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aureumjeon · 5 years

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while you’re at it (m) || pjm

pairing; poolboy!jimin x noona!reader.

genre; smut, fluff, tiny angst.

summary; After finalizing your divorce papers, there was still one thing that had to be taken care of. That stupid swimming pool. Over there course of a few days, you ended up harboring feelings for one of your pool boys. Will things go as planned? Or will everything be flushed down the drain?

warnings; brief mentions of divorce, infidelity and toxic relationship, sub!jimin, dom!reader, barely there bondage, exhibitionism, female masturbation, voyeurism, oral sex (both receiving), body worship, tit fucking, noona kink, praise kink(its jimin ofc), mild degradation, impreg kink, its basically jimin being a whiny soft baby for noona, unprotected sex, multiple orgasm, creampies, cum eating

word count; 11K+ (this was supposed to be around 7-8K only, iduno what happened really)

a/n; ahhhhhh! three minutes late but who careeees. im done, i want to sleep. the smut feels so rushed butill fix it... eventually... lmao, unedited as hell, dont mind the errors... will fix someday. bye

@m0chilattae @ruinedbyjin <33

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Breaking away and cutting ties from your previous and definitely toxic marriage was the best decision you've made bar none. You could no longer stomach the abuse that your now ex-husband had put you through. It was a complete and utter living hell being bound to a man who wasn't who you initially thought he was. Having him crossed out of your life (legally, too) made it a million times easier. It has been exactly seven weeks since you chucked out all of his belongings through the front door. No regrets. And you still didn't want to take notice of the huge elephant in the room — or in the backyard per se. There it sat in the middle of the unkempt grassy area surrounded by leaves and trash, in all of its filthy, disgusting, bacteria and algae infested glory. Your dreaded swimming pool.

You had put-off cleaning it the first week after your separation, saying you're too busy doing this or too preoccupied taking care of that. When in all honesty, you just didn't want to deal with it. You had no goddamn idea how to maintain it. Heck, you didn't even know how to swim. Wonwoo was the main reason why the two of you bought a house that came with it after your wedding. He said he wanted to keep his hobby of swimming alive, understandable since that's where it all began. The two of you met at a university swim meet. You were the designated journalist for that event, assigned to interview all the winners after the competition for the school's paper. Wonwoo bagged the gold medal for the two hundred-meter freestyle, and you interviewed interviewed him and that's where it took off. Everything was running smoothly. One by one every item on your life's checklist got checked-off. After five years of dating, he proposed. A year later you got married and purchased a house together and planned on having children. You even put-off your job as a columnist writer for a high-end magazine company to play out the role of a perfect wife who'd soon take care of her children. You had the ideal life with the ideal husband in an ideal house that any married woman could wish for. You had everything, and in your own little world it was perfect. Until two years into your marriage, everything went into turmoil. Wonwoo suddenly grew cold and insensitive. He didn't answer your calls and text messages whenever he was away. He didn't make love to you the way he used to during your honeymoon phase. And sometimes he would just downright refuse, saying he's too tired and that he wants to sleep instead. You endured and tolerated his behavior for another year, giving him a chance to change his ways. But we all know what happens to second chances, they're wasted. One day, Jihyo sent you a picture of Wonwoo sucking faces with a female swim trainer at the city's public pool. You could not believe it at first, you refused to. Until she sent another image, this one clear as day. It was Wonwoo, positively Wonwoo. You called your older brother Yoongi and told him everything that had happened starting from the day your relationship spiraled into disaster. Like any brother would be; he was furious. He didn't kill the guy though, only gave him a black eye and a broken nose before you threw his belongings out on the pavement. To cut the story short, you found love beside a swimming pool and ultimately gotten your heart broken because of it. When people fall out of love, heart breaks are inevitable. All the more reason as to why you just shoved the idea of cleaning the pool under the rug like small particles of dust and dirt. You just wanted to forget about it, pretend like it didn't exist. If you could only haul that thing out of the ground and throw it out like you did to him, it'd be more painless for you. You took your phone out of your handbag and texted Namjoon. You asked if he still had the number to that all around cleaning service, to which he did, thank god. After saving the number, you called it immediately. Wanting no time to be wasted. "Hello, Good morning! This is Mr. Park of Mr. Park's Cleaning Service, how can we help you?" The bubbly old man chanted his spiel. "Ah, yes, um. This is Y/n Y/l/n, I was wondering if I can avail your services?" "Of course, ma'am!" He chimed, the sound of rustling papers can be heard in the background "What will we have the pleasure of cleaning for you, Ms. Y/l/n?" His tone never changed, still enthusiastic. "Well I have this pool..." You replied quite hesitantly, "And It's been sitting here uncleaned for almost two months." You let out a breathy laugh, fairly embarrassed at your confession. "No problem, Ms. Y/l/n! We've handled worse cases. Two months is nothing! Is it just the pool or would you like us to give your whole yard a fixer-upper?" You sighed in relief. "Y-yes, that would be great! My backyard could use the help, too." "Alrighty then! You don't need to worry about anything! Can I get your contact number and full address Ms. Y/l/n?" Mr. Park sounded like a charming old man, he never judged or asked unnecessary questions, only the ones that needed to be answered. "My number's xxx-xxx-xx and my full address is xxx street, corner xxx at xxx village. When can I expect you to visit, Mr. Park?" "I'll get the boys ready and will be there in about an hour or two to check on the conditions and come up with the most effective strategy. The duration of the process usually takes about three days to a week depending on the situation. It's always better to asses the area first. We'll do the best we can do, Ms. Y/l/n!" You can hear the smile in his voice, never have you encountered someone who's this passionate about his job as much as Mr. Park. "Great! That sounds excellent! Thank you so much Mr. Park! I'll see you later!" "Thank you, too, Ms. Y/l/n! Good bye!" The call ended and you checked the clock. It was a quarter to nine, still a lot of time left before they arrive. You decided to tidy up the place, picking up dirty laundry, washing the dishes, and anything that demanded to be put in its proper place. You accomplished everything in under an hour and decided to lounge around on your couch, still in your black silk nightwear dress that rested a good five inches above your knee. To be fair, you did wake up too early for your liking, and it made you thrice as sluggish than usual. 'Only ten minutes' you reminded yourself because you still needed to shower. Your eyelids felt heavy and the softness of the pillow you were resting your head on didn't help either. 'five more minutes, then it's time to shower, I swear.' Things didn't always go according to plan, of course. You fell asleep.

Your little nap was interrupted by the sound of your doorbell ringing multiple times, "Ms. Y/l/n?! Is anybody home? This is Mr.Park's Cleaning Service." The man on the other side of the door yelled. Oh shit oh shit oh shit. You scramble about you couch only to fall on the floor with a loud thud, "W-wait! Just a minute!" You squealed, heading out to the nearest bathroom to grab your bathrobe and wrap it around your frame. You chugged down and gargled a cup full of mouthwash before spitting it out. "Shit..." You hissed, taming out the fly-aways of your hair and tying it up in a loose bun. Your bangs rested messily on your forehead but you didn't have the pleasure of curling it. So you opted for just sweeping it to the side, making yourself more presentable. "I'm coming!" You yelped, treading to your front door and opening it. The three boys who stood at your doorstep gave you a courteous ninety degree bow. They were wearing those baggy grey work jumpsuits but the sleeveless kind. The boys looked fairly young, with glowing skin and youthful dispositions. They moved back to their upright position and the one in the center greeted, "Good day Ms.---" his eyes widened like saucers, he looked like he had encountered a ghost, and suddenly you were extremely conscious about your disheveled appearance, tucking in stray hairs that dangled around the frame of your face behind your ears. "Ms--" he knew what he wanted to say, it was waiting for its turn to spill out from his suddenly parched mouth. But he couldn't because he was too awe struck at the image of this lovely woman standing before him. They'd done this job a couple hundred times and it was all professional, but this was the first time his heart was completely enamored by a female client. His tongue was undoubtedly caught at the back of his throat and an elbow to his rib by his friend snapped him out of it and transferred him back to reality. "Y/l/n.." He continued, shades of pink trickling his face. "My name is Park Jimin..." "You're Mr. Park?" You giggled, the way your cheeks rounded when you smile matched with your cute dimple almost sent him into the ER due to a cardiac arrest, "You sounded older on the phone." "Uh.. That was my father. I'm just Jimin." He smiled, flustered like a little boy confessing his love for his crush. You beamed at him once more after discovering his name, eyes twinkling more that ever and he caught that. He freaking caught the way your eyes glimmered at him. "If you're just Jimin, then I'm just Y/n." What the hell was that?! You internally screamed at your choice of words, pulling out the non-existent life plug in your head because you wanted to shrivel up like a dehydrated grape desiring to be a raisin and just die. "O-okay, Ms. Y/n.." the way your name rolled so sweetly out of his lips made you shudder, a feeling you hadn't felt in a long, long time spark a flame in the deepest pit of your stomach. You shouldn't be experiencing this urgent sense of infatuation towards a person you only just met, not to mention to someone this young. You reckoned that he was likely five or six years your junior, probably even more. It was a weird sensation. You had no idea where it came from but you were kinda skeptical about the concept of it and where it might lead. Did you hate it? I mean, no, not at all. Were you confused? Most definitely. "This is Jungkook," he gestured to the lad on his left. Jet-black hair, doe eyes, piercings and tattoos, okaaay he's attractive "and this is Taehyung." Your gaze moved to the left, honey brown hair, sultry stare, sharp nose and a chiseled jaw, woah he's attractive too. No wonder Mr. Park's acquiring all the deals in town! His cleaning team is total eye candy. "My dad-- I mean Mr. Park's rheumatoid started acting up a little while ago, that's why he wasn't able to come with us. I hope that's alright with you, Ms. Y/n." There it is again, he said your name again but his voice a little softer this time. He was hoping his father's absence wouldn’t upset you too much. And didn't leave a bad first impression on you. Your name slipping past his lips sent another shock wave throughout your body, faintly stirring up your insides. It took you a good second to reply because you were too busy staring at the way his tongue prodded out of mouth to wet his pink and plump lips. Shit “I-it’s fine..” You gulped, drifting your gaze to your backyard assuming he didn’t see what you just did. “I hope your father feels well soon.” You stepped back a few feet letting the boys with their big tool kits in hand enter. “May we look at the pool, Ms. Y/l/n?” The black haired boy spoke, opening his box of tools and pulling out a smaller black container. “Taehyung and I will do the water testing and everything else while Jimin-hyung here will walk you through the whole process.” “The sooner we start, the sooner we’ll finish!” Taehyung beamed, boxy smile and all. They all did what they said they’d do. Jungkook and Taehyung were handling all sorts of gadgets and gizmo to test the pH balance, chlorine levels and whatever they need to test. Jimin explained everything in meticulous detail, from the tools that they were using to how they’d clean it. You tried listening intently. You really did! But the addictive saccharine tone of his voice had gotten you too worked up. “And that’s about it,” Jimin happily concluded. “We can start cleaning tomorrow if it’s okay with you,” “Y/n?” He asked reluctantly, watching you stare vacuously at him. “Ah-- Yes. You guys can start tomorrow.” You smiled, flustered and red on the face. He was worried for a moment, he thought you found everything he said was boring. Because all honestly, he knew it was. Jimin dropped out of college to support his father with their family business, being the sole son and successor. It was a gamble, most of his friends would say. "Why'd you give up having an education?" or "What if it goes bankrupt?". Those words were frequently thrown around, but he stuck to his gut. Jimin never wanted anything more than maintaining his father's legacy alive. The one that his father and late-mother created and grew from the ground up. "Great! Kook, Tae, how's everything going?" He hollered to his friends who were still tinkering with their devices at the edge of the pool. "Will be done soon! Give us a minute," Taehyung replied, signaling a thumbs-up to his hyung. "Ahhh! That reminds me," You teetered blithely straight to your equally neglected shed that Wonwoo kept all his tools in. "If you need any tools, feel free to--" You tried to pry the door handle open but it wouldn't budge. "Let me get that for you, Ms. Y/n." Jimin insisted, worrying you might hurt yourself. "I'm okay," You assured the boy, solidifying your grip on the handle, and giving one last firm pull that just might do the trick. Jimin was right. Because the moment you exerted more effort into opening the door, the slim strip of metal that was affixed on the wooden surface snapped off and sent you stumbling back a few steps. You shielded your eyes with your hand and just when you thought your sorry ass was about to hit the grass, you felt something or someone, cradle your fall. A small groan from behind startled you, "W-what?" You removed your hands from your face and saw Jimin lying beneath you, hold on to you by your waist."Oh shit!" You shrieked, promptly scooting away from his lap to check if he's hurt somewhere. "J-jimin! Are you okay?!" concern laced your voice. You scanned every inch of his body for any cuts or bruises. While your face unintentionally came too close to his, he felt your warm minty breath dancing on the tip of his cupid's bow, tickling his lips that were mere centimeters away from yours. And the way his left cheek was conveniently purchased in your hand made him feel the heat blossom under his skin, and presumably creep up to his ears too. Wide-eyed and totally red in the face, Jimin hurriedly stood up from where he was planted, not forgetting to help you as well stand up as well. “I’m fine, Ms. Y/n. You don’t have to worry about--” Before the boy could barely finish his sentence, you were already pulling him by the wrist and ushering him back inside the house. He was trying so hard to resist the blush that had been wanting to be set free. “Jungkook, Taehyung!” You waved, calling out their attention. “You can come inside if you’re finished. I’ll tend to Jimin and see if he has any injuries.” “Yes ma’am!” The two boys chuckled, giving Jimin a playful smirk. “Sit down. I’ll go get my first aid kit.” You spoke before scooting towards the direction of your bathroom. The moment you’ve found yourself looking in the mirror in what seems to be the safest place you could’ve been at this moment, you allow all the accumulated steam out. “F-fuck.” You breathe out a sigh of relief. Finally being able to inhale and exhale enough air with your lungs. Every single moment with Jimin feels like there’s something constricting your chest, blocking all possible airways and cutting off the oxygen in your body. “Get it together, Y/n” You scold yourself, looking at the reflection in the bathroom mirror “You are an adult. An adult who will not let a young man fracture the little sanity you have left.”

On your tiptoes, you reached for the small plastic box on the shelf of your bathroom, taking one last determined look in the mirror and declaring, “You got this.” With that, you step out of the enclosed space with your recovered confidence, not looking back. And there he is again, puppy dog eyes lighting up when he saw your figure reappear in his line of vision. “Ms. Y/n.” He smiled, and there you knew how truly fucked up you were. “God, give please give me the strength.” You chanted in your head, “I got the first aid kit. Let’s get you cleaned up.” Was all that you could say.

It has been exactly five days, eight hours and forty-five minutes since Jimin started working on your backyard. Why do you know that? Well, that boy with those galaxies induced eyes, impossible plump lips and unbelievable muscular body had been lurking and finding his way through the deep recesses of your mind, desperately searching for that imaginary finish line.

Every cell in your body was hyper-aware of your surroundings whenever he was near. You’d get chills when you feel his hot breath fanning against the skin of your nape when he’s behind you asking for some kind of permission. A jolt would run down your spine when he says your name like it’s the only name he’d known besides his. And the way an innocent stare from him would ignite a flame in your core, burning like coal inside a furnace during those cold winter nights. You know of his presence; you know how he makes you feel even when you don’t want it and that scares you.

And now you’re here with your overly eager friend who's ready to lay down all her life savings and then some, just to see you finally get laid after that hideous tragedy.

“Gosh, what do I do?” You groaned, massaging your temples. The headache that you experienced the first time you encountered the boy only tripled in magnitude. It was like the soft tissues of your brain decided that it would be best to act like tectonic plates and tear each other apart. No matter how many pain killers you’ve ingested or how early you slept at night, it always comes back the next day, with a vengeance.

“Give in,” she shrugged, taking a sip from her warm cup of tea. “you’ve got nothing to lose.”

“The only thing I’m losing right now is my sanity.” You grovelled, wanting to pull out all of your hair from its follicles. “I–” You sighed, voice cracking and tear attempting to fall.“I honestly don’t know what to do.”

She offered you a sympathetic look, consoling you with a hand gently stroking your back. “I know, hun. Wonwoo was a douche bag and your divorce was the absolute worst. But… Look at the bright side,” She nudged you on the shoulder and points a finger westward.

“Now that he’s out of the picture, you’re a free woman now, y/n.” Your friend stated as-a-matter-of-fact, wriggling her perfectly done brows at you. She was right, though. There was nothing holding you back except yourself. The two of you looked beyond the glass sliding doors of your patio and watched the group of young men pull every bone and flex every inch of muscles in their bodies trying to make your backyard look like the way it was before.

“I don’t see anything wrong with flirting with your pool boy now that the ring on you finger is gone,” a small tug of her lips went unseen by you as your gaze was still attached to the blond haired boy whose dusting of sweat seemed to reflect and shimmer under the blazing sunlight like those vampire characters from that teen movie. God, how can someone look that ethereal while raking up the pile leaves in your backyard?

“While you’re at it, seeing that you’re too invested in watching him, play with piles of dead leaves,” your head snapped toward her direction as your cheeks turned pink from embarrassment, “might as well fuck him too.” she grins from ear to ear.

Day eight came faster than you had imagined. The boiling of your insides has simmered down immensely since you've accepted all your feelings like the grown adult that you are. You didn't confess, though, there will be a time for that. Also, you can say you've gotten used to Jimin's presence in the short time you've spent with him. He was kind, sweet, caring and considerate to you 24/7 and you've considered every bit of it endearing. You friend was right. "Give in," she says, so you did and you hope everything will eventually fall into place at the right time. Like usual, jimin and his bunch were outside. They were eighty percent done with the pool and all that's left was the landscaping. One by one, bags of dirt, rocks, sand and all the likes were carried by unfamiliar faces to the back yard through your house. Trails of sand were left on the floor akin to a snail's. "We're really sorry for the mess, miss y/n. Don't worry, we'll clean it up." A new face stood beside Jimin. This one looked more mature than the three boys you're already acquainted with. This was your first time seeing him. Raven hair, brown eyes, a attractive face and shoulders broader than the horizon. Wow. Mr. Park's boys just keep getting hotter and hotter. But there's something oddly familiar about him. Maybe you've met him before? Casually crossed paths as strangers? You can't quite wrap a finger around it. "Y/n, this is Jin-hyung." The fair-haired boy stated. "He's Jungkook's older brother." You gasp, finally it connects "R-really?! No wonder you looked familiar!" You heard the boisterous laugh of the younger brother draw closer and then draped an arm around his brother's shoulder. You habitually thought Jungkook was the tallest in the bunch but now that you've seen his older brother and the way he stands a good two or three inches taller says otherwise. "Sooo, who's more good looking, Noona?" Jungkook asked cheerfully, arching his brows as if coaxing you to choose him. "Hmmm..." You hummed dramatically, crossing your arms with one hand cupping your chin. "I really can't say, Jungkook. Your hyung's pretty handsome." You teased. "Nooooona~!" The youngest whined, flailing his arms around like a child. If you hadn't known their ages, you'd assume that Jungkook's an eighteen year old boy with a baby's face attached to an adult man's body. +Flashback+ You learned that over the course of yesterday's dinner. That day marked the seventh day since the boys worked on you backyard. You decided to treat them to a special samgyupsal dinner since they had been working so hard all day and all afternoon. It was a quarter to five, and the boys were about to call it a day when you call them over enthusiastically. Gesturing them to come inside "Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook!" Their mouths hung wide open when their eyes met with the dining table. A dazzling array of meats, soups, vegetables and side dishes were gloriously scattered on the surface. "Wow, Ms. Y/n!" Taehyung beamed, his boxy smile seemed like it was engraved on his face. "What's the occasion?” "Well, since you boys have been working so hard I decided to arrange a little party for you guys. It's the least I can do." You smile. Taehyung and Jungkook looked like they were about to combust. The fragrance of the food delighted their every senses. You hear a faint growl in the background. "Sorry. That was me." Jungkook confessed, his stomach was now hungrier than before. You all laugh. "What are you waiting for? Dig in!" It was like a gun was shot and the race to eat the most food began. You watched them eat heartily, wishing that you had done this sooner to express your gratitude for all the effort the exert. "Aren't you gonna eat, y/n?" You were startled by Jimin voice. You turn to him and receive the look of concern on his face. "I've had my fair share while cooking, if I eat more I feel like I'll throw up." You softly giggled, a shade of pink dusting your cheeks. "And this is all for you." For every little thing he does whether it was deliberately or not, Jimin feels like he's simply digging his own grave. The sound of metal rutting against soil, just a few more digs and he's sure he'll be six feet under. "Ms. Y/n, Ms. Y/n!" Jungkook called, outstretching his hand like a student asking for his teacher's attention. "Yes, Jungkook? Oh, and you can call me y/n, by the way. No need for 'miss'." Jungkook scratched the back of his neck before answering, "Uhm, I dont think I'm in the position to call you that, ms. Y/n " "What about noona?" Taehyung who sits across Jungkook suggested. "Ms. Y/n really been nice to us, like a big sister. Always making sure we're okay." Sister. You practically forgot about your age gap with these kids. With the five-year difference for Jimin and Taehyung, seven for Jungkook, you really felt like an older sister. It wasn't bad, it was lovely actually. Knowing they see you more than just an ordinary client pinched at your heart. And you perceive them as little brother's you never had. One of them, you wished went beyond that. "Yeah!" The black haired boy exclaimed,"Can we call you noona, ms. y/n???" Jungkook looked like a dog, with his eyes all round and tail raised and wagging about. It must feel so great to be young. "Of-- Of course! You can call me noona!" The two boys cheered in unison. The only one quiet was jimin who sat parallel to you.

"Are you okay jimin?" You asked meekly. "I'm fine." He didn't sound like he was fine. "Is there something wrong?" "Ahh, I--" he was stuttering, "Is it okay if I call you y/n instead?" Your eyes widened, you haven't even drank anything alcohol but your face already feels hotter. "S-sure, Jimin." You tried to change the topic by standing up walking over to the refrigerator. "Since all of you are of legal age." You gradually push open metal door and pull out bottles of soju. "You're the best, noona!" The youngest howled, eager to get his hands on the alcoholic drink. "Just promise me you guys won't drink too much. You still have work tomorrow" Like twins, Jungkook and Taehyung held their hands over their heart and recited, "We promise, noona!" With the magic liquid, conversation started flowing more naturally. You promised not to drink but they insisted, nothing worse than your friends peer-pressuring you. "So, noona, where do you work?" Taehyung questioned. He probably noticed you were always at home. "I'm a writer for Seoul Life Magazine, but I do all my work here at home. I rarely have to go to the office." "Really???!!!" His eyes blew up, Taehyung told you he was a fashion design graduate. You expected this reaction from him so you felt pride in telling him where you work. "Wow, noona!" Jungkook said, "My dad said only those who were absolutely good got to work there." "Stop flattering me," You shyly dismiss his praise. "I was an intern there during my concluding year of college. I worked for about three or four years before I got married." Taehyung did a spit take, spraying water all over poor Jungkook who almost choked on a lettuce leaf. Jimin just sat there, watching you laugh at the two comical boys. He didn't know how to react, his hands suddenly went clammy and he couldn't stop shaking his leg under the table. "M-married?" Jungkook said, still not believing what he's hearing "w-where the h-husband?" He felt out of breath due to that damn piece of leaf. "Are you really married, noona?" Taehyung poked, looking at your ringless finger. "I was," Your smile grew weaker, talking about something it always felt weighty. But they deserved to know, they're helping you heal by dealing with something you'd rather not face. "We got divorced." The room went silent. The sound of the crickets outside and leaves swaying with the wind that were previous white noise behind your chattering and laughter seemed like the were obscenely amplified by huge bass speakers. "Can I ask why, noo--" "Jungkook!" Jimin scolded his junior, and this was the first time you've heard/seen him raise his voice to anyone. "Apologize." He stated sternly, not breaking eye contact with Jungkook. "I'm sorry, noona." His head hung low, hair covering his eyes. "J-jimin, I'm sure Jungkook didn't meant to." You reached out to to hold his hand that was resting on the table. "I'm not mad or upset." You looked over Jungkook's direction and continued, "It's okay, I promise." Jimin squeezed your hand tighter, comforting you. "You don't have to talk about it if it makes you uncomfortable, y/n." "Y-yeah, noona." Taehyung added, "You don't have to. It's none of our business." Jungkook sat still, eyes glassy and mouth pouty. He absolutely looked like a puppy that had been punished for chewing up its human's shoe. "It's alright," You giggle, extremely touched. "It's been months, I can talk about it." "We met during sophomore year. I was a journalist for the university paper and he was on the swim team." The three boys listened intently, like toddlers during story time. "After five years of dating, he proposed. We got married a year later and moved in here. That," you pointed to the pool outside "belongs to him." "It was his idea to get a house with one, I agreed of course. Only two years after getting married, I found out he was cheating on me." Jimin's features softened at your words. He knows it wasn't easy for anyone to talk about their past heartbreak and traumas. He made sure you weren't alone, he took his free hand and placed it over your hand that he was already holding with the other. He held it tight. "It broke my heart, I really thought he was the one, you know? Almost eight years together thrown in the garbage disposal and shredded to pieces." "He doesn't deserve you, noona." Jungkook finally spoke. "He was an asshole and he doesnt deserve you." "Yeah!" Taehyung agreed, "I kinda don't want to finish the work now." Out of nowhere, you burst out laughing. An invisible weight, sort of a thick blanket was lifted and the atmosphere brightened. "No, no, no!" You can't stop your laughter at this point, what Taehyung said tickled a funny bone. "I still plan on living here, Taehyung! Even if I dislike the pool, it's still part of this home. And the make over was sort of a therapy, you know. Out with the old, in with the new, right?" You ended it with a smile, lips curved beautifully. It was a smile Jimin has seen never seen before. It was light and airy, bright and transparent. There was no pain or distress, just carefreeness. He wished you would smile like this more often, and he also wished he'd someday be the reason for it.

"Just kidding, Jungkook! You're the most handsome." You assured the boy, patting his back. "Sorry, Jin. Your brother's grown on me." "Kook one, Jin zero." The youngest boast over to his brother. "Alright, alright!" Jin interrupted, "Unlike you, some of us need to work. How 'bout you and Taehyung get the transport van back to the office and let Jimin, Hoseok, Yugyeom and I get things done, yeah?" Jungkook clicked his tongue, "Whatever." Their sibling banter has got you missing your brother, mentally reminding yourself to call him later. "Hey, Yugs." You hear Jungkook faintly speak. Two more new faces stood beside Jin. "This is Hoseok and Yugyeom. We'll be responsible for landscaping." Another attractive guy with a million-dollar smile on his face and a tall man with the physique of a runway model. Curse, Mr. Park!! Where does he get all these boys?! "Thank you for having us!" The pair recited. "Oh, no! Thank you for helping out with the renovation." "Ms. Y/n, The boys and I will be outside. We'll be mapping out a plan for the design," Jin announced. "Oh, sure." You answer back, "Take all the time that you need." "Great! We'll report to you once we've finished the draft design. So you can the necessary make changes and adjustments." He beamed, walking towards the back yard. Jimin stood silently beside you, "You do landscaping?" You randomly asked, seeing that Jimin was the only one left from their bunch. Jungkook and Taehyung had long gone. "No," he chuckled, "I just need to watch over these guys. Make sure everything goes well." "That's nice, you're very involved with the work you do." His cheeks blossomed pink, he didn't expect a compliment since he was just doing his job. "I try." He shyly replied, bowing then heading for the glass door. "If you need me, I'll be outside." You waved him goodbye and went about your own business. There were still some articles in your workload that needed to be finished and those emails weren't gonna answer themselves. ++ By the time you were done, it was half past two in the afternoon. You noticed as the days progressed, so did the temperature. You check your phone, only to see that today is the hottest reading yet. Since everything has been taken care of, you decided to take a shower. Appreciating the cold refreshing water on you warm skin. After that, you put on your favorite robe and wrapped it around your damp body. As you were about to step out of the bathroom, you noticed Jimin leaning against one of the pillars of your patio, shirtless. Have your eyes been deceived? They say that seeing believes, but you didn't expect Jimin to be this fit. You offered yourself some slack, since the only part of Jimin body's you've oh so graciously seen are his muscular arms. It wasn't as big as those of a body builder, but the amount of muscle in them has already got you mouth watering. But being blessed with the site of his bare skin and taut abdominal muscles has got you feeling wetter than being in the shower. You couldn't keep your gaze off of him. It was an image that you want to engrave at the back of your head. Your eyes roamed his entire body. Face, neck, shoulders, chest and abs. You wanted to memorize every detail. Every mole, every freckle, every scar that adorned his ivory skin. Just as you were taking your time scanning his entire figure, you were startled when you saw him looking at you staring at him. Your heart began to race inside your chest and you almost forgot you were standing in the middle of your house with only a robe covering your very naked body. You scanned around the area of the yard and Jin and the others we're not in plain sight. You assumed they were working on the farthest side of the lot, where your small garden used to be before you abandoned it all together with the pool. You lock eyes with Jimin again, but this time there was something odd at the way he ogles at you. His gaze was lustful and burning with flames devouring your entirety. His were pupils blown out at the display of your skin. He looked pained, his teeth biting harshly at his bottom lip as if he wanted to draw blood. At that point it dawned on you. You know why he seemed so agitated, squirming in his seat. He wanted to see more, see more of you. A wave of unknown confidence washed over you. You didn't know where the hell it came from. Maybe it was from his deadly stare, maybe it was just you. Either way, you were so totally taking advantage of it. Without breaking eye contact, you found purchase at the same seat from which you watched the boys worked while having a chat with your friend. Sensually lifting the hem of your robe up your thighs and spreading your legs open for Jimin to see. "F-fuck," He groaned, hands balling into fists. He glimpsed over to the other men who were still occupied with what they were accomplishing. His attention was back on you, giving you a small nod. The fervor that coursed through your body was incomparable to anything you've experienced before. The Adrenaline was starting to kick in, and you felt hot-blooded. You temperature went up ten degrees higher and you felt delirious. You knew there was a possibility that you were gonna get caught, but screw it. You've never felt like this in your whole twenty-nine year of life. You're gonna enjoy it, basked in it. Jimin's eyes were plastered at your dripping core, lump in his throat and completely mesmerized at its beauty. Your juices sinfully coating you slit. He swore if there wasn't anybody else around, he would have ravished you pussy like an animal. Since you're out here giving him a show that he'll never forget, might as well savour it. He thought things couldn't get any better with you sex on display for him, you open up your legs even more in a whole new different angle. Putting all those gymnastics training to good use. He can virtually see your pink walls with the position your in. He couldn't stop imagining him burying his hard cock inside your tight cunt. Sucking him in when every thrust he made. You left hand slithered its way down to your soaked core, playfully stroking your folds. If Jimin was beside you, he could no doubt hear the way your cream coated skin squelched with every motion you made. Your idle hand managed to loosen the knot of your robe, allowing it fall from your shoulders exposing your round, supple breasts. Nipples instantly hardening at the sudden exposure to the air. Shit, he'd kill just to have his lips around those perky little nipples, sucking on then voraciously until you moan out his name. You could not take all this self-teasing anymore. Jimin's eyes gauges out of its socket as you dip a finger into your damp hole. Jimin thought the heat from the sun was bearable. He'd worked for long hours under it and never complain. But this, you fingering yourself with one hand while the other pulls and twists on your abused nipple was unbearable! The ache between his legs was excruciating he had to casually palm himself. Slightly shifting and bending this leg so that he wasn't noticeable. Another finger goes in, and he's cupping himself harder. He observed your face contort with pleasure at the way you're plunging and curling your two fingers inside of you. Your arousal spilling at the edge of you battered hole, streaming down and accumulating just above your puckered hole. That should be him, he mumbled to himself. Your slender fingers wouldn't be able to satisfy you, unlike his throbbing cock caged inside his boxers, wanting to be set free. Jimin's practically squeezing his dick at this point now, he just wants nothing but to release his ropes cum on you breast while you pleasure yourself. You felt your walls clench around your digits, signalling you that you were nearing climax. You gotta make this quick, Jin, Hoseok or Yugyeom can walk in on you anytime. Adding one last finger, hoping the stretch will help you jump over the edge, you pummeled your cunt with all the strength that you had left. A small moan left your lips and your release came squirting. Coating the marble floor beneath you. Jimim was just as wrecked as you were. His chest was heaving heavily up and down. The only difference was you reached climax, and he didn't, he couldn't. You were steadying you breathing just when you hear Jin yell, "Yo! Jimin! I need you to--" his voice was getting louder and closer. Wide-eyed, you look at Jimin. Mouthing him "Do something!" While you pull yourself together and grab a piece of tissue to wipe your juices off the floor. When you looked up, Jimim wasn't there anymore. He somehow managed to stop Jin from coming any closer to the house from how faintly you hear his voice outside. You sighed and went back to your room. “We’ve done everything we could do today, Ms. Y/n,” Jin happily announces, standing in front of you with his million dollar smile adorning his equally valued face. “We’ll continue everything tomorrow!” “G-great!’ You croaked, substantially tilting your head to see what’s going on behind the tall man’s back. Hoping to catch a glimpse of Jimin. “Ms. Y/n?” he waved his hand in your face, snapping you out of it. “Are you okay?” “Yeah.” You barely reply. Before he could turn his back on you, you managed to pull on his sleeve. “W-where’s Jimin by the way?” He looked surprised, pondering why you’re asking for the boy. “He went back first,” Jin witnessed your facial expression drop, “He said he wasn’t feeling too good.” “O-oh,” you frowned once more, your browns knitting together at the center of your forehead. “Please tell him to get well soon.” “Of course,” He bowed and bid farewell.

Tomorrow comes and Jimin was nowhere to be seen. Jin said Jimin was still feeling under the weather and took the whole day off from work. While that may seem plausible, it didn’t sit well in your gut. You felt like there was something off with Jimin. Never has he been absent since the first day he worked for you. What is that little stunt you pulled off yesterday, you thought to yourself. Were you really that repulsive to the point that it had gotten him sick? Did you ruin your chances of having something more than just a short time fling with the most charming boy you’ve ever met? What if he never wanted to see you anymore, what would you do then. Those kinds of thoughts were inevitable, of course. It was all you could think of the entire day. So that night, you decided to send him a text message, the first one too. From you: Hi Jimin. Jin told me that you fell ill. Try not to over work yourself next time. I hope you get well soon. -yn Jimin stared stupidly at the screen. Thinking of what to reply or if he should reply at all. Several words typed then deleted. He genuinely didn’t know what to say to you. He was ashamed of what he’s shown and with his lack of self-control. He felt appalled with himself. How could he disrespect you like that? You were a client. A client and worker relationship weren’t prohibited, not at all. It was just his work ethics that wanted everything to be strictly professional, he knew how important your role is to their business. The last thing he wanted was to tarnish what his father built from the ground up with a scandal. So he decided to not let his personal life get involved with his work life. It just makes things complicated, like it is right now. The ‘can’t go to work, feeling sick’ wasn’t wholly a lie. The pain wasn’t physical, it was abstract. And no medicine can induce the pain go away, until he saw your following message. From you: Also, I wanted to talk to you about something. It doesn’t have to be right away, you should rest first and get your health back up. Just message me whenever. Goodnight, Jimin.

There really was no way out, huh. The next day comes and still no Jimin. That was when you confirmed it. You’ve completely and utterly ruined everything. He did not reply to your messages and didn't even want to see your face. It felt like the ground underneath you cracked opened and devoured you whole. That was the very first time in your life that you’ve acted so venturesomely, look what is has cost you. You blame yourself because there was no one else you could point a finger at. Things wouldn't end up the way they are now if you just stayed in your fucking lane. All of this was your fault. You looked back at all the events that happened to you and realized, maybe it was inevitably your fault. Wonwoo wouldn’t have you left if he saw a reason not to. Jimin wouldn’t be ignoring you if he had a reason no to. The course of the entire day was spent with you cooped up inside your room, wallowing away in your own self-pity. You politely told Jin that you needed some time to be alone and he can decide whatever is best for the landscaping. It was around seven in the evening, Jin bid farewell and suggested that if you needed anything, you could call him up. That was extremely thoughtful of him, you think. Another hour passed and the doorbell rings. You weren't expecting anyone though, so you were quite puzzled as to who it might be. The front door open and you see Jimin. He was wearing a navy blue dress shirt that was folded up to his elbows, wow. Sleek black slacks for pants that cinched his slim waist and leather dress shoes to put everything together. What's the occasion, you thought. "Oh, Jimin" you hid the nervous of your voice by pulling him into a hug "I-its good to see you again, what brings you here? Are you feeling better?" "Ah, yes. I'm sorry for being absent these past few days." His head was hanging low and his eyes were looking elsewhere just to avoid yours. "I wanted to apologize." He finally looked at you with his brown orbs that were displaying sincerity. You ushered him to come inside and take a seat on your couch. "Apologize?" You asked, a little bit perplexed "For what exactly?" "For what I did," his voice grew feebler "I shouldn't have done what I did. I shouldn't have disrespected you like that. I shouldn't have taken advantage of you just because I felt the heat of that moment. I'm sorry, y/n. I swear I'm better than that." "Oh, Jimin." You smiled tenderly, cupping his plump cheeks with your hand. "I think it's the other way around. I should be the one apologizing. Back then, I couldn't control myself when I should have. After seeing you, all the emotions I've put aside unexpectedly erupted." With your unoccupied hand, you tightly held his. "The truth is, you really have grown on me in all the best way possible. Initially, I thought it was just the backlash of my divorce egging me. I thought maybe my mind was looking for a rebound to dull the ache. But..." Your eyes started becoming glassy. You felt him clutch you hand tighten spurring you to continue "I think that's not it. I know it isn't. You've been nothing but a blessing to me, Jimin. An absolute angel. You're sweet, kind, caring, understanding, ugh--" You mocked frustratingly, letting out a small giggle. "You're perfect. I couldn't see anyone that wouldn't fall for you like I have." Jimin's face reflected what he felt at that moment, relief. This wasn't what he was expecting, hence why he averted the confrontation as best as he could. You were the one who was perfect and completely out of his league. You were a beautiful and capable independent woman that any man would kill for. Your ex-husband was beyond stupid to play with your feelings like he did, he knows. But if it wasn't for your ex's stupidity, he wouldn't be here facing the only woman he'd want to be with for the rest of his life. "I thought you wouldn't like me since I was older--." "Stop." He interrupted, stroking his fingers through your locks while gazing at your gorgeous features. The staring contest ended with the both of you smacking lips, eager to taste what has been endured for so long. Impatient longing was evident in every kiss, lick, bite and tug. You kissed him so fervently that his back was digging against the backrest of the sofa. One of your legs seemed to have a mind of its own and positioned itself to straddle him. "Are you sure you want me?" You queried the boy beneath you, your tone much mischievous from before, it was like there was a flipped switch somewhere. The noticeable change in the atmosphere has got him simply nodding, excited to know there was this side of you that he has not witnessed before. He watched you as you steadily unravel your blouse's satin belt and started to gently caress his wrist. "Would you mind if I tie up these pretty hands of yours?" You hummed, pulling on his hand up to you face and sucking on his middle finger and ring finger. The sensation of your wet mouth around his digits caused his brain to send signals down there. He could already feel himself get rock hard inside his jeans, thinking about how tight your mouth would be if he shoved his dick down you throat. But he'll save that for another day because right now he just wants to let you do what you want to do with him. Right now, he is yours for the taking. You urged him to lean a little closer to you. His face now between the valley of your breast as you meticulously tie his hands behind his back. You pushed him back to his previous position and inquired, "Do you want me to cover your eyes as well?" He shook his head in protest and said, "N-no. I want to see you." There was a pause as he manages to catch his breath, "I-I wanna see you while you make me feel good." You nodded, brushing his hair out of his sweat slicked forehead. From his head, your hand slid lazily down to his neck, to his chest, to his stomach and finally to the growing bulge inside his pants. You palm him unhurriedly, taking your time. Tracing your fingertips over the curve of his caged penis. "Y-y/n.." Jimin griped, observing your hand press against his erection. Somehow enduring the excruciating pain, your teasing had sown. "Can I ask you one last favor?" You purred, peppering his neck with kisses and sucking purple bruises here and there. "W-what is it?" he managed to reply, reveling in the way your teeth nipped against his delicate skin. "Call me noona," Jimin was silent, somewhat waiting for an explanation. When you told him the first time, he met you that he can call you by your first made him feel special because only he could do that. The other workers call you 'Miss' and Jungkook and Taehyung declared you as 'our noona'. "N-noona-" Jimin whined, bucking his hips harder against you hand. He saw your pupils dilate as the word escaped your lips, inflaming something inside you. "Jimin," you growled, squeezing his around his girth ferociously. Buttons were unfastened one after the other, exposing his refined chest and taut muscles. Out of nowhere, you felt raunchy. The tips of your fingernail slowly dragged themselves across his torso, leaving streaks of red in its track. He flung his head back, enjoying the sting that danced on his skin. Jimin squirmed as he felt your weight suddenly leave his lap. His neck snapped back to your direction and damn, what a sight to see. You tucked between his legs and unzipping his pants exposing his angry red-tipped cock oozing out beads of pre-cum. He smirked as he saw you involuntary lick your lips. "You like what you see, noona?" "God, yes." You exhaled, wrapping both your hands around his shaft not because you wanted to, but because it was necessary. Your tiny, little hand could barely encompass his circumference. "Noona's gonna me you feel good, baby." You felt Jimin's dick twitch by the given pet name. "Noona," he groaned, thrusting his member in your grip just to feel any sort of friction. Sensually, you undid your bloused and hurled it somewhere on the floor followed by your bra, exposing your bare chest to the boy. Jimin jerked in his seat, wanting to grab and knead you breast with his own hands. It looked even better up close. The skin smooth and flawless, nipples pert and hard due to the frosty air. "Fuck" he hissed through his teeth, if he could get his mouth on those buds he'd suck them dry and pull it between his teeth making you cry out. "Behave." You scolded him, eyes staring daggers. He stayed in place once again, not wanting to vex you in any way.

You ran the flat of you tongue on the underside of his length, feeling his skin pulse at contact. Salaciously making your way to its head, you began circling his narrow slit with the tip of your tongue. Feeble moans were the only things escaping his pretty mouth. You seized this moment to swallow him whole down to the hilt, fighting your gag reflex. Your mouth has never felt this stuffed as you moan in satisfaction. Jimin felt the vibration of your throat around his cock, tightening around it. You languidly started bobbing your head up and down, bottoming out with every stroke. With a lewd pop, you tried pulling your mouth off his cock. Strings of saliva dribbled from your lips connecting to his tip. You push yourself up slight and proceeded painting your nipples with the concoction of you saliva and his pre-cum that was coating the tip of his penis. "How does this feel?" You cooed, sandwiching his hard member between your two breasts, erotically pumping the tender flesh up and down his length. "So so gooood, noona" Jimin wheezed blissfully. The sensation of his cock wholly enveloped by your soft mounds is inclining him over the edge. "Noona," he wailed shutting his eyes, the urgency of wanting to release washing over him. By the look of things, you guess he's close. You quicken the pace, feeling the skin of you breast chafe due to friction but you don't care. You clamped your hand on your boobs harder to tighten its hold around his cock and pump faster and faster and faster until he's cumming on you tits. "Shit, noona," Jimin stressed, his breaths labored. You watched as his chest heaved up and down, supplying him with the oxygen he needs after such an intense climax. "Oh no. Look at the mess you made, Jimin." You shook your head, pointing to your breast painted with his milky liquid. "I don't like messes," You sing-song, pushing yourself back up to straddle him once more. You clasped your finger under his chin and commanded, "clean it." His heart stammered in his chest. This is it. This is what he desired. Your perky nipples snug between his lips while your back arches in euphoria. He aggressively lapped up his juices from the skin of your chest with his tongue, leaving no trace of the substance behind. Up and down, left and right, there was no area left untouched by his wet greedy muscles. If he could only see the contorted position he put himself in just to taste you. He doesn't give a shit anymore, he'll gladly eat his cum out of you asshole if you asked. He obscenely sucked you left nipple first, earning the tiniest moan from you. Alternating between light nips and starved slurps, abusing your bud. He then moves to your right nipple, the more sensitive one that has you immediately grinding your clothed core against his semi-hard on. "Let me make you feel good, noona." He desperately whined, concealing his face in the nook of your neck inhaling your fragrant scent. You quirked a brow and asked while weaving you digits through his sweat-damped hair. "What does my baby have in mind?" "Let me.." he croaked. "Louder. I can't hear you." "Let me eat you out, noona. Let me make you feel good." He begged with pleading eyes , fidgeting his hands that were behind his back, trying to untie the belt that was restraining him. "I can make you--" "If you take those off I am kicking you out." You threateningly glared at him, voice deadly like venom. Jimin was scared shitless. He could do nothing but sit silently and obey. "I-I'm sorry, noona. I didn't mean to make you mad." This boy. It may seem like you're the one in control but it is you who are actually wrapped around his little finger. Giving in to what he wants. "It's okay, baby." you massaged his tensed shoulders, soothing him down. "I'll still let you eat me out if you promise not to take off your restraint." You sounded so sweet, the exact opposite of what you were minutes ago. Not wanting to piss you off more, Jimin nodded. You helped him lay down the sofa, propping his head underneath a throw pillow. You stepped to the side and shimmied your pants off. His eyes trailed the article of clothing peeling off your body. When the pair of jeans were long gone, his gaze was attached to your still clothed core. A small wet patch sticking to your folds in the middle was visible. You prop a leg over him, climbing on top of his chest, finding purchase when his face is below your pussy. He could smell the scent of you arousal. Filling up his nostrils and intoxicating his entire nervous system like it's some kind of poison. This by far was the best angle he's seen you in. Seeing it up close, he wished he could at least touch you… You moved into a considerably better position, if you buck your hips the slightest bit, if will directly collide with his mouth. "This what you want baby boy?" You teased, lowering you center on the tip of his nose. Overpowering him even more. "Yes, yes, yes!" He cries out, "I want nothing but your pussy, noona!" You snickered at how desperate he has become, "Who knew you were such a little bitch, Jimin. Loving the way you hands are tied up and thirsting over my pussy." "Yes! I want to taste you, noona. I want to make you feel good until you're squirting all over my face like you did before on the floor. Then I'll eat you up so good, so clean." "Good boy." You thrummed, ultimately taking off your underwear. Letting him marvel at the sight of your woman hood. Clean Shaven, baby smooth, and tulip pink. Without warning, you hastily maneuver yourself, grinding your core against his face. "Put your filthy mouth to good use and make me cum." The sounds he was making were borderline pornographic as hell. His slurps and moans blessing your ears, making your insides rut. He'd occasionally prod his muscles inside your hole then flick on your clit relentlessly. The tensed coil finally snapped and you chase you high by grinding against his face. He's devouring you out like a man starved, sucking out and drinking all the juice your pussy was providing him. Wanting nothing but to be selfish, and have you for himself. He licked you clean, not wasting a single drop of your delicious cum. "I didn't know you were such a disgusting slut for pussy, Jimin." "I, I only want your pussy noona… no one else's." He confessed. "On your knees." You demand. "H-huh?" "I said on you knees. You slut." Jimin dropped down on the floor waiting for your next command like the slut he is. "Tell me how much you want to fuck me." "I-I.." He stuttered with his words, and it made you infuriated. "I said. Tell me how much you want to fuck this tight pussy of mine." You bellowed, your words bouncing off the walls of your living you. "I want to fuck you so much, noona! I want to bury my cock so deep inside your pussy until I reach your cervix then I'll fuck you some more. I want nothing but to fill you up with my seed and put a baby in you, noona! I'll fuck you so good that you'll want to you pussy filled by me every day!" He cried, plunging his head on the floor in a begging for your life bow. "Please, please, please!" Jimin was hysterical at this point, screaming and begging you to let him fuck you. "Noona, please. I'll fuck you so good that you'll forget about all your problems." You shiver at his submission and once again, he's got you eating at the palm of his hands. You freed his wrist and he lunges at you, hustling you up against the wall. "Noona," he breathed in the smell of your shampoo, steadying his hands on your hips fingers digging into your skin. "You don't know how much I wanted to put my hands on you. I can't take it anymore, noona." he pressed his erection against your slick folds "I need to be inside you." "Then show noona what that dirty cock can do." you smirked, challenging the boy. He gripped both of your thighs and carried you to the dinner table. Laying you down before spreading your legs open for him. He aligned his cock to your entrance, pushing gradually, inch by inch until he bottomed out. The stretch was incredible, you were already dripping wet but there was still the sting that lingered from his size. Your walls were trying resisting the force, convulsing around his length spontaneously. "You're tighter than I've imagined, noona." You did kegels around him, eliciting a sharp groan from the boy. "Fuck, Noona. You were made for my cock." You hummed in agreement, relishing the sensation of him pushing in and out of your tight hole. "Baby.." You moaned wantonly, elevating you butt so that he could have a better angle while penetrating you ruthlessly. "Your thick long cock is the best I've ever had. Better than my ex-husband's pathetic excuse for a dick." His ego doubled at your praise, pride blooming in his chest. "More, noona.. please tell me how great my cock is for you.." "Ahhh-- ahh. Jimin!" You bit your lip, clenching around him. "You're taking remarkably good care of noona. Fucking your noona so good. I love your cock so much. I want you to fill me up with you cum. Yeah? Hmmmm. Make your noona the happiest by cumming inside my pussy." There was the push he needed, he was plunging further into you. He felt the barrier of your cervix and broken through it before spilling all his seed into your womb. You quickly followed when you felt the warmth of his juices flowing into you. Your velvet walls convulsed around his cock, milking him for all his worth. Silence fell on the both of you, only the south of your panting and harsh breath resonated. You supported yourself up with you elbows as Jimin pull out his now flaccid penis. You felt the trickle of both of your releases slobber out of your sore hole. "Baby, do noona a favor and clean up the mess you've made with your mouth." Jimin without hesitation obeyed and dove right in. Making sure to get every last drop of yours and his cum with his tongue. He lifted his head, mouth glistening from your juices. You pulled him closer to pet his held. "You were such a good boy for noona. Bring me to bed." He obliged, carrying you bridal style to your room. His muscles rippling under your stripped body. "Noona?" He questioned while his face was still cuddling your tummy. "Hmm?" "Did I make you feel good?" You lifted up his face and said, "You made me feel so good, baby." You assured, loving the way his eyes turn into crescent moons endearing when he smiles. "Can we do that again? But this time I want the blindfolds." He flashed a cheeky grin. You smirked at his innocence, placing a kiss on his temple. "Of course, baby. We have all the time in the world." ++ The sound of knocking on your front door wakes you up, seems like this is will be a regular thing now. You managed to put on an oversized shirt and underwear on before heading to the source of the noise. You opened the doors at was bet by Jungkook and Taehyung. "Good morning, boys." You yawned, gesturing them to come in. "Uhm. Good morning, noona" Jungkook croaked, pushing his senior to speak on his behalf. "See, we haven't heard from Jimin since last night so uh-- it's just jungkook and I that'll be finishing up work today." Taehyung stated. "About that…."

You heard the door of your room creak open and out comes Jimin with nothing but this boxers on and hickeys all over his neck and chest. The two boys looked at each other dumbfoundedly and once they've put two and two together, huge grins were plastered on their faces. End

tell me what u think pls

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shannygoatgruff · 4 years

Text

Grown & SeXY - Chapter 2

Header made by the talented @flowers-in-your-hayr

For @youbloodymadgenius for your 400 Followers Writing Challenge. Congrats on your success!

Genre: Romance/Comedy

Pairing: Modern Ivar x Mature OC

Warning: Language/mild angst/Sexual content

Rating: M

Summary: A relationship between Generations X & Y will help this XX & XY learn a lot about themselves, each other, and love. Cougar/cub relationships aren’t always just about a midlife crisis and arm candy.

A/N: I got the concept for this story from a conversation I was having with @youbloodymadgenius. I hope I do it justice. This story is for you!

Chapter 2

Biiiiiitch! Where have you been? I’ve been IMing you but you been ducking me like I’m the IRS. Shit, I’m surprised we talking now - you mad at me or something? Did somebody tell you that they heard some shit about you from me? Because they were fucking lying. I wouldn’t do that. You know I don’t like all that gossip shit and I'm not one to put all people's business out on Front Street, like that.

So, girl, I need to holler at you about something right quick. What the hell is up with the non-disclosure agreement I sent you? Cause I damn sure didn’t get a signed copy back in my mailbox. Now, maybe I’m the slow bitch in the class, but it seems to me that there are a few more people in on our private meeting than just us, like we had previously discussed.

Now, I’m not saying that you said something, but I know I sure as hell didn’t. So, if I was over here keeping my sexy ass mouth shut (cause that how a bitch do) and you haven't said shit either, then who the fuck else is talking? You know, I bet it was probably those same bitches that were running around saying that they heard that I was talking shit about you. I tell you, people today ain't about shit. Well, fuck them.

Just so you know, I didn't call you to try to check you or anything. I called to try to catch you up on this grown and sexy shit cause bitch you are hella behind. Okay...I told you about how Marisol was at the club and met this fine ass little young boy at the bar, who turned out to be her high school BFF’s little brother, right? Did I tell you about how Marisol’s son and King Ding-A-Ling hate each other or how they met up at a party at his daddy’s house? Shit bitch, what do you know? I feel like I’m starting this shit all over at the beginning, again! Seriously hooker, keep up because before I can get into this shit, I have to set the scene.

So, you need all the dirt on Ivar’s family so moving forward you know what the fuck I’m talking about when I just start dropping shit on you like Pearl Harbor. Believe me, hon-ty when I tell you, these motherfuckers got some Telenovela, Grey’s Anatomy, Scandal type shit with them.

Alright now, let me start with his parents. You ever see a really attractive man and you figure, his daddy must have been cute when he was younger? Well, that’s Ivar’s daddy, Mr. Ragnar Lothbrok – or as I like to call him, Dick Daddy Yo.

Now, child, Dick Daddy is fine as a motherfucker. And, I’m not talking regular run-of-the-mill attractive for a man in his late 50s – early 60s, who was probably knocking down everything back in the day, type of fine, either. No Queen - I’m talking, this motherfucker could get it TODAY, immediately, right now, if he asked for it. Shit, bitch, quiet as kept, he wouldn’t even have to ask. All he would have to do is set those baby blue eyes in my direction, and I would hand him the drawers.

So, back in the day, when they still lived in Norway, Dick Daddy married this total dime piece named Lagertha. When I tell you she was a bad bitch, I mean she was a Bad Bitch! Shit, she still bad to this day thirty-some years later. She was built, blond and beautiful, plus that bitch could box. I don’t know what kind of thug shit they taught her over there in the old country where they came from, but this broad was like Ronda Rousey out there in those Kattegat streets.

Anyhoo, when Lagertha and Ragnar got married, she found out that Ragnar had that Super D and she knew she wasn't going to be able to keep all that good dick to herself because he liked to sling it all over town. So she told him to go do his dirt, but he better brings his fine ass home to her every night. Of course, he was all like, cool, he could have a dime piece at home and get cutty on the side…alright, bet!

Well, honey, next thing you know, he gets hooked up with this fatal attraction type, funny looking broad named, Aslaug. Girl, Aslaug gets dickmatized and follows Ragnar around like a puppy, and the next thing you know he had to figure out how to bring a whole ass side-chick home to his dime piece wife. He must of came back with some shit like, “Baby, you know that girl Aslaug can cook and she’ll do that thing that you don’t like to do…you know cause she a freak…so really, it’s a win-win for us both.”

So, I figure dude’s dick must have been dipped in platinum, because Lagertha was like, “Whatever, Dick Daddy,” cause the next thing you know all three of them are living together and these two bitches were sister-wives.

Chile! But, here’s where the shit gets juicy! Ooh, girl! The whole time Ragnar was out there in them streets, Lagertha’s sexy ass was knocking over his brother, Rollo, and word around the campfire is, one of them kids ain’t really Ragnar’s…biiiiiitttttttch! I can't make this shit up!

So anyway, by the time all those damn babies came all 50/11 of them moved here to that big blue house at the end of Greenwich, you know the one with the big ass fence front and the nice pool? The one that the young people always have all the parties at...yeah, that one well, that’s where they still live.

Now onto the kids. Honey, Ragnar has five maybe six kids that he’s claiming. I'm sure it's more out there, but I'm telling you about the ones I know about. First, you got the two he has with Lagertha; that’s Bjorn, and Gyda (that’s if don’t think Bjorn is Rollo’s son). But what the hell, I’ll take “Let’s Pretend That Bjorn Is Ragnar’s Kid” for $200, Alex…

So, Bjorn is the oldest of all of the kids. And what can I say about BJ? BJ is fucking…girl, he’s just fucking. He’s fucking any and everything. That man. Jesus jumped up. He’s about 6’3”, 250lbs, muscular, blond, these piercing blue eyes. This smile…strong jawline. He has these hands, right? These hands that you know could just grip you right up under your ass cheeks and hold you up against a wall, and these arms…gurl, make me want to faint like a white woman! Hmm.

BJ reminds me of Ragnar. Hell, all those kids remind me of him in some way, but Bjorn oozes sex like Ragnar. I don’t know what it is, but watch your uterus around him. If you stand too close to BJ, your pussy is liable to jump in his back pocket and you won’t even notice that it’s gone.

BJ has a shit-ton of kids though and has been married like 150 times. I don’t know what it is, but he finds these blonde women, fucks them, marries them, has 20 babies with, and then gets divorced. He’s a shitty husband, but I bet you he’s a fire ass lay.

Then there’s Gyda, we call her Da-Da. She’s just beautiful. Whew. She got those looks from both of her parents. It is honestly painful to look at her. She’s the charming side of Ragnar. The side that’ll have you naked and buying her ass a house and a car before the waiter finishes taking your order on the first date. It’s a good thing she’s a nice person because if she was an evil bitch, there’s no telling what she would be up to. She’s another tall one, with blonde hair and blue eyes. But, she’s built like her mother. This bitch looks like she needs to be holding a fundraiser where she’s wearing clear heels, in a strip club, called Twerking For Jesus or some shit.

Now, if those two gorgeous kids weren’t enough to make everyone else in the world jealous of how good the D and the seed were from Ragnar, he had to go and spread it around some more with that weird bitch, Aslaug. They have four boys; Ubbe, Hvitserk, Sigurd, and Ivar. I don’t know how those boys ended up being so fine because Aslaug’s ass is not what I would call attractive. But, they got Ragnar’s genes and miracles never cease to amaze me.

All, but one, of them can get it any day.

Let’s start with Ubbe. It’s a long story, I don’t remember the particulars, but he’s known around the way as, Weebae. I can’t remember if it’s because he was small when as a baby, or because he used to cry all the damn time. But, whatever the case, if you hear a motherfucker asking for Weebae, they talking about Ubbe. Anyway, Wee is Ragnar’s twin. That child looks like Ragnar just spit him out on the street, only I don’t know where in the fuck he got his personality, cause Ragnar ain’t that fucking nice and Aslaug is a fucking cunt.

Have you ever met somebody that’s so damn nice, that they seem like a bitch ass? Like they are just softer than a motherfucker? Somebody that constantly lets people run over the top of him all the damn time and you just want to be like, yo you’s a giant whore! Well, that’s Wee. If he wasn’t so damn sexy, I would be like you soft, brah…get your punk ass away from me. But seeing as how fine he is, I’m like…bring your sensitive ass over here and let me make it all better, with your sexy self. Cause, you know, Mama loves the sensitive ones.

Who’s next? Oh, yeah, the next one is Hvitserk. I know it’s a fucked up name, but no one calls him that. They call him Boobie. Why do you ask? Because Boobie loves titties. I swear that boy was trying to get everybody to breastfeed him since he was born. The bigger a woman's boobs, the more Boobie is into her. But he's such a freaking cutie pie! He doesn’t look like Ragnar to me, but he reminds me of him in that way where as long as he can fuck and eat, he doesn’t give a fuck about much else. He’s the type that never has the same job or girlfriend for too long. He just goes with the flow and stays around until he gets bored.

Now Boobie favors Ragnar but not as much as some of the other kids. He’s got this cute baby face, with this sandy blonde hair and these pretty green eyes, like Aslaug. When you see him, you just want to pinch his cheeks on his face and his ass. And because he seems like such a little lost puppy, you just want to take him home, and take care of him…maybe tie him up to your bed and ride his ass like he’s Budweiser Clysdale in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, too.

Then there’s Sigurd…oh, Siggy. I call him, Brother Useless. He got all of Aslaug’s genes. It must be hard to look like Sigurd when you are born into that family. To be below average looking when you have extraordinarily attractive siblings, how does one go one with life? By being a giant dick, that’s how. Siggy fucking sucks donkey balls. He irks my fucking life. Siggy and I have history, outside of this little tale, and believe me he’s a dick in those stories, too.

Anyway, he looks just like his mama with facial hair. It’s really quite unfortunate. He reminds me of one of those Muppets off of the Dark Crystal. When I first found out that he was one of Ragnar’s sons, my first response was, I know you fucking lying! They should have just thrown the whole damn child away. See, Ragnar, that’s what happens when you go slumming with a funny looking chick…you get a funny looking kid with a fucked up personality. God don't like ugly...

But He redeemed your good name with Lil' Man. Oh, my sweet Ivar. This boy looks nothing like either of his parents but is the total embodiment of his father. Ivar is sexy. No, let me rephrase that for the bitches in the back...I said, IVAR IS SEXY. Bitch, I don’t know if there is even a word to describe the level of attractiveness this little bastard has. I don’t know if it’s that life-altering smile, or the dark hair and pale blue eyes. Shit, it could be that intense stare he has or those arms…or it could be that chest or maybe it’s that ass that you just want to bite and those lips that make you just want to sit on his face. Whatever it is about him, that boy makes you tingle in the most unladylike of places.

Now, when Ivar was born, something was wrong with him and he needed an operation. He was fine afterward, but Aslaug’s dramatical ass was acting like he was on his damn death bed and treated him like he was Samuel L. Jackson in Unbreakable. So, naturally, he grew up spoiled as shit. So now, this child don’t know how to do shit. He thinks everybody supposed to hand him everything, just because he’s cute.

Honey, short of my number and panties, he gonna have to work for everything else like everybody else. But see, you can’t tell fine, muscular, spoiled ass, motherfuckers, with beautiful eyes, killer smiles, nice hair, and that smell good all the fucking time that they’re not special. Oh, no, because they will try to prove you wrong. At least he finished college and doesn’t have any kids. But if his ass would get a job…Sorry, I’m skipping ahead.

Okay, so you have the background on the family. Now check out how this shit went down...

Being in the Lothbrok house brought back a ton of memories for Soli. She had spent a good part of her adolescence there with her best friend, Gyda. The two of them had countless sleepovers, movie marathons, and of course their love of all the teenage heartthrobs of the 80s and 90s. Teen Bop, Tiger Beat, and 17 Magazines fed their obsessions for Kirk Cameron, Corey Haim, Mark-Paul Gosselaar, and Mario Lopez. I was always a Joey Lawerence girl myself, but that’s neither here nor there.

That was until that one time the two of them got into this huge fight over who was going to marry Justin Timberlake. But then Bjorn told them that he thought Ryan Philippe was the same person and the girls realized that they did look a lot alike. So, Soli took JT and Gyda took Ryan, and they all lived happily ever after.

As she accepted the glass of champagne from the tray, Soli looked around the hallway leading out to the patio. It was amazing how different the house looked now. Since the remodel nothing was where she had remembered. The living room used to be to the left of the hallway, and there had been a large formal dining room to the right. They also used to have a huge kitchen right behind the dining room and then the family room sat just behind there, with the entrance to the back yard. It was always a good-sized house, but the way it was cut up, with these weird doorways and walls in the most awkward of places, it always felt cramped, especially with so many people living there.

But this? The open concept floor plan, no walls to obstruct the view...spacious, huge windows, lots of sunlight...it was gorgeous! Lothbrok Designs, LLC did one hell of a job. Everything from the floor plan to the decor was beautiful. Maybe Soli could get them to hook her up discount and do some work around her house.

“Hey there! I thought I saw you,” Gyda smiled walking over to Marisol with her arms out. “Oh Sonni, you look so good! I still can’t get over how you haven’t aged a bit. And girl, that body!”

Soli spun around in a circle to give her friend the full view. Even she had to admit, the off the shoulder, floral printed, Boho, maxi-dress looked damn good on her. Especially the way the soft pink color played with the beautiful warm tones in her toffee-colored skin. And honey, she was rocking this split that came all the up the front of the dress to the bodice, that would have been showing all of the church's business if it wasn't for that little white chiffon underdress thing. Honey...forty where? She was a banger and she knew it. “Well, you know forty is new twenty. I didn’t get to do my twenties right because I had Mani, but now I'm single and I'm ready to mingle! And you, Diva…”

“Well, thanks. You know...I get it from my Mama." Gyda did a little shimmy and laughed. "Thank you so much for coming. It’s so good to have you back in town. I know my parents are excited to see you again.” She looked around the room and waved at a guest who was walking by, “Everyone was excited that you said you were coming.”

Everyone? Why did Gyda say it like that? Soli was excited to catch up with the family, too, but damn. Soli knew that little cutie Ivar was going to be there, but that was nothing. A little innocent eye flirting at the bar a couple of weeks ago didn't mean anything. She hadn't seen or thought of that boy since. And she wasn't thinking about him today...well, not that much, anyway.

“Da-Da,” A gorgeous older blond man came up to Gyda and placed a soft kiss on the side of her head, before turning his attention to Soli. “No, you can’t be…Marisol Peña? The young lady I saw as much as my daughter growing up?” Ragnar walked over to Soli and wrapped her in a warm hug.

Soli chuckled and shook her head when she felt his hands linger at her waist a second longer than they should have. “Oh, Mr. Lothbrok,” Soli she patted him lightly on the chest taking a half step back to take in that beautiful smile, “Oh, it’s been too long. You still look good.” She smiled, feeling his hands slowly move down her side to now rest on her hips.

“And you still are as beautiful as ever,” he said leaning in toward her to talk to her. He had always had this strange way articulating certain words and sometimes he would get uncomfortably close when he would talk to people. Gyda used to get embarrassed because her father would get all up on her friends when he spoke to them, but Marisol always thought it was kind of sexy the way he would breathe on her when he talked.

She felt herself being hypnotized momentarily by all that sexy, but she quickly regained her senses. “Mr. Lothbrok,” she tutted keeping a careful eye on him as he slowly walked around her in a circle with a sly grin on his face, “I see you're still as smooth as ever.”

It was fluid the way Ragnar brushed his face next to Soli’s ear to whisper in his sexy accent, making the tendrils of hair tickle her neck, “Ragnar.”

"Ragnar," she giggled. He was still a DILF, even after all these years.

“Ragnar?” A feminine voice called causing everyone to turn toward a tall strawberry-blonde in flowing green empire dress standing at the patio door, “Come, lunch is ready and we will have cake.” For as tall and thin as she was the dress did nothing for her. A hottie like Lagertha could have pulled it off, but not her. Although, the navy blue and dark green embroidery did accentuate the red in her hair and her green eyes.

Soli’s eyes widened as she turned to Gyda, devastated. “Is that Aslaug?” she whispered. As they all began walking through the house toward the backyard she found herself laughing at the expression on Gyda's face. “Bitch, shut up.” Oh, they had so much to catch up on.

Judging by how good Aslaug looked, she had had some work done. She was still funny looking, but she looked a whole hell of a lot better than she did when Soli knew her.

Time seemed to fly by for Soli as she sat in backyard eating, laughing, and drinking with her childhood friend. She had forgotten how much she missed Gyda. But being with her and the family, it felt like they never missed a beat. She even sat at the table reserved for Ragnar's kids and had no problem catching up with each one of them. Oh, the gossip she found out about sitting there.

For example, Weebae was married to BJ's ex-wife, Torvi, who left BJ with four children and is now having a baby with Bae. And you know the crazy thing is all of them are still talking like nothing ever happened? Or how about this, apparently something happened between Siggy and Ivar - no one is talking about what it is yet, but the two of them don't talk. They can be sitting at the same table and won't utter two words to each other. And did you know that none of the brothers knew why Soli and Gyda fell out all those years ago? I know, but that ain’t my place to say, so done tucked that one way down deep in my bra, honey. All I know is I could write a whole other story about this damn family’s shenanigans alone!

“Man, I wish I could remember that!” Siggy laughed throwing his napkin on his plate. “I would have loved to see the look on Bae’s face!” He gently nudged his brother’s arm as he continued to make fun of him.

Ubbe shook his head and lowered his eyes as the stain of blush colored his cheeks, “I can’t believe that was you,” he said to Soli, “I remember running through the house naked, but I never remembered why.”

Soli smiled around her glass of wine, trying her best to ignore the incredibly attractive younger man sitting next to her. "I remember why. I remember that little birthmark on your ass, too."

Gyda laughed putting the last of her spoonful of cake in her mouth. “Oooh, Beege, do you remember that time we were playing Van Damme and you ended up in the emergency room?”

Bjorn rolled his eyes and tried to cover his brow with his hand, “Of course I remember! How could I forget?” He started rubbing his inner thigh at the memory. He looked around the table at all of his brothers’ faces who were rapted with excitement, smiles already plastered on their faces, dying to hear the story. “So, I might have been about 13, Da-Da and Soli might have been around 11 or so. Anyway, we used to always watch Daddy's Jean-Claude Van Damme movies. I was obsessed - he was a total bad-ass to me. We had no business watching them because they were rated R and too violent for us to be watching, but we didn't care. And after the movies, we always would play Van Damme and act out our own scenes but do all the karate moves we just saw.”

“But, he always thought he automatically got to be Van Damme because he was a boy, and he always tried to make me the stupid female sidekick. I wanted to be the badass female Van Damme, ya know?" Soli said rolling her eyes.

“Wait, where was Da-Da?” Ubbe asked.

“I always wanted to be the bad guy,” Gyda shrugged, “What? It was fun.”

"Yeah, we used to whip her ass, "Soli laughed, “So, this one day BJ and I got in this big argument about who should get to be Van Damme in our reenactment. Of course, he thought he should be because he’s a boy, and I said that I should be because I could do the split. You remember the splits he used to do, right?” She looked around the table and watched everyone nod.

That is, all except one, “No…he’s the guy with that show on HULU now, right?” Ivar asked, turning in his chair so that his outstretch leg brushed Soli’s shin under the table. “He used to do action movies?”

Rolling her eyes at the absurdity of the question, Soli reached into her small clutch bag and pulled out her phone. “I keep forgetting you’re a child. Of course, you don’t know anything about Jean-Claude Van Damme. When were you born, like 6 months ago?” She quickly found a picture of the Van Damme split online and handed her phone to Ivar.

“So, in the movie Double Impact, he did the split when he had his legs on these chairs and his pelvis was suspended between them…I knew I could do it. I had been taking gymnastics since I was six. But BJ, thought because he was a boy he was naturally superior.”

“Oh God, Beege…what happened?” Hvitserk asked popping open another beer.

“The chairs moved, man.” Bjorn said sadly, “Daddy had to take me to the hospital. My nuts twisted; sprained my dick.” He tried to hold back his laugh but listening to how funny his brothers found his childhood misfortune made Bjorn laugh, too. “Never played Van Damme again.”

“And you never bet against me again, that’s for sure.” Soli felt Ivar’s hand brush against the side of hers and when she turned to face him he was handing back her phone. She noticed that when he leaned over toward her that the first two buttons of his classic white button-down shirt were undone, exposing his thick neck, and collarbone to her. Would it be rude if she tried to get a peek down his shirt? She didn't think so. What was rude was him smelling like a clean ocean breeze or wearing that damn white shirt against his tanned skin.

Ivar put the phone in her open palm and closed his hand around hers. The hint of a smile started with one corner of his mouth and as his tongue darted out of his mouth and started worrying the bottom corner of the lip.

“So, um…you can do that split, huh?” There it was. That come sit on my face smile. She had to watch out for this little bastard.

“Yep and I can do it on a handstand,” she whispered back, and winked at him, pursing her lips to keep herself from smiling. God, this kid was so damn cute, but she shouldn't be flirting with him, even if it was who she was by nature. He was too young. It was too wrong. He was too sexy. She hadn’t had sex in a very long time. This was tricky. She knew the family. He had muscles. “Close your mouth there, Baby Ivey.” She patted his shoulder feeling the striations under her fingertips. That was another thing, she had to stop touching him!

“Hey Mom,” Soli’s son, Mani walked over to the table she was sitting at wearing a nice pair of jeans and a white t-shirt. She had made him promise to drop by for a minute, just to say hi to some of her childhood friends before he went to a party of his own. The things he did for that woman.

“There’s my Baby Boy!” Soli said, standing up. “Mani, I want you to meet my second family when I was growing up. This was my best friend, Gyda, and her brothers Bjorn, Ubbe, Hvitserk, Sigurd, and Ivar.” She gestured her hand to each person as she said their names. “Everyone, this is my son, Miguel.”

Ivar smiled and stood up, offering his hand to shake, “I remember you from school. Cartoon Boy, right?”

Mani’s posture stiffened and his warm brown eyes hardened almost instantly, “I don’t remember Jock Strap.” Mani had hated Ivar since they were in high school. Even as a teenager he thought Ivar Raganarsson was a dick. He was an entitled asshole who thought the world owed him something. He had walked around that school like he was the shit and because Mani was younger, smaller and didn’t play sports, Ivar just fucking sucked toward him. He never bullied him, but he always acted like Mani was beneath him.

Well, fuck Ivar and his big ass beaver teeth smile…got on his fucking nerves. Mani turned his attention to the rest of the table. “It was nice to meet all of you, but I have another engagement. I just stopped by to drop something off to my mom.”

“Excuse me,” Soli said getting up from the table. She was ready to punch Mani in the throat. She had specifically told him that when he came to the house not to say anything insulting to Ivar. And if she had to listen to one more minute of how much Mani hated Ivar she was going to scream. Since she told him about that first time seeing him at the bar all she had heard was how much of an asshole Ivar had been in high school and how he stole the lead in the school play Mani’s sophomore year. Did she care? Not at all. Mani was 22 years old now and he was still holding a grudge about something that happened when he was 15.

She walked back into the house with her son following him to the front door. The fake she was forcing was hurting her face. “What the fuck was that, Mani?”

“You see him with that Fuck Boy Ricky hairstyle? I swear Mom, he’s a total Dickbag.” Mani rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, “And you're friends with his people? That's a whole new level of douchery, even for you, Mom.”

“Oh my, God…I’m not. Not right now.” She got on her tiptoes to kiss her son on the cheek. “Have fun tonight. I love you.”

“I’m telling you, watch that fucktard.”

"Get out," Soli pushed her son out of the door and sighed. This was reason number 4,037 why she never dated. Mani hated and had something to say about everyone. Not saying that she wanted to date Ivar or anything, but just saying that Mani had a problem with every male that she was even friendly with. It was hopeless. Her ex-husband was going to be the last man she’d ever have sex with. Oh, the humanity of it all...

Soli walked back to the family table with a fresh glass of wine and sat back with a smile as she watched the siblings pose for their family photos. The pictures were going to be gorgeous - they were a beautiful family. There were so many photos being taken, too. There were poses of Ragnar, both his wives, all of his children, and grandchildren. Even the photos of the divisions of the families were beautiful. But the most captivating thing to Soli was that Ivar was the photographer.

He was so patient and genuinely seemed to be having a good time doing it. He was a natural. He laughed as he directed his family and smiled a huge, smile with every picture he took. He was engaging and extremely creative. Looking at him, she would have never have guessed he had an artistic side to him. When Soli realized that she had a full-blown smile on her face watching Ivar and not the family she shook her head and grabbed her phone for a distraction.

Taking a sip of wine, she checked her text messages and almost choked. There as only one missed message and it was from a number that she didn't recognize. He must have called himself on her phone to get her number.

She couldn't stop the big ass smile from spreading across her face as she read:

‘Splits and handstands? I💓 gymnastics! ~ Baby Ivey’

So, girl, that’s what happened with that. Don’t worry, we are about to get into the good shit, I promise. I'm telling this story honey and bitch I'm building suspense.

I'll talk to you later girl. And next time, I ping you, answer your girl. Don’t be screening me like I’m that dude at the club that you trying to get rid of.

Chapter 1

Tags: @youbloodymadgenius @idea-garden @kol--mikaelson @mooniemouse @didiintheblog @waiting4inspiration @tempt-ress @where-beauty-goes-to-die @crazyaboutmotleycrue @oddsnendsfanfics @geekandbooknerd @ivarthebloodyking @honestsycrets @xbellaxcarolinax @zuxiezendler @inforapound @a-mess-of-fandoms

#alex andersen #Alex hoegh #alex hogh andersen #alex høgh andersen #alex hogh fanfiction #ivar lothbrok #ivar ragnarsson #ivar lothbrok fic #ivar fanfic #ivar the boneless #vikings fanfic #vikings fandom #alex høgh andersen fanfiction #alex høgh fanfiction #grown & seXY #usershannygoatgruff #shannyland #gyda #bjorn ironside

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foolgobi65 · 4 years

Note

Mahabharata (any characters or pairing) + college au + meet messy + “alexa, play wonderwall.” (at this point im just picking things at random lol)

play wonderwall : you’ll see lol basically used this as an excuse to write a version of the scene u and i both acknowledge as our favorite. the single most iconic scene in the entire epic, bar none. for our sake, i really hope that you like it!! also the “meet messy” is basically random people in the crowd meeting this trainwreck of a family in all of its glory. also i think rhea’s modern au krishna goes by shyam yadav??? i tried to use a different first name at least but none of them sounded as nice so i gave up lol sorry rhea.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

It seems like the entire university is gathered on the front lawn to watch the swearing-in ceremony of new Union President Dharamraj Kuru after what many reported to be the nastiest student election season perhaps ever seen. Jarasandha Magadh, after years of refusing to graduate, had at the last minute been put in the hospital and, apparently, sustained injuries so extensive that it had effectively argued that his already completed coursework should be all that was counted when factoring in his final mark.

“Especially given said student’s...extensive history...with this institution,” Shyam had apparently said when arguing Jarasandha’s case to University Administration, Jarasandha himself completely unaware and apparently furious when he was brought out of his medically induced coma.

Jarasandha’s party’s hastily promoted candidate Sahadeva was wildly acknowledged to be weak, young, and meant to be nothing more than a rubber stamp on business as usual. Dharamraj, whose upstart campaign effectively communicated how poorly “business as usual” had treated the student body, was suddenly flooded with factions of students seeking an alliance so that their respective organizations might be allocated larger portions of the budget everyone assumed Dharamraj would soon control.

Everyone was right. Dharamraj won in a landslide, and now here everybody is, watching him deliver his maiden speech as their new President.

“Shisupal,” Dharamraj sighs, “what exactly is your problem?”

“My problem,” Shisupal shrieks, walking up to the dais from where Dharamraj stands, surrounded by his friends, family, and his girlfriend Yagna. “You’re asking me what my problem is, Brother?”

“Brother?” someone in the crowd asks, too low to be heard at the front.

“I think they’re related on their mother’s side,” someone else responds. “Both their mothers are sisters, but Pritha was adopted out to a friend of her father so was never close to her biological siblings.”

“Jesus,” another laughs, “are they all just cousins?”

A wide assortment of Kurus stand on stage, jubilant after so many years of them trying and failing to win elections at the university their fathers had once ruled. Yagna, from a prominent family herself, at Dharamraj’s side. Shyam Yadav, whose sister Subhadra is in love with Dhananjaya and whose father was like a brother to Pritha when she was lonely in Kuntibhoj and Vasudev not imprisoned with his wife.

Yes, they really are all just cousins.

Vrikodara steps in front of Dharamraj, arms crossed and looming nearly half a metre taller than Shishupal. Yet, Shishupal is not cowed -- though many men more intelligent than he would have been.

“I’m not afraid of you, asshole. Everyone knows you’re just the gun in Dharamraj’s hand, and your brother is a pacifist. You won’t touch me.”

“You would be surprised,” Dharamraj says mildly, smiling slightly as the crowd laughs at the thought of violence from the slightly frail Dharma, always seen in the library or sitting under the tree outside it, smoking cigarettes as he argues with professors twice his age about obscure legalities and wins.

“You wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Shishupal spits, “you’re too much of a coward to hit a person when they know it’s coming. That’s why you’re just stabbing us in the back, selling us out on the first day when we put our reputations on the line to back you for President.”

“Shisupal!” Vrikodara roars, Dhananjaya striding to stand next to him, Suyodhana and Radheya on either flank despite what is rumored to be their own tensions with Pandu’s sons. The family is closing ranks at this attack from one their own, it seems, but then what is University politics if not a way for people to find some entertainment from other people’s drama.

“What,” Shishupal retorts, “you expect us all to shut up while you commit to sinking half of the budget into that wastrel’s pathetic fund? You plan on just giving our money away to anyone who spins a sad life story and begs for cash?”

Well, University politics is about this too -- the eternal question of which students should be helped, and how much. The fund in question is the brainchild of Shyam, a way for individuals to apply for rapid monetary relief in response to uncontrollable circumstances, and be granted what they need with almost no questions asked.

“Shisupal,” Dhananjaya steps forward, sensitive as always when his best (and only) friend’s name is brought up. “We’ve let you get away with more than we should because you happen to be our mother’s nephew. If you continue to embarrass us in public it won’t end well.” Shishupal laughs. “For you or for me? As far as I can see, you’ve all been duped by that street-trash pretending to be Vasudev Yadav’s son.”

Dhananjaya glares. “Uncle Vasudev is more our mother’s brother than your mother is her sister. Slander his name at your own risk.” Again, Shishupal refuses to cower despite what the crowd acknowledges as fierce odds -- Dhananjaya doesn’t actually attend the University, only visits frequently from the Indian Air Force Academy to spend time with Shyam, and his brothers sometimes as well. The man is licensed to shoot a gun, for god’s sake, but Shishupal continues to stand firm.

“Even now, you’re all standing in front of him,” Shishupal taunts, “Dancing to his tune and protecting his reputation when you know as well as I where he came from. He didn’t even speak English until he left that shithole after killing his own uncle, and you idiots are planning to sink my money into his scheme? Not on my watch.”

“No,” a voice comes from the back of the group on the dais, “there’s no need to make that face. I can fight my own battles, Dhananjaya. Especially against an absolute clown, like Shishupal.”

“A clown,” Shishupal shouts, “you’re calling me a clown?”

Shyam rolls his eyes, having pushed his way to the front. Behind him Vrikodara is grinding his teeth, Dhananjaya’s fingers hovering at his own waist as if wishing for a gun.

“Well I could have called you a motherfucker,” Shyam shrugs, “but I’m quite fond of your mother. In fact, she was the one who’s begged me to forgive you every time you’ve done something like this.”

Shishupal snarls. “My mother doesn’t beg, street-trash, and she certainly wouldn’t lower herself to beg from you. People like you are only demanded from.”

Shyam shrugs again. “Suit yourself. But consider this your last warning -- say another word, and I won’t let you go like I did before.”

“Before? Before?” For some reason, Shyam’s threat has only made Shishupal angrier, face turning purple where it was red. “Before, as in that time last year, when you stole my wife from the wedding hall at gunpoint. Is that what you mean by before?”

The crowd goes still at the reminder of the biggest controversy to rock their collective social circle.

Shyam raises an eyebrow. “The whole point of that was that she wasn’t your wife when we left.” His lip curls in a sneer of his own, eyes suddenly cold. “You were treating her so poorly that she asked what to her was a complete stranger to kidnap her on her wedding day. I wouldn’t talk so loudly about before.”

Nearly a year ago, Shishupal was to be married to Rukmini Bhoja after years of forcing her to stand attendance at his side during all campus events, despite her not actually being enrolled as a student. Both of their families were rich, well connected, and sought increased prestige through connection with the other. It was, people remarked, on paper the perfect match.

Of course, Rukmini was intelligent, witty, kind, and one of the most beautiful women most people had ever seen. Shishupal passed classes off of sheer intimidation, threw rocks at the college cats, and supplemented these qualities with his insistence on growing a patchy, horrible, beard and kept his oily, stringy hair long. Worse, there were rumors that Shishupal was even meaner drunk than he was sober, and that once Rukmini had been seen walking away from him clutching her arm and had returned with a scarf wrapped around her shoulders to cover where otherwise might have been a visible pattern of bruises.

The wedding, everyone had agreed, was to be a tragedy, and would only serve to make Shishupal even more insufferable. When the nightly news had aired the extraordinary report of a young woman staging her own kidnapping, apparently begging one of the groom’s family connections to attend her wedding and hold a gun to her head as they walked out, it was widely agreed to be answer to their prayers, and above all a job very well done by the erstwhile bride to be. When it was revealed that the “kidnapper” was Shyam, well, that just made the whole thing even funnier.

When classes restarted, Shishupal prowled with a whole new look -- clean-shaven, and short hair. Rukmini Bhoja was noticeably absent from campus events, but a few months in Shyam had been seen getting off the bus at the station near campus and kissing someone who looked just like Rukmini goodbye.

It seems the rumors about that last bit had found Shishupal too. “Stranger,” he scoffs. “Is that what we’re calling it these days?”

Shyam’s entire body, always loose, always slightly in motion, goes completely stiff. More than Dhananjaya, more than Vrikodara, it is Shyam who now suddenly looks like an apex predator. The crowd, not even the one facing Shyam directly, finds itself taking a step back.

“What exactly is it that we’re calling,” Shyam asks softly -- sound only heard because it’s being picked up by the microphone on the podium awaiting the rest of Dharamraj’s long-forgotten speech.

Shishupal rolls his eyes, sneering. “I’m glad that bitch made such a spectacle of herself when calling off the wedding. I wouldn’t have wanted to marry a whore, you know. Why take seven rounds to get something she sells, no?” He smirks, as the entire group on the dais -- the whole horrible writhing mass of Kurus and their assorted friends and family -- advance as one. “Or, I guess she was the one who was buying,” Shishupal laughs, looking at Shyam who appears to be frozen in place, his face a perfect picture of overwhelming rage. “She paid you to take her, didn’t she? Poor bitch didn’t even think you’d fuck her for fr--”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU SON OF A BITCH!”

Shishupal’s eyes immediately roll up into his skull, as a result of Shyam Yadav’s fist colliding with Shishupal’s jaw. No one bothers to catch the body.

Silence reigns for entire minutes as everyone watches Shishupal, crumpled on the ground. Watches Shyam Yadav, standing over him wild-eyed, with his right hand still in a fist.

“Oh Alexa,” a gentle female voice calls out from the crowd. Everyone turns to stare, open-mouthed, at Rukmini Bhoja standing in the front row, absolutely grinning at this turn of events. She gazes back at them, turning towards Shyam again and laughs. “Alexa this is so sad. Play ‘Mmm Whatcha Say.”

#ok i will say that the idea of rukmini basically organizing her own kidnapping/hit job where she hires krishna to attend and kidnap her at g #thats chefs kiss to me #i cant believe i never thought of that before its t ha t funny #mahabharata #also the mm watcha say gag was too good to not include when he gets clocked the fuck out at the end sorry lol #also i decided to make vasudev only brother-like for kunti #so that subhadra/krishna arent arjuna's cousins lol #also she seems even in canon to be closer to vasudev than her other siblings so we're rolling with it #anyways i hope u like it!!!!#these are all being churned out like stream of consciousness and then i hit publish lol so i have no idea if theyre any good at all #but thank u for the opportunity to put a version of this down on paper #maya writes #avani008 #also lol i used none of their traditional names because i thought it would be funnier to give them all long pretentious names that flowed ni #*nice

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keanuvibe · 5 years

Text

Bodyguard (John Wick x Reader) Pt. 4

A/N: Hi! sorry im awful at uploading lol. my personal life rn is on fire and i haven’t had all the time in the world to write, but managed to pull this chapter together so :) thats coolio.

Words: 4.7k

Warnings: swears, violence, a lil fluff

“So, tell me everything.” June smirked, leaning over the table towards you. You had managed to meet the girls on time, only a few minutes past twelve- thirty. The three of you got seated shortly after, and ordered your cocktails; beginning the rounds of catching up you had to do. The restaurant is diner themed, set in the 1950’s. One wall of the building was a bar, fit with barstools, an ice cream machine, as well as a soda machine. There was even a section where you could order homemade candy. Little booths scattered the wall across from the bar, and tables separated the two. The floor was checkered design donning many muddy footprints and the walls were covered in old-timey photos of local streets. You and the girls sat at a booth, June and Dottie sitting across from you.

“Okay, get this,” You began, leaning in towards your friends, “Santino, you know, mio cugino pazzo. He’s mad at my father and is trying to kill me for it.” ‘[My crazy cousin.]’ You finished and took another long sip of your cocktail. June and Dottie stared with their mouths agape. You calmly set down your drink and smiled shyly, eyes bouncing between the girls. You loved your friends, honestly. The three of you have been close since you were young teens. June and Dot also had connections to the Italian mafia, their fathers having run a section of both New York and New Jersey; although they aren't as intertwined as you. June is the oldest, one year older than yourself. She’s an old soul, that you know for sure. She wears dated clothes and uses dated household items; in fact, you can't recall June ever purchasing something new from the stores you and Dot go to. Hell, even her car is a 1978 AMC Pacer. Dottie is only a few months older than you, on the other hand. She is the spitting image of a pinup girl. She wears her hair in elegant waves and has bangs, she even wears button up dresses and has big hair bows for when shes feeling fancy. You can’t recall a time when she didn’t wear red lipstick nearly everyday.

“Should you even be outside?” Dottie whispered, leaning closer to your figure. Her New York accent was a little amplified by the drinks she’s had already. You shrugged as your answer, and June scoffed.

“You, (Y/N), are unbelievable.” The waiter to walked up to your table, halting your conversation. The three of you blinked at the other, little grins holding back giggles ready to erupt. The waiter asked for your orders, then as soon as the young man had left, you jumped right back into it.

“You guys should see my bodyguard.” You spoke, a smirk donning your face. Your mind wondered as to what he was up to right now. Maybe he's still sitting waiting for you to exit the bathroom, or, maybe he's already begun the witch hunt.

“Ah, yes. John? As you've mentioned. Show us! the way you've described him- He sounds gorgeous.” Dottie eagerly bounced in her seat, urging you to show them a picture. You pulled out your phone, stomach dropping at the several messages that donned the lock screen; John’s contact name on each one. Witch hunt is it.

12:47: Very funny. Where are you?

12:59: Where are you.

1:13: (Y/N). This isn’t a game.

1:21: I’m coming to find you.

At least it took him almost an hour and a half to notice. You bit your cheek, looking up at June and Dottie. The two girls were engaged in conversation, talking about something or another. You cleared the notifications and unlocked your phone, hoping to god you got to finish your lunch before John caught up. You opened the camera roll and scrolled through until you found a picture of you and the bodyguard. Somehow, you'd gotten him to agree to a photo. He was bent over so his head was level with your own. Due to the lighting, the man was squinting, however the dark gaze caused a chill to form down your back. You cleared your throat and flipped your phone around to show the girls. Dottie stopped talking and immediately looked at the screen

“Oh my god.” She murmured, sitting back and putting her hand over her chest. “He’s so handsome.” June grabbed the phone from you to get a better look.

“You have to fuck him.” The eldest commented with a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders. You let out a short laugh, snatching your phone back from the girls grasp. The two girls giggled at your embarrassment, Dot even took a coy sip from her drink.

“Was that gray in his beard? How old is he?” Dottie asked, looking you in the eye and sipping on her own cocktail.

“Don’t laugh, okay? He’s mid fifties.” A blush crawled across your cheeks as your words escaped your lips. June and Dottie blinked a couple times before Dot finally let out a snort.

“Going geriatric, now? hm?” June spoke, raising her brow and taking a gulp of her drink. While Dottie laughed at June’s question, you glanced over their shoulders, witnessing two burly men sit down at a table across from yours. One of them made eye contact with you, glare evident in their gaze, before looking back to their buddy. You felt your skin crawl and cleared your throat, pushing the feeling away. June’s laughter brought you back, now looking between the two girls again.

“Well, He- He really doesn't feel old. Not when we're together.” You shrugged, playing with the condensation on your drink.

“I mean, you’re only twenty-six,” Dot spoke, her eyes glancing between you and June. “You’re young and hot. I don't see an issue.” Your eyes shot up to meet Dottie’s. She smiled at you, her dark brown eyes warming your core.

“Who are we to judge,” June began, a laugh escaping her throat. “I slept with that old guy, remember? He was, like, almost sixty and I was drunk as hell.” You and Dottie laughed, remembering that night. It was June’s twenty-third birthday. You three went to the club to celebrate and the eldest of your group ended up getting too wasted on absinthe. Which resulted in her sleeping with Mitch Johnson, an old friend of your fathers. Small world.

“And you,” June pointed to Dottie, “Are a homewrecker.”

“He never said he was married.” Dottie responded, sticking her tongue out at the woman. The three of you chuckled amongst yourselves before a silence took over. Your eyes once again scanned the room, not being able to shake the eerie feeling those two men implanted. They still sat across the diner and occasionally their eyes would make contact with your own, causing a chill to run up your spine. You quietly flipped your phone over, checking for any more messages from John. The screen remained blank, setting panic to freely course through your veins. His previous message was sent fifteen minutes ago, which meant the man was probably on his way right now. Plus, your parents didn’t live far from Coopers.

The men both stood up now, locking eyes with you. They then looked at the other, as though confirmation was in order, before beginning to walk in the direction that you and the girls sat. Anxiety courses firmly through your veins now, and you could feel your palms gather sweat.

“Girls,” You murmured, gathering their attention. “There are two men walking in our direction now, and I’m pretty sure they are after me.” You kept your voice low, trying to pretend as though you are oblivious. June and Dottie became physically uncomfortable, now shifting in their seats and looking over their shoulders. You felt guilt cross your person, now realizing how serious the situation is. You put your two best friends in harm's way. I mean, It’s not like they’re completely useless; they have parents in the Mafia, they’re trained in combat and weaponry. However, the guilt still bothered you that it was your fault.

“How do we go about this?” Dot asked, reaching for her purse. Your eyes watched as the woman dug into her bag. The pop of a gun chamber sounded as she began to fill it with bullets. June tied her hair back and began to stretch her arms. You sometimes forget that June is trained extensively in Jiu Jitsu. You also looked back to the men who were still making their way to you, passing through the crowded dining room floor.

“Should we leave the public space?” You murmured, “I don’t want civilian casualties.”

“Yes.” June agreed, standing up. “Gather your things, quickly.” She added. The oldest tossed a fifty dollar bill onto the table to pay for the drinks and the food you didn’t get to eat. You led the way, pushing through the crowded dining room to the exit. You glanced back, seeing the men become more frustrated. You are aware of the other, knowing what little cat and mouse game was occurring.

Your palms shoved the door open, the three of you stumbling over onto the sidewalk. You looked both ways before leading right. You didn’t know what to do, whether you should try to outrun them, or stick up and fight. Maybe if you kill them it’ll send a message to Santino. Though, he may not even care. As he’s got twenty more men to fill the space those two would leave. You made sure June and Dottie still followed, checking over your shoulder occasionally. The three of you pushed through the crowds of New York, your main destination being Dottie’s vehicle. Your eyes also kept a lookout for John. He probably tracked your phone, you knew he had the ability anyways. You’re just glad the little ploy worked for as long as it did. You turned right down an alleyway, taking a shortcut towards the parking garage that Dot’s car was in. June looked over her shoulder, alarm blaring through her veins as she spotted the men.

“They’re still behind us.” She spoke, looking between you and Dottie. You took a deep breath, placing your hands on your hips.

“Va al diavolo!” ‘[Go to hell!]’ You cursed, throwing your hands up. Dot quickly grabbed you by the arm, pulling you as she began to run to the end. June grunted as the three of you approached a dead end, meeting a chain link fence.

“Fanculo. Okay, you two climb over.” ‘[Fuck.]’ You spoke, gesturing to the fence that stood in front of you. Your eyes met those of your friends, all breathing heavily from the sprint. Echoed footsteps could be heard at the entrance of the alley. You glanced over your shoulder, seeing the silhouettes of the men headed in your direction.

“Go!” You spoke with a harshness towards your friends.

“Not without you!” Dottie raised her tone, hands on hips. You turned your head again, seeing them get closer.

“Dot, just go!” You finally yelled. The girls hesitated, however respected your wishes and quickly climbed the fence, hopping to the other side. They stood now, staring as the men approached, getting ready to jump back over if need be.

“Santino it ha Inviato?” ‘[Did Santino send you?]’ You asked the men, slowly walking towards them.

“Si.” ‘[Yes.]’ One responded, their faces finally becoming clear from the backlight. You looked at them, noting how they both looked like average Italian men. Dark hair, olive eyes, and warm skin. Their faces were covered in a few scars, and you noted how they both wore suits with visible holsters resting on their hips

“It ha mandato per uccidermi?” ‘[Did he send you to kill me?]’ You asked, the men now only ten feet away from you. The darkness of the alley sent a chill down your spine, and you glanced back at the girls to make sure they were alright. Dot had her hand in her purse, most likely gearing up for when shit turned sideways. June held a stoic look, almost a resting bitch face, staring down the two men.

“Si.” The same one answered again. They now stood only five feet away, stopping in front of you. You felt the sweat drip down your forehead, the buggy summer heat beginning to take claim of your body. You took a deep breath, wondering where John was, and how now would be a good time for him to suddenly appear. The men cracked their knuckles, rolling their shoulders and looking at you with sinister smiles.

“Di ‘a Santino: E un peccato che sia troppo codardo per uccidermi.” ‘[Tell Santino: It’s a shame he’s too much of a coward to kill me himself.]’ You spoke, remembering the moves that your bodyguard had taught you. You leapt forward, first knocking one of the men down by pushing in his kneecaps. You took the moment to quickly hit the next guy, however, he blocked your blow, sending you back a few feet. The second man took advantage of your hesitation and grabbed you, throwing you into one of the walls. You let out a yelp, feeling the brick scrape bare skin harshly. The first guy stood up, and threw a fist at you, however, you quickly dodged and used his own momentum to toss his body into the wall.

You felt as the second lackey quickly punched your gut, causing you to double over in pain. June and Dottie stood yelling which you could hear through ringing ears. You recovered quickly, countering the second man with a swift kick to his shin. He groaned, but recovered and swung a fist at you. You managed to dodge the blow and delivered a hearty boot to his groin. He quickly dropped to the ground in pain and you grabbed the pistol from his holster, pulling the trigger and placing one bullet into his skull. The second man used this moment to grab your loose shirt, and throw you into the brick, scraping your skin once again. He lifted his foot and conveyed a kick to your gut, sending you to double over. He used his fist to hit the sides of your face, throwing your head back and forth. You could feel blood begin to drip down your face, the pain that each snap of your neck caused, you could hear June and Dot yelling but it was faint. Time felt slowed, your heartbeat was like a drum in your ear. Then, a gunshot.

All movements stopped, followed by the thud of a body hitting the ground near your own. You slowly slid down, ignoring the burning chafe the brick left. Hot tears stung your eyes as you covered them with your hands, a harsh sob leaving your throat. Your body ached, your face burned, and blood was the only taste that donned your mouth. You heard the chain link rattle as somebody climbed over it, as well as a huff when they landed. A gentle hand placed itself on your shoulder, and you saw as they knelt down, due to the shadow.

“(Y/N).” John. A hoarse cry escaped your throat upon hearing your bodyguards gentle voice. He wasn’t angry, like you expected. Instead, his tone seemed more worried than anything. You managed to look up at the man from your hands, your eyes greeting the sight of his own.

“Oh my god, (Y/N)!” You heard Dottie yell as she approached your side. The two girls quickly examined your body, nearly shoving John out of the way.

“I fucked up.” You didn’t even recognize your voice as you spoke— your throat burned. June dotted your bloody forehead with a napkin from Dot’s purse.

“We should get her back home.” Dottie murmured, looking up at John. The dark haired man nodded, agreeing with the woman. June moved out of the way so he could scoop you into his arms. You lay your head onto his chest, faintly hearing the sound of his heartbeat and breathing. The man carried you out of the alley with June and Dottie close behind. You felt the summer sun warm your face as you exited the cool shade of the alleyway. The fresh breeze brought your attention to the cuts on your face, feeling the coolness from the semi-dried blood. Dottie opened the vehicles door and John placed you in the passenger seat, buckling your body firmly in. The two girls hopped into the back, John promising they’d be returned to their car later this evening. You heard the rumble of the engine, and closed your eyes, feeling tiredness numb the pain that ravaged your figure.

——————

“How long have you been employed by the (Y/L/N)’s?” Dottie’s gentle voice quietly echoed throughout your bedroom. Mellow sun rays shone in through the window, casting a warm haze throughout the space. After the incident in the alleyway, John brought you, Dottie, and June back to your parents estate. However, after you all got back, John discovered they'd left on business to Rome for a few days. He carried your figure all the way from the car to your bed, carefully depositing you. Dot and June then got to work, bandaging your wounds, though after you seemed stable and well asleep, they backed off and let you get some rest. Now, John watched as Dottie cared for your sleeping figure. His heart couldn’t help but ache to see you so helpless laying there. Your face had been drained of some of its color, leaving it more pale and sickly. Your hair stuck to your skin, and a thin layer of sweat covered your body. Your bodyguard wanted so badly to climb into the bed with you, stroke your hair from your face, tend to your bandages, hold you, kiss you.

“Month and a half.” John answered, looking over to the woman. She nodded at his answer, dotting your forehead with a wet washcloth. The woman sat next to your bed with a rag in hand, occasionally cleaning your skin of sweat and dried blood specs. June was asleep on the small couch you had in your bedroom next to one of the windows. John stood on the opposite side of the bed from Dottie, watching her every movement when it came to caring for you. Occasionally your body would stir, but you still hadn’t woken up since the car— four hours ago.

“Are you liking it?” The vintage dressed woman asked, a smirk crossing her red lips. She cast her eyes between John and your sleeping figure, hinting as to what she was meaning.

“I am.” He responded. Dottie noticed his softened gaze when he looked towards you. She glanced back down at your face, wiping your skin with the washcloth gently. Your brow bone contained a nasty laceration and your cheekbone held a nice bruise with a cut as well. There was also a gash on your bottom lip, and your left eye held a hefty black bruise. That man really got ahold of you.

“They're a good family. I know Francesco means well,” Dot murmured, “Speaking of, have you let them know?” John watched as the woman stood up and walked to the bathroom retrieving a fresh bowl of water for your face.

“I called Francesco shortly after we arrived here.” The dark haired man spoke. He sat on the edge of the bed, leaning towards your figure. He brushed away a few strands of hair that had fallen in your face. His thumb caressed your cheek afterwords, carefully avoiding the wounds that donned your skin. He felt your body stir, and a quiet groan escape your lips as you started to wake up. Dot walked back into the room, noting Johns figure looming over your own. A little smirk crossed her lips as she set the bowl down on the nightstand. You peeked your eyes open for a second, wincing at the brightness of the room.

“Good afternoon, sleepy.” Dottie smiled, sitting beside your figure again. “Careful.” She murmured, watching as you shifted to sit up a little better. You knew Dottie was next to you, but could feel the weight of somebody on your other side. A large hand quietly placed itself on the side of your arm and you looked to see who it belonged to.

“How do you feel?” John’s words were gently spoken. His fingers squeezed your arm slightly before he released.

“M-my throat hurts.” Your voice came out scratchy and withered sounding. Dottie quickly placed a cool glass of water into your palms, hers then wrapping around yours before releasing entirely. You gave her the best smile you could manage, due to your cuts, before sipping the drink. John stood up from the bed and made a comment about going to grab pain medicine before he exited your bedroom.

“I'm going to wake up June.” Dottie spoke, walking over to her sleeping position by the window. You blinked your eyes, feeling the pain from the cuts, and groaned silently. It was stupid of you to think you could take on both of them. Your training with John was going fine, you figured if you at least got one down… No matter, at least you were still alive. The footsteps of your two friends caught your attention as the girls returned to your side. June immediately began to gush over how happy she was you were awake and okay, hugging you tightly.

“We thought you were a goner.” The girl whispered, worry still evident in her tone. You raised your brows but winced as the sting from the cut became overwhelming.

“I'm glad John showed up when he did. Like a superhero. He stood there with his gun and you should've seen the animalistic look in his eye.” Dottie sighed dreamily, “You are one lucky girl.”

“I know about your ‘no dating’ rule, however, I don't think you should let this one get away.” June commented quietly, brushing some hair from your face. Dot agreed, shaking her head vigorously. The three of you cut the conversation short as John's footsteps echoed closer. He entered the room quietly and padded over to the bed, handing you a bottle of painkillers. Your fingers brushed as the container was passed and you felt a longing for the touch to remain; however just as the warmth arrived, it left.

——————

June and Dottie stayed over for another hour before leaving. They helped you change your clothes and settle in for the night before they left you in the capable hands of John. The two of you remained in your bedroom the rest of the evening. You went in and out of sleep a few times. One time, you woke to the man humming quietly while sitting in bed next to your figure. Another, he was checking your bandages and cleaning the sheen of sweat from your skin. Maybe what June said is right, you can’t let John get away. Nobody has cared for you like he has. But that begged the question, would he even want to be with you? You’re half his age and apart of a mafia family. Plus, you still don't know much about him; his past, his home life, etc. He is a mysterious being, quiet too. It only made you want to know more.

“John?” You murmured, gathering the strength to sit up. It was late evening now, just past eight. The summer sun had just set, leaving a gray tone to cover the space.

“Yes?” He answered, turning to face you. He had been sitting at your desk, cleaning his gun.

“Parlami di te.” ‘[Tell me about yourself.]’ The man responded to your request by putting down the parts in his hand. He then quietly cleaned his fingers of grime before standing up and padding over to you, but not sitting.

“What would you like to know?” He murmured. You studied his face for a moment, taking in the features he donned. His normally combed hair was disheveled now and he had bags under his eyes. He wore a suit and shoes too, obviously still dressed for work.

“Everything.” You replied, ignoring the throb of pain that coursed through your body. John nodded, then loosened the tie from his around neck. He shed off his suit jacket next, leaving him in a black button up and vest on top. You admired his figure in the darkening room. He stood tall, confident, maybe a little tired, but didn't let it show much. The man settled on the edge of your bed, by your feet. The room remained silent for a few moments; you not daring to speak, and John taking the time to gather his thoughts.

“I was married.” John’s voice was so soft, you had to lean towards him to hear better. The man kept his gaze towards his hands, fidgeting with his fingers.

“Was?” You asked, pushing aside the slight feeling of jealousy that rose.

“She- she passed due to an illness years back.” The bodyguard paused.

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.” You let out quietly, as to not bother John’s story process.

“I was retired and wanted to live my days as a widower, however I was dragged back into the business by an old friends’ idiot son.” The man sighed, pushing some fallen hair behind his ear. You caught a glimpse at how sad he appeared, and felt an urge to comfort him. Pain shot through your body as you scooted down the bed until you were close enough to John. You grabbed his hand and his fingers instinctively intertwined with your own, making you realize just how large his palms actually were. It felt right, his hand being wrapped with your own.

“Ever since then, I haven't left the business again. I see no point. I can't seem to leave anyways, I keep getting dragged back in.” He sighed heavily and you began to rub your thumb along his hand, as your way of comforting him. He fell silent, but you didn't push anymore questions just yet. He was being open and raw, which was probably difficult for the man to do. If he wanted to tell his story, he would. You wanted to know more, obviously, about the kind of work he's done; his jobs, the people he’s met, and if he knew anyone in your family. You wanted to know why the man was so troubled, and why it seemed everybody is against him.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” Your voice escaped softly, barely above a whisper. John's hand squeezed your own, before he finally made eye contact with you. His dark gaze caused a chill to slither down your spine.

“Yes.” He spoke softly, “I need to go change.” He gave your hand one last squeeze before removing it and standing up. You watched as his figure walked across your room and disappeared behind the door. It only took him about five minutes before he returned, ready for bed. Sure, it was barely nine, but you figured you could put on a movie. You drank in the sight of him, admiring his pajamas. Blue with plaid stripes, and a plain white t-shirt. You’ve never seen him in anything but a suit, nevermind the sweatsuit outfit from when you train. This is different than that, this is a side of John that doesn't say ‘Hey, i'm a killer!’ This side is domestic; make you coffee and toast in the morning domestic.

“Would you like to watch a movie?” You then asked, watching him tidy up his mess from cleaning his gun, which he didn't finish.

“Sure.” He responded, walking over and climbing onto the bed next to your figure. You turned on your TV, and picked a movie from a streaming service, before fully settling in. You scoot your body close enough to John’s that you were able to lay your head on his chest. The man wrapped his arm around your shoulder, pulling you even closer, but gently as to not cause you more pain. You listened to his heartbeat as it slowed to a resting rhythm, and then closed your eyes letting sleep overcome your senses.

Masterlist

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick fanfic #john wick fanfiction #keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #keanu x you #keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves fanfiction #fic: bodyguardAU

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monochromemedic · 4 years

Text

Flashback pt 3

Through the booming music that was beginning to die down, the lights that were beginning to settle, and the loud whistles of a few people from the crowd, two men sat in silence at the back of the karaoke bar. Fallon was deep red in the face, hand brushing through his hair as he slouched over on the table. Silas wasn’t much better. He wasn’t blushing or pale but he was staring off in the distance, arms crossed as he tried to process everything. In the silence of the karaoke bar as another person readied the stage and Dom walked off, back to his table to down a drink, the two men stared at their future friend. He was so different. The Dom they knew seemed restrained, work oriented, hell they never heard him sing before but here Dom was, looking like some heart throb decked out in revealing clothing and piercings. “Maybe we’re in a messed up timeline? Like we’ll leave and we’ll find out that this timeline is the one where there’s was a punk revolution or... uh aliens. And Dom’s just an alien in disguis-” Fallon trailed off as Silas stared at him causing him to cut himself off “Well can you blame me this is... weeiird.” “It is it’s just... no it is.” Silas muttered, rubbing his arm observing the table that Dom was now at. He was smiling, laughing even, as he talked to the other man at his table as they ordered another round of drinks. “He looks happy. I don’t think i’ve ever seen him smile like that.” “Man don’t say that...that’s sad...” Fallon muttered under his breath before standing up and beginning to walk towards the table Dom was at, only getting a few steps before Silas stopped him. “What are you doing man?” “Im gonna go home man. I’m gonna grab that picture and disappear back to my own time, with the grumpy Dom I know, with my shitty bed, and shitty pop culture.” “And just... yoink it from them like a weirdo?” “...Yeah. I mean I’ll touch it and be magically transported back where everything is ok and swell and none of this matters so... I mean does it matter really?” Fallon chuckled, giving a light shrug of his shoulders “But what if it isn’t like that and because we interact with him it messes everything up. Like that thing the... the... uh... damn I can’t think of the term.” “Butterfly Effect? I’d rather deal with that then having to tip toe my way around him and end up fucking myself over and living in the past for the rest of my life Silas. Time Travel is fucky, maybe it’ll correct itself... I mean we gotta hope.” Fallon turned back around to stare at the table, giving a little sigh “I’ll play it like the movies ok? I’ll pretend i’m meeting him for the first time, and we’ll get to know him. We get close, we grab the picture, we zoop back to shitty 2020 ok?” Silas’ fingers tightened around Fallon’s jacket before he too got up, an obvious look of worry and fear visible on his face. “Ok...” The two approached Dom, who turned his head up at the approaching group, a questioning look on his face. “Can I help you?” Fallon almost laughed, the sound of Dom’s voice, although a bit younger and less rough was still the same. Deep, and harsh to him. Just how he liked it. “Hey, I liked your song. It was... interesting. You got a nice voice.” “Oh. Uh... thank you.” “Yeah it’s real nice, I like the style too, real stick it to the man. I noticed you got a few piercings, and well, I was interested in a few myself. How much does it hurt?” Silas stared in amazement at how smooth Fallon was being, and in just as in much shock at how Dom chuckled back, relaxing towards the strangers. At least one of them wouldn’t be a bumbling idiot... “Hurts like a bitch in the moment but, it’s nothing. Unless you’re talking about the tongue piercing?” Dom stuck out his tongue, the bobble of the piercing shimmering with spit in the dancing lights. “That one, that’s nasty haha. Mind if I sit down with my friend? I’m real interested in alternative stuff and you look like a man that would know a thing or two about having a good time with that sort of shit. Plus if I can convince Silas to get drunk enough, I might get him to get a nipple piercing and I need all the info I can to get him to not pussy out.” Fallon said, already talking a seat at the table. “Wa...wait what?” Silas interjected, suddenly aware of the conversation Dom looked away for a moment before giving a nod of approval for Silas to also take a seat, staring at the tow of them carefully. “Yeah, I think that’d be alright. You two seem...” He paused, trying to think of the right word. “Alright enough.” Dom’s friend looked weary though, and gave a look to Dom, to which he quickly gave a wave back, almost telling his friend to leave. Dom’s friend nodded and began to pack up, but not before handing the still fresh polaroid to Dom, which he looked at fondly before pocketing. “Sorry, my friend has to go to work in the morning. He just wanted to come and support me for singing on stage the first time. It’s not you guys I promise.” “First time on stage? Really? You could have fooled me, you acted like a real rockstar up there.” Fallon complimented, eyes focused intently on where the photo was. He thanked god for the sunglasses, or else a stranger glaring at a man’s pants would have been awkward. “Yeah I uh... I practice... um so about the piercing? I’m... Dom by the way.” “Fallon, and this is my friend Silas.” Dom looked over at Silas, eyeing him up and down slowly. Silas could feel a bead of sweat begin to form on his brow as he gave a nervous smile back. “Alright, so what do you want to know?” Fallon did most of the talking, making up bullshit about how for the longest time he was considering some sort of piercing but wasn’t exactly sure where, and how Silas was always a coward when it came this sort of shit, and how Fallon was desperately trying to trick him to get a piercing as a joke. Dom responded in a few short responses only starting to warm up as the conversation continued on. Silas was at least glad that he didn’t seem completely changed, not a complete party animal. It probably helped loosen him up with how much everyone was drinking. At first Dom had just ordered another glass of coke and rum, but soon those glasses were piling up with the money Fallon was putting on the table. He knew what he was up too, and although Silas took a few glasses himself, he had to stay at least a bit sober. And Dom was definitely not that. His tongue rolled and hanged on letters for much to long, the way his eyes beginning to lull close as he laughed far too loud. Fallon was long gone too, laughing just as loud along side him, before hiccuping it and doing it all over again. “Uh... hey... Dom it’s getting late, don’t you think you should be getting home? You got a ride or something?” Silas asked, interrupting the giggle fest the two were having. “Ah... shit yeah, I don’t got a ride I just walk home. I don’t live that far from here.” Dom slurred, his tongue piercing clacking against his teeth. “You need some help getting home I mean... you are kinda sloshed.” “No, no it’s ok, it’s fine...” He groaned as he began to get up, stumbling to his feet and heading for the door. Dom waved the bartender a goodbye, but not before falling against the doorway. “Jesus Christ Dom, you aren’t walking home alone, you can barely stand up.” Silas raced out of his seat, grabbing Dom’s shoulders and steadying the shorter man. “You’re gonna get hit by a car or something.” Silas didn’t have to look back to know that the clattering of chairs and stumbling footsteps was Fallon following behind him, almost running into his friend’s back. “Yeah you look like shit man... let’s get youuuu home haha.” “Well I mean... you guys were so nice I... I guess so. I guess it wouldn’t hurt!” Dom grinned wide and waltzed out to the sidewalk, Silas by his side steadying him. It only took a couple of blocks before they came across a rather shitty looking apartment complex. Dom seemed to B-line up the stairs to a certain door, almost like he had done it a million times before. “Welll this is home. You guys were... great I’m... you’re great.” “It was nothing. I mean you helped us alot, it’s only fair we got you home safe. I just hope we can get home.” Silas told him, eyes darting down to the ground in thought. Dom nodded, poking Silas in the chest as he closed his eyes, his face scrunching hard. “You get back safe ok? You get back... mm safe.” Silas would have felt touched by that sentiment if it wasn’t for the fact that immediantly after Dom passed out against him, causing him to desperately grab the falling body before he hit the ground. Luckily he did so, but not before Fallon gave a loud gasp of ‘Woahhhh’ in his drunken haze. “Oh my god we killed him! Oh fuck we killed past Dom, we fucked itt... awww....” The dyed hair man sniffled, his face contorted in over-exaggerated sadness as he grabbed the keys that fell from Dom’s hands, starting to try the door as snot began to run down his face. “Gotta hide the body in the house... he died in the house, all drunk and sad.... put him in a bed aw fuck man...” “He’s not... he’s not dead you just kept handing him booze until he passed out! I’m surprised you’re still standing to be honest, let’s just get him inside and grab the picture and bail ok?” “OH shit the picture, I forgot about that.” Fallon laughed, all signs of remorse fading from his face. When they opened the door they found that it was actually pretty clean for the state of the apartment overall. A few clothes on the ground here and there but otherwise everything was stacked neatly and cleanly, far from the look Dom was presenting to the world. Silas had to basically drag Dom to his bed room, tucking him into bed with a kind look of sadness,hand going to move a few strands of hair from his face. “Take it easy Dom, we’ll see you on the other side.” “OH god we’re dying now?” “No Fal, god... why the fuck did you drink so much?” Silas began to dig in Dom’s pockets, pulling out the polaroid and staring at it with a small smile. “Fal?” Fallon moved beside Silas, reaching for the photo and grabbing it. “I wanna go home man, i’m done here...” With that another race of energy overcame the two. A flash of light, the feeling of weightlessness, and then they were back. Flat on the carpet of Dom’s room where they started. As soon as Silas regained feeling back in his body, he threw the picture back in the draw, resisting the urge to burn the thing that sent them back in time to make sure it never happened again. It took a second for Fallon to get back to his feet, still drunk from the drinking spree he had back in time. He grabbed at Silas, clawing at his shirt as he pulled himself upwards. “We did it! We’re home! I... I wanna sleep.” “Yeah I know-” “What are you two doing?” Both of them turned to face Dom, eyebrows furrowed together as he stepped into the room. His face was older, prominent bags under his eyes, his hair slicked back and the scar that was around his left eye still pink and puffy. “We did it... Oh you’re SOOOO old!” Fallon blabbered, racing over to Dom and hugging him close, rubbing his still snotty face against Dom’s well kept shirt. Dom gasped, pushing Fallon off of him and groaning in frustration. “Are you drunk? How the hell did you get drunk- you got... get out.” “Aw I loved getting yelled at!” Fallon chuckled, before stumbling out the room and onto Dom’s couch to lie down. Silas followed not far behind, but not before stopping by Dom as he passed. “I know it sounds weird but it’s nice to see you again. You have a nice voice.” Dom paused, opening his mouth to speak only to close it, his face turning red as he grabbed and played with the watch on his wrist, twisting and turning it as he thought back to his younger days.

#dom's tag #fallon's tag #silas' tag

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zanesgirlfriend · 6 years

Text

Strangers Don't Have Secrets | Jeff Wittek

Description: The reader gets into trouble at a club and Jeff saves the day.

Warnings: Intense language and a really gross slimey dude

Requested?: Yes, im going to combine a couple of requests here, if yall want different/more imagines with similar themes just lmk!

@simplespectres : Protective jeff maybe? Or drunk jeff confessing his feelings for you

@puppershnups : can I request just a super angsty Jeff imagine? Like go ahead and make me sob I love it.

@suzobawuzo : In love with your Jeff posts! How about something where he is jealous ab your friendship with someone (you might or might not be together yet) but it turns into a whole lot of fluff in the end?? THANKS <3

A/N: I know thats a lot of requests in one story but I figured i could make them fit pretty well. i also kinda based "the reader's" actions in this after effy from skins so if yall have seen that youll probably like this lol. Thank yall for requesting stuff, it means a lot :)

__________

Back again, at a club, on a Saturday night. The gang was all there, dancing and drinking as much as they could. Of course there was David, camera in hand, floating from group to group. There was also Y/N sitting at a bar, attempting to make the night go faster by talking to slimey men. Next there was what she considered to be "fuck-boy" territory. They stayed near the center of club, grinding and taking body shots off of eachother. Generally just trying to get as wasted as they could. Todd, Zane, Scott, and Jeff were generally part of this group. Most of them seemed to find a girl to dance near, except for Scott, as he was actually commited to a relationship. Y/N admired that about him.

She wanted to know if the boys ever wondered why she always went out with them, but never seemed to do anything. There were two reasons. One being that she could always be an extra Designated Driver, God-forbid something happen to David. The second reason being that she loved to watch. She wanted to study behavior, and know her friends more intimately than they thought she did.

She noticed how when nobody was talking to David, he became incredibly awkward. The way his smile fell off of his face, and how he curved his body to avoid touching people as he moved through the groups. She also noticed Jeff, and how he didn't like to dance. Counting all the times he would catch her eye, and then pretend he was looking at something else.

Recently she spent most of her time watching Jeff. Something about him being new to the group, and having a questionable past intrigued her.

"Is this seat taken?" A handsome stranger asked her.

"No, go ahead." She smiled. Out of all the men that usually talked to her, this one seemed the most sober. He sat in the chair next to hers, turning around to face away from the bar like she was.

"So are you here with anybody?" His breath tickled the side of her face as he leaned in. She noticed the very full beer in his hand, as if he'd just gotten there.

"Nope, just me." She lied, enjoying the mystery she created for this man to solve. She could tell the fact that she was alone got his attention by way of him immediately scooting closer to her.

"Well, let me keep you company." The man smiled, but something about his smile was off. It was as if he was too perfect. As if he was here to distract her from something bigger. She noticed this and immediately turned back towards the club, spotting all of her friends and checking to make sure they were okay.

"Sure." She tried to keep her answers short, not knowing what this man really wanted from her.

"Why don't I get you a drink?" He offered. This was a big red flag for her, but she wanted to really see what this man was after.

"Sure." She checked her phone for a second while the man talked to the bartender.

Hey can u make out with zane for a bit this dance floor is kinda dead

David had sent that text less than five minutes earlier. She decided that she wanted this mysterious man to get confused about her character, so she replied to David with

Sure, I'll be there in a min

"Here you go." The man handed her a martini. She hated martinis.

"I'll be right back. Keep an eye on me." She placed the drink on the bar and walked over to fuck-boy territory. David attempted to explain to her what he wanted her to do, but she looked over her shoulder at the man and decided to wing it.

She grabbed Zane's face, bringing their lips together, and slipping her tongue in his mouth. She could tell he was enjoying it. Everyone else in the group around them was yelling, shocked by the intense kiss. She pulled away, immediately looking back towards the man at the bar, a smirk on her face as he smiled.

"I'll see you guys later." She walked away. On the way out of the group, though, she noticed Jeff's face. He looked sadder than usual. She wish she'd known him well enough to be able to tell what he was thinking.

"Did you know those guys?" The man asked her as she returned to her seat at the bar, this time facing towards the bartender instead of the boys.

"No." She lied again.

"He looked like he enjoyed it." The man was very focused on her lips.

"Probably." She knew what the man would say next, hearing it verbatem in her head as he said it.

"Maybe I would enjoy it, too." He was very close to her now. Uncomfortably close.

"I don't think so." His hand landed on her thigh, a little too close to the hem of her skirt. Her sixth sense was tingling again, and she attempted to spin the bar stool to check on her friends. The man grabbed it though, stopping her from changing direction. "Where do you think you're going?" His breath was hot and sticky this time. His hand creeped closer to her skirt. She used the hand on her free side to reach for the small can of pepper spray in her bag, just in case things went wrong.

"Bro, back the fuck off of her." Jeff's voice immediately brought out a sigh of relief from y/n.

"And who the fuck are you?" The man spun around, keeping a grip on the girl.

"I'm her friend, now back the fuck off, she's obviously uncomfortable." Jeff's accent seemed intimidating, but not intimidating enough to scare the man away.

"I thought you came here alone?" The man was now angry with y/n.

"Strangers wouldn't be strangers without secrets." She spun her stool towards Jeff, admiring his firm stature for the first time.

"You gonna leave her alone now?" Jeff stepped closer to the two, sizing up the creepy man.

"You can't just come in here and ruin our moment, dude." The man stood up now. He had a few inches on Jeff.

"You didn't have a fucking moment, asshole. She wants nothing to do with you, fucking creep." The boys were really going at it now, so y/n texted David.

Bar. Now. Jeffs about to fight someone.

David gathered the rest of the boys and hurried to the bar as soon as he recieved the text. His camera was on, but he also didn't wanna escalate the situation even further.

The man was now really mad that Y/n had lied to him. "You fucking lied to me, you cunt!" He lunged towards her. Jeff jumped in front of him, protecting her, as the other boys tried to hold the man back.

She had dropped her mysterious persona at this point, genuinely terrified that someone would get hurt. She grabbed on to Jeff's arm, feeling him flex as adrenaline ran through his veins.

The boys underestimated this man's strength, for he managed to free his right arm, and land a right hook to Jeff's jaw. Blood dripped out of his mouth. Jeff was fuming now, not wanting anybody to take advantage of him, or embarass him in front of the girl he thought so highly of. Jeff slipped out of y/n's grip, punching the man in the nose.

Before things could escalate any more, security had arrived and helped separate the two bloody men. They also kicked the entire group out of the club. The man sat against a wall outside, trying to get the blood to stop pouring out of his nostrils. The gang walked back towards David's Tesla.

"What happened? Why were you fighting?" David asked as he pointed the camera towards y/n and Jeff. She was too embarassed to say anything, knowing it was all her fault.

"He was feeling her up, and she wasn't feelin' it. I wasn't gonna watch her go through that." Jeff spit blood onto the sidewalk as y/n linked her hand in his. She had a new affinity for him. Something about him protecting her just really turned her on.

"Jeff, stop being so nice, you make the rest of us look like dicks." Todd joked, causing everyone to laugh. Even y/n cracked a smile.

David dropped Jeff off at his apartment, and everyone "ooooooh'ed" as y/n got out with him. She thanked David for the ride and went inside with Jeff.

"You didn't have to do that for me, but thank you." She smiled.

"I couldn't stand seeing you with anybody else anymore. Especially after you made out with Zane." Jeff unlocked his door and held it open for her.

"Why do you care that I made out with Zane? It was just a bit." She questioned him as she looked around Jeff's apartment. She had never been here before.

"I gotta take Nerf for a walk, I'll be right back." Jeff ignored her question as a cute french bulldog ran out into the entryway.

"Answer my question." She demanded, watching Jeff hook up the dog on a leash.

"Be right back." He shut the door behind him as he left with the dog.

She spent most of her time alone thinking about how little she actually knows Jeff, and how what he did for her was a huge character development in her mind. The door opened, and Jeff entered with his dog.

"I care because I was supposed to be the one to make out with you." He said, pretending to be more focused on the dog than the girl. She looked at him quizzically.

"Then why did David tell me to make out with Zane?" She was very confused now.

"Well, that was just to get you to come near us, considering you always come to the club just to sit and watch us, which I don't understand at all." Jeff sat on the couch, y/n followed. She smiled at the fact that he really did wonder why she came. "But if you woulda listened to David, he was gonna tell you to make out with both of us." Jeff ran his hand through his hair, and leaned his elbow on the top of the couch.

"I'll tell you why I just sit and watch you later, but why did you wanna kiss me so bad?" She just wanted to understand him.

"Because, y/n, I fucking like you, okay?" He grabbed her hand. "I've been trying to show you that, but you always seem like you want nothing to do with me. Now I'm sittin' here like an asshole, pouring my heart out to you, when you probably don't even like me." He was talking faster now, his accent thickening as he spoke.

"If I wanted nothing to do with you I would've just gone home." She reasoned with him. Before he could speak again she closed the distance between them. Their lips locked together instantly, feeling like they were made to be together. His hands found her waist as she climbed into his lap.

"Tell me all of your secrets." She said to him as she pulled away.

"What?" He brushed a hair out of her face. Her eye contact was very intense as she looked at Jeff with a new lust in her eyes.

"Strangers wouldn't be strangers without secrets, and I don't wanna be strangers anymore."

#jeff wittek x reader #jeff wittek imagine #jeff wittek #vlog squad imagine #vlog squad #david #david x reader #david dobrik imagine #david dobrik #todd smith #toddy smith #scotty sire #scott sire #davids vlogs #zane hijazi #vlog squad imagines

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emmyrosee · 5 years

Text

Stuck (Fluff)

I want not one single word about how out of character this is. I know this is nothing like Peter, but I love him and I want a goofy Peter Rumancek in my damn life; I’m worthy of good things such as a goofy Peter Rumancek, no one can tell me otherwise

Michael drabble and two potential Duncan drabbles should be out later, and someone come beat me to finish my other trash

and no, even though this isn’t great, I will not stop writing for him, and you can’t make me 🤧

Encouraged by (and thank you for the encouragement) by the beloved and all appreciated:

@writingbyjade and @sojournmichael thank you both for the support!💕💕💕

(also, tagging @peachesandfern because Kayla’s a babe, and overly supportive and I don’t deserve her)

Warnings: Language because again, I have no self control. This is shit, and im okay with that

Peter Rumancek x Reader; uhhhh... Peter and Roman stir up trouble, and you’re the one who has to clean it up from him

The loud blaring of your ringtone next to your head woke you up from a deep sleep, much to your annoyance. A bright pictured Roman was presented, and you were less and enthused. “Hel-“

“Hey, it’s Roman, Peter’s in the playground and needs you to pick him up, he loves you, see you later, goodnight!” Roman says, so fast it took your brain a second to figure out what he said. The other end went silent, and you grumble before swinging your legs out of your bed.

“Peter,” you growl to no one. “I’m going to end you.”

The drive to the park was fast enough, the lack of pedestrians at three in the morning benefits you greatly. As you roll up to the small playground, you can’t help but notice the annoyed Peter, his upper torso visible to you. Sighing, you get out, park the car and stride over to him, putting a smug look on your face.

You put your hands on your knees and crouch eye level to him, “hey handsome man.”

“Hi.”

“Whatcha doin’?”

“I’m swimming in a river, what does it look like I’m doing!” He yells, making a fist with his freed arms.

“Oh no, it was no problem that Roman woke me up in the asscrack of dawn, it’s perfectly fine, you’re welcome you sweet, grateful man,” you spit, crossing your arms. Peter sighs, “thank you for waking up and coming to get me,” he forces.

You nod, placing a knee on the edge of the tubed slide.

“So... you want to explain how this happened?” You ask, moving your finger between him and the slide.

Peter looks away, unable to face you. “Roman and I had a bet, whoever could go through the park first wins.”

You tilt your head in confusion, “I... what?”

“We were walking home, passed the park, and he jumped on the monkey bars. I told him he was too slow and then we set up the bet. Loser has to buy the winner drinks for a week.” His eyes travel to the slide, “and the rest you can figure out.”

“What the hell were you two thinking!” You yell. “If a cop sees you here, you’re dead!”

“It’s bold of you to assume Roman and I think at all, babe,” Peter says, chuckling.

You roll your eyes, “I should just leave you here.”

“Look, just help me out, and I’ll give you whatever you want, just get me out!”

Pretending to contemplate the thought, you rub your chin.

“You’re driving home.”

“Got it.”

“And we’re stopping for food because I’m hungry and fuck you for waking me up.”

“Okay.”

“And you’re coming back to my place because you’re not going to bother your mother, and we are going to cuddle, and tomorrow-“

“Yes yes yes, all of that and more, just get me the hell out of here!”

Satisfied with him, you nod. “Give me your arms,” you demand. Peter reaches out to you, and you grab his forearms as he grabs yours. “Alright, on three, you move like a madman and I’m going to pull, got it?”

“Yup,” Peter assures.

“Okay... one... two... three!”

After three, you put everything you have into pulling him out, heels digging into the wood chips and providing no traction for your half slipped on shoes. Through squinted eyes, you see Peter wiggling back and forth, his feet kicking against the sides of the slide.

Your brain crosses as a stinging all over your body spreads, and Peter’s heavy weight is nestled on top of you.

“Hi,” he chuckles.

You wince, “hi.” Peter quickly gets off of you before helping you to your feet, “you good?”

“Yeah. You?”

“I’m okay,” he says. “Hips are a little stiff.”

“Let this be a lesson to you to not be fucking stupid,” you scold, grabbing his hand and tugging him to your car.

Behind you, you hear Peter chuckle, mumbling “sure thing, lieutenant,” and you can help the smile that forces itself onto your face.

#this was so bad #i want not one word #i will get better with time #and no #i will not stop writing for him because he is a babe #peter rumancek #peter rumancek hemlock grove #peter rumancek imagine #peter rumancek x reader #peter rumancek x reader fluff #hemlock grove #hemlock grove fanfiction #hemlock grove fluff #peter rumancek fluff

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psychomxncy · 5 years

Text

Interview turned Datenight

@fire-spitting-demon-bastard

(I've combined all three previous role plays into one)

“Oh the parasites, yeah my body makes sure work of those! Nothing stays alive in here!” the demon slapped his stomach with a grin on his face. “I think that might just be something unique to us haemovores though… that means blood drinker if you need to write that down. Our bodies are made to kill off such organisms as parasites and bacteria” The demon moved on swiftly from that nugget of info standing up out of his seat and began to walk around the table with his arms crossed.

“Actually yeah that sounds good. Lets see, what can I ask you?” the demon pondered for a few seconds raising his index finger and thumb to his chin. His hair hung over his face hiding his eyes for a moment, and then he looked at Violet with a toothy smile once he got something. “Alright. First of all, you grow up with vampires, demons, ghosts and whatnot in your life? Cause uh… you’re acting like this is just another day at the office for you” Carlos asked her standing behind her chair. “Also, ya got any hobbies? Maybe activities you enjoy?” he asked moving on again and continued to walk around the table. “Any pets? A favorite animal? Whats your family like, and also…” he stopped on the other side of the table and leaned over it so he was face to face with Violet “Ya ever been on a date with a demon before? Cause I’m thinkin I can change that for you if you haven’t?”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Carlos was following along keeping quiet as she spoke. He only added in the odd nod now and again until she got to her musical tastes and enjoying quiet places.

Heck, if she liked abandoned buildings she’d love some of the ones he’d stayed in! Carlos was staying in an old run down factory right now with all it’s old machines still inside which appeared to date back to the Victorian era. He was staying in the attic space, which was empty all but the stuff he’d took in there. One part of her speech got him hard though. The mention that her biological family were dead. At that point Carlos stopped smiling and looked at her with a clear look of hurt in his eyes. He’d waited until she’d finished before adding anything on. “I… know how that feels. To lose your family…” the demon looked down at his hand, rolling a peanut between his index finger and thumb just staring at it. He tried to laugh, but it sounded more like a huff with a smile attached “It’s lucky for you ya landed on your feet huh? Your adoptive family sounds great. I’d ask to meet em some day buuut, I don’t think most folks parents approve of their little girls hanging out with my sort” the demon tossed the peanut into his mouth and looked back up towards Violet. His cocky facade seemed to have fallen in this moment giving the goth a glimpse of his real core. “But I digress! Lets see, questions about you…” The demon pondered, moving on from the subject. “Ok… so, favorite animals? Any strange habits? Are you single? Favorite colour? How long ya been into this science thing?”

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

“Bat onsie?… Ok that’s kind of adorable” the demon chuckles at the thought of her in a bat onsie. He shakes his head a couple of times at her question that he doesn’t get to do this with many other people. His existence was a bit of a lonely one. Sure he could talk to strangers at a bar and could even be quite a charmer when he put his mind to it, but he had a tendency to avoid getting close with people, both for his own security and to avoid getting hurt again. “I… don’t really do this with anyone. Sometimes I pretend my mum or my sister are with me but…” he bit his tongue and stopped talking about it as soon as he mentioned his family. “Hey, you ever chased fireflies?” he’d clearly steered the subject back on track and away from the topic that hurt him. The question however was a legit one. Carlos had often ran through the grass just to spook the fireflies. He had a feeling Violet might get a kick out of it too.

⚰️ ⚰️ ⚰️ ⚰️ ⚰️ ⚰️ ⚰️ ⚰️ ⚰️ ⚰️ ⚰️ ⚰️ ⚰️ ⚰️ ⚰️ ⚰️ ⚰️ ⚰️ ⚰️ ⚰️ ⚰️ ⚰️

(violets reply)

She rolls her eyes and playfully slaps his arm.

“Yeah Yeah i know what a Haemovore is. Im a scientists, things like this are basic if you study oddballs. However it is fascinating and i'm jealous of that almost literal iron stomach. I wish i could eat bloody things without fear of sickness.” she listens as he speaks, asking questions about her.

“Yeah this is basically a day at the office for me. when you grow up around the weird and spooky, things like this don't much bother you anymore. As for my family, I do think they'd like you. You seem rather sincere and sweet, not what id expect of a demon, not that i really had many expectations to begin with. My family, especially my dad and grandfather, would find you fascinating.My family would be falling all over themselves to talk to you, the kids would be begging you to play. They'd love you Raziel.” she smiled softly and placed a hand on his arm when he moved closer to her. he let loose a barrage of questions, much they way she had him and she hummed.

“Hobies: Reading, singing, dancing, gardening, cooking and baking, sewing, playing music, playing with animals and doing scientific studies in the field, speaking to spirits. Pets: I wouldn't say i really had pets, but i did take care of several animals on the mountain and strays people just drop off. Though we do have farm animals we care for. My favorite animal would be cats, fantasy animal would be unicorn. Strange habits: uhhhh, i don't know what you would consider strange. its a very broad term, my whole family is strange so my habits are normal to me. Favorite colour is Purple. and i've loved science my whole life. I love to learn. Yes im single. No i've never been on a date with a demon. Though i've never really been on a date before in general. But i suppose i wouldn't mind.” she hoped she was able to answer all of his questions to satisfaction.

when he mentioned how cute her onsie was she laughed.

“Yeah it is really cute, i love how cozy it is, its technically a kigu but i sleep in it because its not constricting like a onsie. As for fireflies i have chased them, my dad and i used to all the time when i was little, now i do it with my nieces and nephews. But having our first date being something fun like that would honestly be perfect to me. Like i said, ill bring a blanket and some food, along too.” She caught the sad tone in his voice about his family. shed have to ask later, when he was comfortable talking about it.

“Im glad to be doing this with you Raziel.”

#violet roleplays #fire spitting demon bastard #combined roleplays

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camillemontespan · 6 years

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only for a moment [drake walker x mc]

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (her name is Camille in my choices game so she is called that in this short).

Sypnosis: Drake is sitting alone in the ballroom watching Camille. After a conversation with Olivia, he finds himself alone with Camille and shots of whiskey. Things get emotional and... heated.

Drake sat in the back of the room, closest to the door so he could make a quick escape. That had been his plan to begin with. He hated these events and yet, whenever she was in the room, he felt as if he was glued to his chair. He couldn’t leave. He couldn’t help himself. Somehow, his eyes kept finding her amongst the hundreds of guests currently in the ballroom.

Camille was sat at a table near the front with Hana and Maxwell. From what Drake could see, Maxwell had made a joke which caused Hana to spit out her drink and as a result, Camille threw her head back and let out a throaty laugh that could be heard from around the room. Some of the nobles tittered and shook their heads. Drake rolled his eyes - let her laugh. Nobody else in court did. It was one of the things he loved about her. Drake sighed. He didn’t love her. He had to get that word out of his head. Sighing, he brought the glass of whiskey he was nursing to his lips and took a long sip. ‘Of course you are sat in the back,’ a voice said from above him. Looking up, he saw Olivia Nevrakis standing at his table. He groaned. ‘Olivia. To what do I owe the pleasure?’ She let out a hollow laugh and sat down on the chair beside him, a glass of champagne in her hand. ‘Ouch, a thorny reception.’ Drake rolled his eyes and took another sip of whiskey. ‘You are so obvious,’ Olivia said. ‘Obvious about what?’ She ran a long finger along her champagne glass. ‘Her,’ she answered, tossing her head in Camille’s direction. Drake’s jaw clenched and he stared straight ahead. ‘Don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Olivia smiled like the Cheshire cat and reclined back in her chair, crossing her legs. ‘Camille has been here a month and your eyes have been following her when she’s not looking. How cliche, the guy who is in love with his best friend’s girl-’ ‘She’s not his yet,’ Drake ground out. ‘The competition is still going. You’re still in the running to be Queen.’ ‘Ha!’ This time Olivia’s laugh was genuine. ‘I may still be competing but I think we both know that Liam isn’t going to pick me. Liam loves Camille, you love Camille, everyone loves Camille but who does she love? Nobody dares to ask her that, do they?’ Drake’s eyes met Olivia’s. ‘What are you saying?’ She rolled her eyes and took a sip of champagne. ‘God, you’re dense. I’m saying that even though she is in the running, it’s clear that her heart may not exactly be in it. I know you both spend time together.’ ‘How do you know that?’ ‘I have my sources,’ she replied. ‘I like to think I had a hand in it.’ Drake frowned. ‘Excuse me?’ ‘That time at my lodge... in the snow... when I started antagonising you about your sister? You stormed out and she went after you?’ He stared at her. ‘You made sure she went after me?’ Olivia groaned. ‘You are so, so dense. I antagonised you for fun, though I was being serious, but I could see how much Camille kept looking at you when we were all together. Soooo... why not push you both together? I knew she wouldn’t be able to stand it while you ran away upset. Of course the two commoners feel an affinity for each other. I just needed a way to get her closer to you. Make her see there are other options out there that are not Liam. Quite clever, I say.’ Drake shook his head. ‘Or just twisted.’ Olivia shrugged, not caring. ‘You can’t say it didn’t work. You were both out there for a while. What were you doing? Cuddled up on the snow watching the stars?’ Drake’s face flamed. ‘Oh. My. God,’ she stared at him, her mouth agape. ‘It was romantic! Oh Drake, you’re my new favourite person. Keep this going and Liam will be mine!’ Drake slammed his whiskey glass on the table. He was aware that people who were in earshot were looking over but he didn’t care. ‘Don’t be so selfish, Olivia. Camille needs Liam, he can offer her so much and she would make a much better Queen than you!’ She glared at him. ‘But you would have her, I don’t see the problem.’ He sighed. ‘I have nothing to offer Camille. I wouldn’t want her to be shackled to me. All I’m good for is knowing where all the good dive bars are.’ He said this with such venom that Olivia drew back, her eyebrows raised. ‘Drake, I didn’t know-’ ‘Drake?’ Drake and Olivia looked up to find Camille at their table. Drake’s face paled. ‘Montespan! Uh.. what are you doing over here?’ She smiled warmly. ‘Checking to see if you wanted to join me for some shots at the bar?’ Olivia stood up, smoothing down her red dress. ‘That sounds disgusting so I’m going to help myself to more champagne.’ She walked away. ‘Well, Drake?’ Camille asked. He cleared his throat.. ‘Sure, let’s do shots.’ She grinned and slid her arm through his.

The bar was outside in the empty courtyard and when they descended the steps, the cold air hit them. Drake noticed her bare arms were covered in goosebumps. ‘Hey, Montespan,’ he said. ‘Take my jacket.’ He shrugged off his suit jacket and placed it over her shoulders. She wrapped it tight around her and shot him a grateful smile. ‘Thanks, Drake.’ They sat down on the bar stools and ordered two shots of whiskey each. ‘And one more of good luck!’ Camille said to the barman who poured them another shot each. ‘Three huh?’ Drake asked. ‘You trying to get drunk?’ She winked. ‘Maybe I’m trying to get you drunk.’ He let out a chuckle and raised his glass. ‘To good luck,’ he toasted. Camille grinned and clinked her glass against his. He watched her as she settled into the stool and looked around the courtyard. Her hands were placed inside his jacket pockets, keeping warm. ‘You’re watching me, Drake,’ she suddenly said, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Drake looked down at the ground before looking at her again. ‘Can’t help it.’ She blushed. He took a swig of his next shot. ‘Come on, Montespan. Keep up with me.’ Camille giggled and took her next shot. She closed her eyes as the whiskey warmed her chest. ‘This is nice.’ ‘Yeah, it’s good whiskey,’ Drake replied. ‘I meant this. Your company. It’s nice. I like our times together.’ ‘How so?’ Drake took his next shot out of nervousness. Whenever she got talking about how nice it was to hang out, he wanted to tell her how much he liked it too. How it was the one thing that helped him get through these courtly events. He was always nervous he would say too much. Camille bit her lip. ‘I mean, court is nice and all but it feels too much sometimes. I always worry I’m going to say the wrong thing or choose the wrong fork- why are there so many forks, Drake?!’ She said this last part as she laughed and Drake laughed with her. ‘No idea, Montespan.’ ‘Just being out here with you... it’s more relaxed. I can be the real Camille, the Camille from New York. I don’t have to watch what I say or do when I’m with you... you just help me be myself.’ She had her last shot and Drake noticed her hand was shaking. ‘Camille, are you okay?’ She nodded but tears had sprung up in her eyes. ‘What if I don’t want this life? This life where I could be Queen? What if I just want a life where I can have shots and relax and be myself and be with who I want-’ She stopped, clenching her glass. Drake moved closer to her and took the glass away from her. Her hand caught his and held on. ‘Camille, are you okay?’ She looked at him and smiled weakly. ‘Sorry Drake. Maybe three is my limit.’ Their gazes stayed locked on each other. ‘We should get you to bed then, you can sleep it off,’ Drake murmured. ‘What if I don’t want to sleep?’ ‘It will help you get over the whiskey,’ he said, his eyes studying her, taking her in. She sighed and climbed down from her stool. Drake led her back into the palace to her room. They reached her door and Camille took his suit jacket off her shoulders and gave it to him. ‘Thank you for keeping me warm,’ she said softly. He smiled. ‘It was nothing.’ Again, their eyes were locked on each other. Camille moved to open the door and before he could stop himself, Drake grabbed her hand and pulled her to him. Their lips collided and Drake felt her heart hammering against his chest. She tasted of whiskey and her hair smelled of coconut shampoo. Her hands gripped his shoulders and before he could tell her this was a bad idea, she pulled him into the room with her. When he pushed her up against the wardrobe and picked her up so her legs wrapped around his waist, he no longer cared. For this, he would give up everything. He would steal any moment he could just to taste her and feel her and pretend she was his, if only for a moment.

#drake walker x mc #drake walker #choices the stories you play #fanfic #the royal romance #trr

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ardentmuse · 6 years

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A Right Old Git (Fred Weasley x Reader)

Harry Potter - Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

A request from @mlieshollingsworth: Hi, i wanted to know if i could request a fluffly one shot with fred weasley? maybe like when he asked angelina to the yule ball instead of you and he finds you crying in the stairs at the end of the night and it ends up cute or something(im so cringy im sorry) thanks my love!

Wordcount: 2.7k

Warnings: angst and fluff, mild sexual innuendo

Masterlist

A/N: Changed the prompt a little (crying in the courtyard, not the stairs) :) Also, this is book not movie based in regards to how he asks out Angelina.

A Yule Ball at Hogwarts? What could be more exciting? Your mind wandered as Dumbledore explained the event, imagining all the wonderful things a dance could bring, the most important of which was a date with the boy of your dreams, Fred Weasley. But so many questions flew through your mind. How did these sorts of things work exactly? Should you just wait around for him to ask you or should you be more aggressive?

You had had a crush on Fred Weasley since your time as potions partners third year. And in the past few months, you were beginning to believe the feeling was mutual. He often winked at you when he’d fly low during his quidditch matches, knowing you were watching him. He made a point of joining you in the library while you were studying, which you loved even if he was more of a distraction than a help. And when you all went to Hogsmeade together, Fred would often fall back from the group to walk by your side, hands brushing ever so lightly with each step, shoulders bumping as you leaned together to chat and joke.

You didn’t want to get your hopes up but maybe this Yule Ball would be the opportunity you needed to let him know how you felt. If only you could get up the courage.

Weeks went by without you asking him. But to be fair, he hadn’t asked you either. You were sitting in the Gryffindor common room studying with Angelina when your interest was peaked by the conversation the boys were having on the couches beside you. Your favorite twins were teasing their little brother and Harry about their lack of dates for the dance. You tried to pretend like you weren’t eavesdropping when you heard Fred say, “It’s easy, see?” as he turned towards your table.

You couldn’t stop the blush moving up your cheeks as the other three boys all stared intently at you. You pulled your attention from your book to met George’s gaze. He smiled at you and raised his eyebrows suspiciously. You smiled back at him, hoping not to be too obvious how excited your were that his brother was able to finally ask you out.

But when Fred never turned to you and instead said, “Oi, Angelina,” both yours and George’s smiles fell, a grimace appearing almost immediately upon the younger twin’s face, as you listened to Fred continue, “Want to come to the ball with me?”

You could see Angelina try her hardest to repress a smile as she agreed.

Fred turned and beamed at the boys behind him, “See, I told you it’s easy!” But George was paying him no mind, only eying you intently as you packed up your books and quickly made your way out of the portrait hole, trying your best the whole way to cover up tears.

You were halfway to the library when you heard George behind you calling your name.

You stopped and turned, steeling yourself of the rejection you were feeling.

“Hey,” you muttered quietly.

“Hey,” George said, rubbing the back of his neck. After a moment of silence, he finally continued, “Listen, Y/N, do you want to go to the ball with me?”

You felt like you were kicked in the stomach.

“No thanks, George,” you managed to utter before turning to continue to the library.

George ran in front of you and blocked your path.

“I know I’m not the perfect date, but I’ll make it fun. I promise.”

“I think I’d rather just not go than go as someone’s pity date,” you responded before maneuvering past him again.

“But it’s not pity,” he urged, grabbing your shoulder as you made to pass him. “We’re friends, right? I would have asked you earlier if I hadn’t thought--” George cut himself off, but you knew what he meant. “That Fred was going to ask me?” you finished the sentence for him.

He looked to the ground and gave you an apologetic half-smile, “Yeah.”

You sighed and took in the sight of your friend. He was nervous and there was a hint of something that looked like embarrassment there too. Whether it was for himself or on behalf of Fred, you were unsure.

“Okay, George,” you said, faking a smile as best you could.

He let out a nervous breath, gave you a hug, and you each went back about your days.

The next couple weeks went by slowly. You tried your best to pretend to be interested as Angelina talked about her dress and her plans with Fred, even though it hurt you immensely. You removed yourself from situations where you would have to have to interact with Fred one on one, finding a different seat in the library and politely declining the invitations from your friends when you knew Fred would be there. A few times, you noticed Fred trying to approach you but you had managed every time to quickly escape into a classroom or your dorm, avoiding addressing the emotions you had been trying hard to suppress.

George had been passing you notes during class to plan. Even though you were just going as friends, George was going all out, asking you what flowers you wanted for your corsage, making sure to match your attire, coordinating meeting before and partying afterwards. He only had one request; don’t tell anyone you were going together. You were unsure why he didn’t want to share, but you respected his request. Despite everything, you were actually kind of excited to just spend a fun evening with your friend, as long as you could avoid his twin.

When the day arrived and you entered the Great Hall to meet your date, you felt the twins’ eyes on you. You wore a lovely raspberry-colored off-the-shoulder gown that complimented your complexion and showed off your figure. By the time you reached the landing, George was running to you beaming and Fred was staring, jaw nearly on the floor.

“You look stunning,” George whispered as he presented you with a gorgeous white orchid corsage to match his boutonniere before taking your hand in his elbow and escorting you to where his brother and Angelina stood.

“Didn’t I tell you I landed the most beautiful girl in school as my date?” he said to Fred, clearly egging him on. It made you a little uncomfortable to be in Fred’s presence as he had his arm around someone else, but you tried to focus more on how much you enjoyed George’s compliments. You squeezed his elbow and smiled softly up at him.

“You did mention it,” Fred said through gritted teeth, still not making eye contact with you.

George just beamed, reaching down to run his hand across your cheek before asking if you were ready to head inside. But before he could finish his question, Fred interrupted him with a quick spitted, “George, could I speak to you over there for a moment.”

George chuckled so only you could see.

“Sure, Freddy,” he said before kissing you on the forehead. “I’ll be right back, love. Try not to miss me too much,” he said with an exaggerated sweetness that made you giggle. You thought you saw Fred’s jaw tighten from where he stood behind his twin. The two men made to the other side of the hall, leaving you and Angelina alone.

You each watched your dates as they talked in the corner, at first with their heads together in hushed debate that slowly morphed into exaggerated hand gestures and clearly raised voices, each occasionally throwing an arm to point in your direction.

“What do you think they’re arguing about?” Angelina leaned over and asked you.

“Me,” you said simply before grabbing your friend by the hand, realizing she had no fault in any of this. “Come on, let’s grab some drinks.”

A few minutes later as you and Angelina laughed at the bar, you felt an arm snake around your waist.

“There you are, lovely date!” George said as he leaned his chin onto your shoulder. “I thought I’d never find you again.”

“As my friend, you should know I’ll be wherever the free food and drinks are.”

“And there was my downfall,” George quipped, turning you around in his arms, “I started at the buffet.”

“Wanna try my drink?” you asked your date. As he nodded, you lifted the straw of your glass to his mouth. Just then, Fred joined Angelina at your side, still staring daggers at his brother.

“Delicious,” he said as he pulled away. “Almost as yummy as you,” he added with a smirk.

“You haven’t the faintest idea what I taste like!” you laughed, taking back you drink and sipping thoroughly.

“True,” George said before dropping his voice conspiratorially, but not low enough that his brother wouldn’t hear, “But maybe if I play my cards right tonight, you’ll let me find out.”

You blushed the same shade as your dress. “George!” you scolded, hitting him lightly in the chest.

George tightened his grip around your waist and with a laugh said, “I’ll take that as a maybe.”

Beside him, Fred let out a firm, “George, what did I say?” filled with warning. George did nothing but meet his brother’s gaze before pulling you to the dance floor with him.

After a few songs, George twirling you and rocking you much to your enjoyment, you found yourself slow dancing. George held you close, though you found now he was paying more attention to his brother over your shoulder than to you.

“George, I appreciate what your doing.”

George’s eyes snapped back to you. “What?” he asked, as if you hadn’t a clue.

“Trying to get Fred to notice me,” you said, looking over at the boy you desired as he decidedly looked everywhere but at you as he danced with his date, “but it clearly isn’t going to work. Thanks, anyway.”

George met your eyes with his own, soft and brown and apologetic.

“I’m sorry my brother is being a right old git. But please don’t give up on him. He really does like you.”

“Then why’d he ask Angelina?”

George sighed. “I really couldn’t tell ya.”

As the song finished up, the sadness set in. You pulled away from George. “I think I need some air.”

“Want company?”

“No, I’m good,” you said, offering George a small smile before swiftly exiting to the courtyard.

You sat on a bench, playing with the material of your skirt and gently crying to yourself. Everything George was doing would have been perfect if it had just been Fred instead. And tonight would have been the most fun you had had in a long time if you didn’t keep catching your pretty athletic friend in the corner of your eye in the arms of your crush. You sighed, accepting that Fred would never feel the same and was probably already off somewhere snogging his date, completely unaware of how much he’d hurt you. You shivered as the cold chilled you.

You felt a jacket tenderly being placed upon your shoulders. You grabbed at the lapel and wrapped it around you before uttering a quiet, “Thanks, George.” You turned to your date only to find a different handsome twin looking down at you. You swallowed.

“May I join you?” Fred asked sheepishly, something you rarely saw from him.

“If you want.”

The nervous boy took a seat on the bench beside you but didn’t say a word.

You broke the silence, saying, “Thanks for the jacket.”

Fred tittered, “It’s the least I can do.”

That hurt your heart a little. You didn’t want Fred trying to make it up to you just because. “You don’t have to do anything,” you said under your breath, slowly removing the jacket from your shoulders to hand it back to him.

“Yes I do,” Fred said, placing a hand on your shoulder, holding his jacket to you, “At the very least, I owe you an explanation.”

“Fred, don’t--”

“Y/N, please. Just let me say a few words and then if you still want me gone, I’ll leave you alone, okay?”

You thought for a moment. “Okay,” you said with a nod.

Fred let out a deep exhale before reaching over and grabbing both of your hands. “I’m a right old git, aren’t I?” he said before shaking his head.

You laughed, “That’s what George said.”

“He should know,” Fred confirmed with a smile, “Learned it from him.”

Smiling and laughing with him felt right and good, a welcome feeling after weeks of heartache. You squeezed his hands holding yours, urging him to continue.

“I’ve never had feelings for a girl before, you know that?” Fred said, meeting your eyes. “And it’s damn frightening, especially when the girl is as talented and kind and pretty as you. She makes me feel butterflies every time I’m near her and puts up with my company as she tries to study and even laughs at my jokes from time to time.” Fred offers you a smile as he caresses your knuckles and continues, “She’s bloody perfect. And I find it really hard to believe she’d want anything to do with a right old git like me.”

You offered him a nervous smile, “You are talking about me, right?”

Fred laughed before reaching up and pulling you into his chest. “Now who’s being the git? Of course, I’m talking about you, love.”

“Then why am I here with George and not you?” you asked into his shoulder.

Fred stroked your back. “I wanted to ask you. Was going to in the common room that day. But I looked over at your table and saw your breathtaking smile aimed at George and that pretty pink on your cheeks that I love, I just thought, ‘There’s no way she’d ever want to go with me.’ I figured if I went with Angelina instead, I’d never have to hear you say no. I didn’t think my heart could take it.”

You gripped tighter to Fred’s back, so happy to be hearing his words. His shoulder was warm against your cheek and his scent was rustic and calming.

“But seeing you with George sucked!” Fred breathed into you hair.

You couldn’t help but laugh.

“I mean we look almost the same and you looked so good with him. But it shouldn't be him. It should be me. I want it to be me,” Fred said before taking a breath that warmed your hair, “Please, Y/N. I’m sorry. Let it be me. Please let it be me.”

You pulled away to meet Fred’s eye. He looked so desperate and pleading, gently stroking your back. You couldn’t resist the urge to fall forward again into his embrace. “I can’t just cancel my date with your brother. We’re already here. But maybe we can have a real date sometime during the break.”

“Tomorrow,” Fred said almost immediately, making you giggle.

“Okay, we’ll go on a date tomorrow.”

Fred let out a cheer, scooping you up and spinning you around. As your spin slowed, Fred placed you back on the ground. In your dizzy haze, you failed to feel his hands come up to grip the sides of your face as he planted his lips squarely against yours.

Immediately the feeling overwhelmed you. Warmth, light, and comfort overtook you. His lips were soft and delicate, his fingers feather-light on your cheeks. You melted together in the best of ways. As you pushed forward, you felt his lips curl into a smile against yours, his hands sliding down to your waist, holding you tightly against him.

You heard hoots and applause from the entrance to the castle. Reluctantly, you pulled apart and turned to the noise, seeing George and Angelina cheering at the two of you. Embarrassed, you hid yourself in Fred’s shoulder as he held you close.

“About bloody time!” George screamed down at you.

“Amen!” Angelina squealed, gripping George’s arm tightly in delight.

With an exaggerated laugh, Fred shouted their way, “George, mind if we switch dates for the rest of the night?” Fred kissed the crown of your head for emphasis.

George gave a light squeeze of Angelina’s hand as she held onto him. “Already have, Freddy. Already have.”

#harry potter #hp #harry potter imagine #hp imagine #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #george weasley #weasley twins #reader insert

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you-make-me-lovelyyy · 3 years

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4am.

there's a bitter aftertaste for every peace and silence we experience, no? still getting the hang of my very much taking my time phase, i think tagilid na siya but i'm pretending everything is alright bc why not~ realized how much i was drowning myself last year and couldn't even keep up with my go-to artists before. song attached above was part of their release last year (i wasn't even aware lol). week 2 of 2022 and i'm sober hskdhsjs fleece i am just waiting for our other friend to finish his quarantine bc he caught flu and trying to keep everyone safe. tbh. we were soooo set on going wild this year but fucking omicron ;-; i am spitting 64 bars of hell for this situation. i just want 2 meet new people and overcome my introversion <//3

my subtle detachment to things is slowly progressing, im loving myself for that. we had to watch a film for my prod class and it's about achieving minimalistic life but leik her life got tangled in the process of trying to achieve that goal. it's cool. can't remember the title though bc fuck im so bad at names > <

today, i finished 4 tasks and a module exam, i think deserve ko ng drink later (dimosure) hwkdhsks

dati si don honorio sinusumpa ko, ngayon don tomas naman, what's up with the name don 🙄

anyways, feel ko lang mag kwento, pwede na bang dump at diary 'to. feel ko may progress buhay ko lately kahit na kalahati ng buhay ko nakatapak na sa impyerno :D nasa gitna ako ng urong at sulong, dimosure kung for better or worse HAHSJSH

stay safe and well.

goodnight.

4:21am

#Spotify

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bluraaven · 7 years

Text

We are the Flame

5. Dismas

"Lux, tueri animas nostras!"

When Dismas turns around, Junia has one hand curled on her chest, and her pallor is almost indistinguishable in colour from the white of her nun's headdress.

Mallory has stopped mid-stride, her lips parted in a gasp that never makes it past them, and Paschal –

Paschal's eyes are wide as a child's as she takes in the unnatural spectacle happening outside of the window. "Wow! Have you ever seen anything like this?" the doctor exclaims in wonder, peeling her nose from the glass to look from one person to another. She appears to be completely oblivious to the fact that none of them are as excited about a giant magical hole in the sky as she is.

Whatever she's taking, Dismas wants some for himself, if only to help him sleep at night.

But it seems rude to outright ask for a drug recommendation, and since he's all about becoming a better man, Dismas instead chooses to observe the last member of their group.

Reynauld is as straight-backed and tight-lipped as ever, and his face betrays neither fear nor disbelief. The knight has the infinite blackness of the Void reflected in his eyes, and Dismas wonders what kind of man it takes to gaze into the Abyss and not flinch back from what he sees there.

Dismas looks away again.

He might not speak the Heaven's language, but he doesn't have to in order to understand the Sister's prayer – he's heard its like often enough.

Light, save our souls.

But why would the Light choose him for salvation? Him, a man already damned on account of his sins?

He is all too aware that in this company, he is the odd one out, standing beside a doctor, a noble, a Sister Vestal, and... Reynauld. So here they are; a warrior of Light – someone who would claim communion with the Divines – and a back-alley cutthroat, sharing a purpose and a room upstairs. It's madness.

And it is all around them, invisible but just as deadly as toxic gas in a mine shaft. It has poisoned this place and already he can feel its sharp teeth gnawing at his mind, his sanity.

Dismas rubs both palms over his face, hard enough for it to border on painful. He can feel several days' worth of stubble as well as the bony ridges of his face, sculpted by too many hunger days and nights spent sleeping in roadside ditches. It brings back a sense of who he is, and where. It also banishes these unbidden thoughts, for now. 'Tis good enough, at least until Dismas can get his hands on some alcohol.

Thankfully, he knows just the place where he can get some. Grandfather Dumont liked to have his booze close at hand – and now Dismas understands why, if this kind of shit happened regularly around here.

He isn't looking forward to the prospect of descending the stairs to the cellar, but the only other alternative is the bar, and he wants to track all the way there even less than he wants to face the darkness of the mansion's underbelly.

Only Reynauld notices him exiting the room, and the knight doesn't comment on it.

Dismas carefully searches the doorway for any signs of magic, even gives it a few pokes with the hilt of his dagger to make sure there is absolutely nothing supernatural about it. But this time there is only wood and stone, ordinary as can be. He leaves the door wide open nonetheless and whistles a tune as he hurries down.

The circular room looks the same as the first time they descended down here and Dismas tries hard not to focus on the walls, how they seem to be closing in, eager to trap him as they have their group earlier. Only this time he is alone, and the thought is enough to make him shiver and break out in a cold sweat.

Fighting the urge to turn and flee back upstairs, Dismas instead busies himself with inspecting the shelves. They are full of bottles cocooned in a thick layer of dust that sticks to the dull glass. The labels are yellow and wavy from humidity and the ink has run, making most of the writing indecipherable. Not that it would do him any good if it hadn't. Dismas knows his numbers well enough; his mother had made sure of that, but letters are something reserved for the upper classes.

In the end, he just grabs the nearest three bottles – better to take one extra than have to go back for some more later – and returns upstairs, taking the steps three at a time. When he kicks the door shut behind him, it feels like muzzling a feral beast. The danger is still here and to be wary of, but for the time being it is contained.

Just as the highwayman returns to the living room, the gloom is lit up by a net of lightning racing over the sky. A storm of thunder and magic rolls over the countryside, and then disperses, wisps of swirling blue and purple lazily drifting through the sky, becoming paler and paler until they fade into nothingness.

"Thank the Light," the Vestal breathes, her relief audible.

"What do you think this was?" Mallory finds the courage to ask after a few more seconds of shocked silence.

"Nuthin' good, that's fer sure," Dismas says to announce his presence. All heads turn to him, even that of the crusader. Dismas lifts the bottles. The heiress sure doesn't look like she disapproves.

"Court'sy o' yer gramp."

Mortimer Dumont is watching them from his spot on the staircase, eyes black as a pit adder scales glimmering with malicious amusement.

"He shot himself to close the wards until someone of his bloodline reopened them." Mallory speaks slowly, and her voice gains sureness with every word.

"Stab 'im in the dick!" The suggestion comes out in a low growl as Dismas struggles to get the cork out of the first of the bottles. He stops short in surprise when Mallory passes by him and actually does just that.

Under different circumstances, the highwayman may have winced in sympathy as several inches of spear are thrust into the portrayed old man's crotch and the wall behind him. This time though he feels it is wholly deserved.

"Do you know what would have happened if I had ventured down there alone!?" Mallory whips around, two angry red spots blooming on her cheeks. She wipes at her sweaty brow to get a few strands of wild hair unstuck from it. The spear, white-tipped from scratching the stone but none the worse for wear, is still in her other hand.

Dismas makes a mental note to never piss her off. He is rather attached to his balls and he prefers they stay attached to him.

"Aye, lass." Dismas replies and takes one of the silver cups that Paschal has found in a nearby cabinet. "But ya didn't, so best not dwell on that."

"What have you got there?" The heiress picks up a bottle, and turns it so she can read the label. "152 Reserve." Her eyebrows lift in surprise. "This is a pleasant vintage."

Dismas wipes the inside of the cup clean of dust and pours Mallory a generous amount of the dark red liquid. "Boss first," he announces, because already Paschal is thrusting another cup at him, and even Junia is lining up for a little pick-me-up.

Mallory knocks back her drink without waiting for the others. Half a heartbeat later, her face scrounges up and Dismas can jump out of the way just in time before she spits it back out.

"Wine's gone bad?" the highwayman asks, his heart sinking. Seems this is to be one of these times.

"This isn't wine," Mallory croaks, and hurries to the kitchens to wash out her mouth.

"What is it then?" Junia asks, reaching for a bottle to see for herself.

Dismas sniffs the dregs. Immediately, a cloying coppery and sweet smell assaults his nose, and Dismas has to admire Malory's iron self-control. He would have just hurled right on the carpet.

Junia puts her cup away again, the expression on her round face as weary as Dismas is feeling all of a sudden. Meanwhile, Paschal is eying Mallory's abandoned cup and its contents with interest. "Huh."

Dismas can hear her mutter, "How did they keep it from congealing? I wonder... ," before he catches the doctor dipping her pinkie finger into the leftover liquid and holding it to her tongue with an expression of intense concentration. "This is most curious."

"Fuck this," Dismas mutters and just like that he is done with this day. "Sorry folks, I'm off ta bed."

Junia tears away her eyes from the doctor and picks up her mace. "It seems best we rest and pray to the Light for guidance," the Vestal agrees in a tired voice.

"Ya do that," Dismas tells her. "I'll go ahead an' do the restin' part." Turning, he almost collides with Reynauld – Reynauld who appears to have completely deserted his corporeal body and is just standing there, with his helmet tucked under one arm and an empty gaze.

Dismas raps one knuckle against his breast plate to get the knight's attention. "You comin'?"

Reynauld startles like a person woken from sleep and looks around the room as if lost. "Are we dismissed?" he asks no one in particular.

"I believe we are, brother," Junia replies before Dismas can. "I'm sure the lady Mallory knows where to find thee if there are matters thou needst to discuss."

Reynauld hesitates before he slowly nods in answer. Dismas observes that he has the mannerism of someone high on drugs, but the knight lacks the physical aspects of an addict. Maybe holy water and incense have negative side-effects too. Maybe Paschal's smoke bombs do.

"C'mon, Armour," Dismas says, not unkindly, tugging on the crusader's elbow to get him moving. "If ya crash on tha floor, I ain't draggin' ya upstairs."

The words are running together in his mouth, but he is too tired to care, to pretend he is someone he is not. Reynauld moves of his own accord, thankfully, although he seems to be favouring his left leg.

It isn't until the door falls shut behind them and the cool of the room begins to seep through his clothes that Dismas realizes he is missing something.

"Shite!" He doesn't know what to make of Reynauld flinching at the profanity. He ain't in the mood for a lecture, but the crusader doesn't give him one, so Dismas simply adds, "Fergot me coat."

He doesn't have much to his name other than a nice bounty and a ban on the premises of several establishments, and he likes to keep what few possessions are his close. Just in case.

Junia is gone and the fire in the chimney has almost burned out, given how no one had added any more wood since Reynauld had lit it right after their return, but there are voices coming from one of the adjacent rooms.

"I am sure you wish for reimbursement?" Dismas can hear Mallory ask when he sneaks into the living room, keeping to the deep shadows cast by ancient furniture. Old habits and all that. He sure ain't spying on the two women when he risks a peek.

Paschal, however, waves Mallory off, and takes the bottles of blood as payment. Dismas prefers not to think about what she plans on doing with them. He is beginning to feel a twinge of sympathy for Lenn. Lenn, who now owes him a month's worth of supply with booze, he remembers, feeling marginally better.

Tomorrow he'll make the barman regret agreeing to the deal.

Dismas snatches up his coat and returns to his shared bedroom. The pulling sensation in his side has steadily increased, but it is only now that he truly becomes aware of how his entire chest is aching, every breath putting strain on the newly scarred skin that has yet to stretch.

He is not the only one in pain.

A man in his profession knows to find and exploit the small weaknesses that most people like to hide, and so it doesn't take Dismas long to notice how the corners of Reynauld's mouth are down, his lips pressed into a firm line. The knight uses his left in place of his right, his dominant hand, to tug open the straps of his armour.

"Need any help with that?" Dismas asks, tossing his coat onto his bed.

He expects the knight to rebuff him, but to his astonishment Reynauld nods after a moment's hesitation. Up close, Dismas can see fine decorative etchings along the edge of the armour, as well as the cuts and miniscule dents that mar the otherwise shiny surface of the metal.

"If you could just undo this clasp." The crusader dips and turns his head, to better observe the highwayman out of the corners of his eyes.

He does as he has been asked to, opening the clasp on Reynauld's right shoulder blade, and the one on the very top of his neck and watches as bit by bit the armour begins to come off. Dismas gets to see how each piece is fitted so as to offer the best protection while still allowing the wearer their full range of movement.

He does his best not to think about how much the whole suit of armour must be worth. More than everything he had ever owned in life combined, that's for sure.

When Reynauld removes the cap, Dismas is amused to find that his hair sticks every which way. He curses the sudden urge to run his fingers through the unruly tresses to comb them into some semblance of order.

It is a bad time for such thoughts. An exhausted mind is a fickle thing.

The hauberk rattles as it pools on the bed, almost like a liquid, and the padded jacket is carefully hung over the back of the chair at the desk. Reynauld stretches his neck and rotates his shoulders. There is a hollow pop that makes Dismas hiss in sympathy, but Reynauld sighs in relief, slumping now that all the weight has been lifted off him.

Summer is almost over, and in the crisp night air, the knight is steaming. There's not so much as a nick in his tunic, but his eyes are red-rimmed. Whatever Paschal had hit him with, left them puffy and irritated.

"Better go wash that shit out," Dismas says, circling a finger in front of his own face.

Reynauld's head snaps up, the tension returning to his posture. He appears to have forgotten about the other man, but after a moment he relaxes again, a weary nod telling Dismas that he intends to follow through with that idea.

A soft knock announces Reynauld's return a couple of minutes later. He has changed his tunic, so he has probably washed up too.

"I could do with a basin and some hot water," Dismas greets him from the depths of his bed, although now that he's gotten vertical he doesn't plan on getting up anytime soon.

"Is there a bathhouse?" Reynauld asks although he doesn't sound like he really cares.

"There was once. It closed down," Dismas informs him. He is ready to bet the last of his snuff that Reynauld will not follow his example and simply fall into bed. He smirks when he is proven right. Recognizing patterns is a useful skill to have, and one he has honed.

Reynauld checks his equipment, putting away each piece only after it has received a thorough examination. Then, he kneels to pray. Just like he had yesterday.

'He should learn to take care of his bodily needs as well as his spiritual ones,' is the last thing Dismas remembers thinking before he passes out.

That night, Dismas learns the hard way that Reynauld screams in his sleep.

His own dreams are uneasy, full of ever-shifting corridors and the search for an exit he knows he will never find in time. A small bubble of panic begins to fill his chest, and it grows with every step he takes. He cannot find a way out of the labyrinth of hallways, and he is being pursued by someone or something that he only manages to catch glimpses of out of the corners of his eyes. If he doesn't escape, he will die here ant he corridors will become his tomb.

In desperation, Dismas scratches at the stone walls with torn, bleeding hands and cracked nails, and he screams for them to let him out. He'd done his time, he'd –

Dismas wakes abruptly to a voice that is not his own, shouting in a language he does not understand.

He jerks up too fast, gets tangled in something, and crashes to the floor. It's dark, too dark to see, and his heart is pounding in his throat. All he is aware of is that he has to fight or flee – and he does not yet know which.

Before his situation or his surroundings become any clearer, the door bursts open, and it's pure reflex for him to point the gun at the intruder. By the light of a single candle, Dismas can see Mallory charge into the room – she and her boar spear. The fact that she's wearing a nightgown does not make the weapon any less intimidating.

The door bangs against the wall, and Reynauld wakes with a gasp, reaching for his sword by his side.

The heiress looks around with wide eyes, taking in the scene – Dismas lying on the floor, blankets twisted tightly around him, Reynauld sitting up slowly, and her mouth opens and closes a few times. It takes Dismas several seconds to realize he's still holding his flintlock and he quickly lowers the weapon.

"I thought I head – ," Mallory says in way of apology, her eyes briefly skittering to the crusader whose face is hidden in the shadows.

It's fairly obvious by now what she heard, but Dismas has to commend her dedication of rushing to their help. "It's alright," he says in a rough voice, though his position on the floor might belie his words somewhat. "Thanks."

Mallory nods a couple of times, as if she has to convince herself that everything is indeed alright, and much gentler than she had come in, she closes the door behind her.

Dismas rests his forehead on his knees and takes a moment to take several deep breaths. The panic has passed, but he still feels shaky when he gets to his feet even though by now his heartbeat is slowing down. Dismas shivers when the cold night air stirs his sweat-soaked shirt.

Being awake may have pushed back the terrors of the unconscious, but when Dismas remembers the previous day and the horror they had found under the mansion...

Shit, he don't even begrudge the knight his nightmares.

Dismas can hear Reynauld breathe heavily, though he cannot make out much more than the other man's hunched over form. The crusader sits on the bed with feet braced and his sword across his lap, the exact opposite of someone relaxing and ready to return to sleep. Not that Dismas can blame him, but the other man's tension is making him uneasy as well.

Dismas is about as awake as he's gonna be, and he really does not wish to lie around and let his mind come up with more ways to torment him.

"Ya know what always makes me feel better?" Dismas asks suddenly, pulling on his pants and shrugging into his coat after a quick change of shirts. "A walk." He's certainly going on one, and the invitation stands; it's up to Reynauld to accept.

The crusader heaves himself to his feet, a motion more fitting for a man thirty years his senior. His limp is less pronounced than it was when he was wearing armour. Dismas cannot recall it being there yesterday, or even this morning, which means it is a souvenir from today's forage.

They do not speak, but Dismas waits impatiently as Reynauld dresses in something warmer than his tunic. When they descent side by side, only the stairs creak in the otherwise silent mansion. The air is musty, thick with dust and something else. Dismas cannot put his finger on it, but he senses that Reynauld can feel it too.

Out in the open, the night envelops them like a blanket. It's cold and fresh, and with the stars and moon out it's even lighter outside than it was inside. Bright enough that do not need any additional light sources.

Dismas slowly begins to relax as the confinement of walls is left further behind him with every step. He doesn't ask where Reynauld wishes to go, they just stroll around the old house as if that was a path they had agreed on before. The sword Reynauld carries bumps into Dismas' hip a couple of times. Reynauld does not seem to notice. Dismas would have said he hasn't been like himself ever since going down into that cursed cellar, but the truth is he doesn't know the knight well enough to make that assumption.

Behind the mansion there is another courtyard, wilder than the one in front. It is flooded in silvery moonlight that reflects off the white marble statues that are wrapped in evergreen ivy as if they too had dressed for winter. An ornate fountain takes the center, but upon having a closer look they can see that it is clogged with rotting leaves. This place must have been beautiful once, but much like the rest of the Hamlet, it has fallen to decay.

When they find a low bench, they take the opportunity to sit down. Instantly, the cold of the stone surface seeps through Dismas' pants.

"If I didn't know better I'd say it's pretty," Dismas says, surveying the gardens around them. Talking is just another way to stave off the desperation, but when Reynauld doesn't react at all, Dismas' discomfort tips over into worry.

"Hey. Ya sure yer alright?"

Reynauld looks up only when Dismas' hand lands on his forearm. Dismas withdraws instantly, because he doesn't like how the knight flinches back. Something sure ain't right there, but he'd be damned if he knows what it is.

"Fine," the crusader replies, but he does not meet the highwayman's eyes.

Yeah. Sure.

But there's a change; Reynauld seems more alert than before. He runs his fingers through his hair, then remains with his hands pressed to his eyes.

Dismas picks at a loose thread on his sleeve. They remain like that for a while, but Dismas has never coped well with the quiet. He likes the sound of a voice – even if it's just his own.

"How's the leg doing?" he asks eventually. They're not on good enough terms for Dismas to tell him to drop his pants so he can check for himself. The thought of the knight's face if he did does lift his spirits somewhat.

"It has suffered no greater harm," Reynauld replies, lifting his head. "It should heal, Light willing."

The crusader had patched him up, he knows something about medicine. Probably much more than the highwayman does. Dismas drops the topic, and they lapse back into not talking.

"You are a very fine marksman," the crusader says out of nowhere.

It's nothing short of true, but to hear another one say so, ignites a spark of pride in Dismas' chest. He's also a bit too shocked about the knight complimenting him to manage anything more coherent than,

"Thanks... Rey."

The smile Dismas directs at the other man sours and withers when the crusader keeps looking at the ground.

"I have seen much," Reynauld rasps after a while that us just long enough to make Dismas fiddle with his coat again, "but never the dead rise up to claim the living as their own. And the things they whispered to me- ." At this point he seems to be talking more to himself than to his companion.

Dismas shivers, happy not to have heard a thing. Maybe Reynauld is talking about his dream. Maybe he isn't. Either way, Dismas doesn't want to know what the dead whisper.

"We made it out. S' all that matters." But even as he speaks, doubts assault him. This was just the first real run. Will they have to go back? He isn't sure he can face what hides under the manor again. At the same time, he may have to if he ever wishes to leave he Hamlet.

He may deserve this hell, but that does not mean he can stand it.

"Let's go."

"What?" Dismas asks stupidly, so caught in his own thoughts that he has missed Reynauld getting up. He swears he can see a muscle twitch in Reynauld's jaw.

"You said to go for a walk; let's walk."

They do so, passing dead flower beds and bushes that had long ago lost their artful trims. On the other side, Dismas spots a low building that he had never paid any attention before.

"What's that?" Dismas asks, pointing.

"The stables," Reynauld replies, and picks the path that will take them closer.

"Huh. Didn't know there were any." A silly thing to say, he realizes too late. Of course there are. Mallory's got to keep her horses somewhere.

As they draw near, he can hear a soft nicker greet them. There are six animals in total out in the pasture; two are the horses who pulled their ill-fated chariot, and one is Mallory's sleek hunter. One of the others is sway-backed and thin enough for its ribs to show under a shaggy, patchy coat, and it is the first to get its nose rubbed by the crusader. Dismas chooses to stand a few steps behind.

Horses are fast, and appear to be even faster when you're on top of them, they eat grass and they kick. That's the gist of his knowledge. Not that he'd not stolen the one or other, but certainly never one as fine as most of Mallory's animals.

Reynauld seems happy to pet his furry friends, even one enormous steeds whose head is as big as Dismas' torso.

"Don't get your hand bit off," the highwayman grumbles, eying the beast warily. He sure ain't gettin' anywhere near those teeth.

"They don't like meat," Reynauld says calmly with a look over his shoulder. "If they take a couple of your fingers, they'll spit them back out again."

And that is supposed to be... comforting? Dismas gapes, at least until the nearest beast snorts and sprays the crusader with a fine mist of snot. Then he breaks out in a laugh that spooks the horses into trotting away. That's what the knight gets – but Reynauld chuckles too, genuinely amused and Dismas watches the transformation in him with fascination.

They head back to the house soon, for what rest they can get for what is left of the night.

The next time when Dismas wakes, it is because the early midday sun is shining through the window and straight into his face. Usually an early riser out of necessity, the only times he sleeps in like this is when large amounts of alcohol are involved.

By the time they returned to the house, a faint stripe of grey was visible on the horizon. They'd both managed to find some more rest, and the rest of the night passes without any further incidents.

The highwayman casts a glance towards Reynauld's bed – which he finds made and its owner gone. And he had not heard a thing. A man of the crusader's calibre ought not be able to move so stealthily. That trait should be reserved for rogues such as himself. But even so, the water pitcher that Dismas knows for sure wasn't full yesterday, is most welcome.

When he finally makes it down, Mallory isn't around and neither are Reynauld or the Caretaker. The latter also runs a small general goods store in the village, which might explain how he continuously fails to do his duties around the mansion. The Heiress is convinced that it is because of the man's madness, and not out of any ill will or inherent laziness.

Dismas' feet take him towards the Hamlet, in the opposite direction of the path they had walked yesterday night. Over the crest of the hill he cannot see the stables where Mallory's horses are undoubtedly noisily munching some fodder. As always, the town seems to be half-deserted, although today he can see pale faces behind broken shutters that quickly disappear when he looks their way.

Dismas tries to shake off the strange feeling that suddenly assaults him and turns towards the one place where there seems to me some manner of activity: the abbey. There, Dismas spots Liz and Darell hauling wooden boards, such as are used in construction. The man is sporting a large bruise on his cheek and both of them keep their heads down and their mouths shut. It seems someone's learned their lesson, as neither pays the highwayman any heed when he walks past.

Just out of curiosity Dismas decides to have a closer look at the church that his roommate has taken upon himself to restore, probably with the help of the Vestal. She doesn't seem to be here now, but the highwayman instantly catches sight of Reynauld. It's easy to make out the crusader's broad form next to that of another man who has to be the priest. He's got a long face, too big ears, and tufts of hair that stand up just so as to best frame his balding head. Dismas dislikes him at first sight.

He doesn't approach any further. They seem busy enough with abbey work, and he isn't sure what he could contribute to that – or whether he wants to.

Dismas decides to look in on the smith, and leaves with a rack for Reynauld's armour, a lance, and a pouch full of newly cast bullets, which is the bribe that convinces him to help Farley carry the former two back to the mansion.

Unlike Reynauld or the smith, Dismas doesn't have work to do, and he is free to wander the village and to spend his time as he wills. Eventually, he gives in to the pull and slowly makes for the tavern. It's still early for drink, but there's bound to be food there, and company, and he craves both in equal measure.

As he nears the building, Lenn's booming voice spills out from the tavern.

"No!"

Grinning from the thought that the barman might have sensed his presence, Dismas pushes open the door – and immediately finds himself in the midst of a heated argument.

"Tis' a guesthouse or not!?" a stocky man in his middle to late fifties bellows. He has a head full of grey hair that is on its best way to becoming white as snow, and is a stark contrast to the red in his round face which betrays his enragement. But without a doubt the stranger's most memorable feature is the patch covering his right eye.

"Aye," Lenn growls without backing down. "A guesthouse, not a bloody hospice!"

"Friend," another man intervenes, and his quiet, calm tone that has much more impact on his companion than anything Lenn has said so far. "It is his tavern, and his good right."

Dismas is shocked to see the stranger's telltale getup. A mask and clothing that leaves not an inch of his skin visible. He now understands what the dispute is about and has to agree with Lenn; it's discomforting being even this close to the afflicted.

The leper's companion sits down, although he does so with a glower, and Dismas swears that even his moustache is bristling with belligerence.

"There's plenty of empty houses around," Lenn grunts, and he sounds more sullen now that he's no longer having his feathers ruffled. "Bring or buy your own dishes, and I will provide you with food and drink."

"Well. I shall go find us an abode then," the bloke who had argued with the bartender huffs, and rises again with the brusqueness of a military man. He is not tall, but Dismas suspects that his girth is more muscle than fat, and he prudently steps to the side to let him pass.

Dismas takes the opportunity of a lull in the conversation to approach the bar.

"Who're they?"

"New arrivals," the barman grunts. "Say they came here 'bout an hour ago. The leper over there," Lenn isn't subtle in pointing the dirty glass in his hands at the man in question, "and two of his friends. Offered them a room, but they didn't take it well w hen I said I ain't housing him, no matter what that witch says."

Two? Dismas had not seen anyone else, but a careful look around reveals what he had missed at first – there is another figure leaning against the tiled stove, motionless and far too easy to overlook. Dismas feels a surge of ire towards this person, although it is his own fault that he had failed to spot him. At least he doesn't have to enquire who that witch is. Nor is he surprised that the plague doctor would take an interest in the diseased man.

"What does she say?" Dismas wants to know.

"That the chance of someone getting infected converges towards zero," Lenn parrots. "Well, it's a chance I ain't taking. There's a reason they cast them out," the barman grunts. "Poor sod – he ain't even the actual problem. Been nothin' but polite since he came it."

"Ah." Dismas can guess the pain in the ass has been.

The person in question returns just as he is midway through his second mug of rum-spiced berry infusion.

"I found a house," he announces. "It's not much, but it has a room and a functional chimney." He gives Lenn a dark glare which the barman returns without blinking, and Dismas is good and ready to find cover under the counter the second something other than dirty looks gets thrown.

"Thank you, Montfort" the leper answers. "I am sure we will make it homely in no time." He nods in the direction of Lenn and Dismas, and beckons to his other mysterious companion, who follows like a shadow.

"Let's go then," Montfort agrees, holding open the door as the entourage gathers to leave. "There's some sort of congregation happening outside, I don't like – "

Dismas doesn't get to hear the rest of it before the door closes and cuts off the rest of the sentence. All of a sudden, the bar feels empty and confining, and the urge to move again like an itch under his skin. He chugs the last of his drink and hands back the mug.

Provoking the barman is the next closest thing Dismas has done to poking a snarling bear with a stick, but he cannot resist to grin up and Lenn and add, "See? I ain't that bad."

The answering snort tells him otherwise.

Just as he is about to leave, there is a burst of noise as the door swings open again and a cloaked figure comes running up to the bar, almost knocking Dismas over. A flash of irritation crosses Lenn's face, until the hood is thrown back, and he and Dismas both recognize Farley's wild hair and beard.

"She's not here?" the smith gasps, looking around, as if expecting to see someone familiar.

"Who?"

"Mallory!"

"No, why– ?"

Farley waves a hand to silence him, and hurries to explain. "The townsfolk, they are planning to march on the estate. Last night's magic has them scared witless. I tried ta reason with some of them, but they think what worked on the old man might work on his heir."

It takes a few seconds before the words sink in, but when they do they do a better job of sobering Dismas up than being dunked in the horse trough by the city guard.

"I need to go," he blurts out and he gets up so fast he knocks over his stool.

"Wait!" Lenn's paw on his shoulder stops him. "Better take the back door."

Dismas doesn't have time to nod, because he is already on the move. He hits the door at a full run and barely takes notice of all the people milling around, of the torches being lit. Farley was right, it don't look good. Angry shouts fade in the distance as Dismas hauls ass back to the mansion, as if the Holy Inquisition itself was on his heels.

Every step feels like being stabbed anew, and there is an irritating pinch in his knee and thigh, but he doesn't slow down. He needs to get to the house before the mob does, or they're all royally fucked. Funnily, enough he's not thinking about Mallory as much as he is about Reynauld.

Tin-man will help, he tells himself, because after sprinting all the way up the hill he ain't sure he'll be good for much more than throwing up on the threshold.

Dismas bursts into his room with enough noise that the crusader jumps up, actually jumps, and stares at him with wide eyes. Ain't the time for him to worry what that is about.

Dismas' chest is heaving and his throat burns worse than after drinking fire whiskey, but he manages to point to the window and wheeze,

"We're in trouble."

In the distance, a fiery serpent has begun to coil itself around the alley leading up to the mansion.

AN: Fifth chapter is out and it took quite the unexpected turn!

You can also find this story here on AO3

#blu's corner #writing #fanfiction #darkest dungeon #reynauld #Dismas #Reymas

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ao3-writer · 7 years

Text

✓ Read 10:58pm

[I wrote this while listening to Adele’s ‘Love in the Dark’ and Gwen Stefani’s ‘Used to Love You’..]

When Tyler had his first breakup, it was something he expected. His girlfriend said she didn’t think they’d go anywhere and they were better off as friends. Tyler agreed for the most part.

The second and third times were on his part. He felt it wasn’t fair to always be distracted by sports and school and never give them any real attention.

Tyler swore he’d give himself some time to grow and love himself before finding someone else. So that he could truly be in a good place to experience a good relationship.

Yet, even though he felt better and happier with himself, he didn’t understand where this breakup came from.

“I can’t do it anymore!” Ethan shouted, out of the blue. Tyler was confused by this, he was in the middle of talking about his day when Ethan just burst.

“I-i’m so tired of the secrets and keeping it hidden and i’m just so sick of it!”

Tyler’s smile dropped and he walked closer to hug him, only to be shrugged off.

“I get it. I do. I’ve been wanting to tell everyone else too but I thought... I thought you wanted to wait for--”

“Tyler i-it’s not that. It isn’t! I could care less if everyone else in the world knew! I just.” Ethan stopped for a minute and took a breath, closing his eyes as his hands shook next to his head. “Tyler, I don’t love you anymore.”

This breakup hit Tyler. It made the light in his eyes dull into a dim glow. It made his heart ache. His soul shake in confusion. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t sad. He was... confused.

“W-what?”

“I love somebody else. She’s a good girl and I love her much more than I love you. SO much. Tyler you’re an amazing person, you are. But we just don’t connect as much as I connect with her.”

This was only the beginning of what became Tyler’s downfall. In the mere days it took for Ethan to pack his things and move to an apartment, Tyler took time to reflect and promise himself to not spiral out of control. Yet, when the second that the door closed and Ethan was officially gone, Tyler only had one thought left in his mind:

Come back.

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

“Tyler? Are you okay?” Mark had asked one morning.

The love of my life is sitting right across the room pretending like he isn’t the reason I drank down an unbelievable amount of Fireball last night. Of course, i’m not fine.

“Yeah.” Tyler croaked as he sat up correctly instead of leaning against his desk.

“Alright. Just let me know if you want the day off.”

“Yeah, that’d be great.” Tyler replied.

He’s been at home since then. Laying on the couch and trying not to puke. His head throbbed and he felt like shit. He looked around his living room to see that it really was a god awful mess. Just like me, he thought to himself.

After three naps and one of the fastest sprints he’s ever done to the bathroom, Tyler figured he could get his shit together for at least a while. He began to start picking up all the trash he had left littered across the entire house. Did they even make that many tissues in the world?

Once Tyler felt like the rugs were clean enough to look presentable, he heard a knock at the door and he tripped over one of many trash bags to get to it. Opening the door ruined his suddenly careless mood.

“Mark asked me to come check on you. He was worried.” Ethan said, looking at his feet before looking back up at Tyler. “I was worried.”

“I’m fine,” Tyler bit out, “you don’t need to check on me.” Tyler was about to close the door when Ethan held it open.

“Look, you can’t keep calling me and leaving drunk messages. It’s getting out of hand Tyler. Do you know what’d happen if-”

“If your whore found out?” Tyler finished. Ethan looked up at Tyler, offended by the statement.

“She’s not my whore. She’s my girlfriend, Tyler.”

“Does she not realize...?” Tyler asked, looking at Ethan before Tyler started to chuckle. But there was no happiness behind it. It was utter disbelief. Seeing Ethan’s glare made him laugh harder. “Oh my gosh, does she not know that you take dick. My dick, to be exact?”

A sharp blow to Tyler’s jaw left him speechless. Ethan looked furious as he looked at Tyler. Even though it was obvious who was taller, Ethan looked like he could tower over the other male.

“No. She does not know. She does not need to know.” Ethan hissed, “it was all just a phase. I was lonely.”

“Damn right you were lonely. Ooh, the ways I could make you scream.” Tyler taunted before Ethan hit him again, even harder. Tyler tasted blood in his mouth.

“It wasn’t real, Tyler. I was just playing you dumb. I never loved you. Who could love a man like you? You’re such a nice guy and your ‘smile always’ bullshit. All you want is validation,” Ethan snapped.

“Get out of my house,” Tyler growled, now looking down at Ethan. Ethan spit in his face. Tyler lifted Ethan by his throat and carried him outside, tossing him onto the pavement next to the grass. Ethan yelped, grabbing his hip. “Don’t you ever come back here again.”

Ethan scrambled onto his feet and walked to his car. He slammed the door and turned on the engine. “Faggot!” He shouted as he drove off.

Later that night, Tyler drank more. Mark found him passed out in his bathtub with four empty bottles of liquor littering the ground.

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

Things got worse after that. Tyler never went to the office. Ethan claimed he fell slammed his throat onto a piece of furniture to account for the bruises on his neck and hip. Mark and Amy went over to Tyler’s often to check up on him. Once, they found a chair right underneath the fan and a badly tied rope outside Tyler’s door where he wept.

His drinking was deadly. Amy had asked Kathryn to help her find and pour out every bottle with even 1% alcohol on its label.

Tyler disappeared at one point. No one knew where he went. Mark ended up having to drive all the way to Las Vegas to find out he went to the casinos, spent half his money and still ended up in jail.

Kathryn obliged to live with Tyler to make sure he wouldn’t do anything ridiculous. Ethan’s girlfriend was actually obsessed with Mark and he had been oblivious the entire time before he found she had tried to drug Mark. They broke up, leaving Ethan cheated on and hurt.

Nobody discussed with Ethan what went on with Tyler. Ethan knew it was because they found out they were dating.

“How come Tyler never comes around anymore? I haven’t seen him in forever,” Ethan attempts to ask, letting out a chuckle to try and convince them it’s a harmless question.

Everyone looked at each other, having a conversation with their eyes to decide whether or not to tell Ethan.

“He’s just busy. He got a new job.” Mark decided to lie. Ethan nodded his head, confused by this.

“He got a boyfriend too.” Amy added, Kathryn staring at her wide-eyed. “Yeah, it took Tyler some balls to come out to us.” Amy said, hiding her bitterness in her words.

Ethan went back to editing. He felt... confused? Was he happy for Tyler? no. He was... dare he say it? Jealous?

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

Just like every night for the past month and a half, Kathryn added another another tally to the chart listing the amount of days Tyler’s been clean. Clean from drinking and abusing himself.

“51 days, Ty, i’m proud of you,” Kathryn said as Tyler smiled back at her. “Alright, i’m headed to bed. Night.”

“Night.” Tyler replied, finishing the dishes he was washing. Tyler went to his own room, what used to be Ethan’s, and laid down on his bed to scroll through his social media feeds. Tyler had felt more comfortable helping the team from home rather having to go to the office and... see him.

Speak of the devil, Tyler received another text. This was the seventh one that week. The twelfth ever since they broke up.

It read a simple ‘Hey’. Tyler ignored it, leaving it on his notification bar as he went to get ready for bed. After brushing his teeth and washing his face, Tyler checked his phone again to see two more messages.

I haven’t seen you in a while.

Want to hang? :)

What should he say? What could he say? Tyler didn’t know. He wanted to pour in his emotions, his hatred, his agony, his sadness, his honesty. But he did nothing. His thumb hovered over the letter’s Y and E. Tyler closed his phone and laid his head against the pillow. He looked up at the ceiling and tried to concentrate on positive thoughts.

His fingers itched for a bottle of Scotch.

Another buzz and a ring. Ethan sent a third message.

C’mon man. :/ I want to apologize. I want to make up for

Tyler stared at the message. It ended with that. Without thinking, he replied.

For?

Another buzz.

for what I did. Four months ago. Cmon, dont make me say it.

Tyler wanted to play ‘dumb’. He replied with:

What did you do?

there were three little dots in the bubble for a while before it expanded.

For breaking up with you.. for literally tearing you apart. My ‘girlfriend’ was just obsessed with Mark. She never loved me. And.. I did love you. I was just angry, Tyler. I was just. I hated the fact that I had to leave you just because I saw something in her. I really did love you Tyler. I still do. Im sorry.

Tyler read and re-read what Ethan sent. He did love him. But the bitterness inside Tyler grew. It grew whenever he drank. Whenever he swam in his own tears. The alcohol was the water that fed the seed inside him. Tyler fought back the bitterness. But it remained. Tyler closed his phone. He figured tomorrow would be a perfect day to go back to work. Not to see Ethan. But for Ethan to see him.

Ethan was left on ‘Read’ a little before 11.

#tythan #this was sad #breakup #shiittt this was dark #wowie #ethan/nestor #tyler/scheid

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dev-hub4fixfict-ut · 7 years

Text

Know & Determinate: II- the surface and a lame witch; chap 1

/racism, /hate crime, /physical assault, /alcohol, /c slur, /unsanitary, /witchcraft, /panic attack, bad writing. like, really bad. i wrote this when i was in a bs brainspace in highschool to cope.

a self-insert fanfiction where i write what happens after my runs of undertale. written in google docs and idk what im doing. Frisk is 12, use they/them, has a bullshit life, Chara also uses they/them, and is still here, and never meant for all this to happen, they hate each other, and Sans is still, and forever will be, a mess.

_________

here we go with that stuff !! im pumped enough to not collapse of stage anxiety ah ah.

please do not confuse my complicated style for pretentiousness. im but a wordy insecure fool. with a super touchy soft spot for a small fat skeleton. and lots of imagination.

this isn’t something for fontcest and frans shippers and gross ppl who villainize and misgender kids and call gay couples “hawt sin” tho. u guys are uglies and i hate you, go away. ;U

_________

“Sans” i deadpanned.

He perked up a little, his forever-fucking-smiling expression mirroring my tone -with his eyes. Eyes’ sockets. Those were the only hints of what he was actually thinking. Because his fake smile -fake, i’m so sure of it, so fake smile, it only ever dropped when Frisk’s puppeted body struck him down, the very only moment he stopped- wow getting sidetracked. Anyway.

“Sans.” i repeated. i need to repeat myself a lot. Verbal dyspraxia i think. He didn’t seem to know that and squinted a bit more, indication of his annoyance/suspicion/mistrust/wariness. ‘s what his squinting usually means, directed at me. Can’t blame him. “i…” Truth is, i don’t actually know what to tell him. ‘s just. i love him, and i know it sounds crass and misplaced blurted out like this, but as a consequence, i’m worried about him. A lot. Constantly. i hope bpd isn’t blurring my judgement too much. ‘m not sure he does take care of himself as well as he deserve. And look who’s talking, right ? But he is surrounded by loving friends and family. And has his brother. He could get help. Good help.

Damn my hesitance was making him unnerved. I could see it in how he turned to me, bone hands switching in and out of his pockets. I only hugged myself tighter, hands vaguely gesturing.

“i… Could i offer you to crash on my couch sometimes ? Or bed even, i don’t use mine a lot, actually. Since it’s, y’know, closer to a good part of your odd jobs than your house and Papyrus isn’t home then ?” Dang that was weirder out loud. i kept a blank face to show i was serious. i was- the guy looked even more tired than me. Tells something.

“uh. kid, you got something going in the back of your mind ?” Damn he took me too seriously. Squinting hard at me now, he was the perfect studied statue of calm judgement. Damn he was good at those.

“Well, safe from letting you get a good deserved rest more easily, not much !!” i made sure to answer jovially, doing the whole ‘punching the air round and low in excitement’ thing. We could be two playing the happy clown game.

i had found him at Grillby’s, like usual. his food was getting cold. like usual too. what was less usual was the tense manner he held himself when i came in, and how he “straightened” up, like he had forgotten himself, when i greeted him, pat on the shoulder. he would have flinched but he wouldn’t have wanted me onto him about it. so his eye socket had violently twitched -violently as in, noticeably, by his standards, and...uh lost myself again, fuck.

What i mean is that he was having a harsh day, probably after a harsher even night, his ptsd acting up (‘m not supposed to know ‘bout that. He himself doesn’t even know it. i just read. and relate), and i wanted to help him. now, maybe i had been presumptuous thinking i could…

So that’s why i insisted, vigorously,

“And uh-we can watch some trash movies and stuff, anytime, and like you can just stop by during your in-between shifts, even if i’m not home, i’ll give you a spare key and-” sudden stop. oh no. He gave me The Hand.

He indeed did, holding it up, like he wanted me to slow down. i did, obviously, but uh. did that mean i was overwhelming him, or annoying ? Was there a difference ?? Did it matter ???

Not now, because he was talking, and internal anxiety mini attack made me split focus, and i wanted full focus on what he said, on him.

“look kid,” i hate he calls me that “i appreciate whatchu tryin to do here” meh.liar. spill it. “but i can’t accept. paps would be upset if he knew i was squatting-”

“No he wouldn’t !! He would call it ‘GREAT FRIENDLY HANGOUTS OF REST’ and be very happy we uuh spend time together and stuff-”

“ok” glaring at me now, probably pissed i used his bro’s good nature to shot down his excuse. Heh. Two play at that game. “but here’s the thing.” he advanced himself up to me, nearly out of his seat. i held my ground. uh oh. “we a r e n’t f r i e n d s.”

Ouch. i mean i knew this but. Ouch. His eyes hadn’t blacked out on that last part, but nearly, too. Could be that his already hazy eyelights had just dimmed in exasperation but um. That didn’t feel any better. i gulped. Just a little. Just to keep down the new forming clog in my throat. Just a little one. i knew this.

“i know this !! but look, we could be, if we hanged out !” i didn’t dare say more. My eyes stung a lil bit too much for my liking and while never embarrassed by my tears, didn’t want to embarrass him.

‘s not like i was seriously hurt. i knew where we stood, and that my crush was going to stay that, a crush. what really stung was the utter lack of trust and the hatred-like suspicion he had of me. that and also feeling like i’m watching someone drown, but can’t help, because when i reach out they swat me away in fear i would be the one pushing them further. That’s probably more of my saviour complex dramatizing everything, but it’s bad to be helpless when you know someone, and you’re the only one to notice where they’re headed, because they’re great at pretending, but it’s like looking at yourself in a mirror for you. Get me ?

But. That’s fair. We hadn’t started well off. At all. Oh boy we hadn’t…

___

Seems like now would be a good time to make a small recap, uh ? ‘bout how i ended up knowing that dude, falling in love, analysing his mental shit and all that jazz. Yeah.

me, some lame girl who won’t eat for days and forgo sleep just because, who doesn’t shave but my actual hair, doesn’t do makeup, who doesn’t smile when I’m told to and who grins for no apparent reason whenever a new daydream pops up, because i’m kind of stuck in my own head because it’s better in here. because of… trauma crap. i get by by drawing and playing games where i can just save everyone.

i don’t know if you get what i mean. i sorta hope you don’t. Because it hurts. But at the same time it’d be awesome if you did, because y a y let’s relate about crap !

Don’t know if it matters, too.

Could help to get a few friends. But being an asocial, asexual, kinda aromantic mess kinda throws that out of the window. You’d think so many A would get me higher in life eh heh heh heh heeeeeh… not funny. i’m not funny. My life is not funny. The way i react to it can be, though.

Like, that one time i was hanging out on my own, outside the bar i had first entered with classmates, as i tried to be less of a hermit, in a bar street and fled because i can't stand alcoholic jerks, and then saw this crowd of tough guys ejecting a small and stout person in a blue hoodie from said bar by fucking throwing a chair at them through the fucking window, and seeing that this little dude is a monster, and knowing they’re gonna get busted down to a puddle of dust by the mastodont looming over them if nobody intervenes ?

i reacted funny.

---

“Yoo-ou ffffffuking cunt, I-I’m gon’ mash you to the dirt yo motha shitted after getting fucked by yooour d-d-dog of a oold man-”

As he spits the words, an obviously very drunk dude stumbles closer and closer to the monster, his hands shaking like he wants to grip their head and smash it.

Freak it. This son of a bitch may be slurring like he drank the whole city, but he’s for sure all out to kill him ! Get up and run, little dude !

“c’mon man, “fucking cunt” , fun king or earl, it’s still a bit early to speak ‘bout mothers isn’t it?”

[i recognize him]

Pfft- what ? i snort loudly from my spot.

Okay, this is a gloriously bad, stretched pun -but now is not the time for goodness’ sake ! Run, dude, run -wait, is that a skeleton ?!

[i recognize him]

Oh my fuck, how dumb is that dude, going out in a popular bar at what-the-heck-hours in this stupid city ! There were shootings and assassination attempts on the monster gym leader not even two blocks away yesterday ! And you just go in there with a face that screams “LOOK AT ME” ?! Are you stupid or do you just lack of basic preservation instincts ?!

The brute keeps advancing, spouting shit, a sort of gang backing him up, toward mc comicbonedude, a guy i assume, given the voice, but with monsters you never know, gender’s a myth but not them- who’s still on the ground, backtracking, crawling with a grin it didn’t drop the whole time, is it stuck or something and doesn’t look like getting up holy crap he can’t get up, the more hatred a monster is confronted with the hardest it hits he must be low on hp or something he’s gonna get killed

[i recognize him]

mc comicbonedude cracks another joke or is it his ribs cracking under the viscious kick he just got he’s thrown nearer the spot i’m chilling in. Another kick. Nearer. They can't see me, i’m well hidden in the shadows. Another kick.

This time, mc comicbonedude gags out a pun about sole-ution to the problem being-

FUCK OFF!! a gun is being drawn out.

Screw this i’m not witnessing a murder, fucking racists fucking xenophobics fucking city full of fucking shitheads there are other people around here why isn’t anyone but i don’t want to die either that's how it is, eli, always strive for yourself.

i get up fast and sprint to the monster, screaming about cops and a monster attack and insults, anything to spark a bit of panic, deck a scrawny fucker the one who.was.going.to.shoot.him. and aim for the skeleton, who yells.

[i recognize him]

i grab him by the hood and run in some narrower streets, hearing yells after me, and the anxiety is building up a little too much for my usual adrenaline numbing spell to work-

i trip on some trash and my own feet -same difference, fall over, roll, get up that’s how you do it eli, hit and roll, but back on your feet. And keep running, holding the monster close to my chest he’s warm that means he’s still alive and ok, right, left, dodge the you whore you bitch get back here you bitch and the bullets yup i’m good at thiiiiiiis- a bullet still grazes my ankle, I stumble, nearly faceplant, and it hurts but like a sting and I’m still alive. The adrenaline keeps pumping and i feel so light, i sprint into a shabby alley, panting like a dog, i think i’m crying, and drool is mixing with it. i can feel the headache coming, and mc comicbonedude is heavy enough to slip in my arms why won’t he move ? Is he dead ? Is he in shock ?

[i recognize him]

i run to a staircase, you know, the rusty and slippery metal kind outside buildings for fire escape ? Exactly what i need, as the assholes keep firing at me, huh. I climb, to the top, jump to the next building am i really doing this as me for real and run. i don’t know if they’re still after us, my ears won’t stop ringing, and i can’t tell it apart from sirens. I’m on a four stories building running to save a skeleton who

who starts emitting blue and yellow light and what the hell is happening why am i floating holy fuck i’m two inches away to be totally out of not-looking-near-enough-at-all- concrete to fall on.

[i recognize him]

[*focus insufficient]

[*procedure fails]

He’s silent. Sprawled two meters away from where I’m hanging

h-how did i

Looking exhausted and furious, like a cornered dog who has already taken on a tiger in the past, and from his left pupil there’s a cyan blue and yellow flame ? crackling, or bubbling ? or is it just flashing. can’t tell eyes too blurry. and dark blue is surrounding me at my sternum is that monster magic it’s beautiful, did i get headshot i can’t thing straight no. i can’t breath. It’s holding me in place. i can’t breath properly. i try to call out for him, he’s just overreacting in an understandable alarm but

please don’t crunchy crush the goofy girl on the cracking hard ground but when I try, I look at his eyes. One is glowing a fiery but disturbed cyan and yellow, with shards of red here and there, and the other is blank dead. Black. i’m terrified. He pants and that’s the only sound for a while. He’s alive. Good. Am i going to still be alive after this ?

“DON’T DROP ME DON’T WANNA DIE DON’T KILL ME OKAY IT'S THE LAST TIME I’M HELPING OUT ANYONE I PROMISE I’M SORRY PLEASE DON’T KILL ME. DUDE PLEASE.”

“wha- ghh- !” He flinches like waking up. He lets go- lets go of meeee-

“AAAAAAAAAH NO !” He gasps and grasps again. i only slipped a meter into nothingness “Oh please please please i really don’t wanna die, and not falling, it looks like suicide i don’t do that i managed not to so don’t spoil it all ok i-”

“what- kid no stop r-”

“SO SORRY DON’T KILL ME DON’T-”

“ kiiiid please” he’s clutching at his skull now.

“PLEASE D-”

“shut. up”

Ok. Not talking.

Whimpering and sobbing a bit, but he better take this because i’m having an anxiety attack and it will escalate into a hyperventilation fit if he doesn't lower me on the ground and I can't calm down.

“Please don’t kill me.” blurts out anyway of my gritted teeth.

A white light bulb alights in his empty eyes socket, and the glow in the other dims. Could he not see me before ? Hey, is that a crack across his skull ? Augh that looks like it s t i n g s.

“ H-hey, there. You- ah, fffuck this hurts. You okay ?” i try.

Nothing. He stares at me, as if watching out for something. I can feel the power around me wavering. He needs to come to his senses before I go kiss the dirt.

“P-please don’t leave me hanging.” He snorts, but keeps scrutinizing me, shaking. ‘s like he’s half understanding the pun, half not there. Silent.

“Woah, that was bad, even for me; guess i’m just that high.” i attempt a feeble finger gun.

He holds back a laugh “pffft- what the hell, kid- oh fuck.” He starts, realizing what i’m hinting at. He drags me back to the ground. i still can't move, but breathing is easier. i whimper again -heck i’m surprised i didn't piss myself- and draw out a looong sigh.

Now we stare at each other awkwardly is not strong enough to cut it. And i observe, that i m may be sweaty, tired and teary, but he looks bad.

His skull is definitely cracked across his left eye, he won’t stop shaking, sweats profusely and seems to have troubles breathing so monsters skeletons breathe and pant. Ok. Do they cry too ? Cuz that weird red stuff oozing from his damaged eye doesn’t look like tears but that can’t be blood… right ?

He looks horrible, if only physically. But the way his eyes sway, with this grin I can’t find the reason for, it worries me more. Is he ... having an episode, or something ? i mean he could be and be totally inoffensive, but ? Was he the one attacking first back at the bar ? is he really having an episode of some sort ? i’m not too nice when i’m having an episode either.

Should i cry for help ? i can't budge from his grasp.

And i know i shouldn’t but i’m feeling an attack coming up- the restraint is triggering my ptsd ridden ass…..

Let me go y-you there c’mon i can’t take this not my shit nuh uh lemme go lemme go lemme go

“ lemme go…” woah not pathetic at all. “Let me go.” no reaction, try again “LET M-” i can’t move my mouth.

The pressure fucktupled, and it’s like my lungs and my muscles are being crushed.

“ok buddy, pal, chum, whoever you are, what the fuck ?”

i can’t answer you, you dumbfuck you just muted me

“i mean, nice save and all. thanks i guess. but who the heck and what on earth are you up to ?” both of his eyes went black oh my god what did i do to your highness Hecate like seriously now how did i end in such a mess.

“H-how about we both calm down first, and talk next ?” i seem to break through the mute. ok good, deep breaths, count backward from ninety to zero, relax, we’re both freaking out, he’s as spooked as you-which is funny cuz he’s the skeleton- focus on breathing.

Still no answer. “Look, i, i get it, bad freak out, i interrupted you back there, i get you’re fucked up-” nothing but his eyes narrowing “ but i’m cool. Swear i am. i’m cold and m’name is uidelsib. you can call me sib ! Cool enough ?”

i extend my hand, ready to give him a strong good ole handshake, but he doesn’t take up on it.

Instead he stays frozen, “Not cool, dude,” hand still extended, but lowered, as if he could grab me again “ r e a l l y not cool,” i insist, and his bones are, he’s. shaking ? Yeah. Shivering violently, like he’s super cold too, which is pretty normal given he’s what. Up with me on a high building, one, two hundred meters in the sky, exposed to the icy wind ? Figures.

His bones are making this clattering clickety sound, stresses me out damn. He’s studying me. But it’s also like he can’t focus. Shivering too much. Shock, probably. His eye socket’s still oozing that red shit. Not thick enough to be blood, and too scarletish, but what do i know ‘bout monsters.

[oh, what do i don’t]

He takes a step toward me.

“ not fucking cool, not in the least-” i let out, jaw still clenched.

His bones rattles one last time, on the cement ground. His knees buckled under him the next moment he moved. His arms couldn’t support him.

i approach him, concerned. Once the pursuit’s adrenaline and the near death experience done with, my mind is settling, and i can think more clearly. He, on the other hand…

He stirs as i come closer. Tries to growl something i can’t decipher, but it comes out as a whimper, pained. My heart constricts in my ribs. Fuck, i hadn’t meant shit to go down like that. i seem to have a talent to fuck up, but i only wanted to help.

i tell him that. He grunts, doesn’t acknowledges me further, and quivers as he tries to stand up. He can’t though. I see it from where i am, he shakes enough to make a dr.pepper bursts.

i snort at the image, a skeleton shaking a bottle fixed on his spine, then flies away with the pressure- w o w i’m gone far. Need a bed. Asap. Concentrate on the situation at hand.

He, though, doesn’t react well to my laughter. He immediately stiffens, and

goes slack. Unmoving on the ground. He fainted ? i go on a hunch and inch closer, on the tip of my toes, hunched over myself, because i can’t tell if he’s dead or if i’m going to be.

[i recogni-- --- [REDACTED]]

i shake my head furiously. i can’t let those thoughts take my attention away from what’s taking place here and now.

i’m close enough now. something like a meter away, i can see him still shivering, and hear him rasp some breaths out. So he can breathe-

[i knew tha- [REDACTED]]

Not Now. i need to focus, i got a seemingly dying monster mere steps away from me.

i crouch down, slowly. My leg muscles burn enough i’m trembling too and i’m pretty sure my teeth are chattering, the noise mingling with his bones against the asphalt.

He’s still face down, arms limp on his sides, and i spy his eyelights peeking at me, way less sharp than when he had me pinned in the air just. one minute ago ?

i creep closer, he tenses, i stop.

“You’re ok.” i whisper. “We’re ok and we’re leaving.” i try to keep my voice from wavering but meh. ‘s not like there’s much face to save, for both of us.

i reach my hand toward him. He doesn’t move. i put it on his back, barely pressing, he tenses. And then disappears with a ping.

[ (*did you think i was going to stay here and t--- -- -) [REDACTED]]

NOT NOW I SAID. GE E. WHERE DID HE Go ?

He’s back right where he was. He basically just blinked in and out of existence. And he’s looking even more exhausted, if that’s possible, sweating bullets and heaving noisily, before he quiets himself. He’s also glaring at me, but meekly, and i’m not too scared anymore to be honest. He looks more frustrated than anything, although i can guess he’s actually scared to death. HAH.

“Hey you’re ok, i said, i just. Need to get us somewhere safe. Yeah. Not here.” i croak out. i’m starting to feel the freezing wind more, too. i can’t afford to stall and give him time to think. i can still hear the sirens. They’re looking for someone. And i don’t want the police on my back, even if i didn’t do anything reprehensible in the end.

So i slide my hands under him, still making sure i don’t touch any possible sensitive areas, and decide to go for the armpits, and hey i might get a tickle out of him ! ...ahah no. As i try to heave him up on his… surprisingly tiny feet ? did he lose his shoes or. Whatever. He just stays as silent as he is limp. And boy is he limp as a rock. Not quite as heavy though, good.

“You’re lighter than you look-” might as well try to make some conversation “and uh, can you walk ?” Or at least i can try to fill the heavy silence. Let’s just forget the “tried to kill you” thing. We’re both in deep crap anyway, and i can understand having baggage.

He really won’t walk though. He barely makes a sound too. If i hadn’t heard him sooner i’d think he can’t talk or something. i barely get a grunt out of him as i put him on my hip, which isn’t hard given he’s like. Half my size. Fun sized boney menace.

And i begin to trudge down the stairs- not the ones i came from, i don’t want to get caught if the cops are back there and it’s too far anyways. i want a bed. Now. A lone pillow would do.

He doesn’t seem much different, dangling on my side barely sparing me a glare as i look down at him, checking if he’s not dusting yet. He stopped “bleeding” at least. He still got that nasty huge scar.

i can feel him staring when i’m not looking. He’s still wary. Probably only lets me pull this only because he can’t not. Heh, at least he doesn’t seem to mind that i’m carrying him like you’d do a toddler. i just, need my other arm to grip and grab at the staircase bars when i slip.

Nah he looks more disgusted to be touching me than anything. Everytimes we get into more contact, because i’m bumping a wall or stumbling on my own feet again, i can distinctly feel him shudder, and try to get away. It’s just a little distracting, and unbalancing, and a lil tidbit hurtful. But i can’t blame him. i’d be throwing a fucking fuss and dishing fists if our places switched.

At least it’s relatively calm. We didn’t meet anyone, maybe a few rats rummaging garbage, and some monsters hurrying home, Whimsuns i think ? No one that paid us any mind at least.

So we’re still walking slowly when rain hits us hard, and nearly sends me on my ass. Doesn’t help the shivering, but now it’ll clean the streets out for sure. It’s something past midnight, i don’t wanna find anyone out at this hour.

But i’d kinda appreciate finding my way to somewhere because

“Aaaaaaaaaaa a h ahhh i got no idea the fuck i’m g-going…” Ah fuck. i said that out loud. And now my passenger's giving me his best ‘are u fuckin kiddin me’ stare. He’s. Very unamused.

“L-look, this isn’t, this isn’t my part of the city, okay?? i’m- i’m tryin’ to g-get us to the monster neighbourhoods, but i don’t know the fuck where it is, alright ?!” My tone escalates with my pitch, and i nearly slip again as he flinches away from me. Damn it, not helping eli, still in an episode or something. Don’t yell.

“Y-y-yeeah okay, look. ‘m sorry i cried but i’m in shock and still lost, kay? S-so maybe help or som’thin’ ?” Indications would help yeah. And now he’s listening, he’s also less shaky and putting his weight on me in a way that hinders our progression less. Good.

He nods. Good.

“Good. Gooood good good good.” i’m on autopilot now, following the skeleton’s grunted directions. i take a few wrong turns every now and then, but what can you do with nonverbal advice, and we end up in a part of the city i recognize, because i’ve seen it on tv and wanted to come look around anyway.

The gym stadium. A big building, at least big for a monster building, given the prices get surprisingly higher when they’re buying, stylized like a Japanese dojo, with anime advertisement posters (whether for the dojo or the animes i got no ideas) on the walls and- oh my gosh are those- fish, dolphin, shark and starfish stickers on the windows.

“Perfect !” i half yell, significantly lighting up. Mc comicbonedude looks at me like i’ve grown a second head, and i give him a big manic smile, obviously stressed out. My right eye might be twitching a little too. Does that when i’m under pressure. He decides to go back to slumping against me and questioning his life choices, and i take that as an ‘okay GO’ to proceed with my genius only just made up plan.

i march up quickly, -i want this DONE WITH. NEXT TIME i GO ON AN IMPROMPTU RESCUE MISSION I’M TAKING MY LEAD UMBRELLA AND A CHANGE OF CLOTHING- to the tall doors, who thanks fucking gods are under a porch, that saves us from being drenched anymore, and pound it with all i got.

“OI BLUE WATER GAL ! OPEN UP!!! I KNOW YOU’RE STILL WORKING, YOU ALWAYS BRAG ABOUT NOT SLEEPING AND PROVIDING A 19/24H SERVICE ON TV!!! OPEN UUUPP!! B I T C H! OPEN!!UP!!”

Skeleton is googly eyeing me like the second head i’ve definitely grown started reciting the ten commandments to belzebuth themselves,

[and he’s not too far off]

but i don’t care my dude i am d o n e. If i get welcomed with a fist to the face i don’t give a diggly doogly dang fuck so long i can get inside and lay down. Even on the cold ass tile floor. i’m don-

“OI PUNK, WHAT’S UP WITH THAT RUCKUS ?? YOU TRYING TO PICK A DUEL WITH ME ? CUT IT OUT UNLESS YOU WANT A POUNDING COMPETITION FUFUFUFUFUFUH~ I’M OFFERING THOUGH !”

Ah, right, i’m still hitting that door. Ouch, that’s gonna swell. Oh welp.

But the voice came from...up?

i step backward some, under the rain, ugh, and look up to see, yup, a noodly armed blue fish person with bright scarlet red hair pulled up in a bun, all sweaty, a poor guy in a chokehold, peeking out of the second floor window, taking in the pouring rain with gusto. A gigantic lightning bolt, quickly followed by loud ass thunder, comes to compliment her boisterous apparition, and she grins- smirks? wide locking her single eye on me, the lighting making her golden teeth flash.

She comes down to greet my miserable form fast, not taking the stairs, but jumping out of the window (much more graciously than mc comicbonedude previously), having let go of her victim- sparring partner previously, good gods, and lands at my feet like nobody’s business, to then bolt up, eager to see the intruder to her night sessions.

And Undyne, former Captain of the Royal Guard of Monsterkind Underground, all steel like blue scales, glinting golden slitted eye and sharp mouth, now renowned Master of Fights in her stadium, among monsters and humans even more, already black belt of more martial arts than i know of, and fresh survivor of one of the biggest terrorist hits on monsters yet, is staring me down, from her easy two meters height, like i’m her next meal.

i gulp. i’m so fucked.

i’m so fucked and not just for the fact that i am royally gay and all, but also cuz…

[i recognize her]

[she was so hard to f---- [REDACTED]]

[couldn’t figure out that all we had to do was to run and then ---- -- ------- [REDACTED]]

“Uh ?” Her gaze has finally caught on my now bundled up passenger, who’s shivering in cold rather than fear, on my hip, who only lazily grins a

“sup”

“YO SANS, WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH THIS WIMPY HUMAN AT THIS TIME OF THE NIGHT ?? AND Y’ALL ARE SOAKED !! GET INSIDE, NERDS !!!”

[i know him]

i follow hollowly the orders and get inside, feel a weight leave my side-kinda miss that already, to then feel a big fluffy towel drape over me. Then i sit down. In the hall on the ground, probably. Wooden floor is in my direct line vision. Uh. Thing is well taken care of, all waxed and clear, who would have guessed.

[i know them both. very well actually]

[Chara would be nervously giggling if they were here]

[wonder what they’re up to]

[and Frisk too, obviously]

[what about Flowey though. no idea what the lil shit is up to in pacifist endings]

i’m so f UCK E D.

---

Aaaand that’s how i ended up rocking back and forth in Undyne’s dojo’s main hall for half of the night, muttering about video games and fucking witchcraft gone wrong again and shit fuck damnit, i guess it was denial all along those last two, six months ? And oOH WELP, guess i did cradle like a toddler my fictional crush for the last, what, half hour ? Whoopsies.

Hhhhhhhh

fuck that ink witch status, that was not planned.

___

When i finish my flashback, and it’s been something like six months again since, got to “meet” his super cool great bro, not on his account though, Undyne just had to introduce Papsy to the dweeb that “saved his big brother” and also Asgore, Toriel, for a quick ‘thanks you’, even a small interview with Mettaton, that made a hit on the Undernet, and mingled a bit with monsters- i’m friend with Chesty Brun now (Burgerpants), and Alphys, because we’re following the same mangas-

he’s already gone, burger nearly untouched, ketchup covered fries half eaten and drink finished, and i’m tempted to ask Grillby, who is hovering close behind his bar, fretting a little, in front of my frozen form, if “you’re gon throw that out ? sure i can’t finish ?” Because it’d be a real shame to let all that delicious grub go to waste. But that’d be creepy as fuck, even moreso taking my feelings for the small dude, and his against me, so i don’t, and he’ll probably feed it to his pet lava rock anyway, so i stop hugging myself and rocking back and forth and go back to my seat, waving him off with a sorry smile, and go back to sullenly sipping my vanilla milkshake.

Can’t blame Sans.

He’s cautious. Understandable.

i know what he’s had to put up with.

[and so do all of you]

[dirty brother killers ?]

[i hope not]

[i really wonder how’s Chara doing…]

AAAAAAAaaaaaaah how do i turn this shit off ?? Let me pretend i’m normal in a normal situation stupid brain thing !!

...ah. screw it. this magic milkshake is fabulous. That’s totally what i’m crying about.

“Don’t worry Grillby.”

_______________

ye don’t worry my dudes. can i call y’all that ? ‘s gender neutral. ‘m a demi girl, and you can call me “my dude”, my dudes. wow what a bull of crap i pulled here, sorry trans girls and enbies

this isn’t beta read cuz i’m on my own and english isn’t my native language, i’m french, so plz forgive mistakes.

i had some drafts lying around my google docs for a year now, mostly about bugging and kissing snas, put them together and thought i’d do an actual Thing with it all. this isn’t good, i know it.

lest to say i have no idea what i’m doing !

and don’t know when this’ll update, it it does. i had the motivation to finish this cuz there was no clients at the restaurant i worked at back in july. blah blah blebs blah.

#/witchcraft #/unsanitary #/c slur #/physical assault #/alcohol #/hate crime #/racism #/panic attack #Know & Determinate: II- the surface and a lame witch #uidelsibwrites #old art

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