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helluvascribe · 6 months ago

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Friendly Felix (Part 1)

Two lucky humans, a brother and sister, have made it to Heaven after their untimely deaths. While enjoying their new angelic forms, they come across the Happy Holy Circus. It was just like the circus they went to as kids but even better. They meet a variety of colorful characters: the ringmaster, animal tamers, acrobats, and a super-friendly blind snack vendor named Felix. They find themselves feeling blissful and calm around him, perhaps abnormally so. When Felix offers them performing positions, they find that the circus…and Felix…are not what they seem.

“Pre-Heaven”

My name is Rolando and my sister’s name is Ramona.

One: I am not a soccer player.

Two: I hate how I’m accidentally mistaken for a villain.

Three: Both of us are dead.

Thankfully neither of us went to Hell, but we did go to Heaven…just not the one you’d think we’d go to.

Let me explain.

We were just two ordinary siblings on Earth. Ramona was my younger sister, and we got along most of the time. Our dad was a forester, cutting down trees to make various things like paper, tables, furniture and the like. Our mom worked at an aquarium and also volunteered to help care for butterflies at a nearby exhibit. Needless to say, both our parents were fond of nature, despite living in the city.

I was the one who had the short blonde hair and goofy glasses on, and Ramona was the one with black frizzy hair and slightly darker skin. There was a bit of Spanish and Italian in our family, but that’s all I knew.

There was nothing particularly special about us. Sometimes, Ramona and I would pretend to be the opposite gender whenever we played domestic style games at our preschool. Some of the kids would look at us funny. One of them told me as I wore a dress costume, “Boys can’t be mothers!” I held my baby doll in my arms and stuck my tongue out at him. Ramona stood proud in her firefighter costume, speaking through a fake megaphone and doing heroic poses. Whenever my confidence lost its spark, she was a great inspiration to me.

Ramona was the athletic one in the family. She loved soccer, swimming, and basketball. I was good at running, but despite loving aquatic life like my sister and mother, I couldn’t swim. No matter how hard I tried, there was something about the water that was so unknown and fluid that my body didn’t seem to like. Instead, I spent much of my time running and getting immersed in math as I grew up.

An exciting event happened around our birthdays.

“I have a special treat for you kids,” said our mom. “To celebrate the start of summer, let’s go visit the local circus.”

Both of us cheered. We bought our tickets and drove over to the fairgrounds. Carnival music pulsed and danced into our ears. The smells of popcorn and cotton candy made us inhale with delight.

“Come one, come all,” called the announcer, dressed in a red and white jester costume. “Head to your left for the merry-go-rounds or veer to the right for fun and games!”

“Race you to the slingshot stand!” Ramona called. I raced after her. We arrived at a booth with slingshots and red and white wooden targets that moved.

“See that big stuffed white tiger?” Ramona asked, pointing up at the prizes on display. “That’s gonna be mine!”

“In your dreams!” I replied. After we waited in line, we walked over to the slingshots. We pulled back our small balls and let the rubber bands snap.

“Yes!” I called, after I saw my ball hit the center of the target by luck.

“No fair!” Ramona complained. “I wanna rematch!”

Just to be nice, I chose a smaller stuffed turtle. She didn’t win anything but was a pretty good sport about it.

“Just wait until I see your face when you go down the Ghoster Coaster!”

The ‘Ghoster Coaster’ was a roller coaster that went upside down. I went down it once with her and dad and decided to never ride another one again. I tried to ignore my sister’s laughs and taunts of “scaredy-cat!”

Mom and dad bought us our cotton candy and we laughed as we watched a puppet show. A guy wearing a black top hat performed a magic show for us, making silver hoops disappear and pulling a coin out of my ear.

After the show, I spotted a thin purple tent and a sign with a gold eye on the front: “Psychic reading – fortune telling – get a glimpse of your future!”

“Wanna go try it?” Ramona asked.

“I’m a bit sacred,” I admitted.

“Come on, it’ll be fun!”

“What if he predicts our deaths?”

“No one except scammers would do things like that,” assured my sister. “At least that’s what my older classmates told me.”

I shrugged. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt.”

We went inside the tent, and we spotted a figure sitting calmly at a round table with a purple cloth on it and a crystal ball.

At the table sat a man wearing a long purple robe and a sequined turban.

“Greetings, young ones,” he breathed. “So glad you have come. Please, take your seats.” He lifted his head. His face was white, and black sunglasses covered his eyes. In his right hand, he held a black cane with a gold glittering butterfly on top. He wore earrings with yellow happy faces dangling from the bottom. He looked like one of those carefree hipsters who accepted you no matter what kinds of quirks you had. It felt like we stepped into a different environment from the hustle and bustle of the outside world. My previous hesitation evaporated away.

Most of what he predicted was superficial: “I sense that you will travel across the country in a few years,” “There will be ups and downs in your relationships.”

Then he gave a cryptic warning to my sister as he stared into her eyes: “Beware who you meet and don’t go out of your depth.”

Both of us had no idea what that meant, so we just shrugged it off and headed outside.

“Aww, those goats are so cute,” cooed Ramona as she reached her hand to pet a little white goat at a petting zoo. I was more content to enjoy the animals from a distance.

Finally came the best part of the experience, watching the shows. We sat in between our parents on the wooden benches inside the red and white big top tent.

“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen!” callee the ringmaster, a guy dressed in a green suit, black pants and a matching top hat. “We’ve got a spectacular show for all of you! Let’s begin with our song and dance!”

A marching band wearing red and gold uniforms circled the arena, playing trumpets, trombones and tapping rapidly on small drums. There were also dancing women in tight red glittering outfits who did cheerleader style flips and chants. Several of them posed with their arms out and one balanced upside down on her teammate’s shoulders. The audience clapped as they bowed and left. I eagerly crunched my peanuts from the striped snack bag in front of me.

“Now for all you animal lovers out there…watch our performers ride with ease!”

We soon saw several men riding gray elephants with colorful saddles and cloths down their gray backs. One of them carefully did handstands and various tricks as he steadied himself on the moving elephant. The audience gasped as another man calmly pushed open a lion’s jaw, moving his head in and out.

“I wish these circuses treated their animals better,” said our mom under her breath. “It pains me to think how tired and strained they must feel.”

“I could say the same about the aquatic animals trapped in their tanks,” our dad added.

“But that’s different!”

“How so?”

“Those tigers, lions, elephants, snakes all trapped in their cages, forced to move around from place to place…” she explained.

“But the orcas and dolphins don’t want to be stuck in a glass tank, do they?”

“Says how much you know about work at the aquarium,” she countered.

We ignored our arguing parents and were instead mesmerized by the trapeze artists. One was a woman wearing a white suit decorated with red stars. Her male partner wore a light blue suit with golden stars along the front. A safety net thankfully lay at the bottom. They started on high bars and then leaped onto the hanging trapeze bars with strength and grace. They flipped from one hanging bar to another. At one point, the two of them spun together in the air, spreading out their arms.

“Look at our duo go!” called the ringmaster. “Give it up for our ‘Shooting Stars!’”

The audience applauded. More acrobats did their tricks, stretches, and flips.

“Man, I wish I could do something like that,” sighed Ramona wistfully. “It’d be cool to be a star instead of the oddball behind a desk at school.”

“Oh my gosh, I would be so nervous if I had to perform for any audience,” I admitted. “I can’t even recite a line in the school play without stuttering.”

Ramona put a hand on my shoulder. “It’ll be okay. You just need to take deep breaths and continue to practice. The play is only two weeks away!”

“Don’t remind me,” I groaned.

I heard mutters as another guy climbed up a ladder on the far side of the arena. He wore a purple suit with a gold star on the front, a red cape, goggles over his eyes and a helmet. He settled into a black canon…the crowd waited with bated breaths…

BAM!

The man shot out of the canon in the blink of an eye. He twirled in midair through flaming hoops and landed safely on the other side. He posed with his arms and legs in a star shape and the people gave him a standing ovation.

The ringleader laughed and cheered as well, twirling his cane. “Put your hands together for our ‘One Star Wonder!’ It’s no wonder he’s our number one star!”

After we watched the final acts of acrobats balancing on high bars and men juggling flaming sticks, our parents led us back out. The sun was temporarily blinding after being under the tent for so long.

I hugged my parents. Ramona did, too. “Thank you so much for this incredible trip!” I said happily.

Mom chuckled. “You’re very welcome! I figured you guys could use a break from all your schooling.”

“Can we come here again? Please?” Ramona begged.

“How about on your next birthday?”

“That’s seven months away,” Ramona complained.

“A great lesson in patience,” he smiled. “Don’t worry you two, I’m sure you’ll be back at the circus before you know it!”

0 0 0

After several years, mom took us to the aquarium where she worked. It was her day off and she thought we would enjoy ourselves.

We certainly did. Ramona and I pointed and admired all the marine life we could find: stealthy sharks, colorful fish in bold colors, friendly dolphins, silent stingrays and more. Mom brought us goldfish crackers, a fitting snack for the occasion.

We took several pictures at the various exhibits. Our dad was at work.

“Shame he missed out on this,” I thought aloud.

Our tour was almost over, and we decided to take one last picture. Ramona posed next to a tank that appeared empty.

I stepped back with a smile, holding my smartphone.

“Big smile, sis!” I called.

Ramona smiled and posed, picture perfect as usual.

Then something strange happened just as I snapped the photo. A large gray-green eel swam up behind her and open its double jaws wide from behind the glass!

I gasped loudly as the eel closed its jaws several times, then swam speedily into the darkness. Ramona didn’t notice anything.

“What the heck was that?” I breathed.

Ramona walked up. “You okay, bro?” she asked.

I flinched at the photo and locked my phone.

“Oh, it’s nothing. I’m just…tired.” I let out a fake yawn.

“Well, we can’t go to bed yet,” she said. “We still have to finish our homework before we go back to school.”

I sighed. “Well, at least it’s math, my favorite.”

“I don’t know how you’re so good at that stuff. I can barely master algebra!”

“Yeah, and I can barely kick a soccer ball across the field! Everyone thinks I should be some star soccer player, but I’m not!”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Ramona. “Just be yourself.”

“Easier said than done.”

After going through high school and college dramas, we faced the worst situation of all: the deaths of our parents. Despite being independent adults, we felt like lost crying little children as we stared at their frail forms in their hospital beds. For dad, it was a heart attack, for mom it was pancreatic cancer a few years later.

Ramona wasn’t alone, thankfully: she was now a foster mom raising a boy and a girl with her amazing wife. I had experimented with intimacy with men and women alike, but no one could quite meet my heart’s standards.

I’ll never forget the moment when both of us went to a museum. We entered a butterfly habitat that was sunny and wide with plenty of green leaves, flowers, and grass. It brought back memories of when we used to go there as kids. We knew mom would still love this place.

All the butterflies flew in dazzling colors of blue, red, green, yellow and orange. Just when our chests felt heavy with grief, a large black and gold butterfly landed right on Ramona’s head. She glanced up but stood perfectly still. I was amazed. Then, moments later, it landed on my head!

It was very peculiar behavior, but one that felt very assuring. The butterfly circled us, then flew off toward the sunlight.

0 0 0

Before long, we both entered our middle-aged years. My head of blond hair was gone, save for a few spots on the side. Ramona’s black hair was showing some gray streaks near the top. Ramona had worked at the aquarium like her mother, but soon decided to try a flower shop. I, too, went from job to job throughout the years: a carpenter, retail, Italian chef (having my family’s recipes came in handy!) a veterinarian and a hiking tour guide.

Then in an unravelling of fate, both me and my sister decided to settle down a bit and both start our own business using our saved money. We founded a small, pleasant hotel called the ‘Bon Italiano,’ with some aspects of our Italian culture with a dash of Spanish. I soon became the manager, and Ramona managed the finances and often the bar.

Our place was a hit. The guests felt both at ease in our sunny lobby and excited to stay for the night. There were portraits of figures of legend, including the Rolando character who served Charlemagne whom I was named after. Fresh spaghetti, quesadillas, bread and salads wafted through our dining halls and children of all ages happily splashed in our pool.

It wasn’t always easy, of course. There were some complainers here, bad plumbing there, and several staff laid off due to laziness or expenses. But overall, it wasn’t too bad. I believed our parents would be proud of us honoring their heritage and helping to make a difference for the many types of tourists and travelers.

On the day after my birthday, I decided to go for a new look. I styled my hair in a pointed combover look off to the side like in an Italia magazine. To help protect my eyes, I wore large square golden sunglasses. I got a new pressed uniform: a dark gray undershirt and a red vest with a pocket, black pants and shoes. To help quell my occasional nail-biting habit, I absentmindedly had a black toothpick in my mouth, which felt good. A thin black pencil mustache completed my look.

Everything was pretty normal: I was checking people in at the front desk, handing out regular keys on hoops because we ran out of key cards. Ramona was over serving drinks at the bar. We had a boxy computer on display as if to say: “look how far we’ve come!”

A group of young teens: three males and a female came into the lobby to check in. The leader wore a red cap: Kyle. His friends Robert and Yale were beside him. And the female posed in a flower dress: Samantha.

And that’s when things got ugly.

The teens were muttering to each other when Samantha stopped short. She stared at me with wide eyes. She raised a trembling finger.

“G-guys…” she spoke in a shaking voice to her friends.

Yale asked, “What’s up?”

“Do you see that man?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Remember the rumors about the creep at the shady hotel?”

Kyle nodded. “They said that a ghost of a serial killer haunts the place and that no one ever comes out alive.”

Samantha nodded. “The single occupant of the hotel…looks just like him!”

Robert gulped. “Maybe…it is him!”

I cleared my throat. “How may I help you guys today?”

Kyle stepped forward. “Sorry about my friends, sir. They keep going on about an urban legend. You look like the one they’re talking about. A hotel creep.”

I shook my head. “So, this guy haunts a hotel?”

“Yes, it’s called the ‘One Star Wonder,’” said Samantha.

I waved a hand. “I’ve never heard of such a place. Neither has my sister. I don’t even think it exists.”

“I’m sure it’s all just a big misunderstanding,” said Kyle. “What’s your name?”

“Rolando,” I answered.

‘

Kyle took one look at me and almost passed out. Samatha whimpered.

“Guys, I knew it!” declared Yale. “He even has the same name! It has to be him!”

“Should we get out of here?” asked Robert.

“I vote yes,” Samantha squeaked.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what the hell is your problem?” I snapped. “You really think that just because of my name, I’m some deranged madman?”

Kyle breathed. “Well not really a man, more like…um…”

“A scary fish demon?” whispered Samantha.

“Yeah, exactly.”

“Well don’t go around believing every bs myth. It’s very rude to just judge a person off the bat,” I remarked.

“If you’re not a demon…” Robert asked. “Are you…a soccer player?”

“No! I don’t even like soccer!”

Yale whispered. “I think he’s deadly in the water.”

“You’re wrong, I can’t swim!” I stated.

“I bet he’s already trying to feed off our fears,” Kyle theorized. “Don’t get too close!”

Samantha stared at me. “What’s your name?”

“Rolando, I just told you.”

She folded her arms. “Then either you’re a soccer player…or you’re a fishy demon.”

A low growl escaped my throat.

“I don’t need any negativity in my establishment, especially not yours,” I seethed. “Now if you’ll excuse me, if you’re not checking in, I suggest you leave.”

Robert wordlessly paid at the counter and the teens headed to their room. I smiled at a pretty lady and handed her a red rose. Samantha turned around, saw me, and gasped before whispering to her friends again.

“Prissy little pricks,” I muttered, angrily sipping my coffee.

“What happened, brother?” asked Ramona coming over.

“Some jack-ass kids thought I was some urban legend villain! They wouldn’t let it go.”

“Just ignore them,” she encouraged. “They’ll probably be gone by tomorrow.”

After a long day, my shift was finally over. I decided to relax by the pool and read my favorite Italian cooking magazine. I had the strange feeling that I was being watched. Before I could think, I felt something hard against my head and I blacked out.

Kyle held his cell phone in his hands, set to record.

“Come on guys, hurry!” he hissed.

Samantha, Robert and Yale carried the unconscious Rolando to the pool and promptly dropped him in. Samatha had been the one to knock him out with a pan.

Kyle spoke into his phone. “You guys are about to witness a horrific sight! The infamous serial killer will awaken from his sleep and transform into a creature beyond your wildest nightmares!”

“Oh, this will get a billion views!” grinned Yale.

The security camera picked up the commotion at the pool.

“Call security,” said one staff worker.

The alarms rocketed off the walls, starting Ramona from her evening reading. She hurried out of her room as a couple of guards raced down the hall.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“The camera spotted some kids trying to drown a man!”

“Who?”

“We don’t know yet.”

“Oh shit, let’s get out of here!” cried Kyle. He raced out the door, followed by the others. Ramona burst into the pool room and one of the guys dove into the water. He hoisted the body onto the deck and began CPR and AED.

Ramona waited with bated breath, not seeing who it was.

After ten minutes, the personnel stared somberly. “He…he’s gone.”

“Who is?” Ramona asked.

“Ma’am,” said one of the staff, “Perhaps you’d like us to…”

Ramona shoved them out of the way…then wished she hadn’t.

The bloated broken figure before her could not have been her brother. She told herself it was just some unfortunate stranger.

“His name was…Rolando,” one of them muttered, looking at his name tag.

Ramona stood rooted to the spot.

“Do you know him, Miss?”

“Miss, are you okay?”

“I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“We’ll insure those teens will be held accountable for their actions.”

“We’ll get you to be the replacement manager if you…”

Ramona couldn’t hear them, for she found herself wailing and running down the darkened halls.

Her grief consumed her, gnawed at her very soul. Rolando, the good one, had been her best friend, her support after her parents had died. Her wife and kids were now older and involved in their own lives.

Now she had lost the last original family member she had.

With her brother dead, her hotel dreams died with him. In her grief, she quit, and the ‘Bon Italiano’ was shut down. In its place was a McDonalds.

0 0 0

Ramona sobbed as she drove down the dark road under an overcast sky a few weeks later. Her brother had been drowned by a bunch of stuck-up superstitious teenagers and now she had to travel to his funeral to give her eulogy. Her brother had been 61 when he died, and she was about two years younger. She usually enjoyed speaking in front of people, but now, it was the last thing she wanted to do.

Her mind wandered as she drove. She was lost in her sadness and somehow found herself driving through a forest and toward an empty barren land. There was nothing but gravestones and old trees.

Just when she thought things couldn’t get worse…

The engine sputtered and she slammed her fist on the horn. The car would not budge.

Great.

She stomped out of the car, pulling out her cell phone. No service, of course. She didn’t know who could fix her vehicle and couldn’t see any person in sight. Looking around, there was nowhere left to go…

…except for a strange old building not too far away.

Her nerves set her hairs on end as she gazed at the old façade of the infamous ‘One Star Wonder’ hotel.

‘So, this place is real after all?’ she wondered. ‘I can see why those teens thought it was haunted.’ She took a deep breath. ‘But I have to go in and just see if anyone can fix my car.’

Ramona inched forward and pushed open the double doors. She glanced around in disgust at the worn red wallpaper, the old boxy computer at the desk, the cobwebs on the spare furniture, and the broken light bulbs over the dim hallways.

Ramona then gasped softly, tears in her eyes. Before her sitting at the desk seemed to be a figure from a mirage.

There sat a familiar-looking man. He had a balding head, a blonde combover strand of hair sticking out, and gold-brown square sunglasses over his eyes. He wore a gray undershirt with a red vest on and even had a black toothpick in his mouth. He looked just like her brother back before the tragic incident.

Rolando looked over and smiled at her. “Welcome to the ‘One Star Wonder’ where it’s a wonder we still have that star! How may I help you today, Miss?”

“Brother? I-is that you?”

Rolando paused, unibrow raised. “I think you may be confusing me for someone else.”

“Y-you’re Rolando, right?”

“Yes.”

Ramona desperately tried to quell her suspicion and inner grief. “W-why aren’t you back at the ‘Bon Italiano?’”

“I work here, doll,” he replied. “Have been for a while, now. You looking to book a room?”

Ramona took a deep breath. “I need someone to fix my car. It’s outside.”

“Hmmm…” he pondered. “I think I have some spare tools in the staff supply closet.” He twirled a set of keys on his finger. “If you’ll follow me.”

Every instinct told her to run back outside far away…but some part of her earned for some semblance of her brother. Before she could make a move, Rolando pressed a hand to the small of her back and led her down the hall.

She anxiously glanced at the dusted bulbs overhead, several of them flickered ominously. Rolando appeared in front of her as they rounded a corner.

Several of the lights in front of them blinked off.

“Opps, sorry about that,” said Rolando. “You stay right here. I’ll go fix the lights in a jiffy.”

Before she could say a word, he vanished.

The smell of mildew, the suffocating black, the flickering lights, and the unsettling silence…there was something off about this establishment.

Right then and there, Ramona couldn’t take it anymore…she was getting out, car or not.

She was about to break into a run, when she found herself slowly hovering a few inches off the floor. Before she could comprehend it, she was violently thrown against one of the hallway walls. She cried out as she slid to the floor.

“What…what the…?!”

She began to stand up, but something grabbed at her shadow and yanked her to the floor. She turned around on her back and threw out her fist. A white hand caught it.

“Running away, already?” hissed a voice. “I thought we were just getting started.”

A knee pressed into her chest, pinning her down. Rolando’s face appeared from the darkness, his smile wide and leering.

Ramona then knew that this man was not her brother at all. His expression was that of a malicious monster that had cornered his prey.

“You…” she breathed. “You’re that other Rolando those teens talked about. I thought that you…”

“Weren’t real?” he finished. “I suppose you were destined to find out the truth.”

“Let me go!” she spat.

Rolando chuckled darkly. “Why would you think I’d do that? Since you know my little secret now, I don’t think you should be allowed to escape.”

“I-I won’t tell…” she began, but he cut her off.

“It doesn’t matter if you plan on telling anyone or not. You’ll carry my secret to one place…”

His features shifted to that of a monstrous demon with a fish-like appearance: yellow glowing eyes, transparent white hair and fins, sharp teeth like an eel’s, grayish scaly skin and fin-like ears.

“…your grave,” he finished darkly.

Ramona screamed and struggled to no avail…his clawed hands gripped her wrists tightly. In one swift motion, he licked her neck with his long yellow-green tongue. She flinched.

“Stop it! Go away!” Ramona pleaded.

“I don’t think so, hun,” he mused. “I am already seeing inside your mind and that fresh grief you have over your brother’s death is so…intoxicating…”

He licked his lips. “Not to mention your fear now is a delectable bonus!”

“Stay out of my head!”

Rolando cupped her cheeks. “That’s not my plan at the moment. It would be such a waste to let my prey go now. No, no. I’m going to dig into your mind, your flesh, your very soul…I’ll suck out your very life force until you won’t feel anything ever again.” He cocked his head. “Which you won’t anyway.”

“No, please,” Ramona whimpered as Rolando chuckled.

“I can’t wait to taste your delicious despair…Ramona. If it’s any consolation, you’ll be reuniting with your lookalike brother very soon.”

Rolando dug his claws deep into her face and neck, red blood trailing down. He let out a triumphant roar and Ramona screamed as he began his feast in the darkness.

#heavenlyboss #helluvaboss

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tekutiger · 1 year ago

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Curly Hair

This is gonna be a weird post, I don't usually talk about stuff like this.

Most my life I've struggled with my hair. Yep, that's right. I said my hair.

When I was young, it was thin and stupidly long- drove me insane but my fam wouldn't let me cut it.

Then when I finally did reach an age where I had a say-so with what to do with it, I had it cut shoulder-length because I just didn't want it past my waist anymore.

At this point I was in early middle school and it seemed to be wavy.

Throughout middle school and high school I went through so many hair trends, varying from every mid length hair style (like, bobs) to super short (pixie cut) hair style you can think of. Still not knowing what to do.

Eventually my hair grew out and with it- curls? I never had curls before.

Trying to figure out how to tame curls has been a life endeavor.

It's not surprising. I've heard from many that they hadn't learned how to deal with their curly hair until they were well into their 60's or 70's. I was really hoping I wouldn't fall under that and would figure it out soon. Or at least young... er.

But hair products are not cheap. Hair tools are not cheap. And after a while, I feel like "I'm content" with where I'm at, and that's ok.

So then, what's the point of this post?

I learned recently I've always had the basic gist of the things I needed, I've just been going about it the wrong way. So, about 50/50.

No one in my family has curly hair, except for myself. I've been diving in blind this whole time (sans my BFF whose been trying to help me find info online).

🔸 Diffuser - Not necessary, but man do they do wonders. I only recently got one (for the first time in my life, might I add). The amount of curls and volume these things add to your hair is insane. Can you get a similar effect throwing your hair up in a t-shirt? I think so?

You're basically lifting the weight off of your curls when you use this, which is what you're doing with the t-shirt. I have similar effects when I take a shower and then take a nap straight away with my hair laid out, lol 😅

🔸 Products - Some kind of leave-in conditioner and Gel/Mousse/Hairspray. Okay so this seems like a no brainer. I've been using a leave-in conditioner forever but I usually skip the second thing. There was never any need for the second thing with the leave-in I was using and not using a diffuser. Arguably, it all depends on your hair.

For me, adding in the diffuser meant having to add in the gel also. My hair gets too frizzy otherwise.

Luckily, by word of mouth and only recently, I found some amazing products that are well known by people who have curly hair (Bounce Curl).

When I tried them for the first time, I was in complete awe and disbelief. "This is my hair? MY hair?" 😮 and I get to do my hair like this all the time now? Wear my hair like this all the time now? omgosh.

Of course you don't need a fancy diffuser, you can get like a 20-30$ one (there's a bunch on amazon or your local store). The one I got is mid-line cause I'm going to be using it like crazy and I'm the type that's like ~well lets work out how many days I'm going to use this in a year, how much this thing costs, do the math...~ and I consider it a long term investment.

🔸 Other Creams & Leave-ins - You can layer creams and leave-ins, but don't get too heavy with them because they'll weigh down your hair and the last thing you want to do is weigh down your curls or leave your hair feeling/looking greasy.

The Bounce Curl one there advises to only use a pea sized amount because it's protein rich, and to saturate it with a lot of water. It's all on the website and there's a really good web article-review on their products found here by Gabriella.

🔸 Sleep Bonnet - Not necessary, but nice to have. I got one of these years ago to prevent my brightly colored hair from rubbing off onto my pillow cases (and dakimakura. Yeah I'm an anime geek). Over time I stopped using it and forgot about it, but recently was reminded they exist and should use it again. They are so nice.

Not only do they keep your hair from getting all tangled and frizzy throughout the middle of the night, amidst all of your tossing and turning, they keep your hair off your neck and in my particular case, let's me sleep a little cooler (I run warm/hot).

And the next day, your hair still looks about 90-95% as good as the day prior. Just gotta spiff it up a bit. Refresh.

My BFF also recommends this Youtuber for people looking for more info on curly hair. I've only watched one vid of hers so far. I really need to watch more: ManesByMell

She also has a list of recommended things for people with curly hair, including the Sleep Bonnet I just bought and now use (which is this one: https://a.co/d/cbfKozq). There are a plethora of options out there if that one doesn't seem to fit you.

I wanted to post all this up because it took me SO LONG to get to this point, over just hair. I hope it helps someone else out there.

And I'm not a fan of selfies but if anyone is curious how my hair turned out:

I still need to figure out exactly how much gel to use 😅

Edit: So something I learned that works for me is to use the amount of hair gel I think I may need, or even less. And if that's not the right amount, after I style it, get a bit more gel and dilute it with some water in the palms of my hand and gently brush over my hair where it's still frizzy.

Don't get excessive. A little goes a long way. But this does the trick.

#tekutiger #curly hair #bounce curl #teku.blog #curly hair advice #hair advice

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gryffindors-weasley · 5 years ago

Text

Distractions

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Summary: A rainy Sunday evening is spent with Draco.

Warnings: minor injury, brief mentions of blood, mentions of the dark mark, fluff

(not my gif)

It was a rather dreary Sunday evening, rain pelting fast to the ground as it had done all day. Although it wasn’t the kind of weather you’d want to be caught outside in, it was perfectly ideal for the place you were headed. The greenhouse.

You followed a pace or two behind Draco, his hand enveloping yours and a book held in your other as you walked in comfortable silence. The trip there could be done blindfolded at this point, the same path down the near unfrequented halls every Saturday and Sunday at five o’clock in the evening. It was a routine that first started halfway through fifth year, though his fondness for it dates back farther than that.

Every weekend Draco can be found tending to every plant that resided in the large glass structure, a responsibility Professor Sprout bestowed upon him without reluctance. Granted, he wasn’t very gentle or mindful of the delicate greenery and herbs in his early years, which is something he regrets looking back at it. But when he showed up unannounced outside her classroom door after hours a few years later, she had a sneaking suspicion the Slytherin wasn’t quite as insufferable as he lets on.

Despite his fondness and growing interest in the vast varieties of magical plants and the potions they can be crafted into, it’s a piece of himself he wants to be kept secret. Not that he’s embarrassed of such things, but as time goes on he finds it better to leave things of sentimental value out of the public eye. That being said, should anyone cast a lingering glance his way on his route, he’s quick to shoot them a defensive glare to stave off prying eyes.

Now, in just under a year and a half, he’s become one of the finest caretakers of her beloved plants she’s ever seen.

The moment you stepped into the greenhouse the downpour became more apparent than before, creating a steady tapping against the old glass. Condensation beaded on every windowpane it could access, and the puffy gray clouds were visible at every angle, creating the perfect ambience to read your book.

Draco set off to work almost immediately, shrugging off his robe and handing it to you with a kiss on the cheek before reading over the checklist Professor Sprout had made for him.

He started off with watering the herbs she’d listed, spraying their leaves first before watering at the base. He quickly found that to be a more effective way of doing things, giving the remaining water to the select few that could use more hydration.

It was a trick he’d seen quite a few gardeners use on his mother’s garden at the Manor, and the meticulously placed flowers and shrubbery seemed to respond well to the technique. That amongst many other things were something he observed in his days spent at home on the summer break. The acres of well manicured landscaping providing ample opportunities to escape and spend his time around something other than the four walls of his bedroom.

Once finished, he moved to clean up around the place, giving you a sweet smile any time he passed by you even if you hadn’t seen it. But the times you did catch his eye, the tips of his ears would burn a pale pink.

He picked up a couple pairs of gardening shears left out and a few brooms that lay knocked over from messy second year students, putting miscellaneous dragon-skin gloves back in their rightful cabinet with the others. Some might consider this to be rather boring, especially on a weekend where there were better things to be spent doing on the short break from schoolwork. But the distraction was something Draco needed and it was one he enjoyed, something he found he could use a bit more of lately.

Repotting mandrakes was last on the very brief list. They weren’t used very often anymore, not like they had been in second year. But if the need arised should anyone be petrified, it was good to have a few on hand for potions.

He undid the buttons on the cuffs of his white dress shirt before shoving the slightly wrinkled sleeves up to rest at his elbows. However, he seemed to have briefly forgotten the mark swirling across the pale skin on his forearm, promptly yanking that sleeve back down before grabbing the ceramic pots and a new bag of soil with a frown. He tried not to let it cloud up his train of thought and sour his mood.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to his inner turmoil you had long since made yourself comfortable perched on a vacant spot on one of the old wooden tables, book cracked open in your hands. It hadn’t taken you very long to become immersed in it, as books usually do to its readers. And you could’ve sworn you might’ve heard Draco’s voice, whether or not it was directed at you, you were unsure.

A minute or two later he finished his preparations and glanced over his shoulder at you, sighing at the sight. The earmuffs he’d asked you to put on just moments ago still sat where he’d set them down on your lap, your eyes fixed on your book as his robe sat wrapped around your shoulders to combat the chilly evening weather. He walked the few feet over to you, picking them up.

“Sometimes I think you choose to tune me out, love,” Draco says, placing your earmuffs on your head gently, smiling when you lifted your head from your book. You offer a smile as your cheeks flush a soft pink.

“Sometimes,” you remark with a soft laugh, gaze returning to find the line you left off at. Truthfully you were beginning to lose focus anyway.

He set off to the task at hand with a smile, making short work of it though there’s only so much those earmuffs can do to filter out the shrill cries of these plants. It was a dreaded detail he hadn’t forgotten in his second year, always wondering how such a small creature could produce such a deafeningly fatal sound.

You decided any quality reading wouldn’t be achievable beyond that point, especially not with the humidity curling and warping the pages you tried to read from. It definitely was not because of the blonde who stood paces away from you, the very same humidity turning his once formally styled hair to mussed waves of platinum. Regardless of the reasons or their importance, you closed your book and made your way over to him.

“Do you need a hand with anything?” You ask, looking over the vast array of greenery before looking up at him. He pondered for a moment as he set the scrap piece of parchment down and rubbed his hands together to rid them of dirt.

“Could you take those extra pots to the storage cupboard?” He asks kindly, pointing to the two spares that sat untouched. You nod, grabbing the set from the table. “Thank you, darling.”

The frequently used name had still managed to make your heart flutter, your flustered distraction having you trip on the leg of the table. The pots in your hand were sent flying unceremoniously to the ground with a clatter, cheeks reddening from your blunder as you instinctively grabbed for them. As your finger ran along a sharp edge you quickly recoil with a surprised gasp, Draco tugging you to your feet in concern of the situation before you could fully hit the ground.

“Careful, Love!” He scolds softly, pulling your arm from your chest gently to see just what kind of accident he was dealing with.

Draco was quick to rush off to a cabinet on the far end of the greenhouse, freshly stocked with medicinal potions, some of which he’d gotten to make himself. He returned shortly with a small glass bottle, and he gently blotted at the fairly superficial cut running along the length of your pointer finger.

“What is that?” You ask softly as he gingerly holds your shaky hand, depositing a few drops over it. It stung a bit unexpectedly and your eyes widen a fraction as you watch it quickly heal as if nothing was ever there, curious gaze bouncing up to Draco. You tried not to pay any mind to the blonde strand that stuck adorablely to his forehead and focus on his words.

“It’s Essence of Dittany. I’ve just made this batch last week and it seems to be quite satisfactory,” he says, a small yet proud smile on his lips as he inspects your newly healed finger.

“I didn’t know you could do that,” you say with a soft laugh.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he quips, earning himself a pointed stare as you raised a questioning brow at him. He laughs as he puts the tiny bottle back where he got it, the shards of terra-cotta easily piecing themselves back together with a simple motion of his hand. “I’m only kidding, my love.”

You settle as he pulls you close by a gentle grip on your hands, releasing one to tuck your newly frizzy hair behind your ear. It was true, you were the only person to know most everything about him. Not one person in his social circle, not even his mother, knew his ins and outs like you and the thought both terrified him and comforted him all the same. But he knew you’d never cast an ounce of judgement his way. Not even for the mark ghosting over his arm that haunted his very thoughts the moment it was formed.

His calloused hand came to rest on your cheek, thumb brushing over flushed skin as his gray eyes took in every feature. The freckles that could only been seen in a close proximity, the curve of your lashes, the natural shade of pink coloring your bare lips. Soon he dipped down and kissed you, unable to refrain from doing so a moment longer. He always finds himself unable to resist it. You seem to enchant him, stronger than any love potion or magical spell could ever manage to evoke. And while true love is a scary thought, he doesn’t have it in him fight the very grip it has on his racing heart.

He parted from you reluctantly upon the sound of unfamiliar footfalls approaching, grabbing your hand with a laugh as the two of you run off towards the other exit hand in hand. The forgotten rain came as an icy shock once you ran out into it, but such inconveniences weren’t important when he pulls you in for another rain soaked kiss.

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy fic #harry potter fic

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valyrra · 2 years ago

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im screwed

international cut your hair like your icon day how screwed are you

#my frizzy hair would never let me style the hair THAT short #I had short hair #it was a phase #because of a boy #he was bi #it makes sense now #kinda sometimes i want short hair #but right now im so into the idea of bleaching 1 part of my long BLACK CURLY hair white #im gonna fuc #i meant im gonna fuck this up #maybe just fuc

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kjack89 · 5 years ago

Note

Kiss 43 (pressed to the top of the head) for Enjolras/Grantaire? :)

“Grantaire, I need your help.”

Grantaire appeared in the doorway of the bathroom, looking equal parts amused and self-satisfied as he looked at Enjolras who was sitting on the closed lid of the toilet. “Well of course you do, but I never thought I’d live to hear you admit it.”

Enjolras gave him a look. “Hilarious,” he said dryly. “Are you going to help me or what?”

“That depends entirely on what you need my help for.”

Enjolras sighed and ran a hand through his hair – or at least, he tried to, though his fingers got snagged in his curls and he wound up yanking them through and wincing as he did. “It’s my hair,” he said with a sigh.

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “Your hair,” he repeated.

“Yeah, my hair,” Enjolras said, gesturing frustratedly at his frizzy curls. “It’s driving me crazy! It’s in that weird place where it’s so long it keeps falling in my face but it’s too short to pull back.”

“So get a haircut,” Grantaire said, like it was obvious.

Which it was, and Enjolras ground his teeth together. “Oh, right, because I’m going to walk into a Great Clips in the middle of a pandemic and demand a haircut,” he snapped.

Grantaire hesitated, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “Please tell me you don’t actually get your hair cut at Great Clips.”.

“Well sometimes I go to Sport Clips…”

“Ok, after COVID is over, I’m introducing you to my barber,” Grantaire said. “In the meantime, have you tried styling it differently? We can buy some bobby pins or bows or sparkly barrettes—”

Enjolras shook his head. “As much as I love flouting gender roles, I’m not entirely sure now is the time.”

“Fine, so what do you want to do?” Grantaire asked.

Enjolras worried his lower lip between his teeth for a moment before blurting, “I want to shave my head. Or, more accurately, I want you to shave my head.”

“No.”

Grantaire didn’t even pause to consider it, and Enjolras sighed. “Grantaire—”

“No, I’m not letting you shave your head!”

Enjolras cocked his head, his tone turning cool. “Excuse me, letting me?”

Grantaire waved a dismissive hand. “Poor choice of words aside, I love your hair. You love your hair. You do not actually want to shave your head. And you especially do not want me to shave your head.”

Enjolras lifted his chin stubbornly. “Yes I do.”

“And when you regret it tomorrow and want to blame me?” Grantaire challenged.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “That’s not going to happen,” he scoffed.

Grantaire gave him a look. “You say that now, but who got blamed for letting Bahorel talk you into getting a tattoo?”

Enjolras matched both his look and his tone. “You were literally the one who got me drunk and told me it was a good idea.”

“Ok, I may have bought you the shots, but I did not make you drink them,” Grantaire said. “And besides, I stand by telling you it was a good decision because I love your guillotine tattoo.”

Enjolras seized on the opportunity to return to the topic at hand. “So do I, which is why I think this may end up being a good idea, too.”

Grantaire hesitated. “What if you have a weirdly shaped head?”

“What?”

“If you shave your hair, you may end up realizing that you have a weirdly shaped head, and by then, it’s too late, and you have to go out for several weeks with the lumpy head. Do you want that?”

Enjolras stared at him. “Grantaire, we’re in the middle of a pandemic. I think I can handle the grocery store cashier and the occasional delivery driver seeing my oddly shaped head. Besides, it’s also December, so chances are I’ll be wearing a hat.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Great, so you’ll look like you have cancer. Is that what you want? You want to take the attention away from the actual cancer patients who need it?”

Enjolras frowned and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Ok, what is this actually about?”

“The cancer patients, Enj,” Grantaire said patiently. “I just said that.” Enjolras’s expression didn’t flicker and Grantaire sighed. “Fine. It’s about the fact that I love your hair.”

“You said that already.”

Grantaire sighed again. “No, I know, but I mean…”

“Are you afraid you won’t be attracted to me anymore without the hair?” Enjolras asked.

Grantaire snorted. “God, no.”

“Then what?”

“You’re going to think it’s stupid,” Grantaire hedged.

“I promise I won’t,” Enjolras said, before hesitating. “Wait, unless...is it a sex thing?”

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “What would you do if it was?”

Enjolras’s mouth opened and closed again and he shrugged somewhat helplessly. “Honestly I have no idea.”

Grantaire laughed lightly. “Well luckily, it’s not a sex thing.” He hesitated once more, but this time, when he spoke again, it was with a reluctance that sounded to Enjolras like honesty. “I love your hair because it’s the one imperfect thing about you.”

Enjolras frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

Grantaire sighed and leaned against the bathroom sink. “I mean I wake up every morning and the first thing I see when I look at you isn’t your gorgeous eyes or your beautiful lips or that perfect bone structure. I wake up and I see your golden rat’s nest sticking up in eighteen different directions.” Enjolras raised a defensive hand to pat his hair but Grantaire caught his hand, twining their fingers together. “And I love seeing that. I love seeing you, the real you, the you that only I get to see.”

Enjolras nodded slowly. “I guess I can understand that.”

“I sense a ‘but’ coming,” Grantaire teased.

Enjolras half-smiled. “But Grantaire, you get to see the imperfect me in a hundred different ways every day. I mean, look, I haven’t worn real pants in six months. Do you know what Courfeyrac would pay to see me in ratty, stained sweatpants?”

Grantaire looked pointedly at Enjolras’s crotch. “Honey, it’s not the ratty or stained part he wants to see, trust me.”

“You know what I mean,” Enjolras snapped, flushing, though he carried doggedly on. “You get to see me in all kinds of imperfect ways. Hell, if it weren’t for the hair, you’d get to see me wake up in a puddle of my own drool.”

Grantaire wrinkled his nose. “That’s disgusting.”

“If you think that’s disgusting, don’t forget: you get to hear me fart in my sleep.”

Grantaire winced. “I love you, but we really need to differentiate here between things that are imperfect and sexy, and things that are imperfect and never need to be discussed.”

Enjolras grinned triumphantly. “Fine, but that doesn’t change the fact that you get to see me in ways no one else does, and that won’t change if I have a shaved head.”

Grantaire made a face but didn’t outright refute him. “I guess you’re right…”

Enjolras squeezed Grantaire’s hand. “Besides, like you said, you may get to wake up every morning and see that I have a weird, lumpy head.”

Grantaire laughed. “Now that is a thought,” he said, bending down to press a kiss to the top of Enjolras’s head. “Fine. For the potential of your lumpy, misshapen head, I’ll do it. I will shave your head.”

“Great,” Enjolras said bracingly. “Let’s get started.”

Grantaire looked amused. “Not so fast, I need to go get my clippers.”

Enjolras frowned, picking up the clippers from the sink. “What’s wrong with these clippers that I found under the sink?”

Grantaire eyed them warily. “Trust me, you don’t want me to use those.”

“Why not?”

“Because they’re for trimming pubic hair.”

Enjolras dropped the clippers. “Gonna file that one under imperfect and never needs to be discussed.”

“Damn right,” Grantaire said, kissing him on top of the head once more.

#enjolras x grantaire #exr #enjoltaire #enjolras #grantaire #ask #answered #stoppit-keepout #fanfiction #drabble #modern au #established relationship #pure fluff

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escapewithbts · 4 years ago

Text

Unexpected Envy (Part Two) - Jimin

This ending is incredibly cheesy and fluffy (dare I say almost cringey haha) but I hope you enjoy it :)

Part One

-------------------------------------

*Jimin third person POV*

Jimin couldn't stop worrying the whole way home. He didn't realize how tightly he was grasping onto the steering wheel of his Porsche until he parked and took his hands off it, seeing that his knuckles and fingers were bright white.

He wasn't sure why he was feeling the way he was; he just knew he felt irritated, sad and concerned all at once.

When he got inside he removed his make up and colored contacts and changed into sweatpants and a white t shirt. He kept checking his phone, seeing if you needed rescuing or if Yeonjun had gotten on your nerves. But there always was nothing. Just the Mickey Mouse face of his lock screen wallpaper staring back at him, making him feel like he was being mocked.

He took his phone into his room and laid on his bed, staring up at the white ceiling. The image of you tonight in that beautiful black dress that complimented your body so well floated into his mind. It made him smile. But then he saw you again, gripping Yeonjun's forearm, telling him you weren't leaving, picking Yeonjun over him. He suddenly felt nauseous and his heart started pounding. He checked his phone again, paying extra attention to the time. It was already 11:30pm... how much longer were you going to be out? When would you be home?

Then a horrible thought entered his mind. What if you didn't come back to the apartment tonight at all? What if Yeonjun had charmed his way into you and took you to his place? Jimin had never known you to have a one night stand, or sleep with someone you just met, but what if he didn’t know you as well as he thought he did? What if things had changed?

He shot up from his bed and felt a sudden wave of dizziness, the blood rushing to his head. He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. He couldn't just lay here and think about you with Yeonjun. He was going to drive himself mad.

Still, he couldn't help but type a text message to you:

‘11:32 p.m.

Hey, I made it home. Are you ok? Let me know if I need to come get you.’

He didn't care if he sounded needy. He felt needy. He just wanted you to know that he cared...

...and make sure you knew he would come get you instead of have you end up going somewhere else...

Jimin then locked his phone and made a promise to himself not to check it unless he felt it vibrate in his pocket. He strolled out to the living room, sat on the couch and turned on the tv, attempting to clear his mind of all his confusing worries. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep until you were home. He would wait up until morning for you to come back if he had to.

*Your POV*

Around 1:30am you quietly unlocked the front door to Jimin's apartment, assuming he was asleep as you hadn't heard from him for 2 hours or so. The door clicked shut behind you; the light from the hallway fading and leaving you in pitch darkness. You hadn't memorized the layout of his place yet, so you grabbed your phone out of your coat pocket and turned on the flashlight.

As soon as you raised it up to illuminate your way, a face appeared in the bright white light.

You let out a yelp, backing up and slamming your elbow on the doorknob behind you.

"Ow, Jesus, Jimin, what the hell?" you cried out, holding the spot that had been hit, "I thought you would be asleep."

"I wanted to make sure you made it back okay." he responded flatly.

"Well I had until now," you mumbled, rubbing your elbow.

Jimin retreated further into the apartment and you followed, stumbling a little as you had had a few more drinks at the party and their effects hadn't completely worn off yet.

As you walked into the living room you realized how much your feet were killing you from all the dancing you had done in the heels you were wearing. You bent down to take them off, but suddenly felt dizzy and lost your balance. You were sure you were about to make a fool of yourself and fall onto the floor, but before you knew it you felt strong hands grab hold of your waist before you could fall. You looked up into Jimin's face just inches from yours. He looked concerned and a little annoyed. Your cheeks flushed and you looked away.

"Are you drunk?" he suddenly asked, letting go of you and stepping back.

You shook your head and stepped out of your shoes, blisters already forming on your feet. You shrugged.

"No, I mean, maybe a little... I-I don't know. I feel fine."

Jimin sighed and ran a hand through his ash blonde hair.

"You should have just left when I did, (y/n)." he said in a disappointed manner.

There he was, sounding so controlling again. What was his problem?

"I told you, I wanted to stay. I had fun."

Jimin looked at you, his expression cold as ice.

"So you had fun with Yeonjun?"

You nodded.

"Yes. Yes I did. He's very sweet, and polite and a great dancer."

Were you purposely describing Yeonjun similarly to Jimin to try and make him jealous? Maybe. The slight buzz you still had was clouding your judgement.

Jimin's eyes narrowed and he licked his lips while running his hand through his hair again. Then he turned away and sat back down on the couch.

"Do you think you'll see him again?" he muttered quietly, not making eye contact.

Although he had offered, you hadn't taken Yeonjun's number, hadn't made any plans to see him again. It was just all too soon. You didn't think it would have been fair to him. Your heart still belonged to someone else.

Someone else sitting right in front of you.

You shrugged.

"Maybe."

Jimin responded with a “hmm”, just staring at the tv in front of him that was playing late night infomercials.

There was a pause as you just stared at your best friend, unable to read his emotions.

"Okay, well, thank you Jimin-ah, for having me as your plus one tonight. I'm really tired so I think I'll head to bed. Thanks for waiting up for me, too." You gave him a small smile before turning around and heading into the guest room, heels in hand.

You changed into pajama shorts and an oversized t shirt, then went into the adjoining bathroom to get ready for bed. You looked at yourself in the mirror; much of your make up had faded from time and the sweat of the dance floor. Your once perfectly styled hair was now slightly wavy and frizzy. Your cheeks were red from the effects of all the alcohol. You sighed, grabbing a make up remover wipe and swiping it across your face until your natural self was looking back at you. At that moment you couldn't help the thoughts that began to creep into your mind.

Yeonjun was clearly interested in me. He's an idol, too. He's willing to try. Why won't Jimin? Why doesn't Jimin want me?

Your eyes started brimming with tears, you cheeks getting blotchier. How were you supposed to continue being Jimin's friend when you felt this way? Everything just felt so awkward. You wished you could just go back in time and stop yourself from telling him how you truly felt.

A sudden knock at the bedroom door interrupted your thoughts. You quickly splashed some cold water on your hot face, attempting to hide the fact that you were almost in tears.

"Come in," you said softly, walking back out into the bedroom.

Jimin opened the door slightly before stepping inside.

"Hey," he said, looking at the floor.

"Hi." you replied, your heart pounding.

What did he want? Was he here to finally talk about how off your friendship had been over the past week? Did he not want to be your friend anymore? Your mind was going a mile a minute.

He walked over and sat on the end of the bed, still not looking up at you. He ran a hand through his hair again and then rubbed his face before speaking.

"I-I don't..."

Don't say it, don't say it.

"I don't want you to see Yeonjun again."

Huh?

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

He finally looked up at you, a look of plea in his dark brown eyes.

"I don't.... really know what to say, Jimin. It's not really your call to make."

He cocked his head and knitted his brows together.

"You don't want your best friend's opinion?"

You scoffed.

"First of all, it sounded more like a demand. Secondly, in this regard, who I see and who I don't... well I don't really think your opinion is valid. Especially since-"

You stopped before you could finish, feeling your stomach get in knots.

"Since what?" Jimin asked softly.

You folded your arms across your chest and looked at the floor.

"Come on, Jimin, you know what..."

He shook his head.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, (y/n)."

He couldn't be serious.

You suddenly felt furious, all your emotions building up inside at once.

"Jimin! Come on! You-you don't want me! Therefore who I choose to date and not to date is really not up to you! You can't keep me from other people just because you don't want to be with me!"

You couldn't stop the tears from falling this time. Jimin immediately rushed to you and pulled you into arms, your head laying in the crook of his neck. You hated that you let yourself be comforted by him, but it felt so familiar and safe.

"(y/n), look at me. Please look at me."

You looked up at his handsome face, his full lips, the strands of bangs that fell over his eyes. He looked sad, almost like he was going to cry, too.

He cupped your cheek in his hand, wiping a tear away with the pad of his thumb.

"I-I do want you (y/n). I do want to be with you," he closed his eyes tightly, "Aiish, if you even knew how jealous of Yeonjun I was tonight. How happy you seemed dancing with him. How he made you smile. I miss that, I miss us! And I don't want you to ever dance with another man like that again or-or have him make you smile like that. It killed me. I was a mess when I left without you. All I could see in my mind was the two of you together, wondering if you were even going to come home tonight. I was afraid I had lost you as a best friend, which only made me realize how much I want to truly be with you, how much I wanted it to be me and only me..." he trailed off, burying his face in his hands to hide the tears that had welled up in them.

You stared at him in shock through blurry tears.

"But Jimin..." you quivered, "what about what you said last week? About how I deserve someone who can focus fully on me? "

Jimin shook his head and looked into your eyes, wiping his tears away with the back of his hand.

“I think... I was afraid, because you do deserve someone who can do that... and so much more. But (y/n), I want to try. Please. You mean the world to me, and I don't ever want to feel the way I felt tonight again. We've managed to stay friends all this time, and now with you closer than ever, I really think we can make it work. I want to give you my everything because you are my everything."

You nodded slowly, letting a few more tears falling down your warm cheeks.

Jimin lifted your chin to look at him.

"I love you, (y/n). And I'm so sorry this is what it took to make me realize it."

You stared up into his dark eyes, hope and sincerity behind them.

“I love you, too, Jimin. But I need you to be sure you’re capable of this, that this is truly what you want. A week ago you didn’t feel this way, right? And I can’t lose our friendship, I can’t lose you. I don’t want to get hurt.”

He bit his bottom lip and looked deep into your eyes, a pained expression on his face.

“I won’t hurt you. Never. This is what I want. I want you. Please, (y/n), give me a chance to prove it to you.”

He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and looked down at your lips before slowly pulling your face to meet his. You loved the feeling of his soft, luscious lips on yours. It was something you had only ever dreamed of for so long. It felt so comfortable, yet so passionate and new.

You pulled away and was met with a big Jimin smile. You couldn't help smiling back.

He laid his forehead on yours and closed his eyes.

“I will strive to make you the happiest person in the world, (y/n). Every day. Okay?” he whispered to you.

You nodded against him, relishing in the feeling of being this close to the man you had loved for so long.

Then you pulled back, a grin on your face.

"Do you think we should thank Yeonjun? Send him some flowers or-or a collection of BTS CDs?" you joked.

Jimin laughed, crashing his body into yours in typical Jimin fashion.

Then he gently grabbed your face again and shook his head back and forth.

"No, no,no," he giggled, "not a chance."

And you two shared another wonderful kiss.

Masterlist

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write-1t-bop-1t · 5 years ago

Text

Crashed and found

Entry for the secret shifters G/T Fanfic swap @secret-shifters

https://secret-shifters.tumblr.com/

Gift for: @syndicate-speck https://syndicate-speck.tumblr.com/

Tiny astronaut crash lands on a giant planet or vice versa, sci-fi gulliver's travels style

Triggers/tropes to avoid: Spiders, I guess

Relationship types to avoid: None per se, feel free to go ham (but keep it sfw obviously)

Fluff or angst: No preference

I take a deep breath, running my hand through my hair and ruffling it around before breathing out and spinning in my chair to face the screen, reaching out my hand to press record,

“Hello again everybody, Ryan Harte here for log number 637, day 453 at 6:23pm Eastern time. Everything on board the ship has been running smoothly as always, no further difficulties involving the damaged engine. Alexander was able to complete the repairs with no further issue. We are a few days away from the designated drop zone, planet classification #677, and will be ready for retraction shortly after.”

I give another short sigh as I record my report, having done this almost everyday for the past year and a half. It gave time meaning, and at least it was something to do other than annoy my travel partner. I look back at the screen, smiling up at it.

“I can’t believe long it’s been…. I can’t wait for my paycheck when I get back to earth,” I say, giving a little laugh to myself.

“There is currently nothing to report on the mission, and the current planet objection is in visual range from the ship. We should-”

I get cut off from my video when the door to my room opens with a loud whoosh noise, startling me as I almost fall out of my chair, letting out a less than manly squeak of surprise.

I look over to see my travel buddy, Alexander, standing at my door with a bored expression.

“Oh, were you doing one of your diary entries again, pipsqueak?”

He says with a teasing tone, making my face turn red as I grab something off the floor and chuck it at him.

“Shove it! It’s not a diary and you know that!”

I grumble, throwing more things at him while he laughs to himself. He surrenders, putting his hands up to guard his hair, the long black strands now slightly frizzy from having collided with whatever I could have reached for moments before. He laughs again before going back to exit my room before stopping and leaning back in,

‘Well, whenever you're done with your ‘Not-Diary’, I need you to come to the front of the ship. We’ve got better visuals on the planet and I need to talk to you about it, alright?”

He says, looking at me expectantly. I quickly nod and make a shooing motion with my hands to get him to leave quickly. He laughs again before leaving me alone in my room once more. Once he leaves, a large smile breaks out on my face, as I bounce lightly with excitement. This is my first ever, real life space recon mission.

After getting into the space program at 16, with a scholarship in science, I’d always wanted to get into recon and the exploration field. I Graduated with honors at age 18, along with Alexander who graduated from ship repairs and navigation, one of the top in his class.

The planet we were headed to was said to show signs of holding valuable resources which I am supposed to gather and bring back with us to earth. Nothing was really known about the planet itself, as no one besides us has ever been this close to it. All that was really known is its size, estimated to be around 1000x bigger than our sun. But since no one knows much about it, we are being paid very handsomely once we get back home in the next year. I can’t wait to see my dad again.

I smile back at the camera,

“Well, as you heard, we are soon approaching the planet, and I am needed for the evaluation. This is Ryan Harte signing out. Love you dad!”

I say before stopping the recording and pressing the send button, to send the message back to earth’s space station, as well as so that they could send it to my dad so he knows everything was okay up here. I never want him to worry about me, so I make sure to record these often.

After sending I quickly jump up, grabbing a simple gray hoodie that had previously been thrown at Alex and throw it over my head before dashing out of the room towards the front of the ship, looking like a kid in a candy store.

My old shoes squeak against the metal as I reach the door, I bounce in place as the door rush’s open and I run inside, almost colliding with Alexander as he looks out at the black space outside the spaceship through the paned glass.

¨Present!¨ I say out loud, with a big smile on my face, causing him to roll his eyes. He motions over to the planet, and I look over to see that we’ve gotten considerably closer to it. We’re still around 2-3 days away from getting close enough to be able to dispatch my shuttle and collect parts of the large gray planet’s resources. Even so, it's already around 9000x bigger than our ship, considering our ship is about the size of a normal sized university, having to hold enough food to feed us for the to and from trips.

“Whoa.” I say mostly to myself, and Alexander nods along with me.

He points to a lighter gray spot on the planet, “I can’t seem to get a proper scan on the planet due to the storm like clouds surrounding it, but from what I can get, that area should be the safest place for you to land. I’m going to re-route slightly to get us closer to that area, I just wanted to let you know. That okay, pipsqueak?” He says looking back at me.

I nod quickly, my excitement not faltering.

“But why is that area safer?” I ask, just to feed my curiosity.

He explains that the area seems to be more flat than the other areas on the planet, making it easier for my shuttle to land on, along with the fact that the other, darker areas, seem to be covered with a type of dark and cloudy sky that might cause trouble with communication and engines when entering the atmosphere.

I of course, have no idea what he’s saying but nod along anyways. It probably wasn’t important anyways.

After his little safety spiel that I’ve heard a hundred times, we decide that it’s time for dinner. We made it a tradition when we started our space travel to eat dinner together as a bonding exercise, as well as to help to know each other. Now it’s just become a daily thing we do every ‘night’, to just talk and hang out. It’s not much, but when the other person with you is the only person you’ve had human interactions with for the past 2 years, you learn to appreciate it.

We walk down and make it to the ‘lobby’ where we eat, which is just an empty room with a table and two chairs melded to the ground. Bland but it works, though I wish the space program would get us better chairs.

Alexander goes and grabs our dinner, dehydrated pork and some yellow stuff I don’t bother asking about, as we talk about our days while occasionally teasing and making fun of each other. We laugh and joke around before cleaning up, saying our goodnights and getting ready for bed.

Alexander stops me before I can leave and re-explains the safety measures, protocols and blah blah blah about the exploration in a few days. I wave him off, laughing, before heading up to my room to go to bed.

As I enter, I stretch, letting out a yawn as I kick off my shoes, not caring where they go. I walk over and check my tablet to make sure my last message went through. It did, but it hasn’t been seen yet. Darn, I was hoping I would get another message from my dad, but I guess I’ll get it tomorrow.

I mess up my hair with both of my hands before getting into bed, the thoughts of finally getting to go to the planet we had been heading to for the last years and being able to finally go home and see my dad fill my mind as I quickly fall asleep.

The next few days go by in a blur, until I’m standing in the cockpit, struggling to pull on my gray space suit. Alexander sighs before helping me put it on, scolding me like a parent about taking this more serious. I roll my eyes, punching him in the arm before telling him that I’ll be okay.

He nods at me once before saying a goodbye as he walks towards the door to head to the main control center. I pause before running up and hugging him from behind, assuring him that I’ll be back before he knows it. He smiles at me, patting me on the head, before taking my helmet out of my arms and shoving it on my head. I whine as I have to adjust it and hear him laugh quietly to himself as he exits the room, door closing behind him. I roll my eyes as I make my way towards, and into, the shuttle prepared. I close the hatch and get comfortable, checking the ship over before booting up the power.

The keypad lights up around me, glowing white as I flip through the proper equipment and procedures to ensure the ship operates properly, while waiting for further instructions from above.

As if on cue, I hear Alexander's voice through my helmet,

“Everything in check down there, pipsqueak?”

I roll my eyes for what feels like the millionth time as I sit back and strap into my chair, ready to finally get off this stupid main ship for once.

“All good down here, we ready to go, Tarzan?”

I ask back, making fun of his long hair, as he confirms and the ship starts up. I can feel the rumble of the engine as the ship is lowered into position and I take a deep breath, still talking to Alexander to make sure everything is ready.

We count back from ten at the hatch in front of my ship, leading into space begins to open.

Once we get to zero, I can see the large planet in front of me and the engines push me forward and out of the ship, plunging me into the dark vast of space. I lock my focus on the planet as I take control of the wheel and steer towards the area told to me by Alexander.

I can see the cloudy, storm like area around the planet, making sure to avoid the darker areas.

Once I seem to be going in the right direction, I set it into autopilot and relax my posture.

“Hey, once we get back home, wanna hang out? I know this greeeeat Mexican place near my house, you’d love it.”

I say out of the blue and here my college chuckle, “Yeah yeah, Of course. But you’re paying, pipsqueak.” He says through the comms and I let out a dramatic and offended gasp while laughing.

“What, I gotta pay you to hang out with me? I’m hurt Al, really. Here I was thinking we were friends, guess not.” I say through giggles, and I can hear Alexander laughing as well.

I can see the planet coming closer and move the steering accordingly for the best entry, making sure to soften the engines so I don’t enter the atmosphere too quickly and burn up the ship.

“Yeah well, You can’t just i##ite some##e o# #### e##p-”

I furrow my brows as he talks, unable to make out what he’s saying.

“Hey Al, you’re cutting out. Is everything okay up there?” I ask with clear worry in my voice.

Just then the power to my ship flashes off before coming back on and the engine buffers, causing me to jolt forward in my seat. I call out again to Alex, but only hear muffled static through the comms, worrying the crap out of me. I try tapping the side of my helmet to see if I can get it to come back on.

“Alexander, are you there? You’re freaking me out, what’s going on?”

I ask out again, as my ship continues towards the unknown planet. The ship shuts off and I lurch forward again before the ship comes back on, causing me to panic slightly. I check my vitals and the ship's hardware to check for malfunctions quickly, to see if I can find out what’s happening.

“RYAN? RYAN CAN YOU H##E ME?!”

I hear Alex yell through the comms, causing me to jump in my seat and respond immediately,

“Hey, yeah I can hear you now. What’s going on, my ships freaking out…”

I can hear his shaky voice, which causes my panic to rise.

“Look Ryan, you need to listen very carefully to me alright? Whatever's going on with the planet is messing with the tech on the ship and screwing up the comms. I don’t think it’s safe, you need to come back this instant so we can re-think and re-evaluate this, okay?”

“Y-Yeah, alright I’ll turn around now.”

I say quickly, quietly panicking as I reach to flip off the autopilot. I realize how close I am to the outer edge of the planet now, along with the storm, and reach to grab a hold of the steering wheel but the ship lurches forward again before I can grab it and the power shuts off for a final time, turning off the engines, along with any and all different functions of the ship.

I freeze, my breathing shallow, as I try to process what just happened. I reach slowly and yank at the steering wheel, trying to see if it would move the ship. No give. I try to turn on backup power. Nothing. But besides that, the new realization that dawns on me causes my heart to pick up and the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up…

The ship is still moving towards the planet.

I get over my initial shock and start trying to talk to Alex again,

“ALEX, I CAN’T CONTROL THE SHIP. I’M MOVING TOWARDS THE PLANET!”

I can hear shuffling of papers through the comms,

“Ryan, the gravitational pull of the planet is pulling the ship in, is there any way to get it to turn around?!”

I can hear his breathing, it’s steady but shallow, like he’s trying to stay calm, for my sake and his.

“No-NO, there’s no controls! I’VE LOST ALL POWER!”

The ship lurches forward as I near the dark gray clouds, the ship almost at the point where it could touch them.

“DID YOU TRY THE BACKUP POWER?!”

“OF COURSE I TRIED THE BACKUP POWER!”

I wait a few seconds and tears prick in my eyes when Alexander doesn’t say anything and I call out for him again, telling him not to stop talking.

“Alright, just calm down Ryan. Your ship is too far away to grab with the retractable arm, I don’t know how to get you back to the ship in time. I can’t even get the main ship close to you without risking it being pulled in too. Maybe we could try a##atc#i## the el#c#tical cab### ## #### ###-”

His audio cuts out completely.

“Nononono, Alex come on, YOU CAN’T DO THIS RIGHT NOW, PLEASE!”

The ship is pulled into the clouds as I lose sight of the home ship and any hope of getting home. The ship is shaken harshly and I’m thrown out of my seat and onto the ground, cracking my helmet on the wall of the shuttle, causing it to crack. I suddenly feel this floating sensation in my stomach, my body feeling as if it’s weightless, until I look back out the windshield. The ship is falling. Fast.

All I remember was the sound of the windshield shattering and the heat surrounding me before the shuttle had plummeted to the ground, hitting the rock below with the full force of whatever gravity this planet went by, as pain fills my body and I black out.

I feel cold. And warm…. And wet…..

What happened…..

My head hurts…. My chest hurts….

A sudden pressure is put on my chest causing me to let out a loud whimper and the pressure is immediately retracted. I let out a shaky sigh and try to move, causing pain to shoot through my body and I let out another pained whimper.

What happened….? Why does everything hurt…? What’s that weird noise, it sounds like a dolphin…. Or a bird…. Maybe a cat….

I can’t keep my thoughts straight, everything hurts. What do I remember-?

The crash, the ship malfunctioning, the unknown planet…. Shit-

Another pressure is put on my chest again a few seconds later, touching a rib that is most certainly broken and I let out a surprised and pained gasp, causing it to go away again.

I try opening my eyes, finding the simple task to be, well, less than simple. My eyes seem focused on staying shut, but I need to see what’s happening. Am I dead? No, I don’t think ghosts feel pain…. Do they? That would be kinda cool though. Space ghost.

I try opening my eyes again, being able to open them a crack as light floods my vision, causing my eyes to tear up and close again. Wait, light? Wasn’t this planet covered in a dark perma-storm? Where’s the light coming from?

I hear some rumbling from above me, kinda like the sound my cat Rosco back home makes when he’s worried about something, a mix between a purr and a growl.

Could it be my ship's engine? Wait, if it’s still active, it could explode!

I use all my strength to push myself into a sideways sitting position, while forcing my eyes open once again. The light hurts them and I let out a groan as I feel the numbing pain throughout my body. Suddenly the light is covered and I’m surrounded by a nice shadow. My brains too jumbled to pay attention to it at the moment, but what I do realize is that a large portion of my helmet around my left eye has broken off.

HOW THE FUCK AM I BREATHING?!

Does this planet really have breathable air? Does that mean there’s some type of plants that can produce the same kind of air on earth? And a sun? We didn’t see any type of sun on the reading when we scanned the planet...

I take in a deep breath to test it. It feels like normal air, and it’s keeping me alive, I can ask questions later, once I get my bearing and stand up. Maybe I can contact Alex. ALEXANDER! He must be so worried, and my dad? He’s going to lose his mind! I have to get to my ship, even if it’s destroyed I could see if I could use the parts to fix my comms and get in contact with the main ship or even the space station if I’m lucky.

I try to push myself up more, managing to move one leg up so I’m in a night's kneeling position. The pain is bad, and I let out another whimper. As I do I can feel a rush of air surround me, it’s warm. I can see the ground underneath me, seeming to be a kind of gray rock, mainly flat, meaning I did technically land where I was supposed to, although I can see that my knees don’t look great, both being skinned and bleeding, but it doesn’t feel too bad.

Another rush of air, closer to my head, followed by a low growl, causing me to turn my head upwards to see what’s causing it. My eyes widen and my breath catches in my throat, unable to breath, as I see four glowing blue eyes staring right back at me, like it’s looking right through my soul.

Not only that but the eyes are huge…. And predatory, looking at me as if I was something it just caught…

I stumble backwards falling onto my butt, cushioned by the intact space suit still surrounding me. I finally let out a scared, shaky breath, realizing that I had been holding it moments ago. The creature's gaze doesn't falter, if anything it hardens, letting out a predatory grumble, as if a warning, though I’m not exactly sure what that warning is for, causing me to freeze in place, adrenaline coursing through my veins causing my hands to feel like ice.

The creature is large, covered in a black fur in most of its body, some parts having less of it. It stands tall- scratch that, it’s fucking huge, the size of a small apartment building. It’s ‘arms’ are long, bent in a way that a monkeys would, reminding me of a baboon. Four large spider-like eyes are still locked on me and I force myself to make no sudden movements, tears welling up in fear as I start hyperventilating, unable to focus as I direct my vision towards the ground, not wanting to make eye contact with it. If I had, I would have noticed it’s head turning in a confused manner, like a puppy would when hearing a strange noise, and the curious way it’s slowly making its way towards me, as if not trying to frighten me more than I already am.

Once I feel it getting closer I look back up to see it slowly moving towards me, and I slowly scoot back to counter it. Just then it moves to put a hand behind me causing the ground to shake lightly, stopping me from moving away again. I let out a pathetic whine, before realizing the creatures face was now meters from mine, not noticing earlier that it had moved it’s face down to get to my level. It gets even closer and my eyes widen in horror and fear, tears running freely down my face at this point, and I try to move as far back as I can without touching the creature's hand.

It stops its movements, and holds its position, around two meters from me. I hold eye contact, not wanting to look away and have it come closer again. It also holds the stare, before I see its gaze flicker upwards slightly, focusing on something else. My helmet?

It looks back into the one hole in my helmet, at me, before it’s gaze in back at the top of the helmet.

All of a sudden I felt something touch the back of my helmet harshly, and I let out a surprised noise as I turned around to see the hand from earlier had moved so it could poke me with one of its long, bony fingers. I start moving away from it, while unconsciously moving closer to the monster that was in front of me.

I feel another wave of hot air hit me from behind, as if it’s the creature's subtle way of telling me it’s still there. I jump slightly, and turn around again to face it. It’s now on the ground for the most part, one arm wrapped behind me and one... in the air… Like the position a cat would make when playing with a feathery toy or a mouse it just caught.

And I’m pretty sure I am that mouse.

I see the hand from the air start coming towards me, and I use my arms to try and cover my face the best I can, letting out a choked sob and whimper as I brace for the impact, for the pain of the hand coming and crushing my body.

But it doesn't come.

I look back up to see two of it’s five fingers positioned on either side of my helmet, before they close and grab lightly onto my helmet. Then they start pulling up, as if to try and disconnect the helmet from the rest of my space suit. Wait-

“Wa-Nononono, Stop it! LET ME GO!”

I yell out, panic taking over my body again as I struggle against its grip. And the creature does stop for a second after hearing my outburst, before pulling upwards again, taking most of my body with it. I’m still touching the ground with my feet as I try and use my hands to hold my helmet in place, not wanting to be even more exposed and vulnerable than I already feel.

I don’t think it feels the same way.

Once the tips of my toes can barely touch the ground, the creature twists its fingers lightly, snapping the thick plastic part that connects my helmet and suit with ease, allowing me to finally fall to the ground with a hard thud, landing on my backside. The collision with the rock causes painful jolts to course through my body and I roll on my side, clutching my chest to try and relieve some of that pain.

The helmet is dropped somewhere near me, landing on the ground with a hard thud, the sound of the rest of the glass frame shattering. I whimper again as I feel the breath of the beast come closer to me as I try to curl in on myself, as if to make myself smaller, as I screw my eyes shut.

I want to go home….

My hair, now wet with sweat, covers most of my face, bits of blood near my temples where my head had most likely collided with the side of the ship during the crash as well as more tears covering my face as I let out another choked sob.

I open my eyes slightly, only to see one of the monsters fingers coming towards my head, most likely to crush it like a grape. I whimper again, trying to tuck my head into my body, to make myself feel a little less scared and helpless. It doesn’t work.

The creature's finger touches my hair lightly, and I wince at the feeling, its finger tip being about the same size, if not bigger than my head. It holds the gentle and light touch, barley even touching my head at all, before it starts to rub against my scalp lightly. I let out a surprised and shaky breath at the gentle touch, the monster acting as if I’m a piece of glass that could be broken and damaged easily. The quick realization dawns on me that….

It’s petting me.

Like I’m some kind of scared animal.

And it actually feels kinda nice. Rubbing in a small circular motion against my scalp, soothing any former pain that resided there, causing my face to soften its expression at the feeling. It moves its motion slightly towards my face, causing me to whimper quietly. It’s quick to move its finger away to rub the back of my head, as well as my neck in a soothing motion, as if to apologize. Then the vibrations start.

Low, like a cat's purr, which only adds on to the calmness feeling washing over me along with the drowsiness, which I find very concerning as I should be scared, terrified even. But it feels so good… I hadn't had any physical contact with anyone besides light shoves and teasing from Alex for the past few years, making this gentle and almost nurturing gesture feel like heaven.

The purring gets louder and I start to get more tired. The creature seems to take notice of me being more docile and starts getting more bold with its touches. Avoiding my chest, it goes and lightly moves my arms, while still petting me with its other hand. I feel a few pokes to the soft material around my legs before it starts petting my back as well. My eyes start to close even though I’m trying to keep them open. I’m just so tired….

The creature seems to sense my tiredness and I can feel his hand cup my entire back before his other hand stops petting me, as well as the vibrations ceasing, causing me to let out a childish whine, missing the feeling.

It seems to notice my distress and quickly scoops me up in its hand, lifting my whole body carefully into the air. I let out a panicked noise again, struggling against his hand, not expecting to be lifted 100 feet into the air in a matter of seconds.

The creature is quick to pull me into its chest, causing me to pull up against its surprisingly soft, black fur, and the vibrations in its chest start up again almost instantly. I hate to admit it, but the action calms me down immediately, and I subconsciously snuggle against the fur, too tired and hurt to really care about anything besides my own comfort, my old tears dried against its body as it stands there for a few minutes as I continue to doze off before it starts moving, jumbling me slightly, making me clutch onto the giants fur for stability.

It scares me at first, but the purring increases immediately, calming me down quite easily. I notice that we’re heading in the direction of a large, dark gray mountain, surrounded by even larger plant type things in different shades of dark green and blues. I glance at the ground and see the creature is walking slowly on three of it’s four hands, the fourth one holding me. I also notice the tail following up from behind that I didn’t see until now, shaped like a monkeys.

On the ground I can see bits of metal from…. My ship!

I squirm, breaking out of my calm and tired mindset to try and find a way to get to the ground remembering that I need to contact Alex, but the second I try to get out of the hand, its fingers cup tighter around me, caging me against the soft wall and the vibrations become more insistent. They’re not so tight that I can’t move, but they’re very clearly meant to keep me in the creature's hold, as if insisting that I stay put.

I of course don’t listen and continue to try to struggle, earning me a loud growl possessive from above as they stop moving all together. The fingers cup tighter around me, and I stop moving all together, shaking slightly in fear, tears welling up in my eyes again.

I’m held for a few more seconds of not moving…

Then the purring starts again, it’s ‘thumb’ comes up and rubs the top of my head lightly, like re assurance, before being removed and it starts walking again. I try to control my breathing again, now realizing that I’m not getting out of here.

When we get near the mountain, the air surrounding it turns cold causing me to shiver into the vibrating surface. The creature's body quickly heats up to help keep me warm, along with the fur, allows me to lose focus of everything else as my vision fades to black, cuddling up against the warm monster that just technically kidnapped me.

Once I’m out, the creature takes my unconscious body into its home, a cave in the side of the mountain, and rests me against a clear, soft gel like substance to allow me to sleep, as it removes my ripped space suit carefully, making sure not to disturb my sleep. It leaves my clothes on as it takes some sort of blue substance and applies it generously on my wounds and injuries while I sleep, making sure to stay close to keep me warm, before laying next to me like a large cat would, using its hand as a large blanket to make sure I’m warm during the night and so I don’t run away if I wake up before it.

It gives me one last nuzzle against the top of my head, scenting me slightly before purring and falling asleep, holding the tiny baby it found while looking for food, now glad it had gone in the wrong direction, as this cub would have never survived on its own.

They will never let the tiny, scared baby go, not after its mother had clearly abandoned it to die, terrified and injured.

It’s now their baby and they will take care of it.

Forever.

#g/t #g/t writing #alien giant #tiny human #oc #original character #secret shifters #secret santa #fanfic swap #mild fearplay #hurt/comfort #secret shifters 2020

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gallivantingheart · 5 years ago

Photo

Me, a Princess? Shut Up!

masterlist | previous | next

⏮️ chapter 6: mulan ⏭️

who?: jihoon/woozi x (f)reader

word count: 1717

genre/s: fluff, humour, social media!au

warnings: mild coarse language

synopsis: Life’s pretty good for y/n. Easy, even. Until someone claiming to be her grandmother says she is the queen of a small island country - and y/n, a princess.

a/n: i have no reason as to the TWO WEEK wait, but i still hope it’s okay. Also, I know nothing of international politics or table etiquette, don’t @ me

**please ignore the timestamps - they are not accurate**

TAGLIST: @strykiss, @karrotkarrotkarrot, @3sriracha, @minkwans, @annakemi, @chaseyui,

don’t hesitate to send an ask or dm to be added!

Soonhee follows you with eagle eyes as you circle the dining room, elaborate table setting laid out along with decorative lemon themed table centrepieces.

“And who sits next to France?”

You rush to answer, not facing her. “Belgium. Like on the map, because France and Germany don’t get along politically.”

“And across from Germany?” She calls, idly adjusting forks and spoons.

“Thai - uh, Spain, sorry. Thailand is next to Spain, before myself. Then Soonyoung and yourself at the head of the table, north.”

You pause to turn and wait for Soonhee to assess your answer. She’s dressed in a silky champagne two piece blazer and skirt, her blouse designed with a high neckline and thin necktie. The click of her heels are a constant, reminding you of a metronome - just to torment you a little more. She nods, finally.

“I didn’t quite ask for all of that, but yes. You are correct. Have you had your final fitting? You must be presentable before the attendees. Reputation and first impressions are vital.”

You bite the bottom of your lip, nodding. “I had it the day before last. Everything is as ready as can be.”

“Hmmm. You are dismissed. I suggest you study on the conversation topics from last week and compose yourself before tomorrow. Please be here at 1pm, sharp. Antoni insists on natural light and I wish to be ready as early as possible.” Soonhee still doesn’t look at you when she speaks.

As much as it makes your blood boil from the aloof and disparaging manner in which she speaks to you - and only you, it seems - you push down any unpleasant urges against her. She’s a queen; a ruler of a country. No doubt not used to her opinion being challenged, much less by someone your age. There are better things to utilise your energy on rather than fighting the brick wall that is your grandmother.

“Yes, grandma.” You’ll still push the envelope and call ther that though, something a little less formal for the times. “See you tomorrow.”

You instantly turn out the room, pulling your phone out of your back pocket. Those dreadful heels click hastily after you.

“And no socialising tonight! We can’t afford any bad press or late nights for anyone.”

Her voice has never been loud but it carries remarkably well. You huff and jam your phone away, a chicken and drinks session with the boys off the cards. Mingyu is out of town on another holiday with family, so it would have been Minghao and Jun, your fellow foodies.

Despite the early bedtime, you can’t seem to sleep, tossing and turning, tangling yourself in your sheets. You hope Antoni is as good at hiding sleepless nights as he is at shaping eyebrows.

The dress is beautiful, of course. (You had the wine gang help you choose over text. Secretly, of course.)

And while you’re still sceptical of Antoni after the debacle he caused concerning your identity, he blathers on and on in apologies as he pins and fiddles with your hair so you don’t mind too much by the end of it all. Soonhee seems to think he’s redeemed himself - the queen’s word is law. Soonyoung looks super chic in his blazer and turtleneck. You pout at him in his fashionable attire no one else in their stuffy suits appears to bat an eye at.

“Soonie you look great.” You say from the bottom step of the main staircase - grand entrance and all.

He can’t help but preen. “Thanks, as do you, Boss.”

“Gross. But I look like a glitzed up puffball. If I had known that it could have been more casual I-”

The queen cuts off your whining as she glides over in a gauzy ivory gown, crown glittering with every light fixture. “Y/N. Very appropriate. Soonyoung, handsome as always. Are you sure you don’t have my genes?”

What? A - A joke? Where? You have to forcibly shut your mouth from the conversation in front of you. Soonyoung has a steady dancers’ posture - or maybe just a royal one. Straight spine, relaxed held back shoulders and a level gaze. You twist your fist in the many layers of your skirt, to both hide and release the frustrating tension radiating through you. The ambassador laughs, fluffing shyly at his bleach blonde fringe.

“Oh, ahaha. Your Majesty, no. No, I do not.” He mumbles.

You dip yourself in a short bow before dodging the pair in order to attempt to mingle. Droning conversation topics flick through your mind, like forcing the pages of a book. Finally, you set your sights on the Swedish ambassador, if only to talk about Eurovision - the one fun subject allowed to be discussed with you.

You find though, that most of the conversations you attend cycle through the same process. The notice of your presence and an introduction between you all - ministers, ambassadors and their companions. Then a resuming of the current conversation, you being too afraid of looking stupid to add any effective input. You have to bite back a sigh of relief when dinner is announced.

Soonyoung is right. You need a spoon for the cool soup served. He flicks the edge of the one you are supposed to use and you kick his ankle in thanks. The conversations from the foyer are carried into the dining space and you lose India to Thailand. Soonyoung is chatting avidly with Scotland across from him, his hands gesturing from their place on the table cloth. Despite this, main course goes swimmingly, a chicken lemon dish on rice with a hint of garlic and herbs. You hesitate on your chopsticks before picking up a knife and fork like most of the other dignitaries. You feel eyes on you and glance over to see Soonhee evaluating you from the head of the table. She still manages to look severe to you, even with the amicable situation - but maybe you’re just imagining things.

It’s when dessert is around the corner that it falls apart. Spain’s representative, a lovely man named Eduardo is discussing the lemon market of Amaide with you, something you are luckily very proficient with. As you speak, you demonstrate the incline of the market, you tip your water glass over. The elder man, easily in his fifties, smiles warmly and lets you fix it up with an apology to him and the waiter on hand to clean it up. Thailand’s eyes squint at you dubiously and you bow back to them. You describe the style of orchard the royal lemon ceremony is held in, gesturing over your shoulder at the Queen Mother, and the critical breeding of the trees that grow all over the country. A stray hand wave collides with the melting ice bucket with a clang, tipping it sideways… all over Eduardo. Now the pleasant man is drenched from head to toe, Portugal catching the spray and flying bottle of champagne. Thailand is awash as well, nowhere near as bad, but he seems to seize up in panic, dabbing and pressing at his shoulders and sleeves. The dining room is in a commotion now as you bite your lips and frown, grabbing your own napkin to dry down the man next to you. Your hair is damp, slowly going fluffy and frizzy from the water. People are standing up, including yourself and Soonhee.

“I-I-I’m so sorry. I’m not usually this clumsy! Are-are you okay, Eduardo?” You protest.

He shoots you a severe look, only tempered by the reputation of every single person in the room. Obviously not. You chew harshly at your lip as the waiters fuss and someone talks quietly about offering a change of clothes.

You look around the dying chaos - even Soonhee is amongst it, joining in on the many dabbing gingerly at the spanish ambassador’s suit with a napkin. Soonyoung catches your eye as you slink backwards towards the ajar french doors, leaning over to the waiter.

“If anyone asks, I’ve gone to the power room, okay? I-I, uh, shouldn't be too long.” You murmur out the corner of your mouth.

He glances at you, nodding. Soonyoung frowns, gesturing with a discreet finger back to his side. You shake your head, signalling a time-out. You hike up your skirts the moment you turn the corner, clacking down the dim hallway as fast as you can to pick up your purse from the cloak room. Making a detour, you go for the east bathroom, in favour of the north one closer to the dining room.

Slamming the door behind you and locking it, you turn the toilet lid down to sit on it for a moment. A time which gets longer and longer the more you worry your lips to oblivion, thinking on your next move. There is no salvaging what you just did. Humiliating yourself, your victims and the Queen Mother - and by extension, your entire country. No. Surely you couldn’t stay. But how to get out of the embassy without causing more of a fuss? You check the time. Only forty minutes left of the dinner anyway. They couldn’t miss you while still cleaning up. Your stomach turns and lurches heavily, so you turn to press your face into the cool tiled wall.

So, leave. But to where?

No one was in the city, having gone away for the break. Certainly not just home. You wanted just a moment away from everything. You peek your head out into the empty hallway. There is an employee exit next to the kitchens - only the cctv would see you then. But where to? Jihoon? Would he still be around? Would he be okay with seeing you?

You set up a ride for the university before making a break for it, gasping as you lose a bracelet, snagged on the curled handle of the door. Punching in the default entry code, you power walk over the concrete and gravel out to the side street as a little green bug of a car pulls up.

The window winds down to show a man in his early 30’s. “Ride for Y/n?”

“That’s me. Thanks.”

You glance back over your shoulder, through the wrought iron gates to the deadly still building. Jumping in, you tug your long, fluffy skirt in after you.

Bonus

#caratwritersclub #seventeen au #seventeen fic #seventeen social media au #seventeen scenario #seventeen imagine #jihoon fic #jihoon imagine #jihoon scenario #seventeen smau #woozi fic #woozi imagine #woozi scenario #woozi x reader #jihoon x reader #seventeen woozi #seventeen jihoon #mapsu fic #written

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letskidnapsenpai · 4 years ago

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Hi! Could I request an Ikesen or Obey me matchup, please? 😊 You don't have to do this if you don't want to!

I'm an INTP-T, Aquarius. I'm 5'4 (my friends are all really tall which annoys me to no end) and use the pronouns she/they and have really frizzy and unmanageable brown (borderline black) hair that reaches around halfway down my back which I usually keep in a ponytail and really dark brown eyes. I also wear glasses but I usually just forget to put them on half of the time 😅

My day never starts without either a cup of coffee or at least some lemon/peach tea and I love music, reading ('The tell tale heart' by Edgar Allen Poe is one of my favourites), animals and art and plan on majoring in marine biology. My favourite colour is brown just because of how warm it is and my sleep schedule is non existent.

I can be really insensitive sometimes by accident and have a really messed up sense of humor which is usually compiled of dark humor or self depreciative jokes. I'm generally very introverted, initially coming off as cold and/ or intimidating to people when they first meet me according to my friends so it takes a while for me to open up to people but I'm basically like a four year old on a sugar high once you get to know me. A smart and slightly emotionally detached four year old but a four year old with no impulse control or sense of self preservation on a sugar high nonetheless.

I struggle with self-love but I'll be damned if I ever let anyone else think or say anything bad about themselves and I'm really prone to bouts of emotional numbness whenever I get triggered by something like someone yelling at me or a loud noise which leads to me being very distant at times and causing me to struggle with maintaining any kind of relationship (be it platonic, romantic or familial). I'm overly confrontational and swear like a sailor and will not hesitate to call someone out especially when it comes to people I care about.

My love language is physical touch which I think comes from being overly touch starved and I'm clingy and really affectionate, even in public, but get flustered really easily by the littlest things. Like, I cannot handle compliments.

Thank you and make sure to stay safe and take care of yourself! 🥰❤ Also, sorry if this is really long 😅

Hii!💖💫 I matched you with somebody from ikesen, because I felt like it would be better 💖💫 Matching you with someone was really hard, I couldn't choose who to match you with in Ikesen, because you would be awesome with everybody in something, but in the end I picked 💖 I hope it's not too short 🥺💖

My choice for you is... *dice roll* Mitsuhide! And here's why:

• Kitsune boy would tease you for your height, because he, like the other warlords, is giraffe, but little bit of teasing never killed anybody unless you decide to kill him in his sleep for it

• With his straight white hair does he use purple shampoo? and light, golden eyes, you're like perfect opposites when it comes to looks and you make each other's beauty stand out even more

• He'll remaind you to wear your glasses, so you don't go around, bumping into walls or worse, other men

• He probably likes morning tea too, so you two spend your morning in each other's company, drinking tea and talking about your night Mitsuhide's morning voice? I feel like I'm pregnant just from imagining it

• Mitsuhide can probably sing, so he'll either sing or read to you while you fall asleep in his arms

• Another difference between you two is your style, unlike you, he likes cold, light colours you're like Anna and Elza but again, that makes yours beauty stand out more

• He tends to overwork himself, so his sleep schedule is also really bad, but he'll with help if unnamed mom friend try to get you both to rest better, after all, he has to take care of his little mouse

• Something you're both same at is your humor, when you two joke, half of the warlords look at you concerned, Mitsuhide loves your joke and you love to make him laugh

• With Mitsuhide being, well, what he is, your accidentally cold first impression doesn't shock many people, and even less people show when they find out how hyperactive you actually are

• He loves how smart you're, he's so proud of you and he loves showing you off

• Struggles with self love? Don't know her. Mitsuhide can not only have you begging for him in seconds sorry not sorry but he'll also make sure you know how beautiful and perfect to him you are, because he loves you with his whole heart and he'll never let you think something bad about yourself

• He knows everything, so he also knows the real you, so he'll not give up with you even through your distantness and he'll make sure you're okay and everything, no matter what happens

• He'll find your sharp tongue amusing and even more after you scream at somebody for almost hour after that person said something rude about Ranmaru protect that bby

• He'll bathe you in affection, even in public, he doesn't care, he'll treat his lady right no matter who watches

• Prepare to shine red all day long, he's a tease and he'll do anything to make you blush, so you might as well just rename yourself to tomato

#mitsuhide akechi #mitsuhide x reader #ikesen mitsuhide #ikemen sengoku mitsuhide #Mitsuhide akechi x reader #ikemen fanfiction #ikemen games #ikesen #matchups #ikemen sengoku matchups

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kazuwhora · 4 years ago

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🎃 Leaving this emoji here so I know it's me

can I get a matchup?

I'm an INFP Gemini, 1.57m, and I use any pronouns, mostly they/them and she/her

I'm really pale and I wear glasses 24/7 bc without them I can only see things up to 10cm away from me.

my hair is wavy (the kind that if I don't style it correctly it will get straight but a frizzy kind of straight) and I keep changing it all the time.

I've had pink/blue hair, purple/blue, blonde ends, only pink, ginger for 2 years and now it's bright red. normally i like to let it grow and then cut it short, same with my bangs. so there's a lot of combinations here.

I love my hair and I take care of it obsessively, not only mine but my friend's too baji drop your hair care routine

what else... ?

you know that person that is in college but everyone assumes they're on middle school bc they look 13 and act like they're lost everyday everywhere like wth is going on? that's literally me everyone thinks I'm 13 I'm 19 people asked me if I'm a teacher's child too many times now it was getting annoying now being baby-faced is my personal joke

my body is??? hourglass shaped?? I guess?? I'm not thin enough to tell exactly

my back and shoulders are quite large bc I used to swim when I was little, now I take dance classes so all my body strength is in the lower part of my body ((bitch im thicc 😎😎

art I general is my hobbie, so dancing and singing and painting are my thing

I also used to take fighting classes when I was younger but my parents only took me for three months and then they stopped bc I would be wanting to fight god and the world

i still want to fight god and the world but now I don't have the tools to do so. how unfortunate.

I dress mostly in what makes me feel confortable? crop tops shorts and slippers every day. if not, hoodies and baggy pants. all black with rainbow socks.

about my personality I'm just-- idk?

bleh?

my whole childhood I was just the smart kid and now I'm not so I don't have a sense of personality.

my friends say that I have strong opinions and don't hold back

which is kinda true?

I do have a sense of justice and I will defend it until the end and somedays I will step up and defend them with words and physically if I have to.

but most of the time i just don't have a filter

most of the time my Inside Outs are staring into space like 😐 and just letting everything happen. so will say something like "Thats dumb. you can do better. I respect that you have a opinion. but I think your opinion is dumb" while having no expression in my face. I'll notice 3 seconds later how RUDE that was and start laughing bc omg that was mean.

other days I'm just a fleeing sunlight being excited about everything like a child would.

idk what else to say

my favorite avenger is natasha, I love genshin albedo my beloved rerun when, loona stan. lactose intolerant but I don't give a shit bc I love ice cream.

I feel like I talked so much but didn't say anything. cool. I'm awful at talking about myself but I tried.

bye 💜

ok so one of my best friends (probably my only friend ngl) is an infp and I feel like struggling with defining your personality is 100% an infp thing but u did a good job and ty for providing me with so much information!!!

im definitely matching you up with hanma idc if you love him or hate him this a ship I can get behind 👏🏻

first of all lets both take a moment to appreciate how fucking hot that man is like god fucking DAMN that first picture never fails to get me smfh

second of all. ur an infp. hanma is an entp. y'all have barely anything in common cognitively and its fucking AMAZING. I live for infp (and also intp for u intps there) and entp ships because the way that us entp's are in nature is completely opposite from an infp, while still sharing the perception function that allows both types to understand each other to some extent that just makes for a really fun match ok?? trust me on this.

he is obsessed with your individuality. as an extravert, not only does hanma benefit from your ability to access an introverted aspect that works to ease him from the burnout extraverts can face when they are unable to enable an introverted mindset every now and then, but he also learns to laugh both with you and at you- and genuinely. like you make him laugh. he thinks you're hilarious and as an entp who are typically known to be a little self obsessed, he didn't think it was possible to think anyone was hilarious except himself? he's like damn this girl is really like a kinder surprise.

he also really loves your art and finds that he's a little annoyed that he's not artistically inclined so he'll beg you to paint something for him and he wont stop until you do. just dont paint an ugly portrait of him on purpose or he's gonna get butthurt about it going on about how "damn is this how you see me?? </3 rip me I guess" and he wont shut up about it until you make it up to him and apologize for making a mean joke.

and then he just makes a joke towards you that's like 10x meaner and he WONT apologize for it. wallow in the revenge because its not going to end anytime soon.

lets be honest tho, when the two of you are together around others its a little overwhelming for people. hanma's entp-ness really brings out a side of you that leans on the extroverted side. you feed off his energy and the two of you are lowkey a little mean to people. but they deserve it, right? its their fault for being idiots. you enable each other hardcore here but its fine. they all know you're just being you and hanma is happy to have someone on his side.

you and hanma can fight god together btw <3 he's a little delulu

#matchup #this one is so funny to me because its so calm yet so chaotic

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saviorinsilk · 5 years ago

Text

New Life

Pairing: Cordelia Goode X Female OC

Warning: None

The sun was at the highest point of the day, misty clouds covering it, causing the air to not be as stifling as the day before. That made me happy as I had felt sick from the heat of the summer here in New Orleans, Louisiana. I wasn't used to weather like this and even though I had arrived at Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies over two weeks ago, I didn't think I would ever get used to the deathly humidity that made my usually wavy hair a curly, frizzy mess. I had always worn my hair down before, but now I had to get used to a big messy bun sitting on the top of my head. Since that was, unfortunately, the only way it looked presentable. Honestly, though, my new hairstyle was the least of my problems.

Back in Canada, I had managed to live my 20 years of life being an extreme introvert. I had one friend that I kept from high school but I had already moved on from her in the mere 16 days I had been a country away. I had been used to being alone a lot, but that was an unfamiliar concept here at Miss Robichaux's. The only time you were alone was when you showered, but even then there was probably a girl blow drying her hair or fixing her makeup behind the curtain. I had learned pretty quickly to savour the fleeting moments when I was locked up in the bathroom, doing the one thing everyone agreed was not a group event. I Cherished those times. I tried very hard to be invisible but in a house full of witches that wasn't exactly easy. I had managed to avoid most conversations, except one with a girl named Nan, which thankfully had been very pleasant. I sat at the back of my classes and had somehow managed to talk myself out of having to do the introduction that I and a few other new girls had been asked to perform. The real miracle was that I had lucked out with my roommates. I got placed with a girl who only tiptoed into the room late at night once everyone was already in bed and a drama queen who had better things to do then talk to "my weird ass" as she put it. I took a long drag from the small joint between my fingers, the sweet taste of lemony haze filling my lungs. I felt my body relax as I pushed the smoke from my slightly parted lips. It seemed that with every exhale the stress in my mind and the pain in my muscles floated up to the sky as the air was filled with the pungent aroma. Back home I had had a medical marijuana license for my anxiety and it had been hell trying to survive without it in the south. I sat on the lawn in the backyard, studying the huge live oak trees that acted as a tall fence around the perimeter of the property. The freshly cut grass tickled my pale legs through the thin material of a bohemian style dress that Misty, a witch who lived in the house had given me. I had left the beautiful light blue shawl that she had given me as well, on my bed. The clouds provided enough protection from the scorching sun today. "It's beautiful out here." A soft voice spoke. I was dragged out of my thoughts by the feeling of my skin leaving my bones as I let out a loud yelp and my butt literally left the ground. My head snapped around and landed on the source of the noise. Cordelia Goode was standing only a few paces behind me, her head tilted up, eyes closed, feeling the warmth of the sun on her face. My heart skipped a beat and I had to fight my jaw from dropping open.

Miss Goode was the most beautiful women I had ever laid my eyes on. Her blond hair shone brightly as the sun broke through a cloud as if her beauty opened up the heavens. She wore a mint green, long-sleeved blouse made out of the breathable fluid material that I adored. Her petite but splendid curves were enhanced by the black loose-fitting pencil skirt that hugged them. I was completely and fully taken aback by her beauty, even though I had seen her many times.

I had hurried out of rooms every chance I got and when I couldn't avoid her, like during her class or morning meeting, I made sure to kept my eyes focused on something else. I accepted the fact that I was gay, but I sure as hell wasn't eager for anyone one else to know, given what happened last time someone did. Yet at this moment I couldn't tear my eyes away. Just looking at her was enough to give me butterflies. Cordelia smiled brightly and her now open, deep chocolate brown eyes settled on my wide pale blue eyes. "A strong sixth sense might not be an ability of yours," Cordelia said with a light chuckle. I'm not sure if it was her voice that brought me back to earth or if it was the loud bang of a hammer that came from a few houses down, but whatever it was suddenly made me aware of the fact that I indeed had a joint between my black slender nails. I quickly snuffed out the sourcing end of it into the grass in front of me and tucked it in my waist, bringing my knees up against my chest. "I'm so sorry Miss Goode! I'll never do it again, I promise. Please don't tell Myrtle." I stammered, my gaze locked on my bare feet that were sticking out from the bottom of my dress. My head spun as I thought of the consciences that were surely in store for me. One of our instructors, an older woman named Myrtle had given us a very serious talk after finding one of the girls drunk on the front porch after a long Friday night. We may have been away from our parents, but us young girls needed to remember that there was never a witch that achieved greatness by goofing around with drugs, over drinking or silly antics. I could still hear the intense tone she spoke in filling my head. Cordelia's eyes scanned me and her face rose into a sweet smile. "There's no need to be sorry Ellie. At least it's natural, unlike the insane amount of hard liquor some people in this city consume. Sometimes we all need a little help relaxing." Cordelia's voice was caring, her smile turning sympathetic. I was shocked and it took me a second to process all of it. All I could manage to do was to nod awkwardly before beginning to push myself off the plush ground. Cordelia's hand came up to stop me. "Sit." She commanded. I immediately obeyed, grabbing the joint in my hand as it slid away when my butt collided with the ground. "I'm on a short break and some fresh air would do me some good as well." She lowered herself next to me, her legs crossed out in front of her. I realized that she too was barefoot and for some reason it made me smile secretly to myself. Cordelia signed as she leans back on her outstretched arms, her head lazily turning towards me. She looked like an angel with the sun shining on her light pale skin. "We missed you at the morning meeting today. I was worried." Cordelia said. She was worried? About me? Those nasty metaphoric butterflies were back and they were frantic. When I just stared at her silently, Cordelia pursed her plump lips and narrowed her eyes slightly, as if she was concentrating on me. I shook my head and averted my eyes down to my fingers, that were busy rolling the joint against my skin. "I'm so sorry. I went for a walk this morning and I got...distracted. I know how important you said it is to be there on time. I messed up. I'll pick up some extra work around the house to make up for it." I offered, my guilty conscience getting the better of me. I tried to be tough but it didn't always go the way I wanted it to when I was confronted. "As much as I appreciate your civility, I'm not angry with you. I was just concerned because you have been very punctual since you got here." She said, worry in her eyes. I was embarrassed. I had made her worry. I may have been antisocial but I never wanted my actions to upset someone else. I had always been very empathetic and I felt ashamed of my actions. "Where did you walk? Around the Garden District?" Cordelia asked. Oh ya, I had walked around the neighbour for sure, I had studied every inch of it. "Ya, and a bit farther. I may have ended up at Staker's" I said sheepishly. Staker's was the small corner store a fair distance away. I could have guessed the reaction that Cordelia would have to this information but I wasn't excepting her discouraging tone to be quite as present as it was. "Elizabeth! That is at least a 20-minute drive away! What time were you up?" She demanded, her sunny disposer absent. God, she used my full name. No one had used that name since I got here. The last person to call me Elizabeth was my mother. "3:00 am," I said quietly as I peeked up at Cordelia's unhappy face. "Ellie you shouldn't be out on the streets at that time of night! It can get dangerous out there in the dark, especially for a witch and a beautiful young lady like yourself." Cordelia explained. I felt my cheeks getting warm and I could only imagine how red they must have been. Had Cordelia just called me beautiful? "I-I know. I just couldn't sleep because it was so hot and I had a real hankering for an iced tea and a crappy corner story donut." I stuttered, praying that my blushing wasn't too noticeable. Cordelia raised her eyebrows and her expression lighten a bit. "You could have asked one of your roommates where the fans were and I'm sure Zoe or one of the other girls with a license would have taken you to fulfil your cravings at lunch if you had asked," Cordelia said. She was so sweet but she didn't know the secrets some of the were hiding. I opened my mouth to argue that I didn't think the other girls liked me that much and that I had felt like I was suffocating in the house last night and had to make an escape before I saw my grave, but I couldn't. There was something about Cordelia that had an effect on me. I would go along with whatever came out of that woman's sweet lips. I'm sure that's how most cult members had felt towards their leaders and it had never done them any good but I was a hopeless romantic. "You're right. No more late night strolls. Promise." I settled with the polite response. After all, she was my Head Mistress AND my Supreme. Cordelia smiled, satisfied. "Good. Us witches need to be careful. Although there have been lots of people that have accepted us since we have gone public, there are still those out there that would like nothing more than to put a knife to your throat and play the violin." She warned, her words painting an image in my head that I would have been fine with never witnessing. It was true though and I had seen first hand how some people just couldn't deal with diversity. It had been a gloomy day when I had been in the Denver Airport, waiting patiently in line at Annie's Pretzels to get a treat for my connecting flight to New Orleans, when some nosy bitch glanced over my shoulder. I had been reading over a letter from Miss Robichaux's Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies, excited over the invitation to come to see the school for myself. Suddenly the lady exploded in rage, shouting crude language as well as slipping in the words freak, Satanist along with just screaming WITCH over and over. She must have seen the news. I had stood my ground, not about to lose my place near the front of the line. I wanted my soft warm pretzel and no lunatic was going to take that away from me. Luckily she had been in line with a level-headed person, that dragged her away before I had been angered to the point of showing her just how much of a "freak" I was. People had never been kind to those who were different and the deep south was a perfect example of that. I may have felt like I could take care of myself but Cordelia was right. I hadn't left my whole life behind in another country to be murdered within my first month of freedom. "I've been meaning to talk to you for the last couple days but things just keep getting in the way. Life always gets a bit crazy when we have new arrivals. I would like you to come to my office so we can catch up on how you have been settling in. Also, I'd like to do a quick evaluation of your abilities, due to the distressed state you were in when you arrived. It probably wasn't a fair judgment of your capabilities." Cordelia softly placed her hand over mine, stopping my fidgeting fingers. Her skin was warm and surprising soft like silk. The contact was heavenly and I could have stayed in this moment forever if the universe had allowed it. But the anxiety crept back with the thought of the distressed state I had indeed been in when arriving at the academy. I hadn't thought about it today until now. It had been nice to live in ignorance for the short time. "Do you think you would be able to swing by after dinner tonight? Don't worry about the dishes, one of the other girls will take your shift." Cordelia said, answering my question before I even had a chance to ask it. It was almost as if she could see my thoughts in writing. God, that would be a disaster if it were true. All the innocent I projected would be gone with the brutality of my unholy thoughts. I liked the idea of skipping the chores that we had been giving since last week when the number of girls was too much for the staff and the few maids to clean up after. "Manual Labour builds character" Kyle, the butler had told the whiny girls in the kitchen. "Of course Miss. Goode." I replied, forcing a smile, across my nervous expression. It's not like I minded the thought of being alone with the women of my dreams but at the same time, the idea caused my anxiety-ridden demons to claw there way out of their dark hiding place. "Call me Cordelia, just between the two of us," Cordelia said, patting my hand that she still held tenderly. I couldn't help but smile goofily. "I better get back inside, any moment we are likely to hear Myrtle's voice." Cordelia laughed, squeezing my hand before she pushed her slender body up, gently wiping the loose grass that had stuck to her skirt. Cordelia smiled down at me. "I'll see you at dinner." She said before turning her back. No force could pull my gaze away from her as she gracefully made her way to the back door. I blinked when she disappeared into the house, the door swinging shut with a thud behind her. I couldn't help but smile to myself as the last few minutes replayed in my head. I glanced down at the grass in front of me, my eyes settling on the tarnished patch from where I had put my joint out. I extended my hand, lightly covering it. My eyes fluttered closed and I felt a familiar tingling in my fingers as the sunlight caressed my face. A surreal image of a luscious field of natural grasses lay behind my eyelids. The wind blew the praise plants that I had seen every day for the last 20 years of my life, as I began to feel the grass beneath my skin tickling between my digits. I wiggled my fingers slightly as I continued to study the blades of grass in my mind. After a few moments, I opened my eyes lazily and was pleased to see the once grey and burnt grass had grown taller than the lawn around it, and the colour repaired to the deep shade of green. I giggled and let my body weight pull me back, releasing a deep sigh as my body collided with the ground under me. The sun shone beautifully through the live oaks above. Maybe things would turn around. After all, this was a safe haven and if happiness lived somewhere, it would surely be in a place like this.

#lana writes #cordelia goode #cordelia goode x reader #ahs #american horror story #ahs fanfiction #ahs fanfic #american horror story fanfic

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nancypullen · 4 years ago

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Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

So.

I mentioned that I'd post about my hair and the ongoing struggle. It is, quite frankly, the bane of my existence. My sister and I have deep discussions about our hair and what on Earth we're going to do with it. I'm not even going to pretend that we haven't considered shaving our heads and investing in wigs. Someone once commented on my long, thick eyelashes and I responded that I felt the universe gave me those as a pre-emptive apology for what it was about to put on my head. My sister's hair is even thicker and curlier than mine. She must have done something terrible in a former life. I can usually beat mine into submission, but if rain clouds are even thinking about making an appearance I don't bother - a ponytail and/or a hat will do just fine. That's a bummer if I'm headed to a formal event. You really don't want to be the woman at the funeral or wedding sporting a baseball cap. That's when a modified French Twist and a clip come into play. Anywayyyyyy, I said I'd discuss all of this a couple of days ago, but I waited because I made an appointment with a wonderful stylist and thought I'd post a big reveal.

I stopped touching up my roots in September. Nine months later, because my hair grows like kudzu, I decided that the white portion was long enough to get a big chop without going too short. I'll be honest, I was never in love with the white. I didn't hate it, I just wasn't sure it was a good look for me. So, like I do, I scoured the internet for colors and styles that might make me feel a little less blah. I found what I liked and discussed everything via message with the stylist. At one point she asked for pics of just how white my growth was...I had just come in from the garden, I was sweaty and frizzy, but I clipped up a layer of hair and snapped a photo. I told her that I was afraid she'd block me after seeing this picture.

When I didn't hear back from her for over an hour that's exactly what I thought had happened. Would you want to try to style that hair? But she mustered up her courage and scheduled me. So today I clipped back my bed hair, sent a text to my sister with an unflattering photo and said, "Say goodbye to the white!" I sat down in a chair at Lush Salon, printouts in hand, ready for my makeover. Good thing I wasn't expecting a miracle. The talented stylist gave me the cut I wanted -not too long, not too short- and got busy with my color. I was looking for something subtle, somewhere between a dark blonde and a light brown. The words honey, caramel, and even mocha were tossed around. In the end, it didn't help my hair but it did make me hungry. My hair wouldn't take the color. It just wouldn't. I've been letting it free range for too long and it refuses to be broken. The stylist kept saying, "I've never seen this before..." and called in a support team to observe my hair. They were all stumped. No one had any answers. Five years ago this would have made me cry, now I shrug and say, "Yeah, that seems about right." It was eventually determined that there wasn't much else that could be done for my hair today and that it would take additional visits to reach the color I wanted. So I left the salon and went out into the world with flesh-colored hair. Not kidding. On the left is the ugly pic I sent to my sister pre-appointment. On the right is the result of two and a half hours in a salon chair.

Damned if I do, damned if I don't. I popped into Publix with my beige hair and picked up some Sugar Kiss melons, eggs, mint, and limes - then I marched right over to the bakery and purchased pistachio macarons. If you need me I'll be over here eating my feelings. You'd think that in my fifty-seven (almost 58! gulp) years that I would have surrendered and made peace with this hair. I just can't. I know that there's a solution. If we can put a man on the moon, surely science can conquer my mop. The sweet stylist promised to "do some research" and get back to me. Okay. I'm in. If I don't give her another shot it's like giving up. It doesn't hurt that as I left the salon she said, "Have you ever thought about auburn...?" That's like dangling a porkchop in front of a hungry dog. So, for the moment my hair is the color of a Band-Aid. If you see me, please don't mention it. I know. It's not doing anything for me, but neither was the white. I'm in transition and I ask that you respect my privacy during this difficult time. Isn't that what celebrities say every time they screw something up? Have mercy. And if you can't have mercy, do you have a wig I can borrow? Ugh.

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 4 years ago

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Chunky Bracelets

I was gonna only do half of this today but then I finished it.

Summary: Icy reflects on her past; decidedly, it is better to do the victimizing than be the victim.

Self-harm mentions.

Sometimes the face reflected in the glass isn’t the one she wants. Sometimes the face in the mirror seems unnatural, like it shouldn’t be. And maybe that’s because it is. It was different some time ago...a long time ago now.

Icy rummages through her drawer and finds her favorite eyeshadow, her mascara, and her eyeliner. She draws it on thick and winged, accents her lashes, and adds a soft tint to her lips. Sometimes she chooses black or a deep navy blue, but today she is feeling for something lighter. Something like first frost on the grass. She fixes her hair into it’s high ponytail and accents it with diamonds, some faux and some real.

Her work is done. She is nothing like she was back then.

And she should be glad for it. There was nothing to like about her back then. Not her weird interests, not her awkward personality, and certainly not her looks--the way she dressed, her unkept, unwashed hair. Those ridiculous glasses and those painful braces.

She taps her eyeliner pencil against her chin; she could probably make it work now. The outfit anyhow. She thinks that her style of dress wouldn’t have been so terrible had it not clashed with whatever the hell had been going on with her face and personality.

Chunky studded bracelets clamped over blue and black arm warmers that fit too loosely around her arms paired with a ridiculously oversized muscle tank top--she can’t remember which band logo it had boasted. Ripped skinny jeans--they would have been anyhow if they weren’t so baggy on her--tucked into studded combat boots.

Yes, she could make that work now. But they didn’t sit well with braces, and glasses, and tangled hair. They were worn even worse on someone who stuttered through every conversation. Someone who rambled on about stupid things like snowglobe collections, famous brooms used by famous witches, and bands that no one else cared about.

She runs the comb through her hair until it is silky and immaculate. Until she has worked any trace of that person out with the knots. She doesn’t think about that person often. She tries to think none of her at all. Even still, after so long, and even in private solitude, it brings color to her pale cheeks.

Icy had been such an easy target, she doesn’t blame the lot of them. She wasn’t their favorite; their favorite was a short chubby girl with awful hand-eye coordination and a habit of stumbling over her own feet. But she was a good second.

They had many names for her but mostly she was a poser. A wannabe. An abomination to the punk-rock scene.

And her lyrics were just as absurd. Solstice had made that clear enough when she snagged her notebook and read them all out loud.

“Sing for us, Icy!” She shouted. “We want a concert!”

She did. She isn’t sure what she thought she would accomplish. Maybe she thought that she would have been a phenomenal singer, that she would have showed them all. And maybe she would have if she hadn’t been red-faced and anxious. Her song was shaky and off key.

She never sang again. Never wanted to.

For a time she unclasped the studded bracelets and swapped her skinny jeans for plain blue jeans. She traded her tank tops for oversized plaid sweaters in a soft baby blue. Somehow that made things worse. And of course that did. She was no longer a wannabe but a full blown dork. She supposes that at least the style had fit the person.

She picks through her closet for something to wear. She isn’t sure if she wants to go for the pastel goth aesthetics or something darker, something old school--batcave maybe. But then she’d have to break out the hairspray and style it all over again.

She transferred schools after that year. When they started throwing things at her and crafting little ornaments to hang in her hair she had requested the transfer. Her requests went ignored until she got careless--until her sleeve fell back and they found the scars.

She runs her fingers over them. Where they would be if she hadn’t tattooed over them. If she can’t see them, then they aren’t there. If they aren’t there then she never had a reason to put them there. If she never had a reason to put them there then she was never anything but suave and cool, smooth and confident.

The school that she was transferred to was smaller. Private. It wasn’t even in her home realm. She tried many styles then; one week she was preppy, the next she tried for something more sporty, and the week after that was whatever everyone else was wearing. And then she settled on simply being a punk-rock poser again. At least that took little effort and acting. There is something poetic about that, she knows.

She settles for pastel goth today, it goes well with her hair. She holds the dress against her body. Her elegant, slender body. There is a soft shimmer to her skin. Her skin has always had a shimmer to it. She studies the mirror again. Her cheeks are sculpted just as elegantly, her eyes are framed with makeup instead of glasses. Her hair falls over her shoulder in long, groomed waves. She has a pretty face. She likes to think that it is well earned.

She has earned her right to look down on the frizzy-haired and the bespectacled. She has earned her right to mock fareries that are too fat for their wings and witches that are skinnier than their broomsticks. She has earned her right to torment those who need to get themselves together.

She is glamorous. She has status. She has earned her right… And yet she feels hollow. Fake.

It is a nagging and persistent itch that is ever present each time she opens her mouth to let one of those loathsome pixies know that they are weak. She is fake. It is all a lie.

She tugs her dress on and steps out into the hallway.

“Oh perfect, you’re just on time!” Stormy greets.

“We were just reminding Mirta that she doesn’t belong here.” Darcy adds.

The girl is cornered. Icy rolls her eyes. The girl makes it too easy. Laughably easy. She is wearing Lucy’s arm warmers. She squeezes her eyes shut and covers her ears with her hands. Her fingernails are painted in an alternating red and black.

“She doesn’t need the reminder, she already knows.” Icy shrugs. “Don’t you, Mirta?”

“Y-yes.”

Icy rolls her eyes. “Then what are you doing here? This is a school for witches not, whatever the hell you are.”

“She’s a fairy in a witch’s clothing.” Stormy remarks.

“A poser.” Darcy comments, quirking a perfectly penciled brow.

A poser… Icy folds her arms over her chest.

She doesn’t think much of it throughout the day. She doesn’t think of it at all, really. Not until she makes it back to the dorm. And then she doesn’t stop thinking about it.

And the more she thinks about it, the more she thinks that she had made a mistake. She isn’t sure which kind or when exactly she had made it. But when she stands in front of the mirror and scrubs her eye makeup away, she is damn near certain that she has.

Sometimes when she stares for too long at her bare face she sees an awkward girl with glasses and braces and messy hair. And sometimes when she stares for much too long, she misses that person. That kinder person. That lanky girl with the arm warmers, studded bracelets, and oversized shirt. That stupid girl who--rather poorly--played the guitar in a stupid garage band.

“Hey.” Darcy leans in the door frame. “We’re going to the bar. You coming?”

“Let me reapply my makeup.”

“We still have to get ready too.” Stormy shrugs.

Icy wanders back to her closet. To the very back of it; he tugs on the arm warmers, clamps on those chunky studded bracelets. For old time’s sake, she tells herself.

#Winx #Winx Club #Winx Icy #Trix Icy #Fanfiction

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1zashreena1 · 5 years ago

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Emotional Spanking -8

18+, m/f, technically OCxDiego Jimenez [Power]

Summary: Princess has an emotional epiphany, a panic attack, a visitor, and a pleasant disciplinary action. In that order.

WARNINGS: Ridiculous descriptions and ‘the code is more like guidelines’ outlook on grammar. Is it OOC if the character was given essentially zero development in canon???

SMUT. SPANKING. FEELS. the L word, previously completed kink negotiations, plus size woman+fit man, soft!Diego, immediately followed by hard!Diego, overwhelmed Princess, He Licks Everything, is a relationship happening??, literally no one knows, not even them

A/N: Princess took on a life of her own and has essentially become an OC. There are infrequent mentions of her description (specifically as plus size) and her actual name in later pieces (its Bicki). She started as self-insert so she looks like me (plus size, white, short, blue eyes, curly hair). If that is not your thing, I totally understand. And do not feel obligated to read this, I will not be offended!

I’m not a fan of “plot” so be aware that most of this series is just meandering through their relationship, angst-fluff-smut whiplash style. But with dick jokes.

This piece is my baby. My heart is in this one. You have been warned.

TAGLIST: @chelsfic @symbiont13 @nicke0115 @bunnykjm @rosee-sensuelle @girlpornparadise @mandoplease @heresathreebee @xxsteph-enrixx @jetiikad @joalsglasses @mutantcookiesecrets @demoncatstone @squidlywiddly87 @lockedoutofmyotherblog @poeedamerons

Whoever is banging on your door at 6:45 on a Monday morning is relentless. You know it's not your downstairs neighbors; the second floor apartment is still empty because your landlord is actually very sweet and doesn't just screen future tenants for ability to pay the rent, he tries to make sure they'll fit in with the current tenants too. And the little family on the first floor has that loud-ass two year old. There's no blabbery baby talk and the sound of the impact is damn near at the top of the door. So it's definitely Stranger Danger.

You're just going to wait it out. They have to give up at some point. And you've just spent three days ignoring literally everything in the universe, so really, the odds are in your favor here.

Except… you live in a tiny little town. The population on the sign says 570, but they were being generous in counting all the farms within a 10 mile radius. No one comes to your door accidentally. People don't wander up three flights of exterior stairs on an old farmhouse in the middle of Pennsylvania Dutch Country while it's barely above freezing and still dark out. So there are two options:

Serial Killer.

Or, ugh, someone who knows you.

They're not stopping and it's starting to piss you off.

"This better be a fucking murderer!" You mutter as you stomp to the door. Impressive really, considering your pajama pants are over a foot too long and the apartment is carpeted. You reach the door and turn the deadbolt (banging still going on), unlock the doorknob (really, this is just excessive), and yank the door open with a war cry.

"WHAT THE FUCK!"

Its Diego.

Its Diego looking... odd? You take a split second to catalogue his appearance, it's like a reflex at this point because you can't not ogle him every time his existence is within your range of sight. He's not wearing a belt?? His shirt is half untucked and his jacket extremely wrinkled. One side of his hair is completely flat, as if he slept on it, and his squinted eyes are very, very red. Like he just came off a three day bender. Or he's been crying, your traitorous brain oh so helpfully supplies.

Diego, frozen mid-bang, also takes this time to look you up and down. His eyebrows raise and his brow furrows, clearly not impressed. You're wearing the same pair of pajamas as the last three days. Mismatched socks (one is orange, the other neon green), the overly long drawstring punjammy pants with one cuff rolled up from your stomping, a shelf bra camisole that lost its ability to function as a bra sometime in the last decade, no make up, and your somehow greasy yet simultaneously frizzy floop of curls.

Softly, but with great feeling, he rasps, "What the fuck, Princess?"

Oh no, this is Not Good. This is so, very, incredibly, horrendously bad. Your right arm tenses in preparation to slam the door in his face. His left hand shoots out to land on the door, his arm taut to hold it motionless. He's keeping the door pinned to the wall so he can continue taking up all of the open space of the doorway with his massive body. You snarl silently at him but let go of the door because you know this is the one man who actually can physically overpower you. And you don't need a shattered door to match your shattered pride.

You aim for unbothered dismissive bitch when you ask, "What are you doing here?"

You fail spectacularly when it comes out in a tremulous whisper.

Instead of waiting for an answer you spin around and go left into the living/dining/kitchen largest-space-in-the-apartment all-purpose room. You collapse on your tiny sectional and tuck your feet up under you to sit cross legged. You can hear Diego slam the door and follow after you. As he comes around the chaise of the sectional you reach behind yourself and grab the crocheted blanket your mom made off the back of the couch and desperately try to hide in it. All you want is to become invisible. Diego, of course, is not going to allow that. Asshole.

"What am I doing here? You have not answered anyone for three days! Not your normal phone, not the phone I gave you, not even a Facebook message from your mother! Your sister told Lisa that no one can reach you. Lisa called Julio! What have you been doing?? Clearly you have... gone nowhere…?" His speech started off barking but had shrunk to down to a horrified whisper as he took in the state of your apartment. Everything is everywhere. There are dirty dishes on the breakfast bar. Hair bands scattered across every horizontal surface. A lone lip balm is abandoned on the floor among a sea of used tissues.

--------

This is so not the woman he knows. There's no sarcastic snark of an answer. That woman would never leave something as important as a lip balm on the floor. Shit, she uses packing cubes for fuck's sake. As he kneels down to retrieve the tube of mint goop he hears it. The one sound that always makes him freeze up and opens a sinkhole in his belly: She's crying.

This unflappable woman who makes eye contact with all of his men, who never hesitates to lecture him on 'feminist theory', who gleefully stuffs an entire slice of pizza into her face while sitting in the VIP booth at the club with skinny models looking on in horror, and once called his bluff about putting on a show in the back of a limo by winking and telling Julio to watch them as she pushed him to his knees in front of her while simultaneously yanking up her miniskirt… is crying.

And it's probably my fault. He's almost certain this is his fault. Who else could make her emotional like this? Is someone else important enough to be worth her tears? It had better be my fault. If it's someone else I will kill them.

He looks up to see she has wrapped herself entirely in that weird fuzzy blanket her mother somehow made. The whole blanket creation process had been a mystery to him despite listening to her mother explain it step by step. She even has it over her head like a hood. Which would be adorably hilarious if she weren't ugly crying. Ew, please stop.

It only takes two shuffling steps on his knees to reach her, the living room is so small. He wraps his hands entirely around her forearms and pulls her own hands from her face. How is she beautiful with snot running from her nose? Only for her to flinch backwards. Okay, ouch.

"Look at me." He demands. She just scrunches her face harder. He tries a softer tone, "Please?" That does it. Those bottomless eyes come up and they are so, so lagoon green rather than the normal deepest blue of the open sea. How does she do that?

"Tell me. Talk to me, Princess. Let me in."

------------------

How does he do that? This large, intimidating, powerful, volatile man should not be able to make you feel safe of all things. Blurting out your feelings to Lisa had been terrifying. Realizing what had just come out of your mouth had brought on a sense of fear so acute it was nauseating. But here you are, staring into that pleading chocolate gaze and wanting nothing more than to answer him.

You can vividly remember the conversation that triggered this entire mess:

You came home from another insane weekend in New York and desperately needed to ruin your best friend's day with extremely detailed descriptions of your depravity. Lisa being Lisa, acted exaggeratedly horrified to hear that you demanded he fuck Franchesca in the bathroom so you could go down on her after to lick out his come while he then fingered you. Okay, maybe she wasn't exaggerating… much. But she knows you. She was not surprised that you wanted to watch him rail Franchesca over a bathroom sink but he insisted on trying to choke you with his tongue while he did it. And she is not shocked that you licked Franchesca off in under two minutes-- or came for him just after. Lisa is still laughing about the finality of Diego's abrupt dismissal of Franchesca the second you come all over his hand when she tells you, "That asshole is a full on freak, girl. Perfect for you!"

And the moment of your damnation, a soft sigh of an admission, "Yeah. I love him."

And you had removed yourself from all human contact for 3 days immediately following that. No social media, no phones, no internet. Nothing.

...so here you are.

His gigantic hands are wrapped around your forearms, fingers so long they overlap his thumbs. You're not afraid of those hands or their assumed capacity for violence. You should be; you know that, you're not stupid. Or maybe you are. After all, you trust this man who runs the most powerful fucking drug cartel in the western hemisphere and you've never even gotten a speeding ticket. While you've been lost in your musings, he released your forearms only to cup your face in those ridiculous hands. Those hands you love, you fucking dumbass.

No other man has ever touched you like this. Never touched your face with reverence, handled your body with an almost jealous possession, or ripped your heart open ever so gently with an earnest expression. He listens, enthralled, when you go off on a rant. He watches where you look while you're out and about. Like a hawk, he notices every shiny little thing you linger on, only for you to find it hidden in your luggage on the way home, wrapped neatly in a tiny box. You once told him that you don't like your elbows touched, it produces some weird overload sensation in your nervous system. And he never took your elbow in hand again, shifted to a hand on your lower back (or your ass, of course. Always a classic). He never seems to care what size is on the tag of the clothes he gets you, only that you like them and you like the way you look in them. He throws his head back with booming laughter when you scream obscenities at traffic. He always thanks you when you make food. Even if he does have to peel the cheese off… he just gives it back to you.

You may have gotten used to the private jet, the SUVs that cost more than your parent's house, the way every restaurant where he takes you has no prices, hell sometimes there isn't even a menu. You've even grown accustomed to the jarring dichotomy of coming home to an apartment the size of his penthouse bedroom while still dripping in precious stones and stuffing your new Louboutins in your purse for the three story climb.

But you're almost certain you will never be over the way your cardiovascular system seizes up when he captures you with a single look, or the functional failure of your lungs when his eyes crinkle with laugh lines, the complete implosion of your stomach when those damn dimples appear, or how your entire reproductive tract clenches with need when he licks his lips, and when your brain stutters to a halt because he lays those hands on your shoulders and swipes his thumbs up your jawline to stroke the pulse point under your ears while leaning his forehead on yours.

You realize you've just been staring at him like a moron for what must be for-fucking-ever. You can tell it's been a while because his eyebrows have lowered and he's starting to look a little defeated. You can feel the weight of his hands easing from your cheeks as he begins to pull back from you. Oh no you don't, you gorgeous fucking asshole.

You slap your hands down on his shoulders with entirely too much force and fling yourself off the couch directly into his lap with a level of violence usually reserved for people who won't put their phones away in a movie theater. He grunts with the sudden addition of your weight and teeters backwards for a second before smashing you into his body via the vise of his arms. You bury your face in his neck, where his stubbly beard catches on your stupid frizz, card your fingers through his amazingly soft hair, and start a whole new round of bawling.

He's kissing the side of your neck, nuzzling into you like he wants to be inside your skin with you. His fingers are spread wide across your back, he's trying to touch as much of you as possible all at once. You can hear a soft, keening whine but you have no idea which one of you is making it. Does it even matter?

The noise stops when you feel his teeth gently sink into the join of your neck and right shoulder. Oh. Guess it was him. His right hand dips low to palm your ass cheek and flatten you further against him. You automatically squeeze your legs around his hips in response.

You realize he's not hard. The shock of this revelation further delays you in understanding that someone is talking. And that someone is you.

"Please please, I'm sorry, please." Hiccup. "Its never- I've never been. I'm scared. It's too much and I'm scared." Another sob. "You keep leaving and it's just. What i-i-i-if you don't come back?" A stuttering inhaled gasp. "Who am I w-w-w-without you? What do I do?" A coughing sob. "You m-m-m-make me weak like this and I fucking h-h-hate it!" And you dissolve into another round of wailing sobs. You know you're practically screaming but you can't seem to stop. Your left hand is clawed into his hair and your right is fisted in the collar of his jacket, ruining the Armani. You're fairly certain the mess of snot and drool leaking out of your face isn't doing any favors for his shirt either.

He's just… letting you. Just letting you ruin his stupid expensive clothes and have a meltdown all over him. Like this is okay. Like it's no big deal. His left hand is rubbing circles over your ribcage while you howl. He releases your neck to raise his chin and tuck you up underneath it. Rubbing his goatee over your hair, then kissing the top of your head so incredibly gently. That can't smell good, you think hysterically.

Your sobs are finally starting to ease but he hasn't made a move to let go yet. You start to wonder how long he's going to kneel here holding you. Can it be forever?

It finally registers that his breathing is rough, labored. His shoulders are shaking under you. Now you're legitimately frightened.

"Diego?" You finally work up the nerve to speak. You hate the way your voice sounds like a small child. "...baby?" He is slowly stiffening under you and not in the fun way. You start to pull your face back from his neck only for his left hand to shoot up into your hair and hold you in place. It's not painful but it's definitely not soft either. Your breathing is starting to speed up. You instinctively know something important is about to happen. And it terrifies you.

He is holding you so tight its bordering on painful when he finally speaks into your hair.

"Why. Tell me why you fear that I never return. You are not weak. And this is not hate." He uses the hand in your hair to pull your head back. You fight it at first, it's just your nature. Then you squeeze your eyes shut and let him move you like a ragdoll. With no vision you don't know what he's doing until you feel the press of his forehead against your own. He bumps his nose against yours then rubs his bristled cheek against your soft one. You realize he's rubbing you like a cat and it makes you smile ruefully. My Murder Panther.

With his lips pressed right to your ear, he rumbles ever so softly, "Tell Diego, Princess."

Your whole body seizes up with the sensation. Oh, you fucking bastard. You would say it aloud except the undercurrent of fear in his voice gives you pause. He's afraid. He's afraid of you. Of the possibility of your rejection. Just like in the kitchen when he blurted out that he wanted to keep you. The way he froze, paralyzed in fear, after he whispered that he loved you. It's the same soft, lost little boy voice, the slight tremble in tone, the uncertainty.

And this time...this time, you can't take it. Tears slowly slip down your cheeks as you squeeze your eyes shut even tighter. You remember the night you met. His breathtaking smile when you turned the tables on him. Those damn dimples. When you felt the gun in the back of his pants. The moment you decided to do what you wanted and not what you should. Fuck it.

You press your own lips to his ear, his grip in your hair pliant enough to allow it. He's shaking under you. The fingers of his right hand are digging into your hip like claws, you find the pain grounding. Knowing that you're in control of this entire moment is both thrilling and terrifying. You could break him, right here and now. Fuck it.

And he would let you. This rich, powerful, enigmatic man who has already confessed his love to you. Fuck it.

"Diego.." You breathe into his cheek. He shudders under you and sighs out in a broken whimper.

Fuck it.

"Diego… I love you."

-------------------------

There's a long moment that nothing happens. Everything is frozen in place. He doesn't even breathe for fear that he'll wake up from this, just like the dream from a few weeks ago. When he does remember to inhale it's a raspy choke of a gasp. It hurts, he realizes. Is it supposed to hurt?

His eyes are burning. Taking an immediate red eye flight from LA and then driving three hours to her place was probably not his best plan, but he had been terrified. He had needed to have her exactly where she is right now.

He loosens the grip in her hair and turns his face into hers to rub his wet lashes on her cheek. Her hands are coming forward to frame his jaw, hands so tiny and soft. He has refrained from saying it himself for fear of scaring her off. He knows its selfish and he doesn't care, he wants to hear it again. Over and over. Until it stops hurting.

"Diego?" Her voice is so soft, harsh from crying yet still so high. He opens his eyes to see that she still has hers closed. He slides his goatee over her skin until his lips hover over hers.

"Again." He murmurs, "Please, my princess. Tell me you will let me keep you."

‐-------------------------

This couldn't hurt more if he'd reached into your chest and snatched your heart with his bare hands. He sounds so small and hopeful, so vulnerable. Am I his first? The first person to love him?

You can't stand this man begging for your affection. You find yourself wanting to give him everything. Your secret is already out; in for a penny in for a pound, right?

You take a deep breath and dive in head first because you're a fucking Scorpio, damnit.

"Diego, baby." You stroke his cheeks, petting down his stubble with the direction of the growth. Just like you would pet any other cat, you find yourself grinning. You open your eyes to see him so close its dizzying. His are shut but his expression is pure yearning, eyebrows drawn down and brow furrowed, jaw tensely solid, wet lashes stuck together in spiky pieces. "I love you."

He chokes and his eyes snap open to meet yours. Now it's your turn to muck up the basic process of breathing. There's so much everything in his eyes you feel like you're drowning. Every fucking romance novel cliche was right.

"Again." He demands. In typical Diego fashion, he wants it and he wants it now. You can't help your smile growing wide. There's my Murder Panther.

"I love you." You maintain eye contact while leaning your forehead against his. "I love you." Its like you can't stop yourself. You brush your lips over his goatee, he chases you back to ghost a kiss on your lips. "I love you." Its just pouring out of you now.

"I-" Kiss.

"Love-" Kiss.

"You." Kiss.

You expect him to keep kissing you. To slide that perfectly wicked tongue between your lips and drive you even further insane. But he doesn't. He pulls back to pant in your face, then closes his eyes and whimpers. You watch the play of emotions across his features, so quick you can't identify a single one. He finally gathers himself into some cohesive comprehensible thought and speaks:

"I dont. I have never. You have to, to do the...uhh… help?"

Or not.

You can hear so much in that soft rumble. Fear, relief, uncertainty, pleasure, hunger, but most of all, trust. He's trusting you. Trusting that you know what to do. Trusting that you can lead him on this new path. Trusting that you'll take care of him. This man who leads the largest criminal outfit on the continent and is intimidated by nothing, entrusts his being to you. It's like being stabbed in the heart, a searing pain that brings tears to your eyes and a painfully wide smile to your lips.

You slide the thumb of your right hand forward to swipe over his cheekbone. Your left hand goes back to stroke his hair. He nuzzles into your right hand, beard both soft and scratchy. Just like him, all contradictions. You can see his lashes flutter and you open your mouth to speak but…

Wait a minute.

Seriously???

"Diego… Are you staring at my tits?"

He's not even remotely repentant. "They are just. Right There! And no bra!"

You throw your head back and laugh. You laugh so loud it hurts your throat and brings tears to your eyes. You laugh until you're gasping for air. When you finally open your eyes and look at him your heart tries to crawl up and out of you just to get to him.

He's staring up at you, eyes wide with adoration and jaw hanging open in wonder. You bend forward to rest your forehead on his again. "You soft little Murder Panther." You don't even bother trying to hide your ridiculously pleased smirk.

His right hand slides up your hip to your lower back while the left lowers slowly from your hair to the back of your neck. His lips curl up at the corners. His gaze is still soft as he murmurs, "Only for you, my princess."

-------------------

She's so soft in his arms. Relaxed and loose, trusting that he'll take her weight without buckling and keep her safe from falling. It makes his chest ache and his eyes burn. He raises his chin, bringing his lips to her, only she dives down for him at the same moment, colliding together just this side of too much, too fast. Always so eager, the thought makes him groan deeply. She shivers in response and whines, so high pitched it makes his ears ring.

She's curling her fingers in his hair, using the leverage to tilt his head to the angle she wants while he kisses her. He's rubbing his lips over hers, making sure to apply enough pressure that her fair skin will show the beard burn later. When he feels her left arm begin to tense he goes to draw back to look at her… only for her to yank on his hair. He yelps, and she seizes the opportunity to delve her tongue into his mouth. Holy fuck, she is perfect.

And then she's abruptly pulling back. No no no no no no!

-------------------------------

Like a slap upside the head, you suddenly remember that you haven't showered...for three days. Fuuuuuuuck.

"Wait, wait Diego, hold on-" In the time it takes you to whine those five words he's already moved on to your neck. His left hand is threaded back into your hair and holds tight close to your scalp to gently but steadily pull. Just how you like it.

"Uhhhhhhhhh wuhhh…" Oh yes, so eloquent. He's rubbing that fucking goatee everywhere and you're about fourteen seconds away from passing out. You put your hands on his shoulders and start to push him backwards. He growls in displeasure and you whimper. Okay, maybe a little more, your traitorous brain isn't even helping here. You try again, "Baby, baby. I haven't. Oh god, yes. Uhh huh. Wait, just, can you pause? Mmmmmm… Oh my god, Diego stop!" Apparently barking works.

He growls again but manages to disengage from tormenting your neck with one last long lick. Do not think about that tongue!

"Fucking what?" He mutters, breathing hard. "I cannot have you? Now?" How very Diego. He's blinking at you in agitated confusion, pupils blown wide and flushed lips parted. His hand in your hair is shaking, the other has sunk back down to grip your ass very, very securely.

You can feel your face flushing with embarrassment. Your gaze darts off to the left, this is mortifying. "I haven't showered in three days. I smell." When you finally manage to make eye contact again he's grinning. Oh no.

"Oh si, Princess. I can smell you." His tone is arrogant, but the thickening of his accent betrays just how aroused he really is. His left hand slides down to your butt, too. That grin is all teeth, Pure apex predator.

"Yeah, that's what I me-yeeeeen!" He doesn't let you finish. Instead he slides both hands under you, where ass meets thigh, and picks you up to deposit you back onto the couch. You always squeal in delight when he picks you up, That is never gonna get old. The moment your weight is on the cushion he brings his hands forward and then around your inner thighs to spread your legs wide. Before you can even register what is happening he dives down into your lap, burying his face in your crotch and inhaling deeply.

While your brain has stalled in shock (because Are you fucking serious?) your hips have decided this is a great idea and lurched forward to practically hump his face. His exhale is the longest, loudest, sexiest groan you have ever heard. Your hands fly to his hair, but instead of pushing away they are definitely holding him in place. He's rubbing his face against you, turning his head from side to side, moaning endlessly like he can't get enough.

Your brain finally catches up and you abruptly cut off the whine that's been pouring out of you. You just have to open your mouth, "Are you fucking serious right now? You like that?!?"

With one last hard rub of his face against you, (FUCK YES, rub that bearded chin on my clit) he pulls back to look up at you. And if you thought he looked aroused before, he is positively wrecked now. His eyes are slitted in pleasure, brows drawn together with need, jaw slack, mouth open and panting. He doesn't keep you waiting for an answer. "Well, not your normal sexy bakery scent. You smell like you but just, more. Damn delicious." He growls.

Okay, two things:

You file 'sexy bakery' away for later discussion because wtf, lol.

And. And he really means that. He's dead serious. He has a death grip on your inner thighs, his hands are like steel. As if he's afraid you'll try to push him away, to stop him. Fat fucking chance, babe.

You cup his face with both hands and smile softly down at him. In wondrous amazement you whisper, "Holy fuck, I love you." The transformation of his expression from blissfully needy to Horny Murder Panther is damn near instantaneous.

"Good. Now gimme this pussy!" He orders.

You laugh, but your hands fly to the drawstring of your pants in obedience. He erupts into a flurry of actions, pulling his jacket off to dump it on the floor behind him. He only gets as far as unbuttoning the cuffs on his sleeves before giving up and just ripping the shirt up and over his head to join his jacket. The sight of solidly muscled chest rippling like that short circuits your brain. What were you even doing? Was it drooling? Its definitely drooling now.

His hands come back to your thighs, fingers digging deep into your soft flesh. He yanks you forward until your ass is hanging off the couch. You snap back to awareness and start frantically pushing your pants down. He grabs the waistbands of both your pants and underwear and hauls the whole mess down your legs at what has to be record speed. Before you have a chance to do anything else he's burying his face into your pussy like a starving man.

He uses his flattened tongue to give you a long, slow, torturous lick from the bottom of your entrance to your clit. Your back arches to mirror his movements while you sob in pleasure. Then he does it again. And again. Over and over in an endless loop of wet decadent friction. He grips the backs of your thighs, the heels of his palms brushing your ass while his thumbs are buried in the creases where leg becomes hip. He pushes your legs back more yet, widening you further and practically folding you in half. You can't even bring yourself to be worried about how your squishy stomach compresses into rolls. Diego certainly doesn't care.

He changes tactics to latch onto your clit. Sealing his lips around you, he alternates between hard suction and softly sliding his tongue up under your hood to drive you mad. The direct pressure is almost too much, you whimper and squirm after only a few rounds of this. He leaves off and you think you're catching a break to breathe. You are so, so wrong.

He goes lower to literally lick you from bottom to top.

With a shriek, both of your hands fly to his head. "Holy fuck. Oh my god, oh my god. Baby. You. Oh god. Baby, fuck yessss… " What started out as some kind of blasphemous incantation ends in you hissing with unadulterated sin. He moans against you in response but doesn't stop. The incessant long strokes of his tongue have you closer to orgasm faster than you can ever remember it happening before. Your legs are shaking and tears are pouring from your eyes. You reach your right hand down to touch his left where he's holding your thigh, needing something, anything, to ground you. And he laces his fingers with yours.

Your heart clenches. "Diego…" you whisper for him, sobbing from the intensity of everything. With a choppy groan he refocuses on your clit, ferociously determined. Your entire abdomen is tense, you're wound too tight. He presses his flattened tongue against you even harder, shortening his strokes just to cover your clit. It feels infinite, you can't tell where one lick ends and the next begins. Just constant, unyielding pleasure. It's too much, holy fuck it's too much, never stop.

Everything clicks into clear focus. Your pussy compresses tight on nothing, and then you snap. Your whole body seizes up with your orgasm. For one long, terrifying moment your heart pauses and your breathing stops. It all comes crashing back together and you suck in a lungful of air with a choking sob. Waves of agonizing pleasure wash over you, your body shuddering with each one. He's still pressing that incredible, miraculous, entirely evil tongue to your clit. Holding fast and drawing your climax out as long as possible. Growling against you with heavenly vibration. As the rounds of your clenching cunt ease in both intensity and frequency he slowly slides up and off of you.

He rests his sweaty forehead against the inside of your right thigh, panting so hard his breath is hitting you with almost physical force. You pry your right hand off your own thigh, keep your fingers laced together, and bring his hand up to your chest where you lay it over your heart.

You keep your eyes closed while you brokenly cry. "I love you, Diego."

-----------------

His right hand snakes up your body to slide around the back of your neck. He's pulling you forward, sitting you upright. His left hand slides back down to your hip where he grips you tightly and pulls toward him simultaneously. Your eyes pop open when you feel like you're going to fall off the couch.

Diego scoops you back into his lap with your momentum and proceeds to just stand up. You yelp in surprise as your arms shoot around his neck to hold on. It takes a second to realize that you're essentially just sitting on his left forearm, his right hand is still gripping the back of your neck tightly. You moan in pure arousal, hiding your face against his shoulder. The fact that he just tosses you around like a ragdoll is so mind-meltingly hot. The sheer bulk and breadth of him never ceases to render you speechless. There's just so much Diego that he blocks out everything else. Its overwhelming in every sense. Let me just drown in Diego.

By the time you've contemplated your fate, bodice-ripper romance novel style, he's made it halfway down the hall to your bedroom. You tuck your legs tighter around his torso, the hallways in an old farmhouse aren't exactly spacious, and he purrs against you in response. Your body's physical reaction is so strong that you choke. Is there anything about this man that does not turn me on?

He makes it to your bedroom without incident (a miracle, really, considering it looks like a bomb went off in your apartment) and deposits you on the bed. He's been so incredibly gentle with those huge hands that it takes you by surprise when he firmly grasps your jaw and growls at you. "Look at me."

You swallow, hard, and open your eyes. He's staring at you so intensely, his gaze unreadable. He uses his grip on you to slowly push you down onto your back. You don't even try to fight it. You're not sure what he's doing but it's very clear that he needs to do it. He squeezes your jaw with purpose and you blink up at him in confusion. He cocks his head and regards you like… well, like prey.

It's been a long time since he has made you nervous like this.

He finally releases your jaw to slide his hand down your throat and rest it over your pounding heart. He pulls the neckline of your camisole away from your body then allows it to softly snap back against you. "Take this off." His growl is quiet, but it still sets off alarm bells in some primal part of your brain. He sees the hesitation in your eyes and barks out, "Now!"

You whip the top off over your head before he loses any more patience and rips it off of you in shreds. His hand is back on your jaw, ensuring you look nowhere but at him. His breathing is harsh, you can see a muscle tic in his left cheek, and his eyes are wild. Feral, you shiver with the thought. "Stay, Princess." He orders softly and releases his hold on you.

You don't dare move.

He straightens back upright and his hands go to his pants. You have a brief moment of hysteria, Have fun getting those impeccably tailored pants over that massive cock, but you manage to stifle the thought and keep your expression steady. He's toeing off his shoes while undoing the button, then pulling the zipper down. You watch his hands in fascination. It's an obsession you have no plans of shaking. He manages to get the pants over his hips with no problems, a complete lack of underwear always expedites the process.

He moves to climb on the bed and you spread your legs for him like a reflex. This man has had a profound effect on you. Before you get too far he throws his left leg over both of yours, straddling you and effectively immobilizing you. You reach up for him as he plants his elbows just outside of yours and cups your face in those hands you so adore. Your own hands land on his shoulders and he allows it, for now. You try to urge him down on top of you, but he's not budging. You want to touch more, feel all of him, but he's just looming over you to block out the rest of existence.

His hands are like iron, caging you in to bend you to his will. His eyes search your face, you have no idea what he's seeking. Finally, he rumbles down at you, "Do you know what you did?"

The question is soft, dangerously so. You can feel yourself starting to shake. You have a sneaking suspicion that there is no right answer so you just shake your head in a 'no'. He cocks his head again and you find yourself blinking rapidly. His eye twitches when he finally answers, "You scared me."

You're shocked. Never in a million years would you have expected this man to straightforwardly admit fear. He leans in close to your face and your breathing hitches. "I'm sorry." You whimper. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I never meant to scare you." You don't even recognize your own voice. Its small, plaintive and timid.

He moves back upright and kneels over you. His expression is only becoming more fierce. You start to draw your legs out from under him, curling up some, instinctively seeking to protect yourself. "You didn't mean to?" He rumbles incredulously. His eyebrows are rising and you can feel actual anger radiating off of him.

He snaps, "You didn't mean for me to drop everything I was doing?" And faster than you can comprehend his right hand comes down on the outside of your left thigh. The sharp sound of the slap echoes in your tiny room. Your jaw drops in shock, then the pain blooms out from the point of impact. You look from his face to his hand, then back again. "Diego, I--"

"You didn't mean for me to cancel two drop receivements and a business meeting?" His hand comes down again, but you're already moving. You try to turn away, rolling your legs to the right. His hand lands on your left hip, fingers long enough to catch the outside of your cheek. You shriek and start trying to escape in earnest. His left hand shoots down and grabs both of your wrists, stopping you from pulling yourself away from him. "Diego! Wait, I don't--"

He clamps his legs around yours and uses your momentum against you to turn your hips entirely to the side. He has both your wrists pinned down in a bruising grip. Your shoulders are flat on the bed, there's nowhere you can hide your face. "No! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause--"

"You didn't mean for me to take an immediate flight across the entire country?" This time the slap lands fully on your ass. And it hurts. You yelp as tears spill over your cheeks. "No! I'm sorry! Please--"

"You didn't mean for me to drive two hours from the airport after I've been awake for almost two days?" His volume has risen, he's practically yelling. His hand comes down again, lower this time to catch the bottom of your cheek, where it becomes the tender skin of thigh. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! No I didn't--"

"You didn't mean for me to find you here like this? Having some sort of tantrum like a child?" He roars. This time there are three slaps, one right after the next, all landing in the same spot. Your shrieks are coming out in stutters, interspersed with gasping inhalations. "No! No no no! I'm sorry! I'm sorry Diego! I'm sorry!" You're sobbing with it, choking on humiliation. You can't hide your face, there's nowhere to run from this.

"Or you didn't mean for me to find out that you cared? Huh? That you love me!" His voice cracks over the sound of his near constant strikes. You're wailing in tears, "Yes! Yes! Okay! Damnit Diego, I'm sorry! I was afraid! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry…" you dissolve into incoherence.

He releases your wrists and grabs your face again. You try to push him away, but you're too weak. "Look at me! Look at me, Bicki!" he hisses. You shake your head no. "Mirame, Princesa! Please, please." His voice is hoarse, dripping with fear and desperation. You open your eyes to find him right in your face. His expression is twisted up with pain and desire. "You cannot do this! I have to know you are safe! Protected! Let me keep you!"

It suddenly dawns on you what he means with 'keep'. He wants to protect you yes, but what he really means is 'have' you. Present in his life. At his side. Your heart in his keeping.

His hands are stroking you, over your hair, down your arms. He grips your hands tightly, bringing them up to his face. You hold onto him, your only constant in this. "Diego.." you hiccup. Then, with no warning and no conscious command on your part, you slap him. Hard.

You're both frozen in place, equally shocked. Staring at each other in escalating tension. You sniffle and it launches him into action.

He grabs your left hip in a bruising grip, pushing your leg to your chest, pulling it out from under him so he can get between your thighs. You frantically claw at his shoulders, his biceps, anything to pull him closer. You need him. Right now. You need him so deep inside you that you don't know where he ends and you begin.

He slides home in one powerful thrust. Your whole back arches and you grimace in excruciating ecstasy. The stretch of it burns, it hurts so perfectly. His left hand is wrapped around your left thigh, holding you open for him, his right on your left shoulder, keeping you steady and still for him to bottom out. He stays there, grinding his cock into you as far as possible. Still trying to push the last few inches into you. Your vision blacks out and you scream yourself hoarse with your orgasm.

When you come back to awareness he's kissing all over your face, murmuring your name. You turn your face to his, seeking. He fits his lips over yours and you both moan. You pet over his shoulders, reach back up to tug on his hair.

He starts a steady rhythm of long, slow strokes. You can feel every damn inch of him and it's so incredibly, deliriously good. You open your mouth to him and he deepens the kiss, tongue moving to match his hips. He tastes like you. All you can smell is his cologne, underscored by pure lustful male. This is indescribable. Each and every one of your senses is nothing but Diego.

His right hand glides down to cup your breast, hefting the weight of it and rubbing his thumb over your nipple. You break off the kiss to throw your head back, whining in pleasure. His lips trail down your neck, beard leaving fire in his wake. He laves his tongue over your nipple before latching on and suckling. You can feel another orgasm approaching, and so can he.

"That's it, Princess. Come for me. Show Diego what a good girl you are." His hoarse voice and soft commands push you right over the edge. You're rippling down around him, sobbing and nodding. Yes, yes, your perfect little princess.

He picks up the pace, the force of his thrusts rocking the bed into the wall with a steady banging. You can't seem to care. You're whining and pleading, "I'm sorry, please please. Yes baby, yesyesyesyesss…"

"I know," he coos softly to you. "You are so very sorry, aren't you?" You're nodding desperately in agreement. "Will you do this again? Huh?" You shake your head 'no' so fast it makes you dizzy. His words would be condescending if his tone wasn't so very emotional. It's okay. You need him to vocalize what you can't. And he knows it. He knows you.

He pushes your left leg out to the side, sliding his right hand up your thigh to grip your hip. His left hand travels down your back between you and the bed. Through nothing but raw power he lifts your wide hips and rotates you so you're flat on your back and fully open to him. You keen at the show of strength, just like he knew you would.

"Are you going to be a good little Princess for Diego?" When you don't answer he pulls back and stops. Your eyes snap open and you whimper in desperation. He's watching you, waiting. His brows are drawn together in concentration and his jaw is set tight. Those beautiful brown eyes are nearly black with hunger. He digs his nails into your hips while he waits.

You struggle with gathering enough oxygen before you can answer, "Yes, yes I'll be good. Be good for you, I promise!" You aren't sure who is in control of your mouth right now. You don't feel like you have any control. He rewards you by filling you up completely. Your eyes roll back into your head, taking all of him at once always steals your breath.

He stays fully sheathed and leans over you. Bringing your knees up to your shoulders and his face to yours, he takes your lips under his. You sob into his mouth, you can feel the head of him pressing against your cervix. He nips your bottom lip then swipes his tongue over the sting. "Does my princess want this? Does she want Diego to keep her?"

You cling to his shoulders. Closing your eyes in chagrin, you nod. He keeps his face pressed to yours. "Tell Diego. I need to hear it!" He hisses.

"Yes. Want you to keep me. Please." you whisper, broken and needing. He rears back and starts a frantic pace. His thrusts are short and brutal, stabbing directly into the core of you. You can do nothing but howl in pleasure and take it. Your spasms around him are nearly constant, one after another you come in rolling waves. You're begging, or cursing, hell, you have no idea what's coming out of your mouth at this point.

He brings the weight of his torso down on you, crushing you into the bed. "Come! Come now! Come, my princess, come for your Diego!" His words are a command, but his voice is begging.

You're bawling again. "Yes, yesyesyes. Diego, Diego pleeeeease!" You have no idea if he can understand you. You're pretty sure only dogs could hear that. "Please Please please please please, baby. Please. Need you. I love you!"

He buries his face in your hair and drops your legs in favor of engulfing your shoulders in his embrace. You wrap your legs around his hips, you have to keep him as close to you as possible. Your arms snake around his torso, squeezing tight to bring your chest up against his. He's grunting, his thrusts becoming erratic.

Then you hear him. His voice is quiet, words pleading, "Come. Let me keep you. Please, please. C-come. Princess, need you. Come home with me!" You nod tightly, sobbing silently as he freezes up in orgasm. He chokes out a groan, then collapses on top of you. You welcome the weight of him. He nuzzles into your neck, tickling you with beard and a big sigh. "Love you."

It hurts. It hurts deep in your chest. You hope it never stops hurting like this.

He retreats out of you, faster than you would like. You're pretty sure he forgets just how large he is. You feel wrung out, stretched out of shape and hollow. He pulls his right arm out from under you and rolls off to flop face-up on your right side. His left arm is still trapped under your back. Do you care that it's lumpy and uncomfortable? Nah. You unearth your right leg from under both of his and he makes a whiny huff about it.

----------------

He's struggling to catch his breath. He didn't mean for things to get so… out of hand. So to speak. She always does this to him. She withholds her more serious emotions and it drives him crazy. She never makes a fuss about his responses, never freaks out when he shows her affection, never gasps in shock when he gives her his ultimate deference. She acts like she has no deep feelings for him and it makes him want to beat it out of her. Apparently that is the correct method.

Her body is relaxed and casual on his arm. But he's greedy and doesn't want her to seal off all those delectably vulnerable emotions she just displayed. Soft, pliant, obedient, needy Princess is his new favorite.

He rolls her into his side with his trapped left hand while rumbling softly, "Come here." And she does. She snuggles into his side willingly and it makes him feel so soft that it's disgusting. Or maybe that's the guilt. She didn't agree to the spanking before hand. She didn't even know it was coming. Honestly, neither had he. His next thought feels like a stab to the lungs. What if she is afraid of me now? Did I hurt her? This is disgustingly emotional.

"Princess?" She sighs a soft 'Mmmm' in answer. She burrows into the coarse hair and soft skin of his underarm. Is, is she sniffing me?? He decides that ignoring her utterly adorable weirdness and addressing the ceiling is his safest option at this point. "Are… are you hurt? Did I hurt you?"

Her left hand freezes on his chest. Her face slowly creeps into his field of vision from the bottom left corner. Her expression is… mystifying. He keeps his head still but moves his eyes to his peripheral vision to squint at her in concerned concentration.

Slowly, ever so slowly, her lips curve up in an absolutely evil grin. That damn left eyebrow arches imperiously and he is completely certain that she will be the death of him.

"Did you hear me use the safeword?"

#Damnit Diego #murder panther #rough me up then dick me down #24 fucking 7 hours in this house #soft kitty #zash writes #all the feels #this is gross #love confessions

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