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moon-light-jukebox · 4 years ago

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see? - [Reid x Reader] - Chapter 3

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Summary: Months after Reader left, Reid has tried to put his life back together. He’s never stopped trying to find Reader, but he may find her in the worst way possible.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.3k for Chapter 3

Content Warning: Normal Criminal Minds stuff. Mentions of drug addiction. This series has a villain, and he harms women. There is no s*xual assault, but there is brief talk of torture, and then the death of the victims. Spoiler: Our unsub targets pregnant women, one of the infants does not survive. Reader and her baby are fine. I don't go into detail, but if you need to skip this, I understand.

A/n: How can I ever thank you all enough for being so patient with me? That being said, this chapter does end on a cliffhanger that you probably saw coming if you read “River” by @yours-truly-r. She shared this plot with me, so this is my version. I’ll try my best not to make you wait too long for chapter 4. Chapter 3 & 4 are in Spencer’s point of view, but the remainder of the series will be in Reader’s POV.

-- Linear Progression --

(Spencer’s POV)

The night we came back from my first case with the BAU, Morgan declared that he was going to a bar near his apartment to "get lucky." When I pointed out the fact that it was almost 2 am, he had told me, "time is an illusion, Pretty Boy."

That was the first time he called me pretty boy, along with the first time I tried to explain a theoretical concept he had no interest in hearing.

He was right to a degree. The way we understand time is an illusion. Time doesn’t happen in the linear way that we as a society perceive it to. The physics of time are still widely debated, but the running hypothesis is that everything that has ever happened is still happening right now. Every single moment in time is happening all at once, and it always will be.

Morgan didn’t “get lucky” that night, but he did give me a ride back to my apartment. I think that was the beginning of our friendship; I had never been able to understand the social constructs of relationships and friendships, but I think he felt some sort of responsibility for the skinny kid with glasses who was babbling about the physics of time at 3 am.

My friendship with Derek Morgan was one of the most important of my life.

Which is why I wasn't going to murder him for banging on my door at 7 am.

“Open up, Pretty Boy!”

Grumbling, I got out of bed and padded down the hallway towards my living room where Morgan was pounding on the door so hard, I was concerned it was going to fly off its hinges.

“If you break my door, you’re gonna fix it,” I muttered out when I finally pulled the door open.

The man who was the closest thing to a brother I had just smiled at me. “I restore houses, kid. It’d be an improvement.”

Smirking, I waved him into my apartment. In the months since…Since February, Morgan had made it a habit of coming by several times a week whenever we were in town. I don’t know if the rest of the team knew he did it, I don’t know if they were as worried about me as he was, but it wouldn’t have surprised me.

“Coffee?” I asked, making my way into the kitchen.

"We'll grab some on the way," he said, flopping down on my couch. "We have a case; I told Hotch I'd swing by and get you. It's wheels up as soon as we get there and finish the briefing."

I frowned. “I didn’t get any message.”

“I know. I asked Garcia to let me wake you.” He turned his head around to look at me. “You haven’t been sleeping, kid.”

He wasn’t wrong. “It’s…I’m trying, Derek.”

I didn’t need to say it, because he knew it. Much like time, recovery isn’t a linear process. You start, you stumble, you go back, sometimes you go up then down. It’s an imperfect journey because there isn’t a finish line; addiction can’t be beaten, only beaten back.

Derek Morgan had been beside me through every step of my recovery.

Lumbering off the couch, he walked over to stand before me. “Reid, you’re doing the best you can. Everyone stumbles.”

I shook my head. “It’s different. I can…I can still see it. I can still see it all, Morgan.”

I could still see the look on Ben’s face when he found the vials of Dilaudid I had hidden all around my apartment. I could still remember the look on Hotch’s face when he told me she was gone. I could still see the anger on Garcia’s face when she refused to help me find her.

Most of all, I remember how y/n looked when I told her I would kill her, give up her precious life, for one more moment with Maeve. Every morning, right before I wake up, that memory flashes behind my eyes.

I’ve called in every favor I’m owed, reached out to every connection; no one could find her. She vanished.

I quickly realized the only way she could vanish like that is if she had help from inside the bureau, and if I had to guess, I’m sure I know who helped her. If she went to all these lengths, she didn’t want to be found, least of all by me.

"We'll find her, Spencer," Morgan said gently, pulling me from my thoughts.

He said the words to comfort me, but even he knew they weren’t true. No one would find y/n y/l/n until she wanted to be found.

Nodding my head, I made my way back towards my bedroom to get ready for the case.

Making amends is very big in the recovery process. I wanted to make amends to y/n, and while I wanted that to be in the traditional sense, I settled for a symbolic one.

I tried to make myself into the man she thought I was before that night. Every time I felt the itch crawl up my spine, I thought of her face. It didn't make the craving go away; it just made it easier to bear.

I didn’t deserve to have her back in my life, but I wanted to be someone who did.

After I had finished getting ready, I made my way over to my bedside table to pick up the coin I carried with me everywhere, running my fingers over the edges before placing it in my pocket.

Two hundred and forty-seven days sober, and each one of them was for her.

We never made it to the bullpen that morning. Hotch called and informed us that it was wheels up "immediately," and that we would debrief on the plane. Morgan and I were the last members of the team to arrive. He took a seat on the couch beside Callahan while I opted to sit at the table across from Hotch and JJ.

“Garcia is going to be out for the remainder of the week. She has the flu,” our unit chief informed us, his eyes fixed on the tablet in front of him.

Morgan toyed with his phone, no doubt trying to text his ‘baby girl’ before take-off. “Who is going to be running things from here since she’s out? Kevin?”

Hotch nodded, but I couldn’t help but notice he seemed distracted. “He’s the most familiar with Garcia’s systems.”

“Is that what they’re calling it these days,” Rossi muttered just a bit too loudly, earning a mock glare from Hotch, a confused look from Kate, an eye roll from Morgan and JJ, and a soft huff of laughter from me.

“Let’s get started,” Hotch ordered, drawing all of our focus back to the present. “The Oregon State Police have requested our help.”

I couldn’t help but wrinkle my nose at the tablet in front of me, further proof Garcia wasn’t on this case. Despite how mad she was at me over Y/n, she still always accommodated my wishes for paper files.

The state police?” Morgan asked. “Not the locals?”

"No," Hotch answered, right as I brought up an image on my screen. "He's not sticking to one county."

I heard a strangled gasp from JJ, but I didn't need to look up to know why. “How many?” I asked.

“When the original request was made two women had been abducted. Both of them were pregnant, days from giving birth, and both from the same town of Silverton, Oregon. The first victim was Iris Jenkins. She was a 31-year-old woman, and she was 40 weeks and 2 days gestation when she was taken by the unsub. The M.E. estimates he held her for less than 24 hours before she died.”

“The baby?” JJ asked, her voice thick with emotion.

“He was left outside of a local hospital in Silverton. He was completely unharmed. The next intended victim is Nancy Williamson. She was abducted outside her workplace. Also 40 weeks pregnant with a boy.”

“Could that be a coincidence?”

Hotch still didn’t look up from his tablet. “It could have been before the latest victim.”

“But Nicole Williamson escaped?” Morgan asked. “That’s lucky. Did she give a description of the guy?”

“No, she said he kept her blindfolded and bound to a chair.”

That caused me to pause. "That doesn't make sense. Why would the unsub blindfold them if he plans on killing them anyway?"

Rossi spoke for the first time. “Psychological torture? Sensory deprivation?”

I thought about that as I swiped through the crime scene photos; pausing when I saw a photograph of a letter on the screen. "He makes them write letters?”

“Just the first victim and the third. The one that got away was only held for 12 hours.”

I frowned. “Is this blood? Or just red ink?”

“The first is red ink, the second letter is still being processed.”

It was obvious based on the letter spacing and how many loops were in the letters that a woman wrote this letter. Based on the contents of the letter, I could also assume she was under duress.

Hotch spoke again, pulling my focus. “Morgan, I'd like for you and JJ to drive up to Silverton. Visit Miss Williamson and ask if she's up for a cognitive interview, then visit the M.E., ask him if he remembers anything about the first victim.”

“Where was the…” JJ’s question trailed off when he got to the same image Kate’s hand had been frozen over for the last 47 seconds, the same photo that was described in the incident report that Hotch had on his screen.

My unit chief, my friend, cleared his throat before he spoke. “Kayla Whitmore was found an hour ago in Eugene, Oregon. The autopsies are already underway, and the scene is being processed.”

“The cause of death seems pretty apparent,” Morgan said with a look of disgust on his face.

"The time between this most recent kill and the last abduction is much shorter. We need to move fast," Hotch said, his voice grave. "Kate, I'd like for you to come with me to the FBI satellite office in Bend, that's where we're landing. Kayla Whitmore's credit card was used to buy gas right outside the town limits. Rossi, I'd like for you and Reid to ride out to Eugene. It should be undisturbed."

"I already don't understand this guy," Rossi muttered. "The first baby survives, the third doesn't. The second victim is blindfolded, but it doesn't appear the others were. He makes them write their own letters. Then he uses the third victim's credit card. This behavior…it's erratic."

“Is the message on the wall the same in both crime scenes?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yes.”

The media hadn’t named our unsub yet, but I was sure it wouldn’t be long, especially once word of Kayla Whitmore reached the public. This type of violence always draws attention.

Rossi was moving around the room, silent, but his eyes moving rapidly over everything. “He’s a cocky son of a bitch, I’ll give him that.”

I nodded. “Do we have the original note?” One of the deputies brought over an evidence bag, inside of it was the wrinkled piece of paper. “Have we analyzed this yet?”

The man nodded. “It’s red ink, just like the last.”

"It makes sense; blood might start to coagulate and make it more difficult to work with. Rossi, come here." I called, offering him the note.

“Give justice to the weak and the fatherless; maintain the right of the afflicted and the destitute. Rescue the weak and the needy; deliver them from the hand of the wicked,” he read. “It sounds biblical.”

“It is. It’s Psalm 82, verses 3 through 4.”

“Was the first note biblical?”

“The first victim was made to write, ‘Take no part in the unfruitful works of darkness, but instead expose them.’ That’s from Ephesians. There are similar themes in both letters.”

“So, he’s perverting the bible to fit his own fucked up narrative? How original.” The older man handed the paper back to me. “We have to find out how he’s choosing them.”

My gaze moved over to the right wall of the room. "Did the unsub leave any prints when he wrote on the wall?"

It wasn't the first message I'd seen written in blood, but I don't think it's something you ever get used to. “’Do you see this, son of man?’ could be another biblical reference. It’s Ezekiel chapter 8, verse 17. “Do you see this, son of man? Yet you will see still greater abominations than these.’”

“So, are the children abominations? Or the mothers?” The deputy said quietly.

“The mothers,” I answered. “He doesn’t harm the children. I think it must go against his…moral code.”

The deputy scoffed behind me, and I was inclined to agree; the idea that someone could do something like this and have a moral code was almost impossible to imagine.

But devils hide in plain sight all the time.

“His rage is escalating,” I pointed out.

I heard the deputy ask Rossi what that meant.

“This guy is a bum,” the man who developed the art of profiling explained. "He can't get a girlfriend, and he has this idea in his mind that it’s the women’s fault. He thinks women owe him sex, love, whatever he wants.”

I walked away from the wall, turning to face the two men. “He thinks they’re dirty, unclean. It’s why he makes them write the note. By making them say they deserved what he did to them, he’s humiliating them even after death.”

The deputy’s face was pale as he survived the scene around him. “Why does he make them leave the messages in their own blood?”

“Only one message is from them,” I replied, gesturing to the evidence bag. “The message in the blood is from the unsub.”

Before we exited the room, I turned back to that message again, feeling the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

Both victims had been discovered in the exact same way. The women were naked, stabbed multiple times, but with no signs of sexual assault. They were positioned in the middle of the blood-soaked mattress, their arms spread wide.

He had left the same message on the walls of the room, written in the blood of the woman he killed.

“Do you see this, son of man? Do you see?”

“The media is calling him The Prophet.”

Rossi scoffed. “I bet it was that wet behind the ears deputy who leaked the note and told him the kid’s biblical theories.”

Rossi and I had arrived at the FBI office in Bend, Oregon about an hour ago. Kate and Hotch had already set up; JJ and Morgan were on their way back from Silverton now.

“So, what do we know about this jag-off?” Rossi questioned, staring at the evidence board.

Hotch came to stand at the head of the conference table, his eyes sharp, his voice clipped. "Reid, Dave, what did the M.E. say about the Eugene autopsies?”

"He said he suspected it was a botched c-section. Kayla was just over 40 weeks pregnant, but he said it's not uncommon for first-time mothers to go up to 42 weeks.”

“I know that’s right,” I heard JJ mutter from the speaker placed in the center of the table.

“Indicates a lack of medical knowledge,” Morgan offered. “Because we know this guy isn’t squeamish.”

I agreed with my friend but didn't comment on it; my mind already on another topic. "What's interesting is that Kayla had an anterior placenta, meaning it attached to the front of her uterus. Usually, the placenta attaches to the posterior wall, meaning it's more towards her back. Because of the unusual placement of the placenta, I think that the death of this fetus was accidental."

“It wasn’t a fetus, Reid,” Kate snapped. “It was a baby.”

I cleared my throat, meeting her angry gaze. I knew Callahan was the guardian of a young girl, and based on my years working with fellow agents who were also parents, I knew it was best not to argue about definitions and semantics. "I'm sorry, Kate," I murmured.

Her gaze softened. "It's fine. Sorry. This case is just…this is a lot." She looked down to swipe across her tablet screen. "This child was a boy too?"

I nodded. “All three of the victims were pregnant with boys.”

“So, he wants boys?”

Rossi turned to Kate. “He wants mothers of boys. Probably his way of killing his mother over and over again.”

“But how does he know the babies are boys?” JJ asked.

“So, what do they have in common?” Hotch asked. “Let’s add Nicole Williamson into the mix too, what do we have?”

“There were quotes from the bible in the two complete notes. Those specific verses are often referenced when they speak about protecting children,” I said, my eyes moving over the files. “The women were all in their 20��s. They were all at least 39 weeks pregnant, and...huh, there’s not a father named in any of the medical charts.”

“But how does he know that!” JJ huffed again in frustration.

“And are we sure this unsub is a guy?” Callahan questioned. “There was no sign of sexual assault.”

“If we follow statistics, women take babies, and men take children. With that in mind, it would be safe to assume this was a woman, but the amount of rage we’re seeing makes me think it’s a man.” I turned my back to the team, my eyes moving over the crime scene photos. "The letter was written under duress, but the language is very misogynic. Based on the information Kevin gathered about Kayla's online life, she had a normal amount of self-esteem. It's out of character that she'd talk about herself this way. By all accounts, she was excited for the baby. It's also incredibly difficult to stab someone 54 times. All the women would have fought him until the end. He'd have to be stronger to subdue her. It's a biological instinct, mothers' will stop at nothing to protect their children."

Hotch had pulled out his phone before I finished speaking, dialing Kevin Lynch to give him the criteria of the person we were searching for. "We need women in the Bend, Oregon area that are close to giving birth. There will not be fathers listed on the medical charts. She'll be at least 39 weeks into her pregnancy."

“Alright, so that would leave us with…” Kevin wasn’t able to finish his sentence before an alarm started blaring over the speaker, almost drowning out Kevin’s yelp of surprise.

“What is it?” Hotch asked. “Did something happen?”

"I…I don't know, sir," Kevin answered after he had finally gotten the alarm to quiet. "I was running the search, and…it triggered some sort of system-wide alarm. It completely locked me out of Penny’s system.”

Morgan clicked his tongue. “That doesn’t make any sense. Penelope wouldn’t set some alarm without a reason.”

“Wait. Kevin, was there any sort of message that came up when you triggered the alarm?” Hotch asked, his tone urgent.

There was a weird tension on Hotch’s face while he waited for Kevin to reply. “Yeah, uh, just a dialogue box that says ‘Nightingale.’”

“Nightingale?” Kate asked. “Isn’t that the…”

Hotch didn't reply; he hung up abruptly while Kevin was still speaking. I felt a chill run down my spine when I noticed his hands trembled slightly.

“What is it, Hotch?” Rossi asked urgently.

But he never got a chance to answer; a deputy stormed into the room. "We just got a report of an abandoned car outside of a grocery store about half a mile from here. It's registered to a young woman, and there was an empty infant car seat strapped in the back."

Hotch took the paper from him but didn't look at it. His eyes were screwed shut, and his shoulders were tense.

I heard when the voice spoke on the other end of the line. I heard the deep breath Hotch let out before he spoke.

“Penelope, I need to know where y/n is.”

----------

Permeant Taglist : @rachelxwayne @pinkdiamond1016 @sickeninglyshoujo @justagirllookingforherplace @nanocoool @andiebeaword @imjusthereformggcontent @rainsong01 @violentvulgarvolatile @mys2425 @al3xmnd @imfalling-inlove @cielo1984 @shadyladyperfection @kissingvalentino @goofygubler14 @levylovegood @diesinspanishbcimhispanic @criminalmindzjunkie @addie5264 @hopefulfangirl24 @vellichor01 @ellegreenawayapologist @mcntsee @eevee0722 @peacedolantwins2 @ashwarren32 @goldencherrymooon @pumpkin-reads @mood---board @gublersbooblers @lesbian-emilyprentiss @badkittybang @quxxnxfhxll @jessayln-jpeg

All Spencer Reid: @mediocre-writer @haihappen5 @harrystylesdoesntknowiexist

See? Series taglist: @bluegoopplaidsalad @notasofti @bisoner @haylaansmi @ameliamonster @amirahroronoa @gredvb @riley-the-pan-nonbinary @solangeltorres @gwendolyn02 @sallyjacksontheweirdauthor @fangirl-nonsense @immahotmess @falcon-arrows @obsessivereaderchick @flor-sin-petalo @rexorangecouny @keomoon @hermanthewormman @sakurashortstack @criminallminds @boiled-onionrings @sierraraeck @t0xicllama @thequeerishere555 @lexiessimagination @blameitonthenight21 @abbyg217 @lil-roaster @wooya1224 @faesyl @tessa-laurel @little-blue-fishie @fandomyfangirl @youaremyfiveever @evelyncade @sunshine-ncs @maikanna @wishiwasabook @swiftingday @thelastfirerbender @alligatorrampage @notebookgirl30 @forever-a-cynical @alligatorrampage @samayoshito @readandreid @mvlanchqly @odetobeetlebum @notebookgirl30 @meowiemari @calm-and-doctor

Let me know if you’d like to be on any taglist.

#Spencer Reid #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fan fic #criminal minds angst #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid #Spencer reid fic #Dr Reid #Reid #Spencer Reid x y/n #Spencer Reid x you #Reader insert #Dr Spencer Reid x Reader #Reid x Reader #Spencer Reid imagine #Criminal minds imagine

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deadstrangeblog · 4 years ago

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The Clown Mistress

For centuries, clowns have been either loved or loathed figures in society. With their garish makeup and expressions, it’s no surprise that coulrophobia is one of our most common phobias, and even if you’re ok with clowns, you’ve got to admit that they’re a little bit creepy. Just do a quick Google image search of Krinkles the Clown or the Original Ronald McDonald, and you’ll see what I mean. If you’re an avid true crime fan, you’ll know all about John Wayne Gacy. Gacy’s alter egos Pogo and Patches produced some of the most iconic photos in the true crime world, with the haunting images of him grinning from ear to ear in full clown costume being the stuff of absolute nightmares. In spite of his capture, the notorious killer once joked that “A clown can get away with murder”. That can’t be said for Gacy, whose capture in the May of 1968 brought an end to his terrifying span of serial murder. It could be said, though, about the bizarre case of Marlene Warren.

On Thursday, May 26th, 1990, 40-Year-Old Marlene Warren was eating breakfast at the table of her Florida home. It was a normal day for the Warrens, who lived in an exclusive community in Wellington known as the Aero Club. Each property in the Aereo Club had access to a private runway, and this was a must-have luxury for it’s wealthy residents. Marlene was married to Mike Warren, and the pair met after her first marriage to John Arhens fell apart. Mike’s natural charm as a used car salesman was sure to benefit him in the dating game, and the pair hit it off right away. Marlene had two sons to her first husband, John Jr. and Joe. The boys got along with Mike with no trouble at all, and Joe even recalled that he was “the only dad I knew.”

Mike and Marlene soon discovered they worked remarkably well as business partners too, and they owned several businesses together. They opened up a car dealership called Bargain Motors, and the business was relatively successful. With the profits, they were able to buy several rental properties on West Palm Beach, a racehorse, and even an airplane, and soon enough, their riches were able to buy them a property in one of Wellington’s wealthiest communities. It was safe to say that Mike and Marlene were an unstoppable force, and everything was working in their favour.

However, tragedy struck in the Autumn of 1988, a tragedy that would test any family’s strength. On September 23rd, 1988, John Jr. died in a devastating accident when he was just 22-years-old. At 10:57 a.m, he was driving his 1983 Datsun when for some reason, he decided to jump a red light at the intersection. Another car ploughed into him, and he was pronounced dead at the scene. The death of her oldest son ripped Marlene apart, and the grieving process took a toll on everybody. Speaking about the death of his brother, Joe recalls that it was at this time in his mother and stepfather’s life that their marriage began to fall apart. He said that “He wasn’t around as much as he should have been.”

Probably craving affection from his grieving wife, Mike made the immoral decision to have an affair with a co-worker, 26-year-old Sheila Keen. Sheila worked for Mike, regularly repossessing cars for him and dealing with the accounts. At the time of John Jr.s accident, she had recently divorced her husband, Richard, telling the divorce courts that she was regularly the victim of domestic violence by his hand. All these factors made Mike and Sheila the perfect recipe for adultery, and rumours soon circulated after Sheila moved into a property owned by Mike. In fact, Mike even paid her rent, and neighbours regularly saw them together at her West Palm Beach apartment. Yet still, Marlene was working hard and soldiering on for the sake of her son. Joe, was 21-years-old, and he needed his mother’s support at such an important age.

That morning of Thursday May 26th, 1990 was a day like any other. It was going to be a Memorial Day Weekend, and combined with the pleasant spring heat that Florida offered, everybody was in a great mood. Marlene Warren was eating breakfast with her son and a few of his friends when a white Crysler LeBaron pulled up outside their home. Nothing was unusual yet, as the luxury car brand was a common sight in Wellington. Imagine the family’s surprise though, when a clown stepped out of the car and began walking up the path toward the house. Amused, they could see that the clown was carrying an array of balloons and flowers, and the knock at the front door proved that this was an elaborately set-up gift by someone. Marlene went to the front door and opened it, and Joe heard his mother say “Oh, how pretty.” And then, an unmistakable sound pierced the silence of quiet suburbia: Two gunshots. Joe ran to his mother, only to find her laying in a pool of her own blood and cradling her face. As he tried to make sense of the shocking events, he saw the clown speed away in their expensive car, and Joe could finally see what had happened: A clown had just knocked on his door and shot his mother in the face.

Marlene was rushed to Palm Springs Hospital, but it was no use. Two days later, she succumbed to her devastating injuries. Joe Ahrens had just lost his brother, barely a year and a half ago, and now his mother was gone too. Mike Warren was nowhere to be seen. He was hundreds of miles away, partying with friends and betting on horses at the racecourse. His alibi was pretty tight, and he seemed devastated when police broke the news to him. However, hours later, police received an anonymous tip from a woman saying that they should look into Michael Warren and a woman named Sheila Keen.

Police were now confident Sheila and Mike Warren were having an affair, and this was the primary motive for Marlene’s murder. However, they needed evidence. There was no sign of a white Crysler LeBaron, no gun.... no clown costume. They appealed to the public, and sure enough, two employees from a nearby Publix came forward to say a woman matching Sheila’s description had bought the exact ensemble of flowers and balloons, just two hours before the murder.

Just down the block, employees working in a costume shop that very same day told police that Sheila had purchased a clown costume from them and had asked them for enough white makeup to “cover herself entirely”. In a nearby parking lot, a white Chrysler LeBaron was found abandoned. Inside, a few curly orange fibres were embedded into the car’s upholstery; the kind of orange fibres you’d get from a orange clown’s wig.

Despite all this, police felt they didn’t have enough evidence to prosecute Sheila Warren for the callous murder. With such basic DNA technology back then, they couldn’t scientifically link her to Marlene’s case. She went on to marry Mike Warren (the widow of her victim) and the pair soon relocated to Tennessee where they opened a restaurant.

In 2017, new evidence emerged that saw Sheila arrested. It took John Moran Jr. 27 years to clear his conscience and provide police with a vital witness statement. He said "I did not want my children to have to live with knowing their grandfather was part of Marlene Warren's murder,". Her trial is currently ongoing, and if she is found guilty, it’s thought that she will receive the death penalty.

#true crime #criminology #wtf #weird #serial killers #serial killer #murder #court tv #court #clown #clowns #creepy #true crime addict #psychology #criminal psychology #forensic psychology

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blahkugo · 4 years ago

Text

Biggest Fan

DABI x HAWKS x READER

Music! AU inspired by THIS photo set...or, the one in which Dabi, Hawks, & Endeavor are a famous rap group, and the reader gets VIP treatment.

NSFW begins after the ~~~ for those of you who don’t care for plot!

Warnings: 18+!, SMUT, cursing, threesome, rough sex (? not sure what your definitions of the word are but they do be slapping you around…), just pure filth basically

You’ve been squealing into the phone for the past ten minutes. Honestly, you can’t believe the words coming from your best friend’s mouth, even after asking her to repeat them a fourth time.

“Babe, even if you weren’t my agent, I would have found a way to get you in,” Rumi scoffs into the speaker, unphased by your relentless questioning. Though she’s always been a bit impatient when it comes to your antics, she knows how big of a deal this is to you. “How could I not? You talk my ear off about them.”

“I owe you for the next thirty years!” Your screech turns the heads of a few other customers, and you can feel the irritation radiating off the glare of one particularly peeved woman seated near you. But who cares? You’re too excited for a few middle-aged drags to dampen your mood.

“Remember what you just said the next time I try to skip out on an interview,” her laugh echoes loudly; she must be at the studio.

“Yes! Whatever you want, Twinkle Toes. It’s yours!” She begins to grumble at the use of the old nickname,

“How many times have I told you not to-” You catch the scowling woman turning towards you.

“Got-to-go-text-me-the-details, love you!” The parting phrase comes out a hurried ramble. Unbothered as you are by a few stares, direct confrontation definitely isn’t worth the trouble. You’re out of the bistro and in your car before anyone can open their mouth.

The cup of iced coffee you press to your flushed face does nothing to curb the elation threatening to bubble over from inside you. Rumi really has outdone herself this time. Being that she’s both a long-time best friend and client of yours, you know just how hard she’s been working to book a job of this caliber. Images of the two of you icing sore feet after hours of grueling practices spring to mind, making your bad ankle throb. If you could tell your younger selves who they are now— an internationally acclaimed dancer and a talent manager with a novel’s worth of influential clients— they wouldn’t believe it. And the work was paying off in more ways than one. Soon, Rumi will be making her music video debut...and you’ll actually be in the presence of your favorite artists, Suns of Icarus.

The rap trio’s been all you can talk about forever. No, like really, forever. Even back at arts school, Rumi had to talk you out of choreographing dances to their music practically once a week. You can still hear her promising you that your 70 year-old ballet instructor did not, in fact, want to see you pirouette to a song that's chorus consists of Hawks saying the word “pussy” over and over again. Usually the memory would drown you in embarrassment (especially considering the story is Rumi’s favorite icebreaker), but now even that can’t hamper your mood. You sigh cheerily, pulling into your reserved parking space. Tomorrow, you’ll be surrounded by your idols.

“Are you sure I look okay?” You ask for the third time in an hour, tugging at the hem of your silk tank. Though you’re wearing your favorite suit, you can’t help but feel out of place in the large dressing trailer. After all, it’s not every day that you accompany your clients on their gigs. Your job is getting them the gigs, and usually you prefer it that way.

“(Y/N), quit stressing! If you looked any hotter the guys would have a heart attack,” your best friend bellows loudly. “Doesn’t she look smokin’?” She questions the hairdresser who, apart from a nod and reassuring smile, you can’t quite understand over the sound of the blow dryer. “Who’s the bad bitch that got me this job in the first place? Oh right, that was you,” she pumps a manicured finger towards you to echo the claim, “so woman up!”

She doesn’t put her finger down until she sees your face soften. It’s not like she’s wrong. “Professional smooth-talker” is basically your job description. In Hollywood people are afraid of you, the woman who can make or break a career. Who are you to let a couple of talents get you riled up? You allow your body to relax in your seat. Even if those talents are the group of boys that you’ve been crushing on since you were 16. Recalling that fact has you scrambling out of the trailer, face beet-red yet again.

“I’m going to grab something from the coffee cart. Be right back!” The door shuts behind you with a loud thud. Rumi should be spending this time going over the routine, not talking you down from the ledge you’re attempting to throw yourself off of over a few stupid guys. Besides, you’ll probably receive a polite greeting at best. The world’s favorite musicians have more important things to do than indulge your fantasies.

Having iced coffee and a bagel in your hands is all you need to feel the tension in your shoulders dissipate and your smile return; truly a working woman’s comfort meal. The spring in your step is restored as you walk back to the trailer, too entranced by the savory goodness to properly hear the voice that hollers from your right. You do, however, hear the scolding that follows the catcall,

“How many times have I told you not to hit on people that work for us, birdbrain.” Your entire body swings towards the familiar nickname and a piece of bagel nearly falls from your mouth. Not even a few feet away, Dabi holds your favorite vocalist in a one-handed headlock, attempting to ruffle the blonde’s hair while keeping a cigarette balanced between his own fingertips.

“Not the hair, man! The stylist’s already had to touch it up twice today!” Hawks’ shrieks are muffled beneath the bicep of his counterpart.

“Go apologize,” The lanky man shoves Hawks towards the spot your feet are now cemented to. Though he’s reprimanding him, you swear you detect a hint of amusement in his tattooed face. “I’m sorry about him, sweetheart,” he calls, lips contorting into a smirk that should be illegal. You feel your thighs press together on their own; the situation isn’t made any better by the pretty boy walking towards you, hands threading through his golden locks in an effort to fix the havoc Dabi wrought.

“My bad,” he flashes you an award-winning set of teeth you’ve previously only had the pleasure of viewing through your laptop screen; somehow they’re even pearlier in person. The glimmer of a tiny gem catches your eye and you notice one is sealed to his canine, only dazzling you further. “I meant what I said though, you’re gorgeous,” his hand moves from his own hair to twist a piece of yours between his fingertips. The lack of boundaries leaves you feeling stupefied, but he doesn’t let up, going as far as wrapping the lock around his polished index finger. God, even his hands are pretty...What if they were trailing the inside of your thigh and— Your mind shouts at you to behave, a fruitless undertaking when the object of your adolescent desires is touching you ever-so softly.

“Um- I- Thank you?” The stuttered phrase comes out confused. Where the hell is the professional smooth-talker side of you when you need her? “I’m Rumi’s agent and uh- I-I’m a big fan!” Heat blazes through your face and chest; you’d slap yourself for the outburst if they weren’t here.

“Oh, really? She told us all about you!” He waves a hand towards Dabi. “Oi! Matches! She’s not an assistant, she’s Rumi’s manager!” The gloomier man extinguishes his cigarette before making his way towards the two of you, smug expression wavering only when he glances at Hawks. A short wheeze leaves the blonde when his chest is smacked lightly by his partner.

“I told you not to call me that.” Dabi turns his attention towards you. “(Y/N), right?” He sticks a hand out to shake and you quite literally drop the remains of the bagel to reciprocate the motion, a move that makes you redden and him snicker. “Rumi told us you’re our biggest fan,” his sly grin tells you your loud-mouthed best friend had probably spilled too much information their way. Oh, she’s definitely going to get an earful later.

He doesn’t drop eye contact the entire time he’s speaking to you, and you find yourself enchanted by the deep sea-blue of his irises. You would literally swim in those pools if given the chance. Only when Hawks clears his throat do you realize you’re still shaking his friend’s inked hand. After dropping it rapidly, you urge yourself into composure out of pure distress.

“Sorry, I’m honestly a bit starstruck. I’m sure Rumi told you how much I love your music,” you finally sound a bit like your usual self.

“She didn’t really mention our music, did she Matches?” Hawks chirps, dodging Dabi’s fist this time.

“No, I don’t think she did, dipshit,” he spits the insult through gritted teeth as a final warning. “But I do remember her telling us something about being your first two crushes...or was it your ‘sexual awakening’? I can’t really remember the term she used…” Your knees almost buckle at the obvious teasing, and you silently swear to murder Rumi when she’s done shooting this video. It’s evident that the mockery is highly amusing to them— the glints in their eyes border on ravenous.

Because you’re not typically someone whose presence is taken lightly, the thought of being toyed with by a few arrogant men has your blood boiling. You’ve already dealt with too many pretentious assholes who don’t believe women, especially younger ones, belong in management; you didn’t claw your way to the top of the industry for all of that hardship to go to waste. Ever the more perceptive of the duo, Dabi seems to realize the shift in your mood.

“Relax,” he reaches a hand towards you before thinking better of it, choosing instead to tug at the thin, silver piercing adorning his bottom lip. “We’re only teasing. She didn’t say anything like that, obviously.” You stare at him incredulously, arms crossing your chest. “Why don’t we give you a tour?” Though he’s the one who makes the offer, it sounds as though he’d rather be doing anything else.

“We’re not really assholes, promise,” Hawks jumps in, crossing his fingers over his heart in a show of good faith. “This one just gets too big headed around beautiful women,” he points at the heavily-inked man, who simply rolls his eyes at the accusation. You’d thought the blonde was…well, nothing more than the stereotype his hair color implied, but he’s sharper than he seems. It appears that unlike Dabi, who comes off curt and ungenuine, Hawks’ wit stems from his charm.

You can’t help but think of how the two of them compliment each other beautifully. That’s probably why their entire fanbase thinks they should be dating. With that ludicrous thought, your exuberance returns. After Hawks assures you they don’t have to be on set any time soon, you find yourself taking them up on their offer. They seem to be a handful, sure, but how long have you dreamt of spending uninterrupted time with your favorite members of the group? Besides, it’s only a tour. What could go wrong?

It’s apparent only five minutes into your time together that Hawks (despite his insistence you call him Kiego, it’s difficult after years of referring to him by the stage name) does not know the meaning of personal space. He spends the better part of the tour hooking an arm through yours, touching your hair, or pestering Dabi. While some may take this over-familiarity as a sign of disrespect, it feels more to you as though he’s simply comfortable in his skin.

Rude or not, his bold actions do nothing but spur your heart to beat out of your chest. Every time he guides you towards an attraction with a cheerful comment, you swear his fingers purposefully dash under your layers of clothing, brushing faintly at the skin of your waist in a way that makes your heart (among other parts) flutter.

“And as I’m sure you know, we’re filming this music video mid-tour,” his hand flits away as swiftly as it skimmed you, prolonging the torture of wondering whether his movements are purposeful or a figment of your twisted imagination. After showing you most of the fabricated scenery— and even the gorgeous, cherry-red convertible that was rented— for the video, you’ve arrived at the group’s infamous tour bus. You once read that most of their concerts end with the vehicle being mobbed by ruthless fans, one of the sole reasons you’ve never attended a show. Someone as busy as you doesn’t have time for all the horrid traffic the mobs cause. “Wanna see inside? It’s actually pretty roomy.”

You nod, eyes trailing towards Dabi, who’s busy stomping out the most recent cig he’d been puffing on. Aside from the occasional chuckle at your flustered blunders or annoyed curse thrown towards Hawks, the taller man had kept mostly to himself. His indifference confuses you, makes you wish you hadn’t reacted so bitterly to the loose smile and banter he offered you upon first meeting. At the same time, part of you is irritated by his standoffish personality. From what you’ve seen so far, his remarks serve the single purpose of humiliating others for his own amusement— a stark contrast to the misjudged softy he’s portrayed as on camera.

You’re guided onto the bus and Dabi follows, cursing under his breath at something or other. Sociable as he is, Hawks begins to chatter again, seeing no issue in being the center of your attention. You realize the space is much roomier than it seems. State of the art technology allows the bunk beds to fold back with a press of the button, leaving room for a decently sized couch. It’s also much cleaner than you would expect three young men living on the road to allow.

“And the lowest one was my bunk, just in case you’d like to see it again later,” he whispers the sentence as though it’s his best kept secret, wagging his thick brows exaggeratedly to key you in on his joke. “Hey, why are you laughing? I’m totally seriou–” The doors swivel open and your giggles are cut off by heavy footsteps and a booming voice,

“Oi! Keigo! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You have to crane your neck to see the pillar of a man’s scrunched, stoic face. Endeavor, the pyrotechnic-obsessed “hype man” and third part of Suns of Icarus’s trio, stands a few feet from you, clearly exasperated by something his bandmate has done. Hawks must know precisely the reason for the bottle-redhead’s tone, because his face pales.

“Enji, we made a new friend!” He pulls you into his chest in an obvious attempt to shield himself from the giant, but your face heats at the close contact regardless.

“You were supposed to be on set for your solo scenes ten minutes ago,” he crosses his sculpted arms, “so let’s go.” The lively man is being whisked away by the larger one before he can utter a word of rebuttal. “Nice to meet you,” he calls casually to you over his shoulder.

“Dabi, keep (Y/N) company! I’ll be back!” Hawks shrieks with a dramatic flare. The man was truly born to be an entertainer.

An unbearable awkwardness envelops the two of you once you’re alone. Without his best friend around, Dabi drops any semblance of amiability, but it’s not as if he was trying very hard before. He plops down on the couch and pulls out his phone. You sit as far away from him as possible, but realize you don’t have your own device to keep you busy. After a few nervous minutes of twiddling your thumbs, you attempt to break the silence.

“So, Haw– Keigo and Endeavor use stage names, why don’t you?” You spout the first question that comes to mind, hoping it’ll spark an interesting conversation.

“Dabi is my stage name,” he answers curtly, without looking up from his cell.

“Oh...but– even your bandmates call you by it?”

“Yep. Don’t care for my real name,” his eye roll sends ice through your veins.

“Excuse me,” you snap, “have I done something to offend you?” The frustration in your tone wins you eye contact, at least.

“Nope.”

“Unbelievable….I’m going to need your publicist’s information.”

“Huh?”

“Well, anyone who can make you seem like the world’s most ‘misunderstood heartthrob’ on camera certainly deserves a pay raise, dontcha’ think?” His eyes drop to send a steely glare your way, but you’re too fed up to feel intimidated. You smirk at him, a single eyebrow raised in twisted satisfaction. There’s the bitchy self you know and love.

“You don’t know the first fucking thing about me,” he sits up, “but I know everything I need to know about you.”

“Oh? Enlighten me then, sir.”

~~~

“You may think Keigo likes you, but he likes everyone. You’re, what, thinking you’re special because he’s throwing some attention your way?” Dabi inches closer. “Hoping he’ll get in your panties?”

“It’s not like that at all–”

“Don’t lie. The idea of being with someone you’ve idolized for years is thrilling, isn’t it?” The heat that rises on your cheeks is enough to confirm his suspicions. “He doesn’t like to see people for who they really are, but I know your type...just another tramp that’ll use him and move onto the next,” his smug expression returns after that little rant. Paired with the tattoos covering most of his face, he appears every bit as wicked as the skeleton his ink emulates— devilish, even.

“You’re wrong.” You can’t think of a proper argument when he’s so close to you, basically breathing down your neck.

“Am I?” His hand trails up your clothed thigh, and an unwelcome shiver crawls up your spine. “So you’re going to stop me when I do this, right?” Then, he kisses you.

It’s not at all soft, or compassionate, or anything resembling your naive teenage fantasies of the artist in the slightest. Rough, slender fingers wrap around your jaw and yank your lips to his. He doesn’t stop at a peck either, choosing instead to assail your mouth with all of his pent-up rage. The cool, hard metal of his lip ring strains against you, a pleasant contrast to the quick heat traveling the rest of your body. You want nothing more than to prove him wrong— to throw him off you, tell him to go straight to hell— but he takes your bottom lip between his teeth and- God, it just feels so good. Your mouth parts in a breathless moan and Dabi takes the reaction as an invitation to swipe his tongue against your teeth. With your bodies melding together violently, the make out feels simply a continuation of the intense argument you were having moments before.

Pulling you between his lap, he shifts you so that your back is flush across his chest. Nimble fingers make quick work of your clothes. You just barely raise your hips so that he’s able to take your pants off with ease, but you’re sure he notices the eager movement. When you’re left in nothing but your panties, you feel the rumbling of his solid body behind you as he laughs, the sound bitter and pleased all at once.

“Oh you really are a whore,” he chides. “Who’d you wear these for, hm?” He runs his fingers across the band of your red lace thong.

“Not you,” you bite back, feigning disinterest towards the dangerous position he has you in. The asshole’s not going to get to actually hear you admit defeat so easily. One of his hands kneads your chest and the other grabs your cheeks harshly, pushing them together so that you’re unable to speak.

“Not me? Take a good look at yourself, sweetheart.” He lifts your head upwards and your breath hitches; the entire ceiling of the bus is covered in a dark, reflective surface. “Who has you naked in their lap right now?” he whispers onto your neck, licking a long stripe upwards until his teeth graze your ear. You watch fervently as he strokes his digits across one of your perked nipples, tweaking the bud roughly. “Who are you being such a slut for?” He’s aware he won’t get a response because his left hand still grips your face, demanding you watch his every move.

Dabi then snakes his fingers down your midriff tortuously slowly, brushing lightly in a way he hasn’t touched you yet; as if the skin there is delicate, worthy of his valuable adoration. The ink traveling his arms makes him appear so ethereal, so sinister and compelling, that you can’t help but let out a muffled mewl. Once he reaches your panties, his fingers dart beneath the material and the tender moment is lost. An onslaught of pleasure wracks your body when he begins to draw quick circles on your clit. He lets go of your cheeks, now sore and reddened from both pressure and bliss.

“I’m going to ask one more fucking time,” his fingers glide against your soaked slit, “who are you being such a dirty slut for?” You contemplate not giving him the answer he’s looking for, and part of you is sinfully curious about what may happen if you enrage him further; however, that idea is put to rest immediately when he snaps his head up to look at you through the mirror, blue eyes pooling with lust and a hint of something animalistic. That stare, paired with the relentless strokes across your clit, provokes your moaned answer,

“F-for you, Dabi.” He uses his free hand to insert two, thick digits inside you.

“Say it again.”

“I’m- fuck– a s-slut for you,” you practically sob out. You press the back of your head into his shoulder harder, squeezing your eyes closed and biting your lip.

“Not going to keep your eyes open? Fine.” The fingers are removed from your clit and you’re about to let out an unsatisfied whine, only for him to grab the back of your head and mash your swollen lips to his once again. Then, after another brief caress of your abdomen, he’s back to touching your sensitive bud. All of your moans are silenced by his mouth, and you feel the vibrations of a low groan from his own throat when your ass grinds against his clothed member. When your stomach pulls taut you know you’re seconds away from feeling that all-encompassing pleasure, the tidings of an orgasm so close to washing over you.

“Oi, Matches! You didn’t throw her out did you?” Hearing Hawks’ voice call out from the front of the bus has you reeling your lips away from Dabi, and though he slows his movements, he doesn’t remove his fingers from your core. Rather than push you away, he takes the other hand off your clit to hold you tightly against him. “(Y/N)? Dab–”

For a few seconds, the only sound you can hear is your own heart beating out of your chest. Takami takes in the scene in front of him— your bare body splayed across his best friend in the lewdest of positions. You know your face is blooming in embarrassment as you wait for a reaction, for his face to drop in disappointment, anger, anything. Instead, he smirks.

“Starting without me? That’s no fair,” the golden-haired boy actually pouts, but there’s something deeper swimming in his eyes, something almost bloodthirsty. Though this is happening right in front of you, you can’t truly believe it. Dabi relieves the pressure of his arm from your chest.

“Look Kiego, the whore’s fucking drenched for us,” he lifts his fingers towards the beautiful man in front of you proudly, as if showing off a trophy or a new toy. Then he pops the damp fingers in his own mouth, humming at the taste of you. Hawks’ tongue dips out of his mouth, darting across his bottom lip.

“I want a taste,” he leers at your bright panties, now soaked through. You think you must have died and gone to heaven, what with the two Adonises staring at you as if you’re their last meal. Hawks kneels at the foot of the couch, brings his face right up to your navel, and licks a long, cold swipe. His digits toy at your waist like they were earlier, except this time the movements are decisive and fierce. Just as he’s about to tug your panties down and place his mouth where you want it most, Dabi seizes his jaw and pulls his partner into a long, sloppy kiss. You let out a sigh at the view and— teases that they are— the sound doesn’t go unnoticed by either of them.

“Is watching us turning you on?” Dabi taunts cruelly.

“Looks like she’s a bit of a pervert, hm?” Hawks retorts, sliding a finger across your clothed slit. The movement causes your entire body to quiver, your senses on high alert. Without another word, he leans down again, shifts your panties to the side, and takes your clit between his lips. The way he laps at you hungrily makes you believe your initial judgment of him was completely inaccurate, and when he inserts two lengthy digits inside you, the thought is confirmed. Hot, white pleasure consumes your body as your core clenches around his digits. He simply cocks an eyebrow at you and chuckles darkly, holding you tightly against him by your waist so that you’re unable to wriggle away. Gone is the lovable persona you were introduced to, replaced now by someone entirely foreign, deviously lewd.

“Fuck, Hawks,” you whimper, greedy for more.

“Thought I told you to call me Keigo,” he scolds beneath you, biting the inside of your thigh so that a sharp gasp leaves you.

“I-I’m sorry, K-Kei–” You’re cut off mid-moan when Dabi kisses you, wrapping one slender hand around your throat and squeezing. His other one threads through your hair and tugs harshly. A painful hiss leaves you but the sound only makes him pull harder, smirking against your lips.

It’s as though they’re competing for your attention. If one of the men evokes a sob or whimper, the other attempts to outdo him— and they have no regard for your body, becoming instead the battleground for their lascivious rivalry. You lose yourself in the intense sensations, unaware of time or its passing, instead focusing solely on the coil tightening in your abdomen. Every gasp, every moan, only pushes them further, and soon your legs are shaking as you feel yourself nearing the delicious edge.

Just as you’re about to let go, allow yourself the mind-numbing relief of an orgasm, Kiego withdraws his fingers. Rubbing your bruised thighs together is a desperate attempt at friction, but the momentum is completely lost. Your core clenches around nothing, and you cry out, hopelessly bitter at the emptiness between your legs.

“Sorry, princess,” his hair is sticking up, golden locks tousled from the harsh grip of your fingers. And yet he still looks perfect. He wipes your juices off his chin with a thumb, “but that’s for starting without me.” Despite the apology, he sounds absolutely delighted at your loss. You whine again, hoping it’ll change his mind. “What do you think, Dabi? Should we let her cum?”

Hearing his name, the tattooed man takes his attention away from your chest and the onslaught of purple marks his lips’ were just peppering on your throat.

“I don’t think so,” he tweaks at one of your nipples, eliciting a soft groan from you. “I want the bitch begging for it.” Dabi pushes you away from him and stands to unbuckle his belt. “Besides, don’t think she’s done enough to earn it.” You should be outraged at the way they decide your fate as if you’re not even present, but in reality it only thrills you, your clit throbbing at the lack of control.

“You’re right,” your idol sneers, canines bared and gleaming as he unzips his own pants, “and I wanna see those pretty lips wrapped around me.”

They switch places, shifting you so that your breasts are pinned against the couch between Kiego’s legs. Dabi grinds his hips against your clothed center, and you mewl at the long-awaited friction, hard member straining against his briefs.

“Get to work, princess,” Kiego calls to you, boxers down to his knees. You can only balk at the sight in front of you. His cock is thick and long, essentially everything you could’ve ever hoped for, but that’s not it.

Rather, it’s the shiny, silver ball pierced through the shaft and poking out from the top of his head that stops you dead in your tracks. He notices your eyes widen at it, but only snorts, wrapping your hair around his hand and yanking you roughly towards him.

“Oh, that little thing?” Now he’s shoving you against his length, using your face as nothing more than a means for friction. “Just a drunken dare from Matches.” The nickname provokes the other man into leaving a stinging slap against your behind. And just like that, the angered man drives himself into your cunt.

“I told you,” slap, “not to,” slap, “call me that.” With each thrust into you, Dabi releases an onslaught of pent-up anger onto your rear, the biting pain causing you to cry out around Kiego’s member.

“Yeah sweetheart, just like that,” he leans his head back against the couch with a deep groan. “Such a pretty little whore, choking on my cock.” One of his free fingers shoots out to wipe at your tears, hand moving ever-so-lightly to cradle your jaw. The gesture might have been sweet if his other hand wasn’t forcing you down further to swallow him whole.

“Mmmph–” you scrape carelessly at Kiego’s thighs in an attempt to secure yourself, moans coming out garbled with his cock down your throat.

“Not done with you yet, slut” Dabi still pounds into you relentlessly. You’re overwhelmed with the feeling of being stuffed from both ends, knees on the verge of giving out until he fastens his hands around your thighs, pulling you into him with even harder plunges. “Fucking take it.” Something hard and cold grinds inside you, and you’re acutely aware of the ridged piercings now pressing against that perfect, spongy spot in your heat.

When he reaches an arm around to rub furiously at your clit, you’re sobbing. Kiego’s deep, golden eyes watching you, Dabi’s unrelenting fingers and thrusts, it’s all too much.

And then you’re finally letting go. Legs shaking, mind wracked with white as you clench your eyes shut. Your mouth moves away from Kiego’s shaft, only concerned with riding out your high. The tattooed man behind you doesn’t stop his movements either, still pressed deep inside you until your tongue lolls out of your mouth and you’re tapping furiously at his waist. Kiego smiles, taking himself in his hand and slapping his cock against your cheek while he strokes himself.

“That’s it, baby,” he smooths your hair back, grunting. “You look so pretty when you cum.” He pumps himself a few more times before he finishes, sticky liquid spurting across your lips and into your hair. You reach around to grab at Dabi’s waist again, willing him to stop. He removes himself from inside of you only to flip you around and your cunt clenches at the feeling of emptiness.

Pulling you into a long, winded kiss, he swipes his tongue across your bottom lip to taste Kiego’s release. Then he’s pushing you to your knees once more, hands threading through your hair roughly.

“Suck,” he scowls down at you. Though you’re breathless, still reeling from your orgasm, the simple command spewed at you has your lips wrapped around him in a second.

He isn’t as girthy as Kiego, but just as long. A trail of piercings go down his length, and your tongue brushes against the cool metal while you wrap your fingers around the area you can’t reach. You stare up at him through thick lashes, piercing blue eyes ogling you as you take him further in. His hand is still perched on your head, but he makes no movement to push you down— instead, basking in your slow seduction.

You’re sure you look a mess, dried mascara down your cheeks and still covered in Kiego’s cum, but Dabi only revels in the power he has over you, positively thrilled at the way you no longer fight for dominance. He breaks eye contact only when the blonder man tugs him into a kiss, deep and passionate, and the sight only urges you to swallow him deeper.

“I like her with her mouth so full,” Kiego whispers against Dabi’s lips.

“Just as long as the bitch isn’t speaking,” the other man groans, rutting into your mouth so that you know he’s close.

Soon he’s pulling out of you to pump his shaft, your mouth wide open so that the head of his cock brushes against your tongue. Kiego reaches down to move Dabi’s hand, grabbing at his partner’s length so he can stroke it himself. It doesn’t take long after that for the brooding man to cum, head thrown back in a loud grunt while the tantalizing male next to him coaxes him through the orgasm. Kiego angles him so that his hot, white liquid gushes onto both your face and tongue; you suck at Dabi’s head until he forcibly pushes you off him.

“Fuck,” he sighs, running a hand through his sweaty locks. “Knew you were good for something.” With that final statement, he turns away from you, pulling his pants back on and returning to his spot on the couch as though he wants nothing more to do with you.

Kiego walks away as well, and you’re sure you’re about to be kicked out now that they’ve had their way with you. A part of you is angered, but a larger part is still processing what just happened, savoring the earth-shattering orgasm the pair blessed you with.

You look for your discarded clothing, trying to compose yourself so you’re able to get out of their way as quickly as possible. Kiego walks back into the common area, wet rag in hand. He doesn’t speak until he pushes you into the couch, rubbing the clean towel over your face softly.

“So, you’re coming to our concert next week, right?”

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

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ithebookhoarder · 4 years ago

Text

Man’s Best Friend (Javier Peña x GN!Reader)

Description: Living in Colombia, you’d come to expect the unexpected. That didn't mean, however, that Javi wasn't able to still surprise you from time to time. And finding a dog on your couch, next to a bleeding Javi? Well, yeah, that was a pretty big surprise.

Warnings: Swearing, reference to smoking, references to injuries, blood, references to violence, references to death. (Let me know if I missed anything)

Masterlist:

----------

“What is that?”

“A dog.”

“I can see it’s a dog, Javi!” you screeched, staring at the fluffy offender sat at your feet. “What’s it doing in our flat?”

Javi was rarely speechless, yet the way he went silent was almost incredible. Even for him. It was like he was too scared to even try and explain what the adorable animal was doing in your home, wagging their tail and gazing up at you with their big brown eyes.

Two brown eyed boys? Oh god. You were doomed.

“We … we can’t keep it. We can’t have a dog.”

“I know, I know,” Javi babbled, hands raised in defence. “But hear me out, ok? It was fate.”

“Fate?”

“Yes! I was chasing a suspect after a bust today, and as I was running down an alley, this dog came out of nowhere. Like, nowhere, hermosa, and it knocked me over-“

You tried not to laugh at the image that suddenly came to mind of your normally composed partner, legging it down the street in his aviators, only to face plant the floor after tripping over a dog. This dog too - an average sized furball of all things.

No wonder Steve had spent all afternoon laughing. It also explained the impressive gash on Javi’s forehead.

“-wait, is that why you’re bleeding?”

“-yes, but that’s not important.”

“Ooook.” You’d still be finding the first aid kit after this conversation, no matter what he said. “If you say so. Continue.”

Javi rolled his eyes, but did, reaching out to gently pat the top of the dog’s head.

“As I was saying… this dog tripped me, and I was initially ready to shoot it, but as I looked up, I saw the guy I was chasing run into the road only to get hit by a truck. A fucking truck, carino. A truck that would have hit me too if I’d been following but this dog… it saved me.”

As if able to understand the praise being heaped upon it, the dog yipped, grinning ear to ear in agreement. The fact it wagged its tail so fast you thought it was ready to take off, made the whole thing even more adorable.

“I mean, it saved my life, Y/N,” Javi explained, sounding more passionate than you’d ever heard him before. It was odd, considering this was the man who barely batted an eyelid at anything. Normally he would just sigh and smoke a cigarette, hiding his emotions behind his signature yellow aviators. “It was a divine miracle or some shit, but he saved me and I couldn’t just leave it on the street. Look at him. He’s all skin and bone. He saved one of America’s finest. Idiots have got medals for less, so a warm place to sleep is the least I can give him.”

Right.

Had Javi hit his head harder than he’d realised?

You could barely take it all in, let alone believe it. The story was almost too fantastical to believe. However, whether or not the story was exaggerated, one thing was clear and that was that Javi had almost been hurt. Or even killed.

You’d always known life down here working for the DEA was dangerous. Hell, you faced death every single day. But there was something harrowing about the idea that something as mundane as being hit by a truck had almost taken the life of the man in front of you… The man you loved.

Maybe it had been divine intervention, or maybe it had just been the most freaky and well timed coincidence of your lives. Still, Javi was right that you owed his life to this dog.

But taking it in? Keeping it?

It didn't help that the dog chose that moment to brush against your leg and glance up at you with shining brown eyes. He was all skin and bone, and it made your heart ache at the obvious neglect he’d suffered. Who knew how long he’d been out there on the streets, fending for himself.

Fuck. You couldn’t be heartless enough to kick him back out.

You groaned.

“Ok. I… I’m gonna need a second to get this all straight, Javi. I mean, this is insane, you realise that?” you whined, dropping onto the couch and burying your head in your hands.

Was he feeling that guilty about this? Was that why he wanted to keep it? A sense of obligation?

“When is anything in our lives not insane?”

“Oh, mi amor,” you began, sitting up a little straighter in your seat, almost the way a parent would when delivering bad news to their child. “We… we can’t have a dog, and trust me, I’d love one. I love dogs.”

You did and he knew it. As it was, you’d grown up with a large German Shepherd who’d been your best friend throughout your childhood. When he’d died a few years before, it had been like you’d lost a family member.

“So why not keep it?”

“Because we’re never here, Javi,” you scoffed, as if it should have been obvious. “We work insane hours and… and you saw what happened to Steve and Connie’s cat. I don’t want this dog to be at risk because we chose him.”

“After what happened with Steve’s cat there’s no way a Sicario would hurt our pet. They learned that a pet is still a DEA pet and we come through for our own,” Javi grinned, as if it was hilarious. Then again, that had been one of the most absurd moments of your careers down here.

“That still doesn’t change the fact we might be working late and can’t be home to feed it or take it for a walk-”

“Well,” Javi grinned, looking way too excited about this, as if he’d figured out where Escobar himself was hiding. His hands reached for yours as turned you to look at him. “You see, hermosa, I already talked to Louisa downstairs - the one with the two kids we see all the time going to school and stuff.”

“And?”

“And she saw me bringing this old boy here inside, and started telling me how her kids want a dog but it’s a big responsibility-“

You smirked. “It is.”

“-But one she would be happy to teach her kids about,” Javi grinned. “She said if we ever wanted it, they can feed him or watch him when we’re busy. She even said she’d walk it sometimes, when she gets back from work for lunch. That way they can practise without the responsibility of having him full time.”

Seriously? It was almost too good to be true. You loved Louisa and her two young bundles of joy known as the twins. Ten years old, the boys were sweet and would more than likely love the opportunity to spoil a dog rotten and play with them after school.

"I don't know," you sighed, lifting you eyes back to his. The fact the dog whined, pressing his head against your knee was almost as if he had rehearsed it. "Maybe?... Like you said... And maybe... I mean, if Louisa doesn’t mind helping out…”

A grin split across his face. "I love you. You won't have to do anything you don't want to."

"Won't I?" you mused with a half smile, half frown. You’d almost agree to keep the dog just for the pleasure of watching Javier Peña actually pick up dog poop. You would be taking photos for Steve to enjoy, that was for sure. "Let's just see how it goes first. Give it a week or so, and then we discuss this some more.”

“Thank you… you won’t regret it. I promise. Lucky and I already talked about behaving.”

“Lucky? You named it?”

Javi chuckled. “I thought it fit.”

It did, to be honest and… Oh shit. You knew you’d be in love with this dog before the week was even out.

“Welcome to the family, Lucky.”

#narcos #narcos imagine #narcos fanfic #narcos x reader #javier peña #Javier Pena #javier peña x reader #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #masterlist #ithebookhoarder #Pedro Pascal #steve murphy

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snelbz · 4 years ago

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Swipe Left {Rowaelin Fluff AU}

A/N: We’ve been writing some aaangsty shit lately, and we needed a break to get some fluff out. Enjoy!

As always, written along side the loml, @tacmc.

Attention, all passengers. All flights departing from Adarlan have been delayed, due to inclement weather. Please see the nearest information screen for more details.

Aelin dropped her head in her hands and groaned. She knew she should have taken the direct flight from Wendlyn to Terrasen, rather than booking the one with a layover in Adarlan. She knew she should have, but instead she decided to save a few bucks, and booked the cheaper flight, with the longer travel time.

And now Adarlan was experiencing some of the worst weather she’d ever seen.

As she looked around for an information board at her gate, a brilliant flash of lightning raced across the sky. The accompanying rumble of thunder shook the airport and Aelin begrudgingly accepted that grounding the flights may have been the right thing to do.

She sighed and pulled her phone out, noticing a text from Lysandra. She opened it, finding a picture of her feet shoved in the sand and a drink in her hands, with a text that read, Got my beach, got my beer. All I’m missing is you, bitch. What time do you get in?

She sighed and replied, Flights out of Adarlan we’re just grounded. No clue.

Her best friend’s response was short, sweet, and to the point:

Fuuuuuuuuck

Aelin laughed to herself, but closed out of her messages and began to peruse her social media apps, eventually opening Tinder.

She made a face, looking around the airport and thinking about how stupid it would be to thumb through her possible matches while in a another country. Especially one she wasn’t staying in for very long.

And then decided, why the hell not.

A blonde man who looked far too much like her cousin was the first that popped up.

No, definitely not.

Then a young man with striking blue eyes, raven black hair and a mischievous grin graced her screen. Mmm, maybe…, she thought to herself, scrolling down to read through his bio. Loves dogs, an avid reader, and-.

Nope, to the left he goes. A doctor.

Aelin wasn’t sure she could handle dating another doctor.

On and on she went, finding a flaw in nearly every profile she looked at.

Muscle head. Swipe.

Drinks too much. Swipe.

Doesn’t drink enough. Swipe.

Too old. Swipe.

Too young, she thought, swiping left at the photo of a teen in his high school basketball uniform. He’d definitely lied about his age to get on here.

And then she was pinned in place by the most striking pair of green eyes she’d ever seen.

And those cheek bones, by the wyrd, she was jealous.

She scrolled through his pictures, wondering if the silver hair was natural or if he had to dye it to keep it that shimmering hue.

Gods, he was gorgeous. She looked through his pictures again, every single one of them a candid, but couldn’t help but hear that little voice in the back of her head.

What’s the catch?

He’s definitely too good to be true.

Scrolling down, she decided to read through his bio.

Rowan, 28

11th grade history teacher by day.

Whiskey aficionado and trivia extraordinaire by night.

Aelin blinked at the short and sweet description the man had written for himself and after swiping through his pictures one more time, decided there was no way this guy was real.

She was sure that whoever this Rowan guy was, he may have been an eleventh grade history teacher, and he may have been kickass at trivia, but there was no way in hell he looked like that. No, she was sure that was just some poor, unsuspecting model, with the most kissable, gorgeous face she’d ever seen, who’d had pictures lifted from his personal Instagram. She even thought about trying to reverse image search the model to see if she could figure out who he was. If she did, it would only be fair of her to let him know.

But until then, she wasn’t exactly in the mood to be catfished...again.

She swiped left, sending him to the pile of men she’d rejected.

“Ouch, so that’s a hard no, then?”

The voice came from behind her and Aelin whirled, so fast that her blonde hair fanned out around her.

That hair. Those eyes. That damn bone structure.

Aelin blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

The man - Rowan, she realized - chuckled. “Can’t say it wasn’t entertaining watching you swipe left on the entire male population of Adarlan.” He smirked. “But after spending so long on mine, I thought you’d at least swipe right.”

Aelin was still stunned. “Fuck, you’re not a catfish?”

A silver brow arched and he chuckled again as he said, “No, definitely not a cat or a fish. All male.”

“So you teach teenagers?” She asked, gesturing to him. “So that’s your real job, even with a face like that?”

He asked, “A face like what?”

“You’re gorgeous,” Aelin said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, then she realized what she’d said. She covered her face with her hands, feeling her cheeks and the tips of her ears reddening.

But his grin only widened as his eyes narrowed, the most ridiculously handsome, smug look crossing over his face. “Do you judge everyone so harshly? What? I can’t be pretty and smart?”

Aelin’s hands slid off her face as she met his gaze, once again. “I never called you pretty.”

“But you called me gorgeous,” he countered, and at her scowl he breathed a laugh. “I’m Rowan.”

“I know,” she said, and held up her phone. “I cyber stalked you, remember?”

“Ah,” he said, leaning forward. “I can’t deny I did the same to you, Aelin.”

Oh, she liked the way her name sounded on his lips. His voice alone, that accent, had her toes curling.

“Did you swipe right?” She asked, slipping her phone in her back pocket.

Rowan smirked. “Guess you’ll never know, since you decided to swipe left.”

He adjusted the laptop case on his shoulder and winked, before walking over and sitting down at the closest plug, leaving Aelin staring.

————

How to unswipe left on tinder.

The question she typed in her browser mocked her and she sighed.

She picked at her unappetizing chicken - she thought it was chicken, at least - she’d picked up in the airport food court and looked around. The place was packed, travelers from everywhere stuck here until the storm passed. Almost every table was occupied, though she had gotten lucky and found one of the small ones by the wall. She was inclined to stay here until her flight finally departed, but she figured she could at least go to the bar until her flight and give someone else her table.

She was putting her trash on the tray, getting ready to get up when a head of silver hair sat down at the table across from her.

She blinked, watching his every movement as he plopped his tray down on the tabletop. He, unlike Aelin, went with burrito. After consuming her chicken...ish lunch, the burrito looked wonderful. She eyed it with envy.

“May I join you?” he asked, not bothering to wait for her to reply as he unwrapped the burrito from the foil and taking a bite.

Aelin opened her mouth to reply, but her lips snatched shut. She had already finished eating, was ready to go waste her time elsewhere. “I was headed to the bar.”

Rowan nodded, slowly, as he took another bite. He waited to swallow before asking, “So, first you swipe left, then you don’t want to eat with me? Apparently I need to take a hint. Then again...you did say I was gorgeous...so.”

Aelin was caught somewhere between wanting to run and hide, and wanting to jump his bones. The latter was more appealing, but the former felt easier, all things considering.

She pursed her lips. “Did you swipe, right?”

The gleam in his eye was wicked. “Have lunch with me.”

She exhaled through her nose. “Fine.”

Rowan raised an eyebrow. “Don’t act so excited about it.”

Aelin closed her eyes and sighed. She was being a bitch.

Well, she was a bitch, but she was letting her bitch show.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “You kind of...caught me on an off day.”

He looked around while he chewed,at their surroundings, at the people around them. “Yeah, I think we’re all having an off day.”

Aelin let Rowan eat, not asking him questions every few minutes, despite wanting to, though she did respond to his while he quietly ate.

He asked what she did for a living, she said she didn’t know because she was on the way home from graduating college. He asked what her degree was in, she said literature and English education.

He was balling up the aluminum foil and standing when he asked, “So you have a degree in education but you don’t know what you want to do for a living?”

They grabbed their various bags and carry-ons and she shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so.”

He said, obviously, “Have you thought about teaching?”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course, I have, but I have more passion for literature and English than I do for standing up in front of a classroom full of kids only to be disrespected and unappreciated.”

Rowan looked at her, thoughtfully. “I had the same fear when I began, once I got my degree. But, I fucking love history, and my kids, for the most part, are great. If you choose to become an educator...well, the vibe of your classroom is in your hands.”

Aelin’s eyes narrowed but she didn’t protest. “Come get a drink with me.”

Rowan arched a brow. “Is this a date?”

Aelin put a hand on her hip. “Did you swipe right?”

He tilted his head. “Let me buy you a drink.”

“You said you’d tell me if I had lunch with you,” she laughed.

“I didn’t, actually.” He was smirking and Aelin wanted to wipe it off his handsome face, in whatever way she could. “I just mentioned that you should eat with me after I asked and you chose to.”

Aelin opened her mouth to disagree but then snapped it closed. He was right. “You tricked me.” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

She stopped walking and he stopped and turned. She narrowed her eyes at him and said, “Tell me if you swiped right and I’ll have a drink with you.”

He smirked. “Deal.”

She crossed her arms, waiting.

Rowan just arched a brow. “Come on. I’ll tell you after the first drink.”

Aelin’s mouth fell open, but Rowan was walking away, down the terminal. Aelin wanted so desperately to grab him by the shoulders and shake him until he confessed, but she didn’t. Unable to control herself, she only walked after him, intrigued.

“What gate are you flying out of?” Rowan asked as she caught up to him.

She knew exactly which gate it was, but she wanted to see if she could make him squirm. “C.”

She kept her head straight, didn’t glance over at him as he looked at her. She just asked, “You?”

That half smile returned and she knew that he knew she was trying to mess with him. “C, as well.”

They got to the bar and sat down, being waited in quickly, despite the larger than normal crowd. Aelin ordered a jack and coke and Rowan a 7&7.

The bartender gave them their ID’s back and said, “Thank you, and happy birthday, Miss Galathynius.”

She cringed as Rowan turned to look at her. “It’s your birthday?”

She lifted her hands and gave a half-assed attempt at spirit fingers. “Surprise.”

He stared at her for a moment before he said, “You should’ve said something.”

“What’s the point?” she muttered.

Rowan blinked, still watching her through his side-eye. “What do you mean?”

Aelin snorted as their drinks were slid in front of them. “I was supposed to be celebrating my birthday at home, with my best friend on the beach; but, instead, I’m here, stuck at the airport. I don’t even remember the last time I’ve had an interesting birthday.”

Rowan nodded. “If it makes you feel any better, I spent my last birthday in the hospital.”

“What?” Aelin asked, sipping her drink. “How?”

“Horrible food poisoning,” he laughed. “I’ve never been that sick in my life.”

Aelin shook her head. “Maybe we can celebrate our birthdays together.”

Rowan chuckled. “My birthday was five months ago.”

Aelin took another drink and set her glass down. “And?” She shrugged. “It’s someone’s birthday everyday. Why not make it yours?”

Rowan eyed her for a moment, his lips teasing the edge of his glass. Then, he said, “Alright. Fine. Today is both of our birthdays, what should we do?”

“Raise hell, obviously,” Aelin answered, shrugging, as she took a sip from her glass.

Rowan only grinned. “And what does raising hell look like to Aelin Galathynius?”

She smirked, but a thunder clap drew her attention to the windows they sat across from, to the storm raging outside. A crease formed between her brows. “Definitely doesn’t look like an extended layover in Adarlan.”

Rowan watched her, wanting to brush back the hair that slipped from behind her ear. He turned to the bartender and said, “Two shots of Gentleman’s.”

Aelin’s eyebrows raised. “Well, that’s one way to wake hell up.”

The small glasses were set in front of them and Rowan said, “To raising hell, Miss Galathynius.”

Aelin rolled her eyes and threw the shot back.

The bourbon warmed her entire body and she shook her head, blowing out a sharp breath. Rowan was watching her, a small smile on his face. He paid up their tab and they made their way over to the information board by the bar entrance.

“Has yours been updated?” Rowan asked, scanning the flights.

Aelin found hers instantly. “No, still just delayed.”

He nodded. “Mine too.”

“So,” she began. “What’s next on the birthday agenda?”

An easy smile spread across his face as he said, “Presents.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Presents?”

They walked over to one of the small convenience stores tucked in between the Starbucks and the restrooms. “Since today isn’t actually my birthday, I don’t get anything. But you do.”

She looked at the glorified gas station snacks lined up in the fancy shelving. “Oh goodie, a Snickers bar and the latest issue of Erilea Weekly.”

“Is that what you want?” He asked.

She laughed. “Not really. I don’t need anything though.”

“Everyone needs something on their birthday.” Aelin glanced up at him and he was looking down at her.

You could kiss me, she thought. That would be a pretty good gift.

Instead she said, “Okay, then surprise me.”

Rowan’s smile grew. “Gladly.”

Rowan took a step and Aelin followed, but then he froze, and blinked. “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean what am I doing?” Aelin asked, taking a step back, confused.

But Rowan only arched a brow and grinned. “If I’m going to surprise you, you can’t see what I pick out. Go away.”

Aelin snorted but sighed. “Fine. My gate is C-17. I’ll be there when you’re done.”

Rowan’s smile was triumphant. “See you there.”

Aelin headed back to the gate, sitting by the window and watching the storms swirl around them. She felt her phone buzz in her pocket. It was Lysandra, but no picture accompanied her text this time.

How goes the long, boring wait?

She sighed. Long and boring. I have company though.

The text immediately showed “Read” and the grey typing bubbles reappeared.

Company? How?

Where? The airport?

Is he hot?

How did you meet?

Aelin smirked and typed back. I swiped left on him.

The bubbles reappeared and left and reappeared. I’m not following.

He’s gorgeous, so after hardcore staring at this face, I decided I didn’t want to get catfished.

So I swiped left.

And then I turned around and found him standing there, looking just as pretty as his pictures.

She hit send and waited, anticipating Lysandra’s next question.

What’s his name??

She laughed, knowing that Lysandra was probably driving Aedion insane with her commentary.

She replied, Rowan. And no, I don’t have a last name, but I think he’s flying into Orynth and he’s a history teacher.

The message sent and Aelin waited for her reply. The message was read, but nothing came in.

Twenty minutes later, when Lysandra hadn’t texted back and Rowan hadn’t shown, Aelin began to chew on the inside of her cheek.

She suddenly felt ridiculous. Most likely, Rowan had used it as an excuse to get rid of her. They were strangers, and nothing more. He wanted to get her a gift? Bullshit. He probably thought it was pathetic that she was spending her birthday alone in an airport and was getting a laugh out of the whole scenario.

Aelin rose to her feet with the intention of grabbing her bag and going to the ladies room just for something to do, but then she saw him coming toward her, a shopping bag in hand.

“Going somewhere?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

She dropped her purse back into the seat she’d been occupying. “Just to the ladies room.” She smiled sweetly, hoping he didn’t realize she’d been about to bail.

Granted, she thought he’d bailed on her.

He nodded. “Well, then, I’ll be here.”

He sat down in the spot next to the one she vacated and smiled at her.

Aelin began to walk away, but she turned and looked back at him. “By the way, you’re not, like, a serial killer that’s going to sell my organs on the black market, right?”

Rowan laughed, the sound rich and full and reminded Aelin of a bonfire on a crisp Autumn evening. “No, I’m not a serial killer and no, I won’t sell your organs on the black market.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Or the white market?”

He shook his head, chuckling, “How about this? I have no intention of causing you any bodily harm or removing your organs from where they already are.”

Aelin smiled and nodded, and continued into the bathroom. When she was washing her hands, her phone vibrated again and upon she pulling it from her pocket, she discovered why Lysandra had gone dark.

His name is Rowan Whitethorn. He’s twenty-eight, fit as fuck and looks like he could fuck you into a fit. He’s a teacher at Orynth Prep, where he’s also the coach of the varsity baseball team. His birthday is January seventh and he has a kitten named Snowball.

Aelin sighed and shook her head, laughing at her best friend.

You’re terrifying sometimes, you know that, right?

Her phone buzzed again.

Enjoy, bitch.

Then about twenty pictures flooded her inbox.

She had done a thorough job, Aelin had to admit. The few pictures she sent of Rowan shirtless certainly proved her “fit” comment. She didn’t feel the least bit shamed as she zoomed in on his washboard abs.

Aelin couldn’t help but stare, and gape, before she shoved her phone back into her pocket and went back out toward the gate, where Rowan was still sitting, scrolling through his phone. The second he sat her coming, his phone was put away.

“I was beginning to think you got lost,” he said, cocking his head to the side.

Aelin cleared her throat. “I- yes, I did.”

His eyes flicked to the bathroom, which was a direct line to where he was sitting.

She sat and tucked the loose hairs behind her ears. “So what’s my present?”

She smiled and he couldn’t fight the tugging on the corners of his own lips. He handed her the shopping bag. “Happy birthday, Aelin.”

She opened it up, first pulling out a stuffed teddy bear, that was red and gold, the colors of Adarlan’s flag. In the center of its stomach was a big gold heart. She laughed. “Cute.”

He shrugged as if to say, I know.

She reached in and pulled out a t-shirt that read I’d rather be spending my birthday on the beach, but I’m stuck with a hot piece of ass at the airport.

Aelin threw her head back and laughed. “Where did you find this?”

He was chuckling himself. “You can convince people to make anything for the right price.”

She shook her head and pulled the last item out of the bag. It was a glass shot glass. Aelin didn’t even read the text printed, because Rowan said, “I was hoping you’d take a shot on me and let me take you to dinner.”

Aelin stared at him, blinked, then howled. Rowan watched her as she laughed, heartily, his slow grin spreading.

Once she calmed down, she wiped at her eyes and said, “Well, I can’t say no to that, can I?”

Rowan’s eyes were soft as he said, “I was hoping not.”

Aelin put her gifts back in the bag and said, “Thank you, really. This was sweet.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, softly. “Is that a yes to dinner, then?”

She smiled, and took his hand, resting on his lap. “It’s a date.”

#rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin galythinius #rowaelin au #toab tacmc collab #tacmc toab tag team #throne of ashes and beauty x tacmc collab #shara writes #the shara tag

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mikaze-discord · 3 years ago

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Love letter project ♡

Sooo to celebrate the 4th anniversary of Shining live, I put together a project! I basically got a bunch of people to write a love letter for their favourite boy. Things like, why they like them, how they got to like them and what they like about them were all accepted!

The event was supposed to have 2 fans for each boy but unfortunately I was unable to get two for some of the boys.

Under the cut will be the love letters for all of Class A!!! Please enjoy~ And thank you for all the people who participated in the event and taking the time to write the love letters out.

CLASS A

OTOYA ITTOKI

From @ponzu-penzui:

Hello world! My nickname is Yuki, and I’m here to tell you about the sunshine boy that is Otoya Ittoki. The redhead of the series, Otoya is your seemingly a-typical sunshine in a mascot boy character. But, as we all know with these types, the sunshine isn’t as, well, sunshine as they seem. Or, if you didn’t know, well… spoiler alert I guess. Go watch the anime, or play the otome games, then come back here. Anyways, let’s get started on our journey, shall we? Through the rabbithole that got me here in the first place!

Otoya immediately became my best boy the second I saw him. I’m not quite sure what immediately got me at first, whether it be his red hair and eyes, his voice, or his immediate friendliness, but here we are. I should also mention that UtaPri was my first idol anime, so I was completely unaware what was going to hit me later. And, if you’ve watched the entire anime, you know where I’m going.

Season 4 was an emotional wreck. I cried at least twice. Did I have a newfound appreciation for Otoya after all that heartache? Definitely. Without spoilers, it was incredibly painful for me to watch, but I don’t regret it.

After watching the anime, I soon found out about the existence of Shining Live. So, with no other UtaPri content to binge, I started to play SL in late 2018. After playing for a little more than a year, I tiered in my first Otoya event (Heartwarming Snow Festival), and achieved my first top 200. Ever since then, I’ve tiered in every Otoya event, getting top 200, then top 100.

But, why do I like Otoya Ittoki even to this day? Well, I guess this is the time where I say that, after a certain point, I started to see bits of myself in Otoya. This led me to start to RP him, and, as you probably know if you’ve ever roleplayed a character before, I started to look at the miniscule amount of translated game content (many thanks to the Ohayaho Translation Team) for, well, more content. And content I did receive. Long story short, this only served to solidify Otoya as my favorite boy of not only UtaPri, but from all anime/manga/game content I’ve ever seen/watched. His cheerfulness may have been the first thing that got me in this rabbithole, but his backstory and how he managed to grow up pulled me in even further. And, I don’t think I will or want to get out anytime soon.

Next one from; Anon

As much as we all know our Otoya for how sweet and kind he is, there is so much more to him than just a precious smile. He is uplifting, cheerful towards everyone he meets. He has empathy and goes out of his way to make sure his friends are happy. Even so, Otoya has feelings that aren’t always happiness and smiles. He can feel sad and angry just like anyone else.

The reason I care and love Otoya so much is because he has shown me that I don’t have to always put on a smile. It’s nice to show off your pearly whites, but sometimes, it’s okay to be sad too. There are times in everyone’s life when they feel out of place and that they don’t belong. Otoya also felt this way and that’s perfectly okay. He’s still being the best idol he can be: The idol that Otoya loves the most.

MASATO HIJIRIKAWA

From Anon:

Masato Hijirikawa. Why do I like Masato Hijirikawa? I like him to the point that it feels weird for me to even question why I do. He's just- a good boy. A great boy. I love him. As a joke, I'd usually say that it was his weirdly pretty, bowl-cut hairstyle that drew me to him, or I'd say that he caught my interest when I read that he was "very good with his hands" (wink wonk) in his Shining Live description, and while both of these reasons are still true, it wasn't until I started role playing him in an old server that I really started to appreciate his character more.

Masato, despite his aloof and almost "perfect" initial image, is a very relatable character. When he first arrived at Saotome (in-game) he wasn't necessarily seen as someone with a lot of talent to become an idol, which he acknowledged with grace and worked hard to make up for. He's humble despite his privileged upbringing and is incredibly self-aware of his flaws, which are sources of insecurity for him sometimes (a lot of times). Though it should be said that most of this insecurity stems from not having a lot of control over his early life, which is why it felt so gratifying to see him break free of his metaphorical chains to pursue his happiness without any doubts. He's a hard worker and is willing to accept criticism with open arms, not only for himself but for the people around him. Despite his traditional upbringing and nature, he's very receptive to change as long as it benefits both him and STARISH. He values the people he cares about more than anything, which is why he constantly strives to be a better version of himself every day, not only for himself but for the people around him.

Though his stoicism sometimes makes him seem plain or even "boring" to some people, he hides a warm, hidden passion within that's just as bright as everyone else's. Like the springtime bloom of cherry blossoms after winter, Masato shows his passion and love with no restraint to anyone who takes the time to understand him, and I can very much attest to this. I love him a lot and I hope to see more content of him, STARISH, and the others for more years to come.

NATSUKI SHINOMIYA

From uh....me:

HELLO I’m Z~ also known as the mod of the mikaze-discord/utapri-hcs tumblrs, as well as the organiser for the event! But enough about myself, let's talk about Natsuki Shinomiya.

When I first watched the anime as a youngin, I had already known about the games and their plots but had decided to try out the anime as well since I had nothing better to do.

Natsuki was actually one of my least favourite characters in the anime just because of how they presented him. I just...didn't care for him at all. He was just some random tall guy who loved hugs and almost murder…. Yeah.

I’m sure like most, I had a changing point. Originally, I was a Tokiya rper but...I was just unhappy with how my Tokiya was, I wasn't as experienced in rping with that server being my first rp server i was ever in. I didn't feel like I matched up with the others. I felt my Tokiya was just lacking something, substance maybe. Another person actually had a similar feeling and had changed their character from Camus to Syo and since we already had an Ai, I had just decided to go with the flow and complete the rest of the cute team. Best decision of my life. I’m so grateful for Natsuki and everything I associate him with. Without him, I probably wouldn't have made my tumblrs, I wouldn't have stayed in that server, I wouldn't have gone looking for other servers to rp in. I don't think I would be the same without Natsuki. I just find him so endearing now, he is just a lovable giant who happens to be able to be a disney princess. He is just so darn cute damn it. , just look at his Christmas card, his King card, quite literally just half his Shining live URs. Also, just like his songs just slap. Natsuki to me, is just serotonin. He gave me so many opportunities that I could have missed. I don't even think I would have started this love letter project without him if I’m being completely honest. I genuinely enjoyed all the memories I made as Natsuki. Thank you to Natsuki and to the Mikaze-discord for basically starting me off.

From Luke:

Natsuki was actually the very first character I encountered before I got into utapri. A friend showed a photo of him and told me that I'd probably be into this guy. She sure was right! After installing shining live for the first time and having a familiar face on the screen, I grew curious of him each day and just had to find out why was so attracted to him. The fact that I've seen him so many times in the past was haunting me, telling me that this man actually watched me grow up from a distance without even knowing his name. It sounds weird but I find it rather comforting for someone who doesn't want to be protected but isn't strong enough to defend myself alone.

The thought of having him there was enough to get me through the day and gave me enough reason to wake up to the next. I admit I may have adapted some of his habits after looking after his account for a year but that isn't a bad thing if it means that it would turn me into a much better person than I am now. I guess you could say we've grown together now in a sense, preserving the feelings and just living through the moment no matter how happy or sad it is. What's important is that we're not alone in all things we do and in everything we feel, there will always be someone there to keep us moving when we feel like giving up.

#utapri #utanoprincesama #uta no prince sama #Natsuki Shinomiya #Shinomiya Natsuki #Masato Hijirikawa #hijirikawa masato #otoya ittoki #ittoki otoya

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raibebe · 4 years ago

Text

Soft core

Genre: Fluff(?) Words: 11,4 k holy shit this is insane Prompt: Jaehyun in his vampire bdsm outfit he wore in the Punch era but make it sfw Warnings: mentions of blood, brief mentions of member x member relationships, brief descriptions of a panic attack

A/N: This was written for Aimee who loves Jaehyun with her whole heart, happy birthday Aimee 💖 I hope you had an amazing day and like this little something. I know you deactivated but I already started writing this a month ago and I’ll post it anyways in the hope you’ll see this someday and a couple of others will enjoy this as well. I have mixed and matched their outfits and tattoos from both the concept photos and the live stages. Also I’m sorry Johnny, but you fit the role of the shameless flirt so well… Bonus points for anyone who spots all cameos. Special thanks to @burtonized who made me keep going with this and listened to all my complaints.

To say you were nervous before starting your first shift at your new job in a reasonably shady bar not too far from your apartment was an understatement. You seriously questioned your own sanity and why you had even applied for the job when you had seen the offer on the beat up wooden entrance door next to an old motorcycle license plate and a bright green neon sign that illuminated the word ‘open’ a couple of days ago. The blue haired man behind the bar had given you a questioning look after you had entered the bar because you couldn’t have looked any more out of place with your soft sweater between the old wooden interior and the leather the barman and a handful of customers were wearing. It had cost all of your courage and a reminder that you needed to find a job for the weekends to walk up to the bar to ask the barman about the job offer. He had asked you a couple of questions like whether you had already waited tables before, which you had (at a place that was lit far better than this one but how different would it be?). The man who had introduced himself as Kun and honestly seemed like a big softie on the inside despite his serious look (it had to be the intense eyebrows) had agreed to hire you on the spot because he had the offer up for a while and no one had come in to ask about it and he couldn’t keep bullying his apparently very chaotic roommates to keep covering the shifts on the busy weekends anymore.

That’s how you found yourself here, a couple of days later on a Friday night, staring at the wooden door yet again (now missing the job offer and not yet illuminated by the neon sign).You took a deep breath and pushed through the door of the bar, this time not looking as out of place as you had before, wearing black skinny jeans and a simple grey v-neck. Kun looked up from where he was wiping down the counter, shooting you a smile. Today he had styled his hair up, exposing his forehead and was wearing a black button up shirt with a bunch of white details that was missing quiet some buttons at the top. “You actually came,” he grinned, “You can put your jacket and bag into the back room.” He pointed to a door with the label ‘staff only’. “We’re opening in half an hour. I’ll introduce you to the others once they decide to arrive.” Nodding you rushed to put your stuff away. You were pleasantly surprised by how clean it was in the back. The beat up interior from the main room was nowhere to be found. So it really didn’t seem too bad if it was only shabby for aesthetic purposes.

After taking a couple of more deep breaths in front of the mirror in the staff room, you felt as prepared as you would ever be and emerged back into the main room of the bar. Next to Kun behind the counter was now another man, clad in the tightest pair of leather pants you had ever seen and a loose, see through black blouse, his long blonde hair tied back into a ponytail, showing off a variety of piercings in his ears that were reflecting the low light of the neon signs. When both men noticed you, the blonde flashed you a bright smile and quickly wiped his fingers on the towel he had used to dry some glasses and held it out for you to shake. “Hi, I’m Ten. Kun told me he had finally found someone willing to help us out on the weekends but he missed to tell me how cute you are. Don’t worry the customers are all nice and if anyone gives you any problems, weird stares or makes inappropriate comments, just tell me immediately and I’ll throw them out,” he introduced himself. You couldn’t help but giggle a bit at the image of this petite man throwing drunken men twice his size out of the bar. “Thank you,” you answered before introducing yourself as well. “Would you please wipe down the tables in the back?” Kun asked, handing you a cloth, “The other waiter should be here any minute, so he can walk you through the process.” “You’re all males working here?” You asked shyly while starting to wipe the tall round tables closest to the bar. “Honey, there’s not many woman brave enough to even set a foot in here even though about eighty percent of our regulars and hundred percent of our staff are big softies hiding behind leather jackets and tattoos,” Ten chirped, disappearing beneath the counter to check the tubes of the beer taps.

Speaking of the other staff, as if on queue the door slammed open to reveal a ridiculously tall man with the biggest brown eyes you had ever seen, his platinum hair swept back from his forehead, a huge grin plastered on his face. “Yooo, the poster with the job offer is gone, did you finally find someone?” The man all but shouted, excitedly bouncing up and down on his way to the bar, shucking off his leather jacket and carelessly throwing it on one of the bar stools to reveal toned arms and a strong chest straining his short sleeved black shirt. “Xuxi, indoor voice please,” Kun groaned, massaging his temples. “Oh sorry,” the other man - Xuxi - answered, flashing Kun big puppy eyes. “We did find someone, please don’t scare her off,” Ten answered Xuxi’s initial question, emerging back from under the counter, smashing the door shut, which caused Kun to groan again. “That thing has a handle for a reason,” he sighed. “It keeps opening itself back up otherwise,” the smaller man shrugged, leaning against the now spotless counter, a mischievous smile on his lips. “Wait, her?” Xuxi asked, eyes wide in either excitement or amazement, “As in she? A girl?” “Yes, hello,” you quietly introduced yourself, stepping out from the corner where you had been cleaning the tabletops.

“Wow, you’re so pretty,” Xuxi said instead of a proper introduction when you walked over to where the three men were standing. You could feel the heat rise to your cheeks, tinting them a rosy color. Sighing, Kun took the dirty cloth from you and rinsed it in the sink. “This is Xuxi, the other waiter for tonight. As you might have noticed he doesn’t have much of a filter, but i swear he is harmless.” “Just call me Lucas at work, it’s easier,” the man in question grinned, not even bothering to correct Kun and extended a hand for you to shake (needless to say because he was unnecessary tall, his huge hand could almost cover your whole fist). “I’ll teach you everything you need to know,” he beamed and even though he had just called you cute, he was definitely the cutest person currently in this room. “Thank you,” you murmured, a smile spreading on your lips because Xuxi’s grin was really infectious and you felt your anxiety disappearing.

In the remaining time before the bar would officially open, Xuxi taught you everything you needed to know. From their system and how you’d take the orders and which tables you would serve to special drinks that weren’t on the menu and what to do if any customers would give you trouble. “There’s probably not much to do for the first two hours or so”, Xuxi concluded, running a hand through his platinum blonde hair, making his muscles dance beneath his shirt, “Like that you can get used to it before it gets packed. Fridays are always busy and there’s a bunch of different people coming. Did any regulars call in before?” He asked the last question to the general direction of the bar. Flipping through a book next to the cash register, Ten nodded. “127 are coming in, they got that big table in the back but other than that, no one called.” “What’s 127?” You asked curiously because that was one of the tables you were supposed to serve. “They’re a group of guys our age, but I’m not really sure what exactly they are to be honest,” Xuxi laughed while fixing the belt that held his wallet before handing you your own one. “I think they are bikers,” Ten supplied, turning around to reorganizing the bottles behind the bar for the third time tonight, “At least some of them have bikes and they sure look the part. Have you seen Johnny’s new tattoo the other week, Xuxi? That must have hurt like hell.” “Yeah, I saw the post with his chestpiece on his Instagram. That man is ripped.” “Well, you’re one to talk,” you murmured under your breath, organizing the contents of the belt to your liking. Laughing out loud, Ten slapped Kun on the chest. “We need to keep her, I like her,” he giggled and Kun just shot you a slightly pained smile, rubbing where Ten’s hand had come down. “Oh come on, old man. I didn’t even hit that hard.” “Stop calling me old, I am literally just two months older than you,” Kun groaned, softly shaking a grinning Ten. Unbothered by the bickering of the two barmen, Xuxi called over from the door: “I’ll switch on the sign!”

Your anxiety came back at full force when the bar started to fill up one hour after it opened. Resisting the urge to hide behind the bar, you approached yet another group of shady looking men to take their orders. Like the other people you had served before, they gave you a weird look while looking up and down your frame once before asking if you were new here. You just nodded and smiled politely while writing down their orders before walking back to the bar where you took out one of the trays and put the note with the order on top so Ten or Kun could put the according drinks on top. “Here, have a little drink, the night is just beginning,” Ten grinned and pushed a glass into your hands before completing the order while somehow also dancing fluently to the music that was playing through the speakers now. You eyed the drink suspiciously, the deep orange color throwing you off a bit. “It’s not spiked, no need to worry,” Xuxi told you, suddenly appearing next to you, placing his own tray with empty glasses onto the counter, winking teasingly before grabbing a colorful bottle to pour a bunch of shots, so Ten and Kun could focus on the other, more complicated drinks on the orders. You drowned the sickly sweet drink quickly and put the glass next to the ones that needed to be rinsed. You mouthed Ten a ‘thank you’ when you picked up your order and he blew you an exaggerated kiss, making you giggle and feel a little more at ease. It was like he had known you were being nervous again.

After checking in with your other tables and earning a big tip from some truckers that actually had been really nice, you made your way back to the bar to help Kun with rinsing the glasses that had been piling up. “You remember those regulars that were coming in tonight?” the blue haired barman suddenly asked, “That’s them.” He nodded towards the door where a group of men were coming in. For a moment, your breath got caught in your throat because Ten hadn’t been wrong earlier when he said that those 127 guys looked like bikers. Honestly anyone of them could have been a model for the leather clothes they were wearing while standing in front of a Harley Davidson or thrashing something with a baseball bat. (Also was one of them wearing a metal harness beneath his leather vest?) “They’re all nice people, no need to worry,” Kun calmed you down, shooting you a reassuring smile before taking the beer glass from your hands that you had started to grip so hard, your knuckles were turning white. “How many are they?” You asked him curiously while eyeing the group as they made their way over to their designated table, greeting other regulars as well as Lucas (one of them was apparently just as incapable of having an indoor voice as him when he loudly yelled ‘Lucas’ before hugging the taller male tightly).

“Yooo, Johnny’s chestpiece looks even more sick in real life,” Lucas said with wide eyes when he came back to the bar. “Also he gave me 20 dollar so I would ask Haechan and Mark if they were even legal when they would order something alcoholic,” he grinned, “I’ll share if you do it.” “How am I supposed to know who to ask?” You asked because even though you were shy, 20 dollars were 20 dollars. “That’s the spirit,” Lucas grinned and threw an arm around your shoulders to turn you in the direction of the table where the men had sat down, not even trying to be subtle about it. “You see the one with the purple hair sitting next to the tall one with half his chest exposed? The purple haired one is Haechan and the tall one is Johnny. Mark is the one on the stool to the left, just ask Haechan for his age first, Mark will be the one to laugh the loudest,” he quickly explained. “You know them quite well,” you said, trying to fight the heat spreading across your cheeks because it didn’t happen any day that you were in such a close proximity to a handsome man like Lucas. “I went to school with Mark,” he shrugged, letting you go when Kun yelled that his order was ready.

Before walking up to their table you took another deep breath to calm your furiously beating heart, repeating in your head how no one had been mean to you yet and that all your coworkers kept on telling you how nice they were supposed to be. “Hi everyone,” you greeted them when you arrived at the table, “Have you already decided what you want to order?” Seeing the chaos that the group was already in, half of them probably didn’t even notice that you had arrived at the table. “Guys!” The pink haired man wearing the harness type thing scolded the others that were bickering in the back of the little booth on the couch. “I’m sorry, they usually behave better,” he smiled and his big eyes combined with his pink hair made him look like he came straight out of an animation. “I’m Taeyong by the way,” the pink haired man supplied, flashing you a genuine smile, “You’re new here, right? I haven’t seen you around before.” “Today is my first day,” you nodded, cheeks heating up under the gaze of the handsome man, nervously playing with your little notepad. “Let’s order, guys!” Taeyong said, the others slowly turning their attention towards you. How all of them were this handsome was beyond your imagination. Shyly you introduced yourself as their waiter for the night for the second time and asked for their orders. One after the other they either ordered plain beer or some really extraordinary cocktails that you had never heard of before. When the purple haired boy, Haechan, ordered his cocktail, you took a deep breath before putting on your best poker face. “Could I see your ID to check your age first?”

As soon as the words had left your lips, the whole table fell dead silent and the boy’s mouth dropped open in surprise. But before you could lose your courage to mutter an apology, the boy that had greeted Lucas loudly before, burst out in laughter, that the others minus Haechan quickly joined and even you couldn’t hold back the grin that spread over your face. “Now that I think about it, could I see yours as well?” You followed up and asked the dark haired boy with the infectious laugh, whose eyes immediately turned into saucers, his mouth wide open while the others couldn’t hold their laughs anymore, the purple haired boy joining in now. “I’m sorry,” you giggled, turning to the last man to order when they all had calmed down, using the napkins on the table to exaggeratedly wipe their tears. “What can I get you?” When the man with the dark hair that was elegantly swept back from his face turned towards you, you could swear that time stilled for a moment. His dark eyes that were accentuated with a bit of eyeshadow fixed yours and you were captivated, unable to look away. When your eyes dipped lower for a second you could see the black ink of a tattoo on the pale skin of his neck. He seemed familiar but you couldn’t quite tell why. Maybe you had seen him around on campus. But even then you should have been able to tell because that tattoo really wasn’t subtle at all. Briefly you were wondering if he could ever work a normal job with something like that. “I think I’ll just start with a beer as well,” he spoke softly, his voice a deep rumble, tearing you from your thoughts. After you had definitely stared at him for way too long than it would have been acceptable, you tore your gaze away from him, quickly scribbling down his order as well, repeating what you had written down for the others to confirm.

“Great, then I’ll be back in a bit with your drinks,” you smiled, after one of them had insisted that they should get a round of shots as well. “Can’t wait,” the tall one with the eagle tattoo on his chest said with a smirk on his lips, adding a cheesy wink that made you way more flustered than you would have liked. You quickly turned to hide your heated face, speed walking back over to the bar to put their order down. “Did you do it?” Lucas eagerly asked, bouncing up and down in excitement where he was helping to dry some glasses behind the counter. “Where’s my money?” You grinned, holding out your palm towards him. “Waaa, you really did it,” he grinned while bouncing up and down excitedly and you could barely hold in the urge to coo at him. He really did resemble an oversized puppy. You barely knew him for more than a couple of hours but he already had wiggled his way into your heart.

“Lucas, you didn’t tell us such a pretty girl would be serving us tonight,” a smooth male voice suddenly interrupted. When you turned around, the tall man from the 127 gang (Were they a gang? Did they do illegal stuff?) came walking up to the counter, leaning against the polished wood. “She’s new here, I didn’t know either,” Lucas pouted, already grabbing two shot glasses to put up on the bar top, putting the third one back down when you shook your head. You weren’t going to drink on your first day of work even though it seemed to be normal when you watched Lucas fill up the two glasses with a shady looking liquid from an unlabeled bottle he had grabbed from below the counter. Clinking their glasses together both men drowned their shots and while the tall biker didn’t even flinch, Lucas broke out into a whole body shiver, squeezing his eyes shut. “This stuff is really fucking disgusting,” he grimaced before refilling one of the shot glasses again, shoving it in front of the other man again, “I don’t know how Ten manages to make these concoctions.” Grinning, the man in question suddenly appeared and snatched the shot glass from below the other‘s fingers, drowning it himself. The blonde only grimaced a little. “I gotta say, I’ve made better stuff but also definitely worse. Lucas, we need a new keg of beer, can you please get one from the back, you’re so much stronger than I am,” Ten pouted, batting his lashes at Lucas and rubbing one of his hands over the other’s muscled arms. “Be nice to her,” Lucas told the man with the big tattoo on his chest and quickly disappeared to the back.

“I’m Johnny by the way,” he introduced himself, running a hand through his dark red hair. “So you’re the one who asked Lucas to embarrass your friends,” you remembered, your eyes getting caught on the intricate feathers of the eagle that spread its wings over Johnny’s broad chest. He smirked when your eyes came back up to meet his. “That would be me. You like the tattoo?” “It looks nice,” you mumbled, embarrassed at being caught staring, “It’s not something you see every day.” “I have some other ones that are pretty interesting as well,” he winked. “Su-Sure,” you stuttered, feeling your face heat up for what must have been the millionth time this night. “You’re cute,” Johnny laughed, the sound bright and inviting, his eyes turning into little crescents. “What did you come over for? Did I miss something on the order?” You tried to move the conversation in a direction you were a little (a lot) more comfortable with. “I just thought I could put my muscles to use and help you carry our drinks, we ordered quite a lot. Also I still owe you money for pulling that prank on Mark and Haechan. Even though their faces were priceless.” “How old are they anyways?” You asked him because you didn’t actually ended up looking at their IDs and Haechan especially did seem quite young. Digging out his worn out wallet, Johnny fished out a twenty dollar bill and teasingly held it up between two fingers. “They’re both of age, don’t worry, they just have baby faces.”

Snatching the bill from his hands, you quickly stuffed it in your pocket. “Thank you,” you grinned, relieved that it really had just been a prank between friends. “How old are you then?” You heard yourself asking after you had glanced at the tray that Ten had been filling up, but a couple of glasses were still missing. The weird cocktails seemed to take quite some time to make (Why there was celery swimming in what looked like tomato juice was a mystery to you). “Let’s pretend I’m in my early twenties,” Johnny grinned, his long fingers playing with the cherries that were stuck to the rim of one of the cocktail glasses. “Pretend?” You were confused. He couldn’t be much older than you were. “It’s improper for old men like me to flirt with such pretty young girls after all,” he winked and stuck out his tongue. “You… You can’t be much older than me though,” you argued, trying to fight your shyness back down. But your furiously beating heart was betraying you. Luckily he couldn’t notice that from his place where he was still leaning against the counter, the long line of his body perfectly shown off; his legs seemed almost endlessly long in the heavy leather pants. Chuckling, he raked his eyes across your body in a similar way you must have seconds ago but you felt like you were burning up wherever he was looking. Within the blink of an eye he was in your personal space, crowding you against the bar. “I’m 25,” he breathed, “How long do you have to work today, honey?”

Before you could even think of an answer, Johnny was shoved backwards by another man dressed completely in black. You recognized him as one of the men from Johnny’s gang, the one with the neck tattoo that had seemed weirdly familiar to you. “Leave her alone, Johnny,” he drawled, his voice barely more than a growl, “There’s someone waiting for you outside.” After a moment of heavy eye contact between the two males, Johnny scoffed and threw you another smile. “See you later, darling,” he chirped before turning towards the exit. “I’m sorry if he made you uncomfortable, he doesn’t know when to stop sometimes,” the handsome man spoke, his voice still deep but way less threatening. “It’s… It’s fine you wouldn’t have needed to step in like that,” you reassured him, “But thank you.” “Yeah, I don’t know, something just didn’t sit right with me when he crowded you like that. Especially when you’re new to this type of environment, it’s pretty different from your usual job.” “My usual job?” You asked, clearly confused, “Do we know each other?” “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you had recognized me,” the man’s eyes widened in surprise and he averted his gaze as if he was embarrassed. “I’m Jaehyun. You know, the dude who keeps killing his plants.” Now it was your turn to be surprised. “No way. You look so different.” “It’s the clothes, right?” Jaehyun was rubbing the intricate lines of ink on his neck, looking up from between his dark lashes, smiling shyly and now that his dimples were almost showing, you did finally recognize him.

He was somewhat of a regular customer at the flower shop you worked in during the week to help out the old lady who owned the shop, always coming in to buy new plants when he had managed to kill yet another one. Now in the heavy leather jacket with more buckles and straps than you could count, he looked so different than when he came to the shop, his dark hair fluffy so his bangs almost covered his eyes and wearing soft sweaters and jeans. You also somehow had never noticed the big tattoo that stretched around his neck.

You could remember the first time he came into the shop very vividly. It was just after your break that you had spent lazing around in the backyard of the shop in front of the little greenhouse, letting the sun shine onto your face, just basking in the moment for a bit, letting all your worries about money or upcoming exams melt away. The job at the little flower job didn’t pay very well because people these days bought less and less flowers and the old lady couldn’t afford to pay more but you couldn’t just leave her alone in the shop. You really enjoyed her presence and learning about the language of flowers and how to bind pretty bouquets. When the distant chirping of the old cuckoo clock in the shop announced the end of your break, you got up from your place and put your apron back on, so you wouldn’t accidentally dirty your clothes. You came back into the shop just in time to see the big load of new plants that was being delivered. Two boys were unloading a colorful truck while continuously bickering in what seemed to be Chinese about where to put the plants in the shop and on the sidewalk outside so people could still walk past. “Urgh, this sucks why did we let us get talked into helping out?” The one with green hair sighed after they had put the last plant down, handing the old lady the papers she had to sign that the shipment had arrived at her place. She chuckled while handing the papers back. “I’ve made some iced tea, have a little break, boys,” she smiled her kind, wrinkled smile at them, taking them to the little kitchen area in the back to pour each one of them a glass even though the smaller of them had declined her offer at least ten times while his green haired friend gladly took her invitation.

Smiling you reassured the old lady that you would rearrange the flowers and plants so you could fit them all into the shop and the small greenhouse in the back. Maybe her grandson would come in later to help you move the heavier plants. He always came to the shop to laze around without having his parents scold him and his grandmother could never say no to his charming smile that made any girl his age swoon. He had recently dyed his hair a soft pinkish shade and had been hanging around the shop a lot more because his parents weren’t quite fond of his style choices. You gently stroked the leaves of the little pink rose bushes (that had kind of reminded you of the boy in the first place) that seemed rather thirsty to you, making a mental note to water them lots after you had arranged them.

While rearranging the cut roses so you could fit the new bushes in between them, the little bell on the door rang, announcing the arrival of a customer. “I’ll be right over,” you said, detangling yourself from the bush you had tried to fit in the display window. “No need to hurry,” the customer answered with a deep voice. It wasn’t often that men visited your store. And most times they just wanted a quick, expensive looking bouquet to either impress a girl or to apologize to their wife. Putting on your best customer friendly smile, you walked over to where the man was eyeing some cherry tree bonsais, his broad back turned towards you. “How can I help you?” When the man turned around, he immediately politely smiled at you, making your heart beat pick up just a little. He was definitely attractive, you couldn’t deny that. His dark hair was unstyled and hung into his eyes a bit, covering his strong eyebrows that every girl would be envious over. He seemed young, about your age. The pale blue hoodie and the fluffy hair made him seem very soft and gentle despite his strong jawline and prominent cheekbones. “Well I’ve moved into a new space and it looks a little empty, so I thought some plants might be the way to fix that,” he explained, fiddling with the hem of his slightly oversized hoodie. “That’s a great idea,” you beamed, trying to seem reassuring since he seemed rather nervous, “Do you have anything special in mind?” “No, I really don’t but those roses you just put in the display window look very pretty, it’s what made me come in,” he said, motioning to where you had been fighting with the roses earlier. “Roses need a lot of attention though,” you warned him, walking over to where you had tucked the little bushes into a corner. “I have a lot of time and like a good challenge,” he answered, a grin tugging at his lips, a set of dimples just barely showing, “You’re bleeding by the way.” He added, gently touching your hand. Startled, you jerked away, heat licking at your cheeks. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he quickly apologized, “But you should bandage that or it might get infected if something gets into the wound.” “Don’t worry, it’s not even that deep,” you concluded after examining the small cut on the back of your hand where you had lost the battle with one of the thorns. You quickly shot the man another smile that you hoped was reassuring.

“So do any of those roses look good to you?” “The pale orange ones look nice.” You couldn’t hold back a small giggle. “What’s so funny?” He asked, his beautiful brows drawn together in confusion. “The color is called peach,” you still giggled, grabbing the pot to show him the petals in the sunlight. “Well it is orange though,” he shrugged. “Men and colors,” you sighed dramatically but couldn’t help the smile spreading on your lips, “You like them and want to try caring for them?” “Yeah, let’s try it. Anything I should look out for?” While walking up to the cash register and ringing him up, you briefly explained how to take care of the roses the best.

“I hope they brighten up your room a bit,” you smiled when he had paid. “The visit sure brightened up my day,” he replied smiling widely, the set of cute dimples reappearing on his cheeks. Before you could overcome your sudden shyness to reply anything, he had already wished you a good day and disappeared from the shop.

After his visit, the man had crept back into your mind a couple of times. Every time you watered the little twin of the rose bush he had bought, it somehow reminded you of his sweet dimpled smile and his deep, soothing voice. You always scolded yourself when you noticed how you were spacing out, in fact watering the floor instead of the little rose bushes how you were supposed to. (You had been made fun of by a certain pink haired boy one too many times lately.) Your boss had just smiled knowingly and pressed a little bouquet with beautiful yellow Chrysanthemums in the middle, when you had closed up the shop, making your face heat up and furiously deny everything. But like always, the old lady knew you probably better than you knew yourself.

The second time the handsome stranger had visited the shop, he had been wearing a white turtle neck and a simple denim jacket, his hair pushed back with a dark blue hat. “Hello again,” he greeted you, gently smiling when he walked up to the counter where you were currently binding a bouquet with a couple of big purple hyacinths, “I’ll have a little look around. No need to hurry that.” Even though you tried to concentrate on arranging the flowers in the bouquet and picking smaller flowers that would look good with the big center piece, you kept glancing over to the man who was sniffing different flowers, quietly sneezing when he inhaled too deeply.

“Those are really pretty,” he said after he had not so subtly watched you work for a while from his place between the brightly colored geraniums while walking up to the counter. “The man who commissioned them paid a lot of money for them to look pretty,” you smiled, gently tucking smaller white flowers all around the big purple ones in the middle. “Does it mean anything? I’ve never seen this kind of flower,” he asked, seeming genuinely interested. “You’re interested in the language of flowers?” You asked, securely tying the bouquet together, placing them in a vase for the time being. “What languages would flowers speak?” The man asked, sounding genuinely confused. For a moment you could just stare at him, his dark brown eyes widened and his mouth slightly ajar, before you burst out in a fit of giggles. “Hey! What’s so funny?” He asked, trying to sound offended but he couldn’t fight the smile that spread across his lips. “They don’t speak any language, silly. The different types of flowers mean different things. I don’t know all of it but the owner of the shop has been teaching me some of it,” you explained to him. “Ooh, that makes a lot more sense,” he nodded, “What do those mean then?” “They’re hyacinths. The man told me he needed to apologize to his girlfriend. The purple ones stand for sorrow. I doubt she will notice though.” “Probably not,” he chuckled. “What did the rose mean I bought last time? The peach one?” “I’m not quite sure, I’ll ask my boss when she’s back. What brings you back here?” “Well,” he scratched the back of his head and averted his eyes, “I need a new plant, the rose was kind of a lot more work than I thought it was.”

“Oh no.” You felt genuinely sad. You kind of had expected it not to go well but this was honestly a lot faster than you could have imagined. “I should have listened to you when you told me that they were a lot, I’m sorry,” he apologized, “But I really want to try to keep a plant alive. She looked really good for the time she was alive.” “She?” “Well I gave her a name.” You giggled again. “That’s really cute.” “Not as cute as you though.” It was suddenly so silent in the shop, the only noise the soft buzzing sound coming from the air-conditioning. You stared into the man’s eyes, expecting a his face to heat up in a similar fashion yours was, to see a blush creep up his face or his ears, but his face stayed perfectly pale, not a single blotch of color visible. But he had to be embarrassed as well if the way he was chewing on his lips was any sign. “I’m sorry, that just slipped,” he mumbled. “I… Shouldn’t you at least tell me your name before you start complimenting me like that?” You stuttered when you found your voice again. “Jaehyun,” he supplied, still awkwardly shuffling around, “It’s Jaehyun.” “Alright Jaehyun, let’s find you a new plant that’s not as easy to kill.

From that day onward Jaehyun came to the shop somewhat regularly, either announcing the death of yet another plant or telling you how they were on the brink of death and he didn’t know how it happened or what to do to save them. You were really close to either tell him to stick to bouquets or cacti but when you were being honest, you enjoyed his little visits. He’d stay longer and longer every time, telling you little stories about how he suspected that his roommates were secretly killing all the plants. In turn you told him about your boring life between your classes and your job. And sometimes you even taught him about the language of flowers while he was watching you put together a bouquet for yet another desperate boyfriend.

One visit in particular had stuck with you for some reason. Your whole day had just been bad: One of your professors had caught you slacking off in class and called you out in front of everyone, then at lunch a guy had run into you, making you drop half your food on the floor and then it had started to rain on your way to work. And if that wasn’t enough, the old lady hadn’t been feeling well because of the sudden change in weather and you had sent her off into her apartment that was above the shop, so she could rest. So now you were just alone in the shop, watching the people outside hurry past the shop with their umbrellas. When it was raining even less people were coming into the shop because you couldn’t put any plants outside that often lured people in. Sighing, you continued with the inventory that you had started out of boredom. Of course you also hadn’t brought any useful books, so you could have studied a little.

You must have been deep in thought, moping about how much this day sucked, that you didn’t hear the little bell on the door ringing. So when someone touched your arm to get your attention, you of course were startled and let out a small scream before you lost your balance on the stepladder that you had used to count the spare pots on a higher shelf. And if that wasn’t enough, you also pushed one of said pots down as well. But before you could even brace yourself for the fall, a strong arm had wrapped around you, saving you from crashing down onto the floor and possibly cracking your head open. When you opened your eyes, that you had screwed shut, you saw straight into Jaehyun’s deep brown eyes that were full of concern. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he spoke softly and you could feel how his voice rumbled in his chest from how close he was holding you to his body. “It’s alright, it’s my fault anyways. I wasn’t paying attention,” you sighed, slowly realizing in what kind of situation you and Jaehyun were in right now. His face was so close to yours that you could almost count every single one of his long, dark eyelashes. You could even see the faintest little blush spreading over his cheeks and your own face immediately felt hot as well.

Jaehyun just smiled and released you from his grip, gently setting the pot he somehow had managed to catch with his other hand back onto the shelf. He really must have incredible reflexes and obviously the most charming smile you had ever seen. “Don’t blame yourself, you don’t look too good today,” he spoke softly. “Wow thanks,” you sarcastically said, sighing theatrically while running your hands through your hair in an attempt to smooth it out, but probably messing it up further than it already was. “Hard day?” You snorted. Hard was an understatement. It sucked. But a little voice in the back of your head whispered that now that Jaehyun had come to visit you in the shop, it would get better. “You look like you could use a hug,” he smiled and opened his arms invitingly.

Before you could even think twice about it, you wound your arms around his middle and squeezed him tightly, burying your face in the soft fabric of his cardigan that he wore over one of his many turtlenecks. Chuckling, he grabbed the fabric and stretched it around you, so you were basically wrapped up in it against his chest, before wrapping you up in his strong arms. You were drowning in his by now familiar scent and the way his chest steadily rose and fell with his breath made all stress from your body slowly dissolve. “If you keep holding me like this I will cry,” you mumbled, trying to untangle yourself from him. “I don’t mind, you know? Sometimes you just have to cry to let all the stress out,” he assured you, rubbing soothing circles on your back. “Don’t say that, I will ugly cry in your shirt,” you hiccupped, “I barely know you.” “Oh I think you know me a lot better than a lot of people,” he smiled, “It’s an old shirt anyways.” “Liar, I’ve never seen you wear this before.” “You’re keeping track?” He chuckled. “That’s not what I meant by that,” you mumbled, feeling shy suddenly because how could you not keep track when he just effortlessly looked infuriatingly good every time he walked into the shop.

“You feeling better now?” Jaehyun gently asked after you two had fallen silent, just basking in each other’s presence. He gently tilted your head back from where you had buried it in his neck, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah,” you breathed, captivated by him. You had never noticed the tiny mole he had on one of his cheeks but you found it really endearing. “Good,” he smiled, “I brought you coffee from the shop next door.” He motioned to the two cups he had placed on the counter next to the cash register. “You have a heart of gold Jaehyun,” you confessed, a smile slowly spreading on your lips and your heartbeat picking up. You kept the thought that he probably would also make the perfect boyfriend, to yourself. Not that it would matter, you were sure he didn’t see you like that. He just played it off, laughing awkwardly like he always did when he was embarrassed. (Coming to think of it, you really seemed to know him better than you had initially thought.) “Let’s drink it before it gets cold and you can tell me more about your day,” he offered and slowly loosened his arms around you. “Can you tell me about yours instead?” You asked with a small voice. “I’d rather forget all of this stupid day before you walked in here.” “Of course, darling,” he breathed. Your heart skipped a beat before doubling its pace when the pet name rolled of his tongue just like that. Maybe there was just the slightest little chance, he might consider you more than just the friend that worked in the flower shop that he had to visit to get advice on how to not kill his plants. Smiling you loosened your grip on him as well and you two sat down on the counter, dangling your legs and sipping the slightly cold coffee while you listened to Jaehyun ramble about the mess that were his flatmates. Until this day you hadn’t figured out how many people he actually lived with but you couldn’t help but smile at the little stories he told you. And even when he stopped talking, you just enjoyed the silence while watching the people outside. And maybe it was just your imagination but the umbrellas outside seemed just a little brighter with your head resting on Jaehyun’s broad shoulder.

“I’ve never noticed your whole tattoo thing that’s going on,” you said, motioning around your own neck when you came back from your fond memories of Jaehyun. “Yeah, I try to not let it show as much usually,” he replied, almost nervously playing with the collar of his leather jacket. “Did it hurt a lot when you got it?” “Yeah, the skin is kind of tender around your neck,” he answered, his gaze not meeting your eyes but fixating a point right behind you. “You get that question a lot don’t you?” you gently asked, fingers itching to reach out to touch him. “Yeah, it’s all people talk about when they see it,” he shrugged, “I’m used to it by now.” “Oh, I’m sorry,” you quickly apologized. “It’s fine,” Jaehyun reassured you, gently grazing his fingers over your exposed forearm, making goose bumps break out over your skin. “Yes, it did hurt. No I don’t regret it. Yes I probably can’t work a normal job if I’m not wearing a turtleneck. No, I didn’t get it in prison. It was done in a perfectly sanitary tattoo shop by a professional artist. No, I’m not a criminal”, he quickly addressed every typical question he apparently got about the tattoo in a single breath, a smile spreading on his lips, making his dimples appear and your heart beat faster.

“Glad to know I haven’t been talking to a criminal over the past few weeks even though you did kill an unholy amount of plants,” you giggled, checking again if the order was ready only to find Ten engrossed in a conversation with a group of young men that were sitting at the bar, his work forgotten. “Well I guess I am guilty of that,” Jaehyun pouted and it was weirdly endearing seeing him act playful like that with his dark and intimidating clothing. “So you’re not a criminal but a biker?” “Is that what you think our group is?” He asked, tilting his head to the side. “That’s what everyone told me at least. And you do look the part.” “A couple of us do have bikes, but I don’t think that justifies the title. We’re just a,” he bit his tongue for a bit, “We’re just friends. Friends who like to dress in a lot of leather and black clothing.”

It seemed to be a somewhat touchy subject so you decided to not push any further. “You don’t need to explain it to me,” you smiled reassuringly, quickly squeezing his cold hand. “Jaehyun, stop flirting with my best waitress,” Kun teased, adding the little shot glasses to the second tray that completed the order. “I wasn’t flirting, I-“ but Jaehyun didn’t complete his apology when Kun shot him a knowing look and your face heated up on his behalf because Jaehyun didn’t blush like ever. “Stop making excuses and help her carry all this back to the table,” the barman grinned, returning to his work by pulling Ten back by the hairs on his neck from where he was still talking to the handsome customers sitting at the bar. “I would appreciate some help, that’s what Johnny came over for as well,” you tried to push past the awkwardness. “Like hell he was,” Jaehyun grumbled, grabbing the one of the trays maybe a tad too forceful than he needed to, the drinks almost spilling over. “Don’t be angry with him, he was being nice,” you consoled him, gently petting his leather clad arm (wasn’t he warm in that thick jacket?). “I saw just how nice he was being,” he sighed, rolling his shoulders, “He’s such a goddamn flirt.” “Nothing happened Jaehyun,” you tried one last time, looking into his dark eyes, getting lost in the seemingly bottomless obsidian.

Only the thud of the heavy entrance door made you snap out of it and you quickly turned to grab the second tray. You hadn’t even noticed how you had gravitated towards Jaehyun, it was like his eyes had hypnotized you. “Need another pair of helping hands?” A familiar voice asked and Johnny strode over towards you two again, now with an energetic bounce in his step, his red lips curved into a smile. “We’ve got it,” Jaehyun answered, scrunching his nose as if he had smelled something bad before taking a deep breath. “Don’t wait too long, Jaehyun,” the taller said, his tone suddenly stern and his brows furrowed. “I can handle it, Johnny,” Jaehyun gritted out, shoving past the taller man to make his way over to the table where their friends were still waiting for their drinks. Sighing, you followed him back to the table. It was weird how different he was behaving with his friends around. You had never expected to meet him in any place outside of your job at the flower shop and much less in a place like this. The soft man who liked to wear denim jackets seemed to be buried beneath the heavy leather jacket.

“Here’s your drinks,” you smiled when you put the tray down to distribute the drinks. “You’re not drinking with us?” A blonde man with a scratch in his eyebrow asked when everyone had picked up their shot glasses. “It’s my first day, I don’t think it’s a good idea,” you politely declined his offer. “I’m sure Ten and Kun won’t mind,” he grinned, lifting up his own glass to hand it over to you. “She said no, didn’t you hear, Yuta?” Jaehyun growled and shot his friend a dark look. Unfazed by his behavior, the blonde - Yuta - shrugged his shoulders before drowning his shot himself, not grimacing in the slightest even though the liquid had a questionable amount of alcohol in it, judging by the numbers that had been printed on the label. “But I’m sure we can treat you to something else,” he spoke, before shifting in his seat so his poorly buttoned sleeveless shirt fell open even further, revealing smooth skin that stretched over lean muscles and a promise of something metal hidden beneath. “I-“, you stuttered. What were you supposed to reply to something like that? “You’re shameless,” one of his dark haired friends chuckled, a silver chain glistening in the light when he shook his head. “It’s called confidence,” Yuta defeated himself. “Still shameless,” another one agreed, a grin on his face. “He hasn’t had a good lay in a while, don’t mind him,” Taeyong cut in, shooting you a reassuring smile. “Certainly not because I didn’t had any offers, I’m just picky,” Yuta tried to defend himself, looking scandalized. You just giggled when the other’s started picking on him. You noticed that Jaehyun didn’t join in but his posture was more relaxed than it had been before. You really wanted to thank him for defending your choice to not drink but now didn’t seem appropriate. Silently you collected the now empty shot glasses and picked the trays back up. “I’ll be back to check in with you later then,” you smiled before walking back to the counter after checking in with a couple of other tables.

The rest of the night went down in a blur safe for the one occasion where the slender Ten indeed threw out one of the customers that couldn’t hold his liquor anymore and had fallen when he had tried to walk over to the bar to order more because Lucas had already refused to bring him any more drinks. The times when you had checked in on the 127 table, Yuta had still flirted with you only to be either shot down by Jaehyun or Taeyong. You had also noticed that over the course of the night one or two of them would always leave the bar for a couple of minutes before coming back inside with a new energy and a faint blush on their cheeks. You didn’t know what they did out there but you really hoped they didn’t do drugs or anything like that. They didn’t seem as intoxicated as the other customers no matter how much they ordered. If anything Mark was getting giggly after he had come back inside but that was pretty much everything. They all must have incredible tolerance for alcohol.

When the night died down and more and more customers were leaving, Kun waved you over to tell you that you had been a great help and he would be more than happy to see you again tomorrow for your next shift. You had beamed at him and promised to do your best. “I’m sure you will. Thank you for today, I think Lucas and I can handle the remaining customers,” he told you. “What’s with Ten?” You asked. You hadn’t seen him in a while. Kun just sighed and motioned to the 127 table where Ten comfortably sat on Johnny’s lap, the taller carding through the blonde’s hair that he had freed from the little ponytail. “Are they a thing?” You were confused. Johnny hadn’t been subtle about his flirting earlier. “No one really knows,” Kun groaned, suddenly seeming very irritated, “It’s been happening more lately but last week he went home with Taeyong as far as I remember.” “Oh…” “Don’t think about it too much. I want to say that he knows what he’s doing but that would mean that he’s actually using his brain.” Somehow you thought that he sounded sad. “Just tell Ten that you like him, Kun,” Lucas groaned, running a hand through his by now messy platinum hair. “I don’t like him,” the elder gritted out, violently cleaning glasses and slamming them onto a rack to dry. “Sure and I’ve never thought about making out with any of your roommates,” Lucas teased him. “You have what?” “Never mind I said that,” Lucas mumbled, his ears turning red, before he made a beeline to one of his tables.

You chuckled quietly. “I think he’s fond of you as well,” you softly spoke after Kun had thrown another longing look at Ten who was busy admiring the eagle tattoo on Johnny’s chest. “You don’t need to console me, but I appreciate it,” he smiled but it didn’t quiet reach his eyes, “I came to accept him how he is.” “You should at least try to shoot you shout though, don’t you think?” You tried again, stepping closer to the barman to help him clean the last glasses. He sighed deeply. “I’ve known Ten for too long now, I know he won’t suddenly become monogamous just because I tell him that I might not dislike him as much as I sometimes say.” “You can never know for sure, people do crazy stuff because of love,” a deep voice joined the conversation and Jaehyun sat down on the barstool in front of Kun and you, throwing you a quick smile. “He’s right,” you smiled, briefly squeezing Kun’s hand. “If I say that I’ll think about it, will you leave it alone for now?” You eagerly nodded, looking up at Jaehyun to see if he was doing the same. Instead a smirk played on his lips. “If you give me my drinks for free, I’ll even tell Johnny to not take Ten home tonight,” he grinned, holding up his card between two fingers. “You’re paying for everyone?” Kun just gritted out, snatching the card from the other’s fingers. Jaehyun’s grin widened before he nodded. “Isn’t that going to be a lot of money?” You asked worriedly. You had never asked but assumed Jaehyun must be a student like you, so paying the whole bill for nine men (well eight if Kun was giving Jaehyun his own drinks for free) was a lot. “I lost at rock paper scissors,” he shrugged, “Are you done with your shift?”

“She is,” Kun cut in, smacking the credit card back onto the bartop, “Tell Johnny to send him home, I’m not feeding his cats again because they’re screaming for food.” “Sure. That’s the only reason,” Jaehyun joked, pocketing his card with a grin. Kun didn’t answer, instead leaving you two alone to wipe some empty tables. “Are you going home alone?” “It’s not far from here,” you reassured the dark haired man. “I’ll walk you. You shouldn’t go alone this late.” “Only if it’s not a bother for you…” “Keeping you safe is never a bother for me,” he smiled, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and you barely suppressed a shiver from how cold his hands were against your heated face. “I’ll tell the other’s not to wait for me and will wait outside for you,” he softly spoke before turning to walk out the door where his friends apparently had already left.

You quickly gathered your things and sorted out your tips from the rest of the money, putting everything back into the place that Lucas had shown you before disappearing into the staff room to stuff the money into your designated tip jar, so Lucas and you could share your tips with Ten and Kun. While you were quickly trying to fix your hair in the small mirror a very grumpy looking Ten joined you, groaning loudly. You had to suppress your smile. Jaehyun really had convinced Johnny to not take Ten home. “Men are trash, honey,” the blonde suddenly spoke, “Don’t fall for any of them.” “Did you get dumped?” You tried to act like you didn’t exactly knew what must have happened. “Can’t get dumped if you aren’t dating,” Ten chirped, smoothing out a wrinkle in his silky blouse, “But something similar.” “I’m sorry.” “No need to be darling, I’ll just annoy Kun a little more, maybe he’ll actually pop a vein these days,” he giggled mischievously. “Be nice to him, he seems like an actual sweetheart,” you said while slipping on your jacket and picking up your bag. “He is, darling. But where’s the fun in that?” Ten held the door open for you and followed you back to the main room. “Be safe on your way home.” “Jaehyun is waiting outside for me,” you admitted, suddenly feeling shy under Ten’s intense gaze. “So that’s why Johnny wouldn’t take me with him,” he grinned. “No, no that’s not it. He just offered to walk me home,” you stuttered to explain yourself. It wasn’t like what Ten thought it was, right? Oh god. Not that Jaehyun was expecting anything now. He just had asked to walk you home though. Was it a code word for something you didn’t know? “I’m sure he only has the most noble motives,” the barkeeper snickered, “Go, don’t let prince charming wait for too long.” With that he waved you off, walking over to where Kun was wiping a table to drape his body over the other’s back, probably complaining about being dumped. But Kun didn’t seem to mind a whole lot, judging by the smile that tugged on the corners of his lips.

After you had barely escaped Xuxi’s suffocating goodbye hug, you stepped outside into the cold night, taking a deep breath. It was quiet for a Friday night but that might have just been the time. Worried you looked around when you couldn’t see Jaehyun’s broad figure anywhere. Did he ditch you? That didn’t seem like him. Curious you looked into the little ally beside the bar where the dumpsters were. At first you couldn’t make out anything in the dark but when your eyes had adjusted, you could make out a figure, no two, in the dark. One of them was wearing a familiar leather jacket with way too many buckles and straps to be convenient. The man was clinging to the second, unmoving figure and the whole scene made Goosebumps break out all over your body.

“J-Jaehyun?” you stuttered, your bag falling from your shoulder, landing on the concrete with a soft thud. As if he was electrocuted, the man with the dark clothes shoved the limp body he was holding onto just a second ago away from him, but no sound left the other man’s lips, nor did his facial expression change in any way. “I can explain this,” Jaehyun said, his lips a deep red and smeared with what seemed to be blood and eyes wide, tinted a bright crimson. You felt a shiver run down your spine, the scream that had been stuck in your throat threatening to spill now. But before it could rip free, a palm was pressed over your lips and your body collided with Jaehyun’s solid frame. “Please don’t scream,” he whispered in your ear which made all the hairs on your neck stand up. What was happening? Why was there blood on Jaehyun? Has his eyes changed color? How did he get across to you within the blink of an eye? What was with the other person? In a panic, your eyes scanned the alleyway and another muffled scream ripped from your throat when you saw that the man was still unmoving even though he was bleeding from a wound in his neck. “Please,” Jaehyun begged, his voice sounding strained, “Let me explain this, don’t hate me.” Being pressed so close to him, you couldn’t help but notice that his chest wasn’t moving in the slightest like it should if he was breathing. What was happening? Panic began to rise inside you and you felt like you were suffocating, your lungs not getting enough oxygen with Jaehyun’s palm pressed over your mouth. Panicking, you grabbed his wrist and let your nails dig into his skin, but the skin didn’t break. Desperate, you tried to get more air into your lungs, meeting his eyes in a silent plea. “Please don’t scream,” Jaehyun repeated firmly before he slowly freed your mouth, but kept holding you close.

You heaved a couple of heavy breaths, feeling the panic slowly disappear but your heart kept beating furiously, the adrenaline coursing through your veins making you dizzy. “Let me take care of this and I’ll explain everything, I promise,” Jaehyun spoke once your breathing had somewhat evened out. “I’ll release you now, don’t run away.” Your voice was still lost somewhere, so you just nodded. After confirming with a nod himself, he slowly uncurled from you and walked over to the other man who was still in a daze, staring straight ahead. “You will walk home now and not remember anything that happened from the moment you saw me approach you,” Jaehyun spoke to him, looking into his eyes intensely and if your own eyes weren’t playing a trick on you, Jaehyun’s eyes had turned a bright crimson color. He leaned into the other man again where his neck was still bleeding and when the man turned to leave and walk away, the area was clean. Instead Jaehyun’s lips were smeared with blood that he quickly wiped into his shirt. “What the fuck, Jaehyun?” You whispered, your voice sounding raw as if you hadn’t spoken in hours.

“I can explain this,” he repeated again, turning his palms towards you in surrender when he walked back over. “How can you explain this? You- That- That man was straight up hypnotized and behaved like an actual puppet. And that blood. This is crazy. I’m dreaming. That’s it right? Or someone must have slipped me something in the bar and I’m tripping right now. Because this looks an awful lot like you just sucked that guy’s blood like you’re a vampire and that’s crazy. Vampires aren’t real. And I’ve seen you walk around in the middle of the day. But then again, your hands are always cold and I couldn’t even scratch you with my nails and you have mad reflexes,” you started to spiral, the words just falling from your lips. “Hey, take a breath. A deep breath, here,” Jaehyun softly spoke, gently taking your hands and pressing the palms on his chest, taking a deep breath himself. Even though you tried to breathe with him to calm down, you couldn’t help but notice that his fingers weren’t as cold as they had been before and that you couldn’t feel his heartbeat despite the fact that your palm was sitting right over his heart, just separated by his thin black shirt from the skin. “You… You don’t have a heartbeat,” you whispered, your eyes searching his that were a perfectly normal deep brown shade now while you pressed your palms down on his chest harder. “I don’t,” he spoke carefully, scanning your features for any changes, “I haven’t had one for a while.” “You aren’t breathing right now.” “I don’t need to. I keep forgetting.” “You… You’re forgetting to breathe?” “I usually do when I’m around humans but sometimes I forget.” “You say that as if you’re not…” You couldn’t finish the sentence, it was too absurd. “As if I’m not human myself? I’m not. Not anymore.” “Then what are you?” “You’ve said it before, I’m a vampire,” he confessed.

“A vampire…” You repeated dumbfounded. It made sense, everything was adding up but this couldn’t be the explanation. Vampires were just made up. “And the others are too, they’re my coven. That’s why I didn’t want Johnny to talk to you.” “Would he have..?” Your eyes widened and one of your hands flew to your neck, covering where your pulse was fluttering beneath the skin. “I’m not going to hurt you, I could never,” Jaehyun whispered when he saw the fear in your eyes, gently cupping your face as if to prove his point. “I like you way too much to hurt you. And I won’t let anyone of the others even lay a finger on you.” Your eyes immediately flew to his lips that were still stained red when he leaned in even closer so you would be able to feel his breath mingling with yours if he was breathing. “I really want to kiss you right now, is that stupid?” The vampire whispered. “Don’t hurt me,” you whispered back, letting your eyes fall shut. “I could never,” he breathed before brushing his lips against yours in a chaste kiss that send sparks through your whole body. When Jaehyun felt you relax against him, your fingers uncurling from his shirt, he kissed you again, firmer this time, wrapping his arms tight around you as if he was afraid that you would disappear.

When you felt your head start to get light, you gently tapped his strong chest and he immediately retreated, looking at you with a worried expression. “One of us still needs to breathe,” you giggled breathless. “I’m sorry,” he smiled, carding his fingers through your hair, just watching you breathe for a moment, losing himself in your eyes.

“I have another secret to tell you,” Jaehyun broke the silence, his dimpled smile lighting up his face. “I don’t think you can shock me anymore,” you smiled back. “I didn’t actually kill any of the plants I bought. I just needed to have a reason to keep seeing you. Our house looks like a jungle.” You couldn’t stop giggling, leaning into his (not moving) chest that rumbled with his low chuckle. “You’re cute,” you smiled, snaking your arms around his waist below his jacket, somehow not even missing the warmth that bodies usually gave off. “Shut up,” he chuckled, wrapping you up in a tight hug. “You want to know something else?” You whispered into his chest after a while. The vampire just hummed, gently swaying you. “I looked up what the rose meant that you bought when you first came into the shop… You wanna know what it stands for?” Jaehyun hummed again. “It stands for immortality.” This time it was Jaehyun who was laughing, holding your body tighter to steady himself.

#jaehyun #jung jaehyun #jaehyun fluff #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun imagines #nct #nct 127 #jaehyun fic #nct scenarious #nct imagines #nct fluff

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cyclesprefectpress · 3 years ago

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[image description: a proof of a font of handset type for letterpress printing, displaying every letter, symbol, and special character in the font. it's called "Sixteenth Century Roman," 24 pt., and is a rough-edged serif font with a deliberately worn look. end description.]

hello hello i am return from a deep dive into several reference materials that assumed a little bit more knowledge about how Medieval Latin works than i actually have, but, it was all exTREMEly inch resting to me. i am absolutely not a historian but here we are, a speedrun of my pinballing around trying to ensure that I know what the fuck im storing in my type corridor:

so 16th Cent. Roman, i already knew, was a font Paul Duensing designed based on this incomplete set of old Italian punches he acquired (punches, the first step of old school typecasting, where you carve the relief letter shape into the end of a stick of steel, and you uuuh punch that into the copper matrix, which is then the negative mould-shape you use to cast multiple copies of the lead sorts with hot metal; surviving punches are precious artifacts not the least because they are. they’re hand-carved!! often by the type designer themselves. historical and also wildly cool craftsmanship). these punches were all beat up and probably water damaged, fucky and rough-edged, so he re-did and filled in the gaps in the alphabet with similarly styled letters of his own. very cool. an extremely nerdy lil passion project of a typecaster in the 1960s, very typical of type people. we all find a Thing to obsess over, and sometimes it's reviving an incomplete set of punches from the 1500s that you found in, idk, it's usually a bucket in somebody's basement.

anyway it's got a bunch of ligatures and the long s, sure sure sure, but WHAT are all these gibberish characters with tildas and lines thru the stems of ps and qs and such—

Duensing's full font is in Mac McGrew's specimen book, great, i have that, except McGrew's book has complete proofs and a little bit of history for each font but doesn't always cover what each symbol in a unique alphabet is for, and i knew just enough about Latin to guess that they were abbreviations but not what each of them stood for. a little bit of searching got me this far, which is to say, "Abbreviation in Medieval Latin Paleography," a translation of an Italian essay on the subject from 1929. It is prefaced by the translators with gems like: "Take a foreign language, write it in an unfamiliar script, abbreviating every third word, and you have the compound puzzle that is the medieval Latin manuscript." Scribes writing in medieval Latin just tossed out letters they didn't care to deal with, constantly, and had stand-in special characters and abbreviations for syllables/words/particles and there were intuitive rules but way too many variations in time and place and person to make a reasonably-sized, static lexicon. amazing. hope all u paleographers are having fun over there.

the essay has a great big glossary of truncations and abbreviations and so on which clearly cover most of the figures in Duensing's font:

[image description: screenshots of the essay, with various symbols and the Latin syllables they abbreviated. an m with a bar over it, ex., stood in for men or mun. end description.]

ok! BUT this q with a little swoop off the end kept bugging me!! for all these dead-use symbols this essay is using handwritten samples, obviously, and there's clearly variation in execution and also typographers take liberties, and i just thought, sure my piece of type looks a lot like the quod here but it does link the staff to the swoop where the handwritten sample doesn't, and it could just as well be a fanciful ligature for qn which apparently can stand in for quando, and i have no idea which is a more common-use syllable likely to be cast in the font if you're only going to pick your top 14, and i just like to be sure about things.

SO. i went to double-check with Johnson’s Typographia. Johnson made like a thousand pages of printing manuals set in tiny tiny type in the 1820s which are rad as hell and tell you all sorts of things about how to run a shop and build your own press and cast type and going rates for work and employment and also, the alphabets/type case layout for whatever language or symbol set you might have to set type in, when handsetting type was mostly the only way to get stuff printed—English, Arabic, Chinese, Hebrew, musical notation, astronomical signs, aaaand it’s got a section for "Marks & characters used in the Domesday Book & other ancient records.”

[image description: a photo of a page of the manual, with similar but not always identical symbols for abbreviated use. many of these abbreviations are described as "a Domesday contraction." end description.]

and WHAT is a Domesday contraction, WELL, it's a contraction specifically from/prevalent in the Domesday book, a deeply boring and historically important tome about property distribution in England. It’s literally a survey. who owned what, in 1086. presumably mind-numbing. enormous, handwritten in Medieval Latin, EXTREMELY cool, go look at some images of it at least, very important to historians, economists, linguists, and a complete pain in the ass to set in type when that technology became available, having to cast any significant proportion of these variant characters in an alphabet. Johnson says, (in 1824) “It is an improvement of latter years only*, to have type cast to resemble the abbreviations used in the more ancient manuscripts; they being formerly rudely imitated, either from a common fount, or else were cut in wood for the purposes of any particular work.” wow that sucks. but in 1773 the government really wanted to be able to reproduce the Domesday Book in type, so a couple people tried to cut a set of punches for Domesday abbreviations and Joseph Jackson got it done and it only took 10 years to print an edited version of the manuscript. and then apparently all the type was destroyed in a fire in 1808. WOW that sucks.

but the point is, Johnson has a great big glossary of characters as they were translated into type in the making of the printed Domesday Book, and the Domesday punches were used or refrenced in the printing of other medieval latin works, which consequences a degree of standardization in the abbreviations used in those versions of the text that handwritten manuscripts never had or needed.

notably the Domesday quod looks even more different from my piece of type here which was pretty annoying, so what are the chances this thing is a quando, and anyway that's when my sister texted me back with better computer skills and a different search engine and found me a perfect match on the first try. it’s a quod. this National Diet Library digital exhibition has several different sample fonts, both black letter and roman, with quite consistent letter forms, if not choices about which abbreviations to bother casting.

*I don’t……exactly know what he means by this, since Gutenberg and contemporaries absolutely did cast many Medieval Latin abbreviations for their fonts nearly 400 years before this. His dismissal of “from a common fount” might be fair, since i think what he means by it is that you’d have a generic set of abbreviation characters which you would have to use in conjunction with whatever font was the main body of your text, and it’s messy to mix things that weren’t designed specifically to match. he may just mean that it’s new for his contemporary foundries to be casting all these expanded alphabets of abbreviations; Gutenberg didn’t have foundries to buy from and made his own type. he could include as many characters as he had the patience for. maybe Johnson is just a guy from the 1800s that didn’t have the internet and i shouldn’t jump down his throat for not knowing something. idk!! i have homework.

anyway that was my Friday!! feel free to correct me and/or suggest further reading if early typecasting is your Thing or. again. you just have better googling than me.

#letterpress #letterpress printing #handset type #lead type #typography #long post #:(( sorry #omitted: Johnson's scathing opinions on Almanacks and the people who read them #and ask you to typeset them #'''''the credulity of the vulgar''''''' alRIGHT bud #i guess if he was willing to set that whole paragraph in 8 pt.#or pay for it #it was at least an opinion he believed in very strongly.

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marshmallowgoop · 3 years ago

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I recently read that there was apparently an epidemic of bootleg copies of the FUNimation S.A.V.E. editions of the Case Closed seasonal sets, so I got curious about mine, and, well, I’m pretty sure I got boots.

Sadly, I did actually have some concerns that they weren’t legit, but I figured that Detective Conan fared so poorly in the States that the American DVDs wouldn’t be worth counterfeiting—guess I stand corrected! I’m super bummed and embarrassed, especially because I’ve made several comparison posts using screenshots from DVDs that aren’t the real deal.

Right now I am working on replacing the phonies with FUNimation’s original art box releases (which I kind of thought of getting anyway because I’m a total sucker for collection boxes and am interested in the extra extras), but these only cover up to the end of Season 3. So, to collect all 123 episodes that FUNimation licensed (or 130 with the international numbering), I will have to pick up some of the seasonal releases for Seasons 4 and 5—choosing from the original release, the Viridian Collection, or the S.A.V.E. volumes.

And a part of me wants to get genuine S.A.V.E. copies so that I can compare to the fakes, but I have no idea how to tell. All the listings I’ve seen appear to be pretty identical to mine. Is every copy on the aftermarket a phony? It’s maybe a longshot, but if anyone has legit S.A.V.E. volumes, I’d love to know what they look like! I just don’t think I can tell a fake from photos right now.

But for anyone else concerned about counterfeit DVDs and Blu-rays, I did learn a lot about discerning bootlegs in analyzing the crap out of my Case Closed S.A.V.E. copies. One super easy way to tell that what you’ve got isn’t official is to pop the DVD or Blu-ray into your computer and open MakeMKV. You’ll quickly get information about the disc—and most importantly, whether or not it has copy protection:

[Image description: A screenshot of MakeMKV’s information regarding my copy of FUNimation’s Case Closed S.A.V.E. Season 4, Disc 4. Under the “Protection” category, there is nothing listed. End image description.]

Now, I’m not an expert, and I guess maybe it’s possible for a commercially released disc to not have copy protection, but at least concerning Case Closed, I severely doubt it. Every other Case Closed DVD I have is copy protected:

[Image descriptions: Screenshots of MakeMKV’s information regarding my copies of the six Case Closed films that FUNimation released. Each disc is protected by CSS/CPPM. End image descriptions.]

So, why wouldn’t the S.A.V.E. ones be protected? I can only conclude that I got boots.

(Note that I’ve also heard it argued that counterfeits will likely be single-layer DVDs while official ones will be double layer. This is certainly applicable to my Case Closed DVDs. However, my Japanese Detective Conan DVDs all seem to be single layer, but I’m pretty sure they’re legit because they’re copy protected (and also really old rental copies with stickers that cost basically nothing, which doesn’t seem like a bootleggy kind of thing to do?))

[Image description: A screenshot of MakeMKV’s information regarding my copy of Part 5, Volume 5 of the Japanese Detective Conan DVDs. While it is only a single layer, it is protected by CSS/CPPM. End image description.]

(But I’m really not an expert in this, so I’d love to know more if anyone has better information!)

All that said, maybe it’s too little, too late, but I do intend to edit all my comparison posts with genuine DVD footage once I have it. It doesn’t seem like what I had is too far off, given that the quality is very close to what I got from my legit Japanese DVDs, but I’m wondering if all the differences I pointed out were simply because I had a boot. Guess I’ll see!

And, while it’s of course way too late for me to get my S.A.V.E. copies refunded or anything of the sort, I do hope that this helps other folks looking to get the old FUNimation releases (or any other DVD/Blu-ray). Be careful out there!

#detective conan #case closed #ramblings #long post #psa #i would say 'shut up goop' but maybe i shouldn't shut up because this might be helpful?#i'm so so embarrassed and bummed #i bought those copies 'cause i didn't want to sail the seas #but sailing the seas would have been much better than giving the bootleggers my money #i know better now but still sad #it's ironic because i purposefully avoided ebay out of fear of boots but the stuff i *did* get on ebay is what's legit....#anyway i hope this helps other folks!

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ducknotinarow · 11 months ago

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2k12 Mikey Don - #

send me “#” for cell phone headcanons about our muses including:

"Aw come on again? I dunno know, feel like Donnie would find me giving my phone over for this to be a pretty obviously bad way to get my information taken or something like that? Since he's always going on about internet safety and such. Then again he was sort of a jerk to me the other day?" The turtle purses his beak and takes a moment to think it over "Alright you can look!"

- what your muse’s name is in mine’s phone

⚗️"Dee🥼 "

"Yeah nothing to special there I guess but just one of his nicknames we all use here and there. Don, Donnie, Dee. Ya know nothing to out there really I did add some sciencey looking emojis though! I thought about the goggles too since Donnie wears goggles hmm maybe I should swap it for the goggles now instead?" Mikey offers with a tilt of his head :I bet if Don could he would ear the full get up? Maybe I can find him an old lab coat?" Mikey attention shifts away with the the thought.

- what your muse’s picture is in mine’s phone

[image description] it's clearly taken from the pit in the lair, Donnie's on the couch with a tub of popcorn for once out to join the rest of them for some TV time. They look decently happy wearing a pair of socks on their feet because they were complain about being cold. His attention is off to the side because he was in the middle of explaining that to Raphael. You can also slightly just see the corner of Leo's elbow on Don's other side. It was a photo he took of his three eldest brothers all getting ready to sit down and relax for a night in. Just the four them for once at that. Sure Raph was being Raph, grumpy and such. Leo was ready to step in and get all bossy as he does. Well Mikey was trying to run the reigns for the night. But Donnie? looked content and happy. Even with the rough patch it was just a normal moment for the four of them. Donnie didn't seem annoyed by Raph he was smiling that soft little look. Mikey just liked it so he snap the shot and crop each of their faces for their own contacts.

"Ya know? for the longest time all my photos for Donnie tend to have him in his lab. Sometimes yelling for me to get out. Sometimes it's him in the middle of something he's working on. Cause I guess despite knowing Don all my life? I kind of only saw him as the guy with all the answers. The one who can fix everything. And yeah I still do think that way of him but then? he got real sick and mean and stupid. But we all do that stuff mean Raph 'quites' the team least once a month all the time but he always come back after a few days. I guess I kind of forget Donnie's well not just those things? And I dunno I think its a nice photo to use for him to remember that. Even when hes kind of a jerk with the whole online friends stuff I know he's just worried about me. Like how he smiling here seeming happy to be surrounded by us?" Mikey smiles and shrugs his shoulders "You think 15 years of only living and knowing each other we be better at this stuff but I guess we sorta got used to nothing changing we forget those little things? Like sometimes we need 'breaks' and just be allowed to exist and I think Don is the worst about it so it's nice when he lets himself just be with us."

- what your muse’s ringtone is in mine’s phone

Gold by SHADED What’s it gonna take to fill the void again? Am I doing this all wrong? And will I ever be enough to see the rough and clear it up Until you’re not just giving up? Oh, you lighten up my soul

"Donnie might seem like a jerk and full of himself cause hes smart and junk. But I mean he is really smart course he. But think Donnie prides himself too much into it, yeah he got an ego but that ain't what I mean. Donnie relies on being the smart one ya know? He feel he has to fix everything but he always fixes everything so it makes sense he does think that way? Honestly I think the reason Splinter don't harp too much when he slips is cause well no one can be harder on Don then Don already is on himself. And I dunno think it just makes him thing bad things about himself."

- my muse’s last text to your muse

[text] Who closes the bus door after the bus driver gets off the bus?

[text] is it the s or the c that is silent in scent?

[text] Why do they call them fingers? I've never seen them fing.

[text] How far west can you go before you start heading east

[text] Can you hold your breath till you pass out? I can :D

-----

[text] you get to pick for movie night this week!

[text] plz don't make us watch something smart though, my brain don't wanna think tonight Dee

-----

[text] DEE!!!

[text] Don!!!

[text] Donnie!

[text] DEDE!!!

[text] Donatello!!!

[text] I'm sorry please let me back in to the lab!!!

----

[text] I'm making pizza run got bonus coupon deals we can have anything toppings we want!

-----

[text] Imma steal Von! I think she like to take my very important zine quizzes with Angel.

#muse| hamato michelangelo #madamkezzie #aflockoffeathers #[ the brains of this operation -aflockoffeathers]#ic rpely #phone contact meme #meme answers #stay queued #((in general I kind of do just feel it s a nice song for 12 donnie XD and It might be weird choice but its cause mikey isn't taking it #romantically XD he just thinks it fits Donnie uwu))#((Mikey ofc perfers face to face interaction BUT i feel he would be the type to text Donnie any random question he has and then ask him if #he got his text messages later when he seems him out of the lab pfft))

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xfandomwritingsx · 4 years ago

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His Girl – Steve Rogers – Part 2

-gif source-

Description: You’ve always been Bucky’s girl. But Bucky’s not here anymore…

Warnings/Labels: Angst. Daddy kink. Dirty talk. A bit of a Dom!Steve. A pinch of sexting. Masturbation. Smut. Minor choking kink. Unprotected Sex.

Approx. Word Count: 8,500

A/N: 10 months later here I am! Jesus, this wasn't supposed to take this long. Sorry guys!

Part One

---

You’ve retreated to your apartment for the week, finding comfort in your cozy little place as your last assignment ended. You light a few of your favorite scented candles, fill the bath with water that is probably a little too hot, load it with bubble bath, and pour yourself your favorite drink in the fanciest glass you have. It’s a much needed and overdue relaxation. The hot water does wonders for the tension in your shoulders and the atmosphere you set puts you at peace.

You’ve been soaking for nearly twenty minutes when your phone pings annoyingly on the floor next to you. You toy with the idea of just flipping it off, but you still haven’t been able to shake that habit drilled into you that forces you to, at the very least, check your phone in case it’s an emergency.

Emergency, it is not, but seeing Steve’s name pop up in the little text notification bubble makes you smile with excitement. Texting is still not his favorite form of communication, but he partakes with you and you can never leave him without a response. You swipe to read his message.

Chicago’s settled for now. It’s funny how much it feels like “old times” around here.

Steve left for Chicago a couple of days ago. With most the city population dissolved into ash, criminal activity skyrocketed and two groups had been going the direction of starting war with each other. It was extremely reminiscent of the days of mobsters and mafia running cities which is what you assume he’s referring to. You type out a quick, light-hearted reply.

Think Al Capone would have survived the snap?

You let your arm hang over the edge of the tub, keeping your phone in your hand in anticipation of his next text. You have your drink in your other hand and take a sip from it. When your phone vibrates, you put the glass down onto the little floating drink holder bobbing in your lap.

Who knows. How’s your night going?

You type a couple of replies, deleting them all as they all seem too wordy, too much. He didn’t need to know your dinner was underwhelming or that the cheap dryer hadn’t dried your pajamas all the way. As you try again, you silently thank the creator of the PopSocket for all but completely removing your fear of dropping your phone in the tub.

Could be better. Finally relaxing now.

You don’t even close out of the text window or put your phone to sleep. You simply watch as the ellipses appear on your screen almost instantly as he types back to you.

What are you doing?

You chew on your lower lip, debating if you really want to act on the idea that runs through your head. You take a larger gulp of your drink before throwing away your hesitation. You sweep your arm over the surface of the water to gather all of the remaining bubbles to your chest in order to cover your breasts for the picture you snap a moment later.

Your damp hair is tied up at the back of your head in a mess of a bun, cheeks and collar pink from the heat, and no trace of makeup on your skin. You’ve also been soaking long enough that the bubbles have turned mostly to a thin foam on the surface of the water, barely concealing your body beneath it. The candle flames give a dark, suggestive aura to the photo and you can’t help but be pleased with how it turned out as you hit send with a brief caption.

What about you?

His reply is slower this time, the lack of ellipses making you wonder if he didn’t appreciate the photo as you hoped. When your phone turns black, changing into rest mode due to lack of activity, your heart starts beating a little faster and you start to worry it was a mistake. You have never exchanged pictures before, let alone one of you stark naked in a bath. It was pretty bold and despite what he’s implied about his feelings for you, maybe he didn’t like it.

When your phone lights up again, it notifies you that Steve has sent you a picture in return. You’re not really sure what you had expected, but this is not it. Before you can even convince yourself it’s going to be something completely innocent and bland, you’re already opening the message.

Steve is laying down on what is obviously a bed in a fairly fancy hotel room. One of the “perks” of The Snap; fancy things aren’t expensive anymore. He’s leaning partially on the headboard, propped up on big, fluffy white pillows. He’s got the smallest little smirk on his lips, his eyes on the camera lens and not the screen. One arm is thrown behind his head lazily, the other clearly raising his phone up as high as he can. And due to that little detail, you’re able to see clearly that he is not wearing a shirt. It’s accompanied by a short message.

Missing home… Missing you.

You breathe deeply and sink a little further into the water. You’ve seen Steve shirtless on a number of occasions, even touched his super-soldier-given perfect skin patching him up. This is different though. This is quiet and personal, intimate. This is a picture he snapped just for you to see and the angle he took it at, the effort put into making sure his phone was that high, it wasn’t by accident that his chest is on display.

You’re stuck for words, nothing coming to your blank mind, completely enthralled by his photo. You stare so long that your screen goes black again and you have to unlock your phone once more.

Wish I could have come with you.

After hitting send, you keep staring at that picture while wondering, hoping even, that he’s just as entranced by yours as you are his. You run your wet hand along your neck, the water still not cool enough to quench your flaming skin. You trail it down to your breastbone, palm resting at the very top of your breast.

You should have. Only had rooms with one bed available though. Consolidation and such.

You let your hand slide down and cup around your breast in full, giving it a small lift and squeeze. You clench your thighs together, trying to ease the steadily building excitement between them and type your reply.

Well now I really feel like I’m missing out.

Is he in sweatpants, you wonder. Shorts? Underwear? Nothing? That building desire is clearly not going anywhere. You finish the last of your drink in a hurry.

Bed’s small. Might have ended up on top of each other.

Well, hell. The man is going to drive you insane. Or cause you to spontaneously combust. The water doesn’t feel quite as warm as it did a few minutes ago. Your squeeze your legs together again and shift, jostling the water a little as you sink to a more comfortable position, hand resting on your lower stomach, daring and itching to sink down.

Good thing I like you on top of me.

God, what was it about texting that made you so bold? You try not to think about how mortified you’ll be tomorrow if this ends disastrously. His reply is just a little slower and you wonder if he’s trying to find a graceful way to abandon the conversation. Or maybe, just maybe, he’s readjusting himself, removing his pants or simply pushing them down far enough to get his dick out.

Oh yeah? Anything else in particular you like?

He’s giving you an out, letting you lead how far this conversation is going to go. You’re too far gone to stop though. Your legs open practically on their own and your hand glides through the water to cup your sex. The pressure of your palm on your clit and the image of Steve sprawled out on a hotel bed causing a small moan. It takes you a moment to gather yourself enough to respond.

I like when you pin me down, hands over head, and grind into me.

Your middle finger teases your entrance, easily remembering how it feels to have his large hands wrapped around your wrists, his hips on yours. So many times you wanted to just wrap your legs around him, lock your ankles at the lowest part of his back and keep him there.

Want to know what I like?

Your body is on edge, heart pounding at your chest. You can only manage to type out a single word.

Yes.

Your eyes drift shut, letting your finger run up and down your lips through the water. Your mind is filled with images of Steve, so many you can barely keep them straight. You want so badly to see him, to know if he’s as worked up as you are. You’re so distracted that you don’t notice the minute tick by, or that he’s typing back the whole time.

I like when you follow orders and when you try to be subtle when you stare. I like thinking about you on your knees. I like the way your whole body shuddered when I suggested you call me Daddy. I like that I can practically hear you moan my name when I pin you to a wall. I also like when you cook breakfast in those little blue shorts of yours. Think you could manage that for me the morning after? That’s assuming my babygirl can still move after a night with me.

Your mind is a melted mess as you read it. Your entire body feels like a tight coil with lust and your hips grind up into your palm as you slip your middle finger inside of you. You moan louder this time, images of the two of you bombarding your mind. Your thumb numbly types out a pleading text you pray isn’t pathetic in comparison.

Send me another picture. Please.

Waiting for his reply isn’t difficult. It comes quickly, but even if it didn’t, his previous text is enough to keep you running and satisfied for the whole night. Perhaps even longer.

Since you asked so nicely.

The words come through a few seconds before the picture. The room he’s in is dimly lit, but the photo itself is still clear enough for you to see what he’s showing you. He’d brought the camera up to his chest, taking a picture looking down his body. The thin, white hotel bedsheet is laid loosely on top of him, the edge of it lightly tickling his waist. The bulge tenting it up between his legs is obvious, but just in case it wasn’t, his hand is there; thumb pressing into the base of his cock, large hand at the juncture of his thigh, the rest of his fingers likely cradling his balls out of view.

You want so badly to peel that sheet away from him and see what’s underneath. You tap your thumb on the screen occasionally just to make sure your phone doesn’t turn black and take that image from your eyes. Your body is thrumming, your skin practically vibrating on you as your finger slides in and out of you, indulging in some of pleasure you’ve been trying to deny yourself for years.

Another text comes through from him.

Was that too far?

You realize now that you’ve failed to respond for a few minutes. He just sent you what you’re qualifying as a dick pic and he’d been met with silence. Instead of being worried you weren’t impressed by it, that old, gentlemanly Captain America peaks out and is worried he’d taken your little game too far. The four little words crack through the lust and give your heart the slightest pang. You type back quickly, eager to ease his concerns.

No! You’re good. I was just… admiring the view.

Good. I was worried maybe you had second thoughts.

The pleasure in you threatens to turn. When were you not having second thoughts about it all? But no! Not tonight. You refuse to let it sour everything. It’s been years. Years. You deserve some amount of pleasure, of release.

My only thoughts right now are about what’s under that sheet.

His response is quick.

Some things are better seen in person.

Your breath catches and your finger starts to move a little faster inside of you.

Is that an offer?

Absolutely.

You know he believes there’s a good chance this conversation will never see the light of day, that it will be some dirty little secret kept hidden away. You don’t want that though. The very idea of jumping into his arms and kissing him when you see him next has you squirming.

What are you going to do when I actually take you up on that offer?

You push the heel of your palm into your clit a little harder and grind your hips. You’ve moved your hand and phone outside the tub, no longer trusting yourself not to fumble it.

Maybe one day you’ll find out.

You moan, hoping with everything you have that Steve has his dick in his hand and is as much of a mess as you are.

Get your ass back home Cap.

You can almost hear his chuckle in your ear.

So needy babygirl.

You can feel your pleasure building, everything in you tense and wound up. You withdraw your finger so that you can make circles on your clit and try to bring yourself over the edge. Your thumb shakes as you type out a short response.

Need you.

Say the word and you have me.

He follows up almost instantly with another text.

In person though. Not now, not like this. Call me old school.

You ease the pressure off your clit enough for you to focus on typing on a coherent reply to him.

Then you might want to tell me goodnight or I’m going to take this too far.

You don’t actually want him to do it. You want to take it too far, to take that leap of faith and get a taste of what you’ve been craving, but you know you can’t right now. He doesn’t want some quick, technological affair that can be literally erased at any point and quite frankly, neither do you.

Goodnight, babygirl. Be home soon.

I can’t wait. Goodnight, Steve.

And with that, you drop your phone onto the bathroom tile and sink your hand into the water, fully succumbing to your own pleasure.

When the sunlight streams in the next morning, you’re expecting the guilt to come with it. It always does after a night thinking about Steve. It’s a crushing weight that sits right in your stomach and pulls down on your throat. It’s familiar by now, but no less unsettling.

You lie in bed, waiting for it to hit you, but the only thing you feel is a slight fear. You feel a tensing and a pressure, afraid that when you look at your phone, there will be a text from Steve that retracts everything. Sorry about last night. or We shouldn’t have said those things. Let’s forget it happened. Something like that.

The fear is an unwelcome intruder amongst your feelings. Self-hate and guilt you can handle, have handled for a long time, but fear is not something you want to deal with. So, you bite the bullet and roll over to snatch your phone off the night stand.

One unread text from Steve Rogers sent thirteen minutes ago.

You open your phone before you can convince yourself not to, before the fear sinks teeth into you and forces you to leave his message unread all day long.

Morning beautiful. Had a complication this morning and I am headed to a place with little cell service. I’ll also be home a little later than planned. Only a day or so I hope.

The fear lifts off of you and is replaced with a light, floaty feeling. While you’re disappointed that he won’t be coming back on time, the relief you have is much stronger. Maybe, just maybe this won’t end in disaster after all.

Steve ends up being home a week later than originally planned and you haven’t talked to him much during that time. When you did speak, it was professionally about his mission or another issue. Cell service around the county is much spottier than it was before The Snap which can make communication in certain areas more difficult.

You’re working out at The Haven when he returns. You’ve worked up a slight sweat and are pummeling a punching bag when he finds you. You don’t notice him at first since the doorway is behind you and he takes the moment to silently watch you.

“You shouldn’t let your form get sloppy,” he calls once you finish a sequence. The sound of his voice brings a smile to your face, but his words cause you to huff and roll your eyes before turning around.

“It’s just practice,” you chide, wiping your wrist over your brow. He’s leaning against the doorway casually, a duffel bag at his feet. He hadn’t even stopped at home first.

“Practice for the real thing. You lose it in practice, you’ll lose it in a fight.” You give him a sarcastic look to display your disbelief at his critique. It doesn’t faze him. “Fix your stance next time.”

“Yes, sir,” you mock as you begin to unwrap your hands and try to bite back your smile. It’s impossible though once his stoic mentor face breaks and his own smile appears on his lips. “How was your trip?” you ask, leaning down a bit to grab your water bottle. He sighs and considers his answer briefly.

“Long,” he says. “Long and annoying, but successful.” There’s a moment where your eyes connect with his and the air in the room gets heavy. “Glad to be home.” There’s a meaning beneath his words that reads loud and clear, but you force yourself to swallow it down. If you didn’t, you may just end up leaping into his arms right here in the gym.

“Glad to have you home, Cap.” You say it as jovially, as platonically as you can muster, which isn’t much. There’s still a little look in his eye, a deepness in the air, and you’ll be damned if you can’t break your gaze with him. You bring the bottle up and gulp down water, the tilt of the bottle forcing a disconnect in your eye contact.

“Nat has a conference call in twenty,” he says, voice slipping back into work mode. “Are you going?” You finish the rest of the water and breathe deeply.

“I probably should.” He reads the translation easily; you hadn’t intended on going.

“I’ve got to give a status report on my trip.” Translation; he has to go. “I’ll save you a seat.” You give him a short nod as he grabs his duffle bag and moves to exit. It’s not like you could ever say no to him anyways.

True to his word and unsurprising to you, Steve had in fact kept the seat next to him open. The only people in physically in the room are Steve, Natasha, Rhodey, and yourself so it could be simple coincidence that the chair is open, but you suspect it was more strategic than that. In your usual fashion, you’ve arrived just moments before the holographic conference call opens over the table, spilling a flickering blue light from overhead. Light particles float around like miniscule puzzle pieces before coming together to form the shapes of your friends, recreating them standing onto the large table.

You slip into your seat as Natasha greets everyone and Steve gives you a small smile that you return easily despite the way your heart is starting to hammer in your chest. It’s an odd feeling trying to be the same kind of friendly you’ve always been with him when you’ve both admitted attraction, when you’ve both exchanged racy photos. You scold yourself silently as your mind drifts back to the photo of him which you’d saved onto your phone. Now is not the time to let those thoughts wander freely.

Rocket calls your name and your attention snaps to the raccoon.

“We can’t see you. Scoot in next to Steve more.” There’s a humor in his voice that makes you fully believe he can see you just fine, but no one corrects him and they all wait for you. Natasha is biting the inside of her cheek and purposefully looking down at papers she is most certainly not reading. With a heavy breath, you scoot your chair closer to Steve’s side. “Little bit more,” Rocket teases and again, no one swoops in to say you’re in view yet. You bite your tongue and scoot ever closer, the armrests of the chairs nearly touching. “Just a little more.”

“If I move anymore, I’ll be in his damn lap,” you snap at him, annoyed by this play. He smiles and shrugs and is about to open his mouth when Natasha finally cuts in and starts the meeting. If that raccoon ever comes to Earth, you’re going to strangle him and ruin every betting pool he’s ever run.

Steve is nothing but professional as he gives his report. You hear the business in his voice, but fail to retain what he’s actually saying, all of your attention focused on the way his lips move and the way his tongue occasionally licks them. It’s not obvious, right? It’s common for people to watch someone’s mouth when they speak.

What might be more obvious is when your eyes finally drift from his mouth and travel down his neck. The muscle and tendons tighten just under the thin skin of his throat as he talks, especially when he’s annoyed with whatever he’s talking about. Your eyes keep slipping down. Down to the biceps left mostly uncovered by his short sleeve shirt. Down the veins in his forearms. Down to his hips and his thighs, to the seam of his jeans between his legs that you can only see because of your close proximity.

He’s stopped talking you realize. You’re not sure exactly when he did that, but you quickly snap your eyes back up to his face. You hope to seem casual about it and perhaps no one would have noticed your little daze you slipped into. The subtle smirk on Steve’s face makes it clear he’s caught you though.

You duck your chin and clear your throat as if that’s going to stop the embarrassed heat from spreading up your neck to your face. You refocus your attention on your holographic teammates, try to murder Rocket with your eyes, but you can feel Steve continuing to watch you. It’s nearly impossible to hear what the team is bickering about with the heat in your face spreading up to your ears and your mind entirely unable to keep a straight train of thought.

You cast your glance his way, knowing you won’t be able to concentrate until you get him to stop staring. The smirk remains on his lips and his eyes lock with yours, full of amusement and intrigue and something a little darker, a little heavier behind his irises. A nervous and unconscious lick of your lips guides his eyes down and his mouth parts slightly.

Then he’s turning his head to look at your teammates and speak to them as though he’s been fully involved in whatever conversation they’ve been having. The man could multitask when he wanted to. You’ll give him that.

“If they’re having trouble with their crops,” he says, all too cheerfully. “I know someone who can help.” He reaches over the very short distance between you and him to pat your thigh. “Our resident gardener here can probably lend a few tips.” It takes every ounce of you not to choke on your tongue and to respond in an acceptable fashion.

“Yeah,” you say with minimal stumbling and another clearing of your throat. “Give them my contact info if they don’t have it.” You’re impressed with how steady you manage to make it sound and just hope they hadn’t been talking about someone you knew very well because if they were, your response would sound silly. Thankfully, there’s no odd looks or questions and the conversation continues on without you. Which is very good. Because your heart is starting to catch in your ribcage as you notice that Steve hasn’t removed his hand from your thigh.

He’s not doing anything, just resting his hand there, fingers close to your knee, thumb grazing the outside of your leg. His hand is large and you can feel the warmth of his palm sink through the fabric of your leggings. You should have changed after your workout. Jeans wouldn’t have allowed him to feel so close to your skin.

He’s not looking at you anymore, his eyes following the conversation professionally and staying a silent participant in the meeting. You try to do the same, but your eyes never seem to focus on anyone, instead staring off into blank space. If anyone notices, they don’t say anything and even if they had, you’re pretty sure you wouldn’t hear them through the blood rushing in your ears.

Steve moves his hand and years of stealth training falls out the window as you flinch at the movement. Not only that, but you flinch towards the motion, going so far as to reach your hand out to his and while that gesture could be construed as something negative, your body had zero intentions of pushing him away, wanting rather to pull him closer. Thankfully, you manage to stop yourself from actually getting to him.

His hand turns and he brushes his knuckles along the outside of your thigh, slowly gliding up and then back down. The shiver that shoots up your spine doesn’t quench the heat still steadily building up from your core. His touch is gentle and tentative, waiting of any sign of possible rejection from you. None comes of course. You’re so far past rejecting him. In fact, you’re not entirely sure you wouldn’t let him feel you up right here mid-conference.

And just like that, you’re imagining his knuckles sliding all the way up your thigh to the juncture of your hip. He’d flatten his palm against the very top of your thigh again and twist his hand down so his fingers can gently tease you through your leggings.

Biting your lip, you push those thoughts from your mind. His knuckles are still slowly stroking your thigh. You’ve stopped trying to focus on the meeting and sink a little more fully into your chair. Taking a deep breath, you take his hand in yours, taking a little bit of pride in the way he suddenly stills in surprise. It lasts for only a moment before his fingers wrap around yours and you’re left holding each other’s hands on your thigh.

“Anyone else have anything else they want to bring up?” Natasha’s voice breaks through to you and pulls Steve’s attention.

“I think we’re all good,” he says confidently, pretty much ending any conversation from continuing. There’s a gentle squeeze on your hand and it’s so soft that your breath gets caught in your chest. The way he slips from making dirty smirks to delicate touch amazes you.

Before you know it, the holograms have disintegrated and Natasha is all but escorting Rhodey out of the room, leaving you alone with Steve, still holding your hand. He leans back into his chair, fully relaxing and smiles at you.

“I still owe you ice cream,” he says, giving your hand another small squeeze.

“That… is true.” The awkwardness of your reply makes you both let out breathy laughs. You’d never been awkward before and in recognizing it, it breaks some of the strange tension in your body. This is still Steve. Nerves and excitement were bound to happen, but awkwardness just feels silly. “You offering to make it up to me?” That sounded better.

“I don’t have any plans tonight.” He says it as an offer and instantly your mind starts going over your apartment. Is your laundry done? How clean is it? Do you have food in the fridge? Beer? When did you shave your legs last? He can see the questions rolling around in your head, watches the wheels turn behind your eyes. “I’m actually pretty free all week,” he amends, giving you an out.

“Tonight would be great.” You think maybe you say it too quickly, but he just smiles at you warmly. He stands, taking your hand up with him for a moment. Then he bends and brings your hand to his lips and kiss your knuckles softly.

“I’ll see you tonight.” There’s a flutter in your stomach and you hold your breath for longer than you realize, only letting it out after your hand has fallen from his and he’s sending you a wink over his shoulder before he walks out of the door.

You spend the rest of your day cleaning your apartment. It’s not a disaster and it’s not like Steve hasn’t seen it a mess before, but tonight is different. You can feel it in everything from the way your hands shake to how you push the cheap beer to the back of the fridge. You also pull a dress from the back of your closet and hold it against yourself for far too long before deciding that would just be too much. You don’t have to try so hard, not with Steve.

You’ve managed to calm your nerves enough that by the time he knocks on the door, your hands aren’t shaking. When you swing the door open, he holds up a plastic grocery bag with at least five pints of ice cream inside and flashes you a smile. It’s such a genuine, unapologetically bright smile that it makes you feel like you had been missing it somehow. The corners of your mouth pull back in a reflective smile that threatens to make your cheeks hurt.

“Think this will be enough?” he jokes, motioning to the bag.

“I don’t know,” you tease back, tilting your head to examine it. “I mean, I’m clearly going to eat all of that myself so what are you going to eat?” You can tell by the way he hesitates and bites the inside of his cheek that he’s pushing down a dirty response. “Come on in,” you say, stepping aside and saving him from the internal debate of voicing his thoughts.

You had been concerned all day about how the evening would go. Were you supposed to just jump right into his arms when he walked in? Did he want to talk about this first? Would anything even actually happen tonight? More than anything, you expected awkwardness; small laughs and bites of your lip and both of you trying not to make eye contact.

And yet... that awkwardness never comes. As soon as Steve is in your door, things feel fairly normal between you two. If anything, there’s just an added energy to the air, a weight to your flirtations.

As you both unload the bag onto your kitchen table, Steve acts as though he’s forgotten your favorite flavor of ice cream. He does it every year and tonight, he has it behind his back. You can’t see it, but the way his arm is twisted behind him and how he's slowly putting himself closer to the kitchen wall, you can tell that’s where it is when you notice it’s not on the table and the bag is empty.

“You know... It was on the top shelf and I meant to get an employee to help me, but by the time I got finished, I completely forgot.” He spins the ridiculous story terribly, unable to stop the amused smile that breaks out on his face. You advance on him, nodding along and pursing your face. “Real sorry about that.” He’s got his back as close to the wall as he can with the pint of ice cream behind him and it only takes a moment for you to get close.

“Mmhmm,” you hum. “Then what’s behind your back?”

“Oh that?” he feigns innocently. “Nothing you’d be interested in, I’m sure.”

You hum again and find yourself nearly pressed against his front, mere inches between your chests. Slowly, you reach around him with one hand. His body larger and arms longer than you, force you to lean in to reach. Pressing against him, you almost feel his breath hitch in his chest. Your eyes flicker away from his and you can feel the chill of the ice cream as your fingers get close.

You don’t see his eyes darken and when he grabs your wrist, shifting the pint to one hand and using the other to pull yours away, it startles you. It gives him enough leverage to spin you around and push you to the wall, lifting your hand above your head and pinning your wrist there. You gasp softly and look up at him with parted lips. Steve smiles down at you and leans in stopping just short of pressing himself into you.

And then in a moment, he’s gone, leaving you with your hand still over your head while your mind catches up. He puts the pint down with the rest and goes to get spoons from your drawer. Your body tingling and craving more, you can tell tonight will be interesting.

It became clear pretty quickly that there would be no jumping right into each other’s arms and there would be no talking about it. Instead, you shot each other charged looks and flirtatious innuendos and got physically into each other’s space as much as possible. It left you wanting more, wishing desperately, without a shadow of guilt, that Steve would just throw you up against any surface he could find. And then you realized he wasn’t going to. Even this hardened, dirty New Steve was a gentleman and he was very clearly waiting for you to make the first move.

You’re sitting at the kitchen table when you finally crack. The table is small and round. The chairs aren’t directly across from each other, but rather next to each other and you’ve each turned them to face one another, the table more on your sides than in front of you now. It makes it easy for Steve to lean forward towards you.

“You’re a mess,” he says, reaching to swipe his thumb along the corner of your mouth and scoop away some of the melted ice cream on your face. You react before you can even think about it.

You turn your face and capture his thumb between your lips. You both pause, the gesture unexpected. The weight of his thumb resting on your tongue spurs something inside of you and as you watch Steve’s eyes glaze over, turning from surprise to lust, you run your tongue over him and suck lightly. Steve leans his body in and his fingers cradle your jaw, encouraging you.

He watches you closely, coming to the edge of his seat and tilting your jaw upwards just a little bit. It’s a firm gesture, one that shows you that even though he’s letting you lead, he’s still in charge and damn if that doesn’t make you suck a little harder on his thumb to please him. You squeeze your knees together as he pushes his thumb further into your mouth. The sweetness of the ice cream is well gone, replaced by the slight salt of his skin and you only wish there was more to take from him.

He drags his thumb back out, letting it drag your lower lip down as you release it. Your breath is heavy and you can feel a wetness between your legs already starting. You want to glance down between Steve’s legs, to see if he’s got a similar problem, but he holds your eyes so firmly you have no choice but to focus on his face.

“That was a good girl,” he praises. He makes you want to just drop onto your knees right there, but he’s coming forward instead. Pushing off his chair and slipping that hand back along your jaw to your neck, he pulls you up with him until you’re standing in front of him. Your hands come to his waist, just to have something to steady yourself with. He grabs the base of your skull and tilts your head up to look at him. “You have to say it,” he tells you, voice a lot softer than his eyes. His other hand brushes through your hair. “You have to tell me you want it.” You swallow thickly before whispering back to him.

“I want you, Steve.”

His mouth crashes down to yours. There’s no softness or hesitancy. The kiss is rough, rushed, and hot. Steve pulls you flush against him, one hand still holding the back of your neck and the other running down your back. Now having your permission, he takes what he wants. He opens your mouth under his and pushes his tongue inside. There’s no fight for dominance. You’re entirely compliant and willing under him. He turns you sharply, pulling his mouth from yours for a moment and bending you back so that he can sweep the table clean. Pints of ice cream, spoons, your mail, everything clatters to the floor.

“A mess for you to bend over and clear later,” he tells you hoarsely. Any thought of being irritated at the melted ice cream on your floor vanishes. He moves his hands to your waist, but doesn’t lift you up like you expect. Instead, his fingers dip into the waistband of both your pants and underwear. “We’ve moved slowly for too long,” he whispers, his lips brushing against yours. “Don’t you agree?”

“Yes,” you breathe out. No sooner than he heard the word did he drop away from you, down to his knees, and drag your clothes down to your ankles. You let out a low moan, your weight shifting back and leaning into your table. “Steve...”

He wastes no time. Asks no more questions. He slips off your shoes quickly and once he’s rid you of your pants entirely, he grabs behind one of your knees and hikes your leg up and open, giving him full access to your hot, wet pussy. He doesn’t even give you the chance to beg him. He comes forward and licks only a single stripe up your lips before delving his tongue deeper.

Your body tries to gasp and moan at the same time and instead a strangled sound barely rises from your throat. Your body tenses and you throw one hand into his hair, pulling him closer, wanting more. He places your leg over his shoulder and tilts his chin up to take your clit between his lips and suck. Somewhere in the back recesses of your mind, you wonder where in the world Captain America learned to eat pussy like this, but then his tongue is working again and your mind blanks.

“Fuck,” you whisper harshly, followed by a moan. The hand not tangled in his hair grips the edge of the table, trying to keep your balance. He gives another hard suck on your clit and pulls away just slightly.

“You taste so good, babygirl.” He leans forward and licks at you one last time. “But I’m an impatient man.” He carefully removes your leg from your shoulder, a hand on your hip to make sure you get both feet on the ground and balanced before he stands back up. He starts unbuckling his belt and your dry mouth waters. You push off the table, start to sink to your knees when he stops you, hand on your chin, and keeps you standing. “So eager,” he coos, still using his other hand to undo his pants. “I like that.” He brings your mouth to his and kisses you deeply, letting you taste your own juices on his tongue. “But if you put that pretty mouth anywhere near my dick, I’m going to cum,” he admits harshly. The brashness in his voice sends electricity down your spine. The very idea of Steve’s cock in your mouth, cumming down your throat with his hands in your hair makes you quiver. You reach out, fingertips tickling at the open waistband of his pants.

“Please?” you ask, as sweet as your voice will manage. You swallow and steel yourself to be brave. You’re already naked from the waist down. Steve’s face is glistening with your juices. Now isn’t the time to be shy. “Please, daddy?” The hand at your jaw slips down around your neck ever so gently as he chuckles.

“Don’t tempt me,” he warns, unable to resist pressing another kiss to your mouth. “I'll use that pretty throat another day,” he promises, giving just a whisper of a squeeze around the column of your neck before removing his hand and continuing to free himself from his pants. “Turn around,” he tells you. “Bend over the table.” You listen to his commands without question.

Before, you’d always thought Steve would be vanilla; straight up missionary in bed with the lights off kind of a guy. After The Snap, after he hardened up and caught your attention, after he admitted to his very own Daddy kink, you knew he had a little spice in him, but you still hadn’t expected this. You get lost in his dominance. Turn into a wet, writing mess at his touch. God, you wish you hadn’t waited so long for this.

“Last chance to run, babygirl,” he says, bringing you back from your thoughts. You wish you could see his cock, could feel it, but the excitement of not knowing as he rubbed the budging tip against your wet slip, made you crave it all the more. You look back over your shoulder at him and wait for his eyes to meet yours.

“Steve... Fuck me.” It’s less of a plea and more of a demand of your own. He smirks down at you and presses one hand into your lower back, pushing your belly to the table. When he slides in, you drop your face down and moan. He goes slow, his entire length slowly pushing inside of you, stretching you, filling you. “Fuck,” you moan into the table. Steve represses a groan as he pulls out just a little and then pushes back in, fitting his entire cock in you.

There’s only a brief moment of stillness where you both revel in the feeling. Then Steve is moving, slowly pulling out then pushing forward. His pace increases, his thrusts get harder. Soon, you’re a panting, moaning mess on your kitchen table as Steve glides one hand up your back and tangles in your hair.

“You feel so good,” he groans out, voice barely above a whisper as though it’s hard for him to speak at all. “Touch yourself,” he says. “Touch yourself for me.” You lift off the table just enough to sneak your hand beneath you and play with your clit. You can feel his cock thrusting so close to your hand and you can’t help but reach just a little further and let your fingers touch it. Steve shudders and his thrusts stutter for just a moment before he gets it together. “Such a good girl,” he praises.

“Wanted this for so long,” you mumble, cheek pressed to the table and eyes closed, grinding your palm into your clit while you try to circle your fingers around his thick cock.

“Ever since Tony’s last Christmas party,” he admits. “That fucking blue dress.” He groans, recalling how you looked. “Wanted to bend you over the table right there in the middle of room.” He slows his thrusts, getting too close to his end with your fingers teasing him and your tight pussy wrapped around him. It gives you enough clarity in your head to think back. Christmas party?

“That was...” you breathe out loud. Before The Snap. Steve leans himself over your back, shallowing his thrusts and pulling the hair from your neck so he can kiss and lick at your skin.

“Yeah,” he groans, bringing his lips up to your ear. “Not like I could tell anyone I wanted to fuck my best friend’s girl.” Your breath hitches and your hand stills for a moment, but the low, long moan that escapes you involuntarily only encourages him.

He’d wanted you for that long? Years. While Bucky was still alive. While you hadn’t even given Steve a second look. How many nights did he spend locked away in his room thinking about you? Had he touched himself wishing it was you? How hard did he get imagining being inside of you just like he is right now?

“Steve,” you moan, reaching back with your other hand to feel for his hip, to hold onto him. Suddenly, you crave to give him everything. He’d waited so many years for you. You want to give him everything he wanted. You circle your fingers around him again. “I want you to cum in me.” His motions stop and he breathes heavily near your ear.

“Are you sure?” he asks, old fashioned concern in his voice. You hadn’t exactly discussed birth control or expectations or wants, but the way his cock twitches inside of you says everything. You take your hand off his hip and push up on the table enough to twist your head to kiss him.

“Please, daddy,” you try the line again. His hand snakes around to your front, cradling the very bottom of your neck by your collarbone and pulls you up, arching your back and taking some of his weight off of you. “Fill me up,” you beg.

“That what you want?” The concern in his voice is replaced with confidence as he starts moving again. “You want me to cum inside of you?” You barely manage to nod as he starts thrusting harder. You dig your palm into your clit, chasing your own release as much as his. “That’s right, babygirl.” You’re moaning hard now as he fucks you and you can feel his dick swell against your walls. “Oh, fuck,” his hips sputter again and with one more grind of your palm, you feel your own orgasm wash over you.

“Fill me,” you moan through the waves, clenching tight around his dick. “Make me yours.” Steve’s hand tightens around your neck briefly as he cums, pulling your body against him as he buries himself as deep as he can and spills inside of you. A mess of moans and sharp gasps, shuddering bodies and slickness, you both start to come down from your high, hands falling away from each other and breath shaky.

Steve recovers first, kissing gently at your neck before helping to lower you to the table. Your muscles feel wobbly and skin hot, sweaty. You’re spent and used and sticky and utterly satisfied. When Steve slowly pulls out of you, you feel fluid drip down your thighs and you clench down as if you can keep him inside of you.

“I can...” He pauses, still catching his breath. “Help you with the mess,” he says, motioning to the floor. You start to straighten yourself out, fighting your own body as your vision goes a little fuzzy, your blood still not back up to your head where it should be. You let out an airy laugh at his sudden concern to be gentlemanly again.

“Should probably clean ourselves first,” you joke lightly. He laughs and dips his head.

“Yeah, I guess so.” You worry he’s going to get awkward now, that the spark will vanish as quick as it lit the fire. Then he smiles when he looks at you and pulls you in for a kiss softer than any other he’d given you. It’s slow and gentle, melting any worry away from you. “Ladies first.”

After you’ve both washed yourselves up and made quick work of the melted ice cream, you move to the couch. You sit across from each other, each of sitting back against an armrest, feet and legs intertwined in the middle. Steve is staring at you softly and it causes a blush to rise up on your neck.

“So...” you sigh. “The Christmas party?” He bites his lower lip and grimaces a little bit.

“Yeah. I didn’t actually intend on ever telling you that,” he admits sheepishly and for a moment you see the Old Steve show up. It’s endearing and cute and makes you smile all the more.

“I honestly had no clue,” you tell him through a small laugh.

“I got pretty good at hiding the blushing after a while,” he says. “And you were happy. I wasn’t going to mess that up for either of you.” The tone humbles and you crawl over to seat yourself between his legs, back to his chest, and wrap his arms around yourself.

“So, tell me,” you say coyly. “Did I live up to the years of dirty fantasies?” He chuckles and puts his face into your neck.

“Better than I could have ever imagined,” he mumbles into your skin. “And what about you?” he asks, tightening his grip around you and settling you into his arms.

“Never even dreamed the good ol’ Captain America had such an intense side,” you tell him, humming and dropping your head to his shoulder contently.

“I took it easy on you,” he teases, pressing a kiss to your pulse.

You giggle and push back on his chest with your back as a playful shove. He chuckles again and eases up, settling into just holding onto you and enjoying the moment.

The happiness you feel is long overdue. It feels good. It finally feels right. You turn and give Steve a slow, lazy kiss and smile at him, unable to stop yourself. Your thoughts float back to your final words before his orgasm. Make me yours. It’s what set him off; the idea of you being fully and completely his.

What he didn’t realize is that you’d been his girl for a long while now. This just made it official.

~~~

A/N #2: So... keeping in mind it took me ten fucking months to write a part two... what would you all think about a sequel that is a "choose your own ending" in which you get to be conflicted over and ultimately choose if you stay with Steve or get back with Bucky after The Blip? Anyone interested?

Tumblr has been a bitch getting my work out to people so I ask that you like, comment, and reblog. Of course, if you’re really feeling generous, buy me a coffee! https://ko-fi.com/writerashley

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@inukako / @misshale21

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gins-potter · 4 years ago

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What are your winx and specialists tattoo headcanons? Who would have tattoos and which one would they have?

Heyo, as usual sorry this took me a little bit but I wanted to properly organise my thoughts and find reference pics as well. and tbh I could end up coming up with more stuff but this is what I have so far. (under the cut because it ended up kinda long af and tagging @catlliecal because she also sent an ask asking for this).

Bloom:

Ok so my headcanons for Bloom’s tattoos have changed a bit over the years

but at the moment I imagine her with a fairly large hip into thigh, full coverage piece of the Great Dragon

she chose it’s position because i imagine oritel is probably a conservative old man when it comes to tats (even tho i can so see miriam also having a dragon tattoo) so she puts it on her thigh so she can easily cover it by wearing a long dress for royal events

it would probably be in black and white but I can see the Dragon being intertwined with some flowers, probably Daphne flowers for her sister (which you can see in the two images on the right) and I can see those being coloured a pale pink kind of like in the middle reference pic

and because this is the magical dimension i imagine it’s been spelled so while it stays confined to the one area, it can move a little bit and change positions

so because bloom is both a basic bitch and completely extra i totally see her having more than one dragon tat

her second one would be a lot smaller and probably be a lot more simpler in design compared to her thigh dragon, so something more like the top two images in the second graphic

also in all black but maybe spelled to breathe red fire?

and it would also be enchanted so it can fly around her body, and unlike the bigger dragon it’s not constrained to any area - it’s favourite places to be are flying in circles around her wrist or sitting on her left collarbone over her heart

the other two pics in the second graphic are just older ideas i had for bloom’s tattoos, i was convinced for ages she would have it going down her back like the one on the left (i might eventually give this tattoo to either miriam or daphne) and i just love the design of the one on the right so i briefly considered her having like a shoulder/half sleeve dragon

Flora:

all of flora’s would be in colour i think and she would definitely have that sort of water colour effect on them that’s really popular now

her first two are similar in design to the pic on the left and she would have them on either side of her torso, sort of upper rib area, to the side/just underneath her boobs and they’re like a mirror image of each other

these ones probably wouldn’t be spelled to do anything special

the one on her back is similar in design to the pic on the right, but i can see it also being drawn more like a full tree

the writing down the centre would be her and helia’s family names (because i can definitely see them hyphenating when they get married) and then on each leaf is a name, first helia, then each of her children

i’m playing around with the idea of this one being spelled to change with the seasons, the writing would always stay the same, but the leaves change colour and eventually fall off during autumn and then grow back in the spring.

Layla:

for the moment i can actually see layla only having one tattoo

and that’s this yin yang/opposites fish design that you can see in the reference images (they’re all more or less the same i just found too many cute photos)

it’s actually based on a mosaic in the andros castle that layla loves, and she gets it because it brings her peace when she’s feeling upset or anxious about anything

they would be all in white, one fully white, and the other just a white outline

i think the fish would probably be on the inside of her forearm so she can see them and they would be spelled to swim in circles around each other

i can see her maybe getting nabu’s name somewhere after he dies but i’m not 100% sure where she would put it

Musa:

musa’s are actually the hardest to pin down for me just because i can see her having A Lot

like at least one full sleeve and maybe two

one sleeve would be mostly made up of the music notes for a song her dad wrote for her mother before she died and that would run down most of her arm and would be decorated with birds and flowers important to melodian culture (like the flower top right)

like bloom’s hers would be mostly in black with a few pale red and orange accents here and there

the music notes would be spelled so that when you touch them they play the song

her other arm is more just a collection of stuff she thinks is cool or pretty like the bottom two pics or the boxing art below

and i can eventually see her completely filling her arms so the tattoos spill onto her back

Stella:

stella in my opinion just has two

they’re very minimalistic designs, plain black, and on the inside of either elbow

she has a sun for solaria on one side and a moon for celestia (her mother’s home realm) on the other side

the moon tattoo causes quite the controversy when she gets it because some solarians think it isn’t right for their crown princess to show such strong ties for another realm but stella refuses to remove it

they aren’t spelled to move or change or anything but they do have the ability to glow a bright gold at night

Tecna:

like stella, tecna’s tattoos are rather minimalistic as well

but unlike stella, tecna’s are very meme-y

literally

tecna gets a QR symbol on the inside of her upper left arm that when scanned is actually a rick-roll

and she eventually develops a spell for it that allows the QR code to change so that it takes you to whatever meme tecna currently finds the most hilarious

her other tattoo, which is on her right forearm, is written in binary code and no one actually knows what it says

they can never get a straight answer out of tecna about what it is, and everytime someone asks her she tells them something different, so they assume it’s meme-y like her other one

but actually it’s a short sappy quote that reminds her of timmy but she’ll never admit it to anyone

(don’t ask me what that quote is i haven’t decided yet)

that one has a simple spell on it that makes it look like someone is typing out the code over and over again

kind of like musa i can see tecna having more tattoos than this, i just can’t decide what they would be, but i think they would all follow the same simple, minimalistic design

Specialists:

it was hard for me to find reference pics i liked for the guys so i’m just going to give a brief description of some of the tattoos i think they would have

i don’t know if i’ve written about this on tumblr before, but i have a long-held headcanon that heros have a big tattoo culture:

getting their first tattoo is part of their graduation ceremony from red fountain

they’re encouraged to get tattoos that remind them of their family/friends/loved ones - some yada yada about remembering who they’re fighting for when facing evil forces

and it’s very common to honour fallen team members by getting a tattoo of their name or something that reminds them of the person

Sky:

sky’s tattoos are mostly on his chest and back

his graduation tattoo is an eraklyon prayer of protection that runs down his spine

he doesn’t get any other tattoos after that until nabu dies which is when he gets his friend’s name on his ribs (right side) and that’s where he adds other names of fallen friends/team-mates

later after he and bloom get married he gets her name on his left pec (right over his heart the big sap) and then adds his kids names beneath it after they’re born

none of sky’s tattoos are spelled or enchanted

Brandon:

brandon’s grad tattoo is a list of his siblings names on his left forearm and Stella’s name on his right arm

eventually, like sky, he also gets his kids names added to stella’s

all his name tattoos are individually spelled to burn really hot when that person is in trouble

brandon struggles to decide for a while where to put nabu’s name but eventually decides on the centre of his back because he likes to think that wherever nabu went after he died, he’s still there in spirit watching his back

Riven:

riven shocks the fuck out of everyone when he graduates and gets the red fountain school motto (”live with courage and die with honour”) tattooed in giant fuck off lettering across his shoulders

they all figured he lowkey hated red fountain and maybe he did at first because come on he’s a rebel without a cause at what is basically a military school, of course he kinda hates it there

but he also acknowledges that red fountain more or less turned his life around as well as brought him into contact with the people who eventually he comes to regard as family (much more than his biological one)

like musa i can see riven getting a bunch of other tattoos just because they look cool and putting them all over his arms, chest, and back

but his right bicep would be reserved for tattoos of his fallen friends

unlike sky and brandon he doesn’t get names however, but instead gets symbols, the first being a likeness of nabu’s staff after he passes

Helia:

helia i think would have all of his on his back because he understands the importance of having them but also doesn’t need to see them every day

his grad piece is kind of unorthodox because he gets his favourite line of poetry to remind him that there’s still beauty in the world even when he’s facing evil

later i feel like he would get something like outstretched bird wings just below it

and under that he gets nabu’s name in really nice script

Timmy:

timmy is probably the least prone to tattoos of the group and he has to think for a long time on what to get for graduation

and people assure him that he doesn’t actually have to get one just because most everyone else is

but eventually he decides to get a small coloured blaster on the inside of his elbow

when he was in freshman year at red fountain he was lowkey ashamed when all his classmates took to using swords almost straight away while he preferred using his gun because he thought it meant he lacked the physical strength and courage to use a short range weapon

but he slowly came to realise that it wasn’t a weakness, but just that he had different strengths to his friends and classmates and that wasn’t a bad thing

so he decides that’s a good thing to remember

and when nabu dies again he debates whether or not to get a tattoo commemorating him but ultimately decides he will and gets ‘his name written near his blaster

#answered #winx club #winx rewritten au #bloom #sky #stella #brandon #tecna #timmy #musa #riven #flora #helia #layla #aisha #mywriting

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readyplayerhobi · 5 years ago

Text

Flower | 01

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Fluff, future angst, future smut

; Word Count: 2.8k

; Synopsis: You finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the Flower dating app. One of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh...incredibly handsome. What happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?

; A/N: This is going to be a drabble series. It’s not planned out, it has no planning. It will be written as and when I get the inspiration for it. The Flower app is inspired by the Bumble app in which women make the first move on it. This is just purely something to try and get me back into enjoying writing again so...please show it and me some love because I already love this Hoseok? I haven’t proof read lol

Flower Masterpost

“Okay...okay. Let’s do this...you can do this. It’s easy. Just...download the app and go. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? Well you could get murdered. That would suck. But it would resolve a lot of issues I guess. On the other hand...I could meet the love of my life. I mean...is that likely?” The soft sounds of your muttering are probably barely heard over the soft playing music through the speakers connected to your television, YouTube playing mindlessly to itself on the screen.

Your focus though, is solely on the phone in your hand. Soyeon, your best friend, had been bugging you to join some online dating sites for a while and it had only gotten worse when your other friend Chungha told her that she fully agreed with her. Part of you felt cornered by them both but another part of you understood them.

They were just looking out for you. You were naturally quiet and shy, introverted and preferring to remain inside or on the sides if you were dragged to a party. An inability to engage in small talk meant that that you struggled to make conversation with people as well. That all resulted in a small circle of friends who understood you well but that was it, everyone else was merely acquaintances who would hang out with you simply because they were friends with your friends.

As such, it meant that you struggled with dating. And by that, you mean that you hadn’t been in a relationship for a long time. Nor could you do flings like some of your friends did, the very thought filled you with anxiety.

This was why they had suggested trying online dating, because you’d lamented to them about how lonely you’d started to feel. You were still relatively young, and you knew that relationships weren’t the be all and end all. But when you haven’t dated since college, it starts to feel like no one is interested in you at all. And that was a hard feeling to take in.

You wanted to be like your friends. To have someone to talk to about things without feeling embarrassed, someone who would enjoy being in your company and actively seek you out, someone to be intimate with. Someone to fall in love with. It sounded cheesy and stupid but both Soyeon and Chungha had taken your concerns to heart.

They’d asked if you wanted to be set up on blind dates but the very idea of that made you lose your breath with anxiety, the fear of failure or judgement from someone who has never met you before overwhelming. So Soyeon had suggested online dating and now here you were, curled up on your couch on a Saturday night, a glass of water on the side because you don’t like alcohol and the app store open to dating apps.

“Tinder...isn’t that just for hookups?” You murmur, frowning as you look at some of the reviews. There were probably people who had managed to get lasting relationships on Tinder, but the idea of having random people actively deciding whether or not you were worth trying simply from a photo or something was horrible. Not that you had any idea how it actually worked, but still…

A few other apps look to be the more traditional online dating route and you consider whether to download one of them. But then you see an app that attracts your attention, a small soft pink and orange logo with the outline of a white flower in it. The title is simply ‘Flower’ and you take click on it to read the description.

‘Find the perfect partner and watch love or friendship bloom like a flower!

The Flower app asks you to set up a profile by asking you a series of questions to determine your interests and personality. We then set you up with a series of people we consider to be a good match and give you the opportunity to initiate a conversation!

Here at Flower, we want to make sure that dating is fun and most importantly, equal. As such, we allow women to be the one to initiate contact with their matches. This means that if you’re looking for a same sex relationship, then you can both reach out. The same goes if you don’t identify as female or male. If you’re looking for a heterosexual relationship, then you can reach out to your match and he can decide whether he wants to respond.

We don’t tolerate any form of hate speech or intolerance and will respond with quick action against this. At Flower, we promote inclusivity, diversity and tolerance. We want the world to grow and bloom with love, one relationship at a time!’

The reviews for the app seemed to back up their description and you felt curious. An impulse takes over and you download it, tongue sticking out as you wait before loading it up once it’s done. The interface is clean and take a moment to chew your lip before clicking the sign up button.

Everything seems to be rudimentary at first, asking for your age and location, name and occupation. But then it starts to ask some other questions. Your favourite film genres, a list of favourite films, your favourite books, where you’d like to go on vacation, favourite music and songs and so much more. Some of it felt bizarre, like would you rather eat chicken or beef? Would you rather drive an Audi or a Ford?

You presumed it all had a reason though, and after what felt like five minutes of answering questions, you finally had a profile. Flicking through the gallery on your phone, you found a picture that you felt was flattering while still showing your personality. It’s from a few months ago and was taken with a Polaroid camera, giving it that distinctive filter that always seemed to be flattering everyone.

You were giving a small smile, eyes looking to the left of the camera while your chin was in your hand. Nose wrinkled slightly, a soft and fluffy white cream sweater covers you while a cherry blossom scarf is wrapped elegantly round your neck. And on top of all that...a bright yellow Pikachu hat sits on top of your head.

It had been your birthday and the girls had managed to coax you out for dinner before presenting you with a bunch of presents. They’d been a random assortment, as usual, but you’d loved it all. A skin care gift set, the Pikachu hat and a Pusheen stationery set. Your colleagues at your admin assistant job had given you the side eye when you’d added yet more cute and strange things to your already colourful and cluttered desk but you’d ignore them.

This picture had been one of the best taken of you recently and you smiled gently as you made it your profile picture. You didn’t like being photographed, constantly convinced that you were unattractive but your friends were convinced otherwise.

Everything looked to be set up and you wondered what you meant to do now, when a sudden notification pops up on the screen with ‘20 Matches Found’. Sudden anxiety makes you feel sick, stomach rolling with nerves as your veins practically fizz as you click on the view more button. These were people who the app had compared your own answers to and considered to be the best matches.

There’s a tiny moment of waiting as a tiny flower in orange and pink blooms and you sigh when it finally clears. The profiles are shown in descending order with those most matched to least. A tiny refresh button in the corner let’s you see that you can refresh your matches if necessary.

Each profile shows their profile image, their name, age and location. Scrolling through them, you note idly that you seem to have got a wide range of people that you had matched with. A 24-year-old swimming instructor named Kim Chaeyoung, a 31-year-old high school English teacher named Seo Jinwoo, a 29-year-old mechanic called Park Jisoo and more.

It was interesting to see the wide range of people that had come back and you perused their profiles carefully, reading the little description they’d written for themselves along with a few answers to questions similar to what you’d had to answer. The app seemed to pull a range range of questions for you read, with each person’s being slightly different.

You supposed it meant that you would need to ask for that information and you found yourself curious about one or two people, pressing the little button that indicated it would bookmark their profile for later viewing. Apparently you had a week to make the first interaction before it would vanish.

Humming lightly, you wondered if anyone would be interested in talking to you?

Everyone looked so pretty on here and you wondered if you matched up to them. Would they consider you worth their time? Biting your lower lip, you shrug your shoulders and decided you had nothing to lose really. You didn’t know these people in real life and no one would laugh at you for simply reaching out and trying to make a connection.

You come across one profile that makes you pause though, your brow lifting in surprise as you wonder why on earth the app has matched you with this guy. The two of you don’t even look like you come from the same planet, nevermind have enough aligning interests to warrant being in your top 20 matches at the moment.

Clicking on his profile, you read through his basic info question while you purse your lips, making soft noises in your throat.

Jung Hoseok. 28 years old. IT Technician.

He sounded pretty normal and you wouldn’t even give it a second thought normally, but his appearance did not match the casual job description he had. Maybe you were just being stereotypical here, but most of the IT people in your workplace were of the nerdy looking variety. And you only say that because every one of them wore some form of Rick and Morty or other pop culture shirts.

Which you were fine with, because you enjoyed most of the same things too. But no one looked like this guy.

The reason you were so surprised was because of his profile picture, and despite your earlier thoughts about just sending messages to everyone for the sake of it, you felt a well of anxiety rising again as you looked at him. This guy is quite possibly the most handsome man you’ve ever seen, the kind of guy that people only think exists when they’re rich and famous.

But he’s also completely unlike you. He’s evidently at some sort of event as he has a bottle of beer in his hand while his other hand is making the metal horns shape. One eye is closed to camera, winking while his tongue is poking out of his mouth on one side, white teeth visible beneath pink lips amidst gold skin. A silver ring pierced his lower lip on the right while a small ball is visible in his tongue.

His hair is jet black, gleaming in the crappy lighting in a messy state that looks slightly wet while his exposed skin has a sheen of sweat on it. A red and black shirt unbuttoned on him, rolled up to his elbows to reveal toned forearms that are completely covered in vibrant and bright colour.

The tattoos make what you presume to be full sleeves on both arms, his left arm appearing to be a swirling galaxyscape with brilliant galaxies, planets, moons and more interwoven with, bizarrely, dragons that are almost transparent. They look beautiful though, and you get an image of space dragons made of fine dust flying through the vast expanse of space as you look at them.

His other arm looks to be a mesh of things together, flames and flowers and skulls and ships. None of it makes any sense to you, but you’re positive it probably means something to him. One of the sleeves expands onto his hand, the one showing the horns and you eye the clock tattoo that takes up the space.

His tattoos look to expand beyond his arms as the black top beneath his shirt gives tantalising glimpses of the black and colour tattoos that obviously sprawl across his chest. Strands creep upwards, almost to his neck and you get the impression of something fiery, the soft wisps of red and orange looking like burning embers on his skin.

This guy...looked like he belonged in a metal band or tattoo shop. And he was...beautiful, way out of your league.

Which was why you had to have experienced an out of body moment when your finger presses the message button, the screen popping up with an automatic message pre filled out for you.

“Hey, Flower shows that we’re good matches so I’m reaching out to you! If you would like to talk to me, please respond!”

Scowling, you deleted the message, deciding it would be bad manners to just send the template message to someone that you were attracted to. That thought gives you pause, acknowledging that you are in fact attracted to him. He looked like the kind of guy who would take one look at your profile and laugh himself home at the prospect of doing anything with you.

The man clearly thrived on social situations, enough of his profile gave that away and again you wondered why the app matched you together. Maybe he had some secret love of Pokemon or something. Looks could be deceiving, obviously.

And even if you’d never listened to a metal song in your life...you were always open to trying new things. If you were going to open yourself up to the prospect of online dating, then you may as well go fully out of comfort zone.

Swallowing, you carefully type out a short message and spend the next five minutes reading it over as anxiety and fear swirl within you. Indecision causes you to wonder whether you should just delete it all and ignore his profile, going for the safe option of someone who looks like they’d be more accepting of you on your list.

But the allure of something so unlike you pulls you in and you press send, watching the message swoosh away and changing his profile to a soft pink to indicate that you’d initiated contact. Almost immediately you feel sick, body going cold as you pant ever so slightly.

Oh god, he’s going to read that message and take one look at your profile then delete the message. He probably had hookups all the time, the kind of guy you shouldn’t get involved with. You had no interest in being a one night stand and- you shake your head, clenching your teeth and taking a deep breath.

Stereotypes are damaging to yourself and others, you tell yourself quietly. There’s no reason to paint him with a negative brush already when he’s not even had a chance to do anything. And so what if he only wanted hookups? It was the 21st century, men and women could sleep with who they wanted, as often as they wanted and they shouldn’t face the prejudice you’re showing him already.

Before you can even think anything else though, your phone sends out a soft, melodic note and you look down with wide eyes. The message icon has an orange notification on it, signifying that you have a new message on there. Hesitating, you wonder if it’s just one of those generic ‘welcome’ messages that you sometimes get when you sign up for sites.

But the name of the sender tells you very much that it’s not a generic message, and the cold fear mixes with nervous excitement and trepidation as you see Jung Hoseok’s name. He must have already been on his phone to have responded so fast, and you wonder if he’s just sent a polite ‘thank you but no’ back.

It would be awfully nice of him if he did. Embarrassing, but polite.

Opening the message, your jaw drops and eyes widen as you read what he’s responded with.

You: Hi. I don’t know how to use this properly, so I’m sorry if I do it wrong. You showed as a match and...well I guess I say I’m interested? Not as a friend, unless you want that. I mean...the other way. Feel free to say no! Y/N

Reading it back over, you cringe at how...you it sounds. Hesitant and awkward and shy. Dammit, why couldn’t you just seize the moment and sound confident for once? Say something bold that would attract his attention.

And then you read his response.

Hoseok: Hey Y/N. Thanks for reaching out. How are you tonight?

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