#none of my friends go to the oc store

[chitrolls]

It’s time for my yearly visit to ruminate on what my trolls are up to for ball season and, idk, the next several months. I don’t really go here anymore as much as I ruminate with a couple of people, but I still love and miss all my trolls.

[blujaydoodles]

realized most of my DnD characters who own a magic ring have them for essentially the exact same reason

[kumkaniudaku]

Stay A While (2)

Summary: Terry and Treece are feeling the sparks again.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 3,659

Part: 2 of ??

Warnings: None. This one's a safe for work slow burn. Enjoy.

Previous

Grocery shopping was Patrice's private pastime. She was the queen of her universe when she walked through aisles every Saturday morning. Every flash bargain and value-sized item bent to her will for a chance at making it to her humble abode and fulfilling its one purpose in life. Employees greeted her like royalty. Customers started conversations like old friends, always giving her the scoop on any sale they'd overheard in their neighborhood Facebook groups. She was happy. She was zen. She was in her element.

"Do you need this?" 

She was a woman dragging around a large man intent on breaking any modicum of concentration she had left.

Patrice stopped and looked over her shoulder at Terry, who held a bag of cotton candy grapes up in the air for her inspection. "No, TJ. Put it down." 

"Why? You like grapes." 

"Because we're getting grapes from the farmer's market. Now, put it back."

Her rebuke was sweet but stern. Having him as a way too familiar roommate was becoming easier as the days passed. But she'd be lying if she said she didn't miss the freedom to go for a walk, watch a movie on the couch, or even enjoy an intimate moment alone in her own house without a man looming somewhere in the very near background. 

He didn't allow her to travel alone, and she never had the energy to protest. 

"You don't have to talk to me like I'm a kid," he grumbled as he put the grapes back in their place.

"Then stop acting like one. I have a list. I know what I need." 

"I know what I need." He exaggerated his mimicry for maximum effect. 

"You see how that was childish?" 

"Whatever." 

Patrice ignored him in favor of browsing packages of beef for the best deal. If she didn't respond, maybe he would get the hint. And, for a few moments, he did. Terry took a break in conversation to scan the immediate area quietly. He noted each patron and their most important details before checking the exit and entry points at the front of the store. They weren't secure enough, but he could manage if the situation required evacuation.

A lack of action soon turned his attention back to Patrice, who still hadn't decided. He gave her a slow once over and smiled at how much focus she put into such a simple choice. Her brow remained furrowed in intense thought, transforming her into the ninth-grade Patrice he met during a chance encounter in the library. Truthfully, he didn't have much of an opinion either way. He just wanted to talk to her every second of the day, even if it meant being annoying. 

"Get that one." 

His sudden interruption startled Patrice out of her zone, adding a final straw to an already exhausted camel's back. Terry grinned in triumph as she closed her eyes for a calming breath. 

"Terry," she spoke, slow and measured to keep the peace. "Take the other half of this list and get out of my face. Don't come back until you find everything. I'll meet you at the register." 

She didn't give him much time to protest before she shoved a carefully torn half of paper into his chest and sent him on his way. He gave her a sarcastic salute, which she waved off without a second look. She needed a moment alone and didn't care if he came back with Fruity O's instead of Fruit Loops if that meant he would be out of her hair for more than 10 minutes. 

Terry found himself slowly meandering around the grocery store with a tiny basket in tow, exhausted by all the options on each aisle. If Patrice hadn't been so meticulous with her lists, he would've given up on the mission and gone back to home base with his tail tucked between his legs. 

After sourcing the perfect pint of Oreo ice cream as an apology for his behavior, Terry found himself drawn to the sound of laughter on the next aisle. Sure enough, Patrice was parked by the frozen vegetables and engaged with a man dressed in the store's colors with his eyes directed far too low to be looking at Patrice's face. 

Terry quickly reached her location, stopping behind Patrice to show her guest the full extent of his scowl. 

Patrice noticed how his once loose body language had gone stiff and sighed. She didn't need to investigate the problem. Only her human pitbull could make a man cower in fear like that. 

"Derrick, this is Terry. Terry, this is Derrick. He usually helps me get stuff to my car." 

"Ah, man. It's a good thing I'm here, right? We don't need you taking too many breaks from stocking. Mornin' rush can get crazy." 

"Terry," Patrice admonished with a harsh whisper and an elbow to his stomach. 

Terry remained steadfast, keeping his eyes on Derrick while taking one step closer. A taunting smile tugged on the right side of his mouth. He waited on any sign of fight from his unspoken adversary. 

Derrick stood in palpable discomfort, sizing up the outcomes if he decided to test his luck. Each mental scenario led him back to some instance of physical harm on his last shift of the week. He had plans for the weekend, none involving a trip to the emergency room.

Patrice stood between a rock and a hardheaded man, praying that the Lord would end her suffering.

"That's what I was about to say," Derrick answered before shifting his attention back to Patrice. "I think I oughta get going. See you around, Ms. Ellis?" 

"Same time next week." 

He nodded in half-hearted agreement and hurried out of dodge, with Terry keeping a watchful eye until he was safely around the corner. 

Patrice groaned with one hand, rubbing tight circles at her temple. "What in the hell was that about?" 

"He wouldn't even look you in the eye. If he can't look you in the eye when he's speaking, he can't protect you, and he doesn't respect you." 

"I'm not looking for his protection. I need this water loaded into my trunk every week when you aren't here!" 

"I'll never not be here. Problem solved."

His declaration was so sure, so matter of fact, that it left Patrice no room for retort. So she resorted to schoolyard antics. 

It was her turn to mock him with an exaggerated, deep voice. "Problem solved. Push the damn cart since you got so much energy." 

He obliged without protest and a proud, self-satisfied grin that Patrice couldn't see while she led the way to the register. An unexpected system error had halted all transactions, leaving them log jammed in a long line of restless customers. 

Together, they stood sharing light banter and running through weekend tasks, resembling any other couple making a store run to strangers observing them from the outside looking in. Former acquaintances, however, had no problem drawing attention to the pair from three spots back in line. 

"I know that ain't who I think it is." Both Patrice's and Terry's eyes darted up to find the source of the loud outburst, only to whisper 'fuck’ in tandem when they spotted Katrina Spivey waving her arms to grab their attention. "Hey, Terry Richmond!" 

Terry pretended to ignore being singled out by turning his back, earning a stifled laugh from Patrice. Katrina, not one to be deterred, used the moment to push past patrons in line until she reached her destination with a host of angry faces in her wake. 

"Well, if it ain't Mr. and Miss Homecoming in the flesh. You two finally stopped kidding around and got married?" 

"No," Terry answered without much explanation, his back still turned. Patrice reluctantly made up his slack. 

"What Terry meant to say was that we're not married. We're not together at all, actually. But he's here to visit me for a while." 

"What a blessing it is to have friends you can lean on when you need a helping hand."

"Amen."

An awkward tension settled into the conversation's lull, compounded by Terry's outright refusal to engage. Patrice was in deep water without a paddle and a co-captain who had already jumped ship.

Katrina wouldn't let the conversation end and take her newfound place in line. She continued to pry.

"Both of y'all look good! How long has it been since we last saw each other, huh? Gotta be since Terry's graduation send-off." 

Patrice feigned interest with a hollow smile. "Yeah, I think that was it. A looong time ago. All grown up now."

"And thank God for it! I remember how sad you looked all night because ol' Terry was moving away. Like a little crying puppy!" 

Katrina's laughter didn't quite reach Terry or Patrice, who bristled at mentioning one of the more contentious nights in their friendship. 

"Everybody's been a little young and dumb, right? Like when you and BJ got caught underneath the bleachers during state championships." 

Checkmate. A little reminder of her indiscretions had turned Katrina's condescending smile into a mean mug that could burn through anyone not equally as stubborn. 

Terry showed his approval with a light nudge against Patrice's arm. That was his girl. Sweet as pie but a tongue coated in venom when backed against the wall. He'd been on the receiving end on one too many occasions. It felt good to be on the winning side this time. 

Three seconds of a Western standoff had culminated in a gift sent via store intercom. 

"Apologies for the stoppage, folks. Our registers are back up and running. Thanks for your patience." 

Terry moved the cart to place items on the conveyor belt while Patrice waited for the conversation to resume.

Recovering from the sharp end of a verbal lashing, Katrina cleared her throat and grabbed hold of her cart in preparation to skip lines. 

"Well, I don't wanna hold y'all too much longer. If y'all don't think you're too good to mingle with us Francis High Hornets anymore, Corey's throwing a little Juneteenth gathering at his daddy's pool hall. This is my personal invite for the both of you."

"We were already invited. Maybe we'll make an appearance." 

"That'd be grand." 

"I bet it would."

Nice nasty smiles passed between the two foes until Katrina was off to harass some other unsuspecting patron. 

Patrice tried to let go of her frustration with an angry huff before turning to catch up with Terry, who was casually moving groceries from the bagging station to the shopping basket. He waited a moment before acknowledging the obvious. 

"You over it now, or do I need to iron a shirt for tonight?" 

"I'm over it," Patrice answered plainly. She calmly handed over payment for the day's groceries and smiled ever so sweetly to bid the cashier farewell. To an outsider, she'd returned to her zen state without much effort. Terry was no outsider and kept a cautious eye on her as they loaded bags into the trunk and got settled in the front seat of her SUV. 

"You sure you're good," he asked as he backed out of their parking space. 

"I'm sure, TJ," she answered with almost too much enthusiasm. Terry started a mental countdown for the other shoe to drop. "I'll iron the shirt. You need to shave." 

--------

The final verdict? A plain white T-shirt. 

An hour of searching, choosing, rejecting, and choosing again led them to a plain, crisp white tee. Patrice said it went better with her yellow wrap dress, which she chose because her girlfriends were all in dresses, and she wanted to match the occasion. It all sounded like made-up bullshit to Terry. Still, he accepted being treated like a Ken Doll because it meant that his Barbie would agree to a two-hour hard stop at the festivities. 

He'd already started his stopwatch when they pulled up on a busy street in front of an even busier hole in the wall.

The smell of fresh grease greeted them upon crossing the threshold from outside into Mister C's Bar and Lounge. Fried fish, French fries, and wings in any flavor you could ask for sat in the service window, waiting for their delivery to any one of the patrons packed from wall to cinderblock wall. Terry inhaled deeply and let his scowl drop for one second to fantasize about a bite of Corey Sr.'s signature catfish and fries basket. 

Next came the familiar mix of sweat and weed near the dancefloor as bodies intertwined to some GloRilla song neither of them recognized. Thick traffic in the center of the room paused Patrice on her path to the pool tables, locking her between Terry and a crowd that wouldn't budge. 

"Excuse me!" she shouted over a swell of crowd reaction to a new song. "I need to get by!" 

No response. Not even a look back as she used a hand to create space between her and a group of men debating nonsense. Before she could try again, Terry used one hand to push her forward and his voice to clear the way. 

"Yo, step out of the way. We need to get through." Direct and to the point. He left no room for misinterpretation, and his baritone's boom left no confusion about who was calling the shots. Patrice watched with her lips slightly parted in awe. 

The first reaction to his demand was the embers of confrontation. Each member of the group sized Terry up, noticing his heavy scowl and size in comparison to their own. Then, they realized that this wasn't a winning game. 

The flashiest of the group nodded, though disdain at the mere suggestion that he was in the way kept his mouth in a tight frown. "Yeah, you good, OG. My fault." 

Another light push propelled Patrice forward as Terry maintained with each man until they had passed. 

Once they were out of the mix and nearing their destination, he advised, "Stay close." Patrice nodded her compliance, shocking Terry into a slight smile in appreciation for her obedience. 

Sparks of electricity shot between them but had no time to turn into a total current before Corey called out to them. 

"Treece! Terry! We over here!" 

Surrounded by familiar faces from Francis Edward's Class of 2010, Corey welcomed them with open arms and his ever-present 100-watt smile. At a slight 5'6", 150 on his best day, he'd always been larger than his frame would suggest. Loud and flamboyant had always been the name of his game, earning him anything he set his sights on.

It didn't take long for the trio and Corey's wife, June, to fall into familiar habits and friendly jabs at one another as they took their seats in a makeshift VIP section by the pool tables. The Three-Headed Monster was their moniker in high school, and they moved like a military force. Terry was the enforcer, while Corey and Patrice served as judge and prosecutor. If you had an issue with one, you had an issue with all three. 

"Your security is lax. Who trained them?" Terry pointed out during a dead spot in conversation. 

Corey followed his eyeline to the two young men standing at the door and back. "My boy at the sheriff's office. What you see?" 

"They look soft. It wouldn't take much to overpower them and get in for some drama. You only have one exit. Somebody breeches this place, and you're on the hook for a tragedy. Plus, the one on the left is scared. He'll be the first to leave if things get hot. Watch him."

"Impressive," June remarked, smiling at Patrice, who subtly playfully waved her off.

"Hm." Corey took a long pull from his cigar, taking in the information before responding." You here for a minute, T? I got some connections over at Liberty if you looking to get back in the swing of things." 

"Contract?" 

"Whatever you need, man. You know I'm good for it."

Terry looked over at Patrice for some indication that she believed in Corey, and she returned with a subtle nod and encouraging smile. June looked between them and then at her husband before clearing her throat. 

"It looks like Kel and his boy are back on the pool table. You know he still owes you a game from when he cheated last week." 

"Hell yeah," Corey agreed as he turned in his seat to get a look at his enemy. "Aye, T, you trynna make $100 real quick?" 

"It's either that or you gotta come dance with me," Patrice challenged. "This rum and pineapple got me feeling a little loose." 

She wasn't lying. A taste of alcohol in her system was starting to make her want to explore parts of the Patrice she thought she left at North Carolina A&T. Every heart-rattling thump of Megan Thee Stallion's latest and greatest had her thinking about reminding everyone in the room that she could move with the best of them. 

Her little grind in her seat made Terry show teeth in a small grin before he stood to his full height and looked down at her. His eyes were hooded and dreamy from some combination of exhaustion and a contact high, reintroducing that spark from before.

"Don't go too far. I'll be back with your money in a little bit." 

Patrice's tongue felt too heavy to respond coherently past a punch-drunk nod. June watched her watch him make his way down the platform and into the crowd until both men were out of earshot. 

She whistled and shook her head. "That's a good-looking man, ain't he?" 

"Who? Corey? He alright. He's like a slightly more attractive Taye Diggs." 

"First off, ouch," June laughed. "Second, I was talking about Terry. He was cute in high school, but I'll be damned if that second puberty didn't take him to a whole 'nother level." 

"Don't tell him that. His head is big enough."

"You know you wrong for that." If the music weren't so loud, everyone in the building would've heard the pair guffawing over Patrice's petty insult. 

Once they contained themselves, June took a sip from her margarita and shifted in her seat to get closer to Patrice.

"He likes you still." Five plain words shook Patrice internally as she struggled to maintain a poker face. June continued. "I see the way he looks for your approval and damn near trips on himself to fulfill your every whim. You're all he talks about when he and Corey get on the phone." 

"They talk?" 

"From time to time. I think he needs a man's opinion sometimes, you know?" 

Patrice wrestled with the influx of information as June continued. 

"That man is mean as a snake. Always has been and always will be. But, you bring something out of him. Even if you can't always see it." 

"If that were the case, things would've been different for us back then." 

June shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe you're right where you're supposed to be. I know I can't make you do what you don't wanna do, but if what I say means anything, focus on today. Thirty-two-year-old Terry is so much more prepared to love you than eighteen-year-old Terry was." 

Punctuating her advice, June tapped Patrice's leg twice before taking a step away to refill their tray of food. 

Focus on today.

The words replayed in her mind repeatedly; even after their two hours were up, Terry had returned $100 richer, and they were back on the road to their quiet slice of the world. 

They rode together in content quiet, letting the Quiet Storm host talk while Terry tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the music. 

Randomly, he would glance in her direction, assuming she had lost the sleep battle to her old friend Bacardi. When he reached over to adjust the air vent on her side of the car, he was surprised when she mumbled a low "thank you." 

"My bad. I thought you were sleeping." 

"No. My head is swimming, though. Don't let me drink that much anymore." she laughed. 

He chuckled along with her but didn't agree to keep her from letting her hair down occasionally. In his eyes, seeing her relaxed and carefree was a gift to the world. 

The opening notes of Tevin Campbell's "I'm Ready" swirled around them, sounding like a secret message to Patrice as she focused on streetlights to keep the contents of her dinner inside her stomach. 

"Hey," she whispered before she could catch herself. Terry acknowledged her with a glance. "Do you think you're still scared?" 

"Of what?" 

"Of whatever kept you away for so long?"

He thought for a moment, wanting to make sure he was clear with his word. "No. I was never afraid of you. I was afraid of bringing you along for a ride I might not survive. That's not a threat anymore. So, no, I'm not scared anymore."

You know I'm ready

To love you

Forever 

Patrice reached across the center console until she reached Terry's hand to interlock her fingers with his. He gave her an appreciative squeeze without taking his eyes off the road. 

"I-I don't think I'm scared anymore either."

Her heart raced wildly behind her ribs, and Patrice was that if Terry pressed his wrist close enough to hers, he could feel her pulse accelerate. He didn't mind either way. Sweaty palms and trembling fingers would never be enough for him to let her go. Not again. 

As if she'd break if he moved too fast, Terry brought her hand to his lips slowly. One kiss. Another. Two more. And a final one for good measure. 

When he'd had his fill of her skin, he pressed the spot up against his cheek. He needed to feel and absorb her until they were one body. 

But, for tonight at least, this was enough.

TAGS: @planetblaque @wvsspoppin @thatone-girly @oniccah @avoidthings @slutsareteacherstoo @eilujion @amyhennessyhouse

[penvisions]

services requested {chapter two}

Pairing: Older! Joel Miller x F! Reader

Summary: With the flourish of a contract that contains a section titled 'Intimacy Clause' and a quirk of your lips, you turn Joel Miller's life upside down.

Word Count: 7.3k

Warnings: no outbreak au, modern au, age gap (joel is mid 50's, reader is late 20's / early 30's), reader is more of an oc written in the x reader style, reader is described to have a scar and tattoos, mommy vibes, reader see's joel and knows she wants to provide for him, joel is older and tired, his life beginning to slow as his body aches, power dynamics, sexual undertones, instant connection, mutual pining, flirting, casual touches, mutual attraction, angst, family drama, strained family dynamics, mention of pregnancy (not reader or joel), verbal threat, argumentative language, joel and tommy y'all good god, think that's it!

Fic Notes: please, if you have any qualms about the setting of this fic, do not reblog or comment with hate. my dms are open for discussion if you feel like you need to say anything. let's be respectful going into a new year, there are ample warnings and you are in charge of the content you consume

A/N: hi, i'm back with chapter two for y'all! ♡

ao3 link || series masterlist || navigation || ko-fi

You can’t help but feel a bit shy around him, with a contract being looked over by one of your friends who works in the more…lucrative business of strip clubs and the party scene. She’s around the same age, working alongside the owner of one of the classier and legitimate night clubs, where she acts as a legal representative for the girls that work there as well as others who come through the doors looking for a little adult fun.

She had arrived just as Joel was leaving for the day, her eyes widening as she watched him toss a out a bag of garbage into the outside bin on his way out of the door and off the job for the day. He had nodded politely at her, though his lips didn’t lift quite as much at the corners as they did for you. Her squeal the second the front door was loud, and you immediately shushed her and clamped your hands over her mouth while peering through the blinds to see if he heard it. Thankfully he hadn’t turned at the rather alarming sound as he loaded up into his truck and took off down the street.

“That’s the Mr. Miller I keep hearing about?!”

That was days ago, and the renovation is in the last stages. New walls are up, drywall and mudding complete. All that was left was the kitchen downstairs and the tiling in the bathroom. Painting was tomorrow, once the colors were picked out too.

Today you were going to tag along with the older man to the supply store to look over tiles, none of the ones in the catalogue he had left on your desk in the study popped out at you. He’s been working hard, to get everything done on schedule. Your parent’s return is in two weeks and he’s determined to have it all polished and shining by the time you head out to get them from the airport.

Professionality and friendship seem to be a good mix for you. Calling him Mr. Miller when he reminds you to call him Joel, him lingering at the end of each day to make sure he gives you a run down of what got done and what will be on the agenda of tasks for the next one. He playfully calls you ma’am in return, though he uses your name sometimes too.

A running joke of sorts, between the two of you. But also, it’s not really a joke at all. But a way to draw an invisible line- no physical contact has happened since that day your composure cracked and fell into tiny pieces around you alongside your hot tears. But you swear you can feel his eyes trailing after you when you’re working around the house.

You’re both jokingly picking out the most garish colors and saying they would look perfect in the living room, the bathroom, the upstairs bedrooms. His own thick fingers brushing yours as you both huff laughter and reach for new swatches. The attendant behind you is smiling at the scene, younger than you and stuck at such a boring job of mixing colors for people that seem too focused to have fine like you two are. But the bubble of easy going fun is broken by a man donned in a grey sweat pants and a plain tee.

He calls your name, in question. As if he doesn’t quite want to bother you if you don’t hear him. But you do, and so does Joel. With laughter still on your tongue, you turn with a wide smile in the man’s direction.

“Micheal! Oh my gosh, it’s so good to see you.” You don’t move to shake his hand, something Joel’s stomach flips over noticing. You keep the tight curl of your fingers over the swatch of blinding yellow he had jokingly suggested for the kitchen that you had pried from his own grip. Your long nails, done up in a soft pink this time had scraped against his skin and nearly short circuited his thoughts. But they’re back now as he watches you interact with this random man.

“I just wanted to say hi and thank you again for the session. It was such a dream, honestly.” The man’s words are genuine, his expression one of open awe. It has Joel stiffening behind you, aware that this may be awkward for him.

“I’m so glad, it’s always a fun challenge when someone comes to me with an idea like that. But I’m glad we could execute it perfectly for you.” Behind you, you can feel Joel stiffen. His entire body goes rigid and you sneak a look at him over your shoulder, but he’s seemingly fascinated by the color samples in his hands…

The rest of the trip around the store is strained, Joel won’t look you in the eye and you feel like he’s avoiding brushing up against you. He assures you he can load everything up into the back of the truck so you’re stewing in the passenger seat waiting for him to finish. The ride back isn’t nearly as happy and easy-going as the ride there and you can’t get the words out to ask if everything is okay, your fight or flight triggered and flight is your go to nowadays. It didn’t used to be…

He gets to unloading as you hide yourself away in the office, sketching app open and stylus in your immobile hand as your back twinges painfully. The scar dug into the skin there feeling like it was just carved your mind replays the event on a loop. You can faintly hear the soft squelch of the paint rollers working, an easy day of work all in all.

But he doesn’t come to bid you a good afternoon, nor does he seem to stop for lunch.

Too caught up in your memories, you sit in the locked office until well after the sun goes down. Reaching out to your assistant to reschedule your consultations booked for that afternoon and evening with a quick text the second you got back from the store…

Two weeks fly by, your little spell invigorating you after wallowing.

It wasn’t productive and it hadn’t helped anything, but it was necessary. Processing and resting, giving your mind and body the chance to work through something is important. Realistically you know that, but it doesn’t make it any easier. Anxiety and trauma are always something you will have to struggle with, no matter how big of a name you make for yourself.

The walkthrough in the morning goes okay, almost back to the comfortable and borderline flirtatious camaraderie you and Joel had established early on. Everything was perfect, the colors, the tiling, the patterns, all of it amazing and beyond what you had expected. Even if you actively watched Joel create the cabinets with his hands, seen the sketches of what he envisioned for the space based on your words and description.

“I really appreciate all the work you put into the renovation, it came out so amazing.” You shuffle the papers in your hand, knocking them against the top of the desk to straighten them out before stapling the bunch of them together. Reaching for an envelope, you place the card you had taken out in his name- attached to your expenses account that you used for your own supplies. That was secured to the top of the stack with a binder clip. “And I was wondering if I could hire you.”

"What do you mean, you want to hire me? I'm already workin' a job for you." His confusion is clear, brows furrowed and lips slightly pursed. His hands are secure on the arms of the chair he occupies. He only needs one or two more days of cleaning and wiping everything down, ensuring no dust from the construction work lingers, no nails or screws are prominent, sand down a few edges here and there. And then of course he offered to help put away what appeared to be a whole new kitchen in the form of pots and pans, cutlery and serve wear, fancy glasses and a set of ceramic mugs that looked hand painted. Everything had come in boxes throughout his workdays, piling up in the garage that contained most of your stuff from when you moved back.  

"For your...services, Mr. Miller. To be called upon at any time." You try to keep your excitement from showing too much, not wanting to weird him out or make him feel any more awkward with what you are just about to do. You’ve never offered someone such a thing before….to be their sole provider and essentially a sugar momma. Though you did explicitly claim there was no pressure or obligation to be intimate in exchange for the funds you wanted to provide him. He’s just a handsome man whose lived a full, busy life and you wanted to offer him a much deserved break.

But as soothing as you keep your voice and even as you keep your tone, based on the way his face falls from a small grin to a frown and his demeanor shifts from friendly curiosity to irritated, you see that you’ve already failed.  

“Listen, I don’t know what kinda man you think I am but I don’t run in the same circles as you. And as flattered as I am that you think-“ He looks a little flustered, obviously upset enough for his face to contort into something you would call grumpy. Would normally tease him about if you walked into a room and saw him making the same expression as he looked down at something or over some blueprints.

“What kind of circles do you think I run in?” You cut him off, unwilling to let his mind run away and taint the professional friendship you two have been cultivating over the last month. The incident at the hardware store crops up in your mind and suddenly everything clicks into place. He most likely thinks you work in the same business as your friend.

“You uh- well, you dress kinda fancy all the time and you’re off during the daytime. Always got your hair and nails lookin’ nice….kinda figured you-“

“I’m not a stripper or dancer. Nor do I do porn or escort services.” Your brows furrow, it should be funny- the mistaken identity, but the truth is that it hurts a little.

You lean back, unable to quell the unease of even entertaining the idea of offering him a contract if he felt so strongly about what he thought you were asking of him- of his assumption of who you were.

There was nothing wrong with anyone who chose that lifestyle and employment, but you had made a name for yourself doing what you did best. The constant under the breath and snide comments about how you carry yourself is the only reason for your success still stings. The notion that you use your looks to get clients, that it’s the only reason they seek you out; it completely diminished the passion and love you pour into every single job you take on for a long while. And Joel is voicing it right alongside the countless others that have before him. “My services are in the art industry. I’m a tattoo artist.”

You know that your eyes are focused, not quite on him but on the curls that still frame his temples. Too long, as you very well know from one of your casual conversations. It’s…not a good feeling to hear the words so many have said before coming from him. He’s been a constant in your life since the beginning of the renovation and he’s seen parts of you that no one has in a long time. For him to openly share his thoughts causes a tightening in your chest. A twinge in your back along the sensitive skin of the scar that sits there as a constant reminder to be careful.

“Mr. Miller, I can assure you that I’m not trying to get you to do anything untoward, there might be a little paragraph in there but you dictate the parameters of the contract. Completely. Everything is up to you and you certainly don’t have to accept it or even entertain the thought if you’re uncomfortable.”

“I’m sorry, I just…” Joel feels like a fool, a damned fool for letting his mind run away from him and his tongue for blurting out probably one of the most insensitive things he could’ve said in response to a new job offer from you. He can see the way you withdraw slightly, probably offended but trying to keep your composure. You’re too good for him and this just proves it even further.

“Assumed. Yes, I can see that now. How things look, maybe this was a bad idea.”

Fuck. No, no, no- he doesn’t think it’s a bad idea to offer him another job but…his mental calendar is full for the next six weeks. One job scheduled after this one, his expenses a little tied up after that with his birthday coming up soon- he had told Sarah he would come visit with Ellie, he hasn’t seen where she’s settled with her boyfriend. It…it’s a lot to handle on his own. Keeping track of one rotating crew with him and then two others working on other jobs around the county.

“No, I- sweetheart, I’m sorry. I’m old okay? I don’t know what I’m talking about but the only services I offer are contracting and repair work." He brings a hand up to run a thumb underneath his bottom lip, eyes taking in the flutter of your lashes as his apology soaks into your skin. The almost...yearning look about your soft features. Younger than he is, in full control of those should you choose to lay that look upon. He's sure the boys your age would fall over themselves to see it again, to see more. Hell, he's ready to fall over himself and he's surely twice your age. “I’m not sure how useful I’d be if-“

“I’m in the process of obtaining permits to build on an empty city block. Two buildings. Two shop fronts. I figured you would be able to help out, but I understand if it’s not something you’re interested in. Really.”

And now you’re backpedaling, he feels like such an asshole for what he said. You…you’re an artist. A tattoo artist and really, he doesn’t know how he hadn’t picked up on that. You’ve decorated your skin with beautiful pieces, the sketchbook and tablet you’re always scribbling away on. The mention of clients, long hours, charges, the constant ink stains he sees on your clothes when you get home from work…

He doesn’t want to turn you down, can’t really turn you down. You hadn’t batted an eye at the quote he had given you for the work on your parent’s house. Nor had you argued anytime something needed an extra cushion to get the better quality option of supplies. When he had offered a discount, you had waved him off but he planned to do it anyway. You were sweet, you were considerate and he knows he wouldn’t hear the end of it if his brother found out he had a soft spot for you. But honestly? With the way his brother had been pulling away, taking on less jobs- answering less calls and responding with messages at odd hours or even the summary and final check stapled to paperwork of the rare job he takes on is the only form of communication he’s been getting from the man. So, who cares what he thinks about a discount, when it was Joel’s company.

One he had been fully prepared to hand over to his brother once upon a time. To help straighten him out, give him a hand in a world that demanded so much from him as a soldier and then turned its back on him as an honorably discharged veteran.

You take it all in stride, keeping your composure as best as you can, shoving all the negative feelings down. He’s a good man, he just…he just assumed like he said. Blinking away the unease and slightly awkward tinge to the air you tell him that you understand what he’s saying. He would be perfect for the job you want to offer him, even still. Joel’s ears turn pink at the top, his throat bobbing as he sits there and takes in all the kind words you have for him- even after he basically called you an adult entertainer asking after him to partake in…. something he wasn’t even sure he had a clear idea of.

All so he could see that smile grace your lips and see a flash of teeth he can't help but stop picturing what they would look like holding tight over your own bottom lip, depraved sounds slipping between them as he pressed tight and heavy over you. As his hips slam into yours, his co-

Jesus, he needs a minute to get a handle on himself. Everything is all consuming with you, feelings bubble up, urges strike him strong enough to wear down any thought of resistance. You make him feel like he’s seen, like he’s important, like he matters. It’s no wonder his little crush on you has manifested.

He shakes his head, aware of the watching gaze you don't let up from him as you sit serenely at your desk. The top of your shirt dipped low as you lean forward to rest your chin in the cup of your hands, taunting him. What little power he feels from his larger frame, his years over you, his skills he knows you don't share- they diminish as he glances down to the new skin before meeting your eyes again. You’re too enamoring, too ingrained into his mental space to feel like he’s got any sort of control- even if the working relationship is good, not awkward and even friendly like he wanted it to be.

Small conversations, coffee some mornings as you hang around and watch him place tiles into designs that you request, take out boxes with either your name or his scribbled on them and scattered around the coffee table in the living room. The guys never stay for lunch, opting to go out and get some fresh air.

You tilt your head just a bit, and like a match catching, friction igniting it- his stomach jolts as he pictures that same look aimed up at him as you sit on your knees in front of him. Good god, his mind needs a good rinse. Especially if he’s going to consider accepting the more than generous offer on guaranteed continued work.

"I have a company to run, can't exactly turn down an offer for a job."

"This would be more of an... open-ended contract. I would reach out for any repairs your capable hands are able to work on. From mechanics of vehicles, to construction work, to repairs on established properties. New properties that waiting on permits, like I mentioned. I’m also finalizing the sale on a personal property, so I would need help with getting that up to code as well.  I would pay you a going rate of..."

Joel's mind goes blank, the amount offered per week is astronomical. As much a single job he’s taking one at a time with how he’s got to schedule everything. The same amount he would earn from weeks, if not months of working day in and day out. The way you go on about how even if you didn't have any jobs for him during a week, he would still be compensated. His meals provided and a company card with his name plastered on it in silver on a slick black is flashed at him atop a neat stack of papers with bold print.

"For you to look over, Mr. Miller. There is no rush, nor does the offer expire. Please get back to me at your convenience."

"Uh, well-" He isn't sure what to think, how to feel at the moment. The offer too good to be true, the amount of money would allow him to only work for you. His own clients are willing to pay for his work but not to wait for the time frames he's been giving lately. It's only him in command of three crews, they can only work so fast, and he's seeing them get poached by other companies with better hours, more pay.

Joel's made a name for himself with 'Miller Contracting'. But as the years go on, his hopes to pass it on to his younger brother become a more silly notion than something that could happen. A person who has begun to see his life toward a different path, one of less hours and more focus on his wife and unborn baby.  He sighs, knowing that the thoughts would circle endlessly in his mind should he let them begin. The whole reason he has the job for you now is because his brother bailed…

"There is absolutely no pressure, just wanted to extend the offer. I have found that...other men have embellished their skill sets in order to receive the same offer. Jokingly claim they don’t care but then become petulant when it’s obvious it’s not going to happen. But you have the skills, you are competent."

"I'll-I'll get back to you, ma'am."

"The number at the top of the contract, it's an all hours one. Feel free to reach out with any questions or concerns, any stipulations or changes you'd like to make. I hope you have a very good rest of the day, Mr. Miller." You smile at him, eyes bright as you watch the way his throat bobbed with a harsh swallow.

Later that evening, two drinks deep and another poured into his cup, he settles into the worn leather of his couch with the contract in his hand. He's flipping through the many pages, preparing to read through it when a certain word catches his eye, making him choke on the drink swallow he had just taken.

Intimacy Clause

His skin is suddenly hot, fueled by the liquor he's already ingested, his thoughts turning to filth as a flash of pleasure flares brightly in his belly. Oh....he's certainly in over his head. He's heard of this- what was it called? Sugar daddy dynamic, but if he's the one getting the benefits and wages in exchange that would make him- no, he doesn't want to think about it that way. It's a job offer, a working contract.

He's got half a mind to deny the contract outright, but he can't help the way his eyes devour the words in front of him, from the first page to the last. It’s the perfect opportunity to keep you in his life, a way to keep you as close as his heart begs him too. Friendship something he wants, but the appearance of what it looks like on the outside bothering him still as he realizes how much older he is. Sure, he could run into you when around your parents and at neighborhood gatherings…but if he were to be your personal contractor. Your go-to man for construction and repair work, for…anything really- now that would really make him feel like he was worth the attention you seem to want to dot on him.

His phone is in his hand, thick fingers dialing the number you had provided, no regard for the late hour of the night. He's downing the last bit of his drink, grunting around the sting of it as he hears the ringing loud in his ear.

His heart is beating heavy, slowly, anticipation making him feel like there are far too many rings for there to be an answer on the other side of the line. He's about to cancel it when there's a click and your melodic voice greets him, pleasure flaring up in his belly again.

"Been thinking about me, Mr. Miller?" The coy tone causes a shiver to run down his spine.

Oh shit, he's definitely in over his head.

He looks good, but he doesn’t feel good. You can tell by the grimace marring his plush lips into a frown and the tension he holds in his entire body. Joel is casually walking across the street to where you’re sitting on the porch with a cup of steaming coffee. The house is being cleaned by the company you hired to detail everything. Not that it was particularly dirty, the crew had helped you to dust and wipe everything down as well as possible. It was more of an extra step for your parents to know that you want them to come back from a well-deserved vacation with no worries to even think of. Groceries are stocked in the fridge and pantry, bottles smoothies and juices at the ready for them to slip back into their lives.

It would be your last morning here, fresh from a late night at work and then doing inventory of all your supplies. A huge order loaded up on your phone that you needed to place once you settled into the home you had just finalized the sale on last week. It was finally ready for you to move in, though you suspected the work you wanted to enlist Joel’s help with would take some time.

But you both had it now, in spades. To be with each other, to work alongside each other.

He’s in a pullover sweatshirt that allows for the collar and hem of his shirt underneath to peak out. A little large on him, but not slouchy. He looks like he’s trying to not put too much pressure on his joints and you quickly set a reminder on your phone to schedule a massage for him sometime in the next week. A little gift to help ease some stress. You could use one too, you think as you see the barrage of missed calls from a blocked number. The area code for the city you had just moved from…

“Hey there, rough morning?” His voice is coarse, filling in the humid morning air with a little more warmth as he approaches and stands at the bottom of the porch steps. He’s got on a pair of glasses…and you’re thoughts are swirling in the gutter as you imagine him staring down through the lenses at you as you kneel before him…

Swallowing the sip you just took, you tilt your head toward the other side of the patio lounge you’re on, legs curled up beneath you. Large cardigan keeping you comfortable over a pair of jeans and a tank top. There’s ink stained on the front, the collar dipping low as you had moved around to finish a giant custom piece for most of the evening.

“It’s been alright, can’t really call it ‘morning’ if I haven’t been to sleep yet,” You feel a thrill down your spine as he sits, his thigh brushing up against your bare knee where a hole in the denim exposes it. You don’t move and he doesn’t shy away either. He’s got the thick stack of papers in his hand, but the envelope with the check for his renovation and the card with his name on it are gone.

“We can make this quick, then, if you want to get to bed.”

“No need, I’m moving today and then work later.” You offer him your mug and he gingerly takes it from you to slurp the sweetened and creamed coffee inside. His thick moustache catches a few droplets and as your eyes linger, his tongue sneaks out to capture them. “I’ll catch a nap in the afternoon, no need to worry, Mr. Miller.”

“Sweetheart, told you to call me Joel.” He hands you back the mug. His brown eyes catch yours and you feel your entire body go still, worry igniting you that he’s about to tell you he’s thought the contract over and wants nothing to do with it…

“Especially if I’m gonna hand this back over with my signature scrawled on it.”

“Really?” Your eyes widen as you turn to face him completely.

“You seem surprised.” He’s laughing as he flips to the last page to show you and it releases all the tension in your chest. He’s got such a good laugh, hearty and full. You want to do everything you can to hear it more, to give him a reason to laugh more. More time to focus on what he wants, not worried about keeping up with big projects that take so much time to complete. Not that he minds, like he’s assured you, he loves the work and wants to do it. But it’s getting to be a lot to handle, his brother is finding himself a different path- something he mentioned when you had asked after the other Miller brother and why he hadn’t been the one to take on your job.

“I was a little worried, it’s not exactly a normal thing to be offered. But like I said, everything is up to you, the jobs are the jobs, the work is still work, everything else is completely up to you.”

“Don’t think anything can be considered normal these days, but,” He’s reaching to place his palm on your knee in a comforting gesture. “I could honestly really use the break you’re lending me. Gives me the chance to be more present in the girls’ lives. I’ve got one last job I’ve already taken a deposit on, a small trip out to see Sarah and then I’m all yours. It’s a generous offer and I’d be a fool to turn it down.”

“What’s the last job?”

“An above ground pool and deck, shouldn’t take more than two weeks. Give me until next month, then we can get everything settled. If that’s okay?”

“I don’t mind how long it takes, I was going to pay you the first month upfront, even if you didn’t want to do this. As a bonus of sorts, for the amazing job you did here.” You wave your hand behind you toward the house. The cleaning crew is already busy, their chatter and light music filling the home with life.

“You really are somethin’, you know that?” He’s tipping his head down, looking at his scuffed and paint stained boots. Pink tinging his ears as he does so, the fingers over your knee digging in and then releasing in move you aren’t sure he’s aware of.

“You’re a good man, Joel Miller. And I want you to see that, you deserve the chance for a slower life, for a life you want. Now let’s go.” You gulp down the last of the coffee and set it down on the patio table to your right. The contract slides into the bag at your feet and you’re standing.

“Where we goin’?” He’s sill got those damn thick rimmed glasses on and he looks good enough to eat as he looks up at you from his spot still on the whicker couch. He hasn’t gotten up alongside you, unsure what’s going to happen now that the paperwork is officially signed and accepted- a date for the next month picked out for him to officially be on your payroll. As a sugar baby. Well, a contracted workman but the reality of the situation isn’t just that.

But you do, you’re going to take care of him. Exactly like you promised.

“To the salon. You said you’ve been putting off a trim.”

“We don’t have-“

“Joel. You said you don’t much like your hair as long as it is, it’s an easy fix.”

“I don’t…got a meeting with my brother this afternoon.” He shuffles on his feet, boots scuffing the new coat of sealant on the porch he put on with his own two hands. “Gonna tell him about the business.”

“It’s only ten, we’ll be done by then.” You go to grip his shoulder with a light hand. Your nails grazing his arm on the way up. The reassuring smile you give him melts him, you can see it. “I promise.”

A short drive later and a more than enthusiastic interaction in the industrial and modern looking salon, Joel sits with a grimace into a chair and lets the hairdresser fasten the cape securely over his throat. The place is so fancy, certainly not the master bathroom or the corner barbershop tucked into the end of a strip mall that he normally frequents. He’s tense and you feel bad so you hold up a finger to motion for the woman to pause for a moment. She smiles at you, noticing his unease as well.

“Hey,” You whisper as you come to stand behind him. He’s watching you with his dark eyes through the mirror, noticing the grays that make up most of his facial hair, steel tone that gives away how dark his hair had been once upon a time. His curls too, are the same dark gray intermixed with ash strands. Thick and erring on the side of ringlets if they should grow any longer. Your fingers gently scratch at the back of his head as you dig them into his hair, thumbs massaging up the back of his neck in a soothing gesture.

His hair is as soft as you imagined, like silk against your skin and you hum a little as you notice his eyes flutter at your ministrations. His shoulders drop and he let’s out a deep breath he must’ve been holding in.

“It’s just a trim, okay? Whatever you want, however you like it. You deserve it and you’ll feel so much better, I promise.”

And goddamn, if it’s not hard to keep promising things to one Joel Miller.

He’s so flighty, so nervous when he doesn’t know what to expect in a situation like this. Out of his depth and a little uncomfortable with the first outing as you go-to guy for all things. A paid companion of sorts. A strong contrast to the confidence he struts around with and moves through a space he’s working on, through the hardware store, as he drives his truck expertly throughout the suburban and city streets.

And when his eyes open back up, he’s returning your gentle smile with one of his own. Completely as ease. It makes your heart speed up and warmth pool in your middle.

Joel’s not nervous, but he’s not exactly thrilled to share the news of his company becoming an- contracted one he guesses would be the right term. One that has the sole purpose of fulfilling your every need, no matter now small or large a scale the project or task is. A way to provide for you and be a friend to you, to keep you close like he can’t seem to resist. He’s made peace with the decision, he’s comfortable in his decision. But his brother is…

“Why didn't you come to me, brother? I would've- I would've done anything to help, hell, I would've jumped back into working jobs everyday with you if that's what it took to save the company.” Tommy is certainly playing the part of the concerned younger sibling, professing empty words that Joel knows he wants to mean. But he doesn’t. He’s been struggling since coming back from his last tour and Joel’s done just about all he could to help in that department. Up to and including helping him with financial stuff and hiring a district attorney to help him when it had gone too far…

“Tommy, c'mon.” Joel tries to keep his tone in check, but Tommy is more than a little upset that he hadn’t known how stressed his brother was. How could Joel have told him? When could he have even told him, this is the first time to two of them have actually sat down and not just traded half conversations over the phone or even at the sad excuse of an office rented for the business. It was easier for them to work out of a trailer they would park at job sites, more secure for them to have eyes on the space that helped them to operate, well Joel to operate.

“Don't you do that, act like I don't care.” Wide brown eyes are turned toward him, the same ones that worked to get him to take the blame for too many eaten cookies before dinner, a broken lamp when they were too reckless running around the house, or when paired with a wobbling lip and tears that Joel would take make sure no one but him got into trouble. The big brother, always looking out for his younger one.

“I couldn't get you to even answer the damn phone, let alone work anymore 'n you wanted to.” A harsh scrub of his palm against his chin rustles the stubble there. Honest and reality checking words simmer in his belly, heating him up from the inside out and he realizes that there’s no stopping them from bubbling up.

He’s hurt, dammit. By the fact that after everything he’s done, his brother still decides to be selfish in a way he wished he could be proud of. Family is important, but the woman that Tommy is choosing over everything else…It just doesn’t sit well with him. “The business is good, just getting a little back logged and people aren’t willing to wait that long for certain work. It’s tough with just me and the crews, really expected to have a little more help.”

“That's not fair, I got...I got things I'm taking care of, Maria she-“

“This isn't about her, Tommy! This is about you doin' whatever the hell you wanna do, just like fucking always. your whole damn life, you've been like this.” He feels the words surge through him, spurred on by the sheer contrast of interacting with you and then his brother. One was family and yet…you treated him with more respect, you seemed to care enough to offer him a way to support himself better, to provide for him, to help him.

And the man across from him is doing nothing but making excuses as to why he hasn’t offered more.

“Joel, if I had known-“

“But you didn't! Didn’t even bother to ask how all the jobs you kept bailing on got done, how they got managed into my already full schedule. You know Ellie is thinkin’ of moving out because she thinks she’s too loud in a house that’s quiet when I’m not there and even more so when I am? She feels like a burden on me because I’m workin’ so damn hard and I pass out the second I get home.”

“Ellie���s an adult, but I’m sorry the work has you feeling like an absent father. Maybe you shouldn’t have-“

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Tommy. I love that girl with my whole fucking heart. I made the decision to transition to contracted work, to help out a friend with her business and personal projects. She’s supplin’ me with enough cash flow to make it worth my while and give me more down time.”

“Yeah and what, you think some pretty, successful woman is gonna be the key to keeping your company. You sold out, man, she's gonna be changing things, controlling things, you don't even know the half of it. You should've-“

“You weren't there!” Joel hollers, his patience gone and his head pounding. He realizes that the table next to them looked up from their menus at his outburst but he doesn’t care. “You weren't there, mentally, physically, you were gone off in your own little world, Tommy! She was....she saw me struggling and she treated me with kindness and respect- she was there to help! She was fucking there, Tommy!”

“You really think she gives a shit about you? Cause she don’t! She just sees an old man to buy out and take over a company because she’s bored, needs something to play with. The girls are going to flip when they find out how weak you were when a pretty little thing flashed a smile at you. All cause you think she cares about you, but she ain’t your family, Joel. Stop lookin’ for it in all the wrong places.”

“You ain’t been much of family lately, Tommy. But go ahead and judge me all you want, this is something I want to do.” He slips the envelope from his back pocket, the logo for his company branded in the top corner, your name beside his above the contact number. It was something you had mocked up for him to look over once the visit to the salon finished. He had liked it, maybe a little too much- to see your names beside each other.

Joel takes the check out from it, so the amount written out is visible. “This is for you and Maria, for my nephew, once he’s born. It’s the severance amount everyone is getting and then some. Cause I take care of my own.”

Joel is shoving up from his seat, jaw muscles twitching. Tommy’s eyes roll up from the check to his older brother looming over him. “You’re no better ‘n me, Tommy. You chased after Maria the second your case was settled.”

He’s not even in his truck for a second before he’s pulling out his new phone and hitting the call button.

All the tension leaves him from the heated interaction the second your voice filters through the line.

“Hey, hey! I’m a little tied up at the moment so you’re on speaker, I hope you don’t mind?” It’s then that he notices the background noise: soft music, the sound of something liquid being shaken up in plastic, and the tacky stretch of cling wrap being unraveled.

“Tha’s alright, sweetheart. Was thinkin’ of coming by, check out those permit applications for you and make sure they’re getting processed okay.”  

“Oh! That would be lovely. And you could check out the space I’m renting. So you know where to find me if I’m with a client. I’ll text you the address, yeah?”

“Want anything from the coffee shop?” Joel’s eyes glance across the street. His brother is gone from the table they had shared outside the café. The truck he had seen him pull up in gone as well. He should probably do the right thing and apologize to the server for taking up a table and then not ordering anything. Might as well get the coffee he had intended to as well.

“Mr. Miller, you are too sweet. I’ll text you my order. See ya in a bit!”

The line doesn’t hang up right away and he catches the soft words you speak next.

“He sounds handsome, was that your husband?”

“Oh! No, no, that was my friend. He’s my personal contractor and go to maintenance man.”

“I’m so sorry, I just assumed because I was looking back at your profile before the appointment and noticed the wedding photos on your feed.”

And then the line goes dead, the call ending as his thumb punches the red circle on the screen.

Joel’s heart thuds harshly against his ribs, his insides all twisted up. The way you sounded when you talked about him had been so warm.

My friend.

But then the person sitting in the studio with you had said the very last things he had ever anticipated.

Your husband. Wedding photos.

Were you married and neglected to tell him? Was this all some sort of game you were playing? Did you even have a need for him if you had a man who you called your own already? Where the hell did your husband fall in all of this? Was Tommy right and he was being played like a giant fool?

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[mortallydeepestobservation]

The holiday pretense -1-

Summary: Namjoon has never been a fan of the holidays. In fact, he could list more things that sucked about ‘The most wonderful time of the year’, than things that brought him joy. Yet, beneath his cynicism, a flicker of hope appeared this year, as the faint scent of homesickness hung in the air.

Unfortunately, there’s one tiny little thing that keeps him from calling home- his lack of a girlfriend.

But fear not; this holiday season, Namjoon’s smart mouth gets him in a situation where he has no choice but to approach you- his longtime friend and roommate- with an unexpected request.

Pairing: Namjoon x f.reader Genre: fake-dating, friends to lovers/roommates to lovers au; crack, smut, fluff. Rating: explicit. Minors do not interact. Warnings: every single trope in the book; but with a twist. Dialogue heavy. OC is really bad at lying, anddd… I didn’t write in literal years so yeah, this is gonna be fun. And I know I am literally that meme rn, the: summer is over-skips straight to Christmas. But do you have any idea just how slow I write? Yes. It is a warning. Smut warnings: to be added~ Word count: Chapter 1-9k Credits: this was literally one of those ‘if no one is going to write this, I will’ because there are not enough friends-to-lovers Namjoon fics out there. And none (that I know of) where the main character feels bad for lying to his family when pretending to date him. This work would not have been possible without the very kind and patient @callmenoona25, who not only helped me beta-read but also served as a guiding light during those moments when I wanted to rage-delete everything. Thank you for all your help! (and please keep helping me coz idk what I’d do without your constant encouragement) Author's note: again, I didn't write in 8-ish years, so this is very very scary. Add in a dash of 'English is not my first language' and you get whatever this is. enjoy. Merry Christmas. part 2: here

Ah winter, the most wonderful time of the year.

The season when the air is crisp, and the city gets blanketed in thick, white snowfall. When the satisfying sound of crunching snow accompanies every step and every word transforms into nothing more than a puff of steam dancing through the chilly air.

When Mariah Carey’s voice echoes in literally every store for an obnoxious 24/7, as if she has some kind of personal vendetta against silence…

When the heating bill increases by 37%, and it takes an extra 15 minutes for the heater to kick in and for the hot water to grace the showerhead. Ergo, Namjoon now has to wake up half an hour early if he wants to take a shower and not freeze half to death during the day, because the landlord was adamant that there was nothing to be done about the situation.

But it wasn’t all bad.

Sure, Namjoon was never one to possess the so-called Christmas spirit. In fact, he was known to be a bit of a grinch among his friends.

Jin, in particular, enjoyed telling anyone who would listen about their first Christmas at college, when Namjoon adamantly refused to help him decorate the tree after begrudgingly lugging it to their shared apartment.

And most years Namjoon’s lack of enthusiasm for the season was palpable. While his friends reveled in the cheerful atmosphere, he somehow managed to remain detached and aloof, his grinch-like demeanor becoming a defining characteristic, much to the amusement of his companions.

However, there were still aspects of the holiday that Namjoon couldn’t help but secretly enjoy. The food, for instance, was undeniably good. Although the movies were mediocre and the music overplayed, he still found himself humming along to Winter Wonderland whenever it played. And the energetic buzz that seized his friends was no doubt contagious;

This year, before he could even process it, he was dubbed designated fairy-light fixer, the judge of the ugly sweater contest (solely because he had the audacity to show up wearing a black hoodie) and somehow promised Jungkook to help him pick up gifts for his mom, his cousin, and girlfriend.

And now, with the holidays looming just around the corner, and the entire city buzzing with chatter about family feasts, romantic rendezvous, and the art of gift-giving, Namjoon couldn't help but feel a little pang of longing. It had been a solid two years since he last set foot in his hometown, and the melancholic urge to return home seemed like the only logical response to it all.

Or maybe he just needed a vacation…

But there was just one thing that kept Namjoon, a logical being, from making that phone call home.

He knew that part of the reason behind his mother’s question was for organizational purposes, yet he couldn’t help but notice the mischievous twinkle in her voice each time she sweetly asked:

“And are you coming alone?”

Few things managed to irk him as much that specific question in that specific context. And even with countless nights analyzing the emotions it stirred within him, Namjoon found himself very stupidly replying with:

“Uhm, no actually-” despite being painfully single, and fully aware of it.

Following that, the hope of regaining any sensible thought was gone as a chorus of ecstatic comments erupted form his mother’s end of the phone. With a hurried, “Can’t wait to see you, yeah, love you too,” he was left in the suffocating silence of his bedroom, with a new predicament he needed to solve.

Now, let’s not forget, Namjoon is no ordinary man. He possesses a brain that could rival Einstein’s, and he knows all too well that he could simply call back and clarify that his plus one is as real as Santa Claus.

But Namjoon doesn’t half-ass anything. He full-asses it.

That and showing up alone would undoubtedly result in his mom’s attempts to play matchmaker. And if he were to show up alone, after lying about it, well, he might as well prepare for an arranged marriage.

Namjoon sighed as he looked at his phone. He couldn’t understand why his mother had this new found obsession with his relationship status. Especially after she witnessed just how bad his last one ended. Now sure, he may have taken the whole ‘healing-era’ to a bit of an extreme, seeing as he had no relationship, no situationship and no inclination to entertain any romantic thoughts whatsoever. But this was getting ridiculous. Lying to his own mother?

Perhaps he could ask his assistant to pretend to be his girlfriend for the week? No, that wouldn’t work. She mentioned she was hosting the Christmas dinner this year. And it would involve more explanations to HR than it’s worth…

And he couldn’t overlook the fact that her fiancé would most certainly not be amused by that idea.

Just as he was about give up and plunge into another rabbit hole of despair, the solution to his problem came accompanied by the familiar sound of glass smashing in the kitchen.

You.

You would be perfect.

Most people already assumed you two were dating, seeing how seamlessly you fit yourself into his life after moving in.

And last he checked you couldn’t make it home because of some pesky law-jargon issues that required your presence at the office. And changing your flight to a few days later cost you an arm and a leg, while changing it to January was completely free.

And last he checked; you were just as chronically single as he was. (He knew because your last date was so disastrous that he had to abandon his gaming night and rescue you from the restaurant).  

Another crash in the kitchen summoned him back into action. Swiftly snatching his hoodie from the designated clothes chair and making his way to you, detouring only to retrieve the medical kit from the bathroom.

He was quick to spot you, still clad in your work attire, crouched besides the counter, diligently sweeping the stray glass shards of what used to be an ugly mug. His eyes involuntarily wondering towards your ass, once again marveling at how flawlessly you wore that office skirt before snapping himself out of it.

“And I believe that evens out the score, seeing as I only broke a plate, and you killed two mugs this season” he declares, ensuring you weren’t bleeding before abandoning the first aid kit on the counter to fetch the trusty vacuum cleaner.

It was standard procedure by now.

“You also managed to break the microwave, so the title remains yours,” you grumble as you rose to your feet, a smile unconsciously tugging at your lips when you caught sight of his charming dimpled face. “Hey there.”

“Hello,” he replied, giving you a swift once-over in case he missed any hidden hemorrhages “what happened?”

“It just jumped out of the cupboard when I opened it,” you gestured towards the dust pan, as if to prove the cup suddenly acquired acrobatic skills before its untimely demise, causing him to break into a grin “I’ll get you a new one.”

“No worries, it was a gift form an ex, and it was hideous anyway.”

As he vacuumed the area, you disposed of the glass, making sure it wouldn’t slice through the trash bag like last time.

Once the kitchen was safe again, you returned to your previous task, grabbing a new cup and casually turning your back to him.

" Do you want to try an unreasonably expensive hot chocolate with me?" you playfully suggested, catching his eye as he noticed the purple tin on the counter, adorned with a big red bow, alongside a very generic Christmas card.

"Secret Santa?" he inquired back, picking up the card, already aware of the answer to your question.

Unconsciously, he began mentally listing reasons why you would make a good fake girlfriend. Topping the list was your uncanny ability to understand him without lengthy explanations. And it was all quite digestible, wasn't it? Two long-time friends and roommates, thrown together by chance, suddenly discovering hidden feelings for each other?

All his friends seemed to have unanimously agreed that the two of you would make a splendid pair, back when you met, when his roommate, Jin, started dating your roommate, Myeong.

 On their inaugural date, Myeong, in a fit of paranoia, asked you to tag along, in case her potential lover turned out to be a serial killer. And Jin, ever the considerate soul, felt compelled to invite Namjoon, not only to spare you the agony of being the third wheel, but also in the hope of pulling Namjoon out of his dating slump. Not that you would ever notice, as you were knee-deep in exam session, sleep deprived and buried in a mountain of law books.

Poor Namjoon somehow ended up carrying the weight of being third and fourth wheel simultaneously.

But you eventually made up for it, once your exams were over and had a proper 18 hours of sleep.

In no time you wiggled your way into his heart, transforming those awkward double dates into enjoyable hangouts. You’d spend countless hours discussing everything from books to the latest plot twists in popular dramas, to sharing dreams, fears and hopes.

As Myeong and Jin’s relationship blossomed, they gradually faded into the background of your outings, until they were eventually excluded all together. And neither of you seemed to mind, as you found it easier to focus on your conversations without their constant chatter.

That and they couldn’t be quiet in movie theatres like decent human beings.

It was during one of these outings that Namjoon realized just how alluring he found you. The way your eyes lit up when you laughed at one of his jokes made his heart race. Your sharp mind and wit were a match made in heaven for him. And your ability to render him speechless was both infuriating and exhilarating.

But Namjoon also knew that you were deeply committed to your studies, and he didn't want to do anything to distract you from your goals. So, he held back, admiring you from a distance and hoping that someday things might be different.

And as time passed, and he graduated, he came to terms with the fact that you two would never be more than casual friends.

Little did he know that the universe had its own wicked sense of humor. When fate decided to play its sly hand and leave you virtually homeless, because your respective roommates decided to take the next step in their relationship and move in together.

It was only logical, then, for the two of you to shack up as well. After all, you were friends, both neat freaks, and most of all, desperately in need of a roommate.

“The roommate switch”, as Jimin so eloquently put it.

And thus began the most wonderful living arrangement Namjoon ever experienced. Not that he would never tell Jin that.

Suddenly, his bathroom cabinet resembled a Bath and Body works store, and your pink pots and pans had taken over his kitchen. But he wouldn’t mind, seeing that the cooking interdiction was extended, once Jin started recounting all the times Namjoon almost turned their previous apartment into a bonfire during your housewarming bash.

However, you never scolded him for his butterfingers because, truth be told, you had your own healthy dose of clumsiness, (the cup chilling in the trash an indisputable witness to it).

It was quite refreshing to find someone who shared his knack for dropping things.

And he made up for all the free meals by taking care of the dishes. He even went above and beyond by meticulously following the odd care instructions for your fancy pots.

And the rest of your household chores fell into perfect harmony.

 He willingly handled all the ironing, including your own, simply because you couldn’t be bothered. In return, you would dutifully clean the lint tray in the dryer, even when it was his turn to do the laundry, because he found it absolutely disgusting, and you couldn’t resist the opportunity to gross him out.

It suddenly dawned on him why all his friends were convinced that you two were together. He was smitten with you, after all.

But again, time has worked its magic! His infatuation had been long departed, so he could proceed with his plan and not let it affect your friendship in any way, shape or form!

“You know, I never quite understood the purpose of Secret Santa,” you confessed, pulling him out of his thoughts. “I mean, sure, it makes sense in a small group where you can actually get to know the person and buy them something nice. But in a corporate setting, where you’re thrown together with people from different departments, it makes absolutely no sense!” you spoke with passion, even stirring the milk a little harder, causing an impish smile to dance across his face.

“Because you end up with situations like this, where creepy Greg from the watercooler suddenly feels the need to win my graces and splurge on stupidly expensive hot chocolate.”

Namjoon was familiar with your HR endeavors involving Greg, especially after he hit on one of your colleagues.

“Do you want to know how much this monstrosity costs?” you asked, trying to contain your amusement at the sheer absurdity of it all. Pouring the cocoa into the milk and placing the mugs in front of him, you couldn’t help but grin.

“Surprise me,” Namjoon took a sip, which he regretted because he choked once you answered,

“Sixty dollars!”

“That’s absolutely ridiculous” he coughed, once he regained control of his lungs.

The hot chocolate was nice, but nowhere close to justifying the hefty price tag. For all he knew, it could have been dollar store cocoa. But your contagious laugh made it all worthwhile, and he couldn’t help but think that maybe Greg deserved to lose his Christmas bonus on overpriced cocoa that you both would mock.

“Tastes like cardboard” you concluded after a mouthful, “maybe it was meant for that hideous mug your ex gave you,” you teased, earning a puzzled look. “This has horrible taste,” you tack on, noticing his raised eyebrow “just like your exes.”

“I’m not sure if I should be offended by that,” he replied, feigning offense.

“Well, they did break up with you, so clearly their taste is questionable,” You ruffled his hair as you walked past him, your cocoa abandoned on the table.

This wasn’t uncommon in your friendship. Afterall, you were his biggest supporter, as he was yours. But now, with the odd favor he was about to ask you; he couldn’t help but ponder your words for longer than usual. Until he heard the door to your room close and he realized he was left alone in the kitchen.

“Any updates on that flight of yours?” he asked, shooting a glance towards your door. Perhaps the universe would take pity on him and spare him the embarrassment he was dreading.

“Still in January!” you hollered back, your voice muffled by the commotion in your room.

“Ah, cool, cool…” he muttered under his breath, more to psych himself up and gather the courage needed to go over and make a complete fool of himself.  

“Are you still planning on heading home?” your voice was barely audible amidst the movement, so he walked over and propped himself against your door to keep the conversation going.

“Yeah, that’s the plan.” He replied absentmindedly massaging the back of his neck.

Not unless he can find a girlfriend for the week.  “Hey,” he continued, his voice devoid of any moisture, “can I ask you a favor?”

The door swung open, almost causing him to stumble, to reveal you, wearing pajama bottoms and a black tank top, clutching one of his sweaters.

“Depends.” You answered flatly. “Mind if I borrow this?” you gestured towards the sweater, awaiting his nod of approval before slipping it on and sauntering past him to claim your usual spot on the couch. With your feet cozily tucked under the cushion, you scrolled through your phone, probably looking up another horrible movie you’d force him to watch. Oblivious to the fact that you ticked off another item on his mental checklist: looking damn good in his clothes.

“Okay” he took a deep breath and settled down beside you, his posture impeccable and his gaze fixed on the blank tv screen. You glanced over intrigued by his sudden shift in behavior.

“This is going to be weird, and you can tell me to fuck off any moment this makes you uncomfortable. And I promise I’ll never bring it up again, and we can pretend this never happened,” he stumbled over his words, a stark contrast to his usually calmed and composed demeanor.

Your mind raced, conjuring up the worst-case scenarios as you slowly set aside your phone, captivated by every word leaving his mouth.   

Was he about to kick you out?

That only seemed to aggravate whatever Namjoon was on, as he continued to mumble, insisting that you didn’t have to agree to it if you didn’t want to. Which didn’t make any sense, because if he was going to kick you out, he should at least have the balls to tell you straight forward.

You gently collected his hands, causing him to halt abruptly. His wide eyes finally locked with yours as you softly uttered “Just tell me.” You peered up at him, bracing yourself for the worst, and completely unprepared for what was to follow.

“Will you please do me a solid and pretend to be my girlfriend for a week?” he stammered, unable to maintain eye contact, his voice fading into a whisper towards the end.

“What?”

“I might have told my mom I’m in a relationship, and now I desperately need a stand-in girlfriend for the next few days” he confessed sheepishly, quickly adding, “But seriously, if you’re uncomfortable with this, just say the word and we can erase this whole conversation from existence.”

“Oh my goodness, Namjoon,” you breathed out in relief, a laugh escaping your lips as you rested your head on his lap, leaving him even more perplexed. “I thought you were kicking me out.”

“What?” he chuckled, watching you raise a few seconds later, rubbing your eyes before fixing your gaze on him, contemplating his request.

“How can you be so brilliant and so dumb at the same time? Just call your mom back…”

“No, you don’t get it. I can’t do that. If I do, she’ll set me up with the neighbor’s daughter again” Namjoon explained, clearly not in the right mindset to entertain that idea again.

“You want me to lie to your mother?” you asked incredulously.

“Please don’t phrase it like that.” he covered his face, deflating completely besides you.

“This is essentially what you are asking me to do... I don’t know how that makes me feel. Your mom, by the way, is an absolute sweetheart…” you trailed off, observing him intently as he brushed away the hair in his eyes.

You didn’t get to know her too well, but the last time she visited she made sure to stock up your whole fridge with homecooked meals. And to top it off, she even baked cookies especially for you once Namjoon mentioned he had a new roommate.

The discussion, however, took a bit of an unexpected turn when she realized the roommate was you. A girl and not another frat guy. But she quickly developed a fondness for you. Or at least, that’s what you believed when she gave you the tightest hug goodbye.

“I know. It’s a stupid idea.” He muttered, rubbing his face a bit harder than necessary. Then he locked eyes with you and continued. “I am well aware of how dumb this is. And that is exactly why I need you there with me.” His statement left you dumbfounded, completely unable to find any words. “I just want to go home and relish in the fact that I am there without constantly worrying about being single.” he took a shaky breath before continuing,

 “I can’t comprehend why my mom is so fixated on this matter.” He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “I just need someone to navigate this absurdity with me for the holidays, and then we never mention it again.” 

His little speech left you stunned, and before you knew it, you were actually considering his proposal.

 Your Christmas plan was already ruined, and agreeing would mean that you would not be confined to your couch, enduring cheesy Hallmark movies and crying alone on Christmas eve.

Moreover, you were convinced that you had moved on from the little crush you had on him back when you met. Refusing still to admit that you’ve always had a soft spot for the gentle giant that slowly became a staple in your life, and that spending the holidays with him would be the best scenario that could ever happen.

But could you make it through this without getting your heart trampled and your friendship going up in smoke? As these thoughts started to swirl in your mind, your eyes began to wander aimlessly. From his eyes to his chiseled cheekbones and strong jawline, down to his neck and collarbone, and finally to his impressively muscular chest that seemed to only have grown since he started attending the gym religiously with Jungkook. And not to mention those arms that give the most incredible bear hugs. It was strange to allow yourself to notice his physicality in such detail, as if you had been willfully blind to his newfound buffness until now.

“Forget it, I’m sorry I asked,” he said, sensing your hesitation and preparing to end his suffering. But you stopped him in his tracks.

“If we are going to do this, we need a plan.” His eyes light up, color returning to his cheeks, before he squeezed you in a tight embrace “and just so you know, you owe me,” you laughed once he released you.

“Yes, yes, of course, whatever you want.”

“You take out the trash for a month,” he was too quick to nod “and I want you to take me to that bakery you and Jin always rave about.”

“Ajumeoni’s bakery?” he smiled at your request. That was the bakery Namjoon visited with his sister every Friday as a child, and every other day with Jin, on their way to school, because the milk bread was to die for. “Of course. It’s already part of the commute, so consider it done.”

“Good. We have a deal then,” you extended your hand as if sealing a business agreement, instead of setting yourselves up for a disaster. He reciprocated with a firm shake, and you swiftly retrieved your notepad from the coffee table. “So, what’s the plan?”

“Well, let’s establish a few key details about us. We need to become well-acquainted with each other’s personal preferences, so it doesn’t come across like we are just… pretending” he looked over at you as you scribbled.

“I mean, it’s a digestible story already. Two oblivious roommates, suddenly realizing they have feelings for one another after living together for years.” You mused, only to be met with his response.

“And once this is all over, we can simply tell everyone that we figured out we were better off as friends than lovers,” he pondered aloud.

“Right,” you replied, looking up from your notebook “How long have we been dating?”

“Anywhere from three to six months” he promptly answered and you jot it down before firing off your next question.

“And why haven’t we told any of our friends and family?”

“To avoid the inevitable ‘I knew it!’ and because we like the trill of keeping a secret.”

“Fair enough,” you chuckled “So, how did we get together?”

“You finally realized how charming I am and just couldn’t contain yourself?” he flashed a cheeky smile and you playfully deflect by giving his chest a gentle push.

“How about your birthday party?” you offered “We were both buzzed enough to share a kiss and then you confessed?”

“Why do I confess?” he whined, peering over at your notebook page where you already wrote down your version of events.

“Because I’m shy about that kind of stuff” you mumble, burying your face in the cozy confines of his sweater, avoiding any potential eye contact.

 “That’s adorable,”

“Shut up.” You chuckle “Alright, is there anything I should know about you?”

“I’m not a big fan of PDA, especially when we’re out and about, so don’t expect me to be all over you.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “But since we’re going home and pretending to be a couple, what level of affection are you comfortable with?”

“Well, I’m comfortable with you,” you cleared your throat, that bit of information being more truthful than intended “we can hold hands, and do normal couple stuff.”

“How do you feel about kissing?”

“Well, yeah, sure,” you responded nonchalantly, eyes fixating on the notepad in your hands.

A mischievous grin played on his lips as he teased, “Good, because I happen to be quite fond of leaving hickeys.” That broke you out of your little spiral, rolling your eyes at his poor attempt.

As if you weren’t already aware of this tidbit from his past conquests during your college days, before you two became roommates.

“You do know this is all pretend, right?” you retorted, refusing to take the bait.

“Oh, but baby, we’ve got to make it feel real,” he insisted, his tone dripping with charm. However, it did nothing to sway your logical approach to it.

“Right, ‘baby’” -you said it as if it was a legal term, “any preferences for pet names?”

Your serious charade did little to detour him. “Just promise me that our interactions won’t be like Jin and Myeong’s.”  He smiles, eyes twinkling with mischief.  “And surprise me, I’ll be putty in your hands.”

“So, you are not set on honorifics. I can call you Oppa if you want,” little did you know, your innocent suggestion struck a hidden chord within him. A new kink that needed further assessment later on, preferably after this week was over.

“That won’t be necessary,” he said, clearing his throat and reclining against the couch. “Anything I should know about you?”

You pondered his question for a few seconds, allowing a sly smile to play your lips. “I don’t like feet.”

“No duh!” he laughed, shaking his head in disbelief, before regaining his composure. With a meticulous air, he went over all the details once more. “Ah, you need a new background on your phone.”

 Swiftly, he snatched your phone form the coffee table, catching you off guard, and planted a quick kiss on your cheek before snapping a selfie. “Perfect,” he declared, a proud smile spreading across his face as he set the picture as your home screen and background, leaving you to gather your frenzied thoughts.

“But wait, you also need a new photo,” You retorted, only to find him already one step ahead, pulling out his phone from his pajama bottoms and scrolling through his camera roll.

“Done.” He announced, turning his phone towards you to reveal the horrendous picture he had chosen as his own home screen. 

 A candid shot he took during your last year at college, on one of those late-night noodles runs to the local shop next to the library. You were draped in an oversized hoodie, greedily slurping a mouthful of noodles. With eyes blissfully shut, you savored every bite, as it was your first meal of that day, completely oblivious to his hidden photography skills.

It wasn’t until you accidentally stumbled upon your caller ID that you saw it and naturally, grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at him, demanding an immediate change. But he stood his ground, claiming it was his favorite photo of you.

Claim proven yet again as now it was Namjoon’s home screen.

“I hate that photo.”

“I know.” He gave a smile, before safely tucking his phone back in his pocket, and rose to his feet, stretching leisurely. “I think we are good to go, girlfriend,” he said it in such a way that sent a swarm of butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “I’ll go book our train tickets, and you better start packing soon,” he playfully pointed at you, before gracefully disappearing into his room to retrieve his laptop.

“Oh, wait, I need to get a present for your mom!”

~~~

Before the train even arrived in the station, the sky was threatening to unleash upon you. The air filled with delicate snowflakes, determined to bury you, Namjoon, and your luggage.  But it was yesterday’s conversation that still lingered in the atmosphere, weighing heavy on both your minds.

The darkness of the night had given you both time to process what was about to unfold. Your only anchor on reality being Namjoon’s surprisingly warm hand clasping your freezing one, and tucking it away in his warm coat pocket.

And the fact that he looked like he just strolled out of the latest winter Vogue edition for men didn’t help. While you attempted to make a lasting impression, donning a cream knitted dress, black stockings and boots, topped off with a cream coat, that was far too flimsy for the weather, Namjoon effortlessly sported a navy-blue hoodie, snug jeans and a stylish black trench coat, and even a matching beanie that made his hair look absolutely flawless.

But beyond his impeccable fashion sense, he also proved to be quite the gentleman. Not that you ever doubted it, but now he seemed determined to showcase his chivalry. He wouldn’t even let you lock the door to your own apartment. It was a miracle he allowed you to carry the bottle of Chardonnay you insisted on getting his family, despite his protests that it wasn't necessary. You slightly regretted it now, seeing as your other hand was enduring the elements, instead of being intertwined with his.

“You have snow in your hair,” you pointed out, stating the obvious with the brilliance of a water-is-wet revelation.

“As do you.” he looked up from his phone, where he was engrossed in checking the train’s schedule for any potential delays. “And your lips are blue.” with a swift motion, he untangled his scarf and gently draped it around your freezing form. Something he had done many a time before, anytime he saw you slightly cold, but never before had you considered this gesture to be more than your friend looking out for you.

But today, things were different. Today you were pretending to be his girlfriend.

The sudden surge of warmth that enveloped you left you wondering if it was due to all your blood rushing to your cheeks or his scarf possessing some sort of magical heating abilities.

“It says here that the snow storm shouldn’t intervene with the scheduling, so the train will be here in a few minutes.” He looked up again, a cheerful grin appearing across his features as he caught sight of your pink face. “Aw you’re blushing again,”

“Shut up.” you retorted with the quick-wittedness of a third-grader.

“If I would have known it was this easy to make you flush, I would have made my fictional moves much sooner.” His voice did that thing again, where it went slightly deeper and, only the look in his eyes ticking you off to his teasing.

Your only response was to nervously nibble on your lip. Again, the realization that you are about to deceive not only his mother, but his entire family nestle in your chest, squeezing at your heart like a snake wrapped around it.

“Namjoon, I’m not sure about this.” you confessed, pulling the scarf closer to your face. It was a bit late to be getting cold feet, but this was your last opportunity to speak your mind before embarking on this little ordeal. “I don’t think I can pull this off.”

“Come on now, aren’t you an intern at a law firm?” he raised a playful eyebrow, attempting to ease the tension, but you only glared at him.

“I can’t lie.” You stated firmly “I’m the absolute worse at it. That is why I always find alternative ways of convey the truth. That’s what lawyers do. We don’t resort to lies.”

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that," he quickly apologized, before falling silent for a few seconds to ponder a solution. "Okay, listen. You don’t have to say anything."

"What do you mean?" you looked up at him, a hint of skepticism in your voice.

"I can take care of all the relationship talk, and I won’t say anything unless prompted.” he replied, trying to inject a touch of wit into his response. “Afterall, you are just my friend that just happens to be a girl.” He playfully wiggled his eyebrows at you “And I want you to spend Christmas with me and my family instead of being alone at home.” Namjoon gave you a sincere smile, and you couldn’t help but smile back, feeling the grip on your heart slightly loosen.

“Okay,” you gave a small nod “Thank you Joon.”

The nickname slipped by unnoticed, but you noticed the way Namjoon reacted, rekindling your burning cheeks.

“So, no Oppa?”

When your train arrived, Namjoon swiftly took charge, effortlessly carrying all the bags to your seats, settling in comfortably for the four-hour journey ahead.

He had come prepared, armed with at least three books to keep himself entertained, while you had grand plans of getting a head start on your work, perhaps even sneaking in a personal lecture and a quick power nap. However, much to your surprise, the allure of a nap quickly surpassed all other ambitions, your head found a cozy resting place on Namjoon’s shoulder, and you drifted off into a blissful slumber for the remainder of the journey. A sleepless night imagining what it would be like pretending to date your roommate could do that to you.

Only stirring awake when you were less than a few minutes away, because Namjoon was constantly shifting in his seat, half of his body numb from your weight on him.

“Oh hey,” he whispered, swiftly stretching his legs as soon as you moved off him. “I just spoke to Minhi, she said she’d come pick us up from the train station,”

“Oh, that’s nice.” you yawned, rubbing away any remnants of sleep from your eyes “You could have told me to move, you know.”

“Yes, but you looked so peaceful. It felt almost wrong to disturb you.” He grinned, fully aware that he also indulged in a little nap, using your head as a pillow just half an hour ago.

“Shut up,” you whispered, poking his thigh and retrieving your makeup bag to quickly fix your face before the train pulled up in the station.

The frigid air pierced through your very bones, sending an instant shiver cascading down your spine as you stepped into the snow filled air. You pull your coat tighter around yourself, trying to ward off the cold as you looked around for Minhi, seeing as Namjoon was on luggage duty again.

However, before you could spot her, Minhi’s voice sliced through the chilly air,

“Kim Namjoon, you have got to be kidding me.”

Namjoon’s little sister, all bundled up in a thick winter coat had fixed you two with a piercing stare, her hands on her hips in a classic display of sibling disapproval. 

Namjoon’s wonky smile did nothing to deter her piercing gaze, or calm any of your fraying nerves. “It’s good to see you too?”

You feel your heart drop as Minhi's gaze shifts from her brother to you, her expression a mix of confusion and suspicion. Your worst fears are confirmed - she's figured you out and you haven’t even been off the train for 5 minutes. Now Namjoon will be married off to some rich middle-aged woman and you'll never be able to look him in the eye again.

 You can feel the heat rising to your cheeks, and you look away, silently praying that the snow beneath your boots doesn’t melt into a puddle while she stares.

But then, unexpectedly, Minhi starts to laugh. At first, it's a quiet chuckle, but soon it grows into a full-blown laugh. She laughs so hard that she has to hold her stomach, and at the end she wiped an imaginary tear from the corner of her eye.

“You two are perfect for each other,” she says still chuckling “Fine, I’ll play along. How did you two end up together?”

“Got drunk one night.” Namjoon casually replied, rubbing the back of his neck before wrapping his arm around you, “Turns out all I had to do was say something, because she was all over me the next second.” 

Minhi raised her eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Right,” She hugged Namjoon tightly, and then turned to you, surprising you with a warm embrace. She muttered something about Namjoon never confessing his feelings in your coat, but you were too busy drowning in a whirlwind of confusion and relief to register it.

“We'll talk more later about how inappropriate this is." She added cheerfully, beckoning you to follow her towards her little yellow jeep, bright against the snowy backdrop.

You look back at Namjoon just in time to catch him winking in your direction and giving you a thumbs-up that sent your heart whirling in your chest.

 The car ride was over faster than you would have wanted. Minhi navigated the snow-laden road while she and Namjoon chatted away about mundane topics—work, rent, the best coffee in town. You sank deeper into the backseat, overwhelmed and lost in your thoughts. Because What the hell was that and If this was how you were kicking things off you might as well turn around now. Was it just fear of ruining the friendship or was an old crush budding again? The way he ‘claimed’ you in front of Minhi clearly ignited something in your chest that was not appropriate for friends or roommates or roommate-friends pretending to be dating.

As if sensing your turmoil from the front, Namjoon caught your eyes, giving you a gentle, reassuring smile before the car came to a halt. He gallantly opened the door for you, his hand grasping yours and squeezing it tightly.  

 “I got you, baby,” he says, teasingly, but the poorly-timed joke earns him an immediate glare and an elbow to the ribs.  

“Oh, come on. They are lovely people.” Minhi interrupts before Namjoon can retaliate, “You should’ve seen the way mom was dancing around the kitchen once she heard Namjoon was bringing someone over.”

You just blink at her, your breath misting in the air as you unconsciously step closer to Namjoon, giving him a small nod of support. His presence radiates warmth, his fingers tightening around yours as you walked towards the small house that looms in front of you. Minhi ambles ahead, dropping her bag near the entrance, while you could practically feel Namjoon vibrating with excitement.

“Someone’s in trouble” She whispers dramatically, letting you both into the warmth of the household, where laughter and the mouthwatering scent of home-cooked food intertwine. You follow her into the kitchen and you see the older couple husting about, half-focused on a pot bubbling over the stove and half on each other.

“Mom! Dad! Look who I’ve brought!” she announces, and the couple turned, smiles blooming as they spotted you and Namjoon.

For a fleeting moment, you felt exposed. Like an exhibit at a museum, thrust into the spotlight. Your breath hitched as Namjoon gently nudged you forward, a gesture both comforting and terrifying, but steeling yourself, you bravely stepped ahead, bowing as a sign of respect.

“I knew it!” The affectionate glow sweeping across Mrs. Kim face relaxed your nerves considerably, “I’m so glad you could make it!” her eyes sparkled with genuine delight, and you suddenly realized that Namjoon inherited his dimples from her. But the thought was quickly squeezed out of you as she enveloped you in that bone-crushing hug.

Namjoon’s father, a tall elderly man with kind eyes, patted him on the back. His approval apparent, before he turned his attention to you, “Welcome to our home,” he said warmly.

“I’m honored to be here.” You managed to respond, your voice quacking slightly but laced with sincerity. You heard Minhi groaning in the background but did your best to ignore her exaggerations and focus only on Namjoon’s parents, as you exchanged the required pleasantries.

“Dinner is almost ready,” Mrs. Kim said, bustling around the kitchen with effortless grace. The contrast between her elegant movements and Namjoon’s clumsy demeanour in the kitchen made you smile inwardly “I hope you’re hungry.”

“Yes, we didn’t get a chance to eat today,” Namjoon added quickly, casually leaning against the counter and stealing a taste from the simmering pot.

“I’ll call you over once it’s done. Go show our guest to your room until then,” Mrs. Kim commanded, expertly shooing him away from the stove and passing plates to Minhi.

“My room?” Namjoon echoed, his eyes widening as if the concept had floored him.

“Yes, dear. I know we are old-fashioned, but we are not under any illusions that you two don’t already share a room.” Mrs. Kim replied, stirring the bubbling pot without sparing him a glance.

Minhi shot you a look that was equal parts amusement and something you couldn’t quite place—sympathy, perhaps? Or pity?

“Yes- No. I just thought that it would be more appropriate to let her have the guest room,” Namjoon articulated, his voice half-hearted in its conviction.

Mrs. Kim merely cooed, waved away his protests with a flick of the wrist. “Minhi and Jackson are staying in the guest room. You can have your room.”

“Come on, Namjoon. You always make everything so complicated,” Minhi chimed in, her voice laced with mischief. “Just accept it. You guys will have an entire night to sort things out, right?”

“Right.” he grumbled, shooting her a glare that softened as he turned his gaze back to you “Let’s get you settled in,” he gestured for you to follow him.

The moment you step into Namjoon's room, a charged silence enveloped you- like the kind that proceeds a brewing storm. The room was exactly as you imagined, a blend of cooler minimalist décor and hints of his personal touch, a few pieces of art and pictures hung up on the wall, all whispering tales of youth, friendship and moments you yearned to know more about.

But all those sweet memories fade into the background as the reality settled in: there was only one bed.

“So, let me get this straight,” you began, the awkwardness hanging heavily in the air “You thought about everything, including phone wallpapers, but forgot you only have one bed in your room?”

“No, of course not.” He lied, that endearing grin spreading across his face. “I just thought it would be polite to let you have the bed… since you’re my guest.” He seemed genuinely proud of the excuse, but that pride melted when you teased,

“Before or after you plan for the guest room fell through?”

“After.” He admitted at last, glancing away, as if the walls held all the explanations he could not muster.

“Don’t tell me you planned on sleeping on the floor too,” for a brief moment the ridiculous image of him curled up on the hardwood floor, blankets draped haphazardly around him pops into your mind, and you couldn’t help but giggle.

“No.” He smiles, “I knew you’d take pity on my lower back,” his dimples deepened and you playfully rolled your eyes at him.

“Very strategic Mr. Kim,” you laugh, walking further into the room and taking a seat on the edge of the bed. The playful banter creating a familiar atmosphere, dissolving any lingering tension. A part of you almost couldn't believe you were in Namjoon’s personal space, taking your sweet time admiring the various little parts of him decorating the room, while another part was acutely aware of his gaze on you, observing you as if he were trying to read your thoughts.

He stepped closer, his expression sincere, drawing you in gently as he took your hands in his. “Are you sure?” The tentative nature of his voice hinted at a deeper question—he was about to add an ‘I was only joking’—but you quickly shushed him.

“Yes, of course.”

There were a few past occurrences where the two of you ended up falling asleep together on the couch, limbs tangled under the fuzzy throw blanket, with a movie playing in the background. Without fail, one of you would wake up in the morning to find the other wrapped around them, as the night was chilly and body heat was a rare luxury. Most of the time it was Namjoon that dozed off first, his head lolling in an awkward position until you gently nudged him into a more comfortable posture, knowing he’d whine about neck and/or shoulder pain come morning time if you didn’t. But his lug of a body was always warm, so you didn’t mind snuggling closer to him when it mattered.

This was more of the same. Just in a bed.

You swallow drily, eyes flickering away for a quick second, “I told you, I’m comfortable with you.”

“Come on, lovebirds!” Minhi’s voice rang through the door, breaking the spell. “Dinner’s ready!”

You shared a hurried glance, perspectives shifting as the familiar nervousness rushed back to you.

“Ready?” he asked, his smile spreading across his face, deepening the dimples in his cheeks as he tugged you up to your feet. You nodded, suddenly buoyed by a sense of belonging.

To your surprise, dinner goes by without a hitch. You may have gone a little overboard on the kimchi, but it wasn’t anything you wouldn’t recover from. However, the warmth of Namjoon’s hand resting softly on your thigh might etch itself into your memory for all time.

Halfway through the meal, Jackson showed up, and you got to observe with amusement as Minhi transformed in his presence, her demeanor shifting from the laid-back hostess to a giddy schoolgirl. The way she playfully nudged Jackson, her eyes sparkling each time she teased him, be it about his late arrival or some inside joke, was a refreshing sight. And you couldn’t help but snicker each time Mrs. Kim would chastise them, before dotting lovingly on anything you and Namjoon did together.

As the lively conversation flowed around you, you leaned into Namjoon’s warmth. It felt easy, and so right to nestle beside him, to let your fingers brush against his with familiarity, each touch igniting tiny sparks. You stole a glance at him, watching as he engaged wholeheartedly in the conversation, his contagious laughter filling the room.

After dinner, you offered to help Mrs. Kim clear up the table, even if it was to get a second to clear your thoughts, but to your surprise, Mr. Kim placed a soft hand on your shoulder, smiling, as he gently guided you back to your seat.

“You’ve done enough, dear,” he said, his tone warm and reassuring “We appreciate your help, but tonight is for you and Namjoon to enjoy.” He gave you a kind nod, and you felt your cheeks warm.

“Yeah, there will be dishes tomorrow too,” Minhi interrupted, getting a heartfelt laughter from her father before he left the room, to join his wife in the kitchen.

You shared a sheepish glance with Namjoon, who watched the exchange with an amused smile. His eyes twinkling in the soft light of the dining room, and you felt your heart pick-up the pace in your chest again. You really needed to get away, perhaps splash some cold water on your face. But just as you felt the urge to excuse yourself, you overheard Jackson's whispered confusion.

“Wait, so they’re not actually dating?” His voice was muted, and laced with confusion as he looked between you and Namjoon, his eyes wide with bewilderment.

“Kyung Min!” Namjoon called Minhi by her full name, which made her owlishly blink up at him.

“What? He asked how long you two have been dating for,” she defended.

“And you couldn’t just say three months, like a normal person?” Namjoon shot back, half laughing, half exasperated and watched as her brows knitted.

“No! He deserves to know.” She persisted, glaring at her brother, and you felt the heat crawl up your neck, trying desperately to remain inconspicuous under Jackson’s incredulous stare.

“So how exactly does this work?” Jackson asked, stopping the siblings from their bickering “Is it like friends with benefits or-?” just when you thought it couldn’t get any more awkward, the sip of water you took ended up going down the wrong way, making you choke and sputter.

“No! it’s nothing like that.”  You stammered, trying to form a coherent thought, but all you could manage was a mangled mess of words.

“No babe, they don’t even kiss,” Minhi added, placing her hand over his as if she were breaking some bad news.

But Namjoon reacted with the prove-your-sibling-wrong part of the brain, making you stare at him in disbelief.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but we do.”  

And your pulse picked up again when you saw him leaning in, the implication clear in your mind. You steeled yourself, closing your eyes. But to your astonishment, he didn’t press his lips against yours as you had envisioned. Instead, they grazed the curve of your cheek, followed by a loud, exaggerated kiss.

“I’m confused.” Jackson mumbled, looking over at Minhi as she rolled her eyes.

“You’re not the only one.”

~~~

Why didn’t he just kiss you?

The thought still lingered stubbornly at the edge of consciousness, even as the icy water from the shower jolted you into the present. You fumbled with the knobs, trying to figure out the right temperature, but your mind was elsewhere.

That scene kept on replaying on a constant loop in your head, each time leaving you just as stumped.

What stopped him?

You talked about this- he brought it up! And you agreed, so what was the hold-up? Was he really so uninterested that the mere thought of kissing you sent him into retreat mode?

Frustration bubbled up alongside the steam, and you invertedly cringed at the image of his nervous smile that still haunted you, his eyes darting away. Scrubbing harder at your skin, you wish the shame and embarrassment would simply wash away with the suds.

And the absurdity of getting worked over your friend not kissing you was not lost on you, but at least if he had gone for it, you might have been able to push that nagging question aside ~What would it be like to kiss Namjoon?  

His lips looked so soft, like they were meant for more than just talking…

You violently shook that thought away, and with a resigned sigh, you turned the water back to cold in an attempt to wash away your sins. Friends don’t kiss!

And he clearly wasn’t interested, so the sooner you silence these thoughts, the sooner you could go back to being normal. Just four more days of pretending to be his girlfriend. You could manage that. And after, you promised yourself you’d lock yourself in your room and avoid human interaction for rest of your miserable life.

As the water continued its relentless pour, you felt your fingertips start to wrinkle, a reminder that perhaps it was time to step out of this session of self-pity. With one last shudder, you turned the water off, determined to face the world- if only for a little while longer.

When you stepped out of the bathroom, the soft glow of a lamp illuminated the room. Namjoon was already tucked into bed, gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose as he quietly looked over the pages of a book. Only, in reality he hadn’t been able to absorb a single word in the past fifteen minutes, his gaze lost in a world of his own.

Silently, you made your way to your side, wrapping yourself in the blanket and turning your back to him. A slight shiver coursed through you as you felt the warmth envelop you, the little tremor alerting Namjoon to your presence.

“Why are you so cold?” he asked softly, shifting slightly closer to you.

Your heart thudded at the caring tone, and for a moment, all the questions crowd your mind again.

Instead of answering, you huffed in frustration and turned to face him.

“Why didn’t you kiss me?” the words blurted out before you could stop them, surprising you both with their boldness, but your face flushed when you met his gaze.

Namjoon’s eyes widened, and he froze, the book forgotten on his lap. “I-I don’t know.” He stuttered, his hand running though his tousled hair, the soft strands falling back in place but not hiding the flush creeping up his neck. You watched the muscles in his jaw tense, eyes averted again in a way that tightened your stomach.

“It would’ve convinced Minhi sooner,” your added, your words hanging heavy in the air. Namjoon chuckled awkwardly, running that same hand down his face.

“You want me to kiss you?”

You hesitated, the corners of your mind fanatically searching for a safe answer

“I’m just saying it would’ve made things easier,” you deflected, avoiding his question much like he had done moments before.

He studied you for a moment, gears visibly turning in his mind before his lips curved into a small, daring smile. “Because I can kiss you if you want.”

Your breath caught in your throat, surprised by the sudden shift in tension.

“Now?” you breathed.

“Why not?” he shrugged “We’re both clearly anxious about it, so why not just get it over with?”

Your mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, lost for words, staring up at him. All the courage from before evaporating into thin air. You quickly searched his features, seeking the playful glint, the laughter behind his eyes, but instead, his eyes just flickered from yours to your lips.

“Do you want to kiss me?” you finally found the words, and his eyes snapped back to your own.

“I think it would make things easier going forward,” he replied, his voice low and earnest.

A heavy silence settled between you, stretching like an elastic ready to snap at any moment, as snowflakes continued to drift outside, dressing the world in white.

You took a deep breath, “Fine.” Ultimately you mumbled, sitting up against the headboard and turning to face him.

“Are you sure?”, The way he phrased it made your stomach flop, as if he were validating a choice that seemed both reckless and somehow still challenged you.

“Yes, now stop talking and just-” The words were lost as the space between you disappeared. But now you knew; his lips were soft, warm and tentative against yours. It felt wonderful, and sent tingles shooting through your veins while your heart tried erratically to catch up. He hesitated for a heartbeat- less than a fraction of a second- before he leaned further in, deepening the kiss, his hand coming up to cradle your cheek. And you soften against him, all the tension melting away. Your hands found their way to his shoulders, gripping lightly as if anchoring yourself amidst the storm of emotions that released once you tasted his mint toothpaste.

When he finally pulled back, both of you gasping for breath, the world resumed its muted noised- the quiet hum of the heater, the faint sound of voices downstairs, Namjoon’s breath against your lips. You could hardly meet his eyes, until you heard the first thing that left his lips.

“I just kissed you.”

Your eyebrow arched, blinking at him as if waiting for the punchline that never came.

“I know. I- was there too.” You replied, a little smile creeping on your face despite the rapid thump of your heart. Namjoon laughed softly; his cheeks still tinged with a shade of pink. “You’re a good kisser.” You added after a few beats of silence, before chewing on your lip, and unintentionally drawing his attention back to them.

“You too,” He gave a curt nod, remembering he has a book on his lap and fumbling to bookmark and put it away.

Another moment of silence followed once he settled back, and your eyes desperately scanned the walls for something, anything to say.

“This isn’t weird, is it?” you settled on the worst option, slightly cringing.

“No!” he answered louder than he anticipated, slightly shocking you which in return startled him. “I mean-” he let out an exasperated breath, “Friends kiss all the time.”

He didn’t believe it. And neither did you. But you still nodded in agreement.

[leather-n-velvet]

High & Low: Part V

A Drew Starkey x singer/actress!OC SMAU

Summary: While on hiatus from touring and wanting to branch out with her career, Ivy Blake auditions for OBX, immediately hitting it off with none other than Drew Starkey during their chemistry read. As tension and drama brew between the two, can they get through the highs and lows that come with fame and relationships together?

A/N: I just want to preface this chapter- this is FICTION. This is an alternate universe and in no way reflects the actual people. I have just used them as a device of convenience due to picture availability. Please do not send anyone any hate.

Also, there are two more little blurbs in this one. I'm still getting back into the swing of writing, so I'm very sorry if it's horrible 😬

Chapter warnings: allusions to sex (no actual smut, but MDNI), cursing, O mentions (sorry).

Dividers by: @cafekitsune ⭐️🌙

Previous Part // Masterlist

ivyblake

Liked by drewstarkey, haley_james, and 3,293,389 others.

ivyblake IB x Naked Cashmere

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haley_james BEAUTIFUL. AMAZING. STUNNING. SHOW STOPPER.

drewstarkey wow. fuck me.

*comment has been deleted*

drewstarkey wow

madelyncline WIFE

user5 BODYODYODYODY

user7 perfection

hater1 why is she always half naked

haley_james because she can. hope this helps. 😊

NakedCashmere

Liked by haley_james, TheIvyLeague, and 764,386 others.

NakedCashmere We are so excited to have @/ivyblake as our newest brand ambassador. Catch the live stream of Sunday's show on our website!

#IBxNakedCashmere

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user4 can she be any more perfect?

user8 MOTHER

user2 I can't think of a better collab for her

TheIvyLeague ready to try to get my hands on this collection

Ivy’s phone:

Finstas

sonotivyleague

Liked by starboyd, madrecliner, and 213 others.

sonotivyleague happy 🩵 @/starboyd

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madrecliner AKDNFJSKAB

rude_boy bout damn time

djdavisssss ^^^^ RT

lacigurl MY BABIES

highwaytohale CUTIES

starboyd my girl 🩵

starboyd

Liked by sonotivyleague, lacigurl, and 108 others.

starboyd happy 🩵 @/sonotivyleague

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lacigurl YES I TOLD UR ASS

madrecliner my work here is done 😌

sonotivyleague 🩵🩵🩵🩵

O's phone:

Drew’s phone:

Drew was… for lack of a better word, fucked. At least, he thought he would be once he told Ivy the situation. Of course, Ivy was a very understanding person but this was a big deal to her. But how could he go back on his word to O*dessa and A*aron? The guilt was already building, knowing he’d have to disappoint one person he cared about.

“Baby?” He called, walking to the doorway of Ivy’s home studio. It was her sanctuary, truly. All the plants, the warm colors, the mismatched rugs, the couches from her favorite antique stores, she could truly let her creativity flow in a place like this. 

She turned, her beautiful smile lighting up the room as she rose from the piano. “Hey, I didn’t hear you get back. I was talking to Poppy about Sunday and since you and I don’t want to go fully public yet, she said you can hang out with her and Haley while I do my photo ops.”

Their lips met in a sweet but steamy kiss before he pulled back, hands resting on her hips. “About that, I have some bad news.”

Her eyebrows crinkled, wondering what in the world could have happened between when they'd woken up wrapped in each other this morning, her blissfully sore from their reunion the night before, and the hour he had been on his run. “What?”

“Um, I have a thing for a friend that I promised I’d go to. I’m so sorry, baby. Everything has just been insane lately and I completely forgot. I didn’t even remember until O*dessa reminded me.”

Ivy felt a slight dip in her stomach at the mention of the girl’s name. Drew hadn’t given her any reason to be jealous nor to worry, but O*dessa always just seemed to be there. Something in her gut told her not to trust her completely, but until Drew gave her a reason not to trust him, she wasn’t going to be the crazy girlfriend causing issues with his friends.

Drew watched as the disappointment settled on her face, making his heart ache. There weren’t many things in this life that he absolutely hated, but this was definitely the top of the list. Only a month together and he was already disappointing her. 

“Oh. Well, okay.” She muttered, pasting on a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Are you okay?”

She sighed, “I mean, I’m a little sad but you made a commitment. I can’t be mad at you for being a good friend and following through.” 

“I swear, I’ll make it up to you, sweetheart.” He pulled her closer, brushing his lips against her forehead. “I hate that I’m not going to be there. I know this is a big deal for you.”

She smiled softly at him, “It’s one event, honey. I’m a big girl.”

ivyblake

Liked by madelyncline, JillianBlake, and 14,239,489 others.

ivyblake Thank you for having me, @/NakedCashmere 💋

#IBxNakedCashmere

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JillianBlake so proud of you honey ❤️

madelyncline GODDESS

user1 utter perfection

user8 GLOWING

Ivy's phone:

After Drew had gotten back to her house twenty minutes after their last text, she had pretended to be asleep but her mind was racing with worry. He brushed a kiss to her head before settling in behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist to pull her closer.

Ivy couldn't shake it as she looked back at her dimmed phone. The pictures that O*dessa had posted made her blood boil. An event supposedly so important that Drew had to come to and they looked like they were playing dress up to pose for selfies. She didn't want to judge, O*dessa and A*aron were younger than she and Drew were, so maybe she was overthinking it and looking for issues but she couldn't help it.

Haley and Poppy were genuinely confused as to why Drew wasn't at the show after she had talked him up so much and was so excited that he was accompanying her. To tell them that he had to cancel last minute was borderline embarrassing.

Even through text, she could tell Drew was feeling guilty about the situation, so it was hard to be completely mad at him. There was just something that was telling her that the whole thing seemed fishy.

A/N: Aaaaaand we have drama. Please let me know what you think and if you'd like to be added to the taglist. I'm so grateful for all of the likes, reblogs, and feedback I've gotten! HUGE thank you to @starkeysbebe for all of her help in this fic!!!

Taglist: @davinashifts333, @rafegf-real

[queerfanfiction]

Could you write a fluffy smut where reader has mummy issues who cancelled on her for taking her bra shopping and Larissa offered to go with her and helps her pick out the perfect set but then it ends with smut idk you chose :)

Mummy Issues

Prompt is shown above. :)

word count: 3.6k includes: mommy issues, public-ish sex, discussion of trauma, fingering, fluff, mommy kink, praise kink

Your therapist is actually the one who suggested you ask your mom to go shopping with you to find a bra set for an upcoming performance. You’re not saying this specific reparenting technique doesn’t work, but there was no way in hell your mother was going to follow through. Still, you tried anyway. You were vulnerable anyway.

You’re exhausted from parenting your own parent, always considering other’s needs before your own. Fresh out of university and you still have never had anyone else take care of you for a change. The shopping idea was intended to be a low-stakes role reversal where your mom would step up to the task at hand.

Earlier that morning you texted your mom to confirm the meet up in Burlington. You never heard back, which wasn’t uncommon. Since you were coming all the way from Montreal, though, you expected some sort of acknowledgement. You even texted her as you were driving over to no avail. Downtown Burlington was not where you would have picked to shop if your mother was not involved. It was close to where she lived, and she loved the hustle and bustle of Church Street. To you it always seemed like a hot mess. Now you were in the middle of that mess alone.

After waiting in your car for 15 minutes, it doesn’t take a genius to know you got stood up once again. You contemplated just driving back right then and there. This wasn’t exactly something you wanted to do alone, yet none of your friends are in the area any longer. They all had moved away. Overwhelmed by the sheer fuckery of nothing ever working out, you were frustrated and tired. You consider breaking down into tears over the wasted trip and the years of parental neglect represented by this one instance.

The only person who you can think of still in the area is Ms. Weems. You suppose it’s Principal Weems now (thank you social media for that one). Is it weird to invite a former teacher you once had a massive crush on to go shopping? It’s been so long that it would be nice to catch up. You’re not going to lie, you were yearning to see the older woman. Impulsively, you dial the number she gave you for emergencies back when you attended Nevermore. To your surprise, a firm but sweet voice answers—the same voice that you’d fantasize about in your dorm when your roommate was out. You try to control your voice, but too many conflicting emotions make you croak and sniffle a bit when identifying yourself.

“My dear, is everything alright? And, please, it’s Larissa.” A tone of worry was inflected back to you by the other woman.

In an attempt to dodge the question about your wellbeing, you respond, “I’m actually back in Burlington, trying to find an outfit for an upcoming performance. Any chance you’re free?” You tried to sound as nonchalant as you could.

Larissa returned with, “Oh, I don’t wish to intrude, but it was very kind of you to think of me.” Shit, apparently too nonchalant…

You reflect on all the times Larissa had comforted you back at Nevermore. She was protective of all her students, but it truly meant the world to you. You had always thought it was just another day, another student problem for her. There were many times you were neglected or mistreated by your mother that Larissa was privy to back then. Knowing this, as a Hail Mary, you softly let slip out, “I was supposed to meet my mom…”

Without missing a beat, Larissa’s voice turned tight, “Where are you?” You glance at the cross streets, give her your location, and let her know the specific store you’re at. She concludes, “I’ll be there in 20 minutes, love.”

Your heart flutters at the familiar pet name.

—

You’re already occupying the changing room when Larissa arrives. She calls out for you, and you crack open the door to let her into the small fitting area.

You are met with the most comforting hug. Larissa stroked your hair and squeezed you tightly. The last time an embrace has felt so all-encompassing was also from Larissa, which is a bit embarrassing. You guess you just don’t have a lot of good huggers in your life, and it felt so nice to be held close by someone. You breathe out a long sigh, as if all your troubles are muted by the closeness of the woman in front of you. Her scent replaces the air in your lungs, and you consider how nice it would be to never end this embrace.

When she pulls back and sees that your eyes are slightly red and puffy, she bends down towards you to cup your face with both of her hands. All that comes out of her mouth is “Oh, sweetie.” You give her a half-hearted smile in response. Her hands immediately begin stroking your face, brushing hair from your eyes, and occasionally resting her thumb and index finger at your chin. This. This is what being cared for is; the realization hits you and radiates out through your body.

“I’m here for whatever you need. Would you like to debrief about your mother? Or carry on with what’s needed here?” Larissa gestures to the garments in the fitting room without taking her eyes off of you.

Noticing how close she still is to your face makes your head dizzy, and you stutter, “I-I need s-something to wear under a strapless dress that won’t show during a piano performance.”

Reassuringly, Larissa states, “We can do that. You know I have an eye for those sorts of things. We’ll have you sorted in no time.” She then moves her hands to your upper arms and rubs them before turning to examine the items already set out.

“Piano? It’s no wonder. You always played brilliantly at Nevermore,” Larissa continued elatedly, brandishing a supportive smile. You think back to times when you’d be practicing in Nevermore’s music auditorium alone and feel a comforting presence at the back of the concert hall near the doors. You always assumed it was your imagination, not daring to get your hopes up that someone cared enough to support you or cheer you on. Your mother made sure of that…

You feel so much more at ease with Larissa here. Now that you think about it, she has always provided stability and nurtured you. You remember that she would sometimes give you rides to Jericho when the only Nevermore vehicle at the time was in use. You credit a lot of your success with the piano to her too, because she would encourage you to do open mics at the Weathervane and signed you up to play at a parade that Jericho had every couple of years. 

Yes, you felt indebted to the tall, gorgeous woman before you. The years since you’ve seen her have only emphasized her beauty. Her demeanor is both commanding and protective. It’s as if she is more comfortable in her skin than before; there is a sureness in her stance that is nice to see and that you wish you had. Even though you always considered her fashionable, her clothes now exude a kind of pride and carefully crafted style. Larissa’s perfectly-coiffed updo accentuates the smooth, supple skin of her neck before disappearing beneath her expertly tailored dress.

These thoughts invoke a light blush from your cheeks, and you know you can’t speak about your crush on her in the past tense. Your immediate dry mouth while watching her is proof that it never went away. Now you’re wondering if you shouldn’t have sought her out to assist in purchasing the perfect underwear, especially because you see her turn towards the garments and an emotion flashes across her face when she realizes the kinds of items you’ve picked out and need assistance with.

You’ve always liked the idea of dressing up underneath your formal outfit. To you, it made it feel more special, gave you extra confidence. For instance, knowing a sexy lace set was underneath your clothes made you feel as if you had a fun secret. Though, you realize it’s probably inappropriate to expect Larissa to help with this. If she felt uncomfortable, she was hiding it well. You tried to continue on as if everything was normal, even though doing so felt impossible.

When Larissa sits on the small ledge provided in the dressing room, you emphasize, “Thank you again for coming. I just drove from where I am now in Montreal.”

Realizing you should continue trying items on, you reach to unbutton your shirt when you hear, “You poor thing! Have you eaten?”

At this, you scrunch your face and shake off your blouse. “I’ll get something after this.” So many conflicting emotions swirl inside of you. You’re conflicted at whether to relish in the desperately needed maternal care or to shrug it off as a defense mechanism.

You begin to unhook a bra from its hanger and feel like you should ask, “Do you mind?” Larissa interprets that you’d like to change from your bra into the new one, waving her hand dismissively and saying, “Go ahead” in a delicate manner.

Without looking too awkward and challenged, you attempt to put on the new bra while taking  your current bra off in quick succession. It would have worked if the one you were trying on actually fit you. You had a hard time getting it on, and once you did, your breasts spill out of the top half, giving you the illusion of having four boobs. With you panting from the endeavor, you and Larissa begin to laugh at how silly it looks. You’re surprised that you’re not mortified, but instead having fun.

With some of your own tension released, you turn away from Larissa and towards the mirror to decide if you like the bra enough to go up a cup size. As you do this, what you don’t see is Larissa’s curious gaze, as if she is wishing she could reach out and touch the pillowy softness of your breasts.

“So, this one is NOT it.” Your playful declaration pulls Larissa from her lustful thoughts. It’s short-lived, though, since you immediately begin to try on more items. This time you choose a deep maroon matching set, and you turn slightly away from Larissa in order to pull up the bottoms over your current underwear. Because of the limited space in the room, your ass accidentally winds up in Larissa’s face. As if it is all in your head, you pretend the enclosed space is not rife with sexual tension.

“That’s gorgeous,” Larissa coos moments later with her hand reaching out. With both hands, she rubs along the intricate lace detail at your hip bones, and it feels as if your skin is set ablaze. You fight the urge for your breath to turn heavy and wanting.

Even if all of the tension is in your head and one-sided, it doesn’t change the fact that you’ll need to stop trying things on soon. Well, at least stop trying on bottoms, because you can feel yourself getting wet under Larissa’s stares and encouragement.

“That fits you so very well.” “I love this on you.” “It looks absolutely spectacular.” “You look stunning.”

Not to mention Larissa has taken a hands-on approach to her support. After briefly touching your hips, she began dragging her long fingers along bits of your exposed skin when she was discussing an area. There’s no way she doesn’t notice the goosebumps that arise each time her touch lingers. At least being half naked in the chilly changing room is an excuse for the tight buds of your nipples. 

The juxtaposition between this experience and what your mother would have had in store for you is dizzying. No doubt she would have critiqued your strong shoulders or the cellulite on your thighs. It would have ended in a fight, you just know it. However, everything out of Larissa’s mouth was refreshing and electrifying. Maybe even healing at times?

The final set you had picked out was a delicate mesh thong bodysuit that was almost entirely see-through. You hesitated for a moment, wondering if you should you stop trying things on. Larissa must have noticed, because she uncrossed and crossed her legs a few times before voicing, “Go on, honey.”

Embracing the process sheepishly, you slip into the item and turn away from Larissa to look at yourself. You study the outline of your breasts in the mirror, trying to determine if the subtle texture of the mesh would be noticeable under your dress. Or would the distance between the stage and the seats obscure the texture?

You then see that Larissa seems to be studying them too, except her eyelids are hooded and her pupils are dilated. Almost in slow motion you watch her involuntarily lick her lips. Your heart beats quicker, a flash of heat moves through your body, and you suppress a low moan.

Your eyes meet Larissa’s in the mirror.

You couldn’t say who initiated what next. Only that you were on Larissa’s lap, straddling her, while her hands were on you, roaming over your body and settling on your hips. Your mouths are working in tandem with each other, and you welcome her red lipstick staining your lips and neck. Your hands go to Larissa’s face—one cupping it possessively and the other slinking back to grip the nape of her neck. You want desperately to wreck her perfect hair, turning it into physical evidence of your connection and closeness.

Both you and Larissa can feel the heated energy building between you as you frantically attempt to take off the mesh bodysuit. Before you can, though, Larissa steadies your hands and inquires breathlessly, “Is this okay, darling?” Her eyes search your own, and you can make out desire and worry in her eyes.

You have to take a moment to let what she is asking sink in. This feels like such a natural (if not slightly expedited) progression of your feelings for Larissa. You wonder if there is more underlying her question. You know you two will have to debrief your feelings but right now the hormones raging through your body make it hard to focus too much on the worry or questions around if this should be happening. Instead, your body wiggles on top of hers, begging to continue the friction of your hips against her. You involuntarily whine and nod. “I want this, Larissa.”

Seeing your need and the sureness in your gaze, Larissa regains her composure and utters, “Shh, let me take care of you.”

—

Larissa rivals your intensity with her own fierce need. Her kisses are passionate yet soft. Her hands are gentle but unyielding in how they explore your body once the mesh bodysuit is off. With her every caress and tender nip over your skin, you feel so wholly wanted, cared for, and desired. A fire underlies Larissa’s behavior, as if each touch begets more longing and thirst for you. At the same time, you couldn’t have anticipated the fervent need you had to be validated and devoured by this woman.

Once she has marked your neck with her lipstick and teeth, Larissa moves downward to take one of your fleshy, beaded nipples in her mouth. Barely audible to you, she breathes out, “Absolutely beautiful” before flicking it with her tongue and causing you to arch your back.

One of Larissa’s hands runs over your thighs, teasing you and drawing circles and zigzags on your delicate skin. You can’t help but whimper in need every single time her fingers get closer to where your thighs meet. After almost resigning to her pace and authority, she trails up to cup your arousal. Your legs twitch with the sudden contact, and you emit a gasp.

“You’re so wet for me.” Pleased, Larissa enunciates every word, drawing the words out and reveling in how at her mercy you are. “It’s intoxicating.”

Unable to withstand not taking action, you press your lips against hers roughly, trying to close any distance between your bodies. Breathless after many kisses, you move to suck on her neck and whisper, “Larissa.”

“Please.”

Only after this plea does Larissa finally dip a finger into you. It doesn’t feel like nearly enough. You would usually appreciate a sexual partner pacing themselves, but the need for her to fill you is overpowering. You wriggle your hips back and forth impatiently and breathlessly request, “More.”

Larissa delighted in your clear hunger for her, fully intending to give you everything you want. She eases in another finger past her second knuckle before adding a third finger once she realizes how slick and open you are for her. You unintentionally bite down on her shoulder, not expecting to get what you want without more begging.

 You couldn’t have imagined how good her fingers feel inside you. And you absolutely had imagined it. You remember pretending your fingers were hers after late nights riding back with her from Jericho. Or the time she gave you her coat on a chilly night and forgot to get it back, so you ended up masterbating to her scent surrounding you. Okay, you’re not super proud of that one, but at the time it felt world-changing the desire you had. Her fingers working inside of you now are of a different caliber. In fact, you never understood the metaphor of sex as worship or religion, but being on top of Larissa with her half-lidded eyes roaming your body changes things. You want to make her feel a sliver of how good you do right now.

Your hands begin to grab at the fabric of her top, desperate to remove her clothing and pleasure her as she is inside of you. Larissa lets out a low, throaty chuckle before asserting, “Ah, ah, ah. I want to focus on you, love. Let me please you.”

Her interjection just makes your heart swell more for her, and noticeably your noise level swells, as well. You’re not used to undivided attention and care—someone wanting your happiness above all else. It’s more erotic than you could have ever anticipated. At the increase in breathiness and moans, one of Larissa’s hands clamps over your mouth while the other continues to pump in and out of you. Out of the corner of your eye you can see the reflection in the dressing room mirror of you riding her long fingers completely nude while she is fully clothed. The sight makes your knees weaker, and you groan, “Oh, fuck.”

Larissa’s whispers and affirmations throughout only brought you closer and closer to release. She has to know how her words are affecting you. Her hot breath over and over in your ear, inching you towards the edge.

“I’ve got you, sweetie.” “I’ll give you anything you want.” “Shh, stay quiet for me.” “That’s a good girl.”

You feel yourself tighten around Larissa’s fingers, becoming more breathless and spacey as she presses the pads of her curled fingers inside you toward your pelvic bone, urging you to come undone. So, you do. Your entire body tenses, and you feel as if you will crumble under the anticipation and pressure. Tingles shoot down your arms and legs in waves, threatening overstimulation.

Larissa’s fingers still, and she presses you close to her, clutching you tightly. After a moment of your eyes being closed and your breathing slowly relaxing, Larissa asks you to bear down with your pelvic floor muscles. Confused, you obey. She gingerly removes her fingers from inside you, and your body aches at the loss. She proceeds to lean forward with you still on her lap, wrapping her arms around you and begins to rock you.

“You did so well, my love,” Larissa murmurs while stroking your hair away from your damp forehead. “You were so good for me.”

You can’t remember the last time someone was so attentive and sweet with you after sex—if ever. You also have never felt like an exposed live wire due to euphoria either, so… Her thoughtfulness makes your heart swell, and you’re hoping it’s not just due to the hormones flooding your body right now. As if you can’t contain the disbelief and gratefulness, you blurt in awe, “How are you real?”

Larissa pulls away from the embrace, searching your eyes for understanding. “I ask myself the same question about you.” At that, you rest your forehead against Larissa’s, exhausted and happy.

After sensing your heart rate has stabilized, wanting to make sure you go to the bathroom and hydrate becomes Larissa’s next priority. Her voice breaks the comfortable silence. “Let’s get you some food now. I’m sure you’ve worked up an appetite.”

You two pick up the items in the messy dressing room and sheepishly leave the clothes on the courtesy rack outside. A grin blooms over your features as you think about how being stood up by your mom feels like such a nonissue now. Even the dilemma of what underwear to wear for your upcoming performance seems trivial. Walking out of the store with Larissa’s lipstick all over you, you decide that you won’t wear anything under your dress, especially not if Larissa is in the audience.

—

@sapphicbeloved Remember when you sent this request literal months ago????? Oops. Apologies, and please enjoy!

[miasmaghoul]

So I got one particular kink request that mentions maybe needing an OC. I have an idea for this already, but it occurred to me that I've never told you guys about my actual OC. I'm sure most won't care, but I do, soooo...

Everyone, meet my ghouly guy Jasper!

Jasper is an earth ghoul, but more in a rock direction than a plant direction. He was summoned near the end of Terzo's reign, and lives in the depths of the abbey with the other service ghouls. His assigned tasks mostly revolve around building maintenence, and he usually goes unseen due to a preference for working at night. He's not a fan of crowds anyway, so it all works out. The last thing he needs is a gaggle of siblings ogling him while he repairs cracks in the walls with nothing but a palmful of finely crushed stone and a little burst of magic.

He keeps to himself in the off hours too, preferring to hang in his dorm with something immersive; a good book (preferably horror or mystery), a video game (loves single player RPGs and cozy games like Stardew Valley), doing a puzzle (jigsaw, crossword, or really any sort of word game) or listening to music while staring at the ceiling. His dorm sits beneath one of the band's equipment storage rooms, and it's not uncommon for one or two of the band ghouls to hang out and play something every now and then. He has very sharp ears, and if he closes his eyes he can usually tell who's fucking around (or just fucking, let's be real) in there.

If he does need to participate in group activities, he enjoys the company of his fellow earth ghouls. They aren't a rowdy bunch (except for Pebble, though they still get on well enough), so he'll have no problem meeting Mountain in the orchard for a joint and idle chitchat, or having a quiet lunch with Ivy in the rose garden. He also finds himself drawn to air ghouls - he had a huge crush on Zephyr, but their Whole Thing with Mountain told Jasper to keep his distance. They still made great friends though!

His first roommate was Aether, before he was recruited into the band and moved to Dew's room. They got along very well, and Aether taught him a lot about many, many things. The abbey, the world Above, human-shaped vessels and what they can do...many lessons were taught in that cramped dorm room. Jasper has it to himself now, but still he leaves Aether's side clean and organized. Just in case.

Aether tried to teach him to play guitar as well, but never got the hang of it - coordination was an issue, as was the fact that his finger strength kept breaking the higher strings. He prefers to sing anyway, in a voice that could go straight to your bones. The one exception to his 'no crowds' rule comes when it's time for a celebratory mass, where he will don a ceremonial robes and join the choir in worshipful song. Mostly he just sings in the shower though.

He has an extremely dry sense of humor, always heavy handed with sarcasm, but is also able to pull a pun out at the drop of a hat. Loves to banter and tease in his own way, though it can take other ghouls some time to adjust to his mannerisms. But if something hits him just right, really tickles, then he's cackling like a hyena with tears streaming down his cheeks.

Loves to hunt with Mountain; the pair of them have spent many night tracking everything from rabbits to bucks with nothing but claws and fangs, tearing into their prizes with unabashed, feral pleasure. Jasper will take pieces of their pelts and fashion them into little pouches or decorative pieces to store on his one crowded bookshelf. There are a few hand-carved pieces of antler there too, none of anything identifiable, but at least he'd tried!

He eats normal human food too, as most ghouls do, but he has a guilty pleasure - red clay, harvested from the banks of the stream that cuts through the forest. If anyone finds him gathering it he says he's trying his hand at pottery, but in reality he's squirreling it away to dry so he can have a nice crunchy snack afterwards. Aether walked in on him with his mouth covered in clay dust once, and he has yet to live it down.

Now, some rapid-fire physical traits and preferences!

Jasper is intersex, presents on the masc side of androgynous, and uses he/him pronouns (though they/them is okay too). Demiromantic pansexual, far more willing to share his body than his emotions. Kinky as all hell, but he is a ghoul after all.

He is 6'2" (188cm), narrow and lanky.

He's pale, doesn't particularly enjoy being out in the sun, (Mountain call him a cave dweller), but if he does spend a day tilling in the gardens or the orchard it'll bring out the freckles on his face and arms.

Keeps his hair very short, almost shaved, on the sides and back, but shaggier on top. Easy to let flop over his forehead, or to slick back if he needs to look "presentable". It's thick and copper colored, looks redder in the sun, and he's always running his hands through it. If he shaves the sides down, he likes to carve little designs into the remaining fuzz. His horns are stone-like, only a few inches long, starting at his hairline and angled backwards. (When he's unglamoured they become twin rows of stalagmites in all sizes, sharp as anything.)

His face is angular, with sharp cheekbones and a pointed chin. His ears stick out, the left one more than the right. His eyes are steely gray, a touch sunken and perpetually accompanied by dark circles. Has a thin scar that runs down his forehead and through his left eyebrow, from the time he tripped and fell through one of the glass panels of the greenhouse. His nose used to be narrow and straight, but after an evening spent drinking Terra's moonshine his bedroom floor changed that. (He's a clumsy guy, what can I say.) He doesn't mind the crookedness, though he does sometimes wince when he sneezes. Wears glasses for everything except to read.

Piercings: double lobes in both ears, with a helix on the left and a daith on the right. Used to have his septum done before the nose incident, chose not to re-do it after that healed. Nipples (prefers barbells or shields). Bellybutton (blame Aether).

Tattoos: his elemental symbol on the inside of his left wrist. An intricate sigil at the top of his spine, extending down between his shoulder blades. A black and gray snake that wraps around his right calf, it's head on the top of his foot.

Wears a simple silver ring on his right middle finger and a pair of complementary chains around his neck. One holds a cage-style pendant surrounding a piece of raw obsidian, the other small crystalline vial of something that DEFINITELY isn't blood. Enjoys painting his nails, and will keep his claws glamoured just to flash his color of the week. It'll be chipped after two hours, but he doesn't mind.

For clothing, he keeps it simple. Service ghouls all share a uniform - a black tunic, slacks, white-tipped Oxfords and a simple black mask - but in his off time he likes baggy t-shirts and comfy pants. Or no pants, he kinda hates pants. Keeps a few nicer pieces for the rare occasion his uniform isn't formal enough, but they mostly sit unused in the back of his closet.

Finally, he is terrified of spiders. Many spider-related pranks have been, and will continue to be, pulled on him.

Aaaand thats all I've got off the top of my head lmao. I've never written down anything about my weird rock boy, he just lives in my mind and now, maybe, in yours. Will he ever be fully fleshed out? Will he make an appearance in any future fic? Find out next time, on DragonBall Z!

[smolwritingchick]

You Left Jennie Too!!

Ok, this was requested to write the scenario where J-Hope was left at the store by the members for a prank during Bon Voyage 4 and came to realize Jennie (OC) wasn't with them. She can always take a joke but I wanted to put a little spin on her reaction to being left behind with Hobi. Like always, the finished product when I get to this chapter may vary!! :) Hope you like the silliness!

----------

"Okay, thank you. Bye," J-Hope told the cashier and stepped outside, only to realize none of the vehicles were there. "What? Did they run off?"

He looked around and walked, confused before turning to the staff. "They really just left? They really left us, here? They actually left? They left?"

'He can't believe it.'

"Seriously? Are they crazy?" he laughed.

Back to the guys, Jin continued to drive while Taehyung sat in the passenger's seat and Suga sat in the back.

"Should we really keep going?" Jin asked.

'It was your idea, Jin.'

"You guys are awful," Suga said as he looked out the window.

"How far should we go?" Jin wondered as he laughed with Taehyung.

With Jungkook who was driving the camper van, Jimin started cracking up about the situation while RM sat in the passenger seat.

"I can't believe we actually left," he said in a fit of giggles.

"Poor J-Hope," RM added over his laughter. "I feel bad. He must be really worried,"

'A True Friend.'

"We're sorry, J-Hope!" Jungkook said.

Back with J-Hope, he continued to walk around, upset that he and Jennie got left. The camera periodically showed Jennie still in the store, oblivious to what was going on as she was happily talking to an employee about Nike when she noticed their sneakers were a part of her Nike collaboration.

"Do you like them?" she grinned happily.

"Love them! They're so comfortable! That's awesome that you made these. The design is pretty," the lady beamed.

Back with J-Hope, he continued to wander, still staying close to where the store was so he wouldn't abandon Jennie. 

'He still can't believe they actually left them,'

"I can't believe this. Did they forget about us or did they just leave?" he asked the staff.

'They left to get you on candid camera.'

Suddenly, he took out his phone to dial Jimin's number.

"Hang on, J-Hope is calling. Should I answer it?" RM asked on a walkie once Jungkook parked somewhere.

However, Jimin answered the call before RM could get an answer from Jin. 

"Hello?" Jimin asked.

"Hey! Why did you leave me!?" Hobi exclaimed.

"Hyung!" 

"Hey! Why did you leave me?"

"What? We didn't know you weren't in the car!" he tried to play the part of being confused.

"What do you mean!?" he shouted while Jimin laughed.

'His rage can be heard over the phone!'

"You left Jennie, too!" J-Hope announced, making the car go silent.

It took 2.5 seconds for the news to register with the boys as they all froze.

"Oh shi—shoot!" RM quickly dialed Taehyung's number in alarm.

"Yeah, Hyung?" Taehyung answered.

"J-Hope is upset and he wasn't the only person we left. We also left Jennie," he announced with fear.

Taehyung almost dropped his phone at the news. "We left Jennie?!"

"Smartie wasn't with them?!" Yoongi sat up straight, feeling uneasy as he and Jin froze.

"You left my precious Jennie!?" Jin exclaimed.

"Us!? I thought she was with you! YOU left her! This was your idea!" RM cried.

"We thought she was with you! Why didn't you confirm!?" 

"Why didn't YOU confirm!? Ah...I feel even more bad. I bet she's freaking out, too,"

Back with Jimin, he was still shooked that Jennie was left behind while J-Hope continued to go off on the phone.

"How could you do this to us, Jimin?!"

While the boys were freaking out, the shot transitioned back to Jennie who was still shopping around the store. At the register, she paid for her items and walked out with a bag, noticing J-Hope who looked distressed.

"Hey, you good?" she asked.

"They left us," he frowned.

"Huh? Left us? You mean they're gone!?"

"Yeah, I'm on the phone with Jimin. They literally left us without warning,"

"They did what?!" she immediately frowned. "Yeah no. Uh! Uh! Not on my watch,"

He watched as she took her phone out and began to dial a number.

'Miss Bangtan is upset!'

"Oh, man. They are in for it now," He glanced at the camera with an amused smile, knowing she was about to handle things.

He decided to sit back and watch the chaos unfold, happy he wasn't on the receiving end of this.

--------

Jungkook's phone began to ring, catching the attention of him and RM. The caller ID showed that Jennie was calling and he looked at it with horror.

"H-Hyung, I'm driving. You answer it!" Jungkook quickly blurted out, beginning to drive again as an excuse.

"Hell no!" RM immediately refused.

"Jimin! Answer the call, please!" Jungkook called out.

"No way, I'm answering that!" he quickly refused. 

"Are you two serious!?" Jungkook complained.

"She's calling YOU! Answer your girlfriend's phone call!" RM reminded.

"Yeah, it's not even our phone she's calling!" Jimin added.

"Th-that doesn't mean I have to answer it! I'm driving!"

"You want to make her angrier? You're on your own," RM replied.

After a few rings, Jungkook let out a curse and anxiously answered the call, putting it on speaker.

He gulped. "Hey, babe! You're on speaker,"

"Jeon Jungkook," she called out his full name, making his stomach drop.

His face turned into fear as he stuttered. "Y—yes, honey?"

"Why are you answering on the fourth ring?" she demanded in a stern voice.

"I-I-I was looking for my phone—"

"I-I-I-Bull-fucking-shit. Why are you stuttering?" she asked as the show bleeped out her cussing.

He cringed while RM and Jimin silently laughed in the background.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Stay on the line. I'm calling Jin so we can all be on the phone," she said and went to dial him up.

With Jin and the others, his phone began to ring and he widened his eyes. 

"Oh no, Jennie is calling," he laughed nervously.

"Good luck!" Taehyung laughed.

He hesitantly answered after a few rings, putting her on speaker and now they were all on a three way call so she could speak to all of them.

"I am going to ask this one time and I better get a direct answer. Whose idea was this?" she demanded. 

"Jin Hyung—"

"ME!?" Jin shouted at Jungkook putting him on the spot. 

"He thought of the prank!" The Golden Maknae put him on blast. "It was all him!"

"Yet you agreed," she reminded. "And so did everybody else,"

That caused the rest of the members to shift uncomfortably. She then called them all out for being just as responsible as the drivers.

"We didn't know you weren't with us!" Taehyung tried to reason.

"You left J-Hope! How could you do that to him?!" she shouted, making them flinch at her tone.

"L-listen I felt bad about it!" RM tried to explain.

"Kim Namjoon," she called out sternly, making him cringe and answer her. "Kim Seokjin. Min Yoongi. Park Jimin. Kim Taehyung. Jeon Jungkook,"

As she called their names in a serious tone, scaring them, they each nervously answered her.

"You have approximately 180 seconds to pick us back up or I will give you all something to cry about when we stop filming for today," she announced, causing them all to scramble and freak out.

'3 minutes to return!?'

The members began overlapping over one another to apologize as both drivers turned their vehicles around to head in their direction.

"180 seconds!? Smartie, be reasonable—" Yoongi exclaimed.

"Did I stutter?!" she snapped angrily, cutting him off.

'Jennie is enraged!'

"No, ma'am," he gulped and remained quiet.

"Th-that's not enough time! Please, we're sorry!" Jimin pleaded.

"180 seconds! Do you hear me? 180," she announced with no room for objection.

"Wait! Wait! There's some upcoming traffic—"

"170...169...168..." she began counting down, terrifying them even more.

After she hung up, the camera showed her laughing with Hobi, revealing she wasn't as angry as she sounded.

'Prank within a prank! Great acting skills by Jennie!'

"Now that's how you switch around a prank," she giggled and high fived him. "Let's see how long I keep this up for,"

Hobi giggled as he turned to the camera. "You guys are in trouble~!" 

[aquietwritingcorner]

Unexpected Patient

For @tmnt-write-fight for @dandylovesturtles

Title: Unexpected Patient Prompt: Outsider POV of anyone getting rescued by the turtles  Fandom: TMNT 2003 Word Count: 2855  Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating:  T Characters: OC (Samantha Craik, Peter Craik), Leonardo, Raphael, Donatello, Michelangelo, Casey Jones Warning: NA Summary: Samantha Craik did not expect for a stop at a corner store on her way home from her shift at the hospital to put her in life-threatening danger, but it did. She also didn’t expect for the life-threatening danger to put a new patient in her lap, but, well, it was, apparently, a night of unexpected things. Notes: Sam is a character I’ve had around in some form since I was 13, and Peter since my early 20s. I have fun sticking her in fics here and there. This isn’t their first appearance in TMNT fics, as I lent the both of them out to some friends in the late 2000s for their Fast Forward fics. Unfortunately, those are long lost, which is a shame, really. Back up your favorite fics, y’all! ff.net || AO3

___________________________________-

Unexpected Patient

Samantha Craik cursed in her head. She’d have cursed out loud, except she was positive that saying anything out loud right now was not a good idea. Normally this wouldn’t have stopped the fiery red-head, but there were children in this store and the last thing she wanted was for anyone to get hurt on account of her temper. Her blood boiled as these punks pushed through the store, demanding money from people and stealing from the shelves. Stars, Peter was gonna kill her. She should have just gone on to the subway station after her shift at the hospital ended and made do with whatever food they had there instead of stopping for a quick snack.

One of the gang members brandished a knife at her. “Hey—gimmie your money.”

Sam glared at him, but reached into her purse and pulled out her wallet. He swiped it from her, opening it, and then frowning. “This is it?” he said.

“If you think I had money, do you think I’d be working at this hospital?” she shot back at him jabbing a finger towards the hospital’s crest that was on her lab coat. “I’m barely out of residency! I’ve still got loans to pay off!”

“Tch.” The punk looked at her disdainfully. “I’ll make more money hocking this wallet then what you have in it.”

“Well pardon me for being poor!”

The punk gestured with his knife. “Get over there with the others!”

Sam made her way over to the other customers, one of the punks taking a moment to look at her. Sam narrowed her eyes at him. Yeah, she recognized him. He was a Purple Dragon, and he’d been in and out of her ER a few times. Several of these guys had. And yet, here they were, doing the same crap that got them in her ER to begin with.

“Hey—you got that money yet?” the guy called out, clearly their leader.

“Yeah. Getting the last of it now,” a green-haired punk called out.

The leader nodded and turned back to look at them. There weren’t many people in the store. Sam hadn’t expected there to be, not this late. There was the cashier, a teenager who looked far too stoned to properly see the danger everyone was in; a man who appeared to be in his late sixties, leaning heavily on a cane in a way that told Sam he probably was going to need a knee replacement soon; a young immigrant woman and her two children, none of which seemed to understand much English, but clearly understood the gestures with the guns and knives; and her, a thirty-year-old doctor, straight off of what was supposed to be a twelve hour shift that had turned into a fifteen hour one instead, because sometimes that’s just how it was.

Maybe her mother was right, and she should see about transferring to one of the hospitals in the richer areas of the city.

“Hey!” a punk from outside came running in the door. “The nut with the hockey mask is coming! And you know what that means.”

The leader cursed, and Sam found herself really hoping that the kids didn’t understand English.

“I was hoping not to deal with any green freaks tonight. Alright—bag up what we’ve got and let’s get out of here.” He looked at the group. “And just for good measure—”

He leveled the gun at the old man, and Sam realized just what he was about to do. She moved, shoving his arm up. Was it the smartest thing she could have done? No. Was it what she did anyway? Yeah.

“Leave him alone, you fracking jerk!”

The shot missed, pinging on the light fixture instead, and the man growled and tried to shake her off. In for a penny, in for a pound, she figured. Sam threw herself into fighting him, something that she wasn’t completely useless in. But she was no fighter, and it didn’t take long for the punks to have her pinned to the ground, the gun on her.

“Let go of me you fricking punk!” she snarled, still fighting.

“Since you’re so eager,” the leader said, and she could see him aiming the gun at her out of the corner of her eye, “then you can be the example.”

Oh yeah. If she made it through this, her husband was definitely going to kill her.

Still, she growled and struggled, not willing to just give up and give in.

And then the door slammed open, and something burst in.

“It’s the freaks!” someone shouted, and the gun was suddenly off of her and fixated on something else, going off as a fight broke out.

Sam wasn’t a stupid woman, and she knew an opportunity when she saw it. Despite the grip the man that was still holding her had on her long hair, Sam twisted in his grasp, kicked him right in his junk, and then twisted her head to bite the hand that still had her shoulder. The man let out a gasp, and Sam rolled, not getting to her feet, but scrambling back and away from things.

The woman with her children were cowering, and Sam looked them over, trying to find any sort of cultural distinguisher on them. She knew a few words in different languages, and she hoped she guessed the right one.

“Go!” she said, her accent terrible, and pointed towards the storeroom door. The woman’s eyes lit up in understanding, and she grabbed her kids’ hands, speaking rapidly to them and tugging them with her. They all moved like they had escaped violent situations before, but Sam didn’t have time to spare more than an observation about that.

The stoned teenager must have had more sense than she thought, because he was gone, and the old man, seeing where the woman had gone, was already following along. Good. Then it was just her.

And then, suddenly she found herself being yanked backwards by her hair, a strong hand pulling her by her long braid. She had the presence of mind to try to twist around, her hair long enough to give her that freedom, but it didn’t work, and she realized that the leader of the punks had her as he pulled her to him, wrapping an arm around her neck. She struggled, insults pouring from her lips as she did, but she stopped when the gun was put to her head once more.

“No one move, or the lady doctor here gets it,” he said.

Sam twitched in his arms and growled. “Glad to know me saving your scummy life means something. Next time I’ll give it the attention it’s worth!”

“You,” he said, “don’t say nothing either.”

Sam growled again but switched her attention to looking at who else the punk was addressing. Her eyes widened as she took in who—or what—was in front of her. Four green figures, turtles, all wielding some sort of weapons, and a tall, dark-haired man in a hockey mask with a hockey stick in his hands.

Somehow, he looked the most out of place out of all of them.

Sam had heard rumors of the turtle men before. She’d not put much stock into the stories at first. All sorts of crazies came into the ER, especially at night, and some strung out druggie or beat up punk talking about karate turtles just made her double check their toxicology report. You never knew when there was a bad batch on the street.

But the stories persisted, and she heard them from other places as well. She still hadn’t quite put her faith in those stories. It all seemed like some sort of gimmick to her. But now that the proof was in front of her, well, she couldn’t help but conclude that maybe she should have paid a bit more attention to those rumors.

“Let her go,” the one with the blue mask said. “She’s an innocent.”

“If she hadn’t of interfered, we’d have been gone before you four freaks got—wait, why are there only three of you,” the leader snarled.

And that was when everything went even more wrong than it had so far.

The Dragon went to move his gun from her head to point at one of the turtle men. Sam took the opportunity to jerk her head forward to bite the arm that held her in place and reached back to grab him in a very personal way and twist. At the same time, something came flying out of the air and embedded itself in the Dragon’s hand. A turtle-man leapt forward and tackled her down and out of the way. And at the same time, the gun went off.

The Dragon howled in pain, there was a shout of pain from the opposite direction, and someone screaming “Donnie!” A thud came from the direction of the Dragon, a clack from the direction of the turtle men, and the turtle man that had tackled her out of the way and had somehow kept from squishing her, came up on his feet, setting her on hers before he rushed over towards the turtle Sam could now see being supported by the man, his red mask tails streaking out behind him.

“What the he—” Sam said, mostly to herself as she took in the scenes in front of her.

The turtle with the blue mask stood over the downed Dragon. The man was clearly bleeding out, and Sam was more than a little certain that there was nothing do to save him. A turtle man with an orange mask was hurrying from the direction of the counter towards the other two turtles and the man. The man was lowering a purple-masked turtle to the ground, clearly supporting him.

Well, it seemed pretty clear what she needed to do.

Shaking off her shock and falling back into her professional mindset, Sam hurried forward.

“Move,” she said bluntly, watching as they settled the purple-masked one—Donnie, she presumed—on the ground, the orange-masked one using his lap as a pillow for the other. She could hear the blue-masked one’s footsteps behind her.

The red-masked one whirled on her, clearly upset, his strange, pronged weapons held in his hands. “Look, sister—” he started.

Sam was having none of it. “I said, move!” she snapped at him. “I’m a doctor, I can help! Unless you’ve got a better idea?”

“Let her see Don, Raph,” Leo said. “She might can help him where we can’t.”

Raph seemed to want to resist for a moment, but he stepped back and Sam moved next to the injured turtle.

“It’s not too bad,” Donnie was saying through grit teeth. His hands were already at his thigh, trying to tie a tourniquet around it.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she said, reaching into her scrub pockets and pulling out a pair of gloves. She pushed her long braid behind her shoulders, pulled the gloves on, and got to work.

“Donnie, right?” said as she worked.

“Y-yeah.”

“Alright. And the rest of you?”

“I’m Mikey,” the orange-masked one said.

“Leo,” the blue-masked one offered.

“Raph,” the one with the red mask said.

“Casey,” the only other human said.

“Alright. I’m Dr. Samantha Craik. I work in the hospital down the road,” she said. She looked up at Donnie. “I’m going to take good care of you, alright? But I’m gonna need some information. I’m not familiar with turtles, much less whatever you are.”

Don chuckled a little, but then stopped when it hurt. “I’ll see what I can do, Doc,” he said, clearly trying to breathe through the pain.

Sam just nodded. “I’m assuming you don’t want to go to the hospital?” she said.

“No.” The answer came quick and sure from Leo, and Sam nodded.

“Alright. In that case, here’s what I need.”

The store had the most of the things she needed and Donnie’s bag helpfully provided the rest. Donnie had gotten lucky. The bullet hadn’t hit anything important, and it was fairly clean in-and-out wound. Ideally, she’s have hopped him up on painkillers, taken some scans, put him on a broad-spectrum antibiotic, and gotten him some blood, but none of that was possible at the moment.

Instead, she snapped out orders to the other turtle-men, sterilized things as best she could, and got to work, cursing the Purple Dragons with every spare breath she had.

“Idiotic low-life—hold his leg still—punks who can’t figure out that—keep that pressure!—that all they’re gonna have is a short and—this is gonna hurt, Donnie—violent life where no one will ever want to remember them—you’re doing good—and they’ll either—almost done with this side—die young or rot in prison—”

“I kinda like you,” Raph said to her.

“I’ll add that to my resume,” she shot back immediately, not even thinking about it. Mikey laughed, but it seemed to ease the turtles and their human friend a bit.

Finally, she sat back, putting things away and stripping off her gloves. “There,” she said. She looked over at Leo, as he seemed the most responsible of the bunch. “He needs to stay off of it. I don’t know if you have access to antibiotics, but those can’t hurt. Keep it clean and wrapped. Those stitches will have to be taken out, so—”

“We can handle that,” Leo said. “We’ve done it before.”

“Although it’s usually Donnie doing this kind of stuff,” Mikey said.

“I’ll… be able to do it… by then…” Donnie said, his face still pinched in pain.

Sam nodded. “Fine.” She hesitated. “If you need anything, come find me. Something tells me you don’t have a lot of medical access.” She looked around and picked up a discarded piece of cardboard and pulled a pen out of her pocket. “Here. That’s my number. Call me. Or come to the hospital and ask for me, or Peter Craik—my husband,” she said at Leo’s look.

He took the number and tucked it into his belt, even as Raph was kneeling in front of Donnie, shell to him as Mikey and Casey helped Don sit up. In the distance sirens sounded.

“We will,” he said. “Thank you, Dr. Craik. But for now, we have to go. Raph?”

“Good to go,” Raph said, standing up with Donnie clinging to his shell.

“See ya, doc!” Mikey said with a wave.

The four of them headed out the back, but Casey hesitated for a moment. “Ya good, Doc?”

Sam sighed. “Well, someone has to stay behind and explain this—and something tells me that you shouldn’t be here anymore than them.”

“Heh. Maybe,” Casey said. “Seriously, though, thanks Doc.” He headed out the back as well, following behind, leaving Sam standing in the middle of the store with a dead Purple Dragon and several that were tied up—although she had no idea when that had happened.

She sighed and sat down on the floor as the sirens got closer. This was going to be a mess.

Sam was right. It was a mess. She had to explain over and over again that some vigilantes had come in and saved them, that one had gotten wounded, and that she had done her best to treat him, as per her oath, but that, no, she didn’t know what they looked like under their masks and that, no, she had no idea who they were or where they had gone. By the time it was all over with and the police accepted her statement, the sun was up, and her husband was waiting on her.

“Sam!” he said, rushing towards her. “Are you alright?”

“I’m tired, my hair is a mess, I had my life threatened, I had to do field medicine, and I’ve not slept in nearly twenty-four hours,” she snapped. “What do you think?”

Peter just grinned at her. “I think that, if you’re snapping like that at me, that you’re probably alright. Let’s get out of here.”

The two left the police station, and headed home, Peter holding Sam’s hand. They were quiet for a moment, and then, softly, Peter murmured to her.

“So, are you going to tell me what really happened?”

Sam didn’t answer for a moment. “…when we get home,” she said.

“Why didn’t you tell the police?” he asked, not condemning, but clearly curious.

“Because sometimes, ‘do no harm’ is more than just the patient’s body,” Sam said irritably.

Peter laughed. “And that’s why I love you,” he said.

“Because I take my oath seriously?” Sam demanded, shooting him a look.

Peter grinned at her. “Because when you’ve decided something’s your duty, nothing can stop you—especially if it’s for the good of your patients.”

Sam harumphed, but he wasn’t wrong, she reflected. And as they walked down the street and down into the subway station she should have entered into last night, Sam wondered if she’d ever see those particular patients again.

After all, a good doctor always followed up.

[minnophee-writes]

No One Escapes Death... Unless?

A/N: Hello again! I'm alive and well, just been really busy with job searching recently and had a job interview earlier this week so I had that take up most of my time. It's looking very promising so if I suddenly become very spaced out with posts then it'll be either because I got the job or I'm still searching ;w; Anyway, I hope you enjoy this Ghostface fic I did! Drew artwork that kinda inspired this fanfic as well <3

Fandom: Dead by Daylight

Pairings: Danny "the Ghostface" Johnson x Penelope (OC)

Fic Warnings: Character death, blood, violence, knives, death, dub-consensual touching, dub-con, smaller female / taller man, size difference, dark smut, injuries, doggystyle, nonconsensual pictures and video taken, spitting, claiming, breeding, brief squirting, creampie, slight cumplay (if ya squint) (🔞MDNI this fic is for ADULTS! Begone minors🔞)

Summary: Screams echoed all around Penelope as she tried to work on repairing generators and helping her fellow teammates from being strung up on hooks like some sort of sick trophy. One by one her friends are slaughtered viciously; multiple, deep knife wound bleeding from the tops of their backs, and a river of fluids leaking from their mouths. When Penelope becomes the last survivor standing its a scramble to find the hatch before getting caught by the killer, but he's got better plans in store for her~

Word Count: 2.5k words

Her hands shook slightly as her fingers tried to pair the correct wires to each other, slowly making progress on one of the many generators around the MacMillan Estate, her heartbeat was pulsing fast and loud that it blocked out the harsh sound of her panting. It wasn't long ago that Penelope had helped Dwight off the hook after the killer, Ghostface, had stalked and ambushed him inside the main structure. Penelope had quickly assisted in patching up his injuries before Dwight then guided her to a nearby generator, promising to aid her in repairing it.

Dwight was sweating bullets and constantly kept glancing over his shoulder, his nerves were like a live wire and brain on high alert. Penelope stayed focused on her task when a piercing scream rang across the air, freezing the two in their place. She held her breath as she looked at Dwight from the corner of her eyes, a silent question dancing in her stare.

"I-I'll go get her, you stay here and keep working on the gen. It's got two pistons pumping so you just need to get the last one and you're done!" He slowly stood up and awkwardly started to shuffle away while staring back at her, "Don't worry, you got so much progress on it already."

Those were his parting words before he vanished within the dark fog that was floating around the atmosphere. Penelope nervously nodded her head, mainly to herself, before turning back to the generator - hoping not to accidentally connect the wrong wires together and risk blowing it up, and injuring her hands. While she worked on the generator and all her focus was on her task she didn't hear the footsteps approaching her - not until a light touch to her should spooked Penelope out of her head and ripped a yelp from her. The generator sparked and sputtered, from the harsh yank her hands would have done when she got scared, and her eyes darted hysterically between the gen and the person who had invaded her space.

The person who had startled her was none other than Meg, the redhead having a look of mortification and fear on her face from the generator short-circuiting. Tears streamed down her face as her hands covered her mouth and her breaths came out as fast, stuttering breathing.

"He killed her..." Meg muttered.

"What?" Penelope's brows pinched in the middle, a pensive expression marking her features.

"Ghostface!" the woman sobbed, a little louder this time, "H-he just kept stabbing her - over and over and over again... The sicko even took a picture of her after she was already dead."

Penelope went to console Meg when they both heard Dwight's scream ring out from the distance, sending a chilling feeling through her body. She managed to talk Meg into working on the generator with her so that they could get out of their current hellscape, they only needed to complete that last generator then they were scott-free! Penelope could only hope that Dwight was running the killer through many loops and pallets, buying them time to gain progress on repairing the generator. Meg's hands suddenly stopped moving, her head staring at the side of the gen and her breathing was a wet gasping.

Penelope froze, listening to Meg's breathing and slowly connecting the dots that is doesn't sound right, before shakily turning her head to the redhead to peak at what could be wrong with her. What caught her attention was the trail of blood leisurely flowing out of her parted lips before a dark figure looming behind Meg drew her eyes next. Her green eyes made contact with two, black holes glaring back at her.

Ghostface grouched behind Meg's body, his head tilted as he stared at her, his hand slowly creeping up to grasp the hilt of the large knife that was embedded into the other woman's back, and giving it a hard yank. A whimper escaped Penelope's mouth, her body dropped to the ground, and her arms struggled to drag her backwards - away from the killer who had just murdered her friend right beside her. He stood up menacingly, keeping eye contact the whole time, as his feet gradually carried him toward her retreating figure.

"What do we have here?" His gravelly voice sent shivers down Penelope's spine, her eyes widening as her back hit a solid wall behind her.

"Please... I-I'll do anything, please!" Penelope begged, "I don't want to be in pain..."

Ghostface seemed to pause, tilting his head further as if contemplating his options. Her words echoed in his head, sprouting a few sinister ideas on how she could convince him her spare her - a dark chuckle errupting from him as he then rapidly approached her and harshly grabbed a hold of her arms.

"Anything, you say? Well... I can think of a few things you could do to show me how much you really wanna live, sweetheart."

Ghostface then quickly lifted Penelope onto her feet and pressed his body against hers, making sure to specifically press his growing erection against Penelope's stomach. Penelope let out a yelp and clung to the front of his robe, hoping to push into his chest to create some distance but that was dashed away when he grabbed each of her arms and bent them behind her own back, binding her wrists with one of his large hands while the other started to grope her hip and thigh.

"So, Sweetheart, can I ask what your name is so I know what name to say when I'm cumming in you-" Ghostface leaned close to her face, his breath fanning over her through the mask, "- or would you rather I call you Sweetheart and Baby Mama? Since that's what you're gonna be once I fill that pussy up with my cum."

Penelope let out a shout in protest, kicking and thrashing about in his hold hoping to losen his grip but he held strong, not even budging slightly - patiently waiting for her little 'tantrum' to simmer down so he could get on with his plans. Her strength diminished in his hold and she eventually went still, her head bowed - she didn't dare stare into his eyeless gaze for fear he'd take her soul as well as her dignity. His hand roughly grabbed at her belt, struggling to unbuckle it for a moment before popping the buckle, loosening it before unzipping her jeans and rucking them down her plush thighs. He then shoved his pants down his muscular thighs, his throbbing cock springing up and slapping against his lower stomach from how hard it was. Beads of pre-cum leaked from the head, his shaft was medium length but was slightly thick which caused a pang of fear to shoot through Penelope.

"L-look, I'm sure there's other ways I can show how much I want to live besides this!" She stammered, her thighs squeezing together in small retaliation.

"No way, Sugar. This is happening my way or you're getting the same treatment I gave your little buddies, and trust me, you don't want me to play with you that way - do you?" Ghostface threatened.

Penelope's lips quivered and tears started to build in her eyes as she slowly accepted her fate, her own self preservation and fear of suffering a painful death ultimately winning over her own self respect.

"My name's Penelope..." Penelope's voice was barely above a whisper, yet his keen ears was able to hear her but he wanted to humiliate her a little.

"What was that, Honey? Couldn't hear ya', gonna have to speak up!"

"My name-" She swallowed, a bead of sweat falling down her temple, "- is Penelope..."

"Awe, such a cute name for such a cutie~" He teased, "You know me as Ghostface but tonight you can call me Danny. That's the name I wanna hear you moanin'."

Before she could even process what his next course of actions would be he was already 2 steps ahead, manuvering her to the ground with her hips in the air - her arms still held behind her back. He squeezed her wrists in warning before letting her go, his touch vanishing and, so too, did his presence looming over her arched body. As Penelope debated taking a peek over her shoulder, she suddenly felt a cool breath fan over her exposed pussy lips right before the moist sensation of a tongue licked a stripe over her clit and folds.

A shocked moan left her lips as he did it again, the repeated action shooting bolts of unwanted pleasure through her body, her thighs quaked with each tongue stroke Danny delivered. A few licks later Penelope felt something small, yet thick, start to probe her opening, her hole fluttered at the contact as it circled her twitching hole before it slowly started to insert itself into her - Penelope then realizing it was his finger while his thumb rubbed against her sensitive clit. Penelope gasped which ended in a prolonged moan, her pussy clenched around his finger and drenched it in her arousal, a smirk plastered across Danny's face at hearing her sounds of pleasure.

"That's it, Penny, just think about how much better it'll feel once my cock's in it." He purred into her ear as he introduced a second finger into her, "Poor thing's practically beggin' for it."

Danny managed to fit his middle and ring fingers snuggly inside Penelope's pussy as it fluttered around them, his wrist and arm moving fast to bully the spongy walls of her g-spot while her juices coated his entire hand. Danny rolled his tongue around in his mouth to gather more saliva before spitting a big glob of it onto her pussy and finger-fucking it into her, making her more slick and slippery. Penelope's eyes started to blur and her brain felt hazy, she felt completely boneless from the pleasure Danny was giving her and a tight knot was forming deep inside her stomach, threatening to snap the longer Danny continued his fast, brutal pace.

"D-Danny... Gonna c-cum..." She barely managed to mumble out and he was quick to withdraw his glistening fingers from her pulsing cunt.

"Think you're ready for this? Heh heh..."

He grasped her hips tightly, arching her back and lifting her hips higher, alining his hard cock with her pussy and gently pushing into her - a stuttering gasp escaping Danny while Penelope groaned at the stretch, not use to a cock as thick as his. Each inch Danny would slowly fuck it into her before trying to introduce another inch inside her, almost cumming at the sight of her beneath him and clawing at the dirt in a very weak attempted to crawl away from him. He chucked at her and leaned against her back, smothering her with his body and pressing her further into the ground to ensure she couldn't get away.

"There's no escape. You're mine now, Penny, and there's no point in fighting it." He whispered into her cheek, lightly pressing a kiss there while shoving the last inch into her pussy.

He took a moment to get adjusted to her throbbing walls, waiting for her to settle before tilting his hips back and delivering a deep, hard thrust back into her, a wet smack following whenever their thighs made contact. Each thrust caused his balls to slap against her clit and pulled a sweet moan from Penelope, fueling Danny's ego and triggering his primal brain - his hips working hard to fuck into her with the goal of breeding her encouraging him. Danny's hands became restless and wandered up her soft stomach, gliding under her black shirt and pulling down her bra, his fingers manuvering their way toward her stiff nipples, pinching and tweaking them while Penelope squirmed from overstimulation.

"Danny, please!" Penelope begged but she didn't know what she was begging for - freedom or more pleasure?

"Don't worry, Honey, I'll make sure to fuck you so full everyday until it takes. I can promise you that." He panted while his thrusts got more aggressive, one hand going toward her wet cunt and rubbed sharp circles on her abused clit.

Penelope let out a scream, her pussy clenched Danny so hard it pulled a grunt from the man as he drilled into her faster, he panted into her ear as he worked to get Penelope to an orgasm so he could pump her full of his seed. Her toes curled and her fingers gripped the blades of grass as the knot in her stomach suddenly snapped - her shriek ripped itself from her throat, fluids shooting from her pulsing cunt while his cock continued to bully her g-spot. Danny's fingers proceeded to play with her bundle of nerves, pushing Penelope onto the line of pleasure and painful overstimulation but he didn't seem to care.

"C'mon, Penny... Gimme one more..." Was his delirious demand.

Penelope wasn't sure if she could give him another one, her pussy clamping down hard each time his cock slid into her gummy walls, his leaking tip kissing her cervix anytime he buried himself to the hilt. Danny leaned back onto his heels to glance at where they were joined together and witnessed a foamy white ring of her cum around the base of his cock, each thrust only smearing it across his dick. He groaned, quickly taking out his small camera and took 3 photos of the messy view before setting the camera to 'record', and placing it on the ground somewhere to the side. Pleased with what the camera would be capturing Danny then hugged himself around Penelope's body, his hips then manically bucked into hers, his own orgasm crawling up on him steadily.

Penelope's second orgasm came out of nowhere, her cunt squeezed around Danny's cock and pulsed in euphoric waves which triggered Danny to slam himself as deep into her as he could and shot rope after rope of potent cum into Penelope's warm pussy. Deep groans and little whines left the killer's mouth as he pumped his seed into her before he rested his sweaty forehead against the back of Penelope's neck, taking heavy breaths while his hands roamed over her fucked-out body - groping her ass and thighs before slowly pulling out of her puffy cunt. A few droplets of cum began to leak out but Danny just 'tsk'd, grabbing his camera once again, and used his pointer and middle fingers to push it back in - making sure to get it all on film.

Danny placed his mask back onto his head, shoving his flaccid cock back into his pants before rucking Penelope's panties and jeans over her hips, making sure that the panties would keep the cum inside her pussy and any drops would be saved onto the gusset. He took it upon himself to pick up the cock-drunk woman and carry her to the hatch, gently placing her onto the ground and nudging her into the open hatch, watching her disappear from sight but knowing that from now on she'll be his forever.

hope y'all liked it! Please be sure to like and reblog <3 <3 <3

[marvelgurl789fanfics]

Last First Dance (Bucky Barnes x OC)

Summary: Much to Bucky’s dismay Sam drags him to a singles bar on 40s theme night, the night takes a turn for the better when his eyes meet a cute redhead’s across the bar. (Takes place shortly after TFATWS)

Warnings: none

(Might be a series might be a one-shot undecided)

Masterlist:

~~~~~

Bucky was leaning on the bar drinking a whiskey glaring daggers at Sam the man who dragged him to this dumb singles bar on 40s night of all nights. Sam danced with a blonde woman wearing an old fashioned navy blue cocktail dress, looking towards Bucky every once in a while feeling his stare from across the dance floor. Sam claimed he didn’t know it was 40s night, but his amused expression told Bucky the jerk knew damn well it was 40s night. As much as Bucky acted annoyed he was thankful for Sam’s friendship not that he’d ever say it aloud, but he knew Sam knew. With a sigh Bucky took a long drink from his glass finishing it off thinking of how Sam even talked him into coming.

~Earlier~

Lounging on his couch eating leftover takeout Chinese food for dinner. Bucky heard a knock on his door, setting the food container on his coffee table and headed to the door. Thinking it’s his new elderly neighbor needing his assistance again opening a jar, an amused huff left him as he thought of the sweet elderly women who he probably had 30 years on. Opening the door expecting a small old woman, he was a bit surprised seeing Sam standing in his door way with his teasing smirk. “Long time no see tin-man, did the wizard give you that heart yet?” Sam teased earning an annoyed look from Bucky, the idea of closing the door in the man face pasted his mind but knowing how persistent Sam is that wouldn’t exactly make him leave. With a huff Bucky stepped aside in a silent invitation in.

“Seriously man how have you been? It’s been two weeks since you left Louisiana, my nephews are already asking me when their new cyborg uncle will visit again” Sam said with a kind smile. A small smile spread on Bucky face as he closed his door as Sam entered “I will try to visit them again soon, I been fine Sam” Bucky said moving to plop back on his couch. “Really cause your sad dinner says otherwise” Sam said gesturing to the cold Chinese food on Bucky’s coffee table while sitting on the opposite side of the couch. “Sam I’m fine” Bucky insisted knowing Sam is just worried about him. “Really? have you even left your apartment this week?” Sam asked with a raised eyebrow, “of course I have” Bucky scoffed. “Going to the grocery store doesn’t count” Sam stated looking at Bucky for an answer only getting silents was answer enough for Sam.

“Ok that’s it, it’s Saturday night we’re going out” Sam said standing grabbing Bucky’s leather jacket from its hook by the door and tossing it at Bucky. “Wow Sam had no idea you felt this way about me” Bucky teased with a smirk standing pulling on his jacket and taking the gloves from its pockets and putting them on as well. “Oh you wish Barnes, but I’m way out of your league” Sam joked back.

~Present~

With a roll of his eyes Bucky turned back to the bar ordering another whiskey on Sam’s tab, while waiting for his drink Bucky’s eyes wonder around the other people at the bar ordering drinks, talking and laughing with friends. Bucky’s eyes stopped at a redheaded women sitting at the end of the bar sipping some green cocktail, her hair hung in loose curls one side tucked behind her ear. Tortoiseshell square framed glasses graced her pretty porcelain face, along with a peppering of freckles. Pale yellow dress with a sweetheart neckline a bit low by 40s standard but in modern time it would probably be considered modest. Bucky didn’t realize he was staring until the women’s looked up and her chocolate brown eyes met his icy blue eyes.

Bucky’s eyes tore away berating his self for probably creeping the women out. ‘Sam’s right I have a staring problem’ Bucky thought to himself taking a drink from his whiskey, that’s been delivered while he was distracted by the cute redhead. A pat on his back broke him from his self hatred, “You been at the bar all night, the point was to have fun” Sam said taking the bar stool next to Bucky’s. “I am, and you’re paying” Bucky said holding up his whiskey before taking another drink. “Come on grandpa I know you’re not 90 anymore but someone had to catch your fancy” Sam jokingly encouraged, Bucky huffed in dry humor and shook his head. “What about that little redhead at the end of the bar, she keeps looking over here” Sam said waving down a bartender to get a drink his self, at Sam’s words Bucky looked back over to the women that caught his eye. Sure enough she was looking over but was quickly looking away when he caught her. thinking for a moment he probably made her more uncomfortable than he original thought, then he noticed her cheeks turning red.

“She wouldn’t be interested” Bucky said looking into his whiskey with his usual self doubt, “Nope none of that tonight” Sam said while the bartender brought him his drink. “Sir, that redheaded lady in the yellow dress over there. Can you send over another drink to her from my friend here” Sam asked the bartender who just nodded in understanding, if looks could kill Bucky would have Sam 6 ft under by now. “Sam what the hell do you think you’re doing” Bucky almost growled. “Your not helping yourself so as your self proclaimed wing man I’m helping you out” Sam said in a teasing but kind way, with a sigh Bucky looked over to the women as the bartender served her another green cocktail. A look of confusion passed over her features but with a gesture of the bartender she looked over to Bucky. Without thinking Bucky gave a slightly awkward smile and small wave of his hand, which earned the most beautiful smile from the woman in Bucky’s opinion. “There’s your green light, go talk to her” Sam said nudge him with his elbow, sensing Bucky’s argument was bubbling up he added “or maybe I’ll go over there and talk to her” knowing it would send Bucky over there to ‘spite’ him.

His half drank whiskey abandoned next to Sam, Bucky made his way over to the other side of the bar to the redhead. “Um hi” Bucky greeted internally cringing at his own greeting, “Hi, thank you for the drink” she spoke with a smile in the sweetest voice Bucky heard in years. “James, but everyone calls me Bucky” Bucky introduced his self trying to channel that young man he was once before the war. “Dottie, nice to meet you Bucky” Dottie smiled again taking a sip of her drink. “Dottie that’s a lovely name, may I?” Bucky gestured to the empty barstool, “Please” Dottie nodded inviting him to sit by her. “What brings you out tonight?” Dottie asked kindly as Bucky joined her, “Honestly a friend of mine dragged me here” Bucky said with a bit of humor. “You’re not alone there, my friend the reason I’m here too. According to her it’s a crime to spend a Saturday night alone at home” Dottie said with a light laugh which made Bucky smile. “Well I hope your enjoying your Saturday night” Bucky said now leaning his human arm on the bar top, “I wasn’t, but I think I’m starting to” she said a bit flirtatiously which wasn’t lost by Bucky who sat up a bit straighter.

“So Bucky what do you usually do when you’re not being dragged around to bars” Dottie asked with humor, causing Bucky to clear his throat a bit before answering “Nothing much just work”. “Oh? What do you do for work” she asked setting down her drink resting her own hand next to his but not touching his. “Um government contracts” Bucky hesitantly answered unsure of what to call his work or scare her off, “a soldier?” Dottie asked gesturing with her hand not resting on the bar top to the dog tags hanging around Bucky’s neck. “Yeah, what about you?” Bucky said trying to take the topic off his work with Sam, “A librarian at the public library” Dottie said a bit shyly. “Is it safe to assume you like to read? What kind of books do you like?” Bucky asked with a smile, “Yeah I think that’s a safe assumption, I mostly find myself reading mysteries. What about you?” Dottie smiled eyes shining in interest. “Fantasy I guess, Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit books like that” Bucky replied, “Oh so the classics” Dottie said. “Yeah the classics” Bucky said rubbing the back of his neck with his covered metal arm, ‘they were new when I read them’ Bucky thought to himself.

“So Bucky, what’s it take for you to ask a girl to dance?” Dottie smile gently moving her hand closer to his resting her fingers tips on his hand. “oh um… Would you like to dance?” Bucky asked trying to hide his nervousness not having danced since 1943, and now a beautiful woman in her late 20s early 30s wanting to dance with him. Bucky offered his human hand to her, “such a gentleman” Dottie smiled placing her hand in his offered one. Bucky led her to the dance floor ignoring the double thumbs up and goofy grin from Sam in the corner of his eye. Just as they reached the dance floor a new song started playing, Bucky recognized the song It’s been a long, long time by kitty kallen it was his younger sister favorite song. Still holding her smaller hand in his turning to her standing almost a whole head taller than her. He gently placed his covered metal hand on her mid back hoping she wouldn’t notice the cold metal through his jacket or glove, if she did she didn’t let it show as she placed her free hand on his shoulder with a smile and started to sway to the music with him. Bucky was a bit stiff in his movements but his body began to relax when her eyes met his, Bucky didn’t notice at first that they moved closer together but now their chest were slightly pressed together as they swayed to the music.

“This is nice” Dottie said softly almost afraid to break the slight trance they been in, Bucky just hummed in agreement earning another soft smile from her. Slowly Dottie rested her head on Bucky’s chest at first the action almost made Bucky panic, but he heard her hum along to the music calming him. Hesitantly Bucky rested his chin on the top of her head and received no negative response from the action he let himself forget his past for once and just enjoy this moment, continuing to sway and holding on to each other for two or three more songs. They finally pulled apart, Bucky led her back to her spot at the bar before letting go of her hand. “Thank you for the dance” Dottie said with a smile and a slight blush, “Anytime” Bucky smiled leaning a bit closer to her subconsciously. “I should get going I have work in the morning, But I had a lovely time with you. here” Dottie said grabbing a bar napkin and pulling a pen out of her purse writing something down and handing it to him, looking at the napkin he seen her name Dottie the ‘i’ dotted with a heart and under it was seven digits. “I’ll keep this safe” Bucky smiled as she smiled back and slowly made her way to the door. Bucky made his way back to where Sam stood at the other end of the bar, mentally preparing for Sam’s teasing and/or ‘I told you so’s.

~~~~~

Let me know what you think, one-shot or series?

Thank you for reading, hope you enjoy.

[crimsonscloud]

new version of my oc lore go brrr.

on the 12th hour of the first day of october 1989, 43 women around the world gave birth. this was unusual only in the fact that none of these women had been pregnant when the day began. sir reginald hargreeves, eccentric asshole billionaire and adventurer, resolved to locate and adopt as many of the children as possible. brad barrett was not one of them. (and later, he'd thank god for that.)

name: bradley barrett

nicknames: brad (preferred); walking glowstick (by five and lila); sparkler, starboy (by lila); number two (by marcus); pretty boy (by sparrow!ben); the pyromaniac (by jayme)

gender: male

date of birth: october 1, 1989

place of birth: belfast, northern ireland

hair color: dark brown

eye color: blue; gold (when using powers)

faceclaim: pascal langdale

occupation: artist

affiliation: the umbrella academy (unofficial)

relatives: erin barrett (mother)

biography (pre-canon + season one):

as a young woman living in belfast during "the troubles", erin barrett is not at all in the position to be raising a child. especially not one that she hadn't had the time to plan for. but as she rests on the floor of her apartment, a wailing baby--her son--in her arms, she cannot imagine giving him up for anything.

when a strange man called hargreeves arrives on her doorstep, asking to take her son, she slams the door in his face. it takes everything in her not to grab the monocle he's wearing and stab him in the eye with it.

what she does not know is that he has or will ask many other mothers the same question. what she fears is that soon the question might become a demand. brad spends his early years being moved about, half because of the political turmoil and half because erin is paranoid that hargreeves will come back.

(in the end, he gets seven children, and apparently that is enough for him. it does not stop erin from waking up with her heart in her throat, wondering if this will be the day she wakes to a silent house and her baby gone.)

in 2015, brad moves to an area near the city to attend art school. despite the extraordinary circumstances of their births, he meets allison hargreeves in a mundane place -- a coffee shop. one conversation turns to many. he learns that the man with the monocle his mother warned him about as a child is sir reginald hargreeves. most important, he gains a friend, and someone who can understand what it's like having grown up with superpowers.

three years later, as allison's marriage spirals into divorce, they begin to fight. she becomes distant. he lets her. as far as he can tell, they've both moved on with their lives.

so he's surprised when, seemingly out of nowhere one march day, he gets a phone call from her asking if they can talk. she tells that him hargreeves is dead, that she and her siblings have been asked to attend the funeral. she doesn't want to go alone.

while brad has little interest in attending the funeral of the man who almost stole him from his mother, something makes him go anyway. maybe it's a sense of nostalgia for a past friendship; maybe it's curiosity about the other children hargreeves stole; maybe you could even call it fate. (brad wouldn't.)

thanks to a pair of time-traveling assassins, a senior citizen in a child's body, and an impending apocalypse, his trip to the academy grounds is anything but short.

powers and abilities:

plasma manipulation: brad's core power. he can absorb thermal energy and convert it into superheated plasma.

dagger creation: brad can generate daggers made of solidified plasma. he can telekinetically guide them in a given direction or spin them around his body to deflect small projectiles. if he is stabbed by his own daggers, the energy is absorbed back into his body.

heat and light generation: brad can release stored energy as bright light and intense heat. he also has a high resistance to temperature extremes.

self healing: brad's body can heal itself if in the presence of a heat source, usually sunlight. the speed / extent depends on the amount of exposure.

superhuman sight: brad can see over greater distances and with better clarity than most, and to an extent in total darkness. he has the capability to see a person's life force / aura (and in the case of the other children born from the marigold + harlan, he can also see their marigold).

weaknesses:

darkness: brad's powers aren't infinite. spending too much time in dark areas with no access to light renders him powerless until he can recharge.

drugs: like the others, brad's powers can be subdued with drugs / alcohol. because he can self-heal, the effect is usually temporary provided he has enough energy to draw on.

emotions: being "supercharged" or using a lot of power for an extended period makes brad more prone to increased aggression or impulsiveness.

energy depletion: if brad released all of his stored energy at once, he'd pass out afterwards. holding onto large quantities of energy without immediately releasing it is also painful and physically draining.

limitations: there is an (as-yet undefined) upper limit to how much energy brad can absorb at once. if he went above this limit, his body would overheat and potentially explode.

other random facts:

a chaotic, sarcastic, many-layered-bracelets-wearing bisexual.

constantly carries a lighter, and flicks it on / off when he's stressed or just bored.

has been arrested for vandalism before.

like his original concept, brad has a bit of a drinking problem. his powers make it harder for him to actually feel intoxicated.

you know that scene from j.essica j.ones where trish sips a coffee and goes "this has alcohol in it" and jessica takes it and tells her "that's mine"? five or viktor and brad energy tbh.

he's fluent in english and irish, and also knows some phrases in latin.

he has submitted work to, and gotten into, galleries before. (do i know how this works? no.)

his body temperature is constantly warm. as a child he'd run around in the cold without a coat on; erin repeatedly told him not to do this because it increased the likelihood of him getting noticed. (did he listen? most of the time, no.)

he bleeds light when he's injured. like. his wounds glow and stuff. he still has regular blood it's just glowy. it's fascinating and also really painful if anybody other than him touches them until they heal.

his eyes also do the "reflects light in darkness" thing.

it's gonna take me ages to rewatch so i can actually write up his season two lore, but for now i'm thinking he lands in april 1963, seven months before the second apocalypse.

marcus mistakes him for the umbrellas' number two since he and viktor have kinda similar powers. nobody corrects him on it until luther is captured.

he absolutely has a scene at some point that's set to "supermassive black hole" by muse. is this important to know? no, but it's in my head.

tagging @brellafaun plus everyone who interacted with the original post! if you don't want to be tagged let me know and i'll remove you: @mrbloodbender @dis-ast3r @jasshands @beesknees18 @justsomeonenoonecaresabout @aetherbound

[bianca-d1-angelo]

✧˚ · ˚ + ˚ · . ➳➳ INTRO ➳➳. · ˚ + ˚ · ˚✧

DISCLAIMER: this rp has closed, none of us still rp here, it's just up because of memories

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Hello! I am Bianca Di Angelo! I am the daughter of Maria Di Angelo and the Greek deity Hades. I am also known as the deceased sister of the Ghost King, @the-ghostking-di-angelo! I am currently 12 years old and will forever remain 12 as I am dead. I was a Hunter of Artemis before I died, and would have been a current resident of Cabin 13 at Camp Half Blood. The Fates did not consider social media when writing the rules centuries ago, so this is a technical loophole I have decided to exploit since Elysium is a bit boring. OOC: Please send asks or tag me!! OC's are always allowed to interact <33

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@gh0st-king-nico - my younger brother! he's honestly just a sweet little kid. If I find anyone being mean or even remotely rude to him, I can easily show you the horrors the Underworld will have have in store for you :)) @hazel-the-jewel - my sister! she's so sweet and responsible and talented. im so proud of her! she's the praetor of New Rome and everything! Once again, if I hear a single comment about her, I will find you and make you wish you never opened your mouth :))

@will-shoelaces - Nico's boyfriend! Very nice kid and a gentleman. Nico really cares about him so I fully support him! He's also a healer and can glow! if you dare break his heart, I know where you live :) @challenging-lord-frank Hazel's boyfriend! Very responsible and extremely kind. Hazel loves him a lot <3 But once again, if you dare break her heart, I know where you live :)

@lightning-boi-is-here - he's my brother's best friend! he's a good person and really friendly. Honestly reminds me of a golden retriever @forbiddensonoftheseagod - Son of Poseidon and a greek hero. He's really nice and extremely loyal. 10/10 quest mate!

Grover! - Satyr and Lord of the Wild! Apparently he's a protector so he might follow you and your brother around for a while in a totally not creepy or terrifying way.

@pinecone-face-thalia - Daughter of Zeus and Lieutenant of the Hunters of Artemis! Very cool and a bit intimidating. Nice to talk to though!

@annabeth-w1se-g1rl - Daughter of Athena! Dating Percy and friends with my sister! She's very cool and I admire her leadership.

@p1per-mclean - Daughter of Aphrodite! Hazel's friend and Nico's friend. She's really nice though she seems like a troublemaker.

Shel! - Mortal! She's Piper's girlfriend. She's really sweet and easy to talk to.

@fireboy-supreme - Son of Hephaestus! Nico warned me not to trust him. He does look like he gets into a lot of trouble.

Reyna - my honorary sister! She's one of Nico's closest friends and joined the hunt! She has an aura that demands respect and is a very sophisticated and cool person

@rangaartist - Also a Mortal! She is also the Oracle! (I'm so sorry Rachel for that repeating prophecy my dad sent, I told him twice would be enough)

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OOC: (Kinda Important So Please Read! )

Hi!!! Before I begin, this is a Percy Jackson RP account for my Bianca cuz Hera knows shes too underrated! We still have some slots open so if you want to join, DM me or @hazel-the-jewel or @pinecone-face-thalia or @annabeth-w1se-g1rl

pictures from banner are not mine! (i did make it tho) pfp is by _kaminarty_ (yes, it is wednesday, but they dont have bianca and its supposed to match with the others in the rp group lol) GO LOOK AT THEIR ART!!! ITS AMAZING

I MISS TONS OF SOCIAL CUESS!!! I'm trying to work on it but if i ever overstep my boundaries or make you uncomfy, pleasee let me know <33 im just a bit oblivious sometimes

IM SEX REPULSED! totally cool, do your thing but please DNI if you're an NSFW blog!!

I am a minor! pls keep that in mind!

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[slvtforfiction]

Because I liked a boy

☆ Dreamwastaken X F!OC (rose)

☆ Angst

☆ Established ex partners

☆ Hope this one makes sense to anyone besides me :)

☆ If you are going to request: please check at the pinned post if requests are open,otherwise I will delete your requests which I have already been doing

☆ Creds to @cafekitsune for dividers :)

Masterlist | Pinned Post

Rose 🌹

@/letsplayrose

because i liked a boy,out now :).

Hidden replies ^

@/dreamwastaken replying to @/letsplayrose

Proud of you!

_

User

@/randomuser1232

Anyone notice how dream and rose were so close and now she’s released a break up song….

_

Rose 🌹

@/letsplayrose

Wooo! Launch party was so much fun,thank u to everyone streaming,ur awesome !!

_

I lied my legs across his as we watched a movie,snacks of all kinds were laid out infront of us,my personal favourites ; thin mints.

Clay always got me some at the grocery store/anywhere he could find them,he always knew my favourites.

_

I sat on my bed that night,watching the streams on the new single rise and rise. I thought back to simpler times,maybe if we hadn’t have gotten together none of this would’ve happened.

I miss when relationships were away from online insight and I always had. Especially when the internet was ripping at my relationship.

_

“I love you.” I muttered as I lied my head on his chest,the trampoline had been made into a blanket fort by the boys so me and Clay could have some alone time.

“I love you too.” He whispered kissing my forehead. I basked in the peace and warmth his arms provided.

Who knew cuddling on trampolines

Could be so reckless.

_

Randomuser

@/randomtwtuser

She’s probably dated dream…I mean her loss LMAO

_

Random

@/random11467

(11/12 🧵)

What I think about dream and rose

They were definitely dating but then again I’m glad that we know their now broken up because she’s a slut anyway LOL

_

“The death threats are definitely becoming creative.” I laughed as an alternative to crying. He didn’t say a word,just pulled me into his chest as I began crying.

_

#1 trending in US

because i liked a boy

_

“Hey Nick what’s up?”

“Was that song about Clay?”

“Nick you know that’s not all it is.”

“I don’t think we should talk anymore.”

_

Now I had lost friends,I had lost my favourite person and boyfriend and I now was stuck between a fence.

The internet illusion would forever haunt me,not leaving me with normal friendships. My friendships are to be published and put infront of the whole world to judge.

I would never find someone like him again,I would never find the friends I’ve lost again and for now all I can do is sit here and cry.

I sat on my bed as I pushed my head into my pillows,I sobbed and sobbed. I sobbed so much I saw his reflection in my pillow until I fell asleep with the belief that I was still in his arms.

[crypticemerald]

I've got nothing to post right now so have my oc, hes part of a subdivision of smaller iterators (in the sense of robot-like creatures) able to think of themselves (but are mobile) aka Operators :D

more rambling about Operators below :)

Operators serve as a way to persue small tasks between closeby groups, created during gen 2 of Iterators they serve as a ''fix it all'' having a set manual encoded in them which provides them with the necessary tools to fend for themselves and geolocate closeby structures which provide energy.

Being off the strings for them it means that they function off few neurons which they carry inside their body (which keeps them alive and stores some necessary stuff + recently given commands + records important events during their travels from one facility to the other). They recharge via a chargeble battery installed in their system by connecting it to anything remotely mechanical, such as shelters, karma gates (which they are able to access unless theyre karmically imbalanced or arent given permission to), communication stations/arrays and so on.

They do not have a great memory, they work on a limited one when off-field and when they reach the closest iterator they will connect to their structure, offering a scan of their can and offering to solve any issues they are able to fix within it, but most important they will empty their memory (think of outside storage) in order to recieve a new command/order/task. Their main purpose is to serve under the rules of the ancients and help with upkeeping iterator groups local to them or following their orders which may change from anything such as pearl collection, transferring data, rearranging faulty memory conflux structures, eliminate any threatening bodies to their host iterator can and so on!

[cough, if they find mobile rot even if their host iterator tells them not to kill it they will go on the violent route to eliminate the rot or mold]

Greatly respectful of ancients and senior iterators they will greatly follow orders given by seniors and other iterators, doing small tasks for them and serving low range messenger/support friend if you will. They are shorter than most iterators (with my guy being shorter than five pebbles) but more resistant and resilient than the mid iterator puppet plus a lot stronger!

Usually theres anywhere between none to five in groups, depending on their size and how old they are.

IDK they have some sort of weapon which they probably either carry around or its part of their design, mine has claws.

Their main rules are:

-follow iterator wishes

-ensue their safety

-dont mess with the enviroment (less prone to violence towards organic creatures)

ABOUT MY OC TE HEE

Ordinary Maintenances is under Chronicler of Methologies (an archivist iterator which belongs to @nemofil and they work under pearl collection duty most of the time, why most of the time?

Scavengers think of Ordinary Maintenance as a very very shiny object, so they trade him around until he menages to actually get up and leave their premises which is sadly not that successful. Seeing as Chronicler is quite a pacifist and feel bad about Scavenger he will often do nothing (not as he can do it) about it, leaving often time OM being traded around for shiny stuff.

Im not sure how i wanna kill them off but oh well, hes quite the resistant one, surviving through an iterator attacking them, being a chewtoy sometimes on sundays, and witnessing some pretty violent scav conflicts hes quite the silliest :)

stay in pieces chronicler, may you be loved by him as yk bros do (/j)