something like a mix between a moan and a scream as your orgasm ripped through you. Duncan came immediately after you, the way your cunt convulsed around his cock sent him directly over the edge. You felt his cum paint your walls and seep out onto the inside of your thighs and drip down onto the comforter. 

     Duncan softened and removed himself from inside of you a he collapsed on the empty space next to you. You both stared at the ceiling as you caught your breath and regained your composure. It must have been some sight: both of you covered in beads of sweat, hair wet and matted against your forehead, limbs still shaking. Glancing over to look at the clock on the nightstand you realized how late it was.

     “Ah fuck. I’ve gotta go,” you said to yourself as you jumped out of bed and began feeling around the floor for your clothes.

     “Geez. Was it that bad?” he attempted to joke with you, not knowing what you were really talking about. He scratched at the back of his neck as he watched you redress.

     You let you a brief chuckle before answering him. “It’s not that. The last train for the night comes in 20 minutes. I’ve got to get to the station in time or else I won’t be able to make it home.”

     “Uhh, why are you taking the train?” he asked almost in disgust. You’d forgotten that the boy had probably never been inside of a public transportation station in his life given how much he bragged about his successful family business the whole night at the bar.

     “I pay for my tuition out-of-pocket and work at an over-priced coffee shop part time. Do you really think I can afford a $50 cab ride home when I have to eat instant ramen 4 times a week out of necessity?” You didn’t even mean to say it, but you did. It came out pretty condescending and you felt pretty bad considering this man had just given you one of the best orgasms of your life. Duncan didn’t say anything in response, just looked at you with a somewhat sympathetic look in his eyes. 

    As you pulled your dress back down over your thighs and slipped your feet back into your heels, you turned to face him for the last time and say your goodbyes. Leaving was always awkward, you never really knew what to say. Thanks for the dick? See ya later? Yeah, no thanks. You both stared at each other for a brief moment before you broke the silence. “Well, I’m gonna go.” You began to slowly creep towards the door.

     Duncan took in your body one last time before pressing his lips into a straight line and nodding. “Have fun catching the train. Be safe.”

     You decided he deserved a proper send off, so you smiled kindly at him before responding, “Yeah, I will. Good night, Duncan.” Turning on your heels, you walked out of his room and towards the elevator.

     Mission accomplished.

~

     A few weeks later, you were attending a university social with your fellow classmates. You weren’t really sure what the point of it was, to be honest. You heard that it was open bar, so you figured you could sit through however many boring sponsorship speeches if it meant you could get plastered for free while doing so. It took place at none other than the glorious hotel in which you had spent many restless evenings. You laughed to yourself as you walked through the revolving doors and into the lobby. If your classmates only knew how well-acquainted you really were with this place.

     You leaned against one of the table tops in the ballroom as you mindlessly chatted with your best friend and roommate about how boring the night was going to be, joking that it was going to take about 4 more drinks before you were ready to listen to old people drag on about how important higher education is for an entire evening. Just as you looked up to inspect the crowd, your eyes caught a pair of familiar icy blue ones. Propped against a table identical to yours, only on the opposite side of the room was Duncan fucking Shepherd. The same cocky grin appeared on his lips when he pinpointed the exact moment you realized who he was. Damn, he looked good.

     “Oh fuck.” you loudly whispered before craning your neck down to get him out of your line of vision. What the fuck was he even doing here anyway?

     “What?” asked your friend. Should you tell her? Or would she go off and run her big mouth if she knew? She’s practically your best friend, so you might as well let her in on it.

     “That guy...across from us at the table...in the turtleneck and jacket. I fucked him a couple weeks ago.” Not even bothering to be secretive about it, she whipped her head around to see Duncan for herself.

     “Well shit, he’s pretty hot. Do we have class with him or something?”

     “No, I just met him when I was out one night.” She knew of your taste for rich, mature men, so she put the pieces together quickly; only slightly confused by the fact that he wasn’t as old as your usual hookups.

     “Well, I hope it was good because he’s coming this way.” She gave you a pat on the back as she took his approach as her cue to leave you alone with him. Duncan didn’t face you as he spoke, he replicated your position of facing the crowd to keep his facial expressions hidden from you.

     “Y/N.” he greeted you as he placed his glass down on the table beside you.

     “Duncan,” you mimicked whilst also looking ahead of you, “What are you doing here?” You really wished he’d just go away. You didn’t want to have to deal with this awkward encounter.

     “Don’t you pay attention in class? The Shepherd Foundation is one of the top sponsors of your university. My mother is speaking here on our behalf tonight.”

     “Nice,” you huffed uncomfortably. Of-fucking-course they were. You had never casually ran into one of your one night stands before, so you were at a loss for words. Not to mention you had recently decided Duncan was officially the most attractive man you’d been with, so being in his presence again was sending sparks straight to your core.

     “Have you eaten yet?” he started.

     You chuckled once before answering. “What are you? My dad?” There you go again, talking out of your ass. You couldn’t see them, but his eyes darkened a shade as the words left your mouth.

     “Well, based on what I can recall from the other night, you didn’t seem to mind the idea of that. I actually think you loved it, even.” You tried to casually cross one leg in front of the other to clench your thigh together at his words, hoping to relieve the burning feeling in your cunt. “I asked, because I have a room here again tonight. I was thinking you could join me for dinner and we could spend some proper time together. I can pay for your cab home so you can stay longer.” You didn’t say anything as he shuffled around in his pockets and slid a white card across the table towards you. Looking down, you realized it was his room key. “I don’t need an answer right now. If you want to, I’m in room 721 when you make up your mind.” With that, he grabbed his drink and sauntered off into the sea of people.

     You spent the entirety of the evening too preoccupied with your encounter with Duncan to listen to anything the speakers had to say. His room key felt like it was made of lead where it sat in your clutch wallet. Sure, you would love nothing more than to feel him inside of you again. But was it a good idea? He offered to pay for your cab, which meant he must really want to fuck you again, too. Then again, a hefty cab fee to you was chump change to him. Maybe he just wanted someone quick and easy. Or maybe, he didn’t.

     At the end of the night, everyone began clearing out. It was time to make to choose. Go home to your bed, or go up to Duncan’s room. Your roommate approached you, asking if you wanted to carpool with some classmates or take the train home. Fiddling with the room key in your hand, you made the impulsive decision to tell her not to wait up for you, you’d find your own way home. You slid out the rear doors of the ballroom and made your way into the elevator, anxiously pressing the button that would lead you to Duncan.

~

     You woke up that next Friday with a fluttering feeling in your stomach. You were meeting up with Duncan for the third time tonight. The night you saw Duncan at your university social, he had coerced you into meeting up with him again. Apparently he loved your pussy just as much as you loved his cock. Which wasn’t any problem for you. The man really knows precisely which angles to hit that make you scream. Making your way to the kitchen for some breakfast, you were greeted by a few loud knocks at your door. “Coming!” you chimed.

     Whoever had knocked didn’t stick around for you to answer. You unlatched the chain lock only to be confronted by an empty door way. You almost closed the door back when something bright red on the ground caught your eye. It was a massive bouquet of roses placed next to a large white gift box. You scanned the hallway of your apartment building, looking for any clue as to who might have dropped off the package. Not wanting to let the freezing winter air into your apartment, you quickly grabbed the roses and accompanying box and sat them on your kitchen island.

     After inspecting the gift box, you decided it wasn’t a bomb or of any threat to you. You had no fucking clue who would be sending you flowers and gifts. If anyone, it had to be Duncan, but he didn’t even have your phone number let alone know where you lived. 

     You were snapped out of your state of thinking as your roommate entered the kitchen. “Jesus Christ, who in the fuck is sending you flowers this early in the morning?” Your face was beet red, it was time to explain. You told her about what happened the last time as well as your plans to see him tonight, which is what prompted the delivery in the first place. “Well, what’s in the box?” she asked.

     “Let’s find out,” you answered anxiously. Lifting the lid to the giftbox, you were first greeted by an envelope with a card inside. With shaky hands, you slid the card out and read what was written inside.

    Looking forward to seeing you tonight. I’ll send a car to pick you up at 8. Enjoy the gifts. Hope everything fits. And please, for the love of god, buy some real food and stop eating so much ramen. Stop taking the train, too. Ramen is terrible for you, and the metro is filled with creeps.

xx Duncan 

     Attached to the inside of the card was a check made out in your name for an ungodly amount of money that wouldn’t just cover your groceries, but more like your groceries + your whole month’s rent for several consecutive months.

     “Uhhh, what the fuck?!” Your roommate finally broke the silence as she peered over your shoulder to read the note and the amount written on the check. Yeah, ‘what the fuck’ was exactly right. Duncan never seemed that into you. As far as you were concerned, he was only into fucking you. Never anything more. Which is why you were so confused as to why he would do something like this.

     Inside of the box was a collection of some of the most expensive things you’d ever seen at one time. A baby pink, lacy Agent Provocateur lingerie set, nude Louboutin pumps, Cartier tear-drop shaped diamond earrings with a matching necklace, Chanel perfume. Again, what. the. fuck.

     “Wait, is this some kind of sugar baby shit?” your roommate questioned.

     “What are you talking about? That’s not what this is.” No, it obviously wasn’t. You two hadn’t spoken much about anything other than random topics on the night you first met. There was no way that that’s what these gifts insinuated. Duncan was not your sugar daddy and you were not his sugar baby. He’s so young, could he even technically be a sugar daddy if he wasn’t much older than 30?

     Your roommate continued. “Okay, well I’m gonna be honest it kinda seems like it. First, he made you call him daddy. That kinda says all you need to know right there. Second, he offered to pay for your cab ride home after he fucked you without you even asking? THEN, you wake up to thousands of dollars of lingerie and jewelry at your door along with a check big enough to pay for a full semester of school? All because you fucked him a couple times? I might be a dumb bitch, but I know some freaky shit when I see it. I think you’ve found yourself a sugar daddy, Y/N.”

     She was right. It did kind of make sense, but you needed to be sure. You weren’t going to accept his gifts or his money if there was some kind of gross catch to all of this. After talking to her a bit longer, you decided you’d meet with him tonight as planned and confront him about it. You needed some clarity. With that, you slipped away to your room with the gift box in tow to get ready for what the night might bring you.

~

     You resituated the waist tie of your coat as you stepped out of the fancy, black car Duncan had sent for you. Making your way into the same goddamn hotel that was beginning to feel like a second home, you pressed the ‘up’ arrow on the wall next to the elevator. Your mind was racing a mile a minute as you nervously twirled the diamond earrings Duncan had sent you this morning around your ear. If this was some kind of sugar daddy shit, would it be wrong to go along with it? Duncan seemed like a nice guy. Definitely still a rich, republican asshole, but he never seems like he means any harm. Would his conditions really be all that harsh? You’d have to blow him or do something extra kinky for him every now and then, and he’d hopefully keep those checks coming, right? That didn’t seem so bad to you at all. You could use some actual fruit and vegetables in your kitchen, and Duncan was right. The metro is definitely filled with creeps.

     Before you knew it, the elevator dinged, indicating you had reached Duncan’s floor. Your new heels clicked down the hallway as you stopped right in front of Duncan’s room. Once again fiddling with the room key he had left you, you were filled with nerves. You needed some answers and would hopefully get them without tainting the relationship between the two of you. The door unlocked with a click as you slid the card into the slot and pushed down on the handle.

     Duncan was perched in one of the arm chairs across from the bed with a glass in his hand. He perked up as he saw you slowly come out from the darkness of the entryway leading into the room. “You’re here.”

     “Yeah, I am.” you rocked back and forth on your heels as you wrapped your arms around your chest in attempt to sooth yourself.

     “I see you got my gifts. I’m assuming everything fit well?”

     “About that. I need to ask you a few questions about that.” You took a few steps closer to him and pressed your back against the dresser that was close to where he was sitting.

     “Did you not like them? You can take it back and get something else if you like.” He was acting as if this was a normal conversation between the two of you, and it made you kind of angry.

     “Duncan, stop. Cut the shit. What is all of this? First, you offer to pay for my ride home. Next, you’re inviting me over again and sending me thousands of dollars worth of gifts to my apartment. For Christ’s sake, how did you even get my address?”

     He didn’t respond at first, only looked you up and down with that look that you’d become quite familiar with. And it sent that same fuzzy feeling straight to your core. He stood from his seat and made his way over to stand directly in front of you. Placing his hands behind his back, he finally started talking.

     “Y/N,” he began. “My family is one of the most powerful and influential families in D.C. next to the president. I have my ways of finding out where you live, or anyone for that matter. But if you must know, it was easier to just get it from the university’s admissions office. Might I remind you that the Shepherds have quite the influence over there given how much money we donate to them each year. And about the gifts. If you really don’t want them, just return them. Keep the money. God knows you need it. But, they do suit you quite well if I must say so myself. I can’t wait to see what’s under your coat.” He spoke very calmly and matter-of-factly as he stuck his hand out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and further inspect the earrings and necklace he had picked out for you.

     “I just... don’t get it. What do you want from me? You wouldn’t do all of this if you didn’t want something out of it.” You asked him with shaky breaths. You couldn’t tell if you were nervous, scared, turned on, or all three.

     “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Just show up when I ask. Mostly, I just need this from you,” he closed the space between the both of you and pressed himself against your front. Your noses were practically touching as he continued. “Let me know what you need, and I’ll take care of you. If you thought my gifts from this morning were too much, you should see what I’m really capable of giving you. I want to take care of you, if you're willing to do the same for me.”

     Breathing in his scent, you closed your eyes as you braced your arms on his shoulders. So many thoughts were running rampant in your mind. Your roommate was right. She always was. Duncan wanted to be your sugar daddy, and you were about to let him. You were worried that this would get you into some kind of trouble eventually, but you also didn’t give a fuck at the same time. There had always been something about him that was different. Different than all of the guys you had slept around with. You had tried ignoring it, but it was always in the back of your brain. He was being genuine, he wanted to take care of you. Maybe this was a bad idea, but who cares? Worst case scenario, things end badly with Duncan and you get a few months of free rent out of it.

     Finally embracing the situation for what it was, you pushed on Duncan’s shoulders where your hands were resting and walked him back to sit on the bed. You didn’t say anything, you just reached for the tie on your coat, untied the knot, and let the fabric pool at your feet. Duncan hissed at the sight of you in the lingerie he had sent you. The brassiere hugged your breasts in every possibly correct way, and the high waisted suspenders complimented your ass perfectly. You knew you looked good, and judging by the growing bulge in Duncan’s pants, so did he.

     You leaned forward while keeping your feet planted in front of him, resting your palms against his thighs and sticking your ass out. Your thumbs wrapped around his legs and dug in dangerously close to his cock, making sure to stare directly into his crystal blue eyes as you did so. His breath hitched in his throat the feeling. Just as he went to close the gap between you two and bring his lips to yours, you slowly lowered yourself onto your knees. Reaching for his belt buckle, he stopped your hands in their path just as he had done the first night you met. “What are you doing?” he asked through gritted teeth, clearly flustered.

     Taking a moment to reach up and press a few light kisses against Duncan’s jaw, your hands went back to unbuckling his belt with one hand and palming his throbbing cock through his pants with the other. His eyelashes fluttered at your touches, pleasure fully taking over him as he realized you were literally on your knees for him. You locked eyes with him from your crude position on the ground as you finally parted your lips to speak.

     “I’m gonna to take care of you. Is that alright, daddy?”

PART TWO ~ PART THREE

~

I know no one asked, but I’m gonna tag some ppl that I love that I think might mayyyyyy be interested in reading this?? Please tell me if I’m annoying you cuz I will cut the shit immediately lmao

@omg-hellgirl @langdonsoceaneyes @wroteclassicaly @ccodyfern @langdonsinferno @thedeviltohisangel

[spaceskam]

weren’t we birds of a feather?

Summary: Michael and Alex follow a lead.

"Are you absolutely sure this is the guy? This doesn't feel like the guy." 

"Shut up, Guerin." 

Michael let Alex have his mini-stare down with him because it didn't change the fact that this didn't feel like the guy. They'd searched high and low to find someone who might have information on Project Shepard from back in the day, someone who was no longer affiliated but still might know something. That brought them to some old guy's secret basement in Colorado that was beneath a secret house that almost got them shot when they turned up unannounced.

But, aside from the shotgun entrance, the guy didn't seem like he ever was some top-secret military personnel. 

“Here’s some wine,” Col. Klein said, handing them each sparkling little glasses with Rosé filled to the brim. They took them, but neither of them drank. “I’m assuming you’re here about the aliens.” Michael looked over to Alex with nervous eyes. Okay, maybe it might be the guy.

“Project Shepard, sir. I’m‒”

“Captain Alexander Manes, son of Major Sargent Jesse Manes. And this is Michael Guerin,” Col. Klein said, giving that sweet old man smile that could’ve been mistaken as not threatening but Michael knew better. He took a step in front of Alex only to not-so-nicely shoved behind him by the Airman himself.

“Yes. I’ve been looking into Project Shepard and working on dismantling it, but there are a few pieces missing and you’re the only one on record to no longer be affiliated and survived,” Alex said simply, his military tone in full force as he placed the glass down. Col. Klein didn’t seem even a little phased.

“That’s because your father’s a meatheaded bastard. No offense, son,” he said. Michael quickly turned his eyes to Alex, only to see him smiling. He wasn’t sure if it was real or for show just yet.

“None taken.”

“Come, come sit,” he urged, ushering them over to the little tattered couch. Col. Klien sat across from them on the equally tattered recliner, sipping on his own glass and gesturing for them to drink. Michael again checked with Alex who nodded, simultaneously taking a sip. Alex’s face screwed up at the strength, but Michael had definitely had worse. Even if it was really fucking strong for wine.

“Is, is there anything you can tell us? Like, if there are any more bases we should check out? Anyone as high up as my father?” Alex asked. Col. Klein sat back, a thoughtful expression covering his dark features.

“Well, it’s been a minute, but I’m sure your dad has some bullshit up his sleeve. I have never met a man so full of himself unless you wanna count his father and grandfather. You come from a long, long line of meatheads, Captain, though I know you’re a bit better than them,” he said, smiling as he gestured towards Michael. The alien shifted in his seat. There was something he really didn’t like about being trapped in a basement with a man who knew all about how to subdue aliens and had weapons lining the walls. He was sure if he was alone, he would’ve hauled ass before he made it to the door.

“Thank you, sir, I do my best.”

“Back in the day, when I was still workin’ with ‘em, you know, it was a real shitshow. These men who I’d known for years and years and who I thought were good people were just… so willing to be hands-on with torture just because they were a little different. I still to this day don’t get it, how they so willingly hurt these people who look like us. And then I think back to the war, to the people I’ve probably hurt without even knowing it and it makes me wonder if I’m any better,” Col. Klein said, shaking his head. Michael balled up his hands in his lap, focusing on the floor in front of him. He wasn’t too sure how prepared he was to hear about the torture of his people.

“I understand, sir,” Alex said because of course he did. His hand mindlessly reached to Michael’s knee, squeezing and giving him the comfort he needed.

“I never, never personally hurt any of them, son,” Col. Klein said and it took a moment for Michael to realize he was talking to him. He made sure to make eye contact after downing the rest of the wine. “But I stood by and that makes me just as bad. And I started to realize that as I aged and I didn’t want to be that person. So I tried to help them.”

“So did we,” Alex said, nodding his head. Michael’s jaw clenched.

“I set off the escape security bullshit and blew up the entire prison,” Michael grumbled. Col. Klein filled his glass again.

“I wasn’t even ballsy enough to do that. I just started trying to befriend them, really. I would try to talk to them and I’d make sure they got fed and would try to talk my way out of their experiments. I don’t think it was much, but I saw a few smiles and, honestly, it made me feel better,” he explained, nodding his head. Michael finished off his glass and went to grab Alex’s. This was a horrible, horrible idea. “But eventually your father found out what I was doing and weaseled his way into getting me discharged.”

“How? You were at a higher ranking, how did he even do that?” Alex asked. He gave a sad little smile.

“Your father is an expert at getting what he wants, son,” Col. Klein said. No other information was needed though Michael really wanted some.

“I understand. So, we’ve found Caulfield and the bunkers in Roswell and in Marfa. But the records stop being regularly updated around 2010 when the government pulled funding, do you know of anything? Anywhere else we should look?” Alex asked.

For a moment, there was silence. Then Col. Klein stood to his feet. They both watched as he slowly made his way to the cabinet in the back corner. Michael instinctually grabbed Alex’s arm, even as the Airman sat up straight and placed his arm protectively in front of him.

But then the cabinet opened and revealed a massive map with plot points all over the country and stacks of information.

“I stole a lot of stuff before I got discharged, figured it’d be safer with me than with reckless men,” Col. Klien said proudly, gesturing for them to come see, “Go on. Take a look. You can do much more with it than I can.”

For the next three hours, the three of them poured over the information. There were entire essays on each of the aliens, discussing their abilities and how they worked. Every once in a while, they’d come across one that Klein had befriended and he would correct some of the essay’s information. It led Michael to believe that all of them had some falsehoods, namely the more violent aspects of them. He was admittedly a little tipsy through it all, but he did come out of it feeling satisfied that he’d finally gotten some answers.

“Guess we’re going on a cross country road trip to find all these places, Guerin,” Alex grinned, slumping back on the couch a little tipsy himself.

“Cheers to fixing some wrongs!” The colonel said, holding up his glass.

“Fixing some wrongs,” Micahel and Alex agreed, clinking glasses and downing them.

“You guys’ll have to keep me updated, I’d like to hear about them getting what’s comin’ to ‘em,” Colonel laughed, reaching forward to fill their glasses again.

“Oh, no, we can’t. I’ve gotta drive back to Roswell still,” Alex said, waving it off. Col. Klein raised his eyebrows.

“Drive back to Roswell? Tonight? It’s nearly 2 in the morning!” he scoffed, “Just take the guest room, it’ll be safer.”

They shared a look.

“I mean, it is pretty late and I drank too much to really split the driving,” Michael said softly. Alex nodded before they both looked back to the Colonel. “Could I sleep on the couch?”

The old man furrowed his eyebrows. “Why would you wanna do that? Got a little lover’s quarrel? Or do you just wanna pretend since you’re in the presence of an old man? I’ll have you know, I went to many Pride Parades back in my day. Though, they were less parades and more protests, but still. Fought for the rights. I don’t mind.” Michael felt his eyes go wide as a laugh bubbled in him.

“No, no, we’re friends,” he said.

“Yeah, just friends,” Alex agreed. Colonel Klein grinned.

“Well, I don’t believe that for a minute!” he laughed. Michael looked over at Alex again only to see him putting more space between them. “You two have been attached at the hip since you got in here, you constantly are speaking without saying anything, and you both care enough about each other that you came to some old Colonel’s basement and didn’t mind being shot at if it meant getting answers for each other. You both scream love if I’ve ever seen it.”

“No, we just…”

“I didn’t even mention the fact that you got all that shared trauma. Brings people together, you know? Maybe it hurts, but you gotta find solace somewhere and it’s safest with the person who gets it. Trust me,” Col. Klein said, winking at them before pouring his own glass before he stood up. Michael looked down at his hands. “You can sleep on the couch, I won’t stop you, but, if I were you, I’d just share the damn bed. You guys have a good night.”

Neither of them had any words to say as he climbed the stairs, leaving them to their own devices.

“A-are you sure you want the couch? You can take the bed,” Alex offered. Michael looked at him like he’d gone insane.

“No offense, but you would literally have to kill me to take the bed. Go on,” Michael argued. Alex gave him a sweet, probably slightly tipsy little smile.

“Okay, Guerin,” Alex said, standing to his feet, “Goodnight.”

Michael forced himself to get comfortable on the little couch, staring blankly at the floor as he processed the words the Colonel had said. Shared trauma. Safest with the person who gets it. That had to be bullshit. Or, at least on some level. That’s why he even went to Maria all those months ago. The shared trauma is what made it hard to go to Alex. Sure, they hadn’t worked and he and Alex had made up and the trauma they shared definitely made him feel protective as hell, but it didn’t mean they had to be together.

Mindlessly, Michael stood up to go to Alex only to see the Airman already walking out of the door.

“Um, hi,” he fumbled. Alex licked his lips.

“We weren’t attached at the hip all night, were we?” Alex asked. Michael shook his head.

“Absolutely not. And, if we were, it’s because we literally just got shot at and, like, safety in numbers,” Michael explained.

“Yeah, right, and the shared trauma thing? That, that pushes people apart.”

“Exactly! Yeah, and, and he was‒”

“Drunk! So drunk! And he doesn’t know us, we’ve just spent a couple hours with him and he just thinks he’s got it all right.”

“God, okay, yeah, I’m so glad we’re, we’re on the same page.”

“Exact same page, we’re so fine.”

Micahel nodded, finding himself rendered silent as he took in Alex. He had taken off his jacket and his jeans, leaving him in a t-shirt that had to have been bought before the military muscle and tight briefs that look too good for a tipsy mind to handle. He hadn’t even taken his prosthetic off. Micahel shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Right, right, okay, goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

They both made their way to their respective spaces. Michael sat on the couch, his fingernails wedging between his teeth as he softly tapped his foot against the floor. His mind was flooded with images of Alex and the swirled possibility that maybe, just maybe, Colonel Klein was right. Maybe he had been handling the whole trauma thing wrong. Maybe Alex should be his safe place.

Michael made his way towards Alex’s door again to have a revised conversation. He barely raised his fist to knock when Alex threw open the door. Michael blinked a few times and opened his mouth to speak, but was quickly silenced by Alex pushing into his space and giving him the sweetest little kiss. It led to another kiss and another and another and Michael decided Colonel Klein was the smartest person in the world. Who would’ve thought that acknowledging their shared trauma would make him realize just how much he needed him?

“Are you sure?” Michael whispered, cradling the Airman’s face in his hands for the first time in way too long. Alex smiled as he pulled him into the room.

“Absolutely.”

[thirteen-beaxhes]

Everything is Red - Chapter 3: Riverrun Motel

Summary:

“Cyrus Goodman and TJ Kippen weren’t desperate by any means, they just happened to find comfort in old, run-down motels where people wouldn’t dare come looking for them. There was no particular reason for this - or so they would tell you. Faded motels just had a certain charm about them, Cyrus would say with one of his naturally bright smiles.”

~

The fall of 2006 finds TJ and Cyrus on the run from the law, seeking the highs associated with risk wherever they can and maybe even learning a thing or two about love and the inevitability of fate.

Warnings for this chapter:

-none-

ALL LINKS IN REBLOG

~~~~~~

"How much for this piece of work?" TJ asked, lowering his sunglasses to look at the dark blue car before him. The attendant glanced over at the car, noting the excessive dents and shoddy repainting, but the still decently working engine, and sighed.

"Like, a thousand bucks?"

TJ looked over at Cyrus who was holding the bag. He turned back to the attendant. "And if we exchange it for our car?"

The attendant shrugged unenthusiastically. "Still like a three hundred and fifty balance."

TJ turned back with a nod and Cyrus came forward, holding out the balance amount in cash. The attendant looked between the two men, and then down at the money, raising his eyebrows.

"Been a while since someone handed only cash for this amount," He said.

TJ just scoffed. "Just take the fucking money and give me the keys."

"Okay, okay dude. Chill out," He said, holding out the keys and taking the money, heading back into the shack where the office was. “And can I ask who’s buying it?”

Cyrus just smirked, climbing into the car. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

TJ turned back, smiling at Cyrus, and within 10 minutes, they were cruising down the highway, the sun high in the sky but the wind still cool. Cyrus opened the window, resting his head against the door, the wind hitting his face as he closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling. TJ removed his sunglasses, looking at Cyrus with a smile as he drove ahead.

"Where to now, babe?" TJ asked, as Cyrus pulled out the road map he had.

"How about," Cyrus said as he glanced over the map, before pointing at a place. "Riverrun Motel, 100 miles away."

TJ nodded, looking ahead as Cyrus gave him directions for where to go. They reached the motel within 3 hours, a decent place, as decent as roadside motels get. By that, the paint on the walls was still mostly there, despite a few cracks here and there. And the poles didn’t seem too rusted. The man at the front desk barely threw them a second glance.

“How many rooms?” he asked, not even looking up.

“Just one,” Cyrus started, before looking up at the TV screen behind him and stopping short.

“How come?” the man asked, peering from below the brim of his cap.

TJ looked expectantly at Cyrus to continue, but Cyrus just stared at the screen. So TJ cleared his throat. “Um, just, low on funds right?”

Cyrus wasn’t just staring into the blank space. The channel was tuned into the news. And the news was of the store they had 'visited' last night.

Seeing the news reports, banners and video interviews of the supervisor, Cyrus could feel his heart start to pick up in rate. He kept his eyes on the screen, letting TJ handle the conversation for that day. He saw some police mill about the background, catching sight of one of the officers.

They looked incredibly familiar? But there was no way he could have known them.

The supervisor was trying to describe him and TJ, but 'two young men, one brown haired and one blonde' was luckily not the most substantial of police descriptions. But that didn't mean Cyrus was calm. His palms were starting to get sweaty while TJ grabbed the keys from the owner, whose only acknowledgement of their existence as they left was a nod, as he continued to play with his Rubik's cube.

As the two climbed up the stairs to their room, Cyrus couldn't help but keep turning back to look over his shoulder, irrational paranoia wrapping its hands around his neck. TJ noticed Cyrus’ jittery air, narrowing his eyes as he squeezed his hand. Cyrus smiled at him, but it didn’t really reach his eyes.

When they reached their room, TJ dropped their bag on the counter, collapsing onto the bed, groaning as he hid his head in the pillow. Cyrus shook his head, smiling, as he pulled out his camera and clicked a picture of TJ, who had turned around at the sound of the click. He just stared at Cyrus deadpanned, who was trying to control his smile.

TJ sighed, sitting up. “Last run was good, dude probably just wanted to sleep.”

Cyrus just hummed, the mention of the supervisor sending him back into thought. TJ raised an eyebrow, getting up. He walked up to Cyrus, grabbing him by the wrist. “Hey, are you okay?”

“We need new masks,” Cyrus said suddenly, cutting TJ off. TJ laughed slightly, moving back a bit.

“What? No, we don’t. These ones are fine.”

“But we’ve been seen in them. If we get new ones, we won’t be traced back to the last one,” Cyrus said, trying to reason it out with TJ. In truth, he knew that it was probably a ridiculous suggestion, but something in him was screaming at him that if they didn’t change the masks something bad would happen.

TJ furrowed his eyebrows, letting go of Cyrus’ hand. “Cy, they are black ski masks. Literally the most generic mask out there. Trust me, it wouldn’t make a difference.”

“To me it would,” Cyrus said, his voice rising a bit. “I, I just,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I just can’t help but feel like if we don’t change them, something bad will happen.”

“Cyrus, nothing will happen, you’re just being paranoid,” TJ huffed, the exhaustion of the past couple days starting to get to him. He ran his hand through his hair, messing it up as he lay down on the bed.

“I am not being paranoid,” Cyrus said quietly, TJ shifting his head up to look at him. “You and I both know the cops are on our trail, and any mistake, however small, can really cost us.”

“Yeah, a ‘mistake’ can cost us. Not changing our masks from place to place isn’t a mistake, Cyrus,” TJ said, annoyance bleeding through his words. “It also wouldn’t be a good use of our resources.” He sat up, looking at Cyrus, a headache starting to make its presence known. “Now, can we just drop this? Please?”

“Oh I’m sorry for just being cautious,” Cyrus said, narrowing his eyes.

“You’re not being cautious, you’re being ridiculous,” TJ said, groaning into his hand. “The world isn’t gonna end if we don’t change our masks.”

“The world may not end, but we may get recognised. The cops may catch onto us. You don’t know what could happen.”

“It’s masks, Cyrus. Masks. The cops couldn’t do anything with them even if God came down and told them it belonged to us. ‘Cuz they don’t know who we are!”

“That could change just like that!” Cyrus said loudly, snapping his fingers. “What if the supervisor got a glimpse at us? At what we looked like? What if someone saw us along the way? What if the guy from the second-hand car dealership puts two and two together and send the cops after us?” Cyrus said, each sentence getting progressively louder, moving closer and closer to TJ. “Can you say for certain that any of that will not happen?”

TJ just stared back at Cyrus, trying to squelch his annoyance and growing anger. Cyrus took his silence as enough of an answer, scoffing as he turned away from TJ.

“I just think you’re being a little too worried about things we have no control over,” TJ said quietly, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice but his words still coming out a bit harsh. “And for all your questions, Cyrus,” TJ said, getting up off the bed. “Can you say for certain that they happened? That all those things will line up neatly? Because, if I remember the news interview correctly, the guy doesn’t even really remember what happened. So him remembering our faces from a nanosecond glimpse seems a bit far fetched, don’t you think?”

“So, I’m being ridiculous, paranoid, annoying, is that it?” Cyrus hissed, turning to look TJ in the eye.

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” TJ said quietly, his headache increasing, the closed room and dim lighting not helping the situation.

“Actually, if I remember correctly, you just called me paranoid and ridiculous, so I’m just quoting you.”

“Why is it that whenever we stop in a motel, you always end up picking a fight?”

“I’m not the one doing or saying stupid shit!” Cyrus yelled, pinching the bridge of his nose.

TJ just groaned, turning away from Cyrus. “I’m not doing this right now,” he said quietly, grabbing a hoodie from their bag and walking to the door.

“Hey, where the fuck are you going?” Cyrus asked, grabbing TJ’s wrist, but he pulled away.

“Out,” TJ said, walking out of the room and slamming the door in the process. Cyrus scoffed, opening the door and yelling after TJ.

“Slamming the door and walking away? Yeah, pretty fucking mature!” he called out, before turning around and slamming the door again, kicking it after it shut.

Stupid stupid stupid. Cyrus pushed his hair back, groaning into his hands as he landed on the bed. He just couldn’t understand why TJ was being so dismissive. Yeah, maybe Cyrus was being too on edge, but it wasn’t like TJ helped. He just pushed aside Cyrus’ feelings, just like that.

Cyrus turned over on his side, squeezing his eyes shut. TJ’s words of Why is it that whenever we stop in a motel, you always end up picking a fight, swam in his mind, burrowing its way into his heart. Cyrus thought ruefully about how true that statement was. Even at Oceanside, Cyrus had snapped at TJ first. Admittedly, he had deserved it, but it was still he who had delivered the first blow. Had they argued when they were at Palace? Cyrus thought to himself, realising that yes, they had argued about something absolutely irrelevant, something he didn’t even remember. And Cyrus didn’t even have to try and dig up the memory to know that it was he who threw the first barb.

Cyrus turned over onto his side, this realisation sending him down a line of thought he really wasn’t willing to follow. Maybe it’s just because they have been cooped up together for upwards of 5 years now, he tried to reason, feeling tears pricking at his eyes. It’s bound to drive people crazy, being stuck together with only each other for so long. They’re bound to snap at each other. People say that it happened to Bonnie and Clyde too!

The resemblance was uncanny.

Cyrus squeezed his eyes shut, forcing his brain to go quiet. Maybe, if he slept for a while, TJ would be back and they could just talk about it like adults.

God, he hoped he’d be back when he opened his eyes.

*

Cyrus groaned, pushing himself off the bed, forcing himself to walk around the room. He had woken up more than an hour ago after having slept for three hours, and still no TJ. It was now getting close to 4 pm in the evening, and Cyrus was really starting to worry. He picked at the skin on his thumb as he paced about the room, wondering whether he should risk leaving the room to go find TJ. But his paranoia had too strong of a hold on him to put one foot out the door without TJ.

Why did he have to go and pick an argument, Cyrus thought to himself ruefully, as he walked over to the table where he had left the camera. He also brought the essentials bag to the bed, opening it up and hunting through it, eventually pulling out a large envelope. All over some stupid masks. And his stupid stupid worry and anxiety. And now he was alone, and TJ was gone. For good probably. Emptying the contents, a collection of photographs cascaded from within the envelope, falling onto the bed and forming a sort of collage.

He always did this when things were too overwhelming, too anxious. He pulled out all the pictures he had taken, going through them one by one to ground himself, to pull himself down from where his mind floated away. But this would be the first time he would be doing it without TJ. The thought that TJ had left him for good came back to, grabbing and squeezing his heart. But Cyrus coaxed and pried the hand off, with sniffs and controlled breathing. Cyrus took a deep breath and picked up the camera, scrolling through the most recent pictures. He smiled sadly looking at the picture of TJ lying on the bed, taken just before everything had exploded. Cyrus sighed, scrolling back further.

The sunrise from that morning, TJ making food in the last motel, a rare picture of Cyrus taken by TJ in the middle of the night as Cyrus was asleep, TJ driving against the sunset, their hands. Cyrus flicked through them one by one, his heart both growing warm and breaking more and more. As the pictures on the camera ran out, Cyrus placed it on the bed and picked up the physical pictures.

These were much older, some even dating back to the end of high school. When they left Shadyside for good.

When they became who they were now.

~

The streetlight lit up Cyrus’ room in a golden glow as he turned over onto his side. Try as he did, sleep eluded him. For good reason. TJ may have walked away from that house alive that night, but the other guy didn’t, and no matter how well evidence is hid and changed, and how well their neighbourhood’s environment protected them, anything was possible.

Cyrus bolted up from the bed and got up as quietly as possible, shrugging on a hoodie and his shoes as he crept out of his window. He wasn’t worried about his mother hearing him, remembering seeing her passed out figure on the living room couch, bottles everywhere. He crawled out, making his way down the street to where TJ’s house was. He held his arms close, rubbing the sleeves, the cold making its presence known. He made his way deftly up the drainpipe, seeing the light pour out of TJ’s window into the dark.

TJ was lying in bed, turning the page of a book he was mildly invested in, when he was startled by a rapping sound coming from his window. He pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose, peering through the foggy glass, and jumped up as soon as he made out Cyrus’ figure in the hazy light. He unlatched the window, and Cyrus pulled himself into the room, as TJ ran his fingers through his hair.

“I’m really sorry, I just,” Cyrus started, but TJ didn’t let him finish, pulling him close and holding him, as Cyrus let out a breath.

“Couldn’t sleep, could you?” TJ whispered, and Cyrus nodded into his shoulder. “Come on,” he said, lying down on his bed, Cyrus following him. He wrapped his arm around TJ’s waist, laying a hand on his chest. TJ pulled Cyrus closer by the shoulders, resting his head on his.

“They came to our class today,” Cyrus said softly.

“The cops?” TJ asked. Cyrus nodded slowly.

“Cuz Lester was our age, and Dylan one year older, right? Plus, some kids told him that they had seen him around school the day before he,” Cyrus said, stopping himself before he could say “died”.

TJ hummed, indicating he was listening to Cyrus. He looked calm, but Cyrus could feel his heart rate pick up. They were both equally scared, tripping over eggshells around their friends. They thought that the cops wouldn’t be completely bothered, but 2 murders within a week was too much, even for a town like Shadyside, a town that lived up to its name in more than one way.

“You know,” TJ said softly, and Cyrus lifted his head up to look at him. “High school ends in like two weeks.”

“Yeah, so?” Cyrus asked, confused. TJ sat up, making Cyrus move from where he was lying down.

“And both of us are 18 now.”

“Are you suggesting?” Cyrus asked, raising an eyebrow, an amused smile playing on his lips.

“We could do it,” TJ said, a smile growing on his face. “I could take the car, we grab a few things, and we leave. Live in motels for a few days, and I could get a job at a gas station,” TJ said, getting up and pacing. “Yeah, it’ll be rough for some time. But we’ll have each other.”

“TJ as much as I love the idea of you and me running away together,” Cyrus started, getting up and walking towards TJ. “I don’t know how possible it is.”

“It could be, Cy! We just need to make it work.”

“You can’t take your car without your dad finding out and killing you for it, maybe literally,” Cyrus said, cupping TJ’s cheeks. “And besides, we don’t have any money to survive.”

“We’ll take some money,” TJ said, his words verging on desperate.

Cyrus shook his head. “This isn’t just money for the odd slushy, TJ. This is real shit.”

TJ looked down. Cyrus put a hand under his chin, holding it up so TJ looked at him.

“Hey,” he said softly. “You may be onto something here. But if we are gonna do this, we need to be smart.”

TJ quirked his eyebrows. “Wait. You wanna do this? For real?”

Cyrus smiled, looking around him. “As much as Shadyside is where I’m from, it isn’t good for us here. Especially with all the cops.”

“Then let’s do this together,” TJ said, pulling Cyrus in for a kiss, holding him as tight as he could.

Within a couple days, Cyrus and TJ had discreetly packed away things they wanted to take with them wherever they were. High school ended, and with it came the parties, the drinking, the sobs and the farewells. The buzz of excitement and nostalgic distraction was exactly what TJ and Cyrus needed to get away without much notice.

It happened on an early Wednesday morning. The most plain and uneventful day of the week. Cyrus snuck out of his house for one last time that day. As he opened the window of his room, he couldn’t stop himself from looking at his room, a pang of sadness hitting him and settling in his stomach. He checked his bag for his clothes, watch, a camera he had bought the day before, a notebook and a wad of cash he had consistently taken out of his mother’s purse.

Speaking of his mother…

Cyrus dropped his bag onto the floor, slowly opening the door of his room and headed down to the living room where he had heard his mother in the late hours of the night. He rounded the corner, taking a peek at the couch, where he could make out her figure. He didn’t feel remorse for leaving, but something in him broke at the thought of leaving with no warning. However neglectful she was, she was still his mother. Eventually, Cyrus walked into her room, retrieving a blanket which he lay on her, before walking out of the house for good.

TJ was waiting down the street in his dad’s old beat up Ford. As he walked out, bag slung on his shoulder, Cyrus couldn’t help but embrace the adrenaline now thrilling through his veins. He threw his bag into the back seat, and slid into the passenger seat. TJ smiled at him, leaning in for a kiss, before handing him a map.

“Take it away, Goodman. You’re in charge.”

~

Cyrus had stopped at a picture, holding it up as he smiled tearfully. It wasn’t even very good, just a blurry picture of TJ driving along the highway. TJ was reaching out, trying to move the camera away from his face, but Cyrus had still managed to take a picture. It was not special at first glance. But it was the first picture Cyrus had taken with that camera, an hour or so after they had left the outskirts of Shadyside. The paper was yellowing at the corners, crease lines obvious down the middle from being shoved in an envelope for so long. But Cyrus cradled the picture to his chest, letting some tears fall.

A sudden knocking at the door startled Cyrus out of his thoughts. He hastily wiped away the tears and set the picture down, heading over to the door. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and gasped.

“TJ.”

“I went to get some food for us, I figured you’d wanna eat in given everythi-oof,” TJ started, holding up a paper bag with some containers in it, but before he could complete his sentence, Cyrus pulled him into the room and tackled him in a bone-crushing hug. It knocked him back a bit, but he was able to set down the bag and hug Cyrus back, running his hands through his hair.

“I was so scared you’d left for good,” Cyrus said shakily, burying his head in TJ’s shoulder. “I slept for a bit and you still weren’t back, and I thought you were finally done with me, and you just left, and oh my god I’m so sorry for snapping at you and for starting arguments every time,” Cyrus began rambling. TJ pulled away, holding Cyrus’ head up so he looked him in the eye.

“Hey no, Cyrus I would never leave you, okay? I love you,” TJ said reassuringly, leaning in to press a comforting kiss to Cyrus’ forehead. Cyrus sighed, the tension leaving his shoulders.

“I love you too, TJ,” he whispered in response, bumping his nose against TJ’s.

“And, I’m sorry too. For calling you ridiculous and paranoid. You had every right to be worried, and I just brushed it off like it was nothing. We can buy new masks if it makes you feel better.”

Cyrus shook his head, smiling softly. “It’s okay. To be fair, I was being paranoid.”

TJ laughed slightly, but his face dropped a bit. “I’m sorry for saying you start arguments all the time. Truth be told, I am the one messing up a lot so…”

TJ pushed Cyrus’ hair back, leaning his forehead against Cyrus’.

“I think it’s just the fact we’ve been only with each other for so long,” Cyrus offered, and TJ nodded in agreement.

“Not that I’d have it any other way. Arguments or not, I don’t mind being only with you,” TJ said softly. Cyrus softly cupped TJ’s cheeks, looking him in the eye.

“You’re all I really have, TJ. I just got scared of losing you.”

TJ smiled softly, leaning in to kiss Cyrus softly, a stray tear running down his cheek. “You’re all I have too, Underdog. And don’t worry - you won’t lose me.”

~~~~~

[malloryslourd]

Two Shots

Request: Can I request a fic where Zoe has a crush on a really talented, confident witch, and there's mutual pining but both of them are too oblivious to the others advances - Anonymous

—————

Pairing: Zoe Benson x Reader

Warnings: Some Strong Language

Words: 2,409

—————

A/N: the end is very rushed and i didn’t like the way this came out at all tbh :/ i’m a disappointment jfc

—————

In Zoe's opinion, saying she was in love was a complete stretch. Sure she liked Y/N as a friend, and sure she thought she was a great person, and maybe she admired Y/N as an amazing witch, but she wasn't in love. It was just a very supportive friendship between the two girls. But if you asked anyone else they would say the exact opposite.

Everyone in coven besides Y/N and Zoe knew just how in love the two were. They noticed the shameless flirting, the stolen glances at one another, and they most definitely noticed when one of the witches would talk about the other for what felt like hours. Y/N and Zoe were the only ones who never noticed how hopelessly in love they were no matter what anyone told them. It was always just 'We're just really good friends!' or 'They don't like me like that!'.

The other girls were fed up, to say the least, completely tired of the tension between the two. That's why they had collectively decided to take things into their own hands- despite the disapproval from Cordelia and Mallory. It was a simple plan really, or at least that's what Madison believed when she arranged it. She didn't share too many details but supposedly if everyone went along with it it was sure to work.

—

"Hey Zoe."

Zoe looked up at Madison as she leaned against the her doorframe. She was dressed to go out for the night and staring down at her phone, not paying too much attention to her. "Hey," Zoe muttered the response before turning back to her work, grading papers as fast as she could manage.

"We're all going out tonight, I thought it would be nice for me to invite you or whatever," she barely glanced up at Zoe still too focused on whatever she was doing.

Zoe shook her head, deciding against going out. "Umm, actually-"

"-Y/N's coming," Madison didn't even give Zoe the chance to finish her protest. She knew that the mention of just Y/N's name would get all of her attention. Which it did.

Zoe completely ignored all of the work in front of her as she looked at Madison in her doorway, the biggest smirk on the blonde's face as she moved to sit at Zoe's desk. "What does that have to do with anything?" Zoe's cheeks were already getting red.

"Literally everything," Madison rolled her eyes. "Come on, I'm not stupid," she definitely wasn't the only one that realized Zoe and Y/N's behavior. It was definitely everyone that realized Zoe and Y/N's behavior except for Zoe and Y/N.

"That's your opinion," Zoe muttered the response.

"Don't be rude!" Madison scoffed as she started to turn around in the chair slowly. "You can do your creepy staring thing you two do when you're in the same room," Madison laughed at herself as she pictured it in her head.

"Shut up."

"Hey Madi! There you are!" Y/N seemed to appear in Zoe's doorway. She was dressed to go out too, holding her shoes in her hand as she tugged at the bottom of her dress. "This is cute right? Coco said it was too slutty and Queenie said it wasn't slutty enough, so... I don't fucking know," Y/N shrugged her shoulders, laughing lightly.

Madison hummed, looking Y/N's outfit up and down. "I mean you look hot, nothing new," Madison leaned onto her hand. She smiled innocently as she looked back at Zoe. "What do you think Zo?" she could see the blush darken on Zoe's cheeks.

Zoe hadn't looked away from Y/N since the moment she stepped into the room- totally taken away by the witch. "I... I mean, you always look great," Zoe laughed nervously.

Y/N smiled at Zoe, her own cheeks getting red. "Thanks Zoe," she bit her lip as she leaned onto the doorframe. "Are you coming out?"

"No."

"Yeah."

"What?" Y/N looked between the two witches, an eyebrow raised at the two different answers.

"You just told me no," Madison turned the chair to face Zoe. She had the most triumphant smile on her face now that Zoe had "magically" changed her mind on going out.

"Well now I'm going out," Zoe looked over at Madison with wide eyes.

"Fine! Whatever you say Benson," Madison turned around. "I have to go find Coco, don't wait up you two," she stood up suddenly, walking out the room quickly.

Y/N watched as Madison left. "Weird," she shook her head before she turned back. "Anyways, do you need help finding a outfit or something?"

"Yeah! Sure!"

—

"Follow me!" Madison had Mallory's wrist in one hand and Coco's in the other while Queenie followed close behind. She dragged them into the greenhouse and shut the door, making sure to lock it.

Mallory rubbed her wrist, seeing if Madison has broke her wrist her grip was so hard. "It's not like we had most of a choice!" she sighed as she ran a hand through her hair.

"My shoes are dirty now!" Coco whined as she examined her heels.

Queenie rolled her eyes as she moved around the greenhouse. "All of our shoes are dirty you fucking trust fund baby," she shook her head, Coco scoffing loudly.

"Pay attention!" Madison snapped her fingers at the girls, grabbing all their attention. She slammed a notebook on the table, causing everyone else to jump. "In literally five fucking minutes those two are going to be looking for us, so we need to get this done!" she opened the notebook to a page she had sticky-noted.

"Okay, fine," Queenie ran a hand over her face. "What do we need?"

Madison started to read the list, humming to herself. "I can't pronounce half of these things. Mallory, you get what we need," she slid the notebook across the table.

"It's your plan and you don't even know what you're doing?" Coco narrowed her eyes as she looked at Madison. The blonde only shrugged in response before taking out her phone. "God, why are we listening to her?"

"Because we have nothing better to do," Mallory sighed as she dropped a vile onto the tabletop. "It's literally three ingredients. Like, are you so dumb you can't pronounce eucalyptus?" Queenie and Coco laughed.

Madison just rolled her eyes before flipping Mallory off, grabbing everything off the of the table. "Okay, so I just add this into this," she dropped a flower petal into a bottle of clear liquid. "Then just a few drops of this," she grabbed the vile of eucalyptus, adding a few drops into the bottle. "There! Everything is already enchanted like we need it to be, so we're done!"

"What even is that?" Queenie shook her head.

"I'm not exactly sure," Madison just shrugged her shoulders as she picked up the bottle. "But if Cordy's notes are correct this should give our girls the boost they need to finally stop being weirdos and get together."

"It says it's a jealousy potion," Coco looked up at Madison. If anything it was actually a recipe for disaster. There wasn't many ways this could end up well- most plans tended to fail anyways.

"Same thing."

"Not at all!" Mallory's eyes went wide as she looked at Madison.

"Okay, maybe we shouldn't do this!" Queenie shook her head as she reached for the bottle in Madison's hand.

Madison jerked it away quickly, careful not to spill anything. "Nope too late, it's already done," she held a hand out towards Queenie. The other witch just rolled her eyes, mumbling something under her breath before turning away. "Tonight's fate is sealed."

"Jesus help us," Coco looked up to the ceiling.

"Are you kidding? There's no helping us," Mallory sighed.

—

"Hey, I'm gonna go get us some drinks," Madison turned the group right as they entered, not even waiting for them to get settled yet. "Um, Coco! Come with me! You guys go find us a table or something," she didn't wait for a response before she grabbed Coco's hand and dragged her towards the bar.

"Okay, first, you get my shoes dirty, and then you almost break my fucking ankle!" Coco took her hand out of Madison's grasp. Madison wasn't even paying attention, she was ordering shots for their group. "Madison!"

Madison's head snapped to Coco as the bartender walked away. "If you're going to try and coach me out of this, I don't want to hear it," she waved the witch off. "We're too far-"

"-You're never 'too far' until you've done the crime," Coco pleaded with the blonde.

Madison just ignored her protests, rolling her eyes. "It's not a crime."

"I'm sure it is somewhere!"

"Look, our shots are here," she nodded to the bartender setting down the glasses in front of them. "All we need is two drops of this stuff. I'll carry their shots and you'll take everyone else's."

"God you criminal mastermind," Coco shook her head.

Madison smiled at her as she reached for her purse. "I'll be taking that as a compliment," she pulled out the vile after taking a look around.

"Just do it before someone sees."

Madison dropped the liquid into two of the shots, making sure to double check which ones they were. "Done," she grabbed the shots into her hand. "Come on." Coco rolled her eyes before taking the other four shots. They weaved their way through the club quickly, catching sight of the rest of their friends almost instantly.

"Oh Hell yeah," Queenie smiled as the witches put the alcohol on the table.

"Here! These are yours!" Madison places down the two glasses in front of Zoe and Y/N.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, picking up the shot reluctantly. "Is there a reason?" she laughed nervously.

"They has the least, you two are the biggest pussies here," Madison grabbed her own shot.

Zoe scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Can we at least try and have a good time without you being a bitch?" she grabbed the shot in front of her.

"Haha cheers bitch," Madison deadpanned, narrowing her eyes at Zoe before downing her own shot.

Mallory coughed, putting her glass down as she brought her free hand up to her chest. "Ew! What was that? That was disgusting!" her face scrunched up just thinking about the taste.

"Get used to it, I have them bringing us the same shots every practically every two minutes."

"I hate going out with this bitch."

—

The girls had only been at the bar for thirty minutes and half of them were already hammered. Coco had drunk so much she had to put her head down for five minutes before Mallory had dragged her to the dance floor. Queenie was drunk too, but she was definitely handling it a lot better. She was just relaxing at the table, waiting for the alcohol to settle so she could enjoy herself. And then there was Y/N. She was a smiling, giggling mess at the table talking to Zoe and Queenie.

But her being drunk wasn't Madison's biggest concern. It was if the potion worked like it was supposed to. They truly hadn't put it to the test yet, so there was no way to know yet. She had pulled Queenie to the side, leaving Y/N and Zoe alone at the table.

She didn't even wait for Queenie to ask her a question before she explained what she was doing. "I'm taking a risk here, I need you to have my back if Zoe tries to kill me," she looked at Queenie, completely serious.

"You can't be serious."

"Look it's a jealous potion! In order to work Zoe or Y/N needs to be jealous. If I just go over and get Zoe worked up it should end up working."

"Oh this is going to be great!" the witch smiled brightly.

Madison just sighed, running a hand through her hair before she walked back to the table. "Hey Y/N," she let her hand fall onto the small of Y/N's back. She could feel Zoe staring holes into the back of her head as soon as her hand came into contact with Y/N.

"Hey!" Y/N gave Madison a toothy smile. "Wait, you should totally do a shot with me," she laughed as she handed Madison a shot glass.

Queenie came up next to Zoe, nudging her shoulder slightly. "Hey, look at Madi and Y/N/N," she whispered into her ear.

"I fucking see Queenie." She groaned before moving over to the pair, pushing Madison to the side quickly.

"Oh hey Zo!"

It was a sudden impulsive decision. Zoe herself didn't even realize what she was doing. She placed her hand on the back of Y/N's neck and pulled her into a kiss, a kiss so sudden that neither of them had fully collected what was happening at first. It took them less than a second to relax in the kiss, Y/N's hands moving to Zoe's side. The others around were more than shocked, their mouths falling open as they watched what unfolded in front of them.

They pulled apart from the kiss reluctantly. "I... um- wow," Y/N laughed at Zoe, heat rising to her cheeks as she looked at the witch. She seemed to be snapped out of her drunken state. She could barely take in what happened fully, still breathless from the sudden events. "Wait, holy shit. What just happened?"

Zoe couldn't get a word in before Madison was yelling beside her. "And who do we thank? Me!"

"Listen here bitch," Zoe turned to face Madison, stepping up to her quickly.

Queenie grabbed Zoe's arm quickly, pulling her away from Madison. "Woah woah, okay! Everyone chill out!" she couldn't help but laugh as Zoe tried to break out of her grasp. The drunken part of her brain wanted to let her go and watch her pummel Madison, but the more reasonable side of Queenie couldn't let that happen... yet.

"Aw! We missed it!" Mallory whined as her and Coco stepped up to the group.

"I don't know why you're trying to fight me!" Madison threw her hands around dramatically. "All it took was a little potion and look where we are!"

"What?" Y/N and Zoe looked at Madison with wide eyes.

"You drugged us?" Zoe stopped trying to fight of Queenie's grasp. "What the fuck Madison?"

"Drugged is a strong word."

"That's what you did!" Y/N scoffed loudly.

"Aren't you two in love now? This all worked out!" Madison attempted to reason. She even had to admit this wasn't sounding the best.

"Queenie I'll pay you to let me go."

"How much?"

"Two hundred."

"Wow my hand slipped!"

"Queenie!"

[europeanguy]

Gotta Gogh [Part 5.2: From Cordonia]

Pairing: Nadia x Maxwell

Words: 2.3k

Tags/Warnings: Canon Divergence, Crossovers, time skips and POV changes, cheesy lines and a sprinkle of angst… maybe

Your brother is the Duke, he manages the duchy of Ramsford and the estate, he has people relying on him and people who trust him, he makes sure that House Beaumonts’ legacy doesn’t go up in flames – where do you fit in?

Where do I fit in?

The limo hits some bumps in the road, and Maxwell hits his head on something weirdly shaped. He comes to a few seconds later, realizing he’s been dozing off on his brother’s shoulder. Bertrand isn’t too fussed, he’s too busy reading something on his iPad. How Bertrand could read in a moving vehicle, he will never understand. He switches it off, uttering something about ‘needing coffee and do you want some?’. But Maxwell knows that his older brother is just being gentle on him, too gentle that it makes his mind race thinking about the worst possible case scenarios. Could all of Ramsford have burned down? Did anyone they know die? Did he get somebody pregnant?

Or maybe it’s just because Bertrand had found him with semi-wet clothes and damp, red, eyes – this sad, sad being that entered through the doors of their house in the capital.

Maxwell shakes his head no to the coffee, then shoves a hand in his pocket to make sure its still there. He traces its rounded edges, feeling its carvings press indents into his skin. And it’s a little bit comforting. He takes it out and looks at this cartoony miniature of the Eiffel Tower, bronze, with “Paris” written across the length of it in big bold words.

He and Nadia had laughed at the tackiness of it all. And yet they wore matching t-shirts proudly saying “Bonjour!”.

So, she bought one of the pocket-sized Eiffel Towers when he wasn’t looking.

Maxwell rolls his shoulders and straightens up, getting stiff in the seats. Bertrand preferred the limo when traveling to Ramsford because of that much needed leg-room, but the carpets and the plush seats made Maxwell feel like the air is being crushed out of the space. Bertrand clears his throat and scoots near the mini-fridge, looking for the cold-brew cans they kept stocked in there with the champagne.

They weren’t going to talk about it.

It must be dragging close to 10 am by now since they left at dawn, and Nadia’s probably already in New York. He can sleep away the rest of the day, judging by how nicely Bertrand has been treating him.

The thing is, Nadia knew him well enough to know that he wouldn’t keep his promise. And so Maxwell found out through the other students living on her floor – Nadia left the day before. Her door was unlocked, the room left empty except for the furniture that came with it. And then he found it, the mini Eiffel Tower miniature, on the bed. He didn’t know if he wanted to cry or laugh as he picked it up. Nadia knew he thought the touristy trinkets were ugly.

What Maxwell realized in Paris is that he’s kind of really fucked. That Nadia is extraordinary, and he loves her.

“We’re almost here.” Bertrand says, sipping his coffee. He grimaces lightly, no wonder in need of a real cup soon. Maxwell nods, knowing that it’s a prompt for him to fix himself before meeting with the main house’s staff.

The limo turns down the road that leads to the vast manor he grew up in. The driveway is long and lined with trees, much like the main palace. He has time to brush back his hair – still feeling weird about its shortness – straighten his clothes, and rub the sleep away from his eyes.

After exchanging a polite welcome with the main house staff, Maxwell has disappeared off to his room in no time – and without any complaints from Bertrand at all, who simply asked him to be present at dinner at six. He tosses off his jacket and toes off his shoes, throwing himself on the bed face-down. His mother would always scold him about wearing outside clothes to bed. Maxwell squeezes his eyes shut, waiting for sleep to come – but it doesn’t.

Nadia never did say anything about not calling.

-

Nadia taps the metal ferrule of her brush repeatedly against the paint thinner can’s brim, shaking off the excess. She’s not sure how much time she’s sat there staring at the painting that never seems to be finished.

Back in New York, and she’s literally watching paint dry.

Sighing, she takes the brush again and scrapes it on the drying blob of blue paint, hardly picking up any pigment at first but eventually it gives and seeps through the strands, bright and blue. Blue.

Stop. Have a break. Nadia decides to leave the brush on the container beside the easel and stands up, feeling the strain on her back and her legs as she stretches. Quickly, Nadia opens her window to let the paint and thinner fumes out – she always forgets to, which is why she’s convinced that someday she would inhale too much and just drop dead. Then she cleans up all the candy wrappers (Gran will find out soon enough that she ate all the decorations for the gingerbread house), turns off the lights, and finally collapses on her bed, limbs splayed out – and she sighs, letting her eyes close.

It’s illogical how she hasn’t been able to sleep yet after spending a long-haul flight watching all the romcom movies available and crying. Crying is exhausting. Turns out dramatic airport goodbyes were just for movie screens – and thank god for that. A sharp pang of guilt shoots through her for lying to Maxwell. But he’s stubborn, and Nadia knew he would still try to see her off anyway.

She rolls over and sniffs the soothing smell of fresh sheets, the same old brand of detergent that her grandma always used. Their grandparents’ apartment in New York is small, but it had just enough space for the four of them for when she and Kai visited over the break. It had a small balcony for an herb garden that only their Grandpa cared for. From outside, the light pollution of the city gives casts a bluish glow in tall shadows across her room. It’s closing in on five in the morning, the sunrise late in mid-December but she can see the faint colors of dawn starting to show in the sky.

Her phone rings underneath a pillow somewhere, its muffled sounds making her heart race the longer she leaves it. Her restraint snaps, and she jumps off her bed to rummage through her room for the damned phone. Finally, she finds it underneath an orange throw pillow. She tosses the pillow away and reads the caller ID.

-

You’re not being silly, Maxwell. All this pressure and expectations, they’re insane and being compared to your brother must hurt.

Maxwell picks at his cufflinks – gold with a monogrammed MB. Bertrand hadn’t mentioned that the six pm dinner would be with a fund manager, an estate agent, and the way too slick and smart Chief of Staff; essentially Bertrand’s right-hand man and the one he would sort of replace in the near future. He wouldn’t be taken off the payroll, of course, but he had always been critical of Maxwell and his lack of involvement in estate issues. They all formally wait in line to shake hands with the Duke and his brother.

But I know your brother loves you, and he’s proud of you and all of your achievements.

It still scares Maxwell how charming his brother could be. He lags behind Bertrand and watches him exchange fond greetings with their company. Bertrand turns towards Maxwell and beckons him towards them. His heart swells when Bertrand pats his back reassuringly as he shakes their hands.

He fits here. Right?

I know what it’s like to not feel accepted or competent – but Maxwell, this is your purpose.

Maxwell doesn’t try to dazzle them with whatever he learned that semester, it would be fruitless since these people have been doing this long enough to differentiate the fluff from substance. Instead he sits quietly for once, listening and trying to absorb as much as he could – to no avail. All he can think of was that call.

You’re amazing, intelligent, and caring, and you deserve much more praise. Your brother understands this more than anyone.

You’re starting to sound like my mother and it’s scaring me.

Why do you always joke?

But she laughed. Her laugh sounded like music to his ears, even though it was in bad quality, crackling audio over a phone. Maxwell is broken out of his trance when the first course is served. Bertrand could tell he’s still completely distracted – although thankfully not as miserable as when he had found him.

I can’t handle it, it’s getting too emotional. He reaches into his pocket again to feel the little Eiffel Tower. I didn’t know how I was supposed to let you go.

That’s why I made that decision for you.

Bertrand and the others launch into a deep conversation about estate issues. Maxwell picks at his food, focusing more on the sound of the clatter of silverware against china. Has it really been one whole semester?

Yeah. It was way too quick. I used to wonder a lot if coming to Cordonia was some huge mistake. Since, you know, I didn’t exactly fit in,

He’s not entirely sure that he fits in here too. He tries, he really does. And he wants to help Bertrand who seemed like he aged ten years from all the stress of being a duke.

But Maxwell liked to think of him and Nadia as pieces of the puzzle that come from two different boxes. They had somehow found each other and clicked perfectly. It’s nonsensical, but it happened. It’s where he fits in.

Then I met you and all that went out the window. I was right where I was supposed to be.

Maxwell keeps replaying that part in his head. He took a moment to answer, willed the seconds to slow down.

He remembered everything, it pressed at him, insistent and waiting.

I love you, Nadia.

Nadia yawned softly on the other line, and then all he could hear after that was her faint breathing. Maxwell is brought back to the present, and he closes his eyes to imagine her face under the soft yellow glow of the streetlamps in Paris – wondering what if.

End

.

.

.

.

EPILOGUE

Maxwell steps outside the limo in some street that he vaguely remembers – he could only hope it’s the right one. He tells his driver to come back in a while and smooths down his black button-down shirt, the begins to walk up the strangely quiet street. Well, relatively quiet compared to the rest of New York.

He needed this peace after what just happened, waking up with his mouth feeling like it was stuffed with cotton and a pounding headache. As the one morning person in the group, of course he’s the first to wake up – even though it’s already way past the afternoon. The boys back at their suite sleepily complained about all the noise he made while in the shower.

Ha! “Noise”. Excuse you, I was singing.

After Liam disappeared with the waitress, the rest of the boys decided to fuck off and blow some cash away at the nearest high-end club they could find. He doesn’t remember how they ended up at some rooftop party full of hipsters and catching wind of a familiar name in their conversations. Some rising star in the art world. An art show in Brooklyn. Here’s the address.

-

“Nadia! Hey!”

Nadia turns and spots her cousin, Kai, among the crowd. She quickly excuses herself to pass through all the people – it’s still crazy to think about just how much her work blew up.

“You made it!” She envelops Kai in a tight hug, and holds her at arm’s length. “So? What do you think?”

Kai scans the room with an appreciative look on her face. “Are you kidding? This is insane. I’m so proud of you.”

“Not the show!” Nadia gestures at herself. “Do I look okay?”

Kai laughs. “You look like an artist with a popping art show and not to mention a fat bank account after all this.”

“What?”

“She’s saying you look fine and that we promise to step in once you start unironically wearing… berets.” Damien suddenly claps a reassuring hand on Nadia’s shoulder, holding a drink on the other. His wrinkles his nose at someone who passes by wearing a bejeweled beret.

“You’re so judgmental!” Kai stifles a laugh with her hand.

Damien shrugs and takes a gulp from his drink. “So, who do I have to beat up this time?”

“Ugh, stop it.” Nadia rolls her eyes, but smiles fondly at Damien’s over-protectiveness. “His name is Steve and you guys have to promise me that you’ll be nice.”

Kai nods. “That’s mostly directed towards you, Damien.”

“I’ll be nice, alright.” Damien frowns. “I’m just saying- it’s weird that he’s an investment banker who also happens to be a baker, volunteers at animal shelters, and his name is Steve.”

“What do you have against Steves?” Nadia laughs.

“Yeah! Steves are generally nicer than Damiens!” Kai shares a conspiratorial smile with Nadia.

Damien downs the rest of his drink. “I didn’t ask to be ganged up on like this.”

Nadia’s phone rings and her whole face lights up. “Uh oh, I think he’s outside but he’s not sure which one it is.”

Kai shoots Damien a be nice glare as Nadia excuses herself to go to the entrance. Her heart pounds with excitement as she walks. A cold gust of wind greets her as she pushes open the door, and comes face to face with – Maxwell Beaumont.

She feels like all the air has been knocked out of her lungs as Maxwell looks back at her, shocked.

“…hi.”

FACTS THAT ARE DECIDEDLY NOT FUN BECAUSE THESE ARE JUST DISGUISED AUTHOR’S NOTES also I am sad

-        So it ended! FINALLY!

-        No joke it was so difficult to end this series despite it only having a few chapters. It went through rewrites upon rewrites and even me deleting a WHOLE alternate ending wherein Nadia doesn’t leave early.

-        They don’t end up together in both endings but I have greatly considered just throwing all my plans out the window and have Maxwell follow Nadia to New York. Ah… now wouldn’t that be nice.

-        Nadia literally slept on Maxwell lolol get it

-        If anyone would want to see the draft of the alternate ending I can drop you the google docs link.

-        The epilogue happens on the first chapter of both books where they’re BOTH in New York; Nadia has her art exhibit, and the TRR boys are at the “bachelor” party. Again, I changed what happened in each bc… I can.

 -        Big thanks to @pixieferry who motivated me endlessly to write and her unwavering support, and to @littlecrookedheart for basically greasing the stuck gears (this is a weird phrase) in my brain that finally got me to writing this ending, I appreciate all her help (even the kill someone and Andy cameo suggestions)

- Thank you also to everyone who stuck by this story. I’m so so so happy that I finished it, and I’m so grateful for your patience. This is the first and last fic I will post on this account because I made a separate blog for fics (that’s pretty empty as of now).

tag list: @littlecrookedheart, @femmeshep, @brightpinkpeppercorn, @zaffrenotes, @teamtomsato, @pixieferry

[punkscowardschampions]

Ali & Fraze

Ali: [as mentioned, starting when they lowkey think Joe might be killing himself so yeah] Ali: where are you? Ali: you need to come back Fraze: Pub Fraze: What's wrong? Ali: it's Joe Ali: something's wrong Fraze: How wrong, like you can't get hold of him or he's bleeding out on the kitchen floor? Ali: for fuck sake Ali: [is gone 'cos on phone to him now] Fraze: Ali? What the fuck Ali: it's fine Ali: well no it isn't but Ali: we're not in immediate danger now, I got hold of him Ali: I don't know where to start, like Fraze: Start with what happened first Fraze: Fucking hell Ali: don't fucking hell me where the fuck are you Fraze: I'm on my way Fraze: Do you wanna fucking drive Ali: Obviously Ali: beside the point Ali: fuck Ali: right Ali: he's gone home Ali: back Ali: whatever Fraze: 'Course he has Fraze: And? Ali: and before he went he asked me where he could get drugs Fraze: Real funny, kid Fraze: You had me going there, alright Ali: oh yeah Ali: it's the craic this Ali: I'm being serious Fraze: So what did he want? Ali: well if you thought that was a joke Ali: seriously, I've got no reason to lie Ali: so the dealer I sent him to got back to me and said he wanted heroin Ali: he doesn't have that shit so he didn't get any but Ali: that's what he said Ali: took 50 benzos instead Fraze: Bullshit Fraze: What's this dealers reason to lie? Ali: believe me I've being trying to think of one Ali: but I can't Ali: I dunno what to do Ali: he looked really sick before he went Ali: then when he came back he was half asleep basically Ali: lucky he didn't crash Fraze: What's his name, I'll ask him myself Ali: he's a kid, you can't do nothing Fraze: Don't tell me what I can do Fraze: You're a kid Ali: okay so go beat up a child Ali: Joes already scared him shitless so you're a bit late Fraze: Not trying to scare him, I'm trying to get the truth like Ali: why's he gonna tell you not me Ali: what are we gonna do Fraze: 'Cause I'll hurt him if he don't Fraze: Will you? Ali: obviously Ali: it isn't something to fucking lie about Ali: literally why, who would Fraze: How would I know, I don't fucking know him Ali: he's just a kid from school Fraze: So what do you care if I have a word with him? Ali: 'cos you're not gonna are you Ali: if you promise not to be a dick I'll tell you but I'm not fucking sending more trouble his way Fraze: I'm not gonna be a dick Fraze: Fuck that Ali: at any rate he admitted having all those benzos 'cos I just rang him Ali: I thought he might be you know Ali: trying to off himself or something Fraze: Nah Fraze: Joe wouldn't Ali: well I didn't think he'd do hard drugs either but apparently so Ali: what was I meant to do Fraze: Don't Ali: just ignore it then yeah Fraze: At least I can keep my mouth shut Fraze: Shit sticks Fraze: You want everyone hearing that bullshit, yeah? Fraze: Which is what it fucking is Ali: if he turned up dead, I don't think I'd give a fuck Ali: seriously Ali: I'm only telling you because I can't tell mum or dad Fraze: I said don't Fraze: If you're so sure he's that fucked, tell 'em Fraze: You won't 'cause he ain't Ali: I'm not sure of anything Ali: if you reckon you know him so well still then be helpful and sort it Fraze: I'd know if he was a fucking junkie Fraze: Jesus Ali: how Ali: you barely even look at each other never mind talk Ali: he hasn't been back for ages before this Fraze: 'Cause he's my brother, alright Fraze: Fuck Fraze: And it ain't something you can hide, even if this family Fraze: in* Ali: he isn't just yours Ali: look, I hope I'm wrong Ali: and it's some fucked misunderstanding but we have to check Ali: I can't just pretend I didn't see what I saw Ali: or get told what I did Fraze: I'll sort it Ali: alright Fraze: It will be Ali: yeah Fraze: You've got my word Fraze: Is there anything else? Ali: I don't think so Ali: just do what you can Ali: and tell me when you do Fraze: Yeah Ali: I mean it Ali: you never tell me anything Fraze: I'll swear it if you don't fucking trust me, like Fraze: Christ Ali: alright Ali: I believe you Fraze: Good Fraze: I'll handle this Fraze: Don't worry about it, yeah? Ali: bit of an ask but Ali: least we know he's on a plane not on a ledge Ali: I guess Fraze: Too soon, kid Fraze: we're all on a fucking ledge here Ali: since when has dark humour been off the table Ali: boy Fraze: Since I fucking said don't Fraze: And I'm bigger & uglier than you are Fraze: Go take your mind off this Fraze: But leave your little dealer boyfriend alone Ali: neither is anything to brag about Ali: at best your height proves ma had an affair with like a swedish model or something idk Ali: be awkward if we all show up Ali: think it's a really badly run sting operation Fraze: I've earned plenty of bragging rights if you wanna go there Fraze: And bullshit could Ma pull a Swedish model Ali: 🙄 let's not Ali: and rude Ali: dad's alright, like Fraze: Just 'cause you look like her don't get in a mard about it, like Fraze: She's well more frigid Ali: shut up Ali: I do not Fraze: Whatever you say, Alison Ali: you really wanna go there, Frazier Ali: should have a trust fund to go with that name Ali: I'd complain Fraze: I don't need to be handed their cash Fraze: I'll make my own Fraze: But cheers for the thought Ali: sensible Ali: they've not got none so Ali: long time with your cup out Fraze: Don't I fucking know it Fraze: Every cunt tried to snatch that cup back in the day Ali: look at us now eh Fraze: 🍀 Ali: I'm off out then Ali: won't do any hard with a capital H drugs Ali: pinky promise Fraze: I mean it, give that lad a wide berth Ali: he didn't dose Joe, you know Fraze: We ain't talking about Joe Fraze: Do as you're told once Ali: did you envision that working at all or Fraze: If we have to have this conversation again Fraze: I ain't gonna be as nice about it Fraze: To him or you Ali: I've got next to no interest in heroin Ali: tah for the concern though Ali: I'm good Fraze: Off you fuck then Fraze: Get out of my face, like Fraze: Shit to do Ali: 👍 Ali: keep me posted Fraze: Don't start nagging me Fraze: I said I would Ali: lol that's rich Ali: but okay then Fraze: Have a good one Ali: cheers

[thirstygirlclub]

Duchess - 5

Chapter 5 –  I’ve really confused you, haven’t I?

I just wanna say this chapter is really fucking cute and I love Happy and Cat together and this chapter is literally 2000 words of her being confused and it’s adorable.

Happy/3rd POV

Happy was sat in the bar when Clay, Jax, Tig and Chibs came back from the meeting with Mr Duke-Dillinger. He sipped on his beer as they walked in chatting animatedly about what had happened and laughing about something happening to Jeremy Vivaldi.

“When the dog fucking bit him!” Chibs laughed and grabbed his hand as if imitating how Jerry had pulled his hand away, “I don’t think I could’ve stopped laughing if he paid me a million dollars!”

Tig howled with laughter as well and Happy knew exactly what dog he was talking about. He looked up at them with interest, listening intently to what they were saying. Something about Catherine’s little rat-dog biting Mr Duke-Dillinger’s business partner on the hand and Catherine walking out crying.

“That family is real mean to her, man,” Jax said once the laughter had died down, “they’ve made her feel like she’s not good at anything and she called herself dumb…”

Happy felt himself bristling up at the mention of the girl who had been so kind and gentle to his dog. Most people were scared of Scrap but Catherine hadn’t even given him a second thought and fussed him with just as much love as she showed her little, perfect dog.

“Yeah,” Clay interjected, sitting across from Happy with the rest of the guys joining him, “when you were outside they called her beautiful but stupid; Jerry’s exact words were, ‘she’s more like an ornamental doll than a computer; she is useless.’”

“Bastards,” Jax spat, “they know that’s their kid right? You can’t say that about your family in front of a bunch of strangers.”

Catherine seemed to be the topic of choice for them, not the actual events of the meeting. They all agreed that she was pretty and cute but maybe she wasn’t the most intelligent of people. Jax brought up the fact that she got confused about the difference between his house and the clubhouse but Happy thought that was an easy mistake to make if you didn’t know they didn’t live in the clubhouse. He didn’t say anything though, obviously. Jax also told them about Catherine saying she failed school, no big deal in Happy’s opinion, and that she apologised for almost everything.

“Poor kid,” Chibs sighed and took a sip of his beer, “I feel kind of bad for her. The brother seems like a bit of a shit.”

“Nah, he’s cool,” Jax shrugged, “just a rich kid.”

Once the conversation about Catherine had been exhausted, they started talking about what had actually been spoken about in the meeting. Jerry had told them that they had run into some trouble with a few of the investors for the project and Mr Duke-Dillinger had made a deal with some pretty bad people to get the funding for it so they would need to at least lower the amount of money the sons were being paid. Clay hadn’t let them pull out of the ‘protection order’ or even lower the amount they would be being paid but nobody had expected that he would; Mr Duke-Dillinger and Jerry were just going to have to find a way to both fund the project and pay the SOA.

“You heard she’s never had a boyfriend?” Tig asked in that same conspiratorial voice that he always used when he was talking about her, “imagine that? How old is she, 18?”

“23,” Jax corrected.

“23.” Tig mused, “I cant even remember being 23.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re an old bastard!” Chibs laughed.

Tig’s offended face made Happy smile and the other guys laugh.

It was a few days until they heard from the family again. Catherine had driven her car into the TM lot, dog in the passenger seat with Mr Duke-Dillinger following in his sports car. The younger woman stepped out, tossing her golden blonde hair over her shoulder and waiting until Romeo jumped out before slamming the door shut. As soon as Happy saw her he ducked into the mechanics store room to ‘look for something’ as she went towards the office, shoes clomping over the concrete and Romeo skipping by her ankles. Mr Duke-Dillinger waited until his daughter reappeared with Gemma to get out of his car, asking where Clay was.

Happy peered out from the doorway of the storeroom to watch the blonde girl talk to Jax, looking slightly sad and a whole lot more angry. She had her arms folded and her left hip jutting out to one side and her foot tapping on the ground. When he looked down at her bare legs, he noticed a dark blue/purple bruise just under the leg of her shorts. Happy had seen, and caused, enough bruises in his life to recognise it as it being from someone holding onto her too tightly. It would have caused her pain and that made him feel even worse. Who would want to hurt her? He had his suspicions but even Happy knew to have some restraint from going out and punching a rich guy in the face.

“What are you doing in here?!” He heard a quiet, British voice ask from the other side of the door, it was Viv, Chibs’ old lady, daughter of Clay Morrow and one of Happy’s closest and most trusted friends, “Hap?”

“Nothing,” Happy said with only a slight jump of surprise, “just looking for-” he picked up a car rag, “this. Why?”

“Because,” Viv laughed and leant against the doorway, “it looks like you’re spying on that girl.”

“I’m not spying.”

Viv followed Happy as he walked back over to the car he was working on and started polishing a random section but keeping his eyes on Catherine. Viv chuckled and Happy knew she had seen right through him, like she always did, and folded her arms.

“If you like her, go talk to her.”

“I don’t. I don’t even know her.”

“Liar! You’ve not taken your eyes off her since she came in! Who is she?”

Happy sighed and quietly informed his friend about who she was, about how she had spoken to his dog and the first time he noticed her pretty grey eyes in the light of a broken vending machine. His friend was looking at him with a small, fond smile and leaning her back against the car so that he was blocked from Catherine’s line of sight to hide how he was blushing slightly and had a smile of his own on his face.

“Oh, hey Mr Lowman!” they heard Catherine say, “I didn’t see you there! How are you?”

Happy looked up and saw Catherine stood behind him. He prayed she hadn’t heard him talking about her but she didn’t seem too. He nodded a greeting to her and Viv shot him a smug smile before letting them know that she needed to help her dad with… something and leaving them too it.

“Wow,” Catherine breathed, “she’s really pretty! She your girlfriend?”

“No,” Happy said quickly, “she’s Chibs’ lady.”

She looked at him with a confused expression, that he thought was incredibly cute, and shook her head. Obviously, she didn’t know who Chibs was even though she had met him at least twice before but he guessed she probably didn’t care either; she only knew who he was because her nanny made her talk to him and he had a dog.

“Hey Hap? You seen Viv? She said she’d be here but…” Chibs said, coming towards them, “hi Lass, you alright? I hope you’re ok after the other day.”

Catherine looked up at him with the same confused expression she had given Happy. The Scotsman looked between her and Happy with a raised eyebrow after she hadn’t said anything after she hadn’t spoken for a while. Happy felt himself smile slightly; the other man must have confused her somehow although he couldn’t tell why.

“Chibs,” Happy introduced her, gesturing towards the other man then back to her, “Catherine.”

Realisation dawned on the girls face and she stuck her hand out to shake his. Romeo sniffed around Happy’s feet before settling down to sit on his left foot, watching his momma and wagging his tail.

“Are you German?” Catherine asked him when she got her hand back.

Chibs, possibly the most Scottish person Happy had ever met, laughed but then stopped quickly once he realised she was being serious. He shuffled to rest his weight on one foot and put his hands on his hips, classic Chibs.

“Am I German?” He asked her, humour in his voice.

“I don’t know,” Catherine shrugged but she wasn’t being sarcastic, “are you German? You sound kind of weird and I think you are German.”

“No sweet pea. I’m Scottish…”

“From Scotland,” Happy clarified when her confused expression returned.

“I know where Scottish people live, Mr Lowman,” she laughed and rolled her eyes; looking at him with a small smile.

Chibs blinked in confusion. He started to see what people meant when they said she wasn’t the brightest of people but Happy almost looked like he was smiling; he found her funny.

“But I live here,” Chibs said then immediately regretted it when she looked around the work area, “in America, I mean. Not… here.”

“Oh. Me too! Did it take you long to learn English? I could literally never learn a new language”

Happy covered his mouth with his hand to hide the grin that was now fully formed on his face. Chibs had no words to even try to begin explaining to her about how Scottish people do speak English but there is also a language of their own but few people speak it. Just then, Viv came over shouting for Chibs but calling him Filip and this set a whole new level of confusion on Catherine’s face.

“There you are!” Viv scolded Chibs, “I have been looking everywhere for you Filip! What have you been doing? Are you ready to go?”

“I thought your name was Chibs?” Catherine asked, her frown deepening and her arms crossing over her chest, she looked extremely stressed, “I just- what? And you’re not American, you’re British?”

Happy bit back his laughter, pressing his hand tighter to his mouth. Chibs looked at him with a really lost look on his face and Viv was smiling at Catherine. Viv nodded and told her that she grew up in England so yes, she was British before patiently explaining to her about Chibs’ nickname and how he got it; telling her his real name was Filip but the guys called him Chibs.

“Oh sweetheart,” Chibs smiled kindly, “I’ve really confused you, haven’t I?”

Happy glared at him when Catherine hung her head, trying to hide her blush beneath her hair. He was angry that she was embarrassed when it was a kind of complicated thing to think about.

“Oh Mr Lowman,” she sighed, looking up at him with wide, confused eyes, “my brain feels hot.”

He pressed his lips together and nodded at her with understanding. At least he understood why she found it so confusing. She nodded back at him with furrowed eyebrows and creases on her forehead. Chibs looked between them now, finally understanding what was happening. Viv stepped forwards and put her hand on Catherine’s shoulder.

“Why don’t,” Viv said with a mischievous glance at Happy who shook his head at her with slightly wide eyes, “you come to a party on Friday? You can bring your brother if you like? I assume you won’t be drinking so you can come for a diet coke and a bit of a dance, yeah? You’ll have fun, I promise.”

“Oh, Mrs Chibs, I don’t think that would be a good idea! I don’t think Daddy would like it if I came to a party here.”

“You’re a grown up, right? Why not? It’s not like your Dad can control you forever. Besides, it’ll do you good to get out and meet people from Charming.”

Happy knew Catherine wouldn’t be able to say no to Viv; if she had all of the Sons wrapped around her finger and doing what she said, Catherine had no chance. The blonde girl thought for a moment before nodding with a smile. Happy wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or worried that she would be joining them for Friday night.

“Right, Mrs Chibs,” the scot said and tugged her arm, “we’ve got a table booked. Let’s go. See you on Friday, Catherine.”

“Bye! Thanks for the invite Mr and Mrs Chibs. See you on Friday.”

Happy smiled again at how adorably confused she was. What was even more endearing is that she was so convinced she had everything right. He tapped her on the arm as she waved goodbye to the couple. When she looked at him, she was smiling; obviously over her previous confusion. He pointed to where her dad was leaving the office with papers in his hands and her face fell.

“Oh,” she said, “I forgot about that. I can’t believe Daddy is selling my car to Mr Morrow just because Romeo bit Uncle Jerry. It’s literally so unfair. It wasn’t his fault! Uncle Jerry shouldn’t have tried to stop me from walking out; if he hadn’t done that he wouldn’t have been hurt. You know?”

He glanced down at the bruise on the top of her thigh and scowled. Perhaps it was this Jerry that had hurt her. He could ask her on Friday once he had had a beer or two, for courage. If her dog had bit the man than he was obviously not a good person. You should always trust a dog’s judge of character; they know the difference between a good and bad person.

“Ugh, and now I have to get a job. What am I supposed to do, Mr Lowman? I wish I was clever, I could have like, any job I wanted if I was clever.”

“Hey,” Happy interrupted her, “just ‘cause you ain’t good at math doesn’t mean you ain’t clever.”

She looked at him like she was going to cry but she didn’t look sad. It was like she hadn’t heard that before and Happy wasn’t sure where to look. He didn’t want to look at her; he wasn’t good with crying women but at the same time he didn’t just want to leave her to cry in the middle of the workshop. He put his hand on her hair and ruffled the perfect blonde curls into a mess with a slight smile until she laughed and pushed his hand away gently. She ducked out from under his hand with another laugh and straightened out her hair as best as she could. He was happy he had made her smile and wanted to make her laugh more.

“Thank you, Mr Lowman,” she said, still smiling up at him, “that- that’s really nice of you.”

He nodded but then looked to his left as her dad shouted her over. Happy noticed the quiet growl that came from her dog, even if she didn’t. Catherine huffed and stamped her foot slightly before turning to say goodbye to Happy and pick up her dog. Happy nodded a farewell and watched after her as she walked slowly over to her dad.

“Are you kidding?!” She suddenly shouted, “I don’t even get the money for it? Daddy!”

“Get in the car sweetheart, we’ll talk about it later,” Mr Duke-Dillinger hissed, looking around with a frown, “come on, in.”

Catherine huffed, stamping her foot again and got in the passenger side of the sports car. Happy didn’t miss the glare he received off of Mr Duke-Dillinger but he made sure to fix him with the darkest look he could muster, smirking when the man went pale and looked away. He kept his eyes on the car as it backed out of the lot and drove away.

Once it was gone, Happy stalked across to the office to talk to Clay and Jax. When he stepped in they stopped talking and looked at him.

“What happened?” he asked them.

“Mr Duke-Dillinger just exchanged her car for a month’s worth of protection. They are gonna run out of money eventually,” Clay said with a smirk as he leant back in his chair, “poor little rich girl is gonna have to get a job and work for once in her life.”

They chuckled when Happy left wordlessly and with a slight scowl on his face.

Catherine POV

I sat with my arms folded as Daddy gave me a stern talking to. He was talking about boring things like responsibility and working and being an adult. The doors of the car had been locked so I couldn’t get out when he reached a red light, like I had planned, and had to listen to him talk at me. I nodded and made agreeing noises as he spoke to make it seem like I was listening but I was actually thinking about Mr Lowman and Mrs and Mr Chibs. They were nice, even if they did confuse me. Mr Lowman had been really nice to me when he didn’t need too. I smiled when I thought back to when he messed up my hair; he had been more gentle than I had expected him to be. He had smiled at me too and that was nice.

“Are you listening Catherine?” Daddy asked harshly.

“Yes Daddy,” I said automatically.

Then he continued to talk until we got home. As soon as the doors were unlocked I jumped out with Romeo in my arms and stormed through the front door to go up to my room. Greta came in not long after and sat with me on the bed, asking if I wanted to play the piano with her but all I wanted to do was eat and sleep.

The next day, I was trawling around the streets of Charming, looking into all of the businesses asking if there were any jobs but it was like no one wanted to hire me. I guess they could tell I was stupid just by looking at me.

“Try in here Miss Cat,” Greta said and pointed to a door.

“Nanny, that’s a strip club,” I sighed in defeat, “I don’t think Daddy would be happy about me being a stripper. Come on, I’ll try that diner.”

“It’s called The Velvet Lounge Miss Cat. That doesn’t sound like just any strip club. Besides, what’s wrong with being a stripper? I was a stripper at your age and I made good money.”

I looked back at her with a laugh. Nothing surprised me about Greta anymore. Before I could say anything she was shuffling inside with her handbag clutched in her arm and looking around curiously. I sighed and followed her inside and was surprised by how classy it all looked. It was also pretty full considering it was a Wednesday afternoon. It was also not a strip club; it was more of a high class bar with lots of people in suits and ladies in dresses all talking quietly with fancy drinks in their hands. I looked around, amazed at the fact I had never been in here before; it looks like the kind of place that Daddy and Jerry would love to come too.

I followed Greta over to the bar to talk to the bartender. He looked at her with a polite smile and then at me. I smiled back. He was a relatively young guy but older than me; he was maybe about 35ish?

“Hello young man,” Greta said, “is there someone I can talk too about getting my lovely Miss Cat here a job? A manager perhaps?”

“Oh,” the guy said, “yeah sure! I’m actually the owner, my name it Theo Martin. It’s nice to meet you, Miss Cat.”

“Please,” I laughed at Greta and held out my hand for him to shake, “call me Catherine. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Catherine,” Theo repeated, “pleasure’s all mine. What kind of thing were you looking to do? We’ve got an opening for a cocktail waiter or waitress? Have you done this kind of thing before?”

“Oh… well, no not really. I mean, I have had things served to me?”

Theo laughed and nodded. Greta sat herself onto a bar stool while I talked to Theo. He explained to me about the job; pointing out a couple of people dressed in waistcoats and ties walking around with silver trays in their hands. They were walking around the tables and then coming back to the bar to pick up drinks and to go back to the main seating area. He asked me about myself, where I’m from and stuff, what experience I had (which was none) and my career plans. I hadn’t really thought that far ahead; Daddy said I would just marry a rich guy and run a household so that’s kind of what I was gonna do. I didn’t say that though. Theo seemed to like me because he offered for me to have a trial shift waitressing.

“You think it’s something you would like to do?” He asked and I nodded enthusiastically, “good, so you wanna come for your trial on Friday, 12pm sound good?”

“Yeah! Yeah definitely, I can’t wait!” I smiled and nodded.

“Alright then Catherine, I’ll see you Friday afternoon.”

“Thanks Mr Martin, see you Friday!”

I skipped out of the door of the lounge, blinking in the sunlight and laughing. I couldn’t believe I had a job, a trial at least. I just hoped I would be good at it. Greta hugged me once the door shut and we cheered, giggling and gently pushing each other.

“Well done Miss Cat!” she exclaimed, “I’m so proud of you!”

We went for a coffee and an ice cream to celebrate. I didn’t even feel bad for having sugar; it was like Mrs Chibs said, I am an adult after all.

((I want to split up the story but FFN will literally not let me do anything that I usually do so here))

CUTIES!- what do we think? huh? Mr Lowman has seen her bruises, is she gonna go to the club party or will she chicken out of going against her dad? is Happy going to finally say something over 2 words to her? will he get drunk and go in for a kiss or will he be too scared?

Are we proud of me for posting this instead of procrastinating? I know we are!

Anyway, thanks for all of your encouragement! You are lovely!

Jeffyzfavoriteskittle27, your review of chapter 3 made me laugh because that’s kind of how I wanted people to see her! Like, I wanted to convey the fact that she has literally no idea what the real world is like!

See you in the next one!

Love, Doe

xxxxxx

[a-splash-of-stucky]

Interrupted [1/3]

Pairing: Bucky x Steve || Bucky x Steve x Reader

Summary: You walk in on a private moment, forcing the three of you to have an awkward conversation.

Warnings: Language, M/M action, bondage, female masturbation, oral sex (m/r and f/r), threesome.

A/N: This is a re-post. Originally written as my entry for this writing challenge and posted on my other blog. 

My prompt was “Okay…but seriously what the hell is going on?”, which I have put in bold somewhere in the story. Enjoy!

[1] [2] [3] || My Masterlist

“Ms Y/L/N?”

“Yes, FRIDAY?” you reply, setting the book you’d been reading down on your bedside table.

“Boss is requesting your presence in his lab. Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes have returned from their mission,”.

“Ah, right, thanks FRIDAY, I’ll be there soon,”, you say, swinging your legs off the bed and sliding your feet into your shoes.

For the past three years, you’d been working as Tony Stark’s glorified lab assistant.You’d dealt with  everything from dousing his fires, to testing his prototypes, to de-bugging his software, and, as in today’s case, sifting though terabytes of data, deciding what should be stored within his database, and what to get rid of. Steve and Bucky had been sent to infiltrate an abandoned Roxxon Oil base on the coast of Brazil. Their mission was to break into the server room and retrieve all the data they could possibly get their hands on. The team had reason to suspect that Roxxon Oil had been acquiring huge sums of money via less than honest means — namely, the development and trade of WMDs — and needed as much info on the company’s history as they could get.

You bounce into Tony’s lab and grab a Stark tablet off one of the worktops, before coming to stand by his side. “Hey Twinkle-pop,” he greets, not bothering to look up from whatever it is he’s tinkering with, “Romanoff’s just delivered the Stark-drive they took on the mission, it’s over there somewhere,” he says, waving vaguely towards the right side of the room. “Take a look at it and start…doing whatever you need to do,”.

“What exactly am I looking for?” you ask, wandering between the tables, keeping an eye out for the sleek, black hard-drive. You crow in triumph when you see it balanced precariously on top of an enormous stack of papers.

“Uh…transfers of huge funds, mentions of weapons, anything…suspicious looking,” Tony mumbles, brow furrowing in concentration as he picks up a pair of tweezers and starts poking at his latest invention. Figuring you’re not going to get much more out of him, you plop yourself onto a stool and connect the Stark-drive to your tablet, so that you can transfer the files into FRIDAY’s system and start working through them.

“Heavily encrypted,” you announce.

“Can you handle it?” Tony asks, his tone distracted, suggesting that he’s only half-paying attention to you.

You snort indignantly. “‘Can I handle it?’ he asks. What am I, an amateur?” you grumble, fingers already tapping away at the screen as you blast through the meagre security measures put in place. A frown comes over your face when you glance at the file-transfer progress bar. “Tony? You sure this is all we got? Looks like only about half the size we were expecting,”.

“Hmm?” says Tony, not hearing you, focused as he in on wiring up his gadget.

You groan frustratedly, looking back at the tablet in your hands and chewing at your bottom lip as you deliberate your next action. Maybe a visit to Steve is in order. If you can figure out how he and Bucky got ahold of their files, or at least get an idea of what kind of equipment they were dealing with, you can determine whether or not they successfully retrieved all the data.

“Tony, I’m gonna go talk to Steve about this, okay?” you say, as you turn off your Stark tablet and get up from your stool.

Tony waves a hand at you offhandedly. “Yeah, sure, go ahead,” he replies, “Say hi to Cap for me, will ya? Haven’t seen him all day,”.

“That’s because you’ve been holed up in this place all day,” you mutter, pulling your phone and earphones out of your hoodie pocket and slipping them into your ears. Steve and Bucky’s shared apartment is literally located in the farthest fucking corner of the compound there is, so you walk at a brisk pace to get there, nodding your head to the beat of the song blaring in your ears.

When you get to their door, you don’t bother knocking, as the three of you are prone to showing up unannounced at each other’s room at any give time. Your little trio has developed such an easy-going friendship in the time you’ve known each other, that it’s second nature for you, by now, turning the handle and pushing the door open, as you pull your earphones out of your ears.

You wish that you had knocked, though.

Because what greets you on the other side shocks the living daylights out of you.

Who knew Bucky Barnes was into bondage?

He’s completely naked, save for the blue cord snaking its way around his body, its bright hue contrasting beautifully against the red flush of his skin. Intricate knots bind his arms behind his back and his legs into a kneeling position — there is even a coil of blue around his cock. Your eyes can’t help but linger on that part of his body for a beat too long. It’s hard, flushed obscenely red and curving towards his belly, the tip glistening wet. Despite the absurdity of the situation, the image causes arousal to flare in your loins.

What a glorious cock it is.

If you’re honest with yourself, you’ve had a crush on Bucky for as long as you’ve known him. Seeing him wield his knives with such precision and confidence in the training room never fails to make you weak in the knees. To your shame, you’ve caught yourself thinking about him naked and in bed with you on more than one occasion — though this scenario had never come to mind.

There’s more to the scene in front of you (as if the sight of Bucky tied up and on his knees wasn’t enough?). Bucky is kneeling in front of Steve, who is sitting on a wooden chair, still decked out in his full stealth suit, minus the shield and the helmet. You might not suspect that anything was amiss, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s got his cock out with Bucky’s lips wrapped around it.

Again, your brain is torn. Part of you is wondering what the fuck is going on, and the other half of you craves to join Bucky, maybe even take his place. You’ve always had a thing for the Cap. It’s not often that you meet a man that looks like a freaking god, who also is a genuinely nice guy. And really, who can resist Steve when he’s got the stealth suit on? Clearly not Bucky, that’s for sure.

Never, in the entire time that you’ve known Steve and Bucky, did you ever suspect that their relationship was anything beyond platonic. You — and quite probably, everyone else on the team — never would’ve guessed that they were more than close friends. The situation in front of you suggests otherwise. You have nothing against them being together, as you are a firm believer that love is love, at the end of the day, but…you’re a little unsettled by this revelation, nonetheless.

But that’s more to do with the way in which you stumbled across this piece information, than anything else.

A long, drawn out moan from Steve draws your attention back to the moment. He’s thrown his head back, exposing the pink blush coating his cheeks and neck. His eyes are shut tight, though his jaw is slack, quiet whimpers falling from his parted lips. Bucky’s mouth is near the base of his cock and whatever it is he’s doing, Steve is enjoying it.

“Damn, baby,” Steve rasps, licking his lips, as Bucky bobs his mouth up and down Steve’s shaft, “F-fuck, ohh god, yes,”.

Bucky moans — and god if there ever was ever a sound to bring you to your knees, it’d be that — preening at the praise, looking utterly debauched but completely at peace with himself. Steve cards his fingers through Bucky’s sweaty hair, smoothing back the tendrils clinging to his temples. When Steve runs his thumb over Bucky’s cheekbone, the latter leans into the touch, almost nuzzling into Steve’s palm.

It’s then that you realise that this is so much more than just a blowjob; trust Steve and Bucky to turn a suckjob into something intimate, and private, and tender. A part of you wants to stay and gawk at these two for as long as you can, but you squash those urges down, feeling utterly guilty for what you have already witnessed. This is not something you’re privileged enough to see. This is not a moment that you can share with them.

And of course, just as you think that, Bucky’s eyes slide open and travel over the room, landing straight on you. You freeze in shock, heat flooding your cheeks because you’ve just been caught snooping on them. Bucky hastily rips his mouth off Steve’s dick.

“You didn’t lock the door?!” he hisses.

Steve, bless him, is still in his little sex daze, and takes a while to catch on to Bucky’s words. When he tracks Bucky’s line of sight and sees you, the pink flush on his face deepens to a bright scarlet. “I—I—well—y-you,” he stutters helplessly.

“Genius,” Bucky gripes. If the moment weren’t so awkward, you’d join in and make your own snide comment towards Steve.

“Not my fault!” Steve protests, “I—well, your hand was—,”

“No!” you interrupt, finally forcing yourself to turn away and pull the door shut, “I don’t wanna hear about where anyone’s hand was, thank you very much,”.

“Y/N!” Steve calls. You pause, half out the door, “Please come in, let’s…let’s talk?”

You swallow nervously. “Steve, uh…I’d rather you just…do whatever it is you were doing. Don’t—don’t let me ruin the mood,”.

Bucky snorts, and in your mind, you can clearly envision his eye roll as he mutters, “Too late for that,”.

“Bucky,” Steve sighs frustratedly, “Y/N, please let’s—let’s talk, I can’t—,”.

“Steve, Bucky is naked in the middle of your living room right now,” you interrupt, “I’d rather not have this conversation at this moment, so…why don’t you two get dressed and come to my room,”. From the silence that follows, you can only imagine that the two of them are sharing a look.

“She’s got a point, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs. Then, raising his voice, he calls to you, “Y/N? Sweetie, just head over to your room, we’ll see you there,”.

“Sure thing. Take—take all the time you need,”, you reply, shutting the door behind you.

——————

After practically sprinting back to your room, you make a beeline for the ensuite.You turn on the sink and splash some cold water onto your face, hoping that it’ll calm you down, somewhat. Your heart is racing, but you’re pretty sure that that’s not only because you’ve just run all the way here. Arousal is pooling in your gut, the image of Bucky on his knees for Steve forever burnished into your memory. As ashamed as you might feel, you know that that visual is going to stimulate many ‘personal relief’ sessions in the weeks to come. You clench your thighs together, hoping to take the edge off the pressure building between them, but your efforts are fruitless. With a resigned sigh, you turn off the tap and head into your room, sitting down on your bed and curling yourself against the headboard.

Not ten minutes later, the door to your room bursts open — it seems that your little fiasco earlier hasn’t instilled good practices in either of them — and Bucky comes traipsing in, a more subdued Steve sidling in after him.

“C’mere, sit on the bed,” you murmur, motioning towards the empty space beside you. At your invitation, Bucky promptly flops down at the foot of the bed, twisting onto his side and propping his head up on one hand. Steve, more reserved, chooses to remain standing.

A terse silence falls over the room, each of you waiting for someone else to kick-off what will undoubtedly be a very uncomfortable conversation. When it becomes clear than neither of them are stepping up to the task, you decide to bite the bullet.

“We—what did I just see?” you ask, fiddling with the strings on your hoodie, because you don’t really want to look at either of them right now.

“That was me giving Stevie here one helluva blowjob,” Bucky deadpans, the corner of his mouth crooking up into a cocky smirk.

“Bucky!” Steve says exasperatedly.

You roll your eyes at the two of them, but that little exchange seems to have broken the ice. Bucky’s teasing has lightened the mood in the room by only a fraction, but you’ll take what you can get. “Okay…but seriously, what the hell is going on? Between you two, I mean,” you add, gesturing between them, “Are you…a couple? Was that a regular occurrence kinda thing, or…”

You purposefully allow your voice to trail off, hoping that one of the boys will pick up the slack. Steve is shifting his weight from foot to foot agitatedly, glaring at the floor as if he wants it to swallow him whole. Bucky’s posture on the bed is still relaxed, but his expression is the complete opposite — brows knitted together, bottom lip drawn between his teeth. It’s an expression that tells you that he would rather be anywhere but here.

“Okay, look, Y/N,” Steve begins, “You can’t—you can’t tell anyone about this,”. You arch an eyebrow questioningly. “I—we’re…not…ready to tell anyone about…us,”, he explains haltingly.

“So there is an ‘us’?” you ask, your gaze flitting from one person to the other.

Steve opens his mouth to speak, but Bucky cuts in at the last second. “Yes, Y/N, there is an ‘us’, and has been an ‘us’ for as long as we’ve known each other, pretty much,” he says, shrugging indifferently. “But Steve’s Captain America and—,”.

“—and the America public might not react very well to their patriotic idol being gay,” Steve interjects, wringing his hands agitatedly.

“So can you keep it a secret, Y/N? For a while?” Bucky asks, looking at you anxiously. You get the impression that he’s completely alright with the notion of a gay Captain America, and that he’s going along with this more for Steve’s sake, than anything else. Still, Bucky Barnes’ puppy-dog begging eyes will never fail to be your weakness, and so with a lighthearted laugh, you agree.

“Of course! Consider my lips sealed!” you assure them, miming the action of zipping your lips, locking them shut and throwing away the key. Bucky grins at your antics, though Steve still looks uneasy.

“It’s okay Stevie,” you soothe, reaching out to rest your hand on his forearm. “I respect your decision. It’s not my place to tell, nor is it my secret to tell. As long as you’re happy, I’m good,”.

Steve breathes a sigh of relief, shoulders sagging as the tension flows out of his body, your words seeming to have placated him significantly. He gives you a tentative smile, “Yeah? Thanks, Y/N,”.

“So…we all good? We’re settled, aren’t we?” Bucky asks, getting off the bed and sauntering over to Steve. He slings his metal arm over Steve’s shoulders. “‘Cause if we are, Steve and I could go back to—,”.

“No! Don’t wanna hear it!” you cry, throwing your hands over your ears, just as a chuckling Steve playfully shoves Bucky away. Nonplussed, Bucky grabs Steve’s arm and practically hauls him out of your room, shouting a cheery “Goodbye!” over his shoulder as he shuts the door behind him.

——————

After the day’s unexpected events, you figure that you’ve earned yourself a nice, hot, soak. You drag yourself into the bathroom, pulling your clothes off en route before dumping them in the laundry hamper by the door. Though your bathroom is sleek and modern, the tub is a vintage clawfoot one that you’d found in an antique shop a while back. You step into it and fiddle with the taps for a bit, twisting and turning them until the water is at the perfect temperature. Now that you are naked, you are more acutely aware of the throbbing ache between your legs. Seeing the water thundering into the tub gives you an idea.

With some (a lot) of manoeuvring, you manage to hook your legs over the lip of the clawfoot tub. You grip the edge of the tub and lift your body, angling your torso until the stream of water is falling steadily over your aching clit. You moan wantonly, throwing your head back in ecstasy and squeezing your eyes shut as the intense pressure rushes over your sex.

In your mind, you’re back in Steve and Bucky’s room, naked and sat with your back against Steve’s chest, his cock trapped between your bodies. Bucky’s head is between your legs, those plump lips and clever tongue exerting just the right amount of friction and pressure on your pussy, making you squirm and writhe in Steve’s arms. For his part, Steve’s got his hands on your breasts, pinching and rolling your nipples between his strong fingers. And, since Bucky’s mouth is otherwise occupied, you imagine Steve’s lips brushing against the shell of your ear as his husky voice whispers filthy words to you.

That is the thought that has you coming undone. Their names tumble from your lips, your hips bucking involuntarily and back arching into an inhuman angle as the waves of pleasure roll through your body. Your thighs tremble with the effort of holding yourself against the spray of water, but you force yourself to stay still, in order to prolong your climax. It is only when you are shivering from overstimulation that you gingerly lower yourself down into the tub, sighing contentedly as the warm water envelops you.

“Ms Y/L/N?”

You groan, pulled out of your post-orgasmic haze far too early. “Yes, FRIDAY?”

“Boss is asking if you’re planning on returning to the lab,”.

You pinch the bridge of your nose and huff in frustration. Trust Tony to ruin the moment. “Tell him I’m taking the night off, FRIDAY,” you say, letting your eyes slip shut, “I think I’ve earned it,”.

---------------------------------- Permanent tags: @feelmyroarrrr @rda1989 @bidianaprinxe @lumelgy @hollycornish @youtubehelpsmesurvive @amour-quinn @moonbeambucky @aquabrie @sanjariti @srgntjbarnes @ssweet-empowerment @kudosia @in-winchester-we-trust @badassbaker @jurassicbarnes @lowkeysebby @ufffg @ek823 @buchonians @dorkydaddies @katielu-blog

Send me an ask/PM if you want to be added -- I am not accepting tag requests from replies/comments.