#not a SINGLE bridge I can roll and smoke a cigarette under

[outtathismilkyway]

Miami needs more goth bitch-friendly architecture

[iluvkiss1]

TRYPANOPHOBIA

True Detective AU • One-Shot

Rust frantically rubbed his hands against his own lap nervously. The doctor behind the desk gave him an intrigued look as he gently lowered his glass lenses down the bridge of his nose with a raised eyebrow. Rust smiled slightly trying to ease the tense atmosphere. The silence was suddenly uncomfortable but somehow put off the things Rust might have believed would happen right there. Finally, the doctor took a deep breath with tired eyes and handed a rectangular piece of paper into Rust's hands. Several studies that he had to do, in and of themselves, many of them totally tedious, the kind in which you have to spend most of the afternoon or morning inside a detestable hospital that smells of gel alcohol and death impregnated in every one of the walls painted a sickly pale white.

He sighed, not that he was really interested in wasting time, it wasn't something within the limitations of his life. One of the studies itself gave him the willies. A blood test to find out who knows what about his health, in fact, what the hell was Rust doing there? he barely remembered. He only knew that just reading "blood collection for analysis" made him cringe. He put a hand to his forehead and continued to stare at the paper with wide eyes before fixing his colorful gaze on the doctor who was watching him with slightly narrowed eyes. Rust held out his hand, then left, cursing himself for being an obsolete nurse.

"So that's how it all started" Marty expressed as he shoved his hands into his soft sweatpants from the cold "Wow, are you really that scared of a stupid fucking needle?"

Rust grumbled and rolled his eyes as he shook his head in a direction not directed at Marty, who gave a naive little laugh anyway as he took a deep breath. The man pulled a cigarette from under his torn black coat and took a lighter from his left pants pocket. Rust stretched out his legs on the seat and tipped his head back wearily. The smell of the freshly lit cigarette surprised him. He looked back at Marty, who was standing over him, and his eyes went wide.

"What the hell are you doing, you can't smoke in here!

"Who are you, a nurse? Leave me alone, Rust.

"Fuck you can't smoke, you'll get us in trouble!

"Hey" Marty complained, removing the cigarette with just two puffs from between his lips "I came to take care of you only because I'm an idiot who doesn't think things through. If it bothers you so much, I have no obligations, I'll go out and you can be sure that you won't mess things up here.

"No, no, no, wait" he begged... God, he hated begging, but he didn't want to be left alone either, "okay, smoke some more shit if you want... but at least let's hang out until you're done." finish the cigarette.

"What, are you crazy, Rustin? I'm going to freeze to death out there."

"Shit, Marty. I'm giving you options!

Rust frowned, a bead of sweat trickling down the sharp cheekbone of his face to fall down the side of his neck. Marty cocked his head, Rust's skin turning even paler than usual. Off to the side, below, his leg bounced off his foot, the nerves of anticipation penetrating deep into his system. Was the fear of that sharp piece of metal really that great? Marty was stunned and sighed, stubbing out the cigarette with the sole of his shoe after dropping it to the ground. Rust saw that and was relieved, he didn't show it anyway... Not that Marty wasn't aware of things.

Then a long silence turned them off, transforming an icy atmosphere into the same malaise expressed in a single moment of perhaps a few minutes until a nurse appeared to say two names:

"Smith, Gina"

"Cohle, Rust"

So that's where things changed. Considered a Rust who was beginning to think he could calm down, which was totally wrong, and a Marty with a certain grumpiness and a bit of intrigue on the palate, things just went wrong. Rust didn't know if it had been good that there was a woman in front of him or if he had simply preferred to go first to stop suffering while he waited. Marty was once more at his side, the two of them now standing by the door to the extraction lab. The man took off his steamed-up glasses and wiped them down, then put them back on his nose. Rust was wringing his hands... Marty noticed it too.

"Hey, man," he started to say, with an air of expired comedy in his voice, "I'll buy you a latte and some donuts if you go over there and be good."

He teased, Rust looked at him with fake anger. The wry look on his face was priceless and Marty laughed at his own bad joke as he stretched out his arms. Deep inside the room, the woman they had called earlier from Rust opened the door and left. Cohle watched the events and immediately witnessed his heart begin to pound with ferocious force, almost wanting to jump out of his chest. Marty brought a small smile to his face and placed a hand on Rust's slightly sloping shoulder from his pessimistic stance.

"Calm down... I'll go in with you if you want, old man."

"Really?" Rust asked.

His face twisted at the strangeness of Marty's words. But in the end, no sane person invites his enemy/almost friend, to accompany him because he is a bloody man who is afraid of a needle in the same way that a child is afraid of the dark under his bed, neither is that Rust was not afraid of him. From time to time, he woke up to turn on the bedroom light, crouching down and praying that he didn't find traces of blood and used needles full of old scraps on the floor…until now and luckily, that hasn't happened, not yet. Marty looked at him with determined eyes and shrugged.

"I have nothing to lose," he said, and Rust didn't need to object at all.

A few moments later, a man in a white coat appeared at the door and waved Rust inside. Marty didn't ask for any permission, just dared to come in with Rust without even being invited. When the doctor saw him, he just grimaced and turned his attention to Rust.

"Do you think your partner could wait outside?" he asked and Rust's eyes widened.

"No, no, no" he said, the doctor raised an eyebrow "he...he doesn't want to leave."

The man in the robe said nothing, just grimaced again and looked down. Marty walked over to Rust and planted his feet next to him. As the medic set things up, having reluctantly placed the band on Rust's thin arm. The man tensed as he saw the spire closing terrifyingly toward him. His body jerked slightly and he groaned, but Marty's hand on his shoulder kept him inside the seat.

"Fuck, Rust, calm down," Marty said in a whisper.

In the end, when the venipuncture began, Rust clung to Marty's hand, which had fallen downward when the doctor told him to stay still. He squeezed the offered hand too tightly during the extraction, nearly hurting Marty's fingers, who grunted as Rust released him, then flicked his wrist to eradicate the stinging discomfort. The doctor said a couple of things, directions and such after finishing sorting Rust's blood into little tubes. Marty didn't listen to half of the things, after all it wasn't even his problem, in the same way he nodded to every word assuming that he really cared only about looking good... of course, he didn't expect the doctor to believe that they were both in a relationship, although even so, he did not count on the intention to set the record straight, nor did Rust.

"I didn't think you'd keep your stupid word," Rust confessed before taking a long sip of his latte.

The two were in a small cafeteria near the hospital. Marty smiled, Rust still hadn't removed the little bandage on his arm that was visible because of his blue jean shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His pants nearly frayed on his thighs from dragging his hands over them so much. Marty took a bite of his chocolate-dipped donut and cleared his throat.

"So" he began, Rust looked up "Why are you so afraid of needles?

"Well... nobody loves them" Rust told him, desolate form avoiding the subject.

Marty stretched out his arms again, yawning, and settled back in his seat, staring at Rust obsessively. Rust put a hand to his hair and smoothed it down as he sighed.

"Come on, you almost passed out in there. I thought you were going to run out of the hospital."

"There's no reason to count certain things.

"Oh, for the love of Jesus Christ!" complained Marty "... come on, Rustin. I came here, I accompanied you and I stayed with you."

"That has nothing to do with it. People are afraid of needles! I'm not weird or abnormal. My condition is totally obvious."

"Actually..." after that Marty was silent, looking for a good answer. In the end he looked up at the ceiling and sighed "it's not quite normal. You are afraid of them, a fear that is not common."

"Are you a therapist or what the fuck?

"Shit, Rust. Don't always be defensive!

"Fuck you Martin!" he said almost with the voice in the tone of a scream, Marty still waited calm inside his chest.

"Why the hell did you want me to come with you?

"It doesn't matter.

"Why the fuck did you want me to come with you, Rust?" he said demanding an answer.

Once again Rust put a hand to his hair and combed it out. His leg swinging frantically on his right foot. Marty bowed slightly, several aged marks at the joints of Rust's arms. Entre closed his gaze and then widened it, blowing smoke from his body through his nose before dropping his spine over the back of his chair. In fact, he had understood things, but talking to Rust was certainly complicated. Could it be that in the same way he had raised his arms so that Marty would notice the marks without the need to say it in words? He would not have been able to affirm his theory of everything but it could be almost 54% true. Rust nuzzled his own neck sore from his poor posture and growled, large dark circles under his wide eyes.

"I see," Marty said quietly, Rust cocking his head.

He closed his eyes for a few moments, dark brown locks falling over his forehead as he lowered his head.

"Forgive me, man. I didn't mean to screw up your weekend, I know you had plans with Maggie and all...

"Don't worry" he said "she's with the girls in who knows where, maybe shopping... although I don't think so, knowing them well, they may be buying weapons to kill me when I arrive or something like that.

Rust chuckled a little and placed an elbow on the table to support the side of his face after having unrolled his shirt sleeves so the marks wouldn't show. Marty took a sip of his coffee, staring blankly at the wall behind Rust's shoulder and then rubbed his eyes, lifting his glasses with his hands underneath. Rust was watching him with a strange impatience. His stupid talk didn't make sense, none of his talks did, but this one was different, because Marty had agreed to do something that anyone would blow up in seconds and Rust just didn't know how to return the favor, by God, he'd even bought him a stupid latte and a couple of donuts!, that was already a lot.

From time to time Rust didn't know how to deal with kindness, wasn't used to it, let alone having to give it, anyway, right there, sitting across from Marty, in a diner with his donuts and his almost finished cup Rust really thought about how to be nice with genuine interest in making it...

He never got it anyway, but Marty got the point and that might be more than enough.

"You know, you don't have to count a damn, it's your life, Rust.

He told him, if it hadn't been for his soft tone, Cohle would have thought the other man was upset, but luckily that wasn't the case.

"I'll tell you at some point, I swear," Rust told him, his voice a thin thread of sweetened seriousness.

Marty just smiled and shrugged, realizing that the topic had ended there, and that he didn't want to harass who now seemed to have become more than an enemy/almost a friend in a heartbeat. He smiled and preferred to continue joking, that was simply the best, for him and above all for Rust.

"Next time we can ask the doctor to use a lancet," he told him.

Rust just laughed. A real genuine laugh that had been missing for a long time on his soft red lips. Marty felt that, at least for that day and what little he had managed to do in it, made him feel satisfied enough with himself.

"Fuck you" he said with an amused tone "I have more studies anyway, you know...

"I'll accompany you, don't worry" he interrupted him and then smiled, after a few moments Rust did exactly the same "but you pay for the damn breakfast the next time I'm here it cost me a fortune.

"Done deal" he finished saying.

After all the money didn't matter if the next time Rust had to face the hospital and his needles he would at least have someone to do it with.

Original fanfic post

It's not the best characterization of Rust, I admit. (My character here is horrible lol), but I had a lot of fun writing this.

[chetchad]

Tasteless

(Brad Vickers x FEM!reader)

(Part two of The Best Room They Have Is The Last Room You Want)

Cw; menstrual sex, oral (f! receiving), blood, unprotected sex, breeding kink, no lube, nipple play, cliche smoking after sex, married sex, pregnancy

Brad laid on the bed with a book in his hands, his eyes raking over the pages, and reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. The soft sound of paper rubbing against the pad of his thumb echoing throughout the bedroom.

You sighed, limping into the bedroom and towards the bed. Brad raised a brow when you straddled his sides and sat on his belly. Closing the book and sliding his glasses off, Brad set them on the bedside table next to the lamp and pack of cigarettes.

“Yes?” Brad asked, his hands reaching over to rest on your hips, softly rubbing the skin under his hands.

God, you have the softest skin, he would love to kiss and nibble on his favorite parts of you.

Those pretty hips left him breathless.

Your cute ass? He loves to give it pats and squeezes when he walks by.

Fuck, don't get even him started on your breasts. He fucking loves those things, just loves to play with them, and tweak your nipples out of boredom.

“Cramps.” You grumbled, placing your hands on his pecs and groping them.

Brad chewed on his bottom lip, stifling a gasp when your thumbs toyed over his nipples. Of course that's right where they went. Totally wasn't on purpose. Totally.

“I’m sorry to hear that…” Brad apologized with a sympathetic frown, “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?”

You looked to the side with an embarrassed look, gently rolling your hips against his tummy.

Oh.

That's what you wanted? You could have just said so. Brad would happily make you feel like you were a staying resident on cloud nine whenever you wanted.

“Hm? Use your words, honey.” Brad cooed teasingly, his hands slipping down to grope your ass.

You gave him a glare and pout, “You. I want you.”

Brad loved those words on your tongue. You want him. And only him. It's fucking great for his ego when it comes out of your mouth and kisses his ears.

“Atta girl…” Brad smirked, watching you reach down and tug your tank top off.

Brad's dick twitched in response when your breasts bounced when you tossed the shirt on the floor, a little drip of pre soaking into his underwear. Your puffy nipples brushing against his when you leaned down to kiss him.

“Hng…” Brad groaned softly, a jolt of pleasure shooting straight to his cock when your nipples rubbed together.

Your lips met together in a slow, sensual kiss. Lips pressed together in a romantic manner, tongues massaging one and other. Brad could taste your cinnamon toothpaste, his tongue rubbing against the slick walls of your mouth, basically touching your back molars.

You broke the kiss, slowly pulling away while a single strand of spit connected your lips. Brad's breath was quickened, his face flushed a pretty pink from cheek to cheek.

Brad's cock was drenched in his pants, begging and twitching to be released and thrusted into your drippy pussy. Brad almost moaned at the thought of your inner labia lips that stuck out past the outer ones. Watching them cling to his shaft while he plowed you into the mattress almost made him cum immediately every time. Hell, sometimes it did, apologies sputtered from him immediately, embarrassed and ashamed for finishing so quickly.

Brad shook his head, freeing himself from the thoughts and stared back up at you. Brad gently rubbed the hemispheres of flesh, his hands gripped, pupils lust-blown and eyes half-lidded.

Wet kisses trailed down his jaw to his neck, you left a pretty red hickey on his clavicle, the blotchy bruise a striking contrast compared to his pale skin.

Brad let out a shaky exhale when you sat up, his eyes darting back and forth between your breasts and face.

“Baby, I…lean down?” Brad murmured, letting go of your rear and grabbing your shoulders. “Please?”

Oh, how sweet. He said please. Odd, Brad was usually very bratty in bed, which was a stark change from his meek and soft spoken personality.

You smiled and leaned down, letting out a startled squeak when Brad shifted you up so your chest hovered over his face. Brad almost combusted at the sight of your tits, pretty, perky, and ready for him.

Leaning up, Brad wrapped his lips around one of your sensitive buds, his hand toying with the other. Rolling and lightly pinching your nipple, Brad let his teeth scrape against the nubbin in his mouth, and tried immediately soothing any sort of pain with a swirl of his wet, hot tongue.

“B-Brad!” You gasped, resting on your arms above his head. Shifting your leg down, you ground your knee against the bulge in his pants.

Brad moaned around your nipple, suckling on it, and rutting into your leg. He pulled away with an audible ‘pop’ and let out a drawn out moan.

“F-fuuuck!” Brad grunted, flipping the two of you over so he was on top.

You've never seen Brad move so quickly. Maybe it was because he was running on adrenaline and hormones. Or he is actually really fast and didn't tell you.

With one swift motion, Brad freed you from your sweats and panties. Before Brad could even look, you whimpered out a little plea for a towel so you didn't get blood on the beige sheets.

Brad nodded, climbing off of you and running towards the bathroom. Brad looked around, trying to decide which one to grab.

“Fuck, it doesn't even matter. Just hurry up, Brad.” Brad hissed to himself, grabbing the indigo towel and speed walking back to you. Folding the towel, Brad shoved it under your hips and sat between your legs, taking his time to finally enjoy the sight.

“Jesus fuck…” Brad whispered, staring at the glistening entrance before him, not only shimmering with clear essence, but tinted crimson with blood.

Sure, Brad had seen your pussy more times than he could count, but it almost made him pass out from lack of blood flow in his brain every time. Just watching the little beads of red roll down from your pussy to your pucker made him whimper and involuntarily buck his hips into nothing.

“Look at you…” The brunet murmured, his hands gently rubbing your knees in a soothing manner.

It was odd, usually blood made Brad queasy, but this didn't make him that uneasy. It still did, don't get him wrong. Watching your blood pour from you, and puddle on the carpet when you got up from bed one day will always haunt him.

“Baby…” You whined, needy and horny just from watching him stare at you so intimately.

“Hm?” Brad hummed, not looking up from between your legs, obviously distracted and his head not on right.

“Do something! Please!” You pleaded, thrusting your hips up to get his attention.

That worked.

Brad's half-lidded, hazel eyes met your lust-blown ones, pink flashing when his tongue darted out to wet his dry lips. God, just watching your breasts jiggle with each breath you heaved made his dick twitch and leak like a faucet.

Such a pretty little cunt he got to play with, always tight enough to threaten breaking a knuckle when you clenched. With a little hum, Brad experimentally prodded at your bloodied hole, feeling the more-than-usual slickness.

Brad felt a little lightheaded when he watched blood dribble from your pussy. With a shake of his head, Brad set your legs to rest over his shoulders, before he shyly leaned down.

Soft whines and pants escaped your spit soaked lips, hips humping into Brad's face while his tongue continued its erotic assault on your cunt. Brad's hands gently kneaded your tummy, his tongue rubbing against your velvety walls, and his nose bumping against your throbbing clit.

Brad was absolutely pussy-drunk. His eyes glazed over with lust and bliss, moans and groans muffled into your entrance while his hips gyrated into the mattress. Pre was soaking into the sheets, his cock weeping to be inside of you.

You could feel yourself teetering towards the edge of pure ecstasy, making you panic. As much as you loved to orgasm, it was always more fun to you when you and Brad didbit at the same time.

“B-Brad!” You gasped, grabbing him by his hair and pulling him away from your cunt before you could finish.

Brad moaned at the tug, the whole bottom of his face sopping with your blood, tongue poking out between his crimson wet lips. He looked like a kitten, but instead of milk, it was your period blood wetting his face.

“W-what?” Brad asked, worried that he made you mad.

That wasn't the case at all.

You wanted him in you.

Right this second.

“Brad, put your dick in me or get out. Please.” You begged, grabbing his hand and lacing your fingers with his.

Yeah, you don't have to tell him twice. Brad's already breaking his legs trying to kick his pants off.

With his erection free, Brad gave it a few pumps before pressing the head against your blood oozing cunt. You let out soft whimpers when his cock tip rubbed between your folds and teased your pudgy clit.

“You ready?” Brad asked softly, grabbing one of your hands and holding it gently.

You gave a nod with a small smile, “Ready as I'll ever be.”

Brad smiled back, looking down and gripping the base of his pink dick, guiding it to your slick entrance. A small hiss slipped past his blood stained lips when he slid the tip in your needy hole, watching your pussy greedily swallow his shaft till his balls pressed against your ass and his hips flush to yours.

Brad rubbed the inside of your thigh, feeling you clench around him and moan when his cock immediately hit a sensitive spot deep inside.

“God you're so tight…” Brad whined, bucking his hips after you gave him a nod to move.

Brad grabbed your other hand, kissing your forehead softly and slowly thrusting in and out, trying to ignore that his balls were already tightening up at the unusual wetness and slickness that the blood gave.

Sweet baby Jesus, Brad was one hell of a lucky guy. At least he thought so anyway. A pretty– no. Gorgeous wife to come home to everyday? He's practically living in heaven.

Brad's thrusts grew more rapid, the headboard of the bed smacking against the wall with each one.

Sweat coated Brad's brow, letting go of one of your hands and reaching down to rub at your clit, Brad watched your face convert into even more bliss.

Your breasts bouncing with each rut of Brad's hips, the lewd wet sounds of your pussy and skin slapping skin echoed throughout the room. Most of the bodily noises were drowned out by moans, pants, whines, and grunts.

“I-I'm close!” You warned, chewing on your bottom lip while your eyes rolled back into your head.

“Me too.” Brad nodded, little gasps and grunts erupting from his throat.

Brad moaned when your pussy suddenly had a vice grip on him, desperately trying to milk him for his seed. “F-fuck, I need to pull out…”

You shook your head no, grabbing his hips and pulling him closer. “No! C-cum in me! Please! I wanna make you a daddy!”

Brad felt himself blush even harder at your words, his hips moving faster while his fingers tried to rub an orgasm out of you. “D-daddy?”

“Y-yes…wanna be full with your babies.” You whined, Brad's hips stuttered when you admitted your desires.

You moaned when Brad's cock hit your G-spot and his fingers toyed your clit. “Daddy!” You cried, falling over the edge of ecstasy, gripping his hand and shoulder, your hips bucking wildly into his.

Brad let out a choked noise, too many things happening at once, added with his orgasm made him dizzy. Brad's cock kicked and twitched in your cunt, spurt after spurt of spunk painting your slippery walls white.

Brad collapsed on your chest, heaving and flushed while he weakly rode out his high. He could barely comprehend what happened. Did you actually want to have his kids? It's not an uncommon topic. The two of you agreed on it, but never set a date to it. Guess it's now…? Brad's just a confused and spent guy right now.

Brad pulled out, listening to the wet squelches of your cunt clinging to his now limp shaft. Brad rolled off of you and let out a quiet giggle, he had a goofy grin across his bloodied lips.

You looked over, grabbed the blanket and wiped Brad's face off, “What's so funny?”

“You…you really want my baby?” Brad asked, trying to hide the giddiness in his tone.

If you said yes, Brad would officially be the most lucky guy in the whole entire fucking universe.

You felt your cheeks heat up, making you look to the side with a scowl. “I… yeah. Yeah I do.”

Brad still had a grin on his face and reached over to grab his pack of cigarettes, plucking one from the carton and lighting it with his purple Bic lighter.

You rolled your eyes at his dorkiness, and rested your head on his chest, listening to his quick heartbeat. “You're excited…”

“You'd be too if a beautiful woman agreed to have a baby with you.” Brad replied, taking a drag from the cigarette and tapping the ashes off in the ashtray on the pine bedside drawer.

You snickered softly, smiling when his hand rubbed your back. Brad was always a sort of sentimental type of guy. Always keeping little random things from important things. He still has a little rock he picked up during your guys' first date, and a pressed four leaf clover from when he proposed to you.

Brad shook his head and stubbed the cigarette out, “Let's get you cleaned up, yeah?”

Brad helped you up out of bed and let you lean on him while you guys limped to the bathroom. You sat on the toilet and peed while Brad turned the shower on, trying to find the perfect temperature. Brad climbed in and started washing himself up, the smell of strawberry scented shampoo wafting through the bathroom.

You stood up and walked in behind him, shimmying past him to the water. Brad rinsed his hair, and began washing your back, pressing kisses all over your soapy shoulders, but soon after started sputtering soap out of his mouth.

The two of you spent your time in the shower, giggling and helping each other clean up from the passionate session. After you guys got out of the shower, changed, and switched the sheets for fresh ones, Brad pulled you into a hug and sat on the edge of the bed. You sat in his lap, his hand absentmindedly rubbing your tummy even though neither of you knew if there was a baby in there.

“You'll make a great mommy…” Brad mumbled softly, nuzzling his nose in the crook of your neck.

A few weeks after, Brad is sitting at the table while you crept back in the kitchen, clutching a pink and white stick. Brad quickly stood up and walked over, nervousness and anticipation radiating off of him.

“Well?”

You gave a little nod, chewing on your bottom lip to suppress a big smile. You held the test out to him, pointing to the two little lines. “Be careful. I peed on that.”

Brad looked at you with disbelief, “You think I care about getting a little bit of piss on my hand? You're having my fucking baby for Christ's sake!”

Brad let out a laugh of pure joy, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing tightly. “We're having a baby! Oh my god. A part of me is going to be in you for the next, like, seven months!”

You let out a soft laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck and nuzzling your cheek against his. This is what you wanted. You wanted a cute little family to love and cherish. You already had the husband, dog, and cute little suburban house.

That's how the two of you spent a good ten minutes, Brad's little tears wetting your cheek and him denying it every time you asked, even though you could literally feel his tears.

[sephbutamol]

In a handful of dust

Once, during one of my periodic episodes of thinking that maybe it would be a good idea to perpetuate my hot mess of a genetic profile after all, I asked my mother how difficult it was to give up smoking while she was pregnant. She glanced away from me, tapped her liquorice rollup against the heavy purple ashtray she stole from a pub while she was at university. “Don’t tell your sister”, she said in a low, confidential tone, “but I wouldn’t know.”

I was twelve the first time I smoked a cigarette. It was my school’s annual Sports Day, which is enough to drive anyone to drugs. I suspect the person who offered it to me was doing it as a joke: I had a weirdly sticky reputation as being one of the Good Girls, despite the fact that I never actually finished any schoolwork and I was ideologically opposed to doing as I was told. I called her bluff, of course. I’d been around cigarettes all my life. I didn’t even cough.

I soon realised that smoking had a magical ability to turn me into a human being in the eyes of people who had always seen me as some unfathomable Other. By the time I was fourteen I was indelibly hooked, both on nicotine and on the fact that nobody kicked the shit out of me during lunch hour any more. All I’d needed was a common purpose - to hide behind the PE building from patrolling teachers, or to share around shoplifted chewing gum and Impulse body spray before the bell went, or to offer someone a twos when their own packet was empty.

The truth is I’ve always liked smoking. The ritual, the diversion, the hint of rebelliousness. I like rolling by hand, the practised little flick I had to figure out for myself because I’m dyspraxic and left-handed and nobody knew how to teach me properly. I like that if I want to leave a room full of people and stand alone outside for five minutes nobody questions it or tries to follow me. I like the buzzy little headrush you still sometimes get from the first one of the day even after all this time. I like having unfettered access to an effective self-soothing tactic, and I like the secret knowledge that I’m stubborn and contrary enough to hang on in the face of rising stigma. It’s not just that I’ve never attempted to quit; I’ve never even wanted to.

And then I nearly died of suffocation under a bridge next to Finsbury Park tube station. I’m being a little melodramatic here, but not as much as you might hope; the A&E doctors described the attack as “potentially fatal”, and my resultant adult-onset asthma diagnosis as “life threatening”. I spent three nights in hospital hooked up to a variety of masks and monitors and in that time I didn’t smoke a single cigarette. It was the longest I’d gone in twenty-two years.

That was three weeks ago now, and - predictably - I have not quit smoking. What I have done is go down to one or two a day, only in the evenings, my long-standing bedtime ritual. I’ve also taken up vaping like a fucking steam train. For once my chaos-riddled brain has been vaguely helpful: I’ve locked on to the habit as a new special interest, something I can obsess over at the expense of everything else in my life for a while.

Which, of course, is how we ended up here.

[preciouslandmermaid]

nothing’s gonna hurt you baby (carmy x f!reader)

Note: I’m only on episode 5 of “The Bear” but uh they genetically engineered Carmy in a Lab and I couldn’t get this pathetic, high functioning but also traumatized baby girl out of my head.

Let me know if ya’ll want me to continue this because I probably could.

Pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader

Content: 18+. MDNI. Smut.

Warnings/Tags: cursing/foul-language, smoking, protected sex, enemies to friends with benefits (sort of), banter, rivalry, second person POV, Porn WITH plot, slow-burn, grinding, light edging, semi-public/car sex lmao

Synopsis: Your grandfather bought the building across from “The Original Beef of Chicagoland.” After his unexpected death, you found yourself shouldered with the immense responsibility of turning these four walls into something worthwhile.

It doesn’t help that the new owner of Original Beef, Carmen Berzatto, is up your ass constantly and trying to get you to shut down before you can become a threat to their business.

(Read on Ao3) ||||  (Masterlist)

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“Did you see that someone bought the spot across from ours?” Fak asked. “I wonder what they’re gonna turn it into.”

“I don’t know. Probably a fucking GAP or something.” Riche said while lighting his cigarette.

“Cousin, can you give me a hand with this shit?” Carmy asked while holding a milk crate – one of many deliveries – with an exasperated look to Richie.

Richie gestured with his hand, cigarette pinched between his index and middle finger, “I’m having a smoke break, cousin, give me a minute. Jesus Christ.”

“Fuck you.” Carmy muttered, rolling his eyes, and carrying the heavy crate alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You settled your hands on your hips, surveying the space of drywall and hanging working lamps, and a fine white dust clouded the air. You barely had a minute to catch your breath between the funeral and meeting with your grandfather’s lawyers and dealing with your over-zealous family. To call this place a “work in progress” would be an understatement. According to all your grandfathers’ files and notes, it had been a bitch to get around all the red tape and legal bullshit to avoid the building being demolished.

It was an older building which meant someone had to check for lead, asbestos, faulty wiring, and every single other goddamn possibility under the sun. Then, he went and did what all old fuckers do – he died. He died and left the shitshow to his favorite grandchild. What an honor.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. A tension headache pressed against your nasal cavity since brunch and now it demanded to be noticed.

“So, you see,” The foreman continued, “we will need to gut out the left side if that’s still where the kitchen is going to be. I’ve got plenty of guys working on it, though, don’t worry.”

“How long?” You hissed with your eyes closed. The bright workman’s lamps were aggravating your head.

“Huh, how long?” The foreman stroked his sweaty mustache with two fingers. He was a soft, pudgy guy with a weak chin and perpetually watery eyes. Upon first meeting him, you thought he’d be a better fit as a Mall Santa instead of the head of your grandfather’s multi-million-dollar project.

“I’d say we’re looking at two more weeks to finish up these repairs. The drywall won’t take long – I know a guy and he can have that done in a day. You still wanna open in June?”

It was less than three months away. It sounded impossible. But your grandfathers’ notes expressed the importance of a summer opening to gain the most income and foot traffic. Your grandfather had been a shrewd and hard-working businessman. After all, this wasn’t the first restaurant he opened, and it was kind of fucked that he left you this one and not the other ones (which were doing well).

You nodded. “Yeah, June.”

The foreman made a note on his clipboard. “Now, if you’ll follow me—”

“Actually,” You held up a hand, “I gotta – I need a smoke break.”

You hadn’t had a cigarette since…Jesus. This morning? No wonder you had a migraine from hell and your heart kept pounding erratically. The foreman (whose name you were pretty confident was Tom) nodded enthusiastically and gave you a sympathetic look. You stepped outside to the cold, early-March air and inhaled deeply while fishing your cigarettes out of the pocket of your black, leather duster coat.

You tapped the bottom of the cigarette package against your palm before pulling one out and perching it against your lower lip. Your reached into your other pocket for your lighter. Your fingertips met empty, silk lining and few mysterious crumbs.

“Shit.” You checked your other pocket, only finding your cellphone and wallet, and your heart plummeted. “Shit.”

You whipped open the glass door and popped your head back into your restaurant, “Yo! You smoke?” You asked the foreman.

He looked up from his phone with a jolly little smile. “No! Quit years ago, thankfully, you know it’s really been such a blessing that my wife and I--”

“Cool.” You released the door handle and let it swing closed. You paced in front of the building (your building) and sulkily kicked a crushed Sprite can off to the side. You glanced across the street.

As a teenager, you followed your grandfather in his walkthroughs of his restaurants. A golden rule of all food place establishments? Everyone smokes. Although, that rule might be less common in the world of vaping and electronic cigarettes. You checked the street both ways before crossing with your hands tucked in your pockets and the unlit cigarette dangling from your lips.

You ignored the front entrance and walked to the side, where the customer cars would be parked, and some Divine Benevolence must’ve been watching over you because a man with a blue apron was smoking while crouched near a door.

“Hey, man!”

He turned to look at you and you were momentarily surprised by his appearance. He wasn’t classically handsome, but his eyes were as blue as Lake Michigan during the summer, and his dark golden hair artfully curled around his face. He looked like he just rolled out bed while simultaneously looking like he hadn’t slept in 36 hours. A few tattoos scattered across his arms, but you didn’t bother to look closer at any of them.

“Hey.” A charged moment passed while he sized you up and probably made sure you weren’t here to try and shake him down for change.

You gestured to the cigarette in your mouth, “I lost my lighter. Do you mind?”

He reached into his pocket and held his lighter to you. Wordlessly, you took it, lit your cigarette, and tilted your head back with a euphoric exhale of smoke. The rush of nicotine to your head and bloodstream immediately eased your headache and anxiety. Small miracles and small mercies. At least now you could continue your meeting with Tom (God, you hoped that was his name) and figure out the rest of the restaurant bullshit.

All the family lawyers told you to sell it and give the headache to someone else and let them turn into a Starbucks or whatever. But you couldn’t sell it. For all the headache and stress, it was grandpa’s last project. His final legacy. You couldn’t just let that shit go.

“Thank fuck.” You muttered with intense feeling. You held out his lighter to him, “Thank you.”

“Keep it.” He said before standing and leaning his back against the wall. You shrugged and slipped the plain, gray lighter into your pocket.

He watched you curiously, then said; “We don’t open till three. What are you doing here?”

There was something defensive to his tone. Hell, maybe he suspected you were a co-worker’s crazy ex-girlfriend trying to stalk them. The thought of it made you smile - you never had time to be anyone’s girlfriend.

You chuckled, “I was across the street. I figured if anyone had a lighter, it would be a stressed-out restaurant employee.”

His eyebrows raised. “You bought that place?”

“Nah.” You flicked ashes onto the pavement. “My grandad did. I guess he saw some hidden potential or whatever.”

“Oh yeah? What’s it gonna be?”

You smirked. “Cat café.”

His brow furrowed and his jaw went a little slack, “You’re kidding.” You enjoyed watching the expression morph across his face. It gave him a boyish edge to his exhausted features. And – it was just fun to fuck with strangers.

“Yeah, I am. I’m fucking with you.” You said while laughing. You took a final drag of your cigarette and snubbed it out on the bottom of your boot. You’d throw away the stub into a drainage grate or a trash can on your walk back. “Thanks for the light, chef. See you around.”

He pushed away from the wall and followed after you for two steps, “Hey, wait.”

You looked at him expectedly. A light, cold breeze stirred your hair and a piece of trash skated across the pavement with a harsh, grating sound. You should’ve kept walking. It wasn’t like you to wait around, for anyone, especially not random kitchen dudes who you only needed to borrow a lighter from. While he looked at you, something unfamiliar fluttered in your stomach and it wasn’t nerves or anxiety.

“You know, most business fail in their first year.” He said, “I’ve seen all the workers going in and out of that place. You might wanna tell your grandad to cut his losses while he’s ahead.”

You scoffed and your mouth dropped open in surprise. “Wooow.” You said sarcastically.

Your hackles raised at the patronizing vibe of the statement. Most businesses fail in their first year? Yeah, no shit. As if you didn’t already know that. As if your grandad didn’t already know that after opening dozens of places and plan out a twenty-something step guide for success. You already had your family biting at your heels to sell and cut your losses. You didn’t need this random line chef who probably couldn’t tell parsley from cilantro to tell you how to run a business.

In some twisted, backhanded way, you could how he was trying to be nice and offer unwanted well-meaning advice. Yet, as soon as the thought entered your mind, a more ruthless follow-up thought was born: Is he being nice? Or is he just trying to get rid of the competition?

“You know what?” You flicked your cigarette stub onto the ground near the front of their restaurant. Fuck them, they could sweep it up if they were such experts.

“If I ever figure out a way to speak to the dead - I’ll let him know.” You said with heated venom in your tone. You spun on your heel and briskly walked toward your restaurant without looking back. You threw yourself into listening to Tim (apparently his name was not Tom) and making suggestions while carrying your grandfathers’ impressive ringed binder of notes. The later half of your evening was spent sitting outside on the curb making phone calls while balancing the notebook on your lap.

Every time you felt like going home and calling it quits—you thought of him. That blue-eyed, self-righteous, cocky bastard. You worked until your mom called with a threat that she’d send you an Uber if you didn’t get on the L right now. You closed the notebook and stared across the street at the now-dark, empty Original Beef of Chicagoland. What a stupid name. It’s way too long. You scowled and grabbed your pack of cigarettes out of your pocket. You pulled out the lighter he gave you and stared at it with enough heat to start a housefire. Whatever. Fuck him.

You’d find a quickie-mart to buy a new lighter from on your way home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Did you see the absolute smokeshow that’s working across the street?” Richie asked, leaning against the counter, “I swear to God, I thought they were shooting a commercial over there or somethin’.”

Syd frowned at his statement.

“She works there?” Fak asked. “What does she do? I’ve only seen construction guys.”

“Behind!” Carmy announced while maneuvering past Richie and setting down a container of relish. He glanced at Richie and Fak talking even though they both were supposed to be doing other things. Like prepping for their fucking lunch opening in the next three hours.

“Dude, I dunno, but she’s there like all fucking night.” Richie said, “I’m gonna talk to her tonight and see what’s up.”

“No way! She’s way out of your league.”

“Fuck you!” Richie aggressively pointed at Fak, “I’ve got more game than you, alright? You wanna go fucking talk to her and see if she’ll go out with your fatass?”

“Hey! I’m a nice guy and I have a lot to offer! Aren’t you technically married?”

“Don’t bring my fucking marriage into this! You fucking asshole!”

“I’m stating facts!”

“Yeah, here’s another fact for you—"

“Would you both shut up and get back to work!” Carmy snapped, “we’ve got three hours till lunch service.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I can’t believe you’re dragging me to this.” You said while holding onto a brightly wrapped birthday present on your lap. “I have work to do.”

“You always have work to do.” Your mom replied sternly while flexing her hands on the steering wheel. “Jimmy was a good friend to your grandfather.”

“So that means I have to give a shit about his kid?”

Your mom snapped your first and middle name at you.

You put the present on the floor near your feet while your mom talked about your grandfather and his connection to Jimmy – you heard the story a dozen times. Jimmy gave your grandfather his first loan to open his first business, a restaurant that focused on quality waffles and signature pancakes, and ever since then Jimmy has been at every opening (blah blah blah). She claimed that before her divorce to your dad and your subsequent move to Cincinnati that Jimmy made an appearance at your tenth birthday party. Despite all her reasonings and explanations, you couldn’t see how this was an optimal way to spend your day. You needed to sign work orders, and paint the walls, and re-tile the flooring, and a thousand other things. June would be here before you could say “Chicago Bears.”

You pulled out your phone to answer some emails before your arrived at Jimmy’s house.

You stepped out of the car and heard a chorus of screaming and laughing children echoing from the backyard.

“I already hate this.” You muttered while slamming the car door shut.

Your mom sidled next to you and held out a tube of lipstick from the depths of her big, pink Valentino bag and you stared at it, dumfounded.

“You’re serious?” You made a sweeping gesture to your bare legs, “I’m already dressed up.” You said to the floral, knee-length dress that ran like liquid across your skin. Hell, you even spritzed some light perfume behind your ears to mask any lingering scent of plaster and drywall. This wasn’t one of your business school schmoozing events created to network and leverage clients. It was a fucking children’s birthday party. (Unless your mom suspected you were going to find a DILF to snatch up or something).

“You look exhausted, darling. A little color to your cheeks and lips won’t hurt.” She nudged the lipstick closer, expecting you to take it, her thin eyebrows raised into her pulled-back hairline and her mouth set in a severe line.

“Fine.” You spat.

You snatched the lipstick up and passed over her birthday present, “I’ll find a bathroom, shall I?” Without waiting for an answer, you shouldered your way into a house full of noisy, obnoxious guests and blindly found your way upstairs. You knew you were being a bitch and you’d need to apologize later. But why couldn’t your mom understand that this wasn’t a priority? It was her dads’ restaurant that you were trying to build! Why didn’t she care more?! Why couldn’t she acknowledge that you were busting your ass for a June opening? It wasn’t like this was easy.

You locked the bathroom door and leaned your forehead against it. “Fucking…shit…fuck.” You faced your reflection like a woman walking to the executioner’s block. You ran your fingers through your hair, mussing it lightly, and then applied the lipstick with care. There. It was decent enough.

Someone knocked on the bathroom door.  

“Yeah! One sec!” You tucked your mother’s lipstick into your small clutch and opened the door wide. Your heart dropped and your eyes reflexively narrowed. The fucking line cook! This party just went from bad to ‘I am in Hell, actually’. Unfortunately, he must have recognized you because his jaw went slack and his stupid, blue eyes widened in shock. You could already see the apology forming in the lines of his mouth.

“You’re--“

“Nope.” You went to brush past him, and his arm abruptly shot forward and grasped the doorframe to block you. Your nose nearly bumped into his bicep, but you caught yourself and glared at him. Why was he in his dumb fucking blue apron? Was he Jimmy’s personal chef too?

“Do they not teach manners in culinary school?” Just in seeing him, everything came back in a whirlwind rush. His aggravating tone, the pressure of your grandfathers’ legacy, and his nefarious so-called advice for you to close your goddamn business. Anger, white-hot and claustrophobic, burned inside your chest.

“I owe you an apology.” He said. “It was none of my business.”

You scanned his face and felt a hot flush at the nape of your neck. It bothered you that he actually didn’t say ‘I’m sorry’. In terms of apologizes, this one felt like a lukewarm frozen dinner in the microwave.

“Be honest. Are you sorry that my grandfather is dead, and you sounded like an asshole? Or are you sorry for telling me to close?”

“Twenty percent of businesses close in the first year. That’s just fact.” He said.

“Actually, it’s higher than that for restaurants. Thirty percent close in the first year.” You said with all the arrogance and haughtiness you could embolden into your voice after four years of business school and interning with your grandfather. You weren’t a child. You were a capable, intelligent adult who could do fucking anything.

“Look...” He finally brought his hand away from the doorframe, releasing your cage, and carded his fingers through his hair. That explains why his hair always looked like he just rolled out of bed. You thought with a wry smile to yourself. You folded your arms over your chest and waited for him to continue with his ever-so-wise, thought-provoking statement.

“I don’t have time to argue about this.” He said.

You clicked your tongue. “What a coincidence. Me either!”

“But!” He cut in and stepped into your path before you could walk away. “Whether you’re making it into a fucking cat café, or a Mexican spot doesn’t matter, because you’re betting on losing dogs. That street doesn’t get foot traffic. This isn’t New York.”

This close, he smelled a little like charcoal and sweat. Didn’t your mom mention something about hot dogs? Wait. Was he catering the birthday party? Incredible. He had this birthday party locked down and had the audacity to argue with you about your business’ future. It was more obvious than ever that he wanted your restaurant gone just to save his own profit margin. Typical.

“I seem to recall a restaurant that’s right across from mine that’s open.”

“Because we’ve got regulars.” He sounded almost desperate when he said it. Regulars could still go somewhere new. A new plan unfolded in front of you. You wouldn’t just make your restaurant the best to honor your grandfather. You’d make it better than any other restaurant on the street. You’d have lines to rival an Apple Store on release day.

“You know what, thank you so, so much.” You clapped your hands together in a prayer in front of your chest, making your sarcastic tone thick and obvious. “God, thank you! Wow. I cannot believe I didn’t know you needed regular customers and a steady income to make your business succeed! I’m soooo relieved you were here to guide me.”

He rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah. Alright. You always have this fucking attitude when someone’s trying to help you?”

You side-stepped him. “Go fuck yourself. Enjoy the party.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You dodged a kid running past with a NERF gun and found Jimmy in the loud kitchen. “Hey, Jimmy, who is catering your party?”

“Who is? Oh, it’s Carmy and Richie.” He pointed outside the sliding glass door to the grill. “You know them?”

“Nah.” You glared at the backs of their heads. “Which one is which?”

“Carmy is the short one. Richie is the asshole.”

“They’re both assholes.” You mumbled, though Jimmy caught you and laughed. Richie stopped by your restaurant-in-progress a few days ago. He asked a couple benign questions about the place, and then started criticizing the work that your employees were doing. He kept saying shit like ‘If it were me, I wouldn’t have used that type of plaster’ and ‘well, if it were me, I would’ve gone with the other bolts here because these strip like a motherfucker’. You ended up telling him you needed to lock up just to get him to leave. You suspected, especially after that conversation with Carmy upstairs, that he came over to spy on you.  

“You’re right. Oh! Oh shit!” Jimmy noticed someone across the room and suddenly ducked away to go outside. You grabbed a fistful of chips from the kitchen island and ate them out of your palm while walking around. You were not going to eat whatever Carmy, and Richie cooked up. Hell No. You’d rather starve on potato chips and cans of fruity seltzer.

You found your mom in one of the sitting rooms and hand signaled to her that you were blowing your brains out with a gun. She waved you off. Great. Time for Plan B – call an Uber and deal with mom’s wrath later.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your clothes were paint splattered, but at least the restaurant looked nice. You decided for an earthy tone and painted the walls a greenish gray. According to the paint swatch – it was called “Bitter Sage”. You thought the name was fitting considering your mixed emotions about the restaurant. Most days, you were filled with the fortitude and passion to complete the project no matter how many roadblocks got in your way. There were many, many roadblocks.

Other days, however, you angrily wept into your cereal bowl at three in the morning because it was Hard, and No One was Helping, and Why The Fuck Did Grandad Leave You This Place!

Mostly though, you were fine even if you were behind schedule. You weren’t planning to paint this on your own, but Tim’s employees got stuck at another job, and he couldn’t send anyone out until tomorrow afternoon. Rather than wait, you came here and painted it yourself. Easy-peasy.

You pulled your hair out of your sweaty face and pulled your pack of cigarettes out of your back pocket. You frowned at the weight of it. It felt off. You’re fucking kidding. You stared at the empty pack like it personally offended you. Your arms and shoulders trembled from exhaustion. You were sore right down to the bone. The idea of walking to buy cigarettes felt impossible.

“Hey, God, yeah – it’s me.” You said to the ceiling, “Did I kill a bunch of nuns in a past life or something?”

You checked the time on your phone and 11:13PM stared back at you. You looked out the large bay window across the street. No, no way. You’re not gonna go bum a cigarette from him. Your fingertips twitched. He’s probably not even there. Just walk to gas station. Come on. Power through the pain.

“Wait…” You said out loud, “who says I have to talk to him? I can ask literally any other chef there.”

Richie smoked. You smelled it on him beneath his overly powerful Pine cologne. You locked up the restaurant behind you and jogged across the street with your heart in your throat. This was so stupid. You were going to give yourself an aneurysm from stress. You should turn around. Your legs and thighs ached with discomfort from all the crouching and stretching you performed while painting. You should definitely turn around and walk to a gas station. The closest one was only twenty-five minutes on foot.

You turned the corner. Carmy was sitting on the trunk of someone’s dark green car. Fucking shit. You froze like a rabid racoon. You were in the middle of the parking lot behind the restaurant. It wasn’t like you could hide and it wasn’t like you could turn around like “Oh whoops! I took a wrong turn!” He saw you instantly and you caught his jaw clenching in the low, fluorescent light of the streetlights. You hated the prickle of awareness that flushed across your skin beneath his glacial gaze.

It wasn’t too late. You could turn around and run with your tail between your legs.

It’s too bad you never ran from anything a day in your life. You lifted both your hands in a placating manner. “Truce.”

“You’re the one fighting with me.” He said plainly. You disagreed with that. Just because he wasn’t telling you to ‘fuck off’ didn’t mean he wasn’t planning and hoping for your downfall.

You shrugged. “You struck a nerve.”

The smoke from his cigarette circled around his head like a misty halo. You stood there, a few feet away from him perched on the trunk like a throne, the pavement slightly damp beneath your paint-dotted sneakers from rain earlier today. You were painfully aware of the sweat glistening off your skin and the frizzled mess of your hair. Not that you cared what you looked like in front of him. It’s not very intimidating if your business rival sees you looking like a wet rat.  

“So, what do you want?” He asked, resting his elbows on his knees while his feet balanced on the back bumper. “You already have my lighter.”

Shit. You couldn’t even claim to have forgotten about it. You carried it with you every day and ultimately, stupidly, thought of him whenever you used it.

“How much will you despise me if I ask to bum a cigarette?” You fished his lighter out of your front pocket, “I will give you your lighter back as a trade.” You stepped forward and extended your arm to him. He looked at the lighter, then at you, with a whisp of smoke curling in front of his blue eyes. He plucked the lighter from your fingers without touching you.

You accepted his proffered cigarette, but before you could ask for the lighter back, he held it alight in his hands—with one hand cupping the tiny flame. You leaned forward, finding yourself closer than expected between his knees, with your heart thundering through your eardrums. You peered up at him, his face awash in orange flickering light, his long eyelashes shadowing his cheeks, before the cigarette caught flame and smoke unfurled around your mouth like a dragon’s exhale.

Your exhale shuddered, both in relief and in something else, and you yanked your gaze away from his though your body remained frozen in place. You could practically feel the heat of him radiating off his body. You weren’t sure why your first impression of him was to call him unattractive. He was handsome if you liked your men sweaty and muscular with exhausted, doleful eyes. Which maybe you did. Maybe.

You swallowed and listened to the distant sound of police sirens. It shouldn’t matter what he looked like. He was your direct competition. He told you to shut down every time you spoke to him. You saw him, sitting on the bench outside his restaurant, looking at your place with disdain. You weren’t friends. You weren’t even close to friends. All your friends lived in Cincinnati.

“Why’re you here so late?” You asked. Because you said truce and also, because you wanted to know. You had your reasons to stay up late – you had a restaurant to build. His place already existed. It didn’t make sense to burn the wick at both ends if you didn’t have to.

“Do you actually care why?” He retorted drily.

“Well now I fucking don’t.” You said while laughing, “Forget it.”

Something rippled across his face too quick to catch. You assumed it was anger based on the tenseness of his shoulders and the muscle flaring in the line of his throat. He hopped off the trunk, forcing you to take a small step back, but you were still chest-to-chest. Your heart flipped. So, it was going to be like this, was it? You refused to step back further. He could awkwardly shuffle by you if he needed to leave and see how he liked it. Dick.

“Do you even give a shit about anyone except yourself?” He hissed, “Every time I see you, you’re always a fucking asshole to everyone.”

“You really waste time thinking about me? I’m honored.” You narrowed your eyes up at him, “because I don’t think about you at all.”

Your chest heaved, your lungs switched gears from calm and regular to very much not calm and irregular. You weren’t sure what it was about him that got under your skin so easily. Fuck, maybe it wasn’t him. Lets not give him all the credit. You might feel this way about any hot-blooded guy who looked at you like…like this. His dark pupils nearly engulfed the whole sky of his eyes.

“Yeah?” His nostrils flared.

You licked your lips. “Yeah.”

The tension rippled between you like a rubber band stretched too thin. It would snap. It was destined to snap. You’re not sure who surged forward first. Probably him. One moment you were staring each other down with heat-filled gazes and in the next moment, his mouth was on yours, lips parting and tongue delving behind your teeth. You groaned and fisted your hands into his thin white t-shirt. His arms encircled you in an unyielding grip and one hand lifted to clutch the nape of your neck and stop you from squirming away. Your world spun for a second and then you felt your back bump into the trunk of his car. Someone moaned. (Again, it was probably him). You suckled softly on his tongue, this kiss wet and obscene, smearing salvia on your chin. It felt too good. You pushed your hands up his shirt and were rewarded with the hard, muscled planes of abdomen beneath your fingers.

Carmy hissed and brought your lower lip into his mouth, biting, and you whined into his mouth with wanton abandon.

“You like that?” Carmy grumbled. His thigh shoved between your legs, and you lifted your hips, grinding yourself onto the wedge of his thigh. A shockwave of pleasure rolled through your lower abdomen. His mouth skirted along your jaw before his teeth met your neck. Your fingernails dug into his stomach in response. Your eyes rolled back into your skull, seeing stars, while Carmy’s mouth latched over your skin and sucked hard enough to bruise. Your hips canted, rocking back and forth, riding his thigh like a horny teenager who was afraid to take it past second base.

You were too tightly wound. It had been too long since you took someone to bed. It was embarrassing. The way he had you panting in his ear and scratching your nails into his back. The friction of your jeans and panties rubbing against his jeans was rough but electric. As long as he kept his fucking mouth shut, you could ride his leg, come, and then go home and pretend this never happened.

“You’ll think of me now.” Carmy whispered harshly into the shell of your ear and his breath ghosted over the wet spot he left on your neck. “Whenever you see that.”

“Oh, fuck you.” You whimpered, one of his large hands covered your breasts and squeezed, the sensation only slightly deadened by the fabric of your t-shirt and bra. You weren’t going to let him win. You slipped your hands out from underneath his shirt and grabbed his face between your hands, crushing your mouth to his, and plunging your fingers through his soft, curly hair. You were already so close. Your skin flushed with heat, body burning with unresolved desire, as your cunt squeezed and pulsed.

“S’close.” You whined into his mouth, feeling your orgasm about to crest and take you into oblivion. He slid his thigh away from you, taking away your source of pleasure and enjoyment, and you wanted to scream. You groaned in frustration, cheeks flushed, lips kiss-bitten and wet.

“Fuck. You.” You spat.

“Yeah?” He braced his arms on either side of you and tilted his hips away so you couldn’t grab him and pull him closer. A quick glance to his jeans at least revealed that he was hard, and your ego purred in satisfaction. If he gave you blue balls, then you could just do the same to him and walk away right now. “We could fuck in my car right now if that’s what you want.”

Absolutely, yes. However, You were not going to reveal that little secret right away. You made a show of thinking about it, crossing your arms in a way that made your breasts lift, and looking to the heavens with a perplexed expression.

“You fuck a lot of girls in your car, Carmy?” You teased.

“You’d be the first.” He breathed.

Your heart fluttered and you ignored it. Obviously, it meant nothing. He just wanted to get off. Same as you. Tomorrow, you’d go back to hating his guts for all his arrogance and cocky advice and you’d create Chicago’s best restaurant across from his little one. Everything would be right with the world.

You tilted your head to the side, “Unlock it then.”

Carmy did not – to your surprise – unlock it right away. Instead, he kissed you again and held your face between his hands while pressing the full length of his body against yours and pinning you to the car. You could feel every muscled inch of him and the hardness in his jeans. You awkwardly snaked your hands between your bodies and palmed his cock, earning a surprised grunt from Carmy. He rocked his hips into your hand for a second, maybe two, before pulling your hand away and dragging you by the wrist to the backseat of his car. Your head felt dizzy with anticipation and excitement. It wasn’t a very big car. Carmy spread his legs out while sitting in the backseat and began unzipping his pants. You looked around briefly to ensure you were alone before taking your jeans off outside the car and climbing within.

The second you were kneeling on the beige upholstery, Carmy’s hand came between your legs and cupped between your legs. You gasped and bit your lip at the firm, almost possessive grip. You braced one hand on the upper backseat headrest and the other clung the driver’s side seat and met his eyes blown-wide with desire.

“You’re soaked.” He mumbled, before pushing aside your wet panties and sliding his index finger into you. Your entire body quaked and the sound that escaped your lips was nearly a sob.

“Shut up.” You swallowed roughly while he pumped his finger in and out of you. Again, Carmy took the upper hand. You couldn’t have that. You looked down at his waist. He had unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, pushing them down to his knees, though his boxers were on, and you could see the bulge of his cock straining against the cotton. In the confined space, you lowered your torso to the seat with your legs still kneeling and pulled his cock free. Carmy’s breath hitched. You refused to give him time to recover, before your tongue licked along the thick length of him. His hand remained between your legs, playing with you, while your mouth enveloped the head of his cock.

You moaned around him. His hips jolted. You kept one hand on the base of his cock, the other you used to stead yourself and rested on his knee, as your mouth worked over him. Your tongue swirled around the tip before you swallowed him as deeply as you could go and gagged.

“Fuck!” Carmy shouted.

A trail of saliva drooled from your mouth and down your chin. Your hand twisted, squeezing, and pumping as your lips followed it. Your lips were tingling and starting to go numb, but you couldn’t stop. Stopping would be mean he wins. But you could feel yourself edging closer again, and wouldn’t it be nice to come while sucking his dick? The inside of your thighs felt slick, and your walls pulsed as your orgasm rapidly approached.

You moaned around him again, thighs squeezing together and clamping his wrist, as fireworks lit off at the base of your spine. You felt Carmy’s hand suddenly come to the back of your head and his hips jolt upward, hitting his cock against the back of your throat, and you gushed over his fingers as you came. Your body, previously tensed in rolling desire, relaxed and you slowly lifted your mouth from him. You wiped the back of your mouth with your hand.

“I need to fuck you. Please. God.” You didn’t even have time to respond, because Carmy was grabbing you, and pulling you over his lap. You were spread open above him, cunt weeping, and muscles quivering. You braced your hands on his shoulders and looked at him. His face was flushed, a curl fell over his forehead in an almost picturesque nature. You waited with bated breath, unable to form a sentence if you tried, as he rolled a condom over his cock.

If you spoke, you’d probably say something stupid like: I need you too.

Carmy leaned forward, pushing your t-shirt up, toward your collarbones so your breasts were exposed. He nibbled across your skin, hands on your hip, guiding you forward as you slowly lowered yourself onto him. Carmy released an extended, pleased moan. He felt better than you expected. Better than imagined. (Not that you had imagined it. Definitely not).

“Fuck, fuck.” He panted, before he flicked his tongue against your nipple. “God, you’re so good. You feel so good.”

Your arms encircled his shoulders, hands tangling in his hair, as you shifted your body above his. You shivered as the length of him slid in and out of your wet, aching cunt. There was no decorum or grace to this. The interior of the car grew muggy and humid, the windows fogged with perspiration, as sweat shone across your skin. Carmy kissed your chest, your neck, your chin. You avoided kissing him, hiding your face in his shoulder, biting him softly, or tilting your face away. Kissing before sex was foreplay. Kissing during sex was intimate.

He licked the sweat from your collarbones and pulled your hair while dripping scattered praise across your skin. You lost all thought, all feeling, and found yourself reduced to a puddle of need. You gripped his shoulders, your breasts bouncing, as you rode him, and he squeezed your ass in tandem. The entire world blurred into a watercolor painting. There were no stresses, no worries, no needy banks, or over-bearing lawyers. It was just you and Carmy, skin to skin, sweat-soaked and delirious.

“Don’t stop.” You panted even though you were in control. “Please.”

“Fuck – I’m about to—” He cried out your name. His entire face and neck were flushed bright red. His eyes screwed tight, and his worried brow furrowed. Your walls squeezed him. He pulled you in, pulled you closer, as his head tilted back onto the seat. The moment he was about to come, you dropped your mouth down onto his and kissed him. Carmy moaned into your mouth, his breath puffing out through the corners of your lips, with the faint taste of cigarettes on his tongue.

Joined like this, you could feel your rapid heartbeat against his and you pressed your flushed, hot face against his warm shoulder. His large hand trailed along the bumpy knobs of your spine in a tender caress. You trembled against him, panting, and feeling him twitch inside you.

Reality came crashing down a second later. You drew away from him and blinked to clear the fog from your mind.

You and Carmy spoke at the same time.

“I left my pants outside.”

“Do you need a ride home?”

He blinked several times, eyebrows raising, and his lips quirked upward into a smile. “You left your pants outside?”

“Yeah, I took them off outside and didn’t bring them in here with me.” You braced your hands on his shoulders, awkwardly swung your leg over his hips to climb off him and readjusted your underwear. Carmy looked at you. And OK – maybe it was the sex. It was probably the sex. But you suddenly felt way more naked than you actually were. He looked at you like he wanted to say something.

Even worse than that, he looked at you like he wanted to touch you in a non-sexual way. You could see it in his eyes. He was going to do something cheesy like brush your hair out of your face. You cleared your throat and opened the driver-side back door to collect your pants off the ground with an exclamation of relief.

“Good! No one stole them.” You said while shimmying them over your legs with difficulty (in part due to soreness, but it was mostly because of the confined space of the backseat). You smoothed your shirt and ran both fingers through your hair before climbing out of the car.

Carmy leaned forward and stopped you from shutting the door behind you. “Are you even gonna answer my question?”

You squinted at him. In the near dark, you could see a hickey blossoming on his left shoulder. A flare of pride ignited in your chest.

“I’m gonna just catch the L.” You gave him a two-fingered salute. “Thanks.”

You walked away, toward to your restaurant, so you could get your purse and coat. You heard his car start and smiled. Good, he gets it. You needed your phone to check which station you needed to get to. You still weren’t adept at knowing which was closest. Worst case scenario, you try to find an Uber at…whatever time it was.

You rubbed the back of your neck, thinking of a hot shower, and what Take-Out you’d order for dinner when Carmy’s car suddenly pulled up next to you with the windows down. He leaned across the center console to look over at you.

“Get in.”

“My mommy told me not to get into cars with strangers.”

He said your name, followed by a very impassioned - “Jesus Christ.”

“It’s past midnight.” He said, as if that meant anything to you, “let me drive you to the closest station if you’re gonna be this fucking stubborn.”

You stopped walking and stood on the sidewalk with a perturbed expression. This wasn’t part of the plan. This wasn’t how the world worked. You and Carmy were rivals. He shouldn’t care if you got murdered while walking to the train station. It would be good for his business if you were gone—what the hell was he doing? What game was he playing? It made no goddamn sense.

“Just because I let you see my tits doesn’t mean you need to look out for me.” You countered, “Go home, Carmy. I can take care of myself.”

His jaw clenched and he looked away from you to the front windshield. “Alright, fuck it. Fine. I tried.” His tires squealed as he pulled away and you smiled at the retreating sight of his car. Your heart, however, pressurized like a boat capsizing underwater. You rubbed your hand over your chest. Weird.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After your shower, you wiped away the condensation from the mirror and caught sight of the angry, red-purple bruise on your neck. Your fingertips lightly touched it and a surge of emotions swelled up inside your chest. His hands, his mouth, the needy sounds he made and the ones you made in response. Then, came the realization that you never actually saw him smile until after you slept together. And his smile was, in retrospect, very nice. He had a dimple in one cheek and not the other and his eyes – which you generally considered cold – crinkled with warmth.

Your hand dropped from your neck.  

“Fuck.”

> Part Two ||||| [Fic Master List]

[dreamwritesimagines]

Twisted 20 - The Compass [Spencer Reid x Reader]

A.N.: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves! Here’s the next chapter, I hope you will like it as well, and please let me know what you think of it! ❤❤ Ily, kisses! ❤❤❤

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Murder, serial killers, violence, manipulation, mentions of sex, drinking, smoking, blood.

Word Count: 4000

Summary: Coming home can be unpleasant.

After getting a phone call from the FBI, you were now sure of one thing:

Karma really needed another hobby other than messing with you, and this break up was definitely not going the way it was supposed to go.

For starters, people who broke up with each other were not supposed to see each other this much. You had different lives, different social circles, different jobs and somehow universe kept pushing you two in each other’s space.

To make things worse, the last time you talked to Garcia she had offhandedly mentioned Luke dragging Spencer to a nightclub much to his displeasure and introducing him to a friend of his. Naturally, your mind was full of images of Spencer in a happy relationship, eventually moving to a house in the suburbs with her and having kids and all that.  

“I don’t know what Luke is thinking,” Garcia said, “But I’m two seconds away from pulling him aside and giving him a piece of my mind. Reid is obviously still not over you, ambushing him to introduce him to a girl won’t change that.”

Needless to say, you had been in a terrible mood for the last couple of days.

“What’s taking her so long?” you checked your wristwatch and Nolan looked at you over his newspaper.

“Oh she’s talking to the board of the charity auction,” he said, “There are some last minute changes, apparently.”

You heaved a sigh and checked the time again, “I can’t stay for long,” you murmured and Nolan raised his brows.

“Oh? In a hurry?”

“Me and Spencer and…well, some of his team will go by the woods,” you said, “They found some bones near dad’s cabin close to the weekend house and they think it might help me remember where the rest is buried.”

He made a face, “That’s disturbing.”

“Nah, I thought going on a dead body remains hunt with my ex in the woods near one of my childhood trauma places would be romantic,” you deadpanned, “You don’t do that with your exes?”

“Not really?”

“Oh man you’re missing out.”

He let out a chuckle and shook his head, “I take it things haven’t improved on the heartbreak front?”

“I wouldn’t know, apparently his friend is setting him up with someone.”

“Mm, let me guess,” he mused, “Your plan is to do nothing about it?”

“No, I’m actually following your example,” you smiled at him sweetly, “I’ll just wait for decades and hope the girl turns out to be a serial killer.”

He tilted his head. “Touché.”

“Aw thank you,” you pushed at the food in your plate, “No seriously, what can I do? I can’t just go to him and tell him not to date other people. We broke up— I broke up with him.”

“You could explain the reason behind that.”

“I can’t do that.”

He clicked his tongue, “Well then, I suggest you get ready just in case he happens to ask for your help planning his wedding.”

“You’ve been absolutely no help at all Nolan, I appreciate that.”

“I’m offering you my wisdom and you’re not taking it,” he held up his hands, gesturing surrender, “I also suggested to get his superiors to fix a meeting with him to talk to him about certain boundaries and mistakes but…”

“Get his superiors— I’m sorry, what?”

“I play poker with the head of the department he works under.”

“Of course you do.” You sipped your coffee, “When did you suggest that exactly?”

“Oh not to you, to your mother,” he nodded to himself as he saw the look on your face, “Yeah. But then I saw how it could not only damage some professional relationships, but also it’s better to let young people solve their own problems, no matter how easy it is to solve them with an outsider’s influence.”

You pulled your brows together.

“Try again.”

“I asked your mother and she said no.”

“Oh thank God.” You pinched the bridge of your nose, “Yeah no, don’t do that. We’re not in high school, you know?”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he smiled slightly at the scandalized look on your face.

“Whatever,” you waved a hand in the air, “It’s strange that mom said no though. She doesn’t really like him nowadays, and she keeps listing all his….disadvantages whenever I talk about him.”

“Disadvantages?”

“Mm hm. The other day she said it was maybe for the best in the long run, because he’s an FBI agent so considering his paychecks, we would eventually fight about our future children’s tuition fees.”

Nolan thought for a moment, “She does have a point, considering what FBI pays their agents…”

You blinked a couple of times, “Right,” you said, “That’s exactly why I broke up with him. Because who would be paying for our hypothetical future children’s future tuition fees, yeah. Deal breaker, that one.”

“It could be a contributing factor though—“ he started but you heard your mother’s heels approaching and soon enough she walked into the living room and pressed a kiss on your cheek.

“Darling, I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting,” she told you before pecking Nolan on the lips, making him smile, “This whole charity auction, honestly…”

“Do I have to come to that thing?” you looked between them, your brows pulled together in an attempt to make them take pity on you but your mother tilted her head.

“Yes you do.”

“It’s just that…” you heaved a dramatic sigh, “You know, I’m going through a break up—“

“You’ve been going through a break up for more than a month now, you’re not allowed to use that as an excuse.”

“My heart is broken!”

“Good, focus on charity then.”

You rolled your eyes and turned to Nolan, “What’s the real reason she’s dragging me to this?”

“Oh no, I’m not getting caught in this crossfire.”

“Mom?”

She cleared her throat and sipped her coffee, “The other day when I visited Nolan at work, he happened to introduce me to this very handsome Chief Marketing Officer who’s handling—“

“Oh no.”

“Keep in mind that we pay him more than what FBI pays his agents.” Nolan stated, laughing up his sleeve as if he found it hilarious and you scrunched up your nose.

“Nolan, I know you were born in the eighteenth century but that’s actually not a problem we have these days.”

“He’s single,” your mother said as if she wasn’t even listening and you threw your head back, letting out a whine, “He loves dogs and squash—“

“Jesus Christ.”

“Don’t worry, he’s not sitting at our table,” your mother said, “I fixed another surprise for you at our table, and I figured you’d want to keep your options open.”

“Besides, if your ex boyfriend is moving on…” Nolan trailed off and your mother raised her brows.

“Oh, Spencer has a girlfriend now?”

“No!” you said way too loudly and then cleared your throat, “I mean—I don’t care. But I don’t think so, I would’ve heard it.”

“See? More reason for you to meet other people.”

You pouted, “I hate this so much. I can’t believe I’m being dragged into this nonsense only because you guys are making me, this is seriously bullshit…”

“Y/N, do you want some cookies?” Nolan interrupted your grumbling, “One of my assistants brought them from France the other day.”

You scoffed, “How old do you think I—” you paused for a moment, then shrugged your shoulders, “Actually yeah, I’d love some cookies right now.”

                                                  ***

Unfortunately, when you left your mother’s house you had overestimated the traffic and how long it would take you to get there so by the time you had pulled over by the road leading into the woods, you could only see one FBI car. You didn’t have to wonder who was in it when your eyes caught the sight of Spencer leaning against it and your heart skipped a beat.

“Fuck…” you murmured to yourself and considered for a short second to drive away until others got there, but it was too late. Spencer turned his head, saw your car and stopped dead on his tracks so you heaved a sigh and pushed open the door to step outside. You looked around before you pulled yourself up to sit on the hood before you fished your cigarette pack out of your purse.

“You’re early.” Spencer said and you raised your glances to look at him for a second before lighting your cigarette.

“So are you,” you put the lighter back into your purse, “Came by yourself?”

“Luke is talking with the police.”

“Lovely,” you exhaled the smoke and he crossed his arms, looking up at the sky for a moment before stealing a look at you.

You had no idea what to say to him. After that one day of truce, it was like you were back to being enemies and ignoring each other. The fact that he might have been ready to date another person made you feel even worse if it was possible, especially after that phone call between you. He had said that he was a mess just like you were, he had said you had taken a part of him when you left him, and—

You didn’t even know what you hoped for. You knew it wouldn’t change anything, and yet the thought of him being with someone else was more than enough to make you feel like you were falling off a cliff.

Maybe it was just the truce talking. Maybe he didn’t mean any of that.

Your phone vibrating in your purse made you snap out of your thoughts and you looked at the caller I.D., then frowned and answered.

“Hey, I’m a little busy at the moment.”

“On a Sunday?” Lincoln’s voice reached you, “Who’s the workaholic now?”

“Still you Linc,” you said and Spencer’s head shot up, “What’s up?”

“I just called to let you know that they just moved me to your table.”

You pulled your brows, “I’m sorry, what?”

“At the charity auction. My table was 3, they just e-mailed me to say I’ve been moved to 1.”

“Jesus Christ, you’re the surprise?” you asked, pinching the bridge of your nose, “Somebody needs to stop my mother.”

“Hm?”

“Nothing,” you said, “I…That’s great, we’ll sit together then. If you like sulking the whole night, we’ll be just fine.”

“Come on, it could be fun.”

“I doubt that.”

“Hey, at least you’re not alone.”

“I’ll drink throughout that night, you sure you can keep up?”

“Do you even know who you’re talking to, you amateur?”

“Oh it’s on.” You smiled slightly and he chuckled.

“I’ll see you at our table then. With drinks.”

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” you said before you hung up, and put the phone back into your purse before you felt Spencer’s burning gaze on you, so you looked up at him.

“What?” you asked and he scoffed a bitter laugh, shaking his head.

“Nothing.”

“Professor.”

“I didn’t say anything,” he said, his gaze fixed on the woods and you tilted your head.

“Fine.”

He sucked a breath through his clenched teeth, as if trying to decide whether to say anything or not before you could ask again, Luke approached you two, another car pulling over by your car.

“Hey there.” You greeted Luke as you jumped off the hood and he tilted his head.

“Why are you shorter?”

You motioned at your sneakers, “I figured since we’re going into the woods, heels would be a bad idea.”

“Is this the first time I’m seeing you without heels?”

“Probably.”

“Should we get going?”

JJ stole a look at Spencer and you, then turned to Luke, “Actually, do you mind coming with me to the car for a moment? There’s this file I want to get your opinion on.” She nodded at you, “You guys go ahead if you want.”

You pulled your brows together for a second, trying to understand what was happening but then decided you wouldn’t question it and stepped into the woods, a shiver running down your spine.

It looked way too familiar.

You gritted your teeth and started walking, and it didn’t take long for Spencer to catch up with you.

“So I never got to ask you,” you managed to say after almost ten minutes of complete silence, “That…that blood vial in that petal bowl, whose blood was it?”

“Anthony’s.”

“Right,” you murmured as you kept walking, “Was it….was it something my dad did back then?”

“No.” Spencer said curtly and you looked over your shoulder.

“So then what does it—“

“Are you dating other people?” the words left his lips in a hurry as if he didn’t know how to stop them and you stopped dead on your tracks.

“I beg your pardon?”

He opened his mouth for a moment like he was trying to find the right words but then he closed it and shrugged his shoulders.

“Never mind,” he murmured, walking past you and you gawked after him for a while before you rushed after him.

“No, what was that?”

“Nothing.”

Maybe your whole theory about Spencer being a genius therefore not being able to be jealous wasn’t exactly the truth.

“I’m not— is this about Lincoln?” you held up the phone in your hand before you sped up to catch up with his long strides, “There’s this stupid charity auction bullshit and we’re both attending it, that’s it.”

“Alright,” he murmured, still walking and you let out a breath.

“Spencer!”

“What?” he turned around to look at you, that fire burning in his eyes again, “I said never mind, okay?”

“I’m not dating Lincoln!” you exclaimed “And I— even if I were, at least he’s not someone I met at a nightclub my friends forced me to go, unlike some of us.”

“What does that-” he started but it hit him in a second, “Garcia told you.”

“It came up.”

He raised his brows, “Yeah? How?”

“It just did.” You managed to say even if your cheeks were burning, “So what? You’re going to stand there and ask me that when you’re moving on already?”

“I’m not moving on!” he said as if you had just insulted him, “Besides, you broke up with me remember?”

“Yeah and you wasted no time Spencer, congratulations.” You murmured as you walked past him but as soon as your eyes caught the sight of the huge cabin by the small hill, your breath got caught in your throat and you took a step back, the memory flashing through your mind so fast that the headache hit you out of nowhere.

Your father tugged you by your hand through the woods as you yawned, rubbing at your eyes.

“Are you sleepy honey?”

You nodded, looking up at him, 

“Daddy I thought we were going to come here tomorrow, with mom and Mina.” you said as you hugged the huge teddy bear you had brought with you when your father had woken you up and told you that you would be taking a small trip to the cabin.

“We are,” he said, “We will go back home after our hunt is done here.”

“Yeah but mom says Mina and I can’t be outside the cabin at night,” you murmured, “The lake is too close, remember? We might fall in, she says.”

“She’s right, no leaving the cabin by yourself when it’s dark outside,” he said, “Or else no chocolate for a week, you know the rules.”

“Okay, okay…” you yawned again, and your father knelt down so that you could look him in the eye.

“Petal honey, I want you to pay attention,” he said, “Look around. Let’s say you’re in the woods by yourself and you’re hunting. You know how we hunt, right?”

You took a deep breath, “Stab the prey, twist the knife, pull it back and watch them bleed.”

“Very good,” he said, “When you’re hunting in the woods, what’s the first thing you do?”

“Look up at the sky,” you said, “That’s how I know where I am.”

“Good start. How about if your prey is running to get away from you? How do you chase them?”

“People aren’t calm when they’re being hunted,” you repeated what he had told you, “They make noises. I follow that, and wait for them to tire themselves out.”

He nodded, then you both climbed the stairs to the front door of the cabin.

“And what’s the one thing you remember?”

“To stay calm and patient.”

He smiled at you and opened the door to the cabin so that you could see the bloodied person tied to a chair, screaming through the gag.

“Good,” he said, “Let’s go over what we do with the prey, shall we?”

“Y/N!” Spencer’s voice cut through the memory, almost grabbing you and pulling you back to the reality and it was only when you realized you weren’t standing anymore, instead you were on the ground on your knees, gasping for breath.

“I can’t—“ you choked out, pressing a hand over your chest “I—I can’t breathe—“

“Yes you can,” he helped you sit and lean your back to the tree trunk, “You just need to focus on me, alright? Can you breathe with me?”

You sniffled, trying to match your breathing with his and he nodded,

“There you go,” he said with a smile, “You’re doing great. Is it okay if I touch you?”

You nodded your head, still desperate to cling to anything that would protect you from that memory and he entwined his fingers with you.

“Keep your focus on me,” he said as he wiped the teardrop off your cheek with his free hand,  awakening a fire right beneath your cheekbone, “Here’s what we’re going to do, you will inhale when I squeeze your hand, exhale when I stop. Can we do that together?”

You inhaled when you felt his grip tightening around your hand, then exhaled when it became loose again.

“Y/N?”

You let out a shaky breath, “Hm?”

“Why are public proposals so bad?”

A teary laugh escaped from your lips, “Professor…”

“No, I want you to tell me,” he said as you inhaled again when he squeezed your hand, “Why are they so bad?”

“Because they—“ you exhaled, “They’re not private.”

“They could be romantic.”

“But they’re not,” you protested, “They’re not romantic. They’re pretentious.”

“Pretentious?” he squeezed your hand once more and you took another breath.

“If you need an audience for something like that, you’re pretentious yeah.” You said as the nausea slowly retreated and he pushed your hair behind your ear before his knuckles brushed over your neck, it lasted only a moment but it was enough for you.

“Thanks,” you mumbled and he offered you a small smile.

“Anytime.”

“Brings back the memories, huh?” you leaned your head back to the tree trunk and he nodded.

“Yeah,” he murmured, “Yeah it really does.”

You pressed your lips together, “Spencer, why are you helping me?” you asked him, taking him by surprise, “With….all this. I thought you hated me.”

He swallowed thickly,

“I can’t hate you,” his voice was almost a murmur, “I wish I could. Trust me, I tried.”

“Guys?” you heard Luke’s voice and you turned your head to see them approaching, “What’re you—what happened?”

“We’ll meet you there in a second,” Spencer said, shooting JJ a look and she nodded.

“Okay,” she said, “Come on Luke.”

They walked past you to the cabin and you looked up at the sky for a couple of seconds before willing yourself to focus on him again.

“You remembered something,” he said and you nodded.

“A memory,” you managed to say, “I…Spencer, there are dead bodies in there.”

“I know, we found bones in the backyard—“

“No,” you cut him off, “You don’t understand. There are dead bodies in the cabin.”

He pulled his brows together and you pulled your hand out of his before standing up on shaky legs, still holding onto the tree for support.

“Y/N, we can wait-” he said but you shook your head and made your way to the cabin until you reached the stairs. Every cell in your body was screaming at you to run away, but you managed to force yourself to climb the stone stairs and stopped for a moment at the door as Spencer stepped to stand next to you. Everything looked exactly the same as you had left them all those years ago right before your father was arrested.

A shudder went down your spine, the same as the one you had gotten when you woke up in your apartment after being drugged. Something in here was way too dangerous for you and it wouldn’t rest until you were at its mercy so you had to get away before it could dig its claws under your skin, but-

You had to do this. You could do this.

You had been through much worse than this before.

You had survived your father, you had survived his copycats, you had survived everything thrown your way so far, you could survive this as well.

You rolled your shoulders back and stepped into the huge living room, the memory pushing at your mind but you shook your head, forcing yourself to focus.

“We can leave if you want,” Spencer murmured and you dug your fingernails into your palms hard enough to hurt.

There was a reason why police couldn’t find anything in this goddamn place when they first checked. You had repressed the memory just like you had repressed the rest, and now that you were here…

The memories about the cabin were swirling in your head, each more terrifying than other.

“Luke.”

Luke turned his head, “Yeah?”

“Do you mind stepping aside for a moment?” you asked, “Actually, if no one could—if no one could stand on the rug that’d be ideal. Thanks.”

JJ shot you a look but nodded at the two other agents walking around the living room and you slowly approached the magnetic chess board by the coffee table, holding out your hand over the pieces for a second. Panic roared through you but you gritted your teeth and moved the pawn, then put the bishop where your father taught you to put it way back then.

“It’ll be like a treasure hunt, but you need to keep it a secret,” he had told you, “Pinky swear?”

You turned the queen in hand your for a moment, then put it right next to the bishop and the small basement trapdoor which was impossible to see even if someone was looking for it clicked under the rug. Spencer froze for a moment before he and Luke pulled the rug off the floor and pulled open the hatch but the smell coming from downstairs made you cover your mouth.

“Stay here,” Luke told the agents as he went downstairs and Spencer followed him right before JJ did. You stalled there for a moment, trying to repress the fear pinning you to your spot before you stepped closer to the stairs leading down to the secret basement.

“Miss—“ the agent said but you ignored him and made your way down. JJ and Spencer already had their flashlights on as Luke held his gun, ready to pull the trigger at any unexpected movement.

“You can’t be here.” Spencer told you but you weren’t even mood to snap back at him. You dragged your fingertips on the wall until you found the switch and turned the light on, the smell getting worse and worse.

There were three huge boxes by the wall, all tightly shut and you had a feeling—

No, not a feeling. What you had was a memory and you knew exactly what was in them.

Spencer turned to you, apparently ready to tell you to go upstairs again but as soon as his eyes caught something over your shoulder, he froze, his jaw clenching. You could feel your heartbeat getting faster and faster as Luke stopped dead on his tracks.

“Y/N, go upstairs.” Spencer said, his tone way too controlled until you turned your head, “No wait, don’t look—“

But it was too late. The bloodied message on the wall made you gasp as you took a step back, unable to look away as that familiar dread filled you once more, the simple line causing goosebumps to rise on your skin;

Welcome home Petal.

                                 Chapter 21 

[cdroloisms]

I have seen a few fanfics with this premise, so now I wanna see your hands drabble with it. AU where everything is the same except nobody knows that Dream is actually the youngest member of the SMP at 14-15 years old. Bonus points, revived Wilbur figures it out and makes some plans for how to use this knowledge to his advantage.

ooh yeah !! this au is one of my favorites - it’s a really interesting examination on the mindset of different characters in the server, plus just fun for just Angst Purposes. this is a little messy but i hope you like it! 

tw: abuse, torture mentions, broken bones, branding mentions, trauma, emotional distress, unhealthy relationship, unhealthy coping mechanisms, smoking, mental illness, panic attack, mentioned death, dark portrayals of ,, most of the server, prison arc/pandora’s vault 

“Hey. Thought I’d find you here.”

Wilbur turns at the familiar voice at his back, smiling.

“Dream,” he pulls him in to clap him on the back, ignoring the other’s full-body flinch at his movements. “How’ve you been, man?”

“Don’t pull that bullshit on me,” Dream’s words are biting, but he smiles as he says them - a small, bitter thing that stretches over his scarred skin. His new mask is pulled to the side of his face, exposing the dark bags beneath his grey-green eyes, the varied scars that fall over the bridge of his nose and under his jaw to trace down his neck below his collar. Wilbur watches him as he walks forward to stand by his side with a small spark of fascination, enhanced further when Dream’s eyes narrow at him. “What are you staring at?”

“Nothing- nothing,” Wilbur laughs. “They just really did quite a number on you, huh?”

Dream stiffens, then rolls his eyes. “Well, he did have seventy four days, or so I’ve been told,” he quips back, words dry. “Not that there was any keeping track in that hellhole.”

“Speak for yourself,” Wilbur smiles tightly, amusement coloring his words as the other scowls. “I kep track of my thirteen years quite well.”

“Whatever you say, old man,” Dream huffs. “You have a cigarette?”

“I almost feel bad, y’know. You’re kind of underage, man,” Wilbur feels his smile widen when Dream glares up at him, eyes glinting dangerously from behind his eyelashes. “I don’t know if I should.”

“I was younger when you gave me one the first time,” Dream retorts immediately, not bothering to hide his annoyance, sharp-edged and acidic. “And even younger when you drafted child soldiers to fight in a war for your own glory. Don’t make me laugh.”

“Ouch, really know how to hit a man where it hurts, don’t you?” Wilbur mimes pressing a hand to his heart like he’s been shot with one hand, the other fishing through his jacket pocket for his pack. Dream rolls his eyes again, but stretches a hand out for him to press a cigarette and a lighter in his palm.

“Learned from the best,” Dream drawls, going quiet as he focuses on holding the end in the flame and then pulling the lit cigarette to his lips. He chokes, as he always does, on the first drag, sputtering slightly as the smoke seizes in his chest like a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit, and Wilbur watches the little flickering light at the end of the stick in his hand as he struggles to catch his breath.

“Surprised I can stand the sight of these things,” Dream says suddenly, quietly, as Wilbur pulls out one of his own to light. He looks up, meeting Wilbur’s quizzical look with a faraway one of his own. “Quackity was a fan of making me his personal ashtray.”

He reaches up towards his collar, pulling it away slightly to reveal a collection of puckered circular burn scars that dot the skin of his shoulder to trace to the edge of his collarbone. Wilbur hums in vague sympathy and acknowledgement, breathing in a drag of his cigarette slow and smooth and feeling the smoke fill his lungs.

“Guess it didn’t make the cut of torture methods bad enough to become a trigger,” he laughs, sharp, the bitter punctuation of a joke he’d realized would fall flat halfway through speaking and fidgets awkwardly with the cigarette in his hand as he looks off into the distance. “I should make a tierlist. It could be...useful.”

The words are empty - Dream wouldn’t be able to stomach torturing anyone and they both know it; Wilbur cocks his head to the side curiously, deciding to press the point anyway.

“Useful?” He takes a deliberately heavy drag, blowing the smoke out slowly from his lips and watching as Dream flinches away from it. “How so?”

Dream keeps looking stubbornly away, the only indication he’s heard at all being the way his lips press tighter together. Wilbur laughs softly.

“You mean with Big Q, don’t you?” Dream’s hand, which never seemed to stop trembling since he’d left Pandora, starts shaking harder, the smoke rising from the cigarette clutched tightly between his fingers making a jagged pattern in the air. “I won’t judge man! He tortured you for- what, 72 days?”

“74,” Dream’s shoulders rise to his ears, his head pitching forward as his arms wrap around his torso in a futile attempt to hold himself, “74 fucking days, and no one gave a single shit.”

Wilbur hums, encouraging, trying to tamp down his curiosity from making itself too obvious in his voice. Dream had been closed off for as long as Wilbur had known him, his walls only rising more after they’d pulled him out, half-starved, half-dead from the depths of the prison, newly revealed face startling young even deprived of the baby fat that would’ve otherwise lingered in its corners. For the other man to actually say something, to give more clues into his head than his usual one-word answers and bitter sarcasm - Wilbur settles in place, raising his cigarette to his lips once again. This will be interesting.

“I just-” Dream’s voice cracks, and he goes quiet, looking down at the cigarette in his hands like it’ll give him the answers he’s looking for. “I don’t understand. They’re all perfectly fine with throwing me in there and leaving me to rot, with letting Quackity come in every single day to make my life hell, but all of a sudden because I’m fifteen that changes? Because I’m a “child”? Because that makes them feel guilty?”

His grip tightens on his arm, breath seizing in his throat. “It doesn’t change a damn thing and they all know it. All of them were perfectly fine with watching me die, with sticking me in that hell, with letting Quackity- fucking-” his free hand reaches for the long tangles of his hair, the sandy locks peeking out from between his fingers, “He did- everything he could fucking think of, carved words on my goddamn back, broke every fucking bone in my body just because he could, branded his fucking NAME on me I-” he squeezes his eyes shut. “I screamed for them every single day. All seventy-fucking-four and I was still calling their names and-” Wilbur reaches towards him, watches as his head snaps away once again. “It didn’t fucking matter.”

“Dream-”

“None of it mattered. All that matters is that I’m a fucking child, that I’m fifteen fucking years old. Not that they stood by while I died twice with no means of defending myself! Not that they threw me in a fucking torture chamber! All that matters is how old I am and I fucking hate them!” He shouts, voice breaking and dissolving into a choked sob, and Wilbur watches quietly as Dream swallowed back his cries, shoulders shaking silently. “I- I hate them. All of them. At least Quackity still treats me like normal- the rest of them just look at me with this- this stupid pity, I don’t need their pity, I don’t need anything from them, not anymore-”

“Dream. Look at me.” Dream’s head snaps over, fear flashing in the backs of his eyes before it disappears as fast as it came. Wilbur ignores it, shucking off his jacket and draping it carefully over the other’s shoulders. “They’re hypocrites, I know. That’s why we’re doing this, yeah? We’re blowing it all up to kingdom come. You know how it goes.”

Dream meets his eyes, a storm warring briefly over his face before he looks down. “It was never meant to be,” he says, sounding tired, sounding resigned, and Wilbur smiles darkly at the self-same bitterness that shadows the words, recognizing the ashy taste from when they had coated his own tongue.

“Atta boy,” he says, grip firm on the other’s shoulder. “See you tomorrow. You can keep the coat for tonight; it’s getting cold.”

“Thank you,” Dream murmurs, quiet, and they both know it’s about more than just the jacket. “See you tomorrow.”

[graymatters]

Triptych

M | 1.8K | On AO3 | Veela!Draco, body horror, blood, unhealthy relationship dynamics, mild sexual content 

Many thanks to @corvuscrowned for the beta work 💚 and to @floydig for all the horror chats 😂

i.

The spine of a single feather, sleek and wet with blood, erupts from the thin skin draped over my collarbone. It mocks me in the bathroom mirror, unsightly and pale quills stained pink. My shoulders droop, and my spine rounds, a weary folding beneath the weight of an unsurprising development, as a crimson droplet runs smooth down my ribs.

“Babe, are you ready to go?” Harry calls from the bedroom. He’s taken to calling me babe lately. The word knocks about in my skull, overstaying its welcome.

“What’s it called when little birds shed their feathers?” I ask my reflection, arching forward until my breath fogs the glass. My nose wrinkles at the stench, prompting a swift snatch of my toothbrush from the plastic cup on the sink.

“Er…” Harry ponders as he waltzes into the bathroom, running an aimless hand through his hair. In the reflection, I watch him smooth over my naked back and bum with heavy-lidded eyes, lips tugged upward in an appreciative grin and glasses crooked on the sunburnt bridge of his nose. I think he might be perfect, and it terrifies me.

“Mulching?”

Almost, my dear, but not quite.

“Molting, I think,” I murmur around my toothbrush, scraping the frayed bristles violently against my gums.

“That’s what I said.”

“No.” I spit, frowning at the bright blood tinting the frothy toothpaste. “Molting. Not mulching.”

“Oh,” he says, eyes widening as he looks at my chest in the mirror. And I mean looks, not the passing glance that you toss at the empty glass that’s sat on your end table for three days, not the glassy gaze of a Seeker fading into auto-pilot above the pitch. No, I’m talking about the undivided attention afforded to a tragic train derailment with dozens of fatalities, the careful pondering over a loaf of bread that may have gone off, the terrifying and wondrous stare of finding your enemy naked in your bed.

“Draco, are you bleeding?” He moves to grip my shoulders but stops when he gets a closer look, hands held mid-air as though his puppeteer got bored, hung his strings on the hook, and took a smoke break. “Is that a—”

“I never could tell if Mother was serious about the Veela blood.” I frown as Harry still stands, unmoving but for the tremble in his fingers. “Harry, why are you shaking?”

Harry doesn’t answer as I lean across the sink, poking at the delicate spine with my fingertip. He just stares dumbly at my reflection, mouth agape and eyes wide as saucers. I huff a laugh through my nose, feeling the universe’s sick sense of humor settle heavily over my bloodied chest.

“I wonder if I’ll molt.”

Read ii. & iii. below the cut.

ii.

Harry’s left the cap off the toothpaste again, leaving it to ooze onto the bathroom countertop. I could easily dismiss the caked-on paste from the porcelain. All it would take is a snap of my fingers, a muttered jumble of pseudo-Latin under my breath to make it disappear. However, a crescendo of unfortunate events through the week culminated in a Ministry-issued number that replaced my name, a reminder of the creature that replaces my identity. The thought numbs my limbs, rattles my nerves, and prickles at the remnants of my fleeting patience.

“Harry!”

“Did you say something, Draco?” he shouts from down the hall. I wait, listening for footsteps that don’t come.

“Harry! Will you come here for a minute?” A rustle of irritation blooms beneath my skin, scaly skin and ivory feathers shifting restlessly, eager to surface. With a forced sigh, I snap my eyelids shut, concentrating on pulling the musty bathroom air in and out of my lungs.

“What is it, babe? Is everything all right?”

I open my eyes, meeting my own steely gaze in the mirror. The skin over my neck, my collarbone, my temple, crawls with the anxious magic that pulses underneath, like a spider’s trapped beneath the surface. I can almost see the iridescent shimmer of that scaly skin that lurks somewhere between the delicate dermal layers that cover my neck. Harry catches my stare, his gaze soft and a sleepy smile plastered on his face. He looks at me like there isn’t ruinous blood in my veins, like the war in my body doesn’t seep out of my pores, infecting the air between us like the stench of a rotting corpse.

“Draco, what’s wrong?”

I don’t deserve him. I don’t deserve him, but he’s looking at me like he doesn’t know or doesn’t care. And this week has been so very long.

“Nothing, love.” My eyes fall to the open tube of toothpaste as I reach an unsteady hand out behind me, softening once I feel the slide of Harry’s fingers between mine.

He moves to stand behind me, wrapping his hands over my ribs and dotting honeyed kisses along my neck and shoulders like he can’t see the rustle of feathered plumes tucked deep in the sinewy fibers. Though guilt twists in my gut, strangling my lungs and wringing my heart, I ignore it, instead melting beneath Harry’s touch.

“You’re so gorgeous, Draco,” he murmurs behind my ear. “Look at you,” he whispers, softly gripping my neck beneath my jaw, forcing me to stare myself down in the mirror as his other hand dips beneath my waistband, palming my cock. “So fucking gorgeous.”

Thoughts blurred, I gasp as he ruts against my arse, as I thicken in his hand and a heady rush soothes the irritable magic that bristles beneath my skin. I groan against the pressure of his palm over my throat, feeling the vibration in my chest.

He catches my eye in the mirror, raising a brow in silent question. I nod in answer, preening at the satisfied smirk that overcomes Harry’s face as he slips a spit-slicked finger inside me, a delicious mix of pain and pleasure.

“So fucking beautiful, and you’re all mine.”

And then I hum, a pleased and pathetic whimper of a song, because I know he’s right.

iii.

The heat of the shower burns my skin, painting my limbs and the tops of my feet in a pink, watercolor flush. I let the water strip away the remnants of the evening, the cigarette smoke that clings to my hair and the grease and salt lodged beneath my fingernails. It doesn’t wash away the memories of the Weasel’s grimace, or the distasteful curl of Granger’s lip. Instead, they linger, trapped in the clouds of steam like a bird’s wings, wet with oil.

“Draco? Are you here? Awfully nice of you to run out on me like that. Ron and Hermione are sure to love you, now.”

A single, vehement beep pierces the thick air of the bathroom, cascading into a series of agonizing tones as the fire alarm protests the steam of the shower.

I look up from my spot on the tile floor, entranced by the flashing red light on the screeching machine.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Harry bursts through the door and yells over the blare of the alarm. “How long have you been in here?” He clambers onto the countertop to reach the horrid device, fumbling with the buttons before finally ripping it from its base on the ceiling. It falls to the floor; a smattering of dusty plastic shards decorates the floor on impact.

“Draco, are you even listening?”

I nod, feeling the itch of magic over my palms, the roll of frustration between my shoulder blades.

“Draco?” He opens the shower door, eyes following the stream of water that falls from the tip of my nose. “What’s wrong?”

My vision blurs, the yellow bathroom light, shining stellate over the grungy shower tile.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, eyes wide and incredulous as an unhinged laugh crawls out my lips. “Are you seriously asking me that question?”

A curl falls in his eyes, damp from the humid air. His gaze is soft, aching, like he wants to wipe away the malicious glances, the tainted blood in the rotten chambers of my heart, the ink on my arm.

Loving him is too much.

Anxious anger burns a trail starting at the tips of my fingers, drawing claws to break through the skin beneath my nails and a black, tarry flush to creep towards my elbows like my arms have been dipped in soot. I roll my neck at the feeling of hundreds of feathery needles piercing through the skin of my collarbone, my neck, my shoulders. A flash of pain, lightning hot, grips my spine as a set of wings punctures the surface between my shoulder blades, hanging low in the tight space of the shower.

The water runs red, my back hot from the wash of blood.

With a guttural roar, I whip towards Harry, wanting to squeeze his ribs between my disfigured hands and feel the stutter of his breath.

But he doesn’t move, he doesn’t turn to walk away. In fact, rather than a look of fear or disgust, Harry watches me the same way Mother watched me when my pet Kneazle died, devoured by the Nepenthes. Like I’m still a child who doesn’t know what to do with his hurt.

“Draco, I’m sorry—”

“You’re in love with a fucking monster, Harry. Why are you even here?” A heat burns beneath my palms as I grip the frame of the shower.

Harry sighs, taking a slow and careful step forward to shut off the water, leaving a slow trickle to caress the smooth surface of my wings.

“Come here, Draco,” he whispers, gesturing for me to step out of the shower. “Come on, babe; I’ve got you.”

Loving him is too much. Too much to weather. Too much to resist.

I tumble into his arms, catching a blood-stained, ivory wing on the shower door and jostling Harry’s glasses. As the fog of the mirror clears, I watch as my face appears, nose elongated and eyes pitch-black, the skin of my neck and arms cracked where the feathers have broken through the layers like an iceberg piercing the sea. With a stuttered sob, I grip Harry’s shoulders and tuck my face into his neck, unable to contain myself anymore.

I’m not sure how long we huddle on the bathroom floor, cramped between the toilet and the shower. Long enough for the feathers to recede beneath my skin, for my wings to fold in on themselves and lie soft against my back. The sun has long set, shrouding the bathroom in darkness, as Harry still runs his hands through my hair, untangling the knots as he whispers lovely reassurances into my ear and presses kisses over my jaw.

“Draco, I love you, you know that?”

“Of course, I do.”

“What do you need, Draco?”

“I don’t know.”

“Need me, then. It’s that easy. Draco, just—need me.”

I nod, a trembling and stuttered admission, because I know he’s right.

Also on AO3.

[blushnote]

↳ requested | 1.6k words

↳ dom!wonwoo smut

a/n: HELLO. i’m sure everyone is wondering what’s going on and WHY i’ve been absent for a few months. put simply: things got hectic and i needed a break! i’m not saying i’ll jump back into being completely active again, but that i’m going to come on as often as i can! (which might be every few days or so! i apologize!!)

as a treat for everyone - this features rich girl wonwoo! <3 

wonwoo stands at the street pole, conversing with his friends. the bar is unusually crowded. mostly likely because it’s a friday and there isn’t much else the townspeople would rather do than get plastered, forgetting the atrocities of work. his friend extends a box of cigarettes to wonwoo, offers him one, but he shakes his head.

since getting involved with you, wonwoo has attempted to forfeit smoking. it has always been something he’s done to pass the time at the street corner. plus, he likes the idea of blowing a big, stinging cloud right into someone’s face when they give him attitude. 

instead wonwoo suckles on a lollipop that tastes like an artificially sweet strawberry, pushes up the bridge of his glasses, and folds some silvery hair under his beanie. he knows it’s about the right time for you to be returning from that dinner party your parents forced you into attending.

as wonwoo’s friend exaggerates a tale about getting into a fist-driven confrontation at a bus stop last week, someone strutting by on the packed street bumps wonwoo’s shoulder.

“choose a better place to stand.” the stranger rumbles, agitated.

wonwoo flicks up his middle finger indifferently. “fuck off.” he grunts, the fog of his breath appearing in the night air.

he’s feeling sort of agitated himself. your parents have tethered you to a leash lately, forcing you to all these fancy gatherings and opening ceremonies and dinners. to put it frankly – wonwoo misses you. your laugh, your eyes, the texture of your skin, your voice in his ear. he’s been wanting an excuse to get his hands all over you. every single inch.

that’s when he hears the ding in his jacket pocket. looking away from the dramatic enactment involving his friend driving a fist into his palm, wonwoo checks his phone to see a text from you. a series of images.

23:28 // JPEG.1034

23:28 // JPEG.1035

23:28 // JPEG. 1036

the three pictures load. he chokes on his breath.

23:28 // i know u don’t like when i spoil my lingerie but.

23:28 // don’t i look so cute :( so fuckable?? im srry but I had to :(

his teeth crack the strawberry lollipop into sugary shards in his mouth. that lace is squeezing your flesh in all the right places. the picture with your fingers splayed teasingly over your underwear, hiding your core, it’s enough to make him shudder, salivate even. he’s officially ignoring his friend’s story by tapping a reply, fiddling with the thin stick in his mouth.

(ww) 23:30 // u free now? head to my place.

he receives an answer immediately.

23:30 // hmmm why?

(ww) 23:30 // u know why. don’t act like such a brat.

already, wonwoo can sense the desire form inside him. pounding almost. like a second heartbeat. you’re usually compliant and bending to his carnal whims. maybe all this time away from each other has you forgetting just how well wonwoo can fuck that stubbornness out.

23:30 // it’s new. i don’t want u ripping anything!!

(ww) 23:30 // idc.

23:30 // so mean!! not even gonna let u touch me now :-)

(ww) 23:30 // yeah. ok. we’ll see about it then.

after sliding his phone back in his pocket, wonwoo glances briefly in through the bar window. he sees a bartender pour a glass full of ice cubes before sloshing in a surge of alcohol. at that, wonwoo gets an idea. when his friends question about why he’s leaving so suddenly, he smirks.

“need to teach someone how to behave.” wonwoo shrugs before jogging quickly across the street.

“i’m not gonna tell you again. keep your fuckin’ thighs spread nice and wide for me or else i won’t let you cum – not even once. you understand?”

a harsh dip in your stomach suggests the breath you just inhaled. after a moment of silence, he hears you comply, and watches with his hungry, intent gaze as your legs part open for him. wonwoo has been teasing you with a bowl of ice cubes. at first, he held them to your nipples, had you whimpering into his mouth while he simultaneously rubbed his tongue against yours. but the real fun began when he introduced the ice cubes to your lower region. it was a very different punishment compared to his past endeavours, a tantalizing one.

wonwoo returns the cube to the nook of your inner thigh, then creeps it slowly toward your core. you’re beginning to tremble with the restraint required to not snap your legs shut. the ice cube ghosts transiently up your slit, a contact you had yet to experience, and a beautiful gasp tears from your lungs. he swears that you leak even more onto the sheets.

he takes the cube away, then drags his warm tongue from the bottom of your pussy right to the top, delivering a slow, flat lick which tastes sweet and cold and makes him so unbelievably dizzy with how much he loves it.

“w-wonwoo, please, pl-please keep going.” you stutter, opening your thighs even wider to invite his tongue.

he shakes his head. “what else did i tell you? don’t ask me to do anything. you’ll lie there and you’ll fuckin’ take it.” smiling, wonwoo issues a tight grip on the ice cube and presses it right into your clit. you whine sharp and loud, your hands traveling all over your body in confusion, not sure if it’s more pleasure than pain, or a hot mix of both.

“or are you still interested in acting like such a brat, hm?” wonwoo utters in his deep voice. “ like a smug little princess who thinks she can tease me whenever she wants and she’ll still get my cock all the way inside her? nice and full, just how she likes it. is that it, babygirl?”

he feels the ice melt under his fingers. you can hardly piece together a response, just a very incoherent, “no wonwoo” as tears start slipping down your cheeks. wonwoo takes the cube away, then massages your clit with his thumb, warming you up slowly. a few jolts pass through your body. he can tell you’re falling apart inside with how badly you want to cum, though wonwoo had strictly told you to hold it. he rubs and rubs and rubs, barking at you to control yourself, your pussy so slippery with arousal that it’s running all down your skin and wetting the bed.

right when he feels you’re about to snap, wonwoo completely removes his touch. you wail at that, suckle in a shaky breath and cry his name.

“please, wonwoo! i-i’m sorry, m’soso sorry! i’m sorry for acting so bratty and sending those pictures, t-teasing you like that! but i just c-ccan’t take this anymore. treat me however you want, but please let me cum!”

he’s truly missed the sound of you begging for him. his cock twitches in his pants, reminding him of how hard he currently is. each time you cry the boy’s name in such a lewd manner, there’s another surge of pleasure and he aches even more, to the point where he could cum just from touching himself over his clothes. still, wonwoo must ensure you’ve really learned your lesson. so, he offers you a deal. he’ll get to watch you pleasure yourself with the ice cube until he cums.

and so wonwoo sits in a chair based at the end of the bed, a hand stuffed down his pants, watching you swirl an ice cube at your sensitive core. he guides you every now and then: “hold it right there, pretty baby. let it melt all the way down. that’s it, sweetheart. n-now rub it, okay? f-finger yourself too. nnrgh, f-fuck. fuck you sound so wet. m’gonna c-cum—”

his strokes lash faster until wonwoo’s head rolls back against the chair, his eyes blinking shut while he chases his high. he hears you continue to whine as he cums, his cock throbbing in his hand, still so hard and heavy. in fact, wonwoo requires a moment just to breathe and let the heat circulate properly through his body.

with his fingers covered in the sticky mess of his cum, wonwoo approaches the bed again, fingering it as deep as he can inside you. he’s unable to remove his gaze from the filthy sight. there’s something so raw and intimate about watching his own seed getting pumped into you that sets his whole body aflame. he decides to let you orgasm as well, stimulating your g-spot consistently, letting you clamp down tight and ride his hand until you’ve got a full fix.

wonwoo supposes he’s done his job.

“i don’t think i’ll ever be able to look at an ice cube the same way again.” you laugh, sitting back against the headboard, tucked into his t-shirt.

drawing a warm washcloth between your thighs, wonwoo blinks at you, a very sly grin forming on his mouth. he plants a kiss on your nose.

“good. means it worked.” the boy says.

he folds the cloth over and finishes the last of his cleaning, ensuring there’s nothing more of his fluids that are still leaking out or anything sticking from your orgasm. grabbing your overnight bag off the floor, wonwoo pulls out a fresh pair of underwear and helps you slide into them. your lingerie sits in a pile off to the side, a few lace straps ripped.

“sorry about your little outfit.” wonwoo apologizes, staring at you earnestly. “it was pretty. you look good in everything.” he squeezes your hip and presses a soft kiss to your lips.

“it’s okay.” you murmur. “i’ll order something even better. and i’ll surprise you with it. maybe for your birthday. sound good?”

“mmhm.” wonwoo purrs, pulling you down with him to cuddle up close for the night.

“as long as i can take it off you, sweetheart, i’m fine with that.”

[mochii0park]

meraki; 02 I jhs

Title: Meraki

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader / Jin x Reader

Part of series: Waterlilies and Japanese Bridge

Genre: literaryscout!hoseok x writer!reader

Word count: 4.4k

Summary: Throughout your whole life you lived in your sister’s shadow, watching from side-lines as she formed herself into a successful businesswoman with an envying life. Never being able to fill her shoes you gradually understood the meaning of an estranged family and the burden it carried. The twenties began slowly slipping from your grasp which had been embedded with insecurities and longing for fulfilment. Pouring your heart out to strangers with a pseudonym meraki, you began second guessing the decision when an email lands in your inbox.

Author's note: unedited, i had fun writing this chapter tbh

Taglist: if you want to be added to the taglist message me

@namsope32 , @cuteipat , @ofvopemin

Masterlist

Meraki masterlist

<  chapter 01 | next chapter >

You absentmindedly twirl in your chair, chewing on the pencil in your hand. The ticking of the clock was inaudible from the loud sound of keys smashing against the keyboard. Your mind raced in different directions and to say you were anxious was an understatement. A black polished oxford shoe lands harshly on the surface of your chair halting your twirl. The stain is starkly visible, inhabiting your mind and annoying you endlessly.

Min Yoongi pulls his foot back; the action makes your chair stroll backwards the back hitting your desk. “I am not paying you to slack off during work hours.”

It took a lot of willpower not to roll your eyes. He exhales, leans forward, and takes the sheet of paper from your lap. You could feel the level of disappointment rise with each sigh as he reads the lines of the text.

“I understand inspiration has to come to you, but it’s been months.” He scraps the paper throwing it into the bin, the action itself telling you what he thought of your work.

To be honest your thoughts on it didn’t differ much.

“I am sorry. It hasn’t been my month.” Or your year. You cower further into the chair. It was embarrassing enough to fall behind because of your private issues but having your higher up pity you was by far worse.

Yoongi shakes his head taking a seat on the sofa. He unbuttons his sleeve pulling them until they reached his elbows. Working for him for over two years made you know that whatever matter he was about to discuss was serious.

“The single didn’t do well,” you nod as you recall seeing it flop dramatically,” We need to produce an album that will reach the top ten charts. That won’t happen if you sit here twirling for hours with nothing to show me.”

“I understand.” He clicks his tongue, a ding from his phone gaining his attention as he signals for you to hold your thought.

You mumble hypocrite under your breath relieved when he gives no reaction to the word as he locks his phone looking straight at you. He crosses his legs, hands intervened on his knee as he rocks back and forward.

He glances up at the ceiling whistling an unfamiliar tune. After a few seconds, he stops rocking, taps his knees enthusiastically and walks towards the guitar. He whistles the tune over and over until he manages to perfectly string it through guitar chords. You stare at him watching closely as he scribbles a few notes and tosses the paper to you.

“Try to write something that would go well with this tune.” -was the last thing he said before he put the guitar back in its stand and left the room.

You let the frustration out through a scream, the soundproof plates securing it between the four walls. Ignoring the papers laying in front of you, you dig through the content of your purse. You extract pack of cigarettes. The clock on the desk flashes 10 pm and you know a long night was ahead of you.

The lobby was empty, the patter of your shoes cutting the silence. You tap your foot impatiently as you wait for the lift to take you to the rooftop. Smoking was forbidden in the KT entertainment building so your only options either the roof or the yard in front of the company.

“Graveyard shift?” A voice to your right says.

You scoff placing a cigarette in the mouth. “Yeah, you too?”

Baekhyun nods following you inside the lift. “I wish trouble wouldn’t follow Jungkook everywhere he went.”

“He got into a scandal?” Baekhyun catches the doubt in your voice and smiles.

He closes his eyes, resting his head against the mirror. You watch with pity as he breathes out in defeat. “It wasn’t him per se. A friend of his caused ruckus in a karaoke bar in Busan. Somebody sent an image of him leaving the bar. He was drunk and accompanied by a girl.”

You whistle at the last part. Idols getting caught with a female was almost like a death sentence for their career, no matter if the female was just a friend. Jungkook was the star of KT Entertainment, the one who brought the revenue. The idol has had a clean image so far. He did drink and lit a cigarette with his friends but, who didn’t? Although he wasn’t problematic, he had a knacker for attracting trouble.

The lift stops at your designated floor and Baekhyun jumps already halfway through the door. You follow behind him, wrapping your arms around yourself for some warmth. The cold night leaves traces over your cheeks, reddening them. You inhale the air, the scent reminding you of last year’s autumn. The image of Seokjin smiling at you as he crunches leaves is shattered by Baekhyun. He stops in front of you a spark flashing from his lighter casting different shades over his face.

You lean in, inhaling the nicotine as the tip of the cigarette burns. You observe him as he inhales a smoke before exhaling it and making a circle out of it. You often forgot he was six years your senior. His youthful face and the lively person often misled people believing he was far younger.

He leans against the rail, a hand in the pocket of his jeans. The scenery in front of you looked like a young adult novel. The light of the city flashed behind Baekhyun, his figure coming out as a blur because of the smoke. His newly dyed red hair catching your attention.

The silence between you wasn’t an awkward one, on the contrary, it was comforting. Finding a smoke-buddy like him was a blessing. He wasn’t very talkative despite his upbeat personality; he somehow distinguished your emotions well and knew when to speak and when to be silent.

“Did Yoongi punish you again?” He breaks your train of thoughts, choosing the spot closest to you to stand.

“Well, I wouldn’t call it punishment,” you throw the bud on the floor stepping over it lightly before you throw it in the bin, “but I do have to write some lyrics to a beat of his choosing.”

“Sounds like a punishment to me.” He chuckles as he lits another cigarette.

You shrug your shoulders. Working with Yoongi hadn’t been at all difficult as how people told you it would be. When you applied for the position, you read various posts on forums about Yoongi’s wrath and the difficulty of the tasks he gave. Many people criticised him for his mentorship, but you had found it refreshing. He never sugar-coated his opinion; he was straight to the point kind of a guy, and you liked it. Well, not every single time but you can’t have the best of both worlds in this industry.

“I can handle it. He’s right, I am behind deadlines, and I should focus on work instead of my personal life.”

Baekhyun looks like he wants to say something but quickly changes his mind. Throwing the bud over the rail he presses the down button. You punch him on his shoulder, hating the way he never cared much about the environment and the disposal of his trash.

“I’ll see you around. Maybe for a coffee next time?” Baekhyun smiles as you exit the lift, and you hum a quiet yes before going in the direction of your studio.

A part of you always felt bad for turning down Baekhyun’s invites for a coffee. You knew his motives were nothing but friendly seeing as you’ve met his long-term girlfriend Dayhun. The two were a match made in heaven having the same humour and playful personality. Sometimes it came to the point where they morphed into one person which gave you the creeps.

You laid on the couch, legs looking at the ceiling, back twisted and the head narrowed to the floor. It was half-past midnight, and inspiration was lacking in every sense. You scrunched the papers with words you thought were bad and aimed for the bin in the corner. You have yet to hit the bin, the papers lying next to it.

You were about to throw the next paper when your phone buzzed. Deeming the notification oh so important you fish it out of your back pocket staring at the screen. Yoongi’s name appears under the official e-mail inviting all the employers of the KT Entertainment tomorrow for a celebration of Jeon Jungkook winning an award for the Male Musician of the Year Netizen Vote and his single Still with You winning the Best Pop Song.

You sit up straight preparing yourself to decline the invite when a message pops up.

Min the Boss Yoongi

The invitation isn’t optional for you. You are required to come.

Y/N

You didn’t even ask if I was busy tomorrow night?

Min the BOSS Yoongi

Are you busy tomorrow night?

Y/N

No, but that’s beside the po-

Min the BOSS Yoongi

Great, see you at 8 pm tomorrow.

You massage your temples trying not to sink further into the frustration you felt for this man.

Y/N

Fine.

Min the BOSS Yoongi

I wrote that everyone could bring a plus one if they desire, seeing as the two of us and Jeon’s manager will be working tomorrow night, I highly advise you not to bring a plus one. I won’t mind if you do, but they might since you will be by my side most of the time.

You type a quick reply and toss the phone into your bag. Sehun wouldn’t be opposed to the idea of a plus one knowing he wanted to infiltrate himself into the upper society. Meeting people of such status equalled cases with greater stakes and greater stakes meant higher pay. You were gathering your belonging when a soft knock on the door caught your attention.

Baekhyun’s head pops behind the doors. “I was about to leave do you need a ride?”

You smile at him and nod. Baekhyun gives you a thumbs up, happy knowing he won’t be driving home alone at this hour. Luckily for you, he lived nearby and had given you plenty of times a ride. You get up from the couch and throw your purse over your shoulder, locking the studio.

As you walk to the car you discuss tomorrow’s party in Jungkook’s honour. You chuckle as Baekhyun grabs his head already imagining scandalous scenes pernicious for Jungkook’s career.

                                                      ______

At the sight of the guests’ attire, you felt severely underdressed. The sleeveless v cut dress tightened by a small knot on each side of your shoulders fell a little bit above your knees. Combat boots were your go-to footwear on such occasions, unlike the rest of the women at the party you needed to feel comfortable in order to finish tasks. You had to run around from one place to the other, obeying each order your boss gave. Sometimes you felt more like a secretary than a songwriter. Under such circumstances, high heels weren’t an option unless you wanted blisters.  

The metal rings on your fingers clanged against the glass deconcentrating you. The room swarm of people of different ages and statuses. You fell back blending well with the rest of the staff you tolerated. Baekhyun stood next to Jungkook, the younger if closely examined looked exhausted. Yoongi stood a few feet away talking to a group of men, some that you recognized.

A hand taps your shoulder, a familiar lavender scented perfume reaches your nose. Momo lays her head on your shoulder. “I thought this was a party. It feels more like a business gathering.”

Momo had been the main choreographer at the KT Entertainment. She was the type of person whom you couldn’t hate even if you wanted to. Kind natured and a bit naïve, she was the heart of the company always ready to help you or brighten your day.

You chuckle as you pat her head while she twists the straw in her cocktail. “Well, Min Yoongi organized it. He wouldn’t know what fun was even if it hit him straight in the face.”

Momo chuckles. “But he sure knew what handsome meant. Look at those men at his side.”

Something you noticed while working for him was the pallet of handsome men he knew which he called close friends. The first you met was Park Jimin, a highly respected dancer that occasionally stepped in to fill for Momo when she was absent. He was very charming and well equipped with words that bared red shade to the cheeks of female employers.

After Jimin, you’ve met Kim Namjoon, a literary professor who frequently reviewed your work. He was shy which often came off as reserved but overall, he was a pleasant company to have when going through your lyrics. He gave them the spark that was much needed to make the song into a hit.

Next to Namjoon stood Kim Taehyung. You’ve met him on one occasion when you barged into Yoongi’s office after he sent a rather rude message. Out of all Yoongi’s friends, he was the one you knew the least. Unlike Namjoon’s unintentional cold behaviour Taehyung’s was deliberate. He didn’t even introduce himself as he left the office making you feel like shit for interrupting what seemed an important meeting.

Another person who was part of Yoongi's close circle is Kim Seokjin, who recommended you to Yoongi. The two were childhood friends and somehow, you’ve never heard of the name Yoongi until two years ago. As much as you hated Jin now, you were still grateful for his help.

The last person in the circle was unfamiliar to you. He fitted well with the others, his handsome face wearing a smile that never flattened through the conversation as he jumped into Yoongi’s words a few times causing the gang to laugh. He had to be very close to Yoongi for your boss not to bash him for interjecting but rather send him a smile.

Momo lifts her head from your shoulder and stands in front of you. “Did you notice one of Yoongi’s friends absent from parties?”

You swallow a lump at the thought of your best friend before you quickly shake your head. “No, not really.”

“Call me crazy but I’m sure I saw Kim Seokjin at these parties before.”

“Can’t recall. Why do you care about him when Park Jimin is over there?” You try to change the subject hoping Momo would take the bait.

She huffs rolling her eyes. “You know I am not a big fan of him. Sure, his work is splendid but him? His personality? It needs a major rework.”

You chuckle at her disgusted expression as she jabs the olive pretending it was Jimin’s face. “Well, then you have Jeon Jungkook.”

“What am I? The company’s serial dater? Can I be honest with you?”, Momo says you follow her line-of-sight landing on Jungkook.

“Sure.” You say as you watch him push past people before he stands next to Jimin, engulfing the older one in a hug.

“I am sorry I know you work with his team, but I hate his songs. They feel like all the washed pop songs you hear on the radio. The whole night I’ve been lying to people saying his latest one is amazing.” You laugh loudly at her confession partly sympathising with her. It was ironic how much you both loved the songs you wrote for him and hated.

“No need to apologize just because I work for him.” You shrug off her apologetic smile, her lips fall into a straight line after she swallows a big sip of her drink.

“It’s still kind of awkward. We work together Y/N, I make all of his choreographies.”

“So? Just because you work together doesn’t mean you have to be a fan.” She nods soaking up your words. She goes to take a sip of her drink, but she groans in surprise at the empty glass.

“I’m going to get another cocktail. You want some?”

You shake your head, and she shrugs her shoulder starting to walk away. Before she can disappear from your sight you call out for her. She turns around tilting her head slightly. “Who’s the fifth guy in Yoongi’s circle?”

You watch as she searches for Yoongi and the rest of the gang. The man in question seemingly sensing you spoke of him looks up at you offering you a smile. He was by far the most handsome one in the group by your standards. Dressed from head to toe in red he, stood out in the mass, the waisted suit hugging his body showing off his well-built figure.

Doubting the smile was for you, you look around searching for the real receiver not wanting to look like an idiot if you return it. Seeing your action, the man laughs which catches the attention of the group.

When Yoongi turns around motioning for you to join them you flush. As you pass Momo her touch lingers for a while on your elbow. She darts close whispering in your ear.

“That’s Jung Hoseok.”

The information left you out of breath, the e-mails he kept sending replaying themselves in your mind. You stumble a bit when Momo’s light touch disappears. Feelings a set of eyes on you, you regain your footing and walk towards your boss. Each step feeling heavier.

There was no one else to blame for the situation you found yourself in but yourself. You knew who Hoseok was in theory, he published many bestseller books and everyone who was even remotely into writing had some knowledge of him and his famous company. Although in the last couple of months your newsfeed lacked information about Hoseok’s whereabouts, you brushed it off as him working on a new book.

You knew about him all, but what he looked like. Jung Hoseok managed to avoid the press like his life depended on it. You saw articles of his assistant Yuta standing in his place at promotions and any other public event. If you only dug deeper or asked for the guest list, you could’ve avoided this.

Yoongi places the palm of his hand on your lower back guiding you into the circle. Jeon Jungkook waves giving you a soft but tired smile, Kim Namjoon nods in your direction slowly sipping the wine, Park Jimin gives you a polite greeting while Kim Taehyung acts as if you never existed. You saw Jimin elbow him lightly, but the man never wavered.

Your eyes stop at Hoseok who beams at you stretching his hand. Yoongi leans and whispers into your ear, the loud beating of your heart making it hard to differentiate his words. “Y/N this is Jung Hoseok.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Finally? What did he mean by that?

You muster up what you thought was a smile albeit a weak one but there. “The pleasure is all mine.”

Different questions race through your mind. Was he here because he found out it was you behind the username? Was he even Yoongi’s friend? Had this all been a plot to finally meet you?

“He hasn’t shut up about the Jungkook’s single. Something about it speaking out to him. He’s very excited to meet the writer behind it.” Yoongi tells you making your head snap in his direction.

There was a silent argument going on between you. It took you months before you accepted Namjoon into the small circle of people who knew that behind another pseudonym of yours stood your name. The songs you wrote for Jungkook mostly spoke of unrequited love and heartbreaks and it would mortify you if people knew it was you who wrote it. The pity looks you might get sent a shudder through your body.

“I can’t wait to hear the future songs you will write.” He says clapping enthusiastically unlike you who couldn’t even utter a word besides thanks. You felt like you kept were being rude. You tried your best not to let the events get to you, but it was hard with him bombarding your inbox constantly.

To your side, Yoongi smiles as if silently answering your question. Hoseok didn’t know you wrote the other songs, nobody knew except Namjoon and Yoongi. You exhale in relief, but the tension remains as you look up at Hoseok. He seemed like the mood maker of the group his smile permanently resting on his face.

“We’re currently working on a new song,” Yoongi announces, and you feel like you want the floor to swallow you up.

You notice Jungkook now paying attention to the conversation as Hoseok leans in. Yoongi turns to you putting you on the spot probably knowing you hadn’t written anything. Trying to calm your nerves you imagine Momo or Sehun standing in front of you instead.

The tension in your body slowly shimmers down, and you can feel yourself take control of the anxiety that was the result of the shock you felt from seeing Jung Hoseok.

“Something with a happier note I hope,” Taehyung says, and you wince at his stoic voice.

Hoseok tsks at him. “Whatever Y/N and Yoongi write will be a hit no doubt.”

“Whipped.” Jungkook coughs under his breath and Jimin giggles slapping him softly on the back of his head.

“We’ll see.” Yoongi smiles, and you follow his suit ignoring your burning cheeks.

Whenever you glanced at Hoseok he was already looking back at you. The attention he gave you every time you spoke offered you a feeling of importance that contributed to you speaking more freely in their presence.

“Did you manage to find anyone interesting to publish their work?” Namjoon’s sentence tickles your curiosity shifting your gaze to Hoseok whose smile for the first time tonight drops.

He plays with the drink in his hands prolonging his answer. “I did find someone, but I am not sure if we’ll sign a deal.”

You stiffen at his answer, the e-mails in your phone suddenly felling heavy.

Namjoon’s brow quirks up. “Not satisfied with the writing?”

Hoseok shakes his head, a weak smile on his lips. He bites his tongue before plopping it to the corner of his mouth. “On the contrary,” this seemed to confuse Namjoon,” they haven’t been responding to any of my e-mails.”

“That’s hard to believe.” Jimin joins the conversation, your attention changing between them as they speak.

"Did you offer them a bad contract?" Namjoon buts in jokingly once he finishes his drink.

Hoseok puckers his lips, slowly looking at Namjoon. "There was no contract to begin with."

"Your conversation gives me a headache. Can you finish the story in one go?" Taehyung speaks up and you silently agree with him.

Hoseok places the glass on the table in front of them, pushing his wavy hair to the sides. His eyes seemed even more mesmerising as they looked over the edge of his glasses.

"I've seen their work on a site and tried to contact them via e-mail. I’ve tried searching for them on other sites but with no results.”

"Why don't you call them or text them? It's the 21st century most people don't use emails as a form of communication."  Jungkook adds his two cents, and you see the rest of the table roll their eyes.

"Just because you use messenger and kakaotalk as communication doesn't mean others do. This isn't a chat between two friends, it's between possible business partners." Jimin scolds the younger and you stifle a laugh.

Namjoon pats Jungkook's back affectionately. "It's unprofessional to contact people through apps especially if you're someone of Hoseok’s status.”

"Anyway," Hoseok coughs straightening his posture," I don't know their name or number. All I have is the user under which they write and well the e-mail."

"Are you sure they are worth all the fuss?" Yoongi adds and you look at Hoseok who immediately nods.

"You should read their poems, Yoongi. They are magical, raw. You can feel each emotion slowly seeping into you. Just like with Y/N’s and yours song. It's powerful."

You tense up at the mention of your name which goes unnoticed by the rest as they engage in a lyrical discussion. You can see Taehyung backing away from the table with Jungkook following behind. Jimin occasionally nods to Hoseok's interpretation of your poems not interested but not wanting to be rude either. Yoongi and Hoseok go back and forward for a while before Namjoon excuses himself leaving the four of you.

"Anyway, I don't want to bore you with my work," Hoseok finishes the discussion turning towards you, " it was lovely meeting you Y/N. I hope to see you soon."

Highly unlikely you wanted to say. "Likewise."

He disappears in the crowd as Yoongi turns to you. "Jimin and I should talk to the other producers some more before we call it a night."

Soon enough they are out of your reach, and you feel like you could breathe for the first time tonight. Pulling your phone from your purse you head straight for the exit. You tap the familiar number, one you’ve dailed many times.

"Hello?" Sehun's voice cuts through your hectic thoughts.

"You will never know who I just fucking met."

"Seokjin?"

"What? No. It’s Jung Hoseok."

You say as you watch the said man lean into the wall of the lift before he notices you standing not far away. The last thing you see before the doors close was his smile turning into a smirk.

"Jung fucking Hoseok."

Miss/Mister Meraki,

I am writing you this mail in hopes of getting a response from you. Wishing the previous mail had landed in a spam box (rather than you not answering), I am writing you another one filled with more hope. After reading your poems I couldn’t help but notice the sad tone most of them carried.

In the light of the discovery, I am going with my hunch and will say freely that you are probably wary of me. Therefore, I’ve decided to take the time and let you get to know me. I’ll start by writing you little facts about me after I read one of your poems. Hopefully, by the end of the journey, you will choose me.

Kind regards,

Jung Hoseok.

[thefanbasewhore]

I loved your Javier preference can you do "You're not alone, I'm here." With Javier? 💞💞

Summary: based off the prompt list I reblogged. Javier is there for the new DEA agent after her first shoot out.

This is short, I'm getting ready to go to bed but wanted to fit a little something in. Enjoy! No use of Y/N.

Warning/content: Fluffy Javier, descriptions of shooting and killing. Reader is a young agent but her and Javi kind of have a thing.

Paring: Javier Peña/Female Reader

Colombia is beautiful, absolutely breath taking between the thick green forests, clear beaches and warm weather it's almost a dream. Family from the states would often stare how jealous they are of her, saying that one should be grateful for an opportunity like this.

But it was lonely.

Let's face it, being new anywhere sucks, the agents who have been here for years had their own clique, friends bonded by time and even blood which left her an unknowing outsider. While the other fellow DEA agents were grouping at a bar trying to forget the demons of the day she found herself alone every single night.

There's something about silence that makes chills creep up the devil's neck, the over thinking it entitles and she's has plenty of time personally witnessing how soul crushing it could be. After particularly rough days, seeing things that make her skin burn she would contemplate resigning, going home to face failure but at least have company again.

Two agents in particular are the only two who would bother talking to her. Agent Murphy and Agent Peña, desks only feet away from her own but she even thinks it's out of pure pity, they're nice men but work too much. Always busy, never around when the office dies and she's faced with the predicament of going home or staying longer at the office to avoid the insecure hours of silence that were bound to come.

"Agent." The words make her snap her head up away from the paper work scattered across the desk, peering into the dark swirls of brown, they match the curling hair at the base of his neck. "You ready to go?"

"Where?" The small dimples that pop through the patches of facial hair are enough to make anyone's knees weak, but luckily she's sitting, just admiring the beautiful man in front of her.

While she did believe it was only out of pity, she might have a teeny, tiny crush on him. How could she help it? Javier was hot headed, a fool with emotions, slept with a too many woman but was compassionate, smart, brave, handsome but most of all called her Hermosa.

She has no idea what it means, her spanish is shit but the way the words roll to perfectly from his tongue, the way his dimples peak smirking after they are muttered literally makes it hard to breath. Much like now, eyebrows raised in a teasing matter, a small chuckle falls from his perfect pout as he leans against the desk. "You didn't listen to a word I said did you?"

"I, um.." Hating the way her cheeks heat up she clears her throat, acting as if there's something stuck that causing the change of color in her face. "Was reading the report.."

"We need to head out to check a tip, meet you outside in ten hermosa." Theres thosd words again, she's completely speechless only nods a validation of understanding. She can't help as her eyes run down the back of his silhouette, a pink shirt stretches over his broad shoulders dipping into the curve of his slim waist then to his jeans that curve so perfectly over his -.

Shaking her head from the thoughts she stands, pulling her jacket over shoulders to joint Javier outside.

Javier is the perfect gentleman, opening the door to the car, asking if the air conditioning setting are okay not only once but twice not wanting her to be uncomfortable. Despite only knowing the man for a few months, and crushing embarrassingly hard, she felt more comfortable in this car then she did at her own home.

It's almost impossible to stop looking at him, one hand on the wheel, the other bringing a cigarette to his pout, lips wrapping around to take a large puff. His shirt is buttoned to the middle of his chest, even though it is scarce there are a few dark hairs that poke out from it, down his lean torso to his flattening thighs due to the pressure of the seat under him. He's looks so good, it's not right, he has to be at least ten or more years older but she wants nothing more than to lean against him, touch those lips with her own, run her fingers around the fatness of his bottom lip, feel his tongue poke out to suck on them.

"See something you like?" It's a tease, smirk that not only makes her cheek ignite but chest blush with pink patches. She's been caught, silent as her mouth drops to say something but Javier beats her to it. "I'm kidding, you should have seen your face."

"You're an asshole." The words are said with harsh tone, but with a smile and an eye roll that softens it up. "I was just actually wondering how many of those things you smoke a day, I heard they were bad for you."

The playful tone of earlier is gone, it's replaced by a lingering silence, a mix of anxiety and anticipation makes her stomach flip. The wall his cold against her skin but it helps hide her from the impending danger. Her breath is trembling, chest is expanding so fast she swears she can't breath.

It all happened so fast, Javier and her doing a sweep of the building then yelling, chaos erupting in the form of unforgiving bullets. Javier and her separated but him pushing her away from the danger only to face it head on himself.

One of them chasing and following her. While anyone would believe they would act heroic in the moment, run head first like Javi at the danger she couldn't, she ran up the stairs, hid in one of the bedrooms shooting the passerbys.

But now she realizes how much of a bad idea it was, trapping herself with the man only stands a few feet from her, a sickly smile matches his words as he points the gun at her. "There you are princess."

She's immobilized, pausing as eyes squeeze together expecting searing pain but the loud sound the echos the room has blood painting her face, body falling limp at her feet. Curled up in the most ridiculous position but eyes open wide with shock as Javier stands in front of her, gun still held high despite the dead man pooling blood on her legs, his own chest heaving with adrenaline.

She can't help it, the way the tears swell up, chin quivers no matter how much she tries to hide it. Javi's eyes never leave, only lower his gun, extending his hand for she can take it.

She reaches for it but the body the separates them makes her falter. "Hey -- look up, eyes on me. It's alright."

"I'm sorry. I ran away, I left you all alone." Word are breathlessly whispered with breaks, her lungs didn't want to work crushing her chest with deep sorrow. "I've never done this before."

Hands run over her face, feeling the blood smear across it, pulling her hand away to see the redness to meet the cause again before Javi is speaking again. "Eyes on me, take my hand."

The shift from the house to the car is blurry, between the tears and the blood it was nearly impossible to see anything, all she could think about was how slimy it felt against her pant leg, how the smell was almost metallically.

Javier had started the car, taking a drag of his cigarette and squeezing the bridge of his nose with the same hand. His eyes meet her again, noticing the blank stare directed at blood stained hands, Javi reaches over taking his jacket from the back seat to try and rub the blood away but it makes it worse, staining fingers a dark pink.

"I was the same way." Guessing it was her first time seeing a dead body but truthfully it doesn't get any easier, just starts to fade into normalcy. "Let's get you home hermosa."

"No --." The words are choked, loud as eye meet his with fear. Anything but the lingering silence home entitles, it would be a punishment not a relief. "Please, I don't want to go home. I am alone, I don't want to be alone."

Javi pauses to take in her words, eyebrows expressing confusion at the out burst. The way her chin quivers with uncertainty, tears push past eye lids if it wasn't for the situation he would tell her how beautiful she looks like this but instead slowly extends his hand to cup her cheek, moving closer to feel her warmth, thumb running over the highest point of her cheeks feeling them soak with a mixture of tears and blood. "You're not alone, I'm here sweet girl."

[freebooter4ever]

A fic inspired by @kanhatomame 's Lovely Drawing of Eugene dreaming about Snafu ^_^ Set in Mobile after the war, Eugene deals with pining and memories, and that wordless connection to another person that never really leaves you. (angst ish with happy ending)

__________

There are so many ghosts in Eugene's head it's quite crowded there. But the only one he clings to is Snafu's. Naturally, this also means it's the one that feels most nebulous and impossible to chase down. Sometimes, when Eugene sees other couples together, touching each other, looking at each other, the connections to his own vivid memories feel stronger.

But he and Snafu were never a couple, should never have been a couple. Their few kisses were stolen behind doors and in the shadows. They could never have danced hand in hand like the boys and girls are doing now at the OMM ball.

Eugene stares at the dancers, himself half hidden behind a potted plant. A silly form of camouflage, and one that wouldn't even work if someone looked his way. It certainly fails to hide him from his brother. He can see Edward eyeing him disapprovingly from across the room. Edward's arm is wrapped lovingly around his wife's waist. She leans into his shoulder slightly - Martha is small and petite and fits perfectly.

Eugene takes a deep breath and refocuses his eyes to the center of the dance floor. He slowly allows himself to relax, concentrating on one memory of a touch. Snafu was never one to lovingly cradle Eugene, but whenever they would sit down around camp - at the slop shoot, or the movies, or when naked on the beach after a swim - Snafu would sling his arm behind Gene's back and angle his whole body in Gene's direction. He kept it casual, usually joking and laughing as if using humor to distract the rest of the guys from this habit of his. Except there were always times when Snaf would make a particularly ridiculous wisecrack and Eugene would feel compelled to turn his neck to roll his eyes at Snafu, and the minute his eyes would meet Snafu's, the other guy's face would be glowing with joy. Joy reserved only for one person - Eugene.

There's a specific shine in Snafu's eyes that he saves solely for Gene. And those delicate bits of eye contact were more intimate than all the loving touches in the world. And often they preceded Snafu pulling Eugene into some dark hideaway, and pressing his full body up against Gene, still teasing him, tempting him with no kisses, no gentle lover's touch until Eugene finally got fed up and molded their mouths together.

Eugene will never forget the shape of Snafu's hands.

"Eugene? Baby brother?" Edward is snapping his fingers in front of Eugene's face.

Eugene blinks rapidly, comes back to himself, completely loses the relaxation in his body, and glares at Edward.

"Thought you were in a trance or something," Edward grins lopsided.

"I was thinking," Eugene sighs.

"No duh," Edward says, "You do too much of that, little brother."

"What else is there to do?" Eugene sighs continuously. He shouldn't have opened his mouth because the next thing he knows Edward tells him 'don't move' and disappears further into the house to find some poor victim to foist awkwardly on Gene.

It's been like this all evening. Eugene's talked to more girls in the past hour than he ever has in his life. All of them brought to him by Edward, eagerly introducing the girls to his younger, naive brother.

This latest one is named Victoria, and she's got long curly brown hair that looks soft to touch, and a porcelain face like a doll.

"She's very pretty," Eugene says truthfully when Edward corners him and demands to know what he thought after Victoria is called away by friends.

"Gene, I don't understand you," Edward shakes his head, "You're the son of the city's best doctor, you've got all your limbs intact, you're a war hero… why I'll bet you're the most eligible bachelor here. If you just learn to play it up a little bit…"

"I'm going outside to smoke," Eugene interrupts flatly, "Come get me when it's time to leave."

His voice brooks no argument, and he promptly ducks out of the house with only one direction in mind. He fills his pipe, lights it, and slowly lets the smoke start to relax him again. His lips suck on the wood between them, and the ghost of Snafu seeps in with the nicotine. The memory of the first time when Eugene sucked Snafu's finger clean (of mashed potatoes) - after Snafu tried (and failed) to start a food fight. It pairs well with the memory of sucking off other parts of Snafu too… certain parts he doesn't have a clear picture of in his mind. He sort of blurred the image as it happened, out of embarrassment or sheer awkwardness. If he ever got the chance to do it again, he'd memorize every square inch.

"Eugene, your brother asked me to come find you," his mother breaks his reverie, "Your father is having the car brought around."

Eugene nods, his shame from his thoughts bright red on his face, but luckily hidden in the dark. He follows his mother to the driveway and wordlessly climbs into the backseat. Martha and Edward are taking their own car. So Eugene has plenty of room to forego seatbelts and lie down across the back. His head is swimming a little bit, from that punch he kept drinking. He couldn't taste it, but he suspects it was spiked.

The car starts up, and starts rumbling, shaking his entire body. The seat is warm - the heat from the engine flows through the entire undercarriage. Eugene closes his eyes. He listens to the sound of the road under the wheels, a smooth wash like constantly crashing waves.

Waves lapping at the toes of his feet, and bathing half of Snafu's entire leg in water up to his knees. Snafu lying naked on his back in the sand, with Eugene straddled on top of him bouncing vigorously. All Eugene remembers is the intensity, the sounds, and the feeling. Half weird gritty discomfort, half absolute pleasure.

The car turns and rolls Eugene against the back of the car. He turns his face to the smooth leather, seeking that pressure of something - anything - against his skin.

Eugene recognizes when they reach their house's street because he can feel the jittering rumble as the car crosses the wooden bridge. The jitter shakes him to his bones, and he shivers although the night is hot and sticky. He closes his eyes and counts the streetlights behind his eyelids until they reach the driveway.

Had Eugene been paying attention at all, looking out the window of the car instead of losing himself to ghosts, he might have noticed the beat-up rusted brown truck parked just outside his family's gate at the end of Georgia House's long private drive. Though truthfully, even if Eugene had been looking he might not have seen it. The cloud cover darkens the sky until the only light source is the single lamp marking the start of the Sledge's driveway. And the truck is parked under a tree, throwing even more shadow over it. The only hint that someone is there is the soft glow of a cigarette luminating a haunted face and skinny legs dangling over the truck bed where he sits.

Snafu arrived in town hours ago - just in time to watch Eugene leave. He's been sitting on top his parked truck ever since. Judging from their fancy clothes, Snafu knew they'd likely return that night from an outing and sure enough. Here they are. He wedges the cigarette tighter in his mouth and jumps down from the truck bed.

Eugene's window is on the first floor, so it shouldn't be hard to reach except for the damn kudzu covering a mass of bushes and thorny plants underneath. Snafu suspects they might have been roses at one point. They're dead now. There's live ones elsewhere in the garden, but the ones under Eugene's window are long gone.

Fucking symbolic maybe.

Snafu shoves the window open unceremoniously and throws his leg in. He sits on the sil and stares down at Gene in the bed. Eugene didn't bother to change, he's still in that same expensive looking suit, his tie askew and his shoes kicked off with one sock missing. Snafu settles himself comfortably against the window frame, puffs on his cigarette, and watches Eugene sleep.

He doesn't get to watch for long - Eugene sleeps fitfully, just as Snafu remembers, and ends up kicking and thrashing in his bed. Snafu watches him with intense regret. When Eugene fell asleep peacefully on the train, for the first time since that initial week on Pavuvu, Snafu thought maybe civilization had kicked Eugene's nightmares. That maybe Eugene was gonna be able to go back to 'normal'. Clearly Snafu was wrong.

He waits a few more seconds, till Eugene's fit is at its peak, and whispers sharply, "Sledgehammer."

Gene sits bolt upright immediately and silently. He stares blankly for a split second, till his eyes snap to Snafu's. Then he stares silently at Snafu.

Snafu takes his half finished cigarette and grinds it into the wood of Eugene's window. It leaves a mark. Eugene watches this without expression.

"You're real," Eugene whispers.

Snafu shrugs.

"I mean you're not a dream… for once," Eugene says.

"You've been dreaming about me?" Snafu grins.

Eugene lunges forward, grabs Snafu's forearms and drags him onto the bed. Snafu falls awkwardly on top of Eugene, but it's easy to shift their positions and overpower Eugene to pin him to the bed. "I really hope those nightmares of yours wasn't you dreaming of me, cause if they were we might have to figure out a way to give you better ones."

"My dreams of you only come during the day," Eugene says, much more serious in tone than Snafu.

"Good ones?"

Eugene nods.

"It isn't enough… is it?" Snafu asks. He already knows the correct answer. That's why he's here.

In response Eugene pulls him down into a kiss.

[fakeloveaskblog]

Hi Logan, how do I even start? Save this number, if you want to. I have been supporting Remy through texts for a bit. They have revealed to me some very troubling things in the past. Things like, their boyfriend kicking their cane from under them as a ‘joke’? Those kinds of things.

Virgil, that's his name by the way, also kind of yells at them a lot at times, and tells them they're worthless except for the use he can give to their body and that nobody else will ever love them. They believe they are horrible. They believe they deserve it. They appear to think their disability makes them only a burden to him and nothing else and while I have tried to convince them to the contrary I honestly don't believe I can when they're still trapped by choice in such a toxic environment.

I have tried to help and give them the tools to better their self-esteem and combat that, and send them nice text messages in general, but that hasn't helped in anything more than a superficial level. If you can do something, anything, or could take their case to someone who can something, I'd really appreciate that.

(Words: 2088)

(Talk of U!Virgil)

Logan: "That is...That is" He took a moment to gather himself "That is even worse than I had estimated"

"This must have been happening the other times we met them too right? And we didn't notice anything. We should have- we-" Patty mumbled out. Her voice was shaky.

She had just gotten home half an hour ago or so, she wasn't even fully out of her cosplay makeup. Logan had immediately pulled her into a hug which wasn't uncommon but he'd held onto her so hard it hurt and he’d been close to collapsing into the hug.

All it took was her asking if he was alright for him to tell her everything. He couldn't keep a secret from her even if he tried.

Now they sat in the couch. Logan had his head leaned on her chest and she had moved her arms around his waist. All they'd eaten was some of the leftover pie from Lo's date a few days ago because both of them were far too worked up to even think about cooking.

Patty pinched the bridge of her nose and tried to think "Okay well if they're being emotionally abused as what we know suggest then...I..is there even anyone we can contact that could help. I mean there's no- there's no evidence right? Or well- it's just- it's their word against Virgil's and if they won't even say Virgil is abusing them then there's nothing!"

"We can kidnap them" Logan pointed out.

"That we can"

Logan sighed “Do you think talking to them would even make a difference? They seem to already hate me so now it’s even less likely that they’ll listen”

“Well honey you can always try. They go to the same therapist as Janus right? So you can just casually ‘run into them’ right?” She gave him a loving kiss “I know my lil smarty-sweetheart can help them”

He sent her a tired smile “I’ll try”

--

Remy wasn’t as upset from the therapy session as they usually were. It had mostly been discussing how they felt about maybe being poly. They still thought they deserved a smoke break afterwards though so now they sat on bench right outside the entrance, they were on their third cigarette.

They had their head leaned against the back of the bench and was looking up at the greying sky and falling leaves so they didn’t notice when Logan sat down. He kept his distance to not startle them but cleared his throat to get their attention.

“Are you also waiting for someone?” He asked.

They glanced over to him “Girl go fuck yourself with a rake”

“Noted. I will put it in my calender. I for one am here to pick up Janus after his therapy is over for the day. Mayhaps I will show him some more star trek”

“Okay great gal. Then I’m just like waiting for Remus I guess” They pressed the cigarette into their leather jacket to put it out so they could leave as soon as they saw their cru- friend.

Logan inched closer “Is your bruise healing well?”

“Just ‘cause we’re in the same place doesn’t mean we have to talk to each other!” They snapped back.

“Exscuse me, I was simply worried about your physical health”

They rolled their eyes and crossed their arms before mumbling out “It’s fine. It’s whatever. I haven’t done it again so like forget it” 

“I am relieved to hear that”

Silence fell over them. Remy refused to look at him. Logan tried to figure out what was the best way to ask them about Virgil.

“....Your boyfriend did not insult you once you came home right?” He asked them in such a soft tone as if any slight wrong saying would make them implode on themself.

“Girl there you go again with your stupid fucking bullshit. I don’t wanna like talk about it!....Not ‘cause anything happened but ‘cause I hate you! You don’t- we don’t- we’re not friends! Why are you just like forcing yourself in on my private life! It’s like- it’s like fucking stalking!”

Logan reached out his hand to comfort them but quickly stopped himself “I am sorry. I don’t know how to best formulate this but I sincerely don’t mean to upset you like, neither do I know how to not upset you. All I know is that I want you to be okay and that if my partner treated me like yours seem to do I wouldn’t be able to stay”

Remy’s hair fell in front of their face as they leant their head in their plams “You don’t get it” They muttered.

“I am sure I don-”

“IT’S NOT THAT FUCKING EASY! It’s not like I have any savings an-and I’m not able to keep a job and without Virgil I have no way to buy medicine and- Like do you just want me to walk out and become homeless and like starve to death? Is that it? Like even if I wanted to leave, which I don’t, It’s not like I have a choice!”

A quiet sniffle came from them. Logan gave them a moment to gather their breathe.

“I...I didn’t mean to make it sound like leaving was easy” Logan murmured “I understand that you have probably been forced to think like you have no choice but to stay. I am aware of how crippling manipulation like that can be” 

He leaned closer and even though they didn’t look at him he still sent them his most caring look as he continued.

“But I promise you that there are other options. You aren’t stuck. I am willing to let you stay at my apartment for however long you need and if you aren’t comfortable with that I am sure Janus or Remus would let you stay as well. I can even pay for a motel if that would be better. Depending on what part of your disability is making you unable to work I am sure that could be fixed. For example a wheelchair could help! My point is that you do have a choice, even if it’s very understandably hard to think that”

Remy’s shoulders were shaking. Logan gently placed his hand on top of their bony shoulder. Every vein was visible through their light skin.

At just the hint of his touch they flinched away. They stumbled up from the bench and took a few steps away. They looked at him with reddened eyes.

“No. No. Girl you- you just don’t get it! That’s all!” They spat out, their voice was shaky as well “You haven’t like lived with me. Once you or Remus o-or anyone spends enough time with me you’ll realize what an annoying overemotional burden I am! An-and then I’ll get thrown out! Okay!? So-so it’s not really- I don’t actually have a choice ‘cause I’ll just get thrown out. Virgil is the only who will ever bother to deal with me for this long! ‘cause he loves me! And no one else will love me like he does. S-so just shut up!”

Logan stood up as well and took an unsure step towards them. They looked so weak, as if a single push from the wind would make them crumble. 

“It’s okay. I hear what you are saying” Logan assured.

“An-and it’s like- Virgil needs me! And I need him! That’s like how it works! I can’t just leave him! What if- who will calm him down from his panic attacks?! And if I leave what if he gets s-so upset and like anxious he hurts himself! He’s said there was a chance he would!! I can’t risk it! I have to stay! He needs me! I-I need- I can’t- I can’t leave”

Logan nodded along “It’s okay. I understand. I understand”

“You don’t! You’re a idiotic bitch! I hope all your stupid fucking ties get destroyed in the washer!” Remy was close to yelling.

“Harsh but I see your point. To be honest everything you have said has made me even more worried. From my experience a relationship shouldn’t make you feel this way! It shouldn’t make you come up with reasons to stay! It shouldn’t hurt you!” Logan reached out to comfort them once more. “I promise it shouldn’t hurt”

“It’s not hurting me! YOU are hurting me!”

Logan was taken aback. He didn’t know what to say. His arms moved to hang helplessly along his sides. Remy opened their mouth to say something more but then

“Hey uh what’s going on? Are you roleplaying a death match?” Remus stood in the entrance to the building. He glanced between the two of them.

“This idiot is trying to destroy my relationship!” Remy exclaimed.

“While it is not my place to explain the full situation without their permission I can assure you that I am merely worrying for their mental and physical health and I am unsure if their relationship is good for them from what I’ve heard” Logan explained.

Remus barely even hesitated before moving in front of Remy. He moved his arms out and let them lean against him to catch their breathe, like he was a human shield protecting them from Logan. 

Logan hadn’t seen Remus angry before and he didn’t look fully enraged, but there was a hint of anger in eyes as he sneered at him.

“Well I’m sorry Loganson but not every relationship is totally perfect and works without any arguments like you and your wife relationship apparently does!” He spat out.

“I can assure you that me and my wife’s relationship hasn’t been argument free but that doesn’t mean I have ever even thought about insulting her like Remy’s boyfriend seemingly ha-”

“You’re not Remy!” Remus snapped “You’re a guy who dresses like a 40 year old math teacher who is losing the children in the divorce! Leave them alone!” 

Remy was bordering on cowering behind Remus. Their whole body seemed to shake as a few tears spilled down their cheeks. They met Logan’s eyes.

“If the bullshit you’re saying is true, which it like isn’t but if it was that- that means I’ve spent my whole life being abused” They forced out through tears “How can you Ever you expect me to live with that?”

Logan didn’t have an answer to that. He watched on as Remus placed his hands on Remy’s shoulders and gently guided them to turn away. He bonked their foreheads together and wiped their tears away.

“C’mon beanie-boo I can take you to the amusement park to cheer you up! Or we can find some lsd and get high so you can hallucinate beating the shit out of the stinky Log guy!” Remus exclaimed as they walked away.

A headache began to form in Logan’s head as he slumped back down on the bench. He stared out at the nearly empty parking lot. He didn’t understand what he did wrong. 

He wished he could talk to Virgil. He wished he could see him eye to eye and chew him out for ever making Remy feel like a burden, for ever making them feel trapped. A part of him wanted to punch him.

He was so zoned out into the overthinking he didn’t realize how much time was passing until Janus got out from his therapy session. As soon as Jan saw his boyfriend he let up into a shining smile and hurried over to him.

“Hi dear! Aww did you miss me so much you had to come pick me up! How charming!” Janus hesitated before kissing Logan on the lips. It still made him all giggly.

Normally seeing him so giddy would have made Logan overabundant with happiness....but now all he could think about was if he should tell Janus about Remy’s situation or not. They were friends right? Could it help? Would they listen to their friend?

Logan’s head hurt so bad. None of it made sense. There was no logical answer. How Janus reacted could make everything worse. He didn’t want to ruin everything more than he already had.

“Darling? Are you feeling alright? Has something happened?” Janus asked while taking his hand.

“I....I....” Logan looked over to you.

Logan: “I am so sorry to do this but do you have any idea what to do? The human emotion and it’s reactions are so illogical I don’t- I don’t understand- I don’t know what to do. I’m sorry- Should I tell Janus about the suspected abuse or should I lie?”

[magniloquent-raven]

See What This is Worth

Harringrove Week of Love: Day 4

Teacher AU || School Dance

Rated: T

Read on Ao3

Billy is not, by nature, the kind of person who likes to be overly helpful. He doesn’t go out of his way for people he doesn’t know. He’s not especially charitable. 

And yet here he is, taking time out of his Friday night, setting up tables and supervising idiots with no upper body strength who think they can move a whole stack of chairs on their own. He has better things to do than hang out at work and chaperone a bunch of middle-schoolers trying to score their first kiss to some truly grating top 40 shit. 

He didn’t even like school dances when he was a student. As a middle-schooler he was too fucking terrified that some girl might ask him to dance, so he just never went. And in high school...well. He ended up more the type to get high in the parking lot and ditch with whatever chick was too drunk to notice he didn’t put out. 

There was never a boy he liked well enough to do this shit with. Get dressed up and pretend not to want to dance and get flustered when he so much as touches a hand. No one in school was worth suffering through this shit for. 

Until now, unfortunately.

He’s a grown-ass man and somehow feels like a dumb, lovestruck teen and it’s all Steve Harrington’s fault.

Him and his fucking face, and his ass, and his looking unfairly good in a suit. 

He looks good in his stupid dorky khakis and paint-splattered apron too, but holy shit Billy never really got the phrase cleans up nice until he saw Steve in formal wear. His hair all combed neatly for once, wearing a blazer and slacks that have clearly been tailored. 

Billy is seriously considering sending a thank you note to whatever tailor Steve visits, because they are very good at their job. 

Good enough that Billy’s spending half his goddamn time staring at Steve’s ass instead of setting up. He’s bossing some volunteers around, gesturing animatedly about crepe paper and streamers and it’s so distractingly endearing that Billy kind of forgets he’s supposed to be doing anything other than watch Steve work.

And he gets caught. Steve turns, spots Billy staring. Scowls. Which is kind of his default expression when looking at Billy. 

As much as Billy secretly wants to have Steve look at him like he can actually stand spending more than five minutes in the same room, the irritated frown kind of suits Steve. It’s cute. And when he gets pissed it’s hot. His eyes get all intense, mouth set in a firm line and Billy may or may not have had a fantasy or two about Steve making that exact face right before absolutely destroying his ass, so...Steve might not like him, but Billy’s dealing. 

By being annoying, but still. 

He wiggles his fingers in a sarcastic little wave, leaning a little more pointedly. He’s been lounging against the wall for way too long, his shoulder is going numb, but he’s not about to scramble to look like he’s doing something just because Steve spotted him.

Steve’s shoulders heave as he sighs, eyes rolling skyward. He hands his clipboard to the nearest volunteer, whispering something before turning on his heel and marching over. 

Billy’s inspecting his nails when Steve reaches him. Stops a few paces away and folds his arms. 

“Something I can do for you, Harrington?” He knows the bored tone gets to Steve, so he plays it up.

“Yeah. You were supposed to be helping Nancy put chairs out. You know, the thing you signed up for?” There’s still an edge to that statement, has been since Billy walked into the first committee meeting with a big, shit-eating grin and Steve glared at him looking like he was about to pop a blood vessel. He always says it all accusatory, like he’s not sure Billy even did sign up, and he’s just hanging around to be a nuisance.

Which, he is, but he’s doing it officially. 

Has his little chaperone badge and everything. It’s pinned to his jacket, which he isn’t actually wearing, but he has it. 

“Got tired,” Billy says with a dramatic weariness, head lolling to the side, rolling back against the wall. He looks up at Steve through his eyelashes. “I’m allowed to take a break aren’t I?”

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. “Hargrove, you’re telling me moving flimsy plastic chairs tired you out? You’re built like a brick wall.” He puts his hands on his hips and gets the same look he gets when his students start throwing clay around. 

“Are you objectifying me?” Billy puts a hand on his chest with mock-offence, the corners of his mouth turning upward with genuine delight. His grin brightens when Steve’s cheeks flush, gaze darting away, the annoyance flagging a little, replaced with something else for just a moment.

“I’m stating a fact. In a completely...imparted way.”

“Think you mean ‘impartial’.” 

The flush darkens, a splotchy red instead of the petal pink he was a moment ago, and his mouth twists. “Whatever,” he mutters. “You’ve been standing here for like ten minutes, man, get back to work.”

He stalks off in a huff, leaving Billy wondering how the hell Steve knew how long he’d been slacking off for.

Then again, he is in charge, so. He’s probably keeping tabs on everyone. At least that’s what Billy has to tell himself so the butterflies in his stomach don’t get any ideas. 

He wanders off, back to where he was supposed to be, but Wheeler doesn’t actually need his help. She got most of the chairs in place while he was checking out her ex. He gets an impatient brush-off when he half-heartedly asks her if there’s any more work to do. 

She never did like him much. 

Not that he’s bothered, he doesn’t care for her either. She’s too snooty. Up her own ass. Self-righteous. ...and Steve’s ex. 

Rumour has it Steve’s finally over her, but Billy will believe it when he sees it, the man hasn’t been on a date since Wheeler tore his heart to shreds three years ago. 

Heather gossips, okay. She’s nosy, and her family knows Wheeler’s family, who know Steve, and word gets around. These upper class assholes never have anything better to do than talk behind each other’s backs. Especially when the only son of a wealthy family is, at 28, single and teaching snot-nosed brats how to fingerpaint. 

And Billy has a vested interest, sue him. He asks some pointed questions here and there. 

God, he’s never gotten this fucking desperate over a guy before. Pining away. Putting up with Nancy Wheeler bossing him around at meetings because he doesn’t want to piss her off too much just in case that’s the final straw for Steve. The thing that tips their rapport from not-friendly to outright hostile. 

Because for some reason the guy still gives a shit about the ex who cheated on him. Fucking martyr. 

Billy’s not sure if he’s jealous that she gets forgiven and he gets angry glares for no goddamn reason, or if he’s just flabbergasted that anyone would be that self-sacrificing. Both, maybe. It’s a little impressive, honestly. How far out of his way Steve will go to forgive people. 

Except Billy.

Who still doesn’t know what he did wrong in the first place.

Not that it bothers him. No, not at all. He’s just constantly thinking about it, and trying to hold on to every detail of the early days of their interactions so he can analyze those moments for clues, and sometimes lying awake at night wondering if he’s just fundamentally unlovable and he’s never gonna figure out what he did wrong because he just is wrong. 

He’s fine. It’s fine.

Thank god Steve is occupied for the rest of set-up. Always finding someone who isn’t Billy to boss around when he isn’t physically doing something himself. Gives Billy some room to breathe. And watch, like a weirdo.

He gets a couple weird looks from other volunteers but that’s nothing new. Wheeler glaring at him. Heather smirking. That one parent chaperone who’s here early and was making eyes at him at first, but it’s devolved into side-eye. 

He thought maybe the dance actually starting would be a distraction, but it’s just loud. He’s still constantly stealing glances at Steve. While he’s making small talk. While he’s repinning some streamers that got knocked loose. He looks gorgeous, even under the harsh fluorescent lighting of a school gym, and Billy really wishes he had a flask on him right now.

Yelling at some rowdy kids doesn’t help either. Just earns him a dirty look from that one overprotective chaperone mom. No one asked you, lady, the kid was bouncing around like an over-caffeinated gerbil, someone was gonna get hurt. It’s Billy’s job to break that shit up.

He needs a smoke. This is unbearable.

Slipping out of the gym unnoticed is easier than he thought it would be. No one seems to give a shit that he’s sidling out, which is a little insulting, honestly. But useful.

The hallways are quiet. Empty. It’s always a little creepy being here at night. The squeak of his boots on the linoleum, the artificial white light keeping the nighttime gloom out, it always feels a little dream-like. Nightmarish maybe. Liminal. 

He props the door open on his way out, with a chair he lifted from a nearby classroom. The last thing he needs is to get locked out. Embarrassing. He’d probably just leave, but then he’d get chewed out for ditching.

He sighs, turning his face skyward for a moment to breathe before he lights up.

The cool air is a relief after being cooped up with so many rambunctious pre-teens. Billy’s still not a fan of Indiana weather, and he probably never will be, but anything is better than being in there another goddamn second. 

This was a terrible idea. It was barely an idea. An impulse decision that got his ass stuck babysitting on a Friday night just so he could spend more time staring at Steve. 

Pathetic. 

Maybe he should just ditch right now. 

He’s weighing the pros and cons when a familiar voice cuts into his contemplation.

“Hargrove, where the hell did you—” Steve’s face appears when he pokes his head out the cracked-open door. His pinchy annoyed face. He wrinkles his nose when he spots Billy, and the cigarette in his hand. “Seriously?”

Billy shrugs. Puts the cigarette between his lips and takes a pointed drag, cheeks hollowing.

Steve, who was trying to sidle out past the chair, trips. The chair clatters to the ground, Steve stumbling in the opposite direction, arms out and flailing. 

The door slams shut behind him.

Billy gapes, incredulous gaze flicking between Steve, frozen in place, and the closed door. “Seriously?”

“...Shit. I—” Steve grimaces. Runs a hand through his hair, tousling his neatly combed locks. “You have your key, right?”

The glare Billy levels at him is positively icy. “Yeah, no, of course I do, the chair was there for fun. I wasn’t worried about being locked out at all.” 

“Okay, okay, Jesus. You don’t have to be such a dick about it.”

“Don’t I?” It comes out far more bitterly than intended. Steve stares at him.

“No? What kind of—” he huffs, loud, frustrated, “What the fuck is your deal, Hargrove?”

Well. That’s a layered question. One he isn’t going to answer even a little bit. He scoffs instead, turning away and taking another angry pull off his cigarette. It warms him but does nothing for the pit in his stomach.

They stand there in silence for a beat. The muffled noise from inside is muted, distant. 

“Fine, whatever,” Steve mutters. “I just don’t get why you hate me so much.”

And he sounds hurt. He sounds sad, and it throws Billy for a loop. Knocks him down a little. But then his chest gets tight, his heart flip-flopping around in the clutches of something caustic and resentful.

He flicks ash in Steve’s direction with an emphatic gesture, a petty vindictiveness. “You’re kidding, right?” he snaps. Steve’s jaw drops, just for a second, surprise passing over his face, before his expression hardens, his mouth snaps shut, jaw clenching.

“Alright, fine, I get it, what’s not to hate.” He clutches his elbows, not quite folding his arms. It looks more like he’s hugging himself. “Good talk.” 

Billy squints at him. The tense line of his shoulders, the way he can’t quite meet Billy’s eye. He’s struck with the absurd urge to pull Steve into his arms. The impulse just pisses him off more. “You know what, princess, you get what you give, alright? You can’t treat someone like shit from the jump and then get mad when they don’t want to be your best fucking friend. Fuck you.” 

“What? I never—”

“Oh, you never? You never asked Heather why she ‘puts up with such an asshole’?” He tosses his hands in the air, air quoting around the phrase, and takes a step towards Steve. “The day after we met? And you never talked over me at my first staff meeting, right? You would never.” Another step. He doesn’t think about it, doesn’t do it on purpose, but he ends up standing inches from Steve. The cold air mists their breath, and it mingles in one seething cloud between them. “You’ve been treating me like the dirt under your shoe since I got here, Harrington, don’t you dare act like you haven’t.”

Steve sets his jaw, a stubborn tilt to his chin. “You were an asshole. I still don’t get why she puts up with you!”

Billy grinds his teeth. He’s asked Heather that himself. With varying degrees of seriousness. It stings hearing it from someone else. 

“Yeah, well, we can’t all be people pleasers,” he spits, hands clenching into fists at his side. To channel his anger, more than anything else. He isn’t seventeen anymore, he can’t just start throwing punches at a co-worker. 

His nails bite into the skin of his palm, sweat stinging the shallow scrapes, and his hands tremble, itch. 

“I’m not—you know what, I’m not doing this with you.” He steps back. Just like that. Like it’s that easy to walk away. Like none of this matters to him, and he’s just...venting frustrations that have nothing to do with Billy. Because Billy doesn’t matter to him. This is about getting locked out of his own stupid party. Or Wheeler saying something bitchy maybe. Or any number of things going on in his life that Billy doesn’t know about because he’s not a part of it. 

And the tumbling, tangling web of twisting thoughts wrap around each other ‘til none of them make sense, ‘til he doesn’t know what he’s upset about he’s just gutted, just standing there in the cold staring at Steve, his eyes stinging and his toes going numb because he didn’t wear his good socks today.

He shouldn’t give a shit about this either, but he does. 

Story of his fucking life, apparently.

Steve’s gaze wanders, looking for what, Billy doesn’t know, but his profile lit up by a dirty streetlamp has got to be the most beautiful fucking thing Billy’s ever seen. He wants to kiss Steve so badly it hurts. 

And he hates that he still does, even when he’s angry. Even bitter and hurting he still wants. 

He flicks his cigarette butt away and shoves his hands in his pockets. 

“The fuck are you looking for, Harrington,” he asks flatly, as Steve cranes his neck peering around the building. 

Steve shoots him a glare. “Trying to remember if any of the doors got left unlocked.” He shivers violently, and sticks his hands in his armpits. “It’s freezing out here, in case you didn’t notice, and I’m not really into the idea of frostbite, so.”

“What, Mr.Born-and-raised-in-Indiana can’t handle a little snow?” Billy sneers. It’s petty, he knows. It’s not fair. Because Steve is out here in a dress shirt, with the sleeves rolled up, dressed to be in a sweaty, crowded gymnasium. Billy at least grabbed his jacket before he came out here, knowing he was going to be a while, and he’s still clenching his jaw against the urge to let his teeth chatter. 

The look that earns him is withering, though it’s undercut slightly by the awkward way Steve shuffles his arms around, trying to unroll his sleeves without exposing his fingers to the cold. 

Billy rolls his eyes. “Forget it, pretty boy, Wheeler made her boytoy check all the doors before the dance started. Either wait ‘til someone notices you’re gone or break a window.” 

“Great,” Steve mutters, and shudders again. 

“Why do you still talk to her, anyways?” He tries for casual and misses by a mile. Steve’s eyebrows shoot upwards and Billy tries again. “Just making conversation. We could be out here a while.”

“And that was what you—whatever. She and I are friends. Why wouldn’t I talk to her.”

“C’mon,” Billy scoffs, “Plenty of reasons. You still hung up on her or something? Hangin’ around hoping for another shot?”

“Definitely not.”

It shouldn’t make Billy’s heart leap but it does. Just because he’s not still sniffing around after Wheeler’s granny panties anymore doesn’t mean he has any interest in Billy. “Really now.”

“Yes, really, Jesus Christ. Why do you care.” 

“I don’t.” Billy lies, and looks away, affecting disinterest. He sniffs. “It’s just weird, is all. I sure as shit wouldn’t hang around someone after they cheated on me.”

Steve is staring. Billy can feel his gaze boring into the side of his head. He glances out of the corner of his eye, watches Steve furrow his brow and frown. “It wasn’t—It was more complicated than that. I wasn’t...good. We weren’t good together.” He stops himself, biting his lip, and shakes his head. 

“Hm.” Billy chews his thumbnail. It almost feels like they’re getting somewhere, but it’s so fragile Billy’s afraid to open his mouth and ruin it. The silence stretches, filled only by Steve’s rustling shivers, and Billy’s own unsteady heartbeat. “My car keys are in my jacket pocket,” he ventures, after long enough that the silence has gotten awkward. 

“What! How long were you going to keep that to yourse—”

“Do you want to take advantage of my heater, or not.” 

“Jesus Christ, yes.”

“Alright.”

They don’t talk on the walk over. Snow crunches beneath Billy’s boots, and Steve slips a few times on patches of icy pavement. 

And Billy feels somehow nervous. Like he’s invited Steve to his goddamn bedroom or something. 

Or maybe he’s just worried this tentative peace will end with their conversation going where it always does, blowing up in his goddamn face. But they’ve never actually spent that much time alone, he has no idea how this is going to work. 

Best case scenario it ends with Steve half-dressed in the backseat of his car, but he’s not stupid enough to hope for that.

Fantasize about it, sure, but…

Steve actually being in his car is a surreal experience. Filling the small cab with his clean laundry scent, sweet and subtle, faint enough to be a tease, and he has to restrain himself from taking big embarrassing sniffs to satisfy his sudden craving for more. 

He wonders if the smell will linger. How long Steve will be a phantom presence in his space. 

Waste of time to think about it now, while he’s actually here. 

Billy distracts himself by keeping his hands busy. Fumbling with the keys in his stiff fingers. Poking the overhead button to flip on the interior light. Flicking the dials on his console. The heater’s fan drones almost as loudly as the engine. Somehow the white noise makes the silence less stressful.

Steve rubs his hands together in front of the nearest vent, hissing through his teeth. “Fuck, fuck, I can’t feel my goddamn fingers,” he mutters, the hair on his forehead flopping as he moves. 

“You weren’t out there that long,” Billy chuckles. Steve’s clumsy flailing is stupid endearing, Billy is shamelessly turned in his seat to watch him, the doorhandle digging into his spine, his knee pulled up and leaning on the seat’s backrest. 

“Oh come on, you grew up in California, how are you fine right now?” Steve groans, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. His gaze darts up and down Billy’s form before flicking away again.

It’s common knowledge where Billy is from. He doesn’t exactly hide it. There’s a goddamn Malibu postcard tacked up in his office, pictures of his old surfboard. But it still makes Billy a little giddy that Steve pays enough attention to know that. 

“I run hot,” Billy says casually, and grins, tongue between his teeth. Truth be told, he wasn’t fine, he was fucking freezing, he’s just good at hiding physical discomfort. 

Steve’s cheeks flush a little pinker, and his gaze gets suspiciously focused on the vent in front of him.

“So…” Steve licks his lips, pausing, “Uh. What was it like? California.”

Billy blinks at him. “Warmer than this shithole, for starters.” 

He feels off balance suddenly. First-date-jittery. Which is ridiculous because he’s never gotten first date jitters. And this isn’t a date. Not even close. But still, when Steve laughs quietly it gets the butterflies in Billy’s stomach far too excited. Like he’s ten and discovering the wonders of holding a boy’s hand all over again. 

“I uh. Can’t go back there.” Billy chews the inside of his cheek, watching Steve closely. 

“Why, you a wanted criminal or something?”

Billy snorts. “Glad to know you think so highly of me. No, I meant...lotta shit happened there that I’d rather not remember.”

There were good things too. More good memories in California than after they moved, but that doesn’t stop the awful shit from tainting the whole goddamn state for him. Just makes it harder that it does. 

Hard to want to go back to a place where you almost died, no matter how many times your mom took you to the beach there.

Steve meets his gaze, his eyes soft, and it punches the breath from Billy’s lungs for a second. “Yeah, I get that.” He hums, and tucks his hands between his thighs. The position makes him look oddly demure. “I, uh. Have some experience with avoiding bad memories, y’know. Doesn’t end well. Repressing that kinda shit.”

“Pff,” Billy leans his head back against the window. The cold seeps through his curls. “You sound like Kali.”

“...Who?”

“Biker boots. Side shave. ‘Bout yea tall.” Billy waves his hand around his shoulder. “You met her once. I brought her to that stupid Christmas party couple years back.”

“Oh.” Steve looks down at his lap. “Your girlfriend.”

Billy chokes on his own spit. “What?”

“...Your girlfriend?”

“Yeah, no, uh. No. Not even a little bit, man,” Billy laughs a little hysterically. 

“She was your date to that party though, right? Did it not work out, or…?”

“Jesus,” he mutters, and rubs the back of his neck. Steve’s staring, all wide-eyed and confused and fucking adorable. He weighs his options. Wonders how much he should divulge. The easiest way would be to just say no, and move on. The safest way. They’re stuck out here alone and he doesn’t know how well Steve would react to finding out he’s stuck alone with a queer. 

It’s something Billy tends not to take risks on. If guys can’t figure him out on their own, he isn’t going to tell them. But in this case...he’s just annoyed that Steve hasn’t noticed yet. 

And besides, Steve spends half his time hanging around Robin Buckley—who Billy has his suspicions about—so it’s not like there’s no chance Steve would be okay with Billy being gay…

He takes a breath. Exhales slow and stares at the roof of the car. There’s a burn mark next to the rearview mirror where he might’ve stubbed out a cigarette. He’s had this damn car so long he doesn’t remember doing it.

“She’s a friend, Steve. And I borrowed her from her girlfriend that night,” he says, testing the waters. Steve blinks a little, lips parting, but doesn’t react any more than that. Doesn’t seem angry, or judgemental, or disgusted. “I’m not really ready to be out at work. So.” 

“Wait, Robin was right?” Steve blurts, sitting a little straighter, eyebrows shooting up. 

“Of course she noticed,” Billy mutters, picking at a loose thread on the cuff of his jacket. He doesn’t ask why Buckley was talking to Steve about him in the first place, let alone about his sexual preferences. He’s not sure he wants to know.

“I mean, she kept going on about lesbian psychic sense, and I told her if anyone’s got a lesbian psychic sense, it’s El, not her, but—” he cuts himself off, flushing. “I, uh. Oh. Huh. Guess I shoulda listened to her when she told me my gaydar was busted.” 

Well. That’s...something. Not the reaction he was expecting. Not that he did know what to expect, but still. “Yeah, you usually need to be queer to spot one,” he shrugs. Like he hasn’t been hoping Steve would pick up on his not-so-subtle hints this whole time, while dreading the possibility with equal fervour.

But Steve freezes then. Shoulders going stiff, his hands stilling. And Billy’s heart leaps. 

“I...” Steve fidgets, his palms rubbing together as he shifts his thighs. “Um. Am. I am. I’m bi.”

“Huh...” Billy licks his lips. “Well, shit, Harrington.”

He wonders how well he pulled off cool and unbothered. It’s usually something he’s alright at, but he’s not usually reacting to the goddamn man of his dreams telling him he’s into guys. His whole chest feels like it’s gonna explode.

“Mhm…” Steve hums, staring at his own hands, his face frustratingly neutral. 

“So.” Suddenly their childish rivalry annoys Billy. When Steve was just a straight boy he was pining after it felt good to punish him for being unattainable. Be up in his space without being too obvious about why. Get him all flushed and bothered in the only way he could. But now… “Why did it take us this long to get here?” Billy asks quietly. He knows his side of the story. Knows his own stubborn asshole nature played its part. But Steve…

His anger from earlier resurfaces. Steve treating him like he wasn’t worth his time, running on a loop in his head. 

He draws his knee up, hugging it to his chest, but keeps the bitterness out of his expression. It’s too likely to end up looking like sadness on his face right now. 

Steve shrugs. “Haven’t we already been through this?” He turns to stare out the window. Billy glares at the back of his head.

“No, Steve, we haven’t. You called me an asshole and then said you didn’t want to talk about it.”

“What else is there to say?”

“How ‘bout an explanation? What exactly did I do to you, pretty boy? And don’t give me that, you were a dick, bullshit, because you hated me from the jump. Way before I did anything to deserve it.” 

And he did, eventually, deserve it. He knows that. Doesn’t make the immediate brush-off feel any better. 

Steve’s back is stiff, and he’s crossed his arms. And he still won’t look at Billy.

Feels like they’re right back where they started, and Billy wants to crawl out of his own skin. He grits his teeth, and hisses, “Listen, I know you come from a family of fuckin’ bigshot lawyers or what-the-fuck-ever, but it doesn’t give you the right to treat people like dirt if they don’t—”

That, at least, gets Steve’s attention. He whips his head around, stares at Billy with his mouth open. “Is that what you think—Billy I haven’t had a real conversation with my parents in nearly ten years, I don’t give a shit about all that.” 

“Then what—”

“You make me feel dumb! Alright? Happy?”

Billy blinks at him. “What?”

Steve groans, throwing his hands up in frustration. “You—you show up here all, all hot and—” he waves a hand, gesturing up and down Billy’s body, “like that, and it was annoying enough that you knew that, strutting around like you own the place, but then you go and open your mouth and—” Steve buries his face in his hands, sighing, rubbing his eyes. “The first time I heard you talk you were explaining some shit about—about—nemo devices or something—”

“Mnemonic.”

“That! That right there, that thing you always do. I get it. Okay? You’re smarter than me. I’m just a dumb art teacher who gets headaches when he tries to read.” Steve throws himself back against the headrest, all furrowed brow and expressive hands.

And Billy stares. Frozen in place. He is, for once, at a loss for words. His mouth works soundlessly as he searches for something to say. But what falls out of him is, “You think I’m hot?” and he mentally slaps himself. 

“Really. That’s your takeaway?”

“No—no, well, I mean. Kind of. Yeah.” He wets his bottom lip. Tongues his cheek. 

Steve groans, “Seriously?” He tugs at a stray lock of hair. “No one who wears pants that tight doesn't know they’re attractive, alright, why is this surprising. I have eyes.”

“Because it’s you.” Billy’s brain slams to a halt the second he says it, shock freezing him in place. Apparently his filter is just fucking broken today, Jesus Christ.

“...What. Y’know what, fuck you, I’m not that unobservant—”

Billy snorts a disbelieving laugh, “Are you sure about that.” 

“Alright, fine, I didn’t realize you were gay, for like, a really long time, but you didn’t notice that I’m queer too, so there!” Steve looks at him, triumphant, like he’s won the argument—if that’s what this even is. And Billy scoffs, stupid, irrational competitiveness tightening like anger in his chest, and—

“It’s not the same, Harrington,” Billy says flatly, heart pounding. 

“And why not?”

“Because you haven’t been after my dick this whole time! You didn’t care if I knew that you’re queer,” he’s almost shouting, frustrated and not even sure what he’s trying to prove, arms thrown wide to punctuate his dumb and nonexistent point, until exactly what he just let slip sinks in. He lowers his hands, clenches them into fists resting on his thighs. Steve hasn’t said a word, he’s just staring, jaw slack. 

“Wait...so—”

“Don’t.” 

“But—”

“Harrington,” Billy growls.  

“Jesus Christ, Billy would you let me—”

“No.”

“I have been though!” Steve yells over him, and it stuns Billy enough that he falls silent. “Dumbass, I have been into you this whole goddamn time, are you kidding me?”

“...What.”

Steve runs restless fingers through his hair, making even more of a mess of it. “Listen, do you have any idea how irritating it was that you’re as hot as you are? I wanted to badly to hate you because you were so fucking annoying, but you were all—” he gestures to Billy, waving his hand around wildly, “like, a fucking...walking wet dream, so.”

“Gee, thanks,” Billy responds, utterly bemused. 

“And then I find out you’re a great teacher, and really smart, and kind of funny when you aren’t being a douche, and suddenly I’m head-over-heels for a guy I’m pretty sure hates me, because I have no self-respect apparently, and—” He stops, chest heaving, eyebrows drawn, and curls in on himself, folding his arms. 

“I never hated you.” 

Steve scoffs, dipping his chin ‘til his face is shadowed by his bangs.

“Listen to me,” Billy scoots forward, wedging his knee over the cupholders between their seats. He hesitates, a hand hovering mid-air while he tries to swallow the lump in his throat. And then touches Steve’s elbow. He jolts, looks up at Billy from under the fall of brown hair hanging over his forehead, his eyes are wide and questioning. Billy presses his fingertips firmer to the warmth of Steve’s skin under his starched dress shirt. “You care about your friends a ridiculous amount, it’s mind-boggling. Honestly. I grew up around people who would’ve barely given a shit if I died, and here you are worrying about everyone in your life, like it’s your fuckin’ job. You’re a good goddamn person, and I wanted…” he pauses, and bites his lip. “I was pissed that I wasn’t one of the people you cared about, alright. Fuckin’ Wheeler gets to be, but I...” He trails off, gestures vaguely.  

Steve’s fingers are cold, sneaking up from under his folded arm to touch the back of Billy’s hand. “You were. You are.” He ducks his head again, the ghost of a smile just barely visible before he disappears into shadow again. “I came out here to check on you, didn’t I?”

“I mean…I was supposed to be helping out inside—”

“Billy, there’s, like, eight volunteers in there, they can handle a bunch of middle-schoolers.”

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” Steve lets out a quiet breath. “I, uh. I’m sorry. I never thought you gave a damn about my opinion, to be honest. I didn’t—I was just…”

“Insecure?”

Steve grimaces. “Yeah.” 

And that’s something Billy’s more familiar with than he’d like to be. He squeezes Steve’s forearm. “You’re not stupid, you know.”

“It’s fine, I know I am. Everybody in my life is some kinda damn genius, so. Someone had to draw the short straw.” 

“Shut the fuck up, Steve.” That gets his attention, surprised eye-contact, and Billy tilts his head to maintain it. “I don’t give a shit that your goddamn friends can speak five languages, or understand organic chem, or any of that crap, they aren’t better than you, alright, they’re just nerds.” Steve snorts, and rolls his eyes, but there’s a grin tugging at his lips and it makes Billy smile. “Look, you play guitar, right. And you taught that dweeby little friend of yours the chords to his weird song about physics. Wouldn’t have been able to pull that off without at least a couple brain cells floating around under all that hair.” 

“I mean, that was just—”

“That was just something you’re good at. You don’t gotta be able to read Shakespeare to have smarts, you’re just smart about other shit.” 

A blush colours Steve’s cheeks. “I—thanks,” he murmurs. 

Billy doesn’t get a chance to respond.

In the front seat of his beat-up old Camaro, with snow starting to fall outside, gathering silently on the dimly illuminated windshield, Steve Harrington kisses him for the first time. He’s still holding Billy’s hand. One second he’s glancing down shyly, smiling small and crooked, the next…

His lips are soft. Gentle. He kisses like he’s asking permission, barely touching Billy at all. 

Despite the light brush of a kiss, Billy feels it everywhere, lit up with a jolt of electricity right through his chest. He chases Steve when he pulls away, with a hasty press of his mouth, kisses him again. 

And again.

His free hand comes up to cup Steve’s cheek, holding that warmth in the palm of his hand, trying to keep him close for as long as possible. Steve makes a quiet noise against his lips, and his heart clenches, his breath catching in his throat. 

They part eventually, Billy still basking in the phantom sensation of Steve’s smile pressed to his, leaving him tingling and warm. Their foreheads touch, resting together, the point of contact is grounding, the only thing stopping him from feeling like he could float away at any moment. 

“So,” Billy says after a moment, “Fair warning, I’m gonna have to start complimenting you more if that’s how you react to it.”

Steve laughs quietly. His eyes are still closed, so Billy starts counting his eyelashes.

“This some kinda fairy tale, Hargrove? I kiss you and you turn into a polite human being?” 

“Hardly. But I’ll see what I can do about the happy ending part.” 

“The Disney kind, or the massage parlor kind?”

Billy kisses Steve again, grinning. “Both, if I’m lucky.”

And he was.

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH9

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

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Chapter 9: Resurrection Overture (IX)

{cw: threats of rape via beastiality (I’ve marked the worst of the content in question with  ↓ ↓ at the beginning and  ↑ ↑ at the end of those sections), brief transmisogyny}

This lesson caught him off guard, and Qi Leren was stunned for a while after the file was read before waking up as if from a trance.

Qi Leren, like many others, could easily let down his guard against his surroundings after the danger had passed, and such negligence was extremely fatal in terrible tasks.

"I’ve taken note," Qi Leren said gratefully.

Chen Baiqi snorted lightly and lit a cigarette: "Then let’s move on to the next item to test your physical fitness."

"How do we test it? Running?" With the last lesson of being blindfolded while avoiding throwing knives, Qi Leren’s heart was filled with worry.

Chen Baiqi blew out a smoke ring and sneered: "How can simply running force a person's limit?"

"..." Qi Leren felt that he was finished.

He saw Chen Baiqi insert a skill card into the card slot, and a heavy book appeared in her hand. She carelessly looked at the book as the pages turned automatically, suddenly brightened, and muttered to herself: "This is good, just right!"

As soon as the words “just right” sounded, a three-headed hellhound half the height of a person appeared at Chen Baiqi's feet. The three ferocious heads roared together and its thick canine teeth and dripping tongue made its fearsomeness soar.

↓ ↓

This strong figure, this fierce expression, and that thing under its crotch... Qi Leren swallowed saliva, his face went white, and his legs were weak.　

"This child was caught when I was practicing near Purgatory. He’s still in heat, full of energy, and has a strong desire to mate, and he doesn't mind whether what he’s mating with has two legs or four. He really is a warm and good boy." Chen Baiqi touched its ears and the three-headed hellhound excitedly reared up and looked at Qi Leren eagerly.

Chen Baiqi touched her chin again: "When I first entered this world, there was a very popular saying on the Internet... Oh, ‘it'll chase you, and if it catches you, it will 'hehehe' with you’.”*

*{E/N: A joke by Fei Yu-ching. The general gist of goes something like this: This person wants to go to a shop that specifically helps you lose weight. The cashier offers some packages of different prices. He picks one, enters a room where a lady is waiting in a bikini. She offers, "Chase after me. If you catch me, I'll let you 'hehehe' me". Thank you to Miko for this explanation.}

Although Qi Leren wanted very much to spit on her, this sentence had been out of date for many years and only middle-aged and old people would make such an old joke. However, Chen Baiqi had smacked the three-headed hellhound on the ass and under, her command, the dog growled and rushed crazily toward Qi Leren. Its enthusiasm was like an old bachelor who had been single for forty years and had met his new wife. Qi Leren screamed and started to run. He swore he’d never run so fast in his life!

But even if he had run a new personal record, the three-headed hellhound was still slightly faster than him. Even if he didn't look back, Qi Leren could feel the monster behind him getting closer and closer! He could almost feel its stinking hot breath spraying on his back, causing his chrysanthemum to tighten!

No way! If you continue like this, it’ll soon catch up to you! You can't just run!

I don't want to be knocked up by a dog!

Qi Leren, who was extremely nervous, mechanically pumped his legs and ran hard, and his brain that was struggling to consume oxygen didn’t have enough to think properly. A skill card? Primary Fighting couldn't make him run faster. Devil Etiquette... Stop it, becoming a succubus could only add fuel to the fire right now—he had specifically learned about succubus' data. This demon type with such an exaggerated sexuality would only make a field day for a stick. It was the most unscrupulous creature in the demon world, and the three-headed hellhound would only be more excited to see a succubus. After all, it was also a creature that didn't care whether the mating target had two legs or four, or even if it had legs at all!

↑ ↑

It was coming! Qi Leren felt the wind behind him, but he had already reached the wall of this huge basement. His mind went blank and he instinctively made a sharp turn to the right to continue running. But the three-headed dog behind him was not as agile as he was. Without time to break, it collided with the wall, causing the strong wall to shake.

Qi Leren, who was still desperate to escape, had a flash of inspiration in his mind: Yes, the three-headed hellhound wasn’t as agile as he was when turning, so he could take advantage of this...

Qi Leren looked back. The three-headed hellhound’s middle head had fainted, but the left and right heads were still giving orders to the body. It got up from the ground and continued to chase after him.

Qi Leren, with this train of thought, was much calmer this time. He didn't run around the room like a headless fly. Whenever he felt that the distance between them was close to a certain range, he made a sharp turn, and each time he managed to gain seven or eight meters from his pursuer. Wait until the next turn, when he was about to be caught up with, then repeat this old trick.

The three-headed hellhound, who didn’t have a high IQ, failed to see through his tricks and ran after him blindly. One man and one dog competed for endurance in this bitter mutual torture. Qi Leren’s legs that had surpassed their potential were almost numb. He was afraid the three-headed dog wasn’t much better. When he looked back several times, the three-headed hellhound had its three tongues lolling from its mouths, panting.

This was completely a competition of willpower. It seemed that Qi Leren’s determination to protect his virginity was better than the three-headed hellhound’s determination to mate. When Chen Baiqi finished smoking a whole pack of cigarettes, she’d finally seen enough: "Okay, let's end it there."

One man and one dog fell to the ground, four heads and six legs going on strike together.

↓ ↓

Qi Leren couldn't help thinking that if he was tortured like this every day, maybe one day he would have the terrible idea of "giving up resistance and lying down to accept it", and he really didn't want to do it again.

The three-headed hellhound was summoned back into the book by Chen Baiqi. Qi Leren looked at where it had just been enviously. It could rest, but he still had to be tortured by the head demon here. Yes, Chen Baiqi has risen to be a terrible demon coach in his mind, and he was just like the protagonists in comics who were spurred on, spending each day drowning in their own sweat.

"It's a pity, I thought I could look at 'man and nature'," Chen Baiqi said with regret.

Once again, Qi Leren felt his chrysanthemum tighten.

↑ ↑

"Intuition is okay, reaction and adaptability are barely strong, and physical fitness is still poor. You will report to me every morning at my store’s entrance, run to the steel bridge to fetch me two breakfast servings, and then run back. I’ll give you a watch. If you’re late, you’ll be punished by having to take my dog for a walk outside," Chen Baiqi smiled, speaking demonic words with ease and pleasure.

The dying Qi Leren couldn't help feeling sad, looking at Chen Baiqi with eyes full of bitterness.

"Get up, you can go home and report on time tomorrow," Chen Baiqi said with a smile.

"Surely I’ll be too sore to move tomorrow... No, I can't move now," Qi Leren said breathlessly.

"Oh, really?" Chen Baiqi said. Blowing out a smokey sigh, she walked beside him and raised her foot—the slender high-heeled shoe stamped between Qi Leren’s legs while he was off guard!　

Qi Leren screamed "AH" and rolled, narrowly dodging the foot that would have made him childless. The crisp high-heeled blow behind him scared him into a cold sweat.　

"You missed an opportunity to be a cute girl," Chen Baiqi said regretfully.

Qi Leren struggled to get up from the ground: "Thank you, this opportunity is not needed."

Chen Baiqi raised her slender eyebrows and smiled charmingly: "You’ll regret it."

On the way home, Qi Leren had been stubbornly thinking about Chen Baiqi's smile. He’d almost forgotten to ask her about buying a confidentiality contract. Chen Baiqi raised her eyebrows and didn't ask anything. He readily paid the money for his goods.

As he walked into a roadside public toilet, Qi Leren thought of cherishing his little brother affectionately. He had paid a painful price to keep it.

Unexpectedly, when he pushed open the bathroom door, he was greeted by a beautiful acquaintance. Her long curly hair was draped over her exposed shoulders, her gorgeous red lips were slightly opened, and her eyes were blurred as she swept towards Qi Leren at the door. It was the Illusionist Qi Leren had seen in Chen Baiqi's shop before!

"Sorry, wrong one!" Qi Leren subconsciously flung himself out the door.

The moment the door closed, he suddenly remembered... That thing in front of the Illusionist ... Wasn’t it a urinal from the men's room?

And the Illusionist herself, standing in front of the urinal at that time, had naturally lifted a heavy skirt and put her hand into the skirt to release its inventory.

Qi Leren felt his worldview collapse.

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Editor’s Notes:

I’ve honestly been dreading reaching this and the next chapter ε-(~д~”)

I want to give some forewarning that the there does start to be some notable transmisogyny in the series starting with this chapter, primarily in the form of misgendering. I haven’t read Part 3 yet and thus can’t speak for it (I will mention it in an E/N once I have and likely edit this one as well), but in Part 2 it doesn’t come up tremendously often as the character it’s in relation to, the Illusionist, is relatively minor. 

However, the next chapter in particular is unfortunately entirely comprised of an extended joke centered on transmisogyny and sexual harassment. Nothing plot-significant happens in it and the chapter is entirely skippable if you do not want to read that.

As I stated before, as someone who is only working on a translation, I don’t feel that it’s my place to knowingly change or omit content. I do apologize for this. I will be providing the same sorts of warnings and skip-markers as I have previously in order to allow readers the best experience I can give under the circumstances.

As always, I encourage you to message me if you have any further questions or concerns about this or anything else.

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[rubysunnday]

hey i love your writing and i was wondering if you could write a shelby did one where she’s super into gardening and begs tommy to let her do his gardens and stuff ya know irk where i was going with it but i think it would be super cool if not that’s okay too i was just wondering xoxo 😎

A/N: Oh, I had far too much fun writing this one

“Please?”

“No.”

“What? Why not?”

Tommy sighed, setting his whiskey glass down and lowering his newspaper to look at you. “Because I fucking said so, y/n.”

“Tommy,” you whined as he raised his newspaper again. “Come on, it’ll be fine.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“Y/N,” Tommy said, lowering his newspaper again and fixing you with a glare. "Don’t try me, today. The answer is no.”

You scoffed and walked out of his office, slamming the door behind you. 

“Still no?” Ada asked as she poked her head down from the top of the stairs. 

You nodded, sitting down in a chair by the door and glowering. “Fucking prick.” 

Ada chuckled and shook her head, walking over to you. “Maybe he’ll come around.”

“I doubt it.”

You’d managed to successfully corner Tommy in his office. It was the middle of the races yet they were the last thing on your mind. 

A single knock on his door was the only warning your brother got before you walked in, shutting it and locking it behind you.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Tommy asked, frowning at you as you turned, smiling, holding his office key up. “Say yes.”

Tommy groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fucking hell, not this again,” he muttered. “Y/N, open the fucking door.”

“Say yes.”

Tommy stood up, pointing a finger at you. “Open. The. Fucking. Door.”

Anyone else would’ve taken the warning tone and fled. You, however, having known Tommy your entire life, recognised the look in his eyes and didn’t back down.

“Say yes and I open the door.”

“Fuck’s sake, y/n!” Tommy yelled and everyone in the shop turned to look. “Open the fucking door.”

You smirked, waving the key at him. “Tommy, I can do this all day, say yes and the door is open.” 

Arthur was frowning at the two of you through the door, rattling the door knob as he tried to get in. 

“Y/N,” Tommy warned, coming round to the front of his desk. “Open the door. Now.”

“Say yes, then,” you shot back, moving away as your brother stepped forward. 

Tommy sighed, growing impatient at his younger sister. Why he put up with you he did not know. You were going to be the sole reason he turned grey. 

“Oi, Tom!” Arthur yelled, knocking on the door and rattling the handle. 

“He’s going to break the door down,” Tommy said, following you around the room. “Just open the fucking door.”

“Say yes, then,” you replied, weaving around his desk. “Yes opens the door and stops you from having to get a new one.” 

“Fucking hell, y/n, just open the fucking door!” Tommy yelled, chasing you around his desk. 

You were a step ahead and nimbly darted through the chairs, hiding behind the umbrella stand. “Say yes.” 

Tommy growled, throwing his hands up as the door knob rattled again. “If he breaks that door down,” Tommy warned, pointing at the door Arthur was very near to smashing open

“Then I pay for it, yeah I know,” you replied, not caring. “Just say yes and a new door won’t be necessary because, technically, it’s your money either way.” You waved the key around again. 

“Y/N Anna Shelby, open this fucking door!” Tommy exclaimed, stepping closer to you. 

“Say yes.”

“Open the fucking door.”

“Say yes.”

“Open this fucking door.” 

“Say yes!”

“Y/n, open this fucking door!”

“Then say yes!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Tommy yelled. “YES!”

You smiled smugly. “See,” you said, walking up to him and handing him the key, “that wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

Tommy swore softly under his breath as you passed. “Will you leave me alone now?”

You nodded. “I got what I wanted.” Tommy groaned at your triumphant smirk. “Oh, by the way,” you said, turning to the door and opening it. “It wasn’t even locked. The door knob does this thing where it gets stuck if you turn it a certain way.”

Tommy stared at you. “Oh, you little shit.”

You ran out the door laughing, barging past Arthur, as Tommy chased you through the shop, swearing at you. 

“Are you happy now?”

You looked up at Tommy as he stood in the door way, smoking his cigarette.  

“Yes,” you said, smiling at him as you giggled at his fed up expression. 

“Nearly cost me a fucking door,” Tommy muttered, walking down the steps to the garden.  “I mean, I technically did cost you a new door,” you said, pointing your watering can at him. 

Tommy rolled his eyes. “That's coming out of your wages, by the way.”

“The wages you pay me.”

“Yes.”

“So, it's technically still your money,” you continued, looking over at him.

“Do you want me to take this back?” Tommy asked, pointing at the garden you’d spent the past two weeks working on.

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “But, be honest, Tom, isn’t it better? No weeds, no over grown bushes -”

“No more y/n annoying me because she’s too busy ruining my garden,” Tommy muttered, turning to look around.

You looked at him and sighed. You reached up onto your tip toes and tilted the watering can so that some of it went over Tommy.

Tommy turned around and glared at you. “Did you just fucking water me?”

You put your hand on your hip. “Did you just insult my gardening?”

Tommy scoffed, stamping his cigarette out on the floor and taking his slightly damp coat off and shaking it out as he walked back inside. “I swear to god, you are going to end up giving me fucking grey hair.”

“Tommy Shelby, don’t you dare leave that fucking cigarette butt in this garden!”