#she also got me a skirt but it kinda looks different in reality than it did on the internet which is why we will send it back

[darksisterswielder]

tbh the best part about my birthday this year was the fact that I could celebrate it at home with my family when I remember last year I get so unbelievably sad

[kichiyosh1]

Finally free from lots of work and chore aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻

(Just for the heads up, I'm really sorry for the rant I instead doing than ramble ⁄(⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄)

The next part of deceitfully your mak3 me scream, lord I need a man like cross dress scaramouche. He's creepy but I love him.

Also a thought about cross dress scara.

Imagine him getting popular among girls and them keep asking for him to hang out with the girl, he was annoyed consider whenever he ask for you to also join, the other girls were somehow surprise and down. (just imagine the popular mean girl group ask him to join but he also include you)

Imagine scara who realize not many people like you because you didn't share the same opinion about boys, some say your just asking for attention by pretending to be scared. Oh how he wish he can just beat all of those word back to their mouth, how dare they?!? Saying stuff like that about you! Only he can do that! is what he thought when he hear the nasty rumor.

Cross dress scara who keep asking the teacher if he can be place near you always, need a group? Oh can you be so kind to place me with [name]?, have some project? Oh [name] be my project partner. Ect Ect.

Also the though of cross dress scara who make 2 lunch when he realize you keep buying the cafeteria food. He says he accidentally made more for him and his sister, while in reality he go so much as far to ask you about your favorite food (how much you like your egg done is, how much rice you would like, how much seasoning and so on with the detail) while you didn't notice too much about the topic when the two of you were going home from school. Him who make an 'extra turbo maximum pro efforts' with your lunch and he has a decent effort lunch while his sister has the leftover of all the ingredient he just use (you= a cute bear/cat/character you like with many side dish like meat and vegetable, him= a decent mean any other human eats normally, his sister= anything scrap, but still presentable. Half an egg roll? Sure why not put it in a place where it look like it's full. (she can't complain to her mother because none of them can't cooked))

Cross dress scaramouche who keep getting popular and popular the more day he going to the school. Who always have girls looking up at him while he deceitfully fool all of them. He who have visit your house and meet the sole reason why you have a very close minded to men. Him who butter up your mom to make her thrust him enough that he will protect you from other men harms. Him who now remeber your emergency house key placement after your mother thrust him enough to protect you. Him who keep suggesting you had a sleep over with him in your house while you play it like a normal thing to do.

Cross dress scara who definitely hug you form behind while you were asleep when he sleep over, making sure the door was close and he got a recorder to record you while you sleep. Who brought camera to take your sleeping face (like his wall is not full enough with your picture now), he who take a peek at your bathroom and noted the many different products like sampo and soap you use so he can also use the same one.

My head is SOO full of cross dress scara to the point I wish he was real OMG I need him he's creepy and kinda gross but I need him.

➡(link for au)

Rei you legit just wrote the most jaw dropping scenarios for this au and I'm loving it!

note: He is viewed as a 'girl' from other's point of view

〰〰〰

When the other girls try to invite him over to their table he'll try to politely decline at first, saying he has somewhere else he has to be yet they're always so persistent to the point he has to clench the fabric of his skirt in order to ground himself. Besides, why would he want to hangout with a herd of stuck up girls when he can be—

as if on cue, you walk through the doors of the cafeteria

"come on, we really don't mind if you sit here and-" he was already walking away, his focus solely on you as you gave him a small wave when you noticed him approaching you. "[y/n], perfect timing. Luckily for you I was able to snag us a table before all the seats were taken." he says taking ahold of your hand and leading you to the table he's previously been at. The girls tried to hide their shocked expression when Scara brought you to their table, both from how he so nonchalantly ignored them just now and because out of all the people he decided to befriend it just had to be you.

Scara was aware that some of the girls in the school disliked you for disliking boys, often hearing how they whispered about how weird you were for being the way that you are, and it takes every fiber in his body just to hold back and to not shove the student's binder notebook down their throat and tell them to shut up and mind their own damn business.

The quick switch from his crescent-eyed smile directed at you to his disinterested gaze looking back to them made a shiver crawl down their spine. One of the girls fakes a cough, trying to get your guys' attention.

"You sure are lucky we saved you a seat, huh Scara?" his eyes twitched wanting to scrape his name off of the girl's tongue. "Yes, though it would seem there aren't anymore seats left for you guys." The look of confusion passed around the table left even you slightly baffled by what Scara said. A loud thud resounded around the space when his hand collided on top of the table as he gave them a smile, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"Get lost."

It's also common for him to find excuses in order to just be in the same group and or partnership with you for projects. Fr the type to pull out a whole ass presentation about "100 and more in counting reasons why me and [y/n] were made for each other should be group partners." at this point the teacher doesn't even bother stopping him from suddenly declaring himself a part of your group or him transfering you to the group he's already in. cheeky little thing.

I'd like to think he's terrible at cooking, but he gave it a shot and got better and better the more he realized you liked his cooking. The little goofy smile on his face whenever you complimented the meal he made for you. He does disregard your questions as to what he was going to eat for

*･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　　

I don't mind the rant one bit, so please don't apologize!

I promised myself I wouldn't write anything and just react to what you sent but i couldn't help myself

૧(ꂹີωꂹີૂ)

The more I read and read the more my imagination started to flourish with your amazing headcannons. He just wants to love and be loved by you that his actions go from cute to overly obsessive without him even realizing it (he doesn't even think watching you sleep is crazy!).

Overall he does have good intentions but his methods of expressing them are definitely interesting.

I might write a few more headcannons for this ask so thank you for sending it in rei :)

[murderandcoffee]

I'm sorry I sent the ask too early-

Can i get some of your tma character design hcs

👉👈

well of course you can! sorry it's taken me a bit to get to this ask, I'm uh. bad at keeping up with messages lmao

okay so quick disclaimer: I didn't have solid visual ideas of all the tma characters--details would change or shift or whatever, so I'll only list some major ones/the ones I really imagined well

jon:

I see jon as a japanese-british guy who's like 5'6"/5'7" (168-170cm) with a bit of a dad bod. stern-looking, with short black hair that's graying around the temples, and some well-kept facial hair. I imagine him growing his hair out over the course of the show. he's also got glasses. I've drawn my interpretation of jon a couple of times--check out my bs.art tag if you wanna see it!

martin:

uh oh this is the one that could get me in trouble with the fandom. now listen: I had NO contact with fandom interpretations of the characters when I listened, so there was no influence from fanon designs. the martin in my head is a very tall, very lanky, awkward trans guy with blue eyes, shaggy blond hair, and a crooked smile. he's got freckles and glasses, and moves kind of like he's still a teenager getting used to how long his limbs are after a growth spurt.

sasha:

okay so the way I imagined sasha is actually pretty close to a lot of fan interpretations! I see her as a tall-ish, well-put-together, academic-looking black woman with glasses and a natural hair. I picture her wearing a lot of skirts and sweater vests. she's definitely the most professional-looking of the archival staff in my mind.

tim:

I'm not gonna lie I really pictured tim for longest time as tim wright from marble hornets. I kinda still do. tall white guy with dark hair, sideburns, and expressive eyebrows. goofy and expressive. not much else I can say for him lmao.

michael distortion:

this is another one where the picture in my mind is waaaaay different from popular fanon. the distortion, to me, was not psychedelic-eyestrain-tie-dye-colorful. it was more of a black and white, reality but a little to the left, slenderman-/cryptid-esque vibe. definitely inspired by the visual auras I get from migraines. the distortion looks completely normal until you see its reflection/see it through a warped pane of glass, then it's all sorts of fucked up! but fucked up in a take too much nyquil and see the hat man sort of way, instead of a take too much acid and see god sort of way.

gerry:

I believe in natural redhead gerry

basira:

okay okay another one that people are gonna disagree with. the basira in my head does not wear a hijab. she's got her hair slicked back into a tight, military-style bun. brown hair, brown eyes, brown skin, some moles and freckles, some scars, no-nonsense, take-no-shit attitude.

daisy:

the daisy I picture is a small firecracker of a woman. she's dangerous the way brass knuckles are dangerous--sure they fit in the palm of your hand, but they will deliver blows that you won't ever recover from, if you're lucky enough to survive. she's covered in scars, muscular, very pale (I see her mostly as a redhead), and with some tattoos, too. sometimes I picture her as blonde, but I like ginger daisy.

melanie:

I've drawn my version of melanie! I see her as desi/south asian, with wavy brown hair and brown-green eyes. I hc that she dyes her hair red, but once she's infected with the slaughter it starts staying that way (un)naturally. she's short in my mind, probably a few inches shorter than jon.

I don't have much for elias, georgie, or helen, really. their designs kind of shift around in my head. I feel like I'm forgetting characters, but oh well!

I've drawn a few not listed here (annabelle, agnes)

if there are any characters in particular that you're curious to see how I envision them, lemme know!

[linagram]

linagram t3 designs info!

hi 👋 so this time we're going without character profiles because it takes. too much time for me to write them and it also just feels kinda awkward to write them now because it's all just "well.. this character sure has changed.. yeah"

so these are the prisoners' t3 designs and i'm going to talk about the changes i've made a little bit.

(also this time i went with drawing everyone's pupil shapes on their restraints because i got tired of drawing the milgram symbols every time. i think it looks cute)

Akio still has bandages on his head because of his injury, but he doesn't have them on his neck anymore, showing that he stopped hurting himself. His hair is still messy and it also got a bit longer on one side. His eyes are still empty as well, showing that he's still not over his season 2 punishment and he's still physically and mentally traumatized. As for his outfit, he's still wearing his school uniform, but at least he got a new jacket. Originally I was going to give him a completely different outfit, but I thought that him still wanting to wear his uniform would fit his character better.

Aimi's design hasn't changed that much. She got a new hairstyle, her hair is much shorter now and she still has the same ice cream hair clip. Her pupils have also changed a bit: her pupils used to be shaped like a broken heart and now they look like complete hearts, but they also look darker, implying that she thinks she got better, but in reality the girl is becoming more and more unstable. Her prison uniform has changed and she doesn't have a few of her restraints anymore, showing that she's getting more freedom thanks to her innocent verdicts.

Shun's hair has grown and his ahoge has changed to show that he didn't take his guilty verdict well. He has those "crazy swirly eyes" going on just like in the second season and he even has that shape on his restraints as well. Oh, he's wearing an eyepatch now as well, just like Kei :) Don't worry about it. He's still wearing the same outfit he wore in season 2.

Naomi's hair is MUCH more messy now, her eyes are empty, her dark circles got worse, she's overall looking more disheveled, we love to see it. At least she still has a smile on her face.

Kei's design has changed a lot. That's what a 100% innocent verdict does to you. His hair is much longer now, and I honestly couldn't decide if he would have it tied in a ponytail or let it down while I was drawing his design, but now I think he would most likely have a ponytail, just a very messy and fluffy one. He's no longer wearing his sunglasses! Yes, he got new ones from Reina, but he decided he doesn't need them anymore. Character development, I guess?.. He got a new eyepatch as well, a much cuter one. He still kept the mask from season 2 and you can interpret it in any way you like, like maybe he simply thought it was cool or maybe he's still insecure about his appearance. He got a completely new outfit and even his prison uniform has changed and it now doesn't have sleeves.

EIKO'S DESIGN IS MY FAVORITE ONE SHE'S SERVING AND NOT ONLY A SENTENCE. She got a haircut, she got the guilty prisoner's empty eyes and dark circles, she got new earrings as well (and they look a lot like Milgram's logo..). Her uniform looks a bit torn and Shun gave her the jacket he used to wear in season 1 so that she can feel more comfortable. The jacket is a bit too big for her, but she doesn't mind. Her prison uniform also doesn't have sleeves anymore, just like Kei's.

Asahi's hair is also a bit longer now and he went back to his ponytail from season 1. He's actually wearing the same hat the cat plushie from his 2023 birthday art had! He got a different shirt and he's also wearing a cute skirt now. I should draw him wearing skirts more often honestly. He looks more nervous here than on his season 2 art.. I wonder what happened..

OH YURIKA. THE GIRL'S UNIFORM IS TORN, SHE'S MISSING MOST OF HER RESTRAINTS AND THE ONES SHE STILL HAS AREN'T EVEN RESTRAINING HER ANYMORE, SHE HAS LIKE THE HALF OF HER PRISON UNIFORM'S SKIRT MISSING AND WORST OF ALL SHE'S STILL WEARING THE SAME OUTFIT SHE WORE IN THE FIRST TWO SEASONS. The worst thing that came out of Yurika getting two guilty verdicts in a row was her never getting a new outfit to wear under her uniform. She also doesn't look that angry anymore, she just looks like she completely lost her mind. She probably did.

Riku's hair is black again and without any highlights. That's what he looks like with only his natural hair color. He's another member of the "my hair got longer! wow!" squad. His uniform looks torn and messy as well and the same goes for the outfit that he's wearing under it and it's the same one that he used to wear in season 2. He's missing some of his accessories and he stopped painting his nails and doing his makeup.

Reina's design is giving me extremely strong nonbinary or transmasc vibes and I feel like Reina isn't 100% cis but she's in a prison and she has another trial to go through so she doesn't have the time for that rn. She got a new hairstyle and her pupils are completely black now. Oh girl, what is going on inside your head.. She's also wearing a different jacket now, this one has a hood. I like to imagine that she misses the feeling of wearing a hat a bit, so she still kinda wants her head to be covered, but she refuses to wear hats because it reminds her of her delinquent era.

[shyuch]

So I went to Swampcon...

^This is not my picture, I stole it so I would have a good photo to use as my banner.

What can I say? My first convention; I'd say I'm a pretty closeted anime fan, so this is something definitely new for me. I definitely enjoyed it though.

I went to Idolfest (my favorite of all):

I must say, the last girl really knew how to dance. Plus, it was Eurobeat, so I couldn't stop myself from getting so hype. The rest of the performances were fire as well, it's just the last one blew me out of the water. It's one of those things where you just want to absolutely head-bang to it.

I didn't get it on video, but she did a NASTYYYYYY body roll that had everyone screaming near the end.

I also went to Artist Alley:

Got some prints of the best video game series ever: Yakuza. On the left is Kiryu and on the right is Majima. They are both legendary in their own ways, and I guess you will have to find out why by playing the actual game. The art style was really cool also, placing them alongside their respective symbols.

(My profile picture is also from this series, Akira Nishikiyama)

I would've gotten bigger prints, but I was already extremely broke from spring break, so I had to settle for less. Although, I did get a pair of horns from a shop.

I saw Vincent:

Also, there's the horns I was talking about earlier. But it's just a great picture isn't it, two dudes having fun at an anime convention hosted by their university.

I saw the best/worst Vocaloid concert ever:

Don't get me wrong, it's cool. It's cool to see a bunch of other vocaloid fans packed in the same room, listening to the same niche genre of music. However, it was just a 2D projection of a video (I kinda managed to turn down the exposure and make it look cool?). It's no different than me just linking a video of:

or

I know I shouldn't expect too much, but somewhere in my heart I really wanted there to be some crazy 3D projection that they set up in the grand ball room to absolutely blow us away.

(Fun fact, I think Senbonzakura is about the Meiji Restoration)

Bonus R2D2:

That's it. It's just R2D2 with me repeatedly saying "o." I was cool to see something more on the Geek side than the Otaku side.

Some Analysis:

While there wasn't millions of Doujinshi stalls scattered everyone along the Reitz, we can still see the Otaku traits in action. For example, the cosplays. I bet there were more cosplayers than actual non-cosplayers there. Each of them did it on their favorite characters in a different way, and we can really see how they managed to refictionalize a fictional character.

Additionally, the Moe elements. Remember when I was fangirling over that eurobeat dance? The way that woman was dressed up, it was definitely to appeal ot the Moe elements. The knee high wide socks, the short plaid skirt, headband... They combined a bunch of elements that people like into an outfit for the otakus to enjoy.

Not to mention, my prints. The Moe elements in this case were the symbols and the character's physiques. Their respective symbols is a big part of what makes the whole franchise "cool." Also, their muscular physiques also attract a lot of other men who maybe want to participate in the guise of a hegemonic masculinity, not to mention that their clothes are also what makes them appealing. Not give the wrong idea though, the majority of the game does not depict the characters as this "super macho" hegemonic masculinity, it only does that through the main story. The rest of the game show them as being tender and kind.

Also, the acceptance of queerness was clear throughout the whole convention. Nobody batted an eye. It was cool to see something in theory, that Otakus can distinguish from fiction and reality, hobby and self, play out in a setting like this.

Overall, I'm definitely doing this again.

10/10

[martianbugsbunny]

OUAT Thoughts Pt.24--Episodes 6-7

I have watched through S3E7; spoilers DNI. Also, spoiler warning for anyone further behind than I am.

—Ariel was worth the wait. Her naïveté comes off better than OG!Ariel’s did, because she doesn’t seem stupid so much as inexperienced—which is generally the point of being naive.

—Her picking around Rumplestiltskin’s shop was adorable. And calling a fork a mini-trident? So cute!

—Also, I just like slightly older Ariel. I think it’s because her actions are no longer those of a pouty, rebellious-for-no-reason teenager.

—Her mermaid-on-land outfit is so pretty. I love how much the skirt looks like her tail. And the sparkles on her midsection are the perfect touch.

—JoAnna Garcia is a great actor, too. I especially loved her in the Astronaut Wives’ Club, as Betty Grissom. That role killed me.

—I love that Snow and Ariel wore shorter dresses in Eric’s kingdom. Either the actors or the writers totally wanted to throw a couple of short formals in there just for kicks, so they came up with the idea of it being a regional style. I mean, the dresses don’t strictly vibe with the fairytale aesthetic, but it’s alright. At least they weren’t ugly.

—It’s interesting that Eric’s perception of Ariel is different, too. Like, OG!Eric? Total dumbass. He remembers Ariel enough to be obsessed with finding her, but not enough to remember her face? This Eric is better. I love that he decides Ariel can’t be the same person who saved him, but that the mythical being he does believe to be his savior also showed him a vision of his future with Ariel. So he connects her to his rescue, not in the right way, but he at least gets a B for effort.

—Why is Ursula gold? That’s weird! And why do we never get an Ursula who’s actually a drag queen?

—Y’all, I knew those guys in Storybrooke were the Darling brothers. Two British dudes, one of whom wears glasses, who just happen to be working for Peter Pan? Come on!

—Kinda sucks that they’re adults while Wendy is still a kid. If their ages don’t even out via magic at some point, it will be very depressing.

—On the total opposite from depressing, I got to see Dr. Hopper! I’m so happy! And he wasn’t just chilling in the background somewhere, he was basically being Belle’s emotional support human. Which, lucky for me, showcases his emotional intuition beautifully. I adore that part of him. *gazes lovingly at the ex-cricket*

—Also, his smile is enchanting. Not to be dramatic or anything, but, you know…love me a gorgeous smile. 😍

—Peter knows exactly what Henry wants to hear. Also, he’s a kid, so he’s naturally gullible. Which of course means something terrible is going to happen that Henry will be indirectly responsible (because it’s Peter who’s really to blame) and he’s going to get a terrible dose of reality.

—Hm. It might even crush his magical beliefs. Wouldn’t that just be peachy. *sarcastic* *annoyed at the very idea*

—I hate the love triangle between Emma, Baelfire, and Hook. First, most love triangles aren’t worth it. Second, I wish I could slap a polycule on it and be done, but with Hook and Baelfire’s past relationship (and secondarily, the fact that Hook dated Bae’s mom) I can’t really do that. I hate being stalemated.

—Not that I polycule everything. A lot of the times, a love triangle has a couple in it (or the two people vying for the third person’s attention who definitely won’t be a couple) with obvious chemistry, so I pick that as my ship. Because frankly, most love triangles are trite, forced drama. But Emma has good chemistry with both Bae and Hook, and I like both Bae and Hook as people, so I can’t pick between them. I guess this ship will be determined by what the writers do, for once.

—Also, Emma picking Henry was a total cop-out. There’s no way she said that as anything but a way to deflect from having to talk about her feelings.

—scary forest scary forest scary forest

—Very bad, would not go there. As if the creaking trees and the creepy reddish lighting wasn’t bad enough, it’s full of evil shadows!

—Speaking of shadows, how dare they have shadows with Dr. Facilier? Dude’s an icon, I’d much rather see him than Peter. Besides, I bet if Facilier showed up in OUAT, he’d be drop-dead gorgeous.

—But the Princess and the Frog takes placed in New Orleans, which oh-so-inconveniently happens to be on Earth, so it might be harder to adapt well.

—How long are they going to keep dropping Oz references without actually going there/having any of the characters on? It’s getting ridiculous!

—MMMMM, Pandora’s Box. It’s an interesting concept, but I’m not quite sure how that can help. Unless, of course, it doesn’t unleash something—it sucks the greatest evil in. Which is Peter Pan, at the moment. Other than that, I’ve got nothing.

—Snow and Charming are a great couple. They both have moments where they’re a little bit too self-sacrificing for their own good, but that chalks up to their sheer goodness and their love for each other. But they both fight hard for their relationship. That’s an underrated trope, imo. Of course you have to fight for love. It’s not easy just because it’s the right person for you.

[wiener-soldiers]

so, you’re real - tommy shelby

summary: while high off his ass, tommy shelby is approached by a mysterious woman offering him something more valuable than drugs: information. your services become essential to how tommy conducts business, but your anonymity means he can’t help but fall in love with you from a distance.

words: 5.4k

pairing: tommy shelby x fem!reader (race non-specific)

warnings: tommy shelby. that’s the warning.

a/n: first tommy fic :D he’s one of the most beautifully complex characters ever in television imo but that also means his kinda nightmare to right. so,,, he might come off a little ooc because he’s very soft!tommy in this. i also wanna write a tommy fic based off ‘why’d you only call me when your high’ by arctic monkeys for obvious reasons.

masterlist | add yourself to the taglist! | faq

Tommy Shelby could count the number of people who’s seen him high as a kite on opium with three fingers. Arthur was the first; he drukenly stumbled into Tommy’s room instead of his own one night and the smell of the pipe sobered him enough to start asking questions. Tommy shoved him out and by the morning, Arthur was too hungover to remember a thing. The next was Polly; Tommy stumbled down the stairs as he was high around three in the morning once as he searched the house for more booze. Polly watched from a distance as he sat himself on the kitchen table and wept, squeezing his eyes shut and covering his ears with his hands. She chose not to mention it the following morning, but a perscription for morphine found its way to Tommy’s desk a few days later.

The third person... was you.

You didn’t know the Shelby’s personally. You were the assistant of a local Small Heath accountant that dealt with Birmingham’s most infamous clients: local coppers, factory owners, politicians, even gangsters. Your boss was known as the Devil’s Safe—nothing that came in went ot without the client’s consent.

But you weren’t a saint. Being so close to his office at all times and knowing far too much about where the most influential people in Birmingham got their money and where they spent it, it was nearly impossible to keep your mouth shut.

So, you didn’t. At a price, of course.

You quit your job and created a small network of spies that could feed you information about anyone or anything at anytime, using your knowledge about the Devil’s Safe as leverge. You charged whoever could afford for your services, coppers and criminals alike. Some self-righteous copper tried to shut you down once. Keyword: tried. There were too many spies all over the city to try to arrest (that is, if he could find grounds to arrest them), and you were too important to too many important people that arresting you would likely have him assasinated.

That, and you tipped him off about a corrupt police captain who had been trading orphans for cash. It got him a promotion and you a protective shield over your dealings from the coppers.

Tommy first met you at the races. You were hanging off the arm of Roberts, Billy Kimber’s advisor, and he briefly caught your eye before returning his gaze to Grace who stared at him lovingly. He didn’t know it then, but you were analyzing him. His posture, his facial expressions, how he spoke to Kimber, and most importantly, his books that Roberts happened to have a copy of. Nothing went unnoticed by you. The Shelby’s were starting to cause ruckus all over the city and you were interested. But, to maintain your facade, you snuck a few kisses to Roberts’ neck to distract him from your snooping.

When Tommy returned to the table with the bag of cash his brothers had collected from the Lees, you were gone.

---

The second time he sees you, he isn’t even sure if it’s you.

It’s late at night as he approaches The Garrison when he notices Polly standing with another figure in the alley. He slows his steps and silences his breathing, trying to catch the end of your conversation.

“You’re sure this is where she is?” That’s unmistakingly Polly’s voice.

A soft chuckle rips through the air and Tommy suddenly wonders what your voice sound like. “There’s only so many women carrying a newborn and looking that terrified of what may be behind her,” the other voice says. It’s not soft or angelic, Tommy notices. Nothing likes Grace’s. It’s deeper, smoother, and he can almost hear the smirk in her voice.

“How do I know you’re not lying to me?” Polly asks back skeptically. Tommy has the common sense to realize she’s talking about Ada who had gone into hiding after Freddie was arrested. Polly hadn’t been able to stay in the same room as him for very long since.

You pull out another envelope from your coat and teasingly dangle it in front of her. “Here’s the list of all of Ada and Freddie’s known addresses. The Communists have them move every few weeks; the address I gave you is Ada’s current address. Go there tomorrow from seven to nine in the morning. Ada’ll still be in bed and Karl will still be asleep. Then, you’ll know I’m right, you’ll give me the full payment, and I’ll give you the rest of the addresses.”

Tommy is slightly stunned at what he’s hearing. They had been trying to look for Ada for nearly two weeks to no avail, but this woman was able to find her that easily?

The woman turns to walk away before Polly can respond and in the street light, Tommy can make out the outline of your face. It was so brief that he couldn’t tell if you were actually there or if he imagined your face in the darkness.

Polly doesn’t notice him as she makes her way back inside the pub. The following afternoon, Polly is pounding on his office door saying she’s found where Ada had been hiding.

---

The third time he sees you, he’s sitting in the empty Garrison with a bullet wound in his shoulder, whiskey coursing through his veins, enough meloncholy and anger to swim in, and a broken heart.

Billy Kimber was dead. Campbell was gone. But, so was Grace.

It was a series of emotions he hadn’t felt in a long time: relief, then anger, then happiness, then frustration. Then the shovels started. Then, it all got too loud and he slipped his opium pipe into his coat pocket before going to The Garrison to drink his sorrows away. He had never taken the pipe out of his room before. In that state, he didn’t care.

He doesn’t really know how you got in; he had angrily yelled at everyone to leave the bar when the night was late enough for him to feel emotion and locked the door behind him. Maybe I didn’t lock the door right, he thinks. In reality, you had picked the lock.

“I could’ve told you she’d been working with him,” your voice calls behind him. He’s still hunched over his drink, the pipe lying next to a nearly empty bottle of whiskey. He didn’t need her to clarify who she was talking about.

“You could’ve, eh?” Tommy mumbles dangerously. He felt light, but his eyes and his heart felt heavy. He hated the feeling. Oh god, he hated it.

“Hmm,” you hum back, taking a seat next to him. You reach behind the bar and pull out a bottle of gin and poor yourself a drink. Tommy watches you do so. You don’t look like you pity him, in fact, you don’t even look at him. Instead, you focus your attention on the drink.

After taking a sip, you reach into your coat jacket and pull out an envelope, slidding it over to Tommy. You had clearly seen the opium pipe that still had smoke coming out of it, but you gently pushed it out of the way so the envelope rested in front of Tommy’s drink.

“What is this?” he asks, still too high to think straight.

“Consider it a resume,” you quip back, taking another sip of your drink as you study the collection of liquor and spirits on the back shelf of the bar.

“For what?”

“My services.”

“You a fuckin’ whore? You think that’s what I need right now, eh?”

“What I think you need right now, Mr. Shelby, is a sense of security. To be ahead of the enemy. I can give that to you,” you reply smoothly, barely flinching. Tommy notices your voice doesn’t falter even at his jab. He begins to sober up, finaling looking at you.

You had an air of mystery and intrigue. Your eyes looked all-knowing and the corner of your lip was quirked. A white blouse was tucked into a deep red skirt with your black wool jacket overtop of it all. If he was a different man, he surely would have taken you home.

“Why are you telling me this?” he finally asks.

You look back at him, the smirk on your lips growing. “Because I quite like your family. Polly is quite intelligent and Ada is a delight. I also know far too much about you, so it’d be a shame if someone paid be good money to tell them everything there is to know about you. But if you came to me first, there wouldn’t be much of an issue. The rate for ratting out one of my clients is ridiculously high.”

So, it had been you with Polly that night, he thinks. “You’d work for me?” he asks again, tone getting more serious. The last time a woman worked for him, it didn’t end particularly well.

You laugh and Tommy is momentarily stunned. It’s a beautiful laugh that appeared in an awful moment. “I don’t work for anyone, Mr. Shelby.”

And then you left. Tommy stares a the door for a few minutes after you’ve left, wondering if he had imagined your visit the whole time. When he turns back to his drink, the envelope you left behind is a sign that you had been real. He hesitantly opens it and his jaw unhinges at the contents inside: there were several documents, reports, and even pictures tying Grace Burgess and Inspector Campbell together. It seemed so plain and simple once it was laid out in front of him.

Under the flap of the envelope was an address as well as a rate of service. It was high, Tommy couldn’t deny it, but he also couldn’t deny how the pressure on his chest eased for a moment when he was with you. Even more so when you had left the address.

The next morning, a wad of cash from Shelby Company Limited shows up at one of your drop locations. It’s more than you asked for and quicker than you expected it to come. You smirk softly and get to work.

---

Tommy doesn’t see you again until he pays a visit to Sabini’s club a few years later as he works on his London expansion. He had been a client of yours for nearly two years now and he was continuosly impressed with your work. You literally had eyes everywhere; there wasn’t a place between Manchester and Brighton that you couldn’t get to. You had been the one feeding him inside information about Sabini’s operations in London, as well as how to get Alfie Solomon’s attention.

Despite all this work, he hasn’t seen you since you approached him when he was high in the empty pub. He gets all his information through courriers, telephone calls from messengers, and packages from drop locations all over the city. He asked a courrier once why he hasn’t seen you since.

“No one really sees her, sir. We just get orders in one way or another, we excecute them, and then money shows up. She doesn’t want anyone to tie her to her clients or the boots on the ground.”

“She’s clever.”

“She’s bloody brilliant, is what she is. She’s set up this system so bloody tight that no one really knows how it works except her. One lad up in Coventry tried to turn her in. Went missing a few days later.”

He doesn’t think about you often, but when he does, he’s reminded of that night in The Garrison; how mysterious and beautiful and dangerous you looked, how his chest seemed less tight with you around. Maybe he’s imagined it. Maybe it was the opium clouding his vision. So, he pushes those thoughts away because as far as he’s concerned, you’re an enigma.  Hell, he doesn’t even know your name and he’s been paying you big money and giving away too much of his plans.

But he sees you that night when he and his brothers storm Sabini’s club. You’re sitting on a fancy velvet lounging chair, tucked under the arm of what Tommy assumes is a wealthy banker or socialite. You don’t see him (not yet, at least) but Tommy sees you. All Tommy sees is you. The smoke that flows out of your nostrils as your lips curl at whatever attempt at humour then man with you made draws Tommy in. So does the cut of your deep blue, satin dress. He knows it then, that you’re real. That you’re not a figment of his imagination.

“This place is something else, innit?” Arthur remarks as they make their way deeper and deeper into the club. Tommy is still drawn to you as his brothers gawk at the permiscuous behaviour around them.

The party atmosphere doesn’t last long however, as the boys make a show out of trashing the place. Tommy makes sure to put on a performance, to play up the fear. When he shouts something along the lines of being on a holiday, he happens to catch your eye and the first thing he notices is the smirk playing on your lips. He’s first confused as to why but he understands: you had a large part of the London expansion and you also likely knew that Tommy was going to be there that night. You weren’t there with a man. You were there to see him. You were there to see his reckoning.

The image of you tattooed itself onto Tommy’s brain and the feeling he felt in his chest was something he craved to feel again.

---

The next morning, the brothers stumble into Ada’s home, uninvited. Their younger sister begrudgingly lets them in, still clad in her nightgown, and hastily tells them to keep their noise level down as Karl was still sleeping.

It doesn’t last very long.

“You shoulda seen their bloody faces, Ades!” John hollers, mouth full of biscuits and tea. Ada hisses at him for spewing food across the table.

“Didn’t know what was coming, the lot of them,” Arthur adds, already taking a sip from a flask. He was barely sober from the night before and it wasn’t even eight in the morning. “Fuckin’ Sabini, Ada. He won’t know what’s bloody comin’.”

“Sabini, eh?” Ada plays along, still slightly annoyed but now intriguied. “You didn’t happen to hit up his club last night, did you?”

“’Course we did!” John snickers. “What’d you think we’d do, start small?”

Ada’s facial expression suddenly changes into one of slightly more concern. Arthur and John don’t notice, but Tommy does. “I was hopin’ you would,” Ada plays it off but Tommy notices.

“Ada?” he asks, voice stern but eyes curious. His sister was intelligent, so much so that her mouth was as good at getting her out of trouble as it was getting her in it. Tommy was sure that there was more than what she let on.

“Tom?” Ada says back, not meeting his gaze and instead taking a bite out her toast and jam.

“Why’re you so hung up on Sabini’s club?” Tommy asks  directly, slowly getting tired of his sister’s semantics. He mommentarily understands how Polly feels when he keeps things from her.

Ada sighs, having also attracted attention from her two other brothers. She sets down her toast and looks directly at Tommy. “You saw her, didn’t you?”

“Saw who?” Arthur asks, booming voice too loud for the sudden change of tone in the room. Ada grimaces but still stares at Tommy.

Tommy knows exactly who she’s talking about. But he wonders how Ada does.

“I did,” he says simply.

“Who’re you talkin’ about?” John asks next, looking between his siblings. Arthur shrugs at him.

“Did you say anything to her?”

“No.”

“Good,” Ada says too quickly. Tommy narrows his eyes at her.

“For God’s sake!” Arthur says again, slamming his tea cup back down onto the table. “Who in the bloody hell are you talkin’ about?”

Ada rolls her eyes and continues eating and Tommy is left to stare at his brothers. He wants to answer. He wants to answer so badly. But he doens’t even know her name.

“I—” Tommy trails off. He’s rarely rendered speechless, but he is when it comes to you. Who were you? Why did Ada know you? Why can’t he get you out of his head? Why does he hope you’re standing there in the shadows every time he steps out on the street?

“You? You what, Tom?” John asks this time, equally as exasperated.

“He doesn’t know and it should stay that way,” Ada says simply. “She offers you a service, you pay her, end of transaction. Stay away from her Tommy, I mean it.”

“What service?” John asks again, still getting more questions than answers.

Tommy sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “After Grace, she offered me a service. Cash in exchange for information. Said she knew that I needed a sense of security.” She was right, Tommy thinks but doesn’t dare say.

“Information about what, exactly?” Arthur asks, voice dropping an octave as he leans forward.

“Everything. Anything and everything. She knows everything. I don’t have the slightest clue how,” Tommy answers honestly, his own disbelief being obvious for the first time.

“She can betray us...” John warns, skeptical especially after Grace.

“She won’t,” Ada says simply.

“How do you know?” John challenges.

“She won’t,” Ada reaffirms with a glint in her eye. John immediatley backs down. Ada doens’t trust easily, especially after Freddie.

Tommy believes her. You know too much, far too much. More than he or you had bargained for. You also gave too much. Tommy asked for one thing, you gave him what he wanted and more. Tommy wanted a brief description of the shipping business in Bristol, you gave him an itemized list. Tommy asked you to keep an eye out for any potential threats, you gave him incredibly precise weekly reports. He asked people what your service was like as if he didn’t already know himself: you were never this thorough. He knew you wouldn’t betray him because you would have done it already. The question is, why did Ada trust her?

“You know who she is, don’t you?” Tommy asks his sister once again, doing his best to intimidate her. It’s no use.

“I do,” Ada says simply.

“Even her name?”

John scoffs. “You don’t even know her bloody name and you’ve got that look like you’re in love? Jesus, Tom! You need a good fuckin’, I’m telling you.”

Ada ignores her brother’s comment. “Even her name.”

Tommy gestures for her to elaborate and Ada hesitantly continues, “Polly paid her to find me after Karl was born. She found me personally, not through a messenger. We got along quite well, she was very honest about what she’d been hired to do. She gave Polly that information she was looking for, but we kept in touch. Personally, I mean. I like her.”

“Tell me her name, Ada.”

Ada makes a face of fake appeasement. “Can’t do that, sorry Tom.”

Tommy’s jaw clenches. “Ada...” he warns.

Ada’s glare mathces his own. “Her identity is all she’s got Tommy. The minute a client knows who she is, it all falls apart. For the love of God, for your safety and hers, don’t find her.”

And hell, does Tommy want not to listen. He wants to find you again. To see you. To speak to you. To learn your name. To feel the weight in his chest lighten once more.

But you remained impossible to find. Even with his London expansion, he wasn’t any closer to finding out who you really were than the day you first spoke to him at The Garrison.

So, he tried to push his thoughts away. He didn’t get so lucky.

---

He was used to receiving messages from you on Sunday evenings before the week began and Thursday mornings before the week ended. Sometimes, they’d be in the form of a phone call from a messnger reading a message written by you. Other times, he would visit a drop site where he picked up parcels of information and evidence you had collected. Fridays were paydays, so he’d get a Blinder to drop a parcel of cash (though they never knew it was cash) at a drop site and wait for a courrier with a blue ribbon pinned under the lapel of their overcoat to retrieve it.

All your foot solidiers and clients wore the ribbons. You avoided paper trails so everything was with symbols. Ribbon colours were a discrete way for both the client and the courrier to tell who was who. Clients wore white ribbons, courriers wore blue ones, messengers wore green ones, and red ones were used for emergencies.

That’s why Tommy panicked when a man burst into his office late at night the day before he was set to take down Sabini, urgently lifting his lapel to show his red ribbon.

“What’s happened? Are we in danger?” Tommy asks immediatley, standing up from his chair.

“No, sir,” the foot soldier said. They were never allowed to say the names of clients, only sir and ma’am. “I have a message from her. It was urgent and couldn’t have waited until Thursday.”

The man gives him a sealed envelope before bowing and leaving as quickly as he came. Tommy checks to make sure that he is alone before ripping it open. It wasn’t a message, but a phone number and the word clairvoyant scribbled quickly with fancy ink.

Tommy furrows his eyebrows but picks up his phone and dials the operator. The other end picks up immediately. He hastily says the number he wants to be patched through to as well as the word scribbled below it. The operator says nothing else and he hears the phone ring again before a female voice finally picks up.

“Mr. Shelby, I was waiting for your call.”

It was you. Tommy’s heartbeat quickens. You continue to speak, oblivious to his shock, “I don’t make calls myself unless absolutely neccassary. You don’t need to worry about privacy; I have connections with the operating center that patched you through. They won’t say a word to anyone, telling them that you called and they won’t be listening.”

Truthfully, Tommy hadn’t even been thinking of that. He was still slightly shocked that he was hearing your voice, the same voice as nealry three years ago. The opium fucked with a lot of things, but not his sense perception. Your voice was as beautiful as he remembered it to be.

He forces the thoughts out of his head and finally speaks. “What’s happened? Is there an emergency?”

“You aren’t safe at the races tomorrow. There will be an attempt on your life.”

Tommy is not entirely surprised. “I’m sure you can put two and two together; what I plan to do at the races is practically a suicide mission, dear. Of course there’ll be an attempt on my life.”

You scoff at the other end of the line. “Mr. Shelby, I’ll rephrase: you may succeed in your plan tomorrow, but something will catch you off-guard. Something big.”

“What is it, then? If you’re so sure,” Tommy challenges, but is taken aback by the silence.

You sigh, defeated at the other end of the line. “Mr. Shelby, I’ll be honest. An Inspector Campbell approached me this morning, asking for my services to give him everything I knew about you plans tomorrow. I took his money.”

Tommy’s jaw clenches. “You called me to tell me you’re a fuckin’ conspirator against me now, eh?”

“I resent that. There’s a reason I ask you not to tell me anything about your business aside from what I need to know to do my job,” you snap back. “Campbell gave me money to tell him information I didn’t have. So, I took the money and told him lies. He didn’t pay enough money to turn me against one of clients anyway and I don’t negotiate.”

Tommy laughs in slight disbelief, “You clever bloody woman.”

You can’t help but grin at the other end of the line. “He let it slip that he had something planned, though. That you weren’t getting out of this alive. Thomas, I don’t know what and I don’t have enough time to find out, but you needed to know,” you say before soflty adding, “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t tell you.”

Tommy nods solemnly before saying, “That’s the first time you’ve called me Thomas.”

You laugh and Tommy’s heart clenches at the sound. “Is that what you choose to focus on?” you ask, amused despite your worry.

“I’m not afraid of death. Not anymore,” Tommy answers.

“It’s a shame. There seems to be a lot in your life that’s worth living for,” you reply, your voice softer that Tommy’s ever heard it.

“Will you do me one final favour? Take it as my dying wish.”

“Thomas—” you start before he cuts you off.

“Can you tell me your name?” he finally asks, but he’s met with silence. He clears his throat and adds, “Please?”

You sigh at the other end. This is not how you were supposed to conduct business. Anonymity was the only thing keeping you from being excecuted at the hands of the Crown or a crime-boss. But here the feared Thomas Shelby was, asking as his dying wish to know your name. You don’t know him aside from your brief interactions and stories from Ada. But strangely, you trust him with the key keeping your identity safe.

“Y/N. My name’s Y/N.”

---

The following evening, Tommy trudges home covered in mud and blood. His encounter with the face of death was anticipated, but still left him scarred. Despite his success against the races and against Sabini, he felt trapped. With a success in the business, he still finds himself indebted to Winston Churchill. He’s exhaused of this cycle and in the moment, he embraced his fate just a little.

As he pushed the door to his home open, his eyes are immediately drawn to crackling fire. He hadn’t expected anyone to be home, as the family was staying in London with Ada to celebrate their successes.

So the sight of you, sitting on his couch and staring into the fire shocked the life back through him.

He takes of his hat and stares at you in slight disbelief. “So, you’re real.”

You turn to face him and the tension previously present in your features fell and the corner of your lip quirked upwards. “You’re alive,” you state the obvious.

“The Devil’s tried too many time to kill me, I’m starting to wonder if God does exist,” he says plainly, taking off his coat and taking a seat on the other end of the couch from you.

A small laugh escapes you. “He has jokes, does he?”

Tommy smiles softly but shakes his head and stares at you. “You’re really real. I was starting to think I was imagin’ ya.”

“Ada says you’ve been asking about me.”

“I have. She wouldn’t tell me your name, though.”

“You got it anyway.”

“Who’s to deny a man his dying wish?” Tommy darkly jokes again.

“I can’t go back to operating how things were. Even you knowing my name is too much,” you say softly, turning back to the fire. You were slightly frustrated with yourself. Years and years of building a network built around your anonymity destroyed by one man. Deep down, you felt that it was time.

“I wouldn’t tell anyone,” Tommy says simply.

“But you’d want to be in my life,” you say back, still not looking away from the fire. “I’m a woman, but I’m not stupid. I know why you tried to look for me.”

Tommy sits back and watches her. A woman’s never been more direct with him before. Even Grace, who had just asked him to lay with her one final time before moving back to America at the races, had never laid out what she saw so simply and bluntly before. She was right. Tommy wouldn’t tell anyone your name if you asked him to, but he would still want to see you. The only thing more painful than not knowing who you were was knowing and still not being able to see you.

“You could start again,” Tommy says. He barely recongizes the softness in his own tone, but he decides the change is good. “You could work for me, have your men join the Blinders if they wanted.”

“I don’t work for anyone, Mr. Shelby,” you say again cheekily, reminding him of the first time the two of you spoke. You turn to face him and stop to admire his beauty—how the fire cast beautiful shadows across his face, how the moonlight sparkled in his eyes.

“That you don’t,” Tommy hums in agreement, still looking at you. His gaze hadn’t left you since he came home.

It’s silent for a few moments before Tommy says, “Stay.”

“With you?” you ask in slight surprise.

“With me, in Small Heath, with the company—whatever you want. Just stay.”

“You barely know me.”

“Then let me get to know you, Y/N,” Tommy answers, finally saying your name for the first time. He loves the way it spills off his tongue and you equally adore the sound of his voice when he says it.

You nod softly, agreeing with his hearfealt proposition. The two of you spent the rest of the night staring into the fire, allowing your heartbeats and breaths come into sync as you slowly fell asleep.

---

It’s been five years since you had started working for Shelby Company Limited as Tommy’s senior advisor and security specialist, four years since your network of spies had merged with the Peaky Blinders, three years since you and Tommy got married, two years since you gave birth to a set of twins named Benjamin and Mae Shelby, and one year since you had also become a political advisor to your husband and his allies in Parliament.

With your years together, the Shelby family found you to be an intriguing, fascinating, and intimidatingly wonderful woman. They couldn’t comprehend how right you seemed with Tommy. They also couldn’t comprehend how involved you were in their success without them even knowing who you were. However, they love to poke fun at Tommy for basically falling in love with from two interactions.

You were currently at the Arrow House doing the final touch-ups to your makeup for the gala you were hosting in your home. It was a typical charity ball that made sleezy politicians look good in the eyes of their constituants, but you had pressured Tommy to allow you to host it on behalf of the Shelby Family Institute. He had been skeptical, but relented when you reminded him that it wasn’t about giving them a platform to look good, but using their ego to benefit the institute.

“I’ve put the children to bed,” Polly announces as she walks into the master bedroom. The room is obscenely large with a king sized bed in the middle, but Polly can’t help but feel pride every time she visits. It was the both of your hardwork that you got you here and she was proud. “Ben passed out almost immediatley, but you’re right about Mae. She’s a trouble maker.” 

You give Polly a smile through the mirror of the vanity you sat in front of, “Thank you, Pol. Really.”

“Where’s that bastard husband of yours?” Polly jokes as she stands behind you, inspecting her pearls in the mirror.

“His study, no doubt,” you joke with a slight smirk.

“The faith the two of you have in my is astounding,” Tommy says sarcastically, immerging through the en-suite dressed in his tuxedo.

Polly rolls her eyes and leaves the room, leaving the couple to stare at each other.

“You clean up well, Mr. Shelby,” you state, smiling as he approaches you. “Though I’m not sure if that’s because of you or your OBE.”

“Sometimes, I wonder if I should have continued loving you at a distance,” he comments humourously.

You laugh—a real laugh—and wrap your hands around his neck while his arms immediately find themselves around your waist.

“How’re you feeling, darling?” Tommy asks, referring to the mental and emotional preparation for the event that was about to start downstairs.

“I’m not the biggest fan of a lot of your colleagues, Tom,” you say honestly. “Their wives however...they give me thousands of pounds worth of information every sentence.”

“You never cease to amaze me with that mind of yours,” he tells you honestly.

“And you never cease to amaze me with how verbally affectionate you can be,” you quip back lightheartedly before Tommy softly kisses your lips.

“How ‘bout this?” he says once you pull away. “I take care of getting donations, you take care of getting more leverage on the labour bill I’m looking to pass.”

“Done,” you say with a smile before Tommy kisses you again. You begin to hear cars pull into the driveway when you try to pull away, but he keeps you close.

“Tom,” you giggle, breathless. “Tom, the guests are arriving.”

“I’ve waited for you for years, they can wait for you a little while longer,” he replies with a smirk before kissing you deeply once again.

[love-hatred-stuff]

Just a dream } Lim Sejun [victon]

genre: yandere, mild smut, fluff (,angst?)

warning(s): mentions of killing & stalking, suggestive!, mentions of other idols (subin&byungchan)

word count: about 3.3k

note: If u feel uncomfortable with any of the warnings above, feel free to skip! I will probably do more parts :)

I'm not that good in writing smut but I wanted it to be not too dirty, like there's sexual tension but everything is on a comfortable level

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Third person's POV

at school

Lim Sejun was your best friend, along with his stepbrother Jung Subin. You actually met Sejun through Subin.

At first only Subin was your classmate since 5th grade and you too eventually became really close. And later on, about two years, Sejun joined you because he moved here, when his Mom wanted to marry your other friends Dad.

You never never had romantic feelings for Subin, you just loved him as a friend.

But his stepbrother was something different. It wasn't like you had a crush on him, he just made you so nervous all the time.

You didn't show it, but inside you always slightly get butterflies everytime he stares at you or uses his deep voice to convince you to something.

Not to mention his looks, but he could do many things that made him get most girls attention. Though he never cared about girls except for you.

He was a rather cold person, kept most things to himself and didn't laugh very often. But when he did, it always made you happy aswell.

It was mostly you that made him giggle or smile but you never questioned it.

You were just grateful to have them as your friends. Even though the brothers fought like literally almost all the time.

But what you noticed is that Sejun was very protective over you. What you didn't know was caused by the obsession he had over you.

In the Beginning it was only a little crushing, adoring you secretly. This soon turned into serious, strong feelings, and desire that he kept inside and eventually real love.

Of course you obviously didn't know about his "little" possession, but you were everything to him and nothing would steal you from him.

Anyone that touched you inappropriately, wasn't blessed to live a long life. And he made sure of that. The killing wasn't a big deal for him, as long as you were safe it didn't matter.

School was long over, but you and Sejun were still sitting in the library to do homework and explain math to Subin when he had problems, which was like constantly.

"God, Subin! I explained this to you like a hundred times. It's Sejun's turn now, he is even smarter than me." You groaned at your friends intolerance.

You desperately looked at the dark haired boy, who sat on a chair and concentratedly wrote something on a paper.

When he was just giving you a look with a frown you sighed.

"Help your brother for gods sake! I can't do this anymore. I finished anyways, I could just go if I wanted to." You complained in a whiny manner.

Sejun still looked at you and than shortly at Subin. He shook his head.

"I'm not helping him. He has to learn himself. And he's just my stepbrother. Not my problem." He shrugged and turned to his paper.

Subin just looked absolutely cluelessly at the many numbers and even letters.

"Please Sejun! Your Mom told me to help him. She will think I'm dumb as well!" You continued, to stubborn to give up first.

"Hey!" Subin faked a hurtful look, laying his hand on his heart.

"Sorry, Binnie. But I won't explain this to you again." You touched his shoulder, smiling exclusively.

Now Sejun also noticed the contact between you too and made a noise to seperate you again and get your attention.

Your head turned to him, hoping he changed his mind.

But he just saw one thing at this moment; your thigh that was exposed because of the skirt that had slipped up 'til the beginning of you lace slip.

His eyes fixated on your beautiful legs and his mind went wild automatically. He was aroused immediately, imagining he was the one who could take it off of you.

You didn't bother to look down, where he was looking. You were just thinking he zoned out for a moment at waved your hand on front of his iced eyes.

"Sejun? Are you okay?" You wondered.

When he came back to reality he noticed how tight his jeans felt so suddenly. But managed to look up at you finally.

"Huh? Oh, yes. I will only explain this once to him, and I wanna get a treat." He wanted to compromise.

You waited a moment to process and decide if you wanted to compromise.

"Okay. What do want as your treat?" You asked innocently.

Sejun thought. How could he indirectly say that he wanted to be alone with you?

"You will go with me studiying tomorrow, after school." He grinned, secretly so excited to have you to himself for some hours.

Your eyes widened. Another study session?

"Fine, but why so obsessed with studiying? School's not everything, Junnie." You told him.

He stayed silent. If you knew what I want to do to you right now, Y/N. He thought, very aware of his bulge, growing even harder. But he couldn't do anything about it, he had to hide under the table until it would hopefully disappear.

After about half an hour, he had made everything clear for Subin. Well, supposedly. And the three of you went home.

Subin couldn't hold a moan back as he touched his boner through his black jeans. He hadn't been able to hold back the dirty thoughts of you telling him that you wanted him as much as he did. And now that he was finally home, he could release some of his inholded sexual sounds. He rarely listened to anyone but gladly would accept you as his domme.

He just loved you so much, of course he was craving for your touch. You were his only weakness at this point.

•••

the next day

You could walk to school because your house wasn't that far away. You didn't know that Sejun was always behind you, to make sure you came home safe and to enjoy your pretty features a little longer.

When you arrived and waited for you two only friends and greeted Subin happily with hug and a minute later Sejun with a sweet "Hey." Because you knew he didn't really enjoy skinship.

He greeted back politely. And thought about how pretty you looked again, although he saw you everyday in the same school uniform.

He secretly hated that the girls had to wear skirts in school. So he gave every boy who dared to look at you a second too long a warning glare to fuck off. And if they wouldn't hear, he would made sure they would never look at you again.

It was normal for him, he would keep you forever. And no one would destroy his plan.

~~

School had ended fast and you bid your goodbyes to Subin and went to the library.

You sat down next to each other and your knees would touch every now and then, making Sejun wanting to already moan your name out loud, by just this simple touch.

~~

One hour had passed and you slowly got bored, as you were just too done to concentrate on school stuff any longer.

"Sejun~" You whined, tucking on his blazer.

Holy fuck. He thought. I want you to whine my name like this again.

He tried to not look much affected and hummed as a response to you.

"I'm bored. I don't wanna study anymore. Let's just do something different, yes?" You tried to convince him with puppy eyes.

"What can we do?" He asked quietly, unsure if he would maybe be alowed to touch you a little.

"Kiss?" You said, leaning forward.

It wasn't really your intention but he could see some of your cleavage in this position. He told himself to keep control.

You laughed sweetly. He was so cute when he blushed.

You were just joking. But didn't know he was actually craving for the touch of your lips, just once. Once would be enough and he would be the luckiest man alive.

Now you frowned, he still wasn't looking away from your lips.

"Sejun, I was just jo-" You couldn't finish.

His hands snaked around your waist to sit you on his lap in a fast motion, disrupting you.

Him touching you in this way, affected you more than you wanted to admit.

"What are you doing?" You whispered.

Your butt sat on his thighs, your feet touched the ground. And your faces weren't that far away from each other either.

"I thought you were bored." His raspy voice made you feel the familiar butterflies in your stomach.

"Yeah, but what do want now?" You still whispered, so exited for his next move.

He grabbed your hips with more force, to shove you even further to his face.

A groan escaped his throat at the sudden friction he felt of your core grinding on his.

"You don't wanna know what I want to do to you Y/N."

He let his finger slide over your lower lip.

Why was he so changed all out of the blue?

He had waited for years to feel you right there where you sat on in this moment.

"Do you want me to stay still or move?" You asked as you were ready to risk it all.

You were feeling so out of this world, like someone would have drugged you. But you liked it, yeah, you enjoyed it.

"It's your choice, kitten. But be aware that if you cross a certain line I won't be able told back and take you right here, right now." He warned you in a husky voice, while breathing in all of your body right in his hands.

You let out a whiny moan at his dirty talking. You were kinda ready to get to his limits.

"It's okay, just tell me when I have to stop." You breathed out, against his neck.

As he felt your hot breath hit his exposed skin and at the same time, your hips moving into his he fekt like in heaven.

"Y/N~ah." He moaned out and threw his head back.

He felt like he would come right on the spot.

Between your movements you also let out hitched breaths at the immense pleasure your where giving and receiving, although you both still where having all your clothes on. But you forgot about that long ago.

Your bodys where still rocking together as he was watching all of your little expressions that showed on your face.

Though, at some point when you begin to settle kisses on his neck, jaw and cheeks, he couldn't hold himself back any longer and wanted to warn you again so it wouldn't escalate.

"Y/N, Y/N-ah, stop, it's too much!" He almost cried out for you.

You obeyed and stopped, panting a little.

"It's okay." You stroke his cheek. "We can continue this another time, Junnie." You promised.

His eyes flashed with exitement, as he struggled to come down from this so unreal seeming experience with you.

"I- I will just finish this work sheet. I have to calm down." Sejun told me as he got his ability to talk back.

He never thought, he would be able to find the confidence and touch you like this.

And you even agreed!

It was like a dream.

•••

Well, maybe it really was.

Sejun's POV

"Junnie, wake up!" Y/N shook me gently.

I was suddenly torned from my deep sleep. I breathed out and groaned.

I had dreamed everything?!

I felt so disappointed. I wished it would have happened in reality, it was the most pleasureable thing I had ever experienced in my life.

And it came out as just another wet dream of mine.

At this moment I told myself to be more confident and don't behave like a creep that hated skinship.

I had to be more cool with it, orherwise I would never get what I was craving for desperately.

"Are you okay, Sejun-ah?" She looked at me a bit worried as I still wasn't reacting at all.

But her voice finally brought me back to reality.

"No Y/N, I'm not okay." I answered.

"What is it?" She wondered.

I struggled to come up with an excuse, so I decided to be honest with her.

"You and me, we were here in the library and-"

"Oh, that? You weren't dreaming, Junnie. It happened."

I widened my eyes. It wasn't a dream? I blushed.

"But why did I fell asleep then?" I wanted to know, since it all didn't really made sense.

"You wanted to finish your paper to calm down. Well, it worked, you fell asleep." She explained

Suddenly I remembered. I had never dreamed. It had happened in real life.

Maybe I should consider sleeping more instead of watching her. I thought to myself, it was unacceptable to fall asleep during spending time with her.

•••

Third person's POV

You were sitting in the cafeteria of your Highschool, talking to your two guy friends.

It was a day like every other and everything was normal, except for Sejun's behaviour.

He was getting more confident in touching you but immediately blushed when he noticed that you were looking at him with a concerned face.

It was not like you lost interest or anything, you were still reacting to his teasing as intense as before. But you didn't thought he would want the two of you to keep doing these things.

Everything began two days ago in the library. He was getting more and more crazy for you each second.

Right in the moment he was secretly watching you talking to his stepbrother.

You were pure beauty in his eyes and he couldn't stop looking at your soft features and feminine body.

How you used your whole body while demonstrating something to Subin was something Sejun found absolutely adorable.

Every now and then you also glanced at him so he had to act like he wouldn't been staring at you the whole break long and mostly just nodded when you asked for his opinion or just wanted to include him in the conversation.

Sejun almost forgot to eat while being so busy admiring you.

When the bell rang for third period all the students stood up and he noticed that he wasn't the only one who didn't eat most of his food.

"Y/N you only ate your salad." Sejun walked next to you and pointed at your still full tablet with his finger.

You both were walking the same direction to put your tablets away and turn to your class after.

"Oh yeah, I'm not that hungry." You tried to explain.

But the actual reason was something else. You couldn't ignore Sejun's attentive look on you the whole time. You tried your best to ignore this weird feeling in you stomach but it was difficult when you knew that you had to endure that until you would be home.

"But you need to eat, to have enough energy for class." He pointed out while you made your way to the classroom.

Even if all his actions were meant to be innocent without any dirty intentions, it was hard for you to forget how you were sitting directly on his hard boner and could hear these pornografic sounds coming out of his mouth.

You liked how he had reacted to you in some way. Because no one ever had made you feel so wanted like he did that evening.

And you really gave your best to delete it from your memory but you just couldn't when you saw him every single day and felt how tensed he sometimes was. It reminded you of the Sejun that had called you Kitten.

You noticed you hadn't answered him yet and snapped out of your wild thoughts.

"Yes, I know but I have enough energy left. I promise, Junnie." You assured as you two arrived at the right room.

He just gave you a worried look and settled down on his seat like you did.

The three of you weren't directly seated next to each other but close, so the boys could still have an eye on you.

The teacher came in as well and the lesson began soon after.

Byungchan was sitting next to you since a few days, but you have no problem with that because he's very nice. Sometimes he would try to flirt with you and you would just act like you wouldn't know what he was doing.

He was also very handsome and popular at your school, though that hadn't had any affect on you. You just cared about the work you had to do together, nothing else.

Although... you do blushed when he made you a compliment, simply because you found it charming and sweet of him to care about how you looked.

What you didn't know was that Sejun was on the verge of killing him every single day since he sits next to you.

He even asked himself how to quickly and inconspicuously as possible have this done. So he would get rid of him finally.

He was so angry inside but told himself to keep his control awhile longer. You shouldn't suffer under his death too much so Sejun wanted to wait a little longer and threathen Byungchan first, to better stop flirting with you or else he had to be killed.

After a while the class was dismissed and for you, school had ended already. You completely had missed the time and were happy to be able to leave the school building already.

You packed your stuff and didn't even notice that Sejun was standing in front of you.

While he waited he stared down at you until he finally spoke up.

"Hey, Y/N. Do want to go eat ice-cream and hang out a bit maybe?" He asked as he restlessly scratched his neck.

You looked up, surprised to hear his voice instead of Subin's.

"Umm yeah, sure. But where's Subin?" You wanted to know, furrowing your brows and scanning the room to find you other friend.

"He had to leave early today. Mom told him to do his homework once in a lifetime." Sejun's monotonous voice was back and he was a little sad that you wanted to have Subin with you so badly.

You chuckled and put on your blazer and then your backpack, before you nodded at him to move on.

All students had left the classroom already so you were alone.

He started to shiver instead of leaving the room as he knew that he had to speak about what had happened between you two.

"Y/N.. I think we maybe need to talk." His shy self was back again.

"About what?" You asked, as you were wondering if he really would mention the incident again.

"About that day.. when you and I.." He wasn't able to finish his sentence, he was too insecure.

She probably doesn't want me to touch her anyways. Sejun thought and closed his eyes in brief.

"It's okay, Sejun-ah. We can just forget about it if you want." You patted his shoulder as you weren't really sure what to say or do.

"That's not it, Y/N. I want your permission to my touch. I want to be closer to you and not make you uncomfortable." The black haired boy looked to the ground, expecting you to be grossed out.

"You have my permission Sejun-ah, it's okay with me if you touch me more. I like it because I always enjoy your company. You have to know that, alright?" You gave him a warm smile when he finally found the courage to look at you.

He kept quite and nodded before leaving school with you.

He couldn't say it, but he deeply wanted to hold your hand.

You thought and felt the same so you just took the first step and interwined your hand with his.

You didn't expect this to be more than a close friendship but you enjoyed it anyways. As he always made you feel so safe and loved.

And Sejun was feeling like he just got everything he wanted in a matter of seconds. He would protect you, not caring about the rest of the world.

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I edited the story cover by myself but the pictures are not mine (so is the gif), credits to the owners :)

[hatterstan-shameblog]

Smut, you say 👀

You're this cute, kinda innocent woman that gets the help of this handsome gigolo to not be as... innocent.

💕 The Professional: Chapter 1 💕

Chapter Two

Rating: PG-13 (for this chapter only)

Pairing: Danma Takeru (Hatter)/Reader (she/her

Tags: flirting, suggestive conversation, alcohol consumption, smoking, kissing

“Well, darling,” he says, voice low and smooth and so much closer than before, “I think it’s high time we got to the heart of the issue. The root of the root and the bud of the bud, as it were.”

“Uh,” you say, unsure of where he’s going with this but very much enjoying his simple touches, “what do you mean?”

“I’m just wondering,” he clarifies, pausing to let out a soft sigh, “when you’re going to give in and kiss me.”

Notes: This is a kind-of sort-of AU—in the show, Hatter references his involvement with the host club business, and mentions that he “would do anything” to be the best. Although host clubs do not usually involve sex work (as far as I know), I believe that he would definitely offer that “off the books” in order to win over his clientele.

You’re nervous. Nervous and jittery and—oh, dear, there’s a lot of feelings going on in here, and all of them seem to fall under the umbrella of ‘mild to moderate discomfort.’ Not that feeling uncomfortable is anything new; in fact, there are very few times where you happen to feel truly comfortable outside of, say, the warmth of your bed or the soothing calm of a late-night bath. Places where you feel safe. Places where you can let yourself breathe and be, unhindered by expectation.

The place where you currently find yourself—this strange little pocket of a room in the buzz and bustle of a Friday-night Kabukicho—is full-to-bursting with expectation. From the polished wood floors to the glittering gold chandelier that hangs from the center of the ceiling, there is an inescapable sense of opulent whimsy that is tinged pink with a blush of sensuality. There are even fresh flowers on the table in front of you—a vase of ranunculus, blooming bright and orange like a green-stalked bunch of tiny setting suns.

Something like an itch tickles your sweat-damp palms, making you ball your hands into tight fists around the fabric of your skirt. Oh, you should have worn something different! Something sexier, maybe, with a deeper neckline and a shorter hem, that hugged the shape of your body as opposed to ghosting over it in fluttering chiffon. Not that you actually, you know, owned anything like that, but—

The pop! of a champagne cork makes you jump. Hell, you feel like you’re about to pop, too, from the nervous energy boiling and swelling in your chest. It’s so very difficult not to fidget, to keep your toes from tapping out a frantic little rhythm on the rug.

Looking back, you realize that the paperwork had been the ‘easy’ part. Not that it had been particularly easy—who knew there would be an application process for this kind of thing?—but it was less stressful to fill out a (surprisingly comprehensive) questionnaire in the privacy of your own home as opposed to this agonizing waiting.

And what, exactly, are you waiting for?

Why, you’re waiting for him.

His name is Takeru—or, at least, that’s what he’s asked you to call him. Whether or not it’s a stage name is difficult to tell; but what you do know is that it sounded so very nice in the deep clear of his voice. The only thing that sounded better was your name, which he said in a gently-sultry half-whisper that made you feel…many thing, and not all of them innocent.

In a devastatingly well-tailored suit of lipstick red—a vibrant pop of a color you would so often consider buying at the makeup counter but always put back—it’s nearly impossible to look at anything but him. A small collection of rings glisten from his fingers, most of them delicate little things that wink a tiny gleam when the light hits them just right. The dizzying black-white-gold pattern of his shirt is unbuttoned just a smidge too low, offering you a tantalizing view of his chest.

And although his back is toward you, concocting some kind of magic at the bar cart along the far wall, you can all but feel the warm-dark of his eyes on you. Oh, he has beautiful eyes, dark and warm with the glitter of laughter—or perhaps mischief, if the situation calls for it. A slim nose leads down to a shapely mouth, handsomely framed by a neatly-trimmed beard and mustache.

Also, his hair—oh, that man has a great head of hair.

Aesthetics aside—he has been undeniably lovely. Slipping the coat from your shoulders when you walked into the room, fingertips skimming the slope of your shoulders with only the barest of touches. Offering you a glass of champagne (“Yes, thank you”) as he leads you to sit on the green velvet settee, hand hovering above but never touching the small of your back. A serene smile on his lips as he talks, as he tells you that your dress is lovely (“Blue is definitely your color, darling”) and letting out an airy chuckle when you mention that this was as good occasion as any to dig it out of the back of your closet.

It is impossible to ignore the way he is so very provocative—subtly so, in a way that makes you second-guess whether his flirtations had happened at all. Did his eyes really linger over the shape of your legs, or was he simply taking a moment to admire your (new, very cute) shoes? Did his fingertips slip over the curve of your shoulder as he removed your coat, or were you just imagining it?

His gaze tiptoes over your shape as he sits down beside you, two flutes of pink-tinged something in hands.

“I’ve taken the liberty of making something a little special,” he says, “Hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh, uh, thank you,” you say as he hands you one of the glasses, “it…it looks nice.”

“Know what it is?”

“Uh,” you say after a moment of silent deliberation, “Maybe alcohol?”

He huffs a short laugh at your half-joke—a rather polite response, and it manages to soothe the bubble of regret that had risen up your throat the moment you’d said it.

“You’re not wrong. More specifically, though, it’s a Kir Royale—or, my take on one, at the very least,” he watches the bubbles fizzle to the top of the glass, “I find myself more or less incapable of keeping with convention, even when it comes to alcohol.”

“Well, uh,” you say, “it’s pretty. I like the color.”

You taste the drink, bubbles like tiny fireworks tickling over the surface of your tongue. There is a dry bitterness, no doubt from the champagne, but it’s softened by a fruity sweetness. Something familiar, something that reminds you of summer and shaved ice and walks along the river and—

“Cherry,” you say, half-lost in the hazy-warm memory of days gone by—until you remember where you are and snap back to reality, “it’s, uh, it tastes like cherries.”

“Very good. Usually, the drink calls for creme de cassis, but I used Kijafa instead. It’s a dessert wine from Denmark, made from cherries,” his brow raises just a smidge, “I thought it appropriate, given the situation.”

And it takes you a minute to understand what he’s talking about. Cherries. You. Ah. A rather crass comparison, but accurate all the same.

“Oh,” you say, picking a very uninteresting spot on the rug to look at in an attempt to avoid meeting his eyes, “I, uh…”

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he adds, “In fact, virginity isn’t even a real thing. Completely made up. Means nothing, really.”

There is a kind of lag—he’s speaking, you know he’s speaking, but it takes your brain a few extra seconds to figure out what he’s actually saying. It’s strange, hearing someone talk to you so openly about sex. Not unwelcome, by any means, but you need a moment (or two, or ten) to adjust.

“That being said,” he continues, as if he’s discussing the weather, “just because it doesn’t mean anything in the grand scheme of life doesn’t mean it’s nothing to you.”

He’s fishing. He’s fishing, and you kind of want to take the bait, but…well, you’re finding it difficult to get your thoughts in order. He’s the very picture of calm, all while you’re floundering over a simple conversation.

“Apologies if I’ve overstepped,” he says, taking a slow sip of his drink, “I thought you might prefer to talk it over a bit. ”

“No, uh, you’re fine,” you answer quickly, “I’m just…I thought the paperwork kind of covered all that.”

“More or less,” he answers, “however, I’ve found that the person who fills out the forms and the person who ends up sitting across from me are not always of the same mind.”

He reaches a hand into the inside of his jacket and pulls out a silver-plated cigarette case. Although he is not gentleman enough to ask your permission to smoke, he is gentleman enough to offer you a cigarette before taking one of his own. You decline. He shrugs and quickly snaps the case shut before laying it on the table.

“In fact, it’s not uncommon for my clients to have a complete change of heart the second they walk through the door,” he continues, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket, “Or, sometimes later on, for that matter. Depends on the person.”

Cigarette held between his teeth, he retrieves a lighter from his right trouser pocket. With a sharp little snick, he ignites it, pulling the little orange flame towards his face and hiding it behind his hand to let it catch.

“Really?”

You watch him intently, the way his eyelids flutter closed at the first inhale. The way his lips pucker around the filter and release, the red-pink sticking slightly as they pull away and let smoky white flow out and fade into the air.

“Really,” he confirms, “once, I had a client step inside, take one look at me, and promptly walk right back out. Never saw them again, which is fine. I’ll never fault someone for doing what’s right for themselves.”

“Are you, uh, trying to talk me out of it?”

“Not at all. Just making you aware of your options,” he says, “Doing anything for the first time is scary. Driving a car, swimming in the ocean, traveling abroad—sex is no different.”

“Yeah, well,” you respond, “you also get to do most of those things with your clothes on, so…”

“Depends on who you’re with.”

You can’t help but laugh a little.

“Well I still want to…you know,” you answer, “uh, do it. The…the sex part.”

“I’m happy to hear it.”

“Yeah, well, you’re supposed to say that.”

“It’s the truth,” he insists, “I can’t imagine anyone being upset at the thought of having a pretty thing like you in their bed.”

“I’m not—“

“Don’t,” he interrupts, taking on a tone that brokers no arguments, “I will suffer many things, but a liar isn’t one of them. You are an attractive woman and I refuse to be told otherwise.”

“Sorry, I,” you say sheepishly, “I guess I just…wasn’t expecting you to…like me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” He ashes his cigarette and takes another long, slow drag, “You’re very sweet. A bit shy, maybe, but I happen to like the shy ones.”

And there is something about the way he says it, the way his voice wraps around the words—oh, there are implications to those words, and you find yourself growing warm at the thought of what exactly those implications could entail.

You sip your drink. He smokes. The quiet between you is almost comfortable. Maybe it’s the alcohol working it’s bubbly magic, but you’re starting to feel a bit more at ease in this strange little place.

Moreover, you’re starting to feel a bit more at ease with him. The thought of kissing him crosses your mind, then doubles-back and crosses it again. Oh, that sounds nice. He would be good at it, too; starting gently, mouth pressed soft and sure against your own, and then just the tiniest tease of his tongue—

“And there you go, biting your lip again,” he says, snapping you out of your impromptu fantasy, “You have no idea how sexy that is, do you?”

He is sporting a devilish grin—not only is he aware that you had been daydreaming about him, but he’s relishing the fact that he was able to catch you so off-guard.

“Didn’t even realize I was doing it,” you admit with a shrug. But you can’t help but feel a thrill at the thought of being considered ‘sexy’—you never really let yourself feel that way, but now that it’s happening…oh, it’s nice.

“It’s absolutely delicious, darling. Makes me wonder what else you do when you’re turned on…”

And he’s got you—like a knife held under your chin, his sharp gaze pins you in place. He is impossible to avoid. Not that you particularly want to avoid him—there’s something irresistible about this man, something that you can’t quite name but definitely want more of.

It’s scary.

It’s exciting.

“I’m,” you say with a nervous chuckle, “not really sure, myself. Guess we’ll have to, uh, figure it out together.”

His gaze darkens. He takes one last lungful of nicotine before stubbing out his cigarette.

“I suppose we shall.”

And he’s moving now, sliding himself down so that he’s closer to you. He stops when there is barely an inch of space between the outside of his thigh and your own. His right arm has draped itself over the back of the sofa, the fingertips of his hand now skimming the skin of your shoulder in loose, mindless sweeps.

“Well, darling,” he says, voice low and smooth and so much closer than before, “I think it’s high time we got to the heart of the issue. The root of the root and the bud of the bud, as it were.”

“Uh,” you say, unsure of where he’s going with this but very much enjoying his simple touches, “what do you mean?”

“I’m just wondering,” he clarifies, pausing to let out a soft sigh, “when you’re going to give in and kiss me.”

He plucks the champagne flute from your grasp and sets it on the table in front of you.

“I, uh—“

The fingertips on your shoulder continue to make their idle little circles, almost hypnotic in their swirling pattern. His left hand catches your right wrist, his thumb pressing above where your pulse thrums beneath sensitive skin.

“Bit fast,” he observes, pulling your arm closer as if inspecting it, “Could be nerves, but I think it’s more from excitement, don’t you?”

You have no choice but to lean into him as he brings your hand closer. Your shoulder presses against his arm, and you feel the solid shape of him through the smooth of his suit. He’s strong underneath all of those layers—warm, too, judging from the heat that radiates from his person.

“I’m—“

The thumb that had been testing your pulse inches higher, stopping when it’s pressing into the center of your palm. His eyes lock with yours, a heartbeat of a moment, and brings your wrist closer and closer until his lips are ghosting over your flesh. When he finally decides to make contact, you gasp—it’s a delicate sensation, but sends your heart skipping in a shaking staccato.

And, then.

Then he sucks.

The sound you make is halfway between an oh of surprise and a desperate little moan—oh, wow, that’s really weirdly unexpectedly hot—and you don’t even have the presence of mind to feel embarrassed by your own reaction. He’s not even doing much, not really; just a little bit of pressure, lips parted just enough to let his tongue slip out and have a taste of you.

But, oh, it feels…it feels filthy, it feels decadent, it feels like something you should not be doing but very much want to keep doing for the rest of your life. Takeru’s eyes have since fluttered shut, and he hums the tiniest sound of pleasure as he maintains his seductive tease.

“Please,” you manage to sigh, sounding as breathless as you feel, “please, I, I want you to kiss me.”

His lips release from your wrist with a pucker-pop noise—which was no doubt intentional on his part, and does nothing to quell the thrill of desire in your belly.

“Hm. I’ll make you a deal,” he says, shifting a bit to the left so that he can turn to face you better, “I’ll kiss you for the rest of the night, but right now…you kiss me.”

And what a deal that is—you don’t even have to think about it, head bobbing in an affirmative nod as you wet your lips in anticipation. The hand that had so lovingly held yours is now guiding you to rest your palm just above his knee. You reflexively reach your other hand out to steady yourself, and it lands against his chest before you can stop it.

He’s so close now. There’s barely any space between your faces, barely room to breathe—

“Go on, darling,” he whispers, “if you want me, have me.”

And you do.

You kiss him like it’s the easiest thing in the world. The anxiety that has plagued you since the moment you entered the room hasn’t completely dissipated—it would be foolish to think it’d be that easy to banish those feelings completely—but all that is now secondary to the feeling of his mouth on yours.

Kissing Takeru is warm. It’s soft and it’s sure and it’s…comfortable, in a way. Safe, even. He does not press, doesn’t do much of anything except mirror the way your lips slide against his own. A gentle rhythm, a push and pull between the two of you that feels as natural as the moon guiding the tides to shore—yes, kissing him is good and right and something you want to do many times over.

Unfortunately, you have to pull away to breathe. He doesn’t let you go far, though, one hand cupped behind the nape of your neck and the other pressing into the small of your back.

“Oh, you are sweet,” he purrs, his gaze dropping to your freshly-kissed lips, “and, seeing that I’m a man of my word…”

As it turns out, being kissed by Takeru might be better than kissing him, yourself. He is still so very careful when he presses his lips to yours, but this time…this time, there’s fire. He tastes like the best part of a cigarette, like warmth and alcohol and cherries, and it only intensifies as he tests the seam of your lips with his tongue.

Little by little, you begin to test him, too. Hands cradle the curve of his jaw, feeling the way his face shifts as he moves against you. Fingertips run through the soft dark of his hair—oh, he likes that, if the half-sigh that slips from his throat is to be believed. And when you nip at his lower lip with your teeth (he had, after all, very much enjoyed the way you bit your lip earlier), he genuinely moans and pulls you even closer to himself.

It’s when he begins to wander lower, with his mouth skimming the sensitivity of your neck and his hand splayed across your lower back in a way that flirts with the idea of indecency, that you begin to want more. Fear—and maybe that’s not exactly the right word for what you’re feeling, but it’s the only one that comes to mind—begins to creep up the column of your spine.

The “what-if’s” start filling your brain; what if you mess something up? What if you do something he doesn’t like? What if you freeze up later and—

“Alright, darling?”

His voice is a low soothe against your ear; he’s retreated, just a bit, and his hand has wandered to a chaste and respectable area of your mid-back.

“I—“

You want him to take you to bed. You want him to take off your dress and kiss you in all the places you thought weren’t worth kissing, to let his hands trace sparks along the curves of your shape and let him be close to you in a way that no one else has. You want him, despite the uncertain ache that burns between your ribs and bids you to hide yourself away and leave behind the pleasure of his touch.

…But all you can manage is a nervous glance to the bed behind you (the one you had been avoiding thinking about up until this point) and a stammered “Can we, uh…?”

“Ask me,” he says, his index and middle fingers idly skimming the notch in your collarbone, “I’ll give you anything you want, as long as you ask me.”

It’s difficult to make eye contact with him—every time you try, you feel embarrassment swell up beneath your tongue.

But Takeru is, as you have come to learn over the last hour or so, decidedly patient. He shows no sign of relenting, appearing to be perfectly content with giving you an expectant grin and continuing his little touches as you try not to squirm in your seat.

“I,” you gulp, “I want…“

You bite your lip—oh, wait, he likes that too, and he’s staring at you with those sharp and sultry eyes, and it makes something behind your heart squeeze and unsqueeze itself and punches the air from your lungs and—

“Take me to bed,” you manage to spit out, and it all sounds like one word with how quickly you pushed the words into the air. The “uh, please” you tack on at the end is an afterthought, but perhaps it’s polite enough to pass muster.

“Was that so hard,” Takeru asks with a good-natured chuckle, “but since you asked so nicely…”

He takes your hand in his and brings it to his lips for a kiss—and even that, after everything, still has you feeling a flutter of something giddy in your stomach.

“Darling,” he says, “it would be my pleasure.”

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

…and now, you’ll have to wait until chapter two to get to the “good stuff!”

It’s been a challenge writing this—I’m trying to make the scenario believable while still keeping it vague enough to allow for people to make up their own little details. It’s also been unexpectedly difficult to write him, since he’s kind of being himself while also playing a character who’s trying to mold themself into their client’s fantasy…it’s a lot of layers, but it’s been fun trying to figure things out!

[artificialqueens]

A Series Of Mutual Feelings, 1/3 (Scarjah) - Pazinae

chapter 1: i hate u (and the feelings mutual)

Chapter Summary: Ra'jah is determined to have a fresh start and be a better person, now enrolled as a first year fashion school student- but Scarlet has a way of always making her newfound plans falter. With a rocky high school history, the (not so) fortuitous pair endure some mutual hatred

A/N: enemies 2 luvers scarjah everyone xoxo meant to be a oneshot, but got a little carried away n my doc for this is currently 19 pages long ahaha so to be more palatable it will be a 4 chapter story (its says 3, but you'll see). this one is mainly the intro for the story to understand where they're at emotionally in the present, and is mostly ra'jah centric on her growth + kylie friendship fluff bc theyre the cutest, and a bit of scarlet pov. feedback super super welcome, enjoy !!! 

***

Scarlet strode down the hall with a sway in her hips, her heels clacking on the laminate floor. What kind of tacky ass bitch wears heels to school anyways? Ra'jah scoffed internally, watched the girl saunter like she's on a tightrope, each tantalizing step brought her foot exactly in front of the other. Her body fell into a rhythm, stomping the fucking campus like a lion stalking the jungle for the sheer fun of watching it’s prey scamper. Scarlet's bouncing skirt, her signature grin and luscious ginger curls sprouting out her scalp made her gag. And not in the stunning way. Just as quickly as she came she was gone, and, to be fair, she was just another girl sandwiched in the masses just getting to where she’s going. But she could pluck that arrogant little redhead bitch out of any crowd. Not a conscious choice of course, hell, being reminded of her sheer presence causes a battle of trying not to roll her eyes behind her skull. She can't help that she sees her. Not when Scarlet's lips are painted the same shade of bold crimson as the tight, sleeveless top she's wearing, like a fresh drop of blood in a sea of grey clad bodies swimming around in their hoodies.

This isn't high school anymore Ra'jah. A repetitive reminder that needs to be said evermore until it's understood at her core. Because It's different now, she knows that- it has to be. No fucking way are her dreams going to get caught up in everything again, they're too big to be put at stake. She can't live just to be like that again, and this time she's too grown to waste her time on useless people. High school was a bubble, a 4 year trance that she's left and is more than ready to forget about. 

"Hey, Ra'jah!" That southern, velvety voice could only belong to one stunning woman. She turned around to spot her speed walking to catch up. 

"Aye! Kylie!" Ra'jah stopped and gave a little wave as Kylie approached, her highlight shining even in the shitty indoor light. The two moved over to the side of the hall, and leaned against the wall. "If it isn't Miss Kylie Sonique Love," With such a pleasing name, Ra'jah doesn't think she will, or, really can ever get tired of saying the other girl's name. "What's up?"

"Nothin', just tired as fuck," It's kinda cute, the way her accent gets stronger when she's grumpy. "I'mma pass out at some point, I did not get enough sleep." Even as a grumble her voice is so soft and angelic, Ra'jah could probably fall asleep to the blonde reading true crime murder stories. 

"Goddamn, it sure as hell doesn't show!" Which is true, Kylie was as effervescent as always, any visible messy hair from under her beanie looked intentional. Even in her oversized t-shirt and shorts, there was an undeniable, captivating charm about her that made it impossible for her to look bad "You look gorgeous girl" 

"Awh, thanks honey," She smiles a soft, hazy smile. "You don't look too bad yourself." She hums, eyeing her up with a grin. Before she could even argue a response, the country girl quickly perks up and slaps her hand on Ra'jah's shoulder in excitement. "Oh also! I want your opinion- I'm thinking about dying my hair pink." She can see the visible sparkle in the pair of eyes looking at hers. "Thoughts?" She asks, voice becoming giddy "Oooh bitch! You better, that'd be so fierce!" The (mostly) purple haired girl exclaimed, delight evident in her voice "For real, you'd look so good. And you know, ba-BY" she claps her hands together just for added emphasis, "I support ALL the impulsive hair decisions".

"Yess, obviously I want input only from bad bitches with the best hair"

"I told you I did these myself right?" she asked, running her shoulder length hair through her twirling fingers. "I've been really into doing hair recently"

"Wait, really? It looks so pretty, the fade to purple is so good"

"What'd you mean 'wait really' hoe, what you implying 'bout my hair skills?" 

"Just that a talented woman like you should share your expertise!" Even when she was loud her voice was just as comforting, the tone reminiscent of a silk blanket on her skin

"All it took for me was bleach, a bottle of violet Arctic Fox dye, and the holy spirit of Brad Mondo"

"First of all I'm not trusting no mans named Brad," Ra'jah cackled a little because, yeah that's fair. "And secondly, if you're free, come an' help a girl out then!

"You're inviting me over? Wow we're moving kinda fast Kylie" 

"Oh shut up bitch" but the undying twinkle in her eye confirmed the unsaid agreement that Ra'jah would be doing Kylie's hair, at some point.

"I'm free on Thursday, can I visit then?"

"Yea that works" She smiled, and the closeness between the two wasn't something the taller girl ever planned, or really felt before. But she had it now, a friend she really cares about, and she never wanted to lose it.

"Shit what time is it?" Even in her Shitty Human era she was still a timely gal, her mother didn't raise no late hoe. "Don't stress it Raj, we have like 15 minutes. Introduction to drafting and sewing, right?"

"Yes ma'am. Wanna start going?" "Sure thing" This year is for a new start, making new friends, and getting a chance to create new first impressions. Rebrand herself y'know, and the hindrance that is Scarlet's existence, wrapped in all the ancient things she'd rather not think about, won't stop her.

The walk to class was a pleasant blur. With Kylie yawning and walking essentially shoulder to shoulder with Ra'jah had they been the same height, they slipped into both  comfortable conversation, and silence. With all the noise around them, their presence brought an ease without any awkwardness. 

 A trek opted through the outdoor route that was albeit a tad longer, provided some well needed greenery and fresh air.

"You excited for class?" Ra'jah asked, only half aware of where she was walking to. Her body was on autopilot, and Kylie knows the way, probably.  

"You're amazing if you can get excited by class"

"It's fun!"

"Only 'cause you're good at it"

"You're good at it"

"You know what I mean. Isn't this one your favorite?" 

"It's not my favorite" 

"Uh huh"

"I just like it a lot. Maybee essentially jus' cause I don't hafta try" It was a mandatory course, but Ra'jah's not complaining. Perhaps it's a little vain to enjoy something just to remind everyone you can do it, but it was an easy break from the rest of the courses. And a nice little egoboost.

"So I'm right!" 

"C'mon it's October and we're still on basic techniques"

"It's called introductory," She remarked. "Do you even pay attention half the time?"

"No but bitch neither do you"

"True" Kylie grinned in agreement.

"The way you're coming for me but it's easy for you too!" She hasn't been sewing as long as Ra'jah, but she has great taste so it really balanced out. "And let it be known that I use that class time to think about incredibly productive things"

"Oh that's her name?"

"What?" She didn't mean for her tone to drop. Didn't mean for her legs to stop walking, planting themselves into the cement. Didn't mean for the smile on her face to plummet at the implication. Her visceral reaction was louder than the cluelessness she gave off.  

"Calm down" She giggled, as if Ra'jah's reaction woke her up from her grogginess, her breathlessness equivalent to a shot of espresso for Kylie. "You just seem really occupied sometimes is what I meant"

"Me? No I'm not" She couldn't convince herself.

"Okay babe. The models of your fashion sketches just look a little reminiscent"  

"You know Scarlet isn't the only person with ginger hair right?" Ra'jah bites back, the condescending tone not her intention, but not exactly unwanted in the moment. Scarlet is insufferable, she doesn't want her own name slandered is all, being associated with the arrogant shit.

"Baby, I ain't mention Scarlet. That's all you.'' She had a shit eating smirk and maybe Ra'jah takes everything back about how nice friends are. IF there was inspiration, Scarlet is objectively nice looking so it's not a big deal there might be similarities if you squint.  

"She was implied" 

"If you want her to be"

They get inside and take a seat at one of the large tables, divided into stations with a sewing machine and some material at each one. Ra'jah takes a spot at the edge, with Kylie seated to her right. 

 On paper, it's all been planned out for Ra'jah; during her strolls between classes she'll take in all her surroundings and actively look for inspiration, pondering all the natural shapes and patterns of the world in a way she can manipulate into clothing. On paper, she'll make the most out of the introductory class, sketching designs between the minimal notes and sewing practices. On paper, she'll finish the mornings class with ease and have extra time to practice some new things. 

In reality? Paper is flimsy, especially when its accountability is held by a fleeting mind. It's hard to bask in the world when unwanted questions plague her head. Mostly revolving around a certain redhead. God, fuck her. Fuck her pretty eyes and fuck her sculpted face and fuck her euphonious voice. Does everyone who sees Ra'jah see her patheticness? How she allowed some cunt to infiltrate her mind, set up home in her head and take up all the space? Let her infect every cell in the brain like a parasite until her skull is nothing but an infiltrated shell for an infestation caught up with infatuation?

"Ra'jah, you good?"  The girl sat across from her, Trinity, piped up, and Ra'jah had to bite back a smile. The icy, timid girl she met just a few weeks ago was starting the conversation.

"Yeah, I'm fine, why?"

"You just looked a little spaced out" 

"Nah, it's just that this class is a breeze an' I'm just thinking about a project for another class" 

"Mmm"

"Plus it's hard to just think of designs when there's no inspiration"

"I mean, we're supposed to practice gathering and making ruffles right now"

"Oh shit! We are?"

"Yeah girl!" Ra'jah, shaking her head at herself, finally picked up some of the fabric around her and got to work. "You'll be alright?"

"Oh don't worry about me! I'm all good"

"Okayyy if you need anything just yell" Ra'jah replied with a hum and a nod. Watching the girl running the fabric under the machine, memories of the first time they'd talked flashed, days of the nearly silent girl feeling so distant.

  "I really like your earrings" The girl raised her head, looking left and right a little as if making sure it was directed at her. 

"Thanks." She mumbled, vaguely looking at Ra'jah's direction. 

"If you don't mind, where'd you get them?"

"Uh, I thrifted it."

"Oh, cool" Ra'jah smiled, before quickly adding "Thanks". The raven haired girl didn't reply. The start of the intriguing game of 'does she hate me, is she shy, or both?' 

   After all the awkward attempts made for the quiet girl to be comfortable and maybe make a friend, a sense of pride rang through her. She met Kylie and Trinity here a mere month ago, and yeah, maybe she could be nice. She could walk the fineline of warm socialization without being annoying. The new Ra'jah doesn't do unnecessary mean quips just for the sake of a little power rush. She can be authentically her while being polite. New Ra'jah makes friends- not enemies. 

"Oh by the way" Ra'jah snapped her head up at Trinity's voice 

"Yeah, what's up?"

"I know it's a little random but do you know what you're gonna be for Halloween?"

"Huh. Well, I haven't really thought about it" Ra'jah remarked, "I just don't care for Halloween and all that"

"Really? Girl, you're not gonna do anything, dress up, go out, nothing?"

"Baby all that work and money for some costume I'll wear once? No ma'am- and the fuck will I do, I barely have ideas for school!"

"Hey, you could wear anything and it's a costume. Wear a black dress, you're a cat"

"You think I'm that basic?"

"Yeah?"

 "Fuck you" She snorted, and Trinity had a goofy smile, looking at Ra'jah with a sense of familiar fondness. "And thanks, really, but I don't care for all that spooky shit anyways"

"Damn, alright!" Teeth out and all, she laughed. The blonde on the right leaned in a little, a pleasant opposition of Trinity's hesitation is Kylie's eagerness

"Jesus Ra'jah, what did Halloween do to you?" The southern girl butts in. "You could dress as the grinch of Halloween, steal children's candy" 

"You know what, yeah, I'll be a sluttified grinch"

"You're kinda built the same already" Trinity joins with a grin

"Hey!"

"Sluttified? Are you implying the grinch isn't sexy enough?" Ra'jah choked a little at that, found herself smiling with some dopey content, at what exactly she's not sure. 

"Do ya'll think being the grinch would count as like, being a furry?" Trinity asked, voice dripping in an odd amount of seriousness. 

"What? Baby no" Kylie jumped in. "Yes! absolutely, how would it NOT?" Trinity argues, and maybe it's the easiness of everything.  Of how nice it is to just fall into banter when you let people in. Bouncing off the two girls, she doesn't need to think of how to be funny, how to one up herself, remind everyone of why she's worthy. She can just, be. And that warrants a smile. 

With Ra'jah's elbow propped on the table, she rested her cheek against her palm to face forward, before turning a little to face Trinity

"But why do ya ask Trin? About Halloween"

"Oh, kinda last minute but I just want some ideas to figure mine out" She shrugs, and Kylie leans over once more. It's a little heartwarming, how physically close she always instinctively wants to be. 

"Oh! Are you going to the Halloween party this weekend?"

"Nah parties aren't really my thing"

"Awh, but it'll be fun!"

"Yeah standing in a mass of people I won't talk to will be so fun"

"Fine- Ra'jah, are you goin'?" Rajah turns her head to follow the voices like a cat keeping up with a beam of light. 

"Uh..."

"RIGHT, forgot, Halloween's not your thing". A party where she can have a disguise, let loose and have fun. It feels almost embarrassing to admit to her newfound friends that she's never been to a party, and the thought of a Halloween party didn't even cross her mind. Maybe Halloween isn't not her thing, it's just not something she'd indulge in. For reasons. Like, schoolwork. 

"Welllllll…" Ra'jah hummed, dragging on with a small grin

"OH the prospect of partying changes things huh?" 

"You know, me an' Halloween, we complicated okay!" They laugh, but Ra'jah's left thinking. New or old Ra'jah both, spends a little too much time in the internal realm of the brain. 

The class falls silent except the murmurs of the buzzing machines, and the three chatter in whispers. Although usually it's mostly her and Kylie with occasional injections of confirmation from Trinity

"You're insane if you think spaghettini is better than fettuccine" Kylie protested "Spaghettini is literally the objective worst"

"Says who?!" Ra'jah paused sewing to look up at Kylie in defiance

"Me!"

"Trinity which is better" 

"Huh? Ya'll It's too early for this." Trinity complained.

"Oh, says the bitch who asked if the grinch was a furry" Ra'jah retorted, but Trinity brushed her off to look at Kylie "Oh wait! Also, Kylie, what're you gonna be for Halloween?" She gave a little snicker before answering 

"Don't come for me but honestly? Was thinking about being a cat" 

"AAAAAH!" Ra'jah and Trinity erupted laughing.

"But like, a hot one okay!" Ra'jah quickly tried to redeem herself.

"You'll be the hottest ass cat around" Plus, worse comes to worst, Ra'jah will be a witch or something, and they can be hot and basic together. 

When the class ended, they packed their things, and exchanged their goodbyes

"I'll see y'all around!"

"See you! Good luck on your textile project Trin" 

"Thanks!" She waved, yelling a final "Bye!" 

"Bye!" The three part, and Ra'jah makes her way to her second class. History of costume and design was next, and quickly weighing it out, she decided to take a quicker path through the halls. Suddenly, the weight of a body knocked at her side, the two stumbling around for a few seconds. A gust of papers had fallen from both parties' arms, and landed on the floor.

"Oh shit! I'm so-" Scarlet cuts herself off when she looks up at whom she's bumped into.

"Maybe watch where you're going" Ra'jah snorts out of sheer instinct, squatting down to gather her papers where Scarlet follows suit, just a little too close. The vague, sweet scent of strawberries she gives off is suffocating.

"Maybe if you weren't such a stuck up cunt taking up half the hallway I wouldn't hit you" The attention sends a masochistic jolt down her spine

"Uh oh someone's in a bad mood. Stuck up cunt that's a new one! Love the creativity. You should drop out of this school and be a writer" As much as she screamed internally to just shut the fuck up and get your things, it was so easy to slip back to this.

"Thanks but I'm good! When you fail out this year you can give it a try"

"Baby, me? Fail out?" Please don't imply that. Please don't make me doubt that I can and deserve to be here. I don't want to seek approval from others, but I can't help but be hurt at disapproval. Of course, her thoughts don't verbalize as the words that come out of her mouth. "That's a lot of talk for a girl who probably spends more hours getting fucked than studying" Before she can think it through, process the flash of hurt on her face and the way her fingers tense around the last piece of paper, before Ra'jah can really understand the weight of her own words she continues. "But I guess that's how you get yo' A's right?"

Their exchanges were in aggressive whispers, hushed to anyone above them. To most people, they'd find a sight of two girls muttering to one another while they pick up some things they've dropped.

"You're so much prettier when you're quiet" Scarlet huffed, standing up in one swift motion. Those words aren't a compliment. Like, at all. So why does Ra'jah's dumb, twisted heart stop for a second? The implied connection of herself and 'pretty' slows her body and slurs her mind until she's pushing herself up off the ground in slow motion. It's been so many months of mundanity, the small interaction felt all so familiar and foreign and exciting at the same time.But the haziness of her words and their little games makes her forget for a second of what the fuck just happened, and a wave of patheticness washed over her as she started to walk, eyes focused at the cream walls. For all her hemming and hawing, Ra'jah hasn't. Fucking. Changed. 

A rush of everything dives into her guts, a sick adrenaline coated in dread, self loathing and the slight urge to cry, nestling in her stomach like a bird claiming a branch as it's home. Her skin was electric, and she hated to admit she loved it, the thrill of interacting with her, cattiness and all. Imagine feeling this much from fucking bumping into someone? Fingers clenched, nails digging in her own palms at how much she hates her. Intense emotions are a high of their own, and Ra'jah can't help but indulge. The piercing sting of her flesh being pressed in with her nails is intensified as she listens for the faint voice of that lanky girl always accompanying Scarlet. 

"You good Scarlet?"

"Yeah, thanks" She can't look back, but she can't help but wonder- are they hugging? Holding hands? It doesn't- it shouldn't matter to her. The fun amusement pales in comparison to the misery settling in. The realization that she's fighting with Scarlet like they're 16 at the back of English class.

Of all the schools, why'd that girl have to come here? Of all the things to pursue, why the same as herself? Of all the people, why'd it have to be her? Ra'jah didn't have the audacity to explore the last question. What she means, she's not too sure. The only thing in the world she's sure of is that she can't be both New Ra'jah™ and Old Ra'jah™ to different people. The line between the two existences isn't so bold anymore, and painting over the bumps isn't as effective as she'd hoped. 

  ***

  Truth be told, watching herself move around in skirts was one of her favorite things- just about tied with watching others watch her. Maybe that's why she joined cheer in highschool. Especially with the support from (or, lack of thereof) a certain grimacing purple haired girl, a runaway model from a fashion show who wound up wandering this school. She never needed to turn and look, didn't need sight to know there's a burn at her back, nor who it's radiating from. Scarlet always walked with just a bit of a straighter back, just a bit more purpose, and just a bit more stride in her step when her favorite pair of wandering eyes were around. A small part of her always wants to turn around, catch her gaze and watch her frantically look away and pretend she's talking to someone. Or maybe she'll hold it, stare back with just as much intensity. But her wistful attention is enough of an ego boost. The scowl ridden bitch, smile washed away just for her, and yet that's where her attention lied. It made her bite back a smile. 

Scarlet is a pretty thing, and she didn't need constant confirmation to remind her that she's beautiful. She's hot, she knows it, Ra'jah knows it, and Scarlet knows that's all she is to her. A pretty thing. Whatever. She's not important. 

In fear of her brain melting, and/or being fried to a crisp, Scarlet doesn't bother having two classes back to back. Her mental capacity is full, and a nice salad will probably help with that. She's on her way to meet with Yvie for lunch, thinking about their weekend plans, when she takes a misstep and stumbles, all her weight focused in her shoulder which slams against someone else's side.

"Oh shit! I'm so-" the universe is an asshole. May the odds never be in my favor. 

"Maybe watch where you're going" Her sneer is venomous, and the universe has suddenly become just the second biggest asshole. 

"Maybe if you weren't such a stuck up cunt taking up half the hallway I wouldn't hit you" Ra'jah didn't do anything, a rational voice lectures, but she ignores it the way she's ignoring the taller girls face. Scarlet's grabbing at her papers, avoiding eye contact because that selfish pile of shit on her right takes up enough space as is, and if she looks into her eyes, sees that stupid fucking face this close she might do something bad. Like, in the sense of, punching her. Yeah, she can't look at her or she'll beat her up. Because that's a fight she'd win.  

"Uh oh someone's in a bad mood. Stuck up cunt that's a new one! Love the creativity. You should drop out of this school and be a writer" Ra'jah snides, and she needs to drop out before Scarlet gets grey hair from her. 

"Thanks but I'm good! When you fail out this year you can give it a try" Her words are about as empty as her own stomach, because she hasn't eaten since last night, and Ra'jah will quit fashion school and become a science engineer before she fails out. 

"Baby, me? Fail out?" Yeah, with the flawless outfit you're wearing that you sure as hell made just because you were bored one night. Your pants could literally be sold as a luxury brand. The girl who started sewing when she a embryo in the womb, you'll fucking fail out.  "That's a lot of talk for a girl who probably spends more hours getting fucked than studying- But I guess that's how you get yo' A's right?" Scarlet looks up, not at Ra'jah but away from the ground, and the urge to yell, hit her, and cry come up at the same time. She wants to scream, get everyone in hearing range to know that Ra'jah is a loser who will amount to nothing. She wants to reach out and choke her. But articulating her anger into words is too much, and she ends up just whispering whatever words are willing to come out as she gets up, not caring if she left any papers behind. 

"You're so much prettier when you're quiet" And that's the closest thing to honest Scarlet's said all day. 

In the distance, she sees Yvie walking towards her, so she waits until the freshly dyed green haired girl is caught up beside her. 

"You good Scarlet?" 

"Yeah, thanks" The two walk together, side by side, and Scarlet loops her arm through Yvie's, linking the pair. 

"You know, Scarlie, you should stop wearing heels before you break your ankles"

"Hey!" She giggled, slapping the taller girl's arm in response. "I never fall, people just get in my way" Yvie scoffs, unable to stop the corners of her lips turning up and giving her away, forever endeared by the shorter girl. Scarlet's affection makes her forget that they've only known each other for a month. They reach a set of blue doors, and Yvie opens it, holding it for Scarlet to come through. Her face seems puzzled 

"Are you down to go to Mika's Cafe? I want to get some coffee" 

"Sure, they have nice breakfast sandwiches and omelettes, I'm down" It's only a few minutes away from campus 

"What's on your mind"

"Just like, school stuff. I have to make a dress for creative fashion design, and I'm just thinking about it, and what I wanna do" Would it be tmi to blurt that Ra'jah is insufferable? 

"Cool," Yvie hummed, and spiteful words cycled through Scarlet's head, deciding on what exactly to say, before Yvie beats her to it, whipping her head in some seeming urgency

 "OH by the way, I know you're busy with your project and you're determined on getting in the top 5 and all," 

"Uh huh" 

"Buuuuut, there's a Halloween party this weekend, and I was gonna go with Brooke and her friends but they're not going anymore," Scarlet knows how Yvie feels about Brooke, and to be fair she's only met her a few times in passing, but how someone like Yvie could fall for someone as uptight as the boring blonde is beyond her. She doesn't dare bring up another possibility of why her dorm mate would be avoiding the stoic girl, a possibility involving a particularly hot headed latina glued to the Canadians side. "They decided clubbing downtown would be more fun or whatever," They're outside on the pavement now, and the afternoon breeze graces their skin. It's a welcome environment, and Scarlet slows down her pace to enjoy the air, with Yvie quickly matching her pace. 

"Wouldn't you rather go clubbing though? Like not with Brooke and them but with others," Scarlet is friendly and all, but she swears Yvie is somehow friends with half the school. She sure as hell can find a group to go with.

"I guess, but I want to go to the party," she quiets a little as she continues, "There are some people I want to see there, for fun and stuff"

"Mmmm!" Scarlet widens her eyes, looking at the taller girl with a knowing glare, sprinkled with a teeny bit of judgement. 

"It's kinda lame to go there alone!" 

"No it's not!" 

"Scarls, yeah it is"

"Why do you even care? Wanna impress some girls?" In response, Yvie rolled her eyes so hard Scarlet could practically feel it. 

"'Cause you want me to go to a fun Halloween party by myself? 

"Yes! You could walk up to anyone and there's like an 80% chance you already know them, and a 100% chance you'll become friends anyways" The quirky girl's charm is undeniable, she'll be fine without Scarlet. Yvie gives a defeated sigh

"Seems kinda homophobic" 

"Ugh you know what's actually homophobic? The fact that more people aren't madly in love with me. I'm LITERALLY perfect" The prospect of love feels like it's been dangled infront of her, her whole life. Imagine looking like Scarlet, and never dated before?

"You're right girl, you are" Yvie laughed her deep, hearty cackle and Scarlet wanted to melt a little. 

"Thank you, finally someone with taste" Looking at her outfit, she remembers that the tall girl's taste is kind of debatable, and Scarlet almost wants to say she takes it back

"You think Ra'jah has good taste then?" 

"What?" 

"Also a party seems like the best way to meet more people y'know?" She brushes over her last question, and it's much better that way.

"You know what, whatever 'll go with you" Scarlet agrees so she'll shut up. If she hears her roommate bring up she-who-shall-not-be-named-because-shes-a-stick-in-the-ass anymore she might lose her mind. And, she really doesn't have any other plans for the night so might as well.

 ***

AN: going to be a while for the next chapter bc im busy so here's a lil thing lol xo

***

They weren't supposed to meet here. Weren't supposed to see each other. At least, that's what Scarlet tries to tell herself.

"You are such a fucking pain, oh my god" Scarlet seethed because everything is hazy except the impassive girl standing before her and she can't think straight. Her cold eyes are apathetic and Scarlet wants to implode, like a glass thermostat engulfed in a burning heat where it's not a question of if, but an inevitable when? "Maybe I am arrogant" Her voice was coated in a sickly sweet frustration. She pushed further into Ra'jah's space, the taller girl stiffening at the ever decreasing space between the two. How can she be so still, so unreactive? This is all so amusing to her? Is she having fun, so fucking detached from everything and watching Scarlet crumble? Pretending like she cares about Scarlet past her pretty face? Enjoying her sadistic game? Fuck her, fuck her, fuck her. 

"Maybe I am narcissistic" Their faces were inches apart, and Ra'jah could feel the angry womans hot breathe on her cheek, the pungent smell of alcohol intruding her nose.

"But I'd rather be a confident, arrogant narcissist than whatever kind of sad fuck you are" 

Scarlet growled, and she wanted to breathe fire, burn Ra'jah's existence out of her mind and scream at everything she felt because of her. Except that she sees her, and wants her, wants to hurt her and touch her and without thinking her hands are digging around Ra'jah's waist.

"You are such-" Scarlet was interrupted as the other girl leaned in, framed the shorter girl's face with both her hands, and pressed her lips against Scarlets. Any thoughts or mental functionality she had were put to an abrupt stop. This wasn't supposed to happen. It's been so long, but no time has passed since they were last like this. The plug to her brain was pulled, and it's all static and her bodys done a full 180. Ra'jah's piercing lips are numbing, and her overheated body feels like it's been dunked in ice where all her nerves are all in shock. They weren't supposed to do this anymore, it's the only thing they've ever been able to agree on. She was frozen, unable to move, or think, far too busy being hyper focused on the familiar sugary lips on hers, sending waves of nostalgia through her body. Time has only heighted the intoxication. She gains some composure and surges forward, but Ra'jah's pulling away, opening her mouth to finally say something.

"You're so much prettier when you're quiet"

[svnarintaro]

it’s too late to say sorry

update: part two is up and you can read it here 

authors note: IM IN A IMAGINE WRITING SPREE SOMEONE STOP ME PLEASE also i like using different names for the same characters im sorry :/

synopsis: hitoshi shinsou is known to be a top tier player, you only saw his as a jerk that toyed with other people's feelings, he was on his way for changing for the better; but he blew it.

word count: 1.9k words

warnings: !quirkless au! angst!!

!f*ckboy! hitoshi shinsou x reader 

him and his entire demeanour pissed you off, you were not someone that was hateful but man did this man get on your nerves. girls and guys were falling like flies case of his 'irresistible' aura, the thought made you scoff. he was just another one of those players that care for thing other than themselves and you were sick of this whole pedestal that people put them on, and him oh how you wanted to knock them down  and make them taste the reality of their destruction.

you and your best friends kendo and monoma were discussing what material you missed when you were sick on the way to the cafeteria, kendo perked up as if she remembered important information "oh also about the seating plan in chem.." you groaned and tilted your head back in annoyance, "don't tell me i'm sitting to this trust fund kid," you sarcastically pointed your thumb at the boy to your right, "shut it my dear peasant, you are a charity case to me so be grateful-" and as he was finishing up his sentence he got smack to the back of his head. "kendo that hur-" "be grateful that we haven't left you sorry butt yet." she let out a huff and continued what she was about to say as the three of you got to the cafeteria she took a shaky breath, "you kinda next to shinsou.."

you choked on air, "no no no no, i don't want o be next to a barney headed jerk-" before your rant even started you were cut off by the person behind you. "so you wanna continue talking about me behind my back or do you wanna say it to my face sweetheart, take your pick," you knew that voice, all too well. "first of all save your disgusting nicknames for a person that actually likes you." you turned your heel to give him the dirtiest glare you could fathom to show hitoshi shinsou.

"aww don't be like that baby.. i already know you'll turn around~" his smirk did not fall for a second, it only grew by the minute. "look i'm not looking to have anything on my criminal record, so if you want to keep your limbs in one piece i suggest you take my advice and piss off with my parting gift." you brought your fist to your mouth and shoved your middle finger in our mouth, and you proceeded to pull it out and flip him off and caught up with kendo and monoma who were laughing. 'they really are something else hm?' shinsou thought.

"man does he really put you in a bad mood hm?" neito teased and handed you the sandwich you wanted, "yeah she really did flip him off this time and threaten him?! i think that is the nicest exchange they've had all year!" kendo wheezed out, as you payed for your food you looked back to see shinsou sitting with his friends.

"so let's get this straight, you single handed moly pissed someone off so often they called you barney head, say they might break your limbs AND flip you off?!" kaminari screeched, while todoroki was purely confused, "did shinsou lose his ability to flirt his way out of this situation or something? cause honestly i feel like you lost you mojo a little bit." sero snorted at todoroki, "did you really have to say 'mojo'?" shinsou was just trying to figure out how to woo you now, his ultimate revenge as to get you to like him and break your heart and pummel it to smithereens.

now you had your chemistry class, and you were lab partners with shinsou, the given thought of being within a 2 metre radius of him mad you dread the class. the moment you walked in the class you saw a girl on his lap, her uniform was two sizes too tight, playing with his hair and her skirt rode up to show her red undergarments. "daddy~ can't we just skip?" you gagged at that nickname, the two of them stopped what they were doing and looked at you. the girl looked you up and down and she was obviously annoyed at your presence. "oh don't mind me i'm just a poor witness to see your panties on full display," you shrugged and made your way to your seat, "at least i have someone interested me," the girl smugly said, you rolled your eyes, "at least my coochie isn't free real estate."

the girl let out a 'hmph' and stormed out out the class, "free real estate? that's a new one." you didn't bother looking at him, and you opened your notebook and brought your data booklet out not even sparing him a glance. meanwhile the guy in front of you asked for a pen and you immediately complied and gave him one. hitoshi has never felt more offended from getting ignored and blown off again.

later in the class the teacher gave a worksheet to work on and you got stuck on a certain question and you didn't know what to do, "you forgot to balance the reaction so that's why you got the wrong answer." you looked to see shinsou looking at you, elbow on his table, "for someone who doesn't bother with class you remember a few things." you proceeded to add numbers to the elements that were written. for the rest of the class he continued to help you with your worksheet and the two of you got along for once. 'huh he may not be as bad as i thought he was.'

for the rest of the month he acted like this and it showed you that he wasn't the monster you thought he was, he was kind, considerate, funny and sweet. he avoided other girls too, "to think that you changed shinsou is actually kind of crazy, you're way more tolerable this way," you whispered as the two of you sat together and worked on some chemistry notes together, on his end of the story he was freaking out, he never felt this way, h heart was pounding out of his chest. he wanted it to stop, he was afraid. afraid of you not liking him back, he was afraid of commitment, he was afraid that he wasn't good enough for you.

"listen kaminari it is a reasonable plan, get them to like me, have them fall in love with me and boom i break up with her." for the past hour kaminari has been listening to shinsou on the phone go on and on about how he wanted to mess around with you, "they're an interesting person, they've got guts." the blond giggled, "i mean if you wanna quit the plan and hand them over to me-" "don't think about it rat."

meanwhile he was thinking about how he was so calm around you, he felt the need to drop his act and be himself around you. "looks like someone is getting attached~"

really? did he get attached? no what would be too cliché for his own good. so he sought his time to be taken by girls, other girls where were desperate to be in his attention span, "hey kaminari give me the number of every one of your flings i need to let off some steam.." shinsou needed to get you off his mind.

on the other hand you were talking to kendo, "okay look i know that i said he was trash and whatever but  he changed and.. i think i might like him." you were gushing over all the sweet things he did, all the sweet things he said, you saw all the signs that he returned your feelings. "i say go for it! shoot your shot when you can, just be careful and know that me and neito are here for you and will beat him up if he dares hurt you." kendo was really on edge with him, it was as if shinsou got possessed and she knew something wasn't right, but if he made you happy she couldn't stop you. "thank you kendo~"

it was as if a switch was flipped, the Hitoshi shinsou that you hated was back and had more playthings than ever, make out sessions in the halls, skipping classes to fool around with anyone and what hurt the most was that he was avoiding you like the plague. “he is going through a phase right now, i promise he is better than this you saw how he was weeks ago please guys you have to believe me.” you were crying in monomas room about your ruined week. you knew what was the truth and that was that you were played, you were a fool to think that he was changing for the better. “i knew he was a jerk, y/n you deserve better than this, you deserve someone that will really appreciate you, someone that won’t have to change and will be who they really are in front of you..” you looked up from lap and stared at monoma and kendo. ‘these are my people, they will never betray me.’ “i love you guys,” you declared as you threw your arms around their necks and cried your heart out. ‘hitoshi shinsou you will pay for doing me dirty like this.’

kendo forced you to stay home and rest, you were stressed and not in the head space to be at school right now. it was now lunch and kendo was livid, and was stomping down the corridor to give a piece of your mind to the jerk that broke your heart. “shinsou, i got a bone to pick with you.” she yelled at the purple haired boy, ‘finally i can see how y/n is doing’ he completely misread her words and saw them as an invitation to act buddy buddy with her so he jogged over. however he was not expecting a fist to the face, “you undeniable monster! do you know what you did to her?! you gave her false hope and you have the audacity to think that you can get anything about how she is right now?” her words truly leaked poison and showed she was not playing around, he had hurt you, and he needed to repent. “you think your pathetic superiority complex is something to sneeze at and turn a blind eye to? you think that just because you can play with peoples emotions you’re better than everyone else? well here’s what i think.” groups of people were surrounding everyone and were listening to kendo’s rant, shinsou’s heart dropped, he knew what this meant, he had hurt you. with each sentence the gap between the two got smaller until she got into his face and continued.

“it is disgusting how you can switch your act to lower other people’s guard and once they do so they are underneath your discrepancy and you crush them with no mercy,” flashes of you trying to talk to the guy you liked were flashing into keno’s head, she watched as he broke you down until you were pieces and now she was there for you as you were hopelessly trying to pick them up. a breath broke her flow of thoughts and brought her a second of peace. “stay away from my best friend.” and thats when the world stopped for shinsou, he did all of this to protect himself, he was scared cause there was a chance you could’ve liked him back but he ignored that and hurt you instead. “i’m sorry..” was all that he could say at this point. he couldn’t express anything right now, he was malfunctioning. “it’s too late to say sorry.”

[wistfulkitten]

i dream you'd love me again (2) || jk

sadness, guilt, regret. all things jeongguk felt after reading her letter.

genre: angst and fluff? childhood friends, cheating, sisters boyfriend au

pairing: jeongguk x reader

word count: 2.3k

posted: 200518

warnings: longing, infidelity, profanity (kinda), mentions of sex, probably inconsistent punctuation 

a/n: theres probably gonna be minor grammar issues because grammarly is shit and im tired. n e way i tried making this longer, it took me like four hours believe it or not. funni how i can make time for writing but not for my hw. silly me. i tried explained why he did what he did and im sorry if it was crappy. thank u to yall who read the first one. if you guys have any requests or ideas feel free to send me something in my inbox or message me. tyty:))

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

sadness. sadness is what jeongguk felt at the end of ___’s letter. sad that he hurt her enough to the point that she thought of herself as anything but perfect. sad that she doubted his feelings for her. sad that despite everything he put her through, she still loved him and still wished him the best. he always knew she had a big heart. it's one of the many reasons he was drawn to her in the beginning, but it was also one of her biggest weaknesses. her heart was too big for her own good and it scared him. ___ was always too quick to forgive and forget and most of the time it came back to bite her in the ass.

 he saw it time after time when her dad had left. he had had an affair and left his wife and two kids for a younger woman and yet she never got mad or ever blamed her father in contrary to yoona. while yoona never gave her father the time of day after the separation, ___ always made sure to set time aside for him even when he never put in enough effort to interacting with his daughters. he was a pretty crappy father, content with his new life. and though it made her sad that her family was no longer whole and her mother was practically always crying herself to sleep, it made her happy that her dad was happy. she was just about twelve then and still, she never gave into childish grudges. thirteen year old jeongguk found her slightly stupid for this trait but as they grew up, he found it quite endearing. 

guilt. after the sadness had settled in, a great wave of guilt washed over his being. while he was here, newly married with a whole life ahead of him, you were somewhere out there living the life you always wanted sad and lonely. too heartbroken to even enjoy it properly. he didn't deserve it, the comfort and security his new marriage gave him, he didn't deserve it. 

 jeongguk was merely seventeen when he fell in love with a sixteen year old ___ all the while he dated yoona, her older sister. he’d known them practically his whole life and it was such a small town that it was simply impossible for you not to know anyone and everyone. everyone went to the same schools and hardly anyone moved out of the godforsaken town. he and yoona started dating in the sixth grade. much too young to be dating but their families were long time friends and saw it appropriate for the two to start early. so that one day the two families would unite. jeongguk hadn’t minded at first. he was eleven at the time but yoona had always been a good friend. they played together all the time so nothing really changed except for the frequent hugs and occasional kiss on the cheek.

 as they grew older they graduated into more mature ways of affection but it never bothered him too much. though he was friends with yoona, he was always closer to ___. sure at first, he had trouble expressing but afterward never once did they ever feel reserved towards one another, only ever honest with every bit of their being.  while yoona was more reserved and occasionally bratty, ___ was outspoken and adventurous. always willing to try something new even if it wasn't exactly encouraged. she never shied away from speaking her mind and that was something jeongguk always aspired to be. she was everything he wasn’t.  she expressed herself in every possible way. hair color was constantly changing since the start of high school. she pulled off any type of style you could think of. you could pick her out of any crowd in an instant. she painted, wrote poems and songs, sang, played various instruments, even took up photography. she turned any type of art form into a way for people to understand her, every single part of her. she was good at so many things and jeongukk, jeongukk was good at one thing. basketball. yet she never made him feel bad about it, instead she went to every game. cheering him on. she was mesmerizing in every single way. 

 while they had their good moments, yoona had a knack of patronizing him for every fault and imperfection. when they started high school she had tried so hard to be looked at as the perfect couple. she made it a point to show that they ‘never fought’ and were always ‘happy’. he never spent too much time with his friends because ‘every boyfriend had to put his girlfriend first’. this is the exact reason jimin never liked her and why jin always referred to her as a pain in the ass. it was safe to say his friends weren't exactly fond of her either. she was so different from ___ which was good or bad, depending on who you were asking. 

yoona was pretty, though jeongguk would say ___ was prettier. soft features, soft personality, light colors were a constant, skirt never too short, hair never too long. she was a straight line kind of girl like the majority of girls in town. grades never faltering. she always believed in the whole study hard, get a good job, have kids plan everyone stuck to and it was always so suffocating. 

he wanted more out of life, he wanted to explore places, explore himself. he wanted to get to know himself in more ways than one because he had yet to know all of it. all of him. but by the time he was sixteen, jeongguk already had a career to work towards and a girl everyone was so sure would be his wife. it was like his life was a book and everyone but him was the author. he had no control and he started to dread the future. he was running and he knew what would be at the finish line, so he slowed down. while yoona was running full speed, he was jogging at most. he started faking a persona in front of his family and yoona because they simply didn’t get it and they never would. 

when he couldn’t exactly talk to his own girlfriend about his feelings and problems ___ was always there to listen. she was good at that. listening. she never judged, instead always reassuring him that when the time came he’ll know what to do. she had an easygoing way of living and he longed to live like that too. though her mother didn't agree and favored yoona more, she simply took it as it was and cherished what she had for the time being. her love for her mother and sister never faltered even if their love never measured up. ___ had a way of looking at the world that could get her far, far away from here and jeongguk envied that. she said all his feelings were valid and no one should be mad at him for simply feeling. once he had slowed down enough for the once blurry images to become clear, he’d realized that running with yoona was far too tiring and that walking with ___ was far more fulfilling.

 jeongguk was merely seventeen when he fell in love with a sixteen year old ___ and it was the most exhilarating feeling ever. it had started out as just a friend being there for a friend, but one day it turned into something more. they had been out on one for their many infamous nightly drives when they had stopped at a cliff, a pretty view of their small town in sight. pretty lights below and above. the stars were out that night just like them, watching the rest of the world sleep. she’d looked into his eyes, simultaneously looking into his soul. with anyone else, he would’ve felt naked and exposed but with her, he wanted her to see everything and to understand everything. he realized he only ever wanted one person to do that and he wanted to express it in the best way possible. he kissed her. really kissed her and she didn't shy away. he knew it was wrong, they both did, but it felt so good. so good that it felt right. right there, in the back of jeongguk’s first car, clothes disappeared one by one and they wrote love poems into the bareness of their skin. so passionate, so raw that it was impossible to stop afterward. they did it again and again behind closed doors, behind the curtain they drew in the depths of night. it was nothing they ever felt before. when they weren’t tangled within each other they explored as much as the city would let them. talking about anything and everything. no boundaries. 

___ planned on leaving once she graduated, didn’t know where to but the farther the better. she hated it here and so did he. it made jeongguk sick to even think about a life without her in it. he was selfish, he knows. he had them both and it was very clear which of them he loved more yet it saddened him that the one he favored more would ever leave him here. alone. that was until she asked him to come with. she asked him to run away with her. he swears if he wasn't deeply in love with her then, he was now. of course he said yes. running away and seeing the world with his favorite girl was a dream. a dream he truly wanted to become reality. 

they planned it out. jeongguk and yoona graduated and while ___ finished her final year in high school and yoona stared college, jeongguk took a gap year waiting for ___. waiting for their dream while working jobs here and there, financially preparing. he also took a business internship so that his family would get off his back for working instead of college. it was full proof, even the boys knew. though they thought it was risky, they supported them both. they had grown fond of ___.  they’d both work jobs to add onto their savings and the day after ___ graduated they’d leave and never come back. that was the plan, the dream. and yet they never made it.  

regret. he regretted it so much. the faithful day came but jeongguk didn’t. she waited and waited but he couldn’t do it. he watched from afar, luggage in hand. watch her wait. watched her cry when she realized. he cried with her. he was just so damn scared. a coward is what he was. he was scared of the unknown, something he craved so much and yet he was scared of it. and that's exactly how he felt for ___ at that moment. he craved her so much, loved her so much, and yet he was scared of her. scared that her spontaneous ways would one day be the end of them. he thought of yoona, at least with yoona he knew what he was getting. knew exactly where they’d end up. he wanted certainty and that's why he watched her leave. but to his surprise, she didn't leave, not yet. she stayed and waited, waited long enough for everyone else to find out. she was then branded as a little slut that wanted a taste of the forbidden fruit, the one he didn't choose. it was far from the truth but its what everyone believed. and so she left far far away and he didn't chase after her. god did he regret it. every day since that day he’s felt nothing but regret. he was back to putting the mask on trying to appease everyone. surprisingly no one reprimanded him and for that he felt anger, anger he’d only felt towards himself.

___ was the love of his life so it hurt. it hurt to see that she didn’t think of herself like he did. he wasn't aware she felt that way. like she was in yoona’s shadow. to him, it had never been like that because she’d been the one he sought to look at first in every room. it hurt to see she thought so low of herself but you could say he wasn't any better. he was newly married and yet he was miserable. it had only been a few months since he and yoona got married and people were already asking when they were having a baby. straight out of college and things were moving so fast. he was nauseated and lived life in such a lethargic manner. he needed her. 

she said she still loved him. maybe it wasn’t too late. maybe he could turn things around and fulfill the dream they never reached. so he picks up the phone and dialed the number he used to call every night. it was so familiar that he didn’t need to think twice about it.

it rang once, twice, and finally, on the third ring, she answered.

“gukk?”

he cried at the sound of her voice. he missed her so much. after a while, he could hear soft sniffling from the other line.

“can i come home?” he asked, voice so hoarse it hurt.

“you are home… aren’t you?” voice strained, sounding confused.

“no no, you’re my home ___. i need to come home. “

with that jeongguk couldn’t help but cry harder.

“shhh shhh gukk, it's ok. everything will be ok.” she cooed familiar words he hadn’t heard in a while. “ok, come home. come to me baby.”

he booked the first flight he could as soon as she said where she was and packed up as much as he could. he was gonna stop living this lie and start living for himself. something he should have done four years ago. and in a few hours, that’s exactly what he was gonna do. live the life he dreamed of with her, no holding back. he needed to stop being afraid. he was on his way, without a care in the world. jeongguk loved ___ and ___ loved him. that's all that mattered.

he’d send the divorce papers over tomorrow.

[fuck-customers]

⚠️ Warning for: Gross, Blood mentions, Emeto mention ⚠️

we had a customer come in and i was on dining room duty. for context, dining room duty (or attendancy) is a required thing now because stupid corporate decided to open up the dining room and we have to wipe down everything the second a customer touches and leaves. DRA has to wipe down doors, counters, bathrooms, card reader, etc. they aren’t allowed to make anything for their rotation bc they need to be Ready. the DRA usually rotates every hour or so, because we don’t want someone doing it for like 5-8 hours straight. so, anyway. i’m the DRA of the hour

two people went into the bathrooms (we have two, both private) and i was on standby close to them so i could go in once one of them left. i washed my hands because i had been dealing with stuff on the floor for a second and another woman comes in the door and immediately goes up to me. “can i use your restroom” she asks. and i tell her they’re both occupied. so she stands and waits (i run over to wipe down the door and come back immediately) and one of them, a man, leaves the men’s room.

i go in, wipe everything down, etc etc. i tell the lady she can use the men’s because it’s. no big deal and no difference. she says thanks and goes in. the other occupier from before leaves the other restroom and i clean up. and then i wait on standby for the lady in the men’s. i wipe stuff down while i wait but i’m kinda stuck there til she leaves.

well, after maybe 20 mins, she leaves and goes into the women’s and starts washing her hands (which is strange, because the men’s room has soap in the dispenser. a full cartridge) but i just go into the men’s to clean because. ykno. current job.

and. my god. the smell. worse than when my manager who subsists off of fast food chili uses the restroom. i almost threw up right then and there. i get about cleaning, my eyes watering, and i’m moving Fast because i do not want to be there. and i look at the floor.

bloody paper towels/toilet paper clumps. everywhere. all over the floor. and i actually say “what the fuvk” and THANKFULLY no one heard me. i clean up and leave and SCRUB my hands in the sink. the lady, who washed her hands for a good five minutes, just leaves without buying anything or saying anything. i go into the women’s, and she just. threw her used paper towels all over the floor. and i’m just like. hello? what the fuck?

i also came out of the men’s saying “i’m gonna be sick” and scared a customer, but i got by with saying “no, no, not that kind of sick. a customer left... things... all over the floor of the bathroom” (i had tried to skirt around the reality of it but the customer asked a couple times so i just said so. the nice customer, same as the one who got startled by me saying i’d be sick, tipped us $5. i would die for her)

all in all. what the fuck. tldr: lady enters bathroom and leaves it a bloody, shitty mess

[dudebroreg]

In the isolation of this quarantine, I’m gonna resurrect THIS old ass argument. “Can Spike still rightfully end up with Buffy after his actions, and if he can’t, isn’t the same true for Angel?” and “Is Spuffy as meaningful as or even compare to Bangel?”. The following “conversation” is hypothetical and “person” represents most of the arguments I’ve seen people on the other side of this make. Person: I don’t see how anyone could possibly ship Buffy and Spike after the bathroom scene. Me: He didn’t have a soul when he did that. Once he does have a soul, the evil he did is no longer his fault unless he repeats the behavior, but their slow-burned bond and her eventual love for who he becomes in Chosen is real. It’s canon that she fell in love with him when their fingers locked before his death if you take Joss’s words as truth, and even if you don’t and need something to be solidified on the program to accept it as canon, interpreting what Buffy felt in those last moments as romantic love is no more or less provable than the “she was just saying it to make Spike feel better” take. It makes complete sense that Spike thought she was lying after all of his experiences, though. That’s part of his own tragedy. That angst is part of why we love them as a pairing. Person: Wow look at you making excuses for one of the worst things someone can possibly do. There’s no going back after that. Idc what the plot did to justify his actions, and it’s despicable to think that the show would still give them anything resembling a love story after that. Boo hoo about his little tragedy. Am I supposed to feel bad after what he tried to do to her? Me: Okay fine, I see your point. I don’t see how anyone could possibly ship Buffy and Angel after he went on a killing spree meant to emotionally torture her, targeted her friends and family, KILLED JENNY and not only got off on the pain it inflicted on Buffy’s father figure but set it up to be as devastating for Giles as humanly possible, and almost brought Hell on Earth which would have killed millions in global genocide all for his twisted amusement. I don’t see how anyone could feel bad about him having a sword driven through him and pulled into Acathla after what he tried to do to Buffy, to her loved ones, and to the entire fucking world. Oh also he tried to drive a sword into her face right before her badass comeback. Person: He didn’t have a soul when he did that. It’s not Angel’s fault what Angelus does. It’s not really him, but Bangel’s epic eternal love at first sight is real and will never die. Me: .... Person: ... It’s different because Spike is a little more human even when he doesn’t have a soul. Me: Does that mean he deserves less credit or more? :/ :/ Person: ANGEL AND ANGELUS IS DIFFERENT FROM SOULLESS SPIKE AND SPIKE. Me: Nah same lore same rules breh. Soulless Spike seems more human because William was a sentimental sap and hopeless romantic when he was sired and so Spike was a deranged version of that personality, but still a demon and still wired to do evil, no matter how deeply he feels for someone. Liam was a self-indulgent douche who lived primarily for his own satisfaction when he was sired and thus became Angelus. Like in life, Angelus in death gave into all of his wicked cravings but without guilt or remorse. Who Spike and Angel are without a soul fits who they were with a soul perfectly within the rules of Buffyverse vampirism. But Soulless Spike is still Soulless Spike, he is still supernaturally coded to be a monster, and his ensouled version deserves the same level of forgiveness or lack thereof as his grandsire. If you don’t think Buffy should be with someone who’s done unspeakable things regardless of the supernatural reason for it, fine, but that’s not what you’re saying. Me: The bathroom scene was hard to watch but an important turning point because he realized that in his chipped state he can’t be his fully monstrous self nor can he be a good man. His options were to get the chip removed and be William the Bloody again, or get his soul and attempt to be a good man. The decision he made was something Angelus would never do, which I could use to say Spike is just better, but really they’re just different people with different motives. Bangel and Spuffy present the same issues with the concept of being pardoned via soul and if either vampire is really “worthy” of her romantic affections, no matter how much you try to twist Buffy/Spike as the more unshippable pairing to suit your own preference on which character Buffy should have a future with.

Person: ARE YOU SAYING SEASON 6 SPUFFY WASN’T TOXIC?! Me: Nah it definitely was, but Spuffy fandom in large part really doesn’t want Buffy to end up with season 6 Spike. Many of us think their “relationship” when he was soulless was *entertaining* and added character depth, and that they had real moments of connection in the midst of the ugliness, but most of us recognize how unhealthy it was and that it was no recipe for happily-ever-after. Irl there would be no turning back but also irl people are not literal demons who can go and win a soul to make up for some missing piece of them, just as Angel’s situation would also not happen in our reality. Me: A lot of us DO want her to end up with fully actualized soul-having Spike as he was by the end of season 7, in season 5 of Angel, and post series. Bangel is the passionate all-consuming first love story, but they NEVER achieved the level of understanding and full realization of the other that Spuffy ultimately did. Probably in part because Buffy was a fuckin’ high school teenager when Bangel happened, but that’s vampire genre for ya. Me: The speech Spike gave Buffy in Touched is something Angel could NEVER deliver at any point we’ve seen them, because Angel never knew her the way Spike did, and Buffy’s conceptualization of Angel is super idealistic and passion-charged, lacking the full range of understanding she has of Spike, probably because, again, she was a fuckin’ high school teenager when Bangel happened. Me: If she loves both of them, which I believe she does and the creator of the verse believes she does, it would take years for Buffy and Angel to discover and know each other to the depths that Buffy and Spike already do. Never mind that Buffy and Angel changed - they didn’t even know each other THAT well when they were together. The more Angel the Series dives into the whole of Angel, the more clear that becomes, and Buffy wasn’t anywhere near her full growth when he left for LA. Why go back and rebuild Buffy’s first major relationship when Spike is right there, the feelings are developed enough to where if she said “I absolutely do love you and you were wrong for doubting it” it wouldn’t seem wild whatsoever, and the natural romantic endpoint of her journey has more substance there? Because you just like Bangel more? Cool! You do you, but Buffy/Angel is still in no way the morally superior tv couple. Me: Also, not to be a dick on that whole love-at-first-sight deal, but it’s canon that Angel loved her the moment he saw her, which is weird to me since the first time he saw her was watching her creepily from a distance when she was 15 years-old in a short skirt and literally sucking on a lollipop.  Okay so I’m just being a prick with that last part because that too is a byproduct of 90s TV and vampire genre. “Bangel or Spuffy” is mostly a “which type of fictional relationship do I vibe with?” based debate. Bangel is one of those epic earth-shattering-consuming-my-whole-being-at-first-kiss romances, and the people who love that kinda thing will be inclined to support them, and I do love Angel as a whole. What I will always fight, no matter how old this subject and these shows get, is this wack idea that there are problems within Spuffy that make it more unshippable than Bangel, or even more hilariously that Buffy “deserves” better than Spike and yet “deserves” Angel. 

Though, if you tell me you think she’s too good for both of them, you have a much stronger case there, but that doesn’t make me love Spuffy any less, nor would it make someone else stop loving Bangel.

[avengemebuckyy]

Be Careful

Summary: 

You tell Bucky to be careful with your heart. Too late he realizes you should have been careful with his.

or:

You’re awkward,odd, and not the most conventionally attractive yet you’re the only woman that Bucky sees

Warnings: manipulation 

Authors note: Back from the dead lmao. This is probably trash but I just needed to force myself to finish something it order to try to get back in the groove! Feedback is more than greatly appreciated, it’s what keeps me writing tbh...

PS. You ain’t shit in this lmao

---

You weren’t the most eye-catching. You didn’t look like the girls Bucky used to chase after in his younger years, or the girls on the internet he’d find himself staring at once he’d discovered Instagram, endlessly scrolling through picture after picture, lost in a sea of beautiful bodies and faces. You didn’t look like the tall slim blonde agent he’d always make a point to hold open the door for, or his neighbor’s daughter in Wakanda, who had had dark skin so smooth and a face so perfect he’d never managed to say more than two words to her.

You were slightly awkward, with a slightly odd sense of humor, always cracking jokes that sometimes no one laughed at but you. But you didn’t care, you would laugh at them all the same. You wore baggy clothes, and not the fashionable baggy kind either. Your favorite outfit was baggy camo print cargo pants and an old grey band t-shirt, logo so faded it was almost impossible to decipher.

At first Bucky didn’t pay you much attention. He wasn’t rude, but he treated you with the same gruff stoicism he treated everyone with. Well everyone besides Sam, Steve, and Natasha. Besides he only saw you rarely, you were a high level agent thanks to your skill, but you didn’t work closely with the team very often. Until you did.

One mission with Clint was all it took to have your name thrust forward when Fury was looking to fill a coordinator position. Suddenly you were everywhere. Coordinating their positions on missions, even going on missions with different members of the team. You fit in well with the team, your corny jokes and generally happy disposition make you easy to like. Your apartment was five minutes away, thanks to Tony, so you would often eat breakfast with the team and stay at the Tower well into the night, often crashing in a room designated for you, also thanks to Tony.

You were like a deceptively shallow river Bucky would think after. One minute he was wading through your shallows, next moment he was being taken under by your currents, realizing too late that he was in deeper than he thought possible.

It started slowly, you would make an effort to make conversation with Bucky, never seeming off put by his non answers. Bucky found himself coming to you with numerous questions on how to work social media, you would give such long winded explanations he wouldn’t have to embarrass himself with asking questions. Soon he found himself seeking you out for more than explanations. Funny thing is you were the one who introduced him to Instagram, to the  beautiful women on the app but eventually he found himself unable to see any woman but you.

Bucky found himself sitting with you at lunch, looking out the window in the mornings waiting to catch sight of your army green jacket. He’d sit with you in the afternoons as you did your paperwork, steal glances at you ,your forehead always shiny by midday with an almost ever-present patch of acne, eyebrows scrunched together as you filled out mission reports. He loved those quiet moments the most. Bucky wasn’t good with words, not anymore. But he would help carry the 10 pound boxes of paperwork, always bring an extra pen in case yours ran out of ink, and constantly would bring you your favorite Starbucks order. He secretly hoped that you would read the affection behind his actions.

You didn’t usually go to Stark’s parties, you’d rather go to bars and clubs with your friends.

“The crowd at Stark’s parties just aren’t my crowd,” you’d explained with a shrug, toeing the floor with your scuffed sneakers. Bucky had nodded in understanding. They usually weren’t his crowd either, but he’d always go to support Steve, who was pretty much expected to show face.

But for some reason you show up to this party. Four months into your blossoming friendship (and Bucky’s crush). Bucky wasn’t prepared for what you were wearing. When he heard the agents whispering about your unexpected appearance at the party he half expected to see you in jeans and a t- shirt. Or even your cargo pants. At the sound of your name Bucky zeros into the muttered conversation.

“Did you see her?”

“Yeah, damn.”

“Was not expecting that. Or her to even show up. Who knew?”

“She’s kinda hot, not gonna lie. In a weird way”

Bucky turns his head scanning the crowd, heart rate already picking up, fully expecting to see your sweat-pant clad form. He sees you alright. But not in sweatpants. A red dress barely covers your figure. Hemline way above the halfway mark of your thighs and twin slits in the skirt reaching up to your hips. A draping halter neck ties at your neck and completely exposes your back and gives a generous view of your tits. He catches flashes of the curve of your ass as you walk.

In hindsight the dress was totally in line with your character. You didn’t dress the way you did because you were ashamed of your body but rather because you didn’t give a fuck. Your hair is pinned up, one perfect curl escaping your updo and kissing your neck. Bucky feels his heart stop. He spies numerous heads turning as you languidly weave through the crowd in dangerously thin stilettos. You cozy up to one of your agent friends and the two of you drink, giggle, and dance. Bucky can’t take his eyes off of you.

When you head to the balcony he follows.

“Hey,” you say when you spy his shadow darkening the entrance to the balcony. 

“Hey,” he gruffs, in a tone he fears is too quiet. But looking at the curve of your exposed back suddenly has his voice dying in his throat. You turn back to looking at the city skyline. Bucky steps forward next to you. Close. Closer than he’s ever been to you, painfully aware of your arms brushing. He can’t fully feel your skin through the long sleeve button down he’s wearing but the touch sets him on fire all the same.

“Needed some air. “ He eventually grumbles. Trying not to stare at your profile. You look at him then, wearing a sly expression he had never seen on you.

“I’m sure you did,”

--

After that it doesn’t take long for Bucky to gather up the courage after that. Maybe it’s the way you had looked at him on the balcony or the way both male and female agents were sniffing around you at the party. All the same about a week later Bucky finds himself heading to your office in the afternoon as usual, but this time holding a bouquet of flowers.

Afterwards Bucky falls in love with you hard and fast. He finds himself doting on you, taking you out, bringing you flowers and other tokens of his affection. He hears the whispers, it’s almost impossible not to with his super soldier hearing.

“How’d she’d get him,”

“What an odd couple,”

“The Winter Soldier’s with cargo pants?”

But he still holds your hand in public all the same. Stops in the middle of training recruits to kiss you whenever you happen to cut across the gym all the same. Keeps a picture of you in his wallet all the same.

Bucky has never felt this amount of care and comfort from a person since...ever, even before, in his other life. You put his boots by the heater in the winter when he sleeps over so his feet won’t freeze when he walks to the compound. You listen to him, even when he’s angry, raging at nothing, or when he’s sad and sullen, taking minute long pauses in between sentences. Or even when he wants to do nothing but sit in silence and hold you. You especially listen when his words come fast, tinged with self hatred. You reassure him, holding him like he’s fine china. After many late night musings you give him with the best present he’s ever gotten, an impossibly soft kitten who’s uncharacteristically loud purr always grounds him. Bucky finds himself able to open up with you in a way he can’t with anyone else, even Steve. Bucky’s not good with words anymore, but with you he’s amazing. He can’t stop singing your praises, lavishing you with sweet words and adoration.

In hindsight it was a warning.

“Sweetheart, your wallet must be screamin’ for mercy, with you buying this cake nearly everyday,” Bucky says pinching off a piece of the lemon pound cake which is almost always at the corner of your desk. He recognizes the cake from a bakery across the street, and knows its nearly four dollars a slice. You stretch cracking your back, nipples poking through your shirt. Your ever present band shirt had breathed its last breath, and this new shirt is thinner and cropped, and hugs your body closer.

“Not really, I don’t buy it, Tommy hooks me up” you say, shooting him a smile and then returning back to your paperwork.

“Tommy?” Bucky says, and unbidden hot jealousy sears through his chest at the mention of your coworker “He’s always buying you these?”

“Yeah,” you answer, not looking up, and Bucky tells himself to remain calm, unbothered. 

He doesn’t.

Later after the subsequent fight and make up Bucky holds you as the two of you sit on his bed.

“I’m sorry,” He says again.

“It’s alright,” you say and somehow your simple words draw the truth out of him.

“I’m just...I- I’m afraid of losing you.”

“I’m afraid of losing you too,” you confess, then pause “Bucky, please be careful with me,”

Your relationship was easy, comforting. The two of you almost never fought, and never grew tired of being with each other. One blissful year turned into two and then five. It was like a dream and Bucky never wanted to wake up.

But reality eventually did.

How closely you guarded your phone should have tipped him off. How you’d constantly declined calls while the two of you were together. The way you almost always got ‘too drunk’ on girls night and would end up crashing at your friend’s place.

The first time it’s sixth months into your relationship on a lazy Saturday. The two of you had ordered pizza and planned to cuddle on the couch and have a movie marathon. You were in the bathroom when your phone had vibrated. Knowing that you would get a notification when the pizza arrived Bucky had looked at your phone. Bucky had felt surprised to see the name Dominos instead of an unsaved number pop up on your screen. Your phone didn’t show the preview of the text like his did. Your phone was still unlocked since you had headed to the bathroom but a few seconds ago, so Bucky tapped to open  the text.

Dominos: [Can’t wait to see you again, beautiful]

Bucky’s blood had run cold. He froze, only unfreezing when he realized you were standing next to him.

“We aren’t exclusive!” you had defended.

“What the hell do you mean?” Bucky had growled. At that your face had crumbled, eyes filling with tears.

“You never asked me to be your girl.” you had looked away “We never talked about what we are,”

“Whaddya think we’ve been doing these past months?!” Bucky had yelled back,

“ I don't know. I don’t assume Bucky. Because guys always seem to want to date me, treat me like their girlfriend and then turn around and throw it in my face that they never said I was.” your voice breaks and so does Bucky's anger.  He hadn’t been very verbal with you so far. It’s true he never asked you to be his girl, or even verbally on a date. He just thought you both knew. Guilt fills him at the sight of your tear stained face.

“I’m sorry I was just preparing for the inevitable,” you say and turn away. Bucky grabs your arm and pulls you towards him.

“Well, let me make it clear. I want you to be my girl. I want you to be mine and mine alone.”

Your expression is unfathomable as you wind your arms around his neck.

“I am yours.”

That night you stand in front of Bucky and  wordlessly slip out of your sweatpants and t shirt, rendering him speechless. With reverence Bucky’s hands trace your frame and his mouth follows. That night he worships you.

Later, you wrap your arms around him and whisper 

“I love you,”

 And Bucky knows that he’s done for.

“I love you too sweetheart.” he says, and later still when you’ve fallen asleep Bucky lies awake, stroking the soft contours of your back. He’s done for. And he knows it.

“I’ll be careful,” he whispers.

--

Reality had tried to wake Bucky gently. Through warning signs that should have been loud and clear especially to an ex assassin. But Bucky had accepted your half baked truths and excuses. He was too far gone off of the drug that was your love to heed the warning signs until reality slapped him- no choked him, awake.

His awakening came in the form of the sight of you on your kitchen counter, a man kneeling in between your spread thighs. The flowers he had bought you on his way back from his mission that had ended early drop to the floor. Bucky freezes. But at the sight of Tommy’s face, cheeks slick with you he loses it. Next thing he realizes that he has his hands around your coworkers throat. But your hand on his shoulder drains the fight out of him, and as Tommy scrambles out of the apartment Bucky crumples to the floor and sobs. 

“Why?” He asks and he realizes he’s not just asking about now, but about all the times he’s caught you cheating but didn’t have the strength to leave you. 

“Baby” you say and gather him into your arms. He wants to pull away, thrash, yell, but he doesn’t. He just melts into your touch. You make him weak. And at night when he thinks about your excuses and half truths he hates himself for it.

“Why do you keep doing this to me?” he says, sobs wracking his frame “Five years-did they mean nothing to you?”

“I’m sorry,” you say “I love you,” 

At this Bucky pulls away, standing. “Don’t fucking lie to me.” he hisses.

“I’m not,” you say standing “I might lie all the time but I’m not lying about this.” your eyes go soft at the corners, and start to water.

“No. I love you. I adore you. I’d give you anything-everything and you treat me like shit” Bucky spits, there’s a pain in his chest, his heart is breaking “And I just fucking take it, because you make me so fucking weak- and I hate it” another sob ribs from his chest. A part of him thinks  that this is his punishment. For all of the terrible things he’s done. Cursed to be in love with someone who will never truly love him back. He looks at you, your hair is in disarray, baggy t shirt, those fucking cargo pants around your ankles. He gives a bitter laugh “Who woulda thought that you would’ve been the one to make me weak.”

“Why? Because I’m not pretty?” hurt flashes across your face then your eyes go hard. Usually Bucky would have been quick to refute any self deprecating words, reassuring you how beautiful he found you, how gorgeous you were. But now he just lifts his chin and looks back at you with the same hard eyes.

“Well I know I’m not pretty.” you shrug, face going strangely expressionless “But you still fell for me all the same. More fool you.” you say, and after a moment continue. “We should break up.”

At this Bucky shatters. Because he knows deep down that even after all of this he still would have taken you back. He still wants to grovel at your feet and plead to try to fix your relationship. But instead he decides to finally choose himself and turns and walks out of the door and out of your life.

Year later he still finds himself looking at your picture in his wallet, the one remnant  of you he has left, that he can’t bear to get rid of. On lonely nights where he can’t sleep and can’t stand the coldness of his bed  he’ll trace the curve of your smile and wish that you had cared enough to have been careful with him.

Tags:@stephie-senpai@ayeputita@pixierox101@iamwarrenspeace@ dreamgirljere  @ufffg@pietrotheavenger @trinityjadec@abbytagg@wastedsummerss@turdblossommm@jimmyisfab@sev7en@hottrashformarvel @superbuckytrash@waidewilson@abbytagg @awkwardfangirl2014 @desir-ae

Bucky only @chamongangae@callmebucky-doll

[choruscas]

suptober day 08: electric

please let me know if you’d like to be added to my tag list! (or removed if you prefer) it tags you in all my short stories like these so you never miss them!

also, i’m so sorry that these stories are late! i went on vacation and i totally forgot my writing ipad and had nothing else to use to post these! hopefully these long oneshots will make it up. thank you!

boss!castiel, assistant!dean

Working two years at an insurance company really had a toll on some people. Sometimes it sagged their skin, brittled their bones, or grayed their hair. Sometimes the bosses made your ears bleed and your nose crinkle, wishing it was five o’clock already.

But not Dean. Sure, he was thirty-two and going on strong, but he wasn’t old compared to the rest. There was still a kick in his step, his bones were mighty and strong (thanks to Sammy’s tips on how to stay fit while literally doing nothing) and maybe he had a little bit of a gut going on, but nothing he couldn’t fix.

His boss? Castiel Novak.

Lots of people didn’t like him, as he had lots of enemies. Dean wasn’t sure why, as he didn’t care. Before he accepted his job as assistant, lots of people told him about Castiel. (“Novak’s numbfuckin’ gorgeous, man.” — “Be careful with that one, he’s pretty rough.” — “He’s like... emotionless.” And those were only a few examples.)

He was stone cold, monotonous, soulless.

Even heartless, some said.

But there was a mighty, mighty problem.

Mr. Novak is the most attractive person in the entire world to Dean. Once he saw a picture of his boss, with his piercing blue eyes and five o’clock shadow, Dean was submissive nearly immediately. In his interview, Dean just could. not. stop. staring. Even if his life depended on it, he could not stop looking at the movement of his broad shoulders, the work of his rough hands, the flickering of his eyes like pure fire.

-

Dean sat in the office’s kitchen during lunch break. Normally he would go out and maybe grab a cheeseburger of sorts but today Mr. Novak seemed very different. He seemed sad, to Dean. And since Dean was in love — no... had a huge crush on his boss, it upset Dean himself.

Eating a spoonful of pudding and sucking on the plastic utensil, April Kelly sat down in a chair at Dean’s table, flattening her skirt before she sat. Dean eyed her suspiciously, as she looked a little revolted by something.

Hushed in a whisper, she asked: “So is it really true? Are you and Mr. Novak... a thing?”

Nearly choking on his spoon, Dean jerked his head back and began a coughing fit. A few other employees looked at Dean whose face began to turn red and the tips of his ears tinged shades of pinks.

There was a lot of things Dean had heard in his life that he had the same question for: what the fuck? For example, walking in on his gym teacher and science teacher going at it like rabbits in the teacher’s lounge, or the time poor seven year old Sammy came home with a broken arm and said that a squirrel had snapped it in half. (In reality, he fell of a tree because he tried to jump to a branch with a squirrel, but little children had dramatic memories.)

But this question? Cream of the crop. Takes the cake. Out of all the questions she could’ve asked. “Hey, are you a diabetic owl too?” Or “Have you dated nineteen Katherine’s all with the same spelling who also dumped you?” And sure, those questions would’ve weirded him out, but this one... just mind boggled him.

How in the fuck could Dean even be remotely in Castiel’s league? Hell, he didn’t even think he was gay.

“No— what? Who said that?” Dean gawked, his eyeballs practically falling out of his head.

April rolled her eyes softly. “Bartholomew.”

Dean huffed explosively. Bartholomew Strautman. World’s biggest fucking idiot in the world.

“That bastard? April, you know that’s not true. You’re smarter than that.”

The assistant knew for a fact that she was not, but he didn’t wanna hurt her feelings for rumors she didn’t even start. Dean’s nickname for Bartholomew was B.S., because that’s normally what he was fucking full of whenever he was around him. Dean’s surprised he’s never swallowed a damn sandal for how many times he stuck his foot in his mouth.

Now, Dean didn’t really like April, but that didn’t stop him from attempting to be nice to her. He was only mean to bitches who were mean to him first, otherwise, it was just insensitive.

“I just hope it’s not true.” she sighed sadly.

Dean quirked his head. “Why?”

“I really like Mr. Novak...” Her voice then became a whisper. “And... I think he likes me too.”

Dean blinked multiple times. “Uh— Yeah. Maybe.”

Her head peaked up to meet Dean eye to eye. “Really?” she exclaimed.

Now, Dean wasn’t really expecting that.How the fuck is he supposed to tell her, “Hey, you’re kinda dumbass and I don’t like you... and Castiel is mine, so fuck off.”

So instead he just told her that she might have a chance. It saved him from having to deal with a full-grown temper tantrum (which she’s had before because her printer paper wouldn’t fit in the copier. Dean had fixed it by simply rotating the paper.) in the middle of work, which he would much rather not have.

It was an hour before Dean left work. He normally got there at eight o’clock in the morning, because Castiel needed his coffee before nine. Granted, Castiel had never asked Dean deliberately to make his coffee, but Dean’s attempt to swoon him with bribery kindness were his day-to-day tasks. So at the moment,

The elevator dinged and Dean turned around in his desk, just having finished beating Kevin Tran in Crazy 8. Every day they’d play something different. Monday was Crazy 8, and sometimes they’d manage to round a few other people too. Today, they had managed to grab Bobby Singer, Anna Milton, and Meg Masters to play a few rounds. Tuesday’s, Wednesday’s, Thursday’s and Friday’s, it would just be Kevin and Dean playing.

Dean turned around to see his boss, and he just so managed to exit out of the tab and onto some random website that totally looked like work.

Fuck, was he hot.

His black overcoat was off and his white dress shirt was rolled up, the cuffs on his sleeves were unbuttoned, and he looked like a little bit of a mess. However, it was extremely attractive and Dean found himself biting his lip to stop himself from drooling over him.

The whole office sort of stifled quiet as Castiel’s cold eyes peered around the room. Dean, however, was the closest to him and he could just smell the cinnamon and black coffee radiating off of him.

“Dean.” Castiel said softly, looking down at Dean who had just grabbed a pen to twirl around his fingers.

“Yes sir?” Dean snapped up, straightening his posture and tugging at his sleeves.

“I need you in my office.”

Whispers quirked across the office floor, probably rumors about their relationship. It has never happened and Dean had told himself over and over again that it wouldn’t happen.

However, the thing that happened next was terrifying.

Once they had reached his office, which was a story up from his desk, Castiel had taken the lead and Dean found himself shaking with eagerness (and nervousness) of what’s next to come. Castiel had held the door open for him and once Dean reached inside, Castiel shut the door and locked it.

It was normal for Dean, but in this circumstance, he overthought everything. So the door locking was terrifying to him.

Castiel laid his hands flat on his desk and eyed Dean with precaution.

It made Dean tremble in his bones.

“You have heard the rumors, have you not?” he asked, tilting his head and squinting his eyes. It was such an innocent gesture that was so un-Castiel that Dean found himself nearly falling on his knees to worship him.

“Yeah-“ he stopped himself. “Yes sir.”

Castiel’s hands left the desk and he began slowly walking toward Dean, eyeing him as if he was prey and Castiel was the predator. Dean was then trembling in his shoes, feeling as if he could throw up from how nervous they were.

Now, Castiel’s next question was yet another question that Dean was not expecting.

“Are you romantically attracted to me?”

Not wanting to lie, Dean succumbed to Castiel’s look of prestigious nature. “Yes... yes sir- I...”

Castiel shushed him. “I’ll be after work. Make sure everybody is gone and turn off all the lights before you come back here. 5:30, Dean.”

Fuck.

-

Dean eyed the clock with such suspicion that he wanted to smash it in the floor and turn the minute handle to 5:30 already. At five o’clock, people should be starting to pack up and leave.

And as five o’clock pulled around, they did just that. Dean said his goodbyes, trying not to look suspicious. Because normally when the clock struck five, Dean was up and out faster than you could say cherry pie. He liked his job (the sexy boss sure helped) but relaxing was better to him in his opinion.

At about 5:15, people were still taking their sweet precious time.

5:20. Dean still had to go all the way to the basement to turn off the lights.

5:25. Anna Milton.

“Hey Dean, good job on Crazy 8 earlier! You’re pretty good.”

Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes and slap her in the face. He knew exactly what she was doing, like she did everyday. Flirting.

“Listen, Anna— Mr. Novak-“

“Castiel is a cheapskate, he can wait.”

Dean’s nostrils practically flared from the informality and disrespect she had for him. Since Dean was in love had a huge crush on his boss, any disrespect towards him made him blood boil.

“Anna...”

“If the rumors are true...”

“They’re not.”

“Alright, whatever.” she flung her hands up in defeat, sighing like it was her last breath. “If you wanna play another game sometime, my house is always open to move some furniture around.”

Dean shivered. Anna was cute and all, but she was toxic and manipulative as fuck. He only had eyes for one man and one man only.

Shit! It was 5:29.

Once the door and shut and he knew Anna was out of the office like Castiel had said, Dean ran to the basement, his messenger bag almost falling down the stairs many, many times.

He really needed to work out instead of using Sammy’s stupid techniques of having good posture and drinking water (also while watching TV, a detail Dean “forgot” to tell Sam) to burn calories.

He finally reached his office, after having to run four flights of stairs, he finally made it. At 5:35. Fuck.

Knocking on the door made Dean realize how hard he was shaky. In all honesty, this was probably the scariest thing he’s ever had to do.

What if he gets fired? What if he breaks his heart? Fuck. Anything could happen.

“Come in.”

And so Dean did, and the sight he saw was a sight for sore eyes. His tie was untied and hanging around his neck, his belt was off, and his dress shirt was untucked.

The sex they had was indeed not heartless. It was soft, and full of something Dean never though Castiel was capable of giving him: love. He treasured him as if he was the richest gold or rarest diamond, kissing his every freckle and blemish like he was made of glass.

(tags below)

@potato-painter