#smearing the pastels was delightful

[aimie-academie]

Playing with oil pastels

[shatteredvioletnuzlocke]

Chapter 1: Late Bloomer (Patch)

It was a brisk morning in Cabo Poco, the sun slowly rose against the windowsill of the guestroom. The calm air swayed the palm tree side to side and the outward horizon was nothing other than a flat, blue sea. From the window side Patch could see two yellow Sqwackabillies flying together. Once one of the birds landed on a nearby branch, Patch was quick to pull out their sketchbook and jot it down. They had never seen vibrant Pokémon like this back in Unova, it was always dull gray Pidoves.

On a fresh, untouched page, Patch began circling a head with their pencil and then went straight to the beak. I wonder if I’ll catch one of these, they thought smearing some graphite on their face as they brushed their cheek. 

Nemona’s voice called out from downstairs, “Patch, breakfast!”

Patch sighed at their sketch, then looked back at the window to find that the Squawkabilly had flown off. The page would be forever haunted by a drawing that could never be finished. They flipped the sketchbook shut and tucked it away in the lavender backpack. Patch got up from their bed, plopping themselves onto the smooth hardwood floor. They then walked towards their reflection in a mirror hung on the faint, orange wall.

This is happening, they thought as they brushed their hair with their fingers. They licked their thumb to clear the graphite smudge, I’m going to be a trainer, for real this time! They tried to smile with pride even though their pastel purple eyes showed regret; they still felt uneasy. Patch couldn’t understand it, they’d been excited since they found out they got accepted into Uva. Why now? Why did their anxiety have to show up this late? 

“Patch, you good?!” Nemona hollered.

The soon-to-be trainer snapped out of their trance, “I’m coming!”

Patch reached back into their bag and pulled out their favorite beanie. It had been their comfort hat for years, and no one else had another one like it. It was lavender, with an embroidered design of an Elgyem at the center of the folded sleeve. Despite the well-known heat of Paldea, Patch just couldn’t live without it. They slid the beanie on top of their brown hair, grabbed their backpack, and went straight down to the kitchen. 

They felt exhausted as soon as they made it down the three flights of stairs, How does Nemona live like this? Patch panted as they walked a mud room, then a living room, then a dining room. How does anyone live like this? Finally, they made it to the kitchen following the tantalizing scent of fresh pancakes and maple syrup. There Nemona’s mother cooked at the stove, while her daughter sat at the table. The Torrezs had made Patch feel so at home since their arrival in Paldea. Moving to a new region was never easy. But the Torrezs treated the unovian with so much hospitality, that it was like they were already part of the family. 

Patch noticed that Nemona’s Lycanroc, Pierce, sat at her little table. It was furniture made for toddlers albeit a very ornate-looking set. There the maroon wolf chowed a bowl of Pokémon kibble with a pancake on top. Patch smiled, their dogs back in Unova would never be pampered like this. They gave Pierce a scratch above its white mane and were thanked in the form of delighted bark.

Patch sat down, where Mrs. Torrez set a plate down with a stack of pancakes and some rawst berries on the side. With a knife and fork, they took a good chunk out but they were met with a very crunchy texture.

Nemona turned to Patch smiling, “So how is it?”

“Dry…” Patch cleared their throat, “almost chalky.”

“That’s because Mami uses her secret ingredient,” Nemona happily explained, “right, Mami?” 

Patch turned to Mrs. Torrez, who was standing behind the countertop, and nodded while pouring spoons full of protein powder into her coffee. The two women were nearly identical in appearance, nature, and taste. Both were copper-toned in complexion with jet-black hair and bright tangerine eyes. You could only tell them apart by Mrs. Torrez’s plump figure and Nemona’s few strands of green hair coming out of her hairline.

“First day!” Nemona clapped her hands together, “how do you feel?”

“Honestly a little nervous,” Patch sheepishly admitted. 

“About becoming a trainer?” Nemona furrowed her brow. 

Patch lowered their chin, “I’m starting my trainer career ten years late. And most people have already caught a Pokémon by the time they were five!” 

The young adult was now twenty, they wanted Pokemon of their own for as long as they could remember but something always got in the way. It was always finishing grade school, their parents being too overprotective, or being too young to travel. Most of the kids in Patch’s town left once they caught their first Pokemon, while the wanna-be trainer stayed behind.

“Pfft,” Nemona rolled her lip, “better than to start at this point, younger trainers don’t even make it past their third gym.”

“Bzzzzzt Btzzzzzt!” A sudden ringing occurred, it came from Nemona’s Roto Phone which flew out of her pocket. The backside was flashing a blue light around its bezel. 

Nemona’s eyes dilated, “Ah! La Prisa! We should get going, the director is going to arrive any minute!” 

“Wait? Now like right now?!” 

Patch thought the director was coming in an hour, did they waste all that time drawing?

“Well…. you finish up,” Nemona stood up, “Pierce and I will be outside! Come on, Pierce!”

“Rooowf,” the Lycanroc called back to her. 

Pierce knocked over her chair and scurried off with her trainer toward the main entrance. While still at the table Patch coated their pancake in syrup, sugarcoating the powdery taste. They scarfed down as much as they could and got up to clear their plate. Once their plate was fully rinsed they crept to the fridge and retrieved a leftover sandwich they made for themselves yesterday. They left the kitchen with their backpack leaning on their shoulder and made their way towards the front door. Once again getting lost in an array of extra, unnecessary rooms.

Patch finally made it to the front door, recognizing the frame of green-tinted stained glass. They took a moment to admire a painting hung on the side of the wall; a liney, abstract painting of supposed blue Pokemon. They appreciated the Torrezs’s sophisticated taste in art and hoped someday they could achieve a similar artistic quality. Patch opened the door, the overwhelming gleam of the Paldean sun nearly obscuring their vision. The pathway of the front yard was paved in rich sedimentary stones. The grass was a lush emerald color. The palm trees grew past the rooftops and stalked out stems of ripe Acai berries.

Right off the front yard was a plastic paved court for Pokemon battles. There Nemona and Pierce were already engaged in a training session, with the wolf Pokémon gwawing at a green Pokemon doll. She held the toy in her jaws, swinging it back and forth, then threw it across the yard.

“Alright, Pierce! Stone edge!” Nemona commanded. 

Patch felt a light tremor by their feet, taking a safe step back. At that moment tall, jagged stones rose from the ground tearing the Pokémon doll by the foot. 

“Awoooooo,” Pierce howled with pride. 

Patch looked at Nemona with envy, Won the league at 15, became a teacher at 17, and now she’s 2 years older than me and she owns a mansion. Nemona Torrez was not only a well-accomplished trainer, but a champion-ranked trainer of Paldea honor that many could only dream of receiving. Patch was starstruck when they found out she would be their host family. She carried herself with such confidence and finesse. Nemona makes it look so easy.

They imagined themselves in an intense gym battle, spouting commands to their imaginary Sableye as they fought off a rampaging Bouffalant. As soon as the Bouffalant charged the Sableye would be dead because of Patch's incompetence. As they were lost in their mind, Patch draped their beanie over their eyes, maybe I should stick to just studying Pokémon.

“Ah, Nemona!” a man’s voice called out.

Patch shifted back to reality, where an old man dressed in purple entered Nemona’s yard.

He approached Nemona with a delightful tone, “It means so much that you would take in our new exchange student while we prepare their living arrangements. How are they finding Paldea?” 

“Oh, they’ve been loving it,” Nemona replied, “ I wanted to take them to the seven sights but I guess they’ll need to see it for themselves.”

“Well then?” The old man turned to the soon-to-be trainer. 

Upon a closer look, Patch recognized the old man’s snowy white hair and color-coordinated glasses. It was Clavell, director of Uva Academy! In a desire to appear professional, Patch anxiously straightened their necktie. 

“You must be, Mx. Callune,” the director smiled, “how wonderful it is to meet you in person finally!” 

“Uh likewise,” Patch responded, Gotta brush up on my formal words.

Clavell scratched his chin, “I assume you’re well-adjusted to our region’s climate. Though, might I ask why the hat?”

Fuck, he has a policy against hats! They began to panic but kept trying to keep their composure, “I never leave home without it. It’s not a problem for me to wear hats in school is it?”

Patch should’ve known this, Uva was the most prestigious trainer school in Paldea. Of course they would have a strict dress code! 

But Clavell only laughed, “Of course not, as long as you wear your uniform on school grounds you're free to accessorize!”

Patch sighed, their heart refusing to race. They were safe… for now. 

“Onto more important matters…” Clavell adjusted his glasses, “Mx. Callune, on your student application you checked off that you weren’t planning on catching any Pokémon before your arrival.”   

“Oh yes,” Patch replied, only because global transport is hella expensive.

“Since you’re a newcomer to our region, I want to accommodate you with one of three Pokemon that are suitable for a beginner trainer,” Clavell exclaimed.

Patch’s heartbeats heightened, but this time with intrigue. Accommodate me? 

 Their purple eyes widened, “Wait, are you-”

“Suprise!” Nemona bounced with glee.

Patch struggled to find their words, they thought they were just going to catch a wild Paldean Pokemon to start with. 

“Are you giving me a Pokémon?!” 

“Of course, it’s much safer to have a Pokémon beforehand as I always say!” Clavell reassured them.

Patch couldn’t hold it in, they began to flap their hands like a Herdier wags its tail. A Pokemon as a gift, just for them!

“Sweet Arceus! When do I get to meet them!?” They shouted.

Clavell took out three common Pokeballs from his pocket, “Right now!” 

He threw three Pokeballs toward the sky. Then one by one they admitted streaks of dim, blue light. The lights took strange shapes, one grew four legs while the other two stood on a single pair. Once the Pokemon materialized there stood a green cat with a fluffy tail, a white duck with a blue crest, and a tubby, red reptile with a white face. 

“You’ll find that the Pokémon selected for you have the same typing as the starter Pokémon offered in Unova,” Clavell said, placing his hand on Patch.

“Among them are…” Clavell began to announce, “Sprigatito, the grass cat Pokemon!”

“Spur-nya,” the cat mewed, clawing at a nearby leaf.

“Quaxly, the duckling Pokémon!” 

“Weh,” the duck whimpered, shielding its face with its wings.

“And Fuecoco, the fire croc Pokémon!”

“Cro-ko!” the reptile chirped while looking at the sun. 

Patch was so charmed by the three creatures, “Holy shit they’re so cu-”

Patch slapped their mouth, regretfully wishing they said something different. Their face became a new shade of red. Their fingers curved like claws as they pressed them against their cheek. They just swore in front of the director! 

“Eh!” Patch murmured, Nice going jackass! 

Clavell’s eyes widened with astonishment while Nemona couldn’t help but crack up. There was no way Patch could ever take that back.

The soon-to-be ex-student remorsefully stammered, “Mr. Director, sir! I didn't mean to I-I slipped my tongue!”

Patch was so stuck in their emotional mind, that they didn’t realize they were overstepping their vocal volume or physical space. 

Clavell took a step back and waved his hands, “Woah- it’s perfectly fine!” 

“I’m not in trouble?” Patch whimpered on the brink of tears. 

“Don’t worry, I’m cool like that! “Fresh” as you kids call it!” Clavell confidently flipped his hair.

Nemona was at a loss for words, all she could do was still laugh. Patch sighed with relief and wiped their tears. They brought their attention back to the three starters, all three of them were off on their own devices.  

Clavell stood next to Patch, “So, do you know which one you want?”

Right, I can only choose one, they reminded themselves.   

“Not yet.” 

“Of course, I understand this is a sudden choice. Take plenty of time!” the director nodded, “these three have been cooped up in their Pokéballs all morning. Why not take them for a stroll to get to know them better?” 

Along the Torrezs garden, mauve anemone flowers filled the air with a gentle sweet aroma. The Sprigatito leaped into the flower bed but was graceful enough to not step on a single stem. The Quaxly and Fuecoco followed Patch down the path as the brown-haired human kept thinking to themselves. The surprise was sweet and all, but I wish I didn’t have to deal with choosing a Pokémon. Especially my first Pokémon, what if I make the wrong choice? They looked back at the duck and crocodile, overwhelmed by their adorableness. 

Patch thought back to they’re childhood dreams, I always wanted a Snivy back home so maybe Sprigatito? 

They turned to the cat who was pressing a white feather against the ground with its claws, he noticed Patch and gave a hiss. Somehow it made them feel nervous. Then again cats are so much different than snakes…

Patch pondered the idea of choosing Quaxly, Many trainers recommend water types, after all, they are strong against so many other types. Plus, they help you get around oceans and lakes!

 The Quaxly’s fluffy white down ruffled as the human observed them. Maybe not.

Patch felt guilty, it seemed like they were passing down their surprise. But they also knew that the director wouldn’t set them up for failure, one of these Pokémon had to be a hidden match. Then there’s Fuecoco… The soon-to-be trainer looked around for the little crocodile; it was nowhere in sight.

“Fuck, I lost one of them!” Patch blurted aloud. Nice going Patch! 

They frantically shook, wanting to check the rest of the yard for the missing Pokemon. In an act of impulse, Patch attempted to carry the remaining starters. A big mistake, as the two Pokémon didn’t take kindly to being held. Out of their emotional distress, Patch left the two to their own devices and ran toward the aligned trees making up the border of the open yard. 

They scanned them until they found a spot of vermillion popping against the viridity of the grass. 

“Thank god,” Patch sighed. 

 While Patch was winding itself up, the Fuecoco lay on its belly bathing underneath the warmth of the sun.

“Fuecoco!” Patch called out to them.

 They approached the reptile with caution, under the assumption they could be just as stubborn as the other starters. 

“Coco?” the Fuecoco tilted its head.

“Don’t just run. off like that!” Patch exclaimed already out of breath, “let’s… stay close together.” 

The fuecoco got up with a yawn, its opened jaw revealing two extra fangs. As it hopped closer to Patch, they noticed the fire croc’s eyes were half open. The sun’s rays clearly made Fuecoco comfortable, unlike Patch who was melting with sweat. Patch took a moment to remove their beanie but accidentally dropped it. At that moment, Fuecoco curiously sniffed at the beanie, nudging it with its snout. I’m not getting that back, am I?

Patch carefully reached for the beanie, but couldn’t help but notice that the Fuecoco held it close to its chest, hugging it.  

“Fuey” the crocodile happily gargled. 

Patch recognized the Fuecoco's coziness, “You like the feel of my hat too huh?”

The Fuecoco’s relaxing vibe began to rub off on the human, and soon slowly they held out their hand towards it. Please don’t bite! To their surprise, its snout was pressed up against the Patch’s palm. Their scales were dry yet soft and a little bumpy. Being a fire type, they felt they were naturally warm. Patch admired the crocodile, yep you’re the one! 

Patch got up and lifted their soon-to-be Pokemon, the Fuecoco was a little heavier than the other starters but not too heavy to carry. They ran back to their director with, the other two starters in tow.  

“Director Clavell, Director Clavell,” they called to out until they properly reached him, “I’ve chosen, Fuecoco for my partner, sir!” 

“Splendid, Patch,” the director clapped his hands, “do you have a name in mind for him?”

Patch looked down at their new Pokémon, cozy with so many ideas and possibilities they could share. His name had to be perfect, but the bright tufts on his head made him look like… a fruit.

They held up the Fuecoco towards them, “What do you think of the name Tamarind?”

“Co,” the crocodile smiled, holding out one of his claws in approval.

Clavell handed Patch his Pokeball and Nemona approached them, she was just as excited as they were. They placed Tamarind down to mingle with Pierce. 

“Feeling nervous now?” Nemona playfully asked.

“Not really,” Patch replied. There’s a good chance I’ll feel it later though. 

They couldn’t help but notice that was looking Nemona away from them, she had her eye caught on the other two starter Pokemon. 

“Hey, Clive?” Nemona spoke, “I know that these Pokémon were meant for Patch. But since they’ve already made their choice, do you think I can take one?”

Clavell scratched his beard, “You, Ms. Torrez?”

“Plenty of my Pokémon are high level, I was thinking having a newbie level would help my battle strategy students with some hands-on lessons,” the Champion explained.

Patch knew that as a Champion, Nemona’s Pokemon were jacked. They wouldn’t dare challenge her, or any other trainer for that matter.

“That seems like a good reason,” Clavell remarked, “which one would you like?”

Nemona crouched, and held her handout to the Sprigatito, “I’ll take this little chiqui!” 

Patch placed their hand on the scratch mark, Nemona are you sure?

To their surprise, the ferocious kitten allowed Nemona to hold him. Patch was left confused, it was like his personality had shifted. As the Sprigatito purred in the champion’s arms, the novice trainer reached to pet him. Only for the cat to revert to aggressive as the pupils in his magenta eyes drew back into diamond shapes. Patch looked at Nemona, how? Clavell gave Nemona a Pokeball and retrieved the unchosen Quaxly. 

“Now that that's settled we should be on our way to campus,” Clavell stated.

Down by the stairs of the pathway, a fancy black car awaited them. Patch began to make their way but felt a heavy hand on their shoulder. 

 “Could you let me hold on to Patch just a little bit longer?” she asked, “I thought I could teach them the ropes of catching wild Pokémon.”

Patch’s purple eyes beamed like stars, they flapped their right hand with excitement. Oh please Clavell, say yes! 

He nodded back, “As long as Patch makes it back to the academy by sunset, that’s fine. Just be mindful of your time!”

<- Prologue - Chapter 2 ->

[vaya-writes]

Word Game

Word Game!

I was tagged by @sio-writes and my words were: string, colour, bath, and fright

I tag @moonshine-nightlight, @eruden-writes, and @bucketsofmonsters with the words: decadent, delight, and dread :)

Excerpts under the cut!

Okay this one was written to be just smut but I never posted anywhere and hasn't been finished really:

The room she is brought to is unlike anything she has seen. Polished marble floors decorated with lush red rugs. A whole wall dedicated to a fire place and some book shelves. A four poster bed wider than her old cell, with gossamer curtains. An open door that Maia can see a large bath tub through. Another wall made up of nothing but tall windows.  

The curtains, thick and dark, are drawn shut. If Maia hadn’t caught a glance out the windows on the way here and seen the sun for herself, she’d have assumed it was evening from the room’s orange firelight.  

The door clicks shut behind her and Maia flinches. She hadn’t seen the Mantis leave, and was now alone with the room.  

“H-hello?” She swallows, voice hoarse from disuse.  

A figure appears in the bathroom doorway, only half dressed, and hair tousled and wet. Almost - human?  

Maia realises her mistake when the man - the creature - crosses the room. His dark curls and deep eyes, paired with smooth olive brown skin are handsome, but the grace to his movements, the way he nearly glides across the floor, leaves Maia’s nerves alight with fear.  

Her body screams at her to run and only a lifetime of training allows her to stand still.

-

This is from my Nanowrimo project last year, nicknamed Girl Meets Prince:

He faces her. “Are you okay?” 

She shakes her head. 

“What was that about?” 

She rubs her face. Holds out her arm in a silent request. 

He lowers her down onto the bank and waits as she splashes her face, and removes her boots. She undoes the bandage around her ankle, before lowering it into the water. Hopefully it will be cool enough to help with the swelling. 

She rubs her arms. Tries to put the words together. Fails. She gives Moreau a weak smile. “Was it that noticeable?”  

His face is set, deadly serious. “Literally anyone with a preternatural sense of smell would have noticed. You reek of terror. I think the tiefling is the only one who missed it.” 

She frowns at her arms, red from the heat, and splashes them too. She tries again to string the words together. 

-

And another from the same project. I hadn't settled on the species for the creature in this excerpt yet:

He grins, with his mouth full, and she has to ignore the viscera poking through his teeth. “Oh, I’ll eat any meat. Lizards, birds, rodents, stray humans…” 

She raises her hands. “If you wanted me to leave, you didn’t have to scare me. You could just ask.” 

He chuckles. “Forgive me, I do not get many visitors, and I do so enjoy frightening them. But, to answer your question, I like fish best. Fresh or rotten, I enjoy the taste. Besides, I’m cold blooded. I can slow my metabolism if need be.” 

“Do CREATURE’S prefer stagnant water? I imagine you’d catch more fish at the creek.” 

He sighs. “I would. But the Prince prefers to keep me here, away from temptation. He seems to think that if I were bored enough I would drown his courtiers.” 

“Would you?” 

The creature laughs. “Probably.” 

-

Lastly is a tiny, tiny excerpt from the horror porn fanfic I have pending, Willing Participant:

Your body is a mess. Your legs coated with dried blood; barely an inch of clean skin. Your chest is already smeared with it; fresh and reeking from your hand. Your bra, once pastel coloured, will never be stain free again. 

[a-deep-ocean-of-secrets]

I posted 5,611 times in 2022

That's 2,210 more posts than 2021!

11 posts created (0%)

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I tagged 5,599 of my posts in 2022

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Longest Tag: 73 characters

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My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Sneak Peak of Dream a Little Dream Of Me Ch2

Fic Summary:

Headed for Whitmore College in the fall, Elena is meant to be enjoying the best summer of what promises to be a very long life as she soaks up every sun-drenched moment of it.

She's so free of romantic entanglements that a blinking neon sign over her head could advertize: single and ready to mingle. And for the first time since junior year, she isn't being forced to deal with psychotic vampires, devious doppelgängers, megalomaniac hybrids, and unhinged immortals with a two-thousand-year bone to pick.

Everything should be perfect.

But then why is she having the strangest dreams about a certain Original…?

Ch2 Sneak Peak:

She was in the house in Reidsville. The derelict dwelling where she had met Rose, and Trevor, and…

Elijah. 

Taking a precursory glance at herself, she easily noticed that she was in the same clothes as that fateful day. The pastel pink Henley with the delicate lace camisole underneath. Straight denim jeans. Her trusty pair of scuffed Converse. The once familiar weight of Rebekah’s necklace dipping into the valley between her breasts. Falling down her shoulders was her straight, heavy, and nearly waist-length hair; just as it had been when she was seventeen and in the fight of her life. Even smeared onto her sleeve was the tacky splotch of dried blood from her misadventure of being linked to a vindictive Katherine. 

Talk about a walk down memory lane…

“Hello there.”

Gasping in startled fright, Elena whirled around so quickly that her hair slapped her in the face when she came to an abrupt halt. Her hand was raised to her chest as her heart wildly rattled inside her rib cage. Her eyes narrowed into a heated glare at the sight of an all too familiar face. 

“You sure seem to enjoy sneaking up on me like some kind of stalker,” she peevishly spat out. 

Adopting an easy stance, with his hands loosely tucked into the pockets of his trousers, he only raised an eyebrow. “We all have to make our own entertainment somehow.” 

“Someone ought to put a bell on you,” she muttered vehemently under her breath, knowing he could hear her perfectly even from across the spacious room. A flash of finespun delight was there and gone from his eyes in only a few seconds. Mapping his expression, she roughly tugged on her shirtsleeve. “Let me guess: even if someone could pin a bell on you, you’d still be infuriatingly silent, and a major creep on top of that.” 

“To be fair,” he placidly countered, seemingly not bothered at all by her prickly scorn. “I’ve had many years to hone my ‘stalker’ skills, as you so eloquently termed them.” 

And honed them, he had. Even now, with him half-hidden in gloomy shadows and attired in the same black-on-black ensemble he had worn the day they met, she could almost feel the predator inside him swimming so very close to the surface of the gentility he wore as easily as his bespoke suits. It immediately took her back to that momentous encounter that changed the course of her life. 

Read Ch1 on AO3

Thanks for reading!

The new chapter will be posted after Memorial Day weekend.

8 notes - Posted May 27, 2022

#4

Ch2 of Dream a Little Dream Of Me

Fic Summary:

Headed for Whitmore College in the fall, Elena is meant to be enjoying the best summer of what promises to be a very long life as she soaks up every sun-drenched moment of it.

She's so free of romantic entanglements that a blinking neon sign over her head could advertize: single and ready to mingle. And for the first time since junior year, she isn't being forced to deal with psychotic vampires, devious doppelgängers, megalomaniac hybrids, and unhinged immortals with a two-thousand-year bone to pick.

Everything should be perfect.

But then why is she having the strangest dreams about a certain Original…?

Chapter Summary:

“Back to the beginning, huh?” She could have patted herself on the back for keeping her voice level and contained as she spoke. No one could have guessed how flustered she truly felt as it pooled in her stomach and swept like a bushfire across her skin. 

“So it seems,” he drawled, as he also took the time to diligently survey their decrepit surroundings. His hair, long as it had been when they had first made the other’s acquaintance, fell across his forehead and into his eyes.

Ch2 on AO3

9 notes - Posted May 31, 2022

#3

Ch1 of Dream a Little Dream Of Me

Summary:

Headed for Whitmore College in the fall, Elena is meant to be enjoying the best summer of what promises to be a very long life as she soaks up every sun-drenched moment of it.

She's so free of romantic entanglements that a blinking neon sign over her head could advertize: single and ready to mingle. And for the first time since junior year, she isn't being forced to deal with psychotic vampires, devious doppelgängers, megalomaniac hybrids, and unhinged immortals with a two-thousand-year bone to pick.

Everything should be perfect.

But then why is she having the strangest dreams about a certain Original…?

Read Ch1 Here

11 notes - Posted May 22, 2022

#2

which do you prefer more, staron or winter13 ?

Hmm. Good question! That's a tricky one. Obviously, I was completely ride and die for Staron...and then Endgame happened and Steve went back in time to be with Peggy. Talk about the disrespect. That put a damper on my shipper feelings. I've read some fanfic that has tried to walk it back or be a fix it fic, and while some of them are really well written I just can't find them satisfactorily because Steve choosing Peggy over Sharon is just unforgivable.

In the lead up to TFATWS I was really excited for the prospect of Winter13. And I definitely saw some potential/chemistry in the few scenes they shared during the show. But then they made Sharon the Power Broker and completely decimated her character. I don't care if she turns out to be a Skrull or she's undercover for Fury, the damage has been done. They took everything great about Sharon and stripped it all away to make her into a villain. The worst part, she's not even a competent villain. She led Bucky/Sam right to her golden goose serum guy and got him killed. She lost total control over the Flag Smashers. She lost the last bit of super-soldier serum that was out there. Like, if you're gonna make her a villain, at least make her an evil mastermind. Not...whatever she was in TFATWS.

Really, it's just rough being a Sharon fan. Compound that with the fact that my overall interest in the MCU has waned greatly in the last year or two. I guess I prefer Staron when it was in its prime - which was the CATWS/CACW era.

18 notes - Posted February 3, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Upcoming Elejah Fic Sneakpeak 

Fic Title: Dream a Little Dream Of Me

Summary: A TVD AU set after the end of season four. Freshly graduated from high school and preparing to head to college in the fall, Elena is meant to be having the best summer of her life. But then why is she having strange dreams about a certain Original...?

He looked… Just as he had the day he lured her into the woods and trapped her in the underground caves with his spiteful sister. The devastating day he had used her as the unwitting leverage to force the compliance of the Salvatores in acting against Esther’s murderous scheme. 

Blinking away long past grievances, Elena turned her head to thoughtfully regard the tranquil scenery. What had he once told her about his home? Back when, before catastrophe struck, they had taken a stroll together beneath the rustling leaves of the forest canopy? The nearby waterfall. Wild horses and an indigenous village…

“This is Mystic Falls, isn’t it?” she breathlessly deduced. “This is what it looked like when you were human.” 

Human. That was something Elijah hadn’t been in more than a thousand years. She was looking at Mystic Falls a millennium ago as if she was some kind of intrepid traveler bouncing back through time and space. Great Scott, indeed. 

An appreciative gleam flashed through his eyes at how quickly her brain had puzzled it out. He tilted his chin in answer before looking out and surveying the wide, open lands that had once been his stomping grounds before vampires were the stuff of legends, movies, and insanely popular teen novels. Raising his hand, he pointed a long, elegant finger off to the distance. 

“Beyond that ridge is the village that my family and I called home.” 

Following his pointer, she gazed where he directed her before softly sighing in pleasure as she looked over the terrain. “It’s so gorgeous here. It must have been an amazing place to grow up.” 

Glancing down at her, the corner of his mouth quirked up into the slightest of grins. “It was.” 

In one, graceful swoop, he was sitting beside her with an instinctual ease to his every movement. Even in a restrictive suit, one that seemed more appropriate for a board meeting on Wall Street, everything about him was completely natural and poised; as if he routinely took in the scenery of the great outdoors while in designer threads. For all she knew, maybe he did. Who could guess what his hobbies were? What did an Original do with his free time? What interested him? 

Thanks for reading!

The first chapter of the fic will be posted soon.

23 notes - Posted May 21, 2022

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[susiephone]

Ok but a crossover between Santa Clarita Diet and Addams Family.

The seemingly most whitebread, normie couple in America moves in next door to the Addamses and their mansion of horrors.

Gamez and Morticia are friendly as always if a little confused by all the pastels and realtor signs. Joel and Sheila bring cookies and introduce themselves and try not to gawk at Lurch. Gomez invites them in, insisting they must meet his darling wife, and Joel, my boy, have you blown up a model train recently? It'll relieve all that tension in your shoulders! and Abby is absolutely intrigued and delighted by the bear rug and the disembodied hand and the daughter with the headless doll. Sheila has no idea what to talk about with Morticia so she rambles about how Morticia needs to tell her where she got that dress, and about how great their kids are.

Both couples walk away from the interaction thinking, "Well, they seem nice, but aren't they a little odd?" It's a pleasant if somewhat weird afternoon for the Hammonds and the Addamses.

Then, one day while all the kids are at school, Gomez and Morticia hear shrieking from the Hammonds' house. Not wanting to miss the fun, they rush over...

...and find the kitchen absolutely coated in blood, Sheila standing over a half-devoured corpse with more blood smeared around her mouth, and Joel already getting the mop out of the closet.

Joel and Sheila hear the door open and know they are screwed. There is no way they can say this isn't what it looks like, and, oh, God, they don't want to kill their new neighbors, living room guillotine aside they seem like really good people and Sheila was going to invite them to her book club-

And then they look over at Gomez and Morticia, and see two of the happiest, most delighted smiles in the world.

Boom.

Instant best friends.

[vminity21]

sweet on you | ksj

Pairing: baker!seokjin x female!reader

Word Count: 3,087

Genre: fluff, absolute fluff on the valentine’s day

Warning(s): other than i have the biggest sweet tooth whether it is for seokjin or a colossal of desserts but you have been warned otherwise none; Rated: pg

Summary: after every excuse you take to visit your favorite local bakery to see your favorite employee, in a sweet surprise, you learn that the baker happens to share an immense crush on you as you do him.

Credits to: @suhdays​ once again for creating the cover! Happy Valentines day!

Seokjin kneads at the dough of what is to become the toastiest of baguettes while flour paints his arms, and his gloved hands grow achy from the continuous batches. Special orders flow numerously as the holidays inch closer, and with Valentine’s day approaching its turn, it has been long hours of consistently baking and recreating desserts for the hopeless romantics. Inwardly he knows he is guilty of such fondness for a face haunts every crevice of his mind even in the odd hours of the evening when he tosses and turns in his sleep.

The ring of the door signals another customer prompting Seokjin to slip off his current gloves to exchange for new ones, lifting his head to see none other than who makes his heart leap every single time- you. Smiling brightly in his direction, he gulps before putting on his confident face. “Welcome back! I’m glad to see the macarons didn’t scare you away,” he chuckles while you press fingertips of pure chagrin to your forehead.

“I consumed all thirty of them and I’m not sure if I should be ashamed or proud, but I surprisingly survived,”

Quiet murmurs of customers are sporadic throughout the space, yet their wandering eyes remain on the décor of the bakery, hardly noticing the sparks glimmering between you and your favorite worker. “Whoa,” Seokjin bellows, “And, I’m not sure if I should applaud you or tell you to beware. Sugar can be brutal,”

“Well, with your recipes, I’d say it’s worth the risk.” It’s a subtle flirt, yet the flattery in Seokjin’s eyes melt your heart.

“What can I get for you today?” Seokjin’s covered palms press against the freshly sanitized glass as he stares at you contently. Every chance you get, you enter this very bakery in the hopes of seeing Kim Seokjin, and every chance you get, you take home another treat that you save for your cheat day after a long week of work. Out of every local bakery, you have yet to find one that tops the way Seokjin bakes. He has a knack for ingredients and everything you have tried has been sent straight from the pearly gates of Heaven. But you are also convinced that Seokjin was God sent too because when you first discovered this place, you did not expect the immediate spark when you locked with his kind, umber eyes.

Hearts must have danced in elegant spirals around your frame while you witnessed the light movement of his hair when he turned in what seemed in slow motion to face you- plump, pink lips spread into a warm smile, teeth whiter than the whites of your eyeballs, his skin was clearer than the windows, and the way your mouth watered at the sight of his broad shoulders- you are not sure if you even breathed for a straight minute. He welcomed you with kindness and surprisingly tolerated your indecisiveness on what to purchase, but inwardly you were trying all you could to remain in his presence because something about him reveled serenity. And you wanted every part of it.

Seeing Seokjin sparked slumbers of exuberant pink paths prodding beneath your dancing shoes that are clacking in the direction of the delightful smell of marshmellows where sky tower lollipops align the world with their colorful swirls glistening beneath the brightly lit sky without a sign of melting. Vines of licorice would twist along chocolate trunks with branches growing gummy-like leaves matching the scrumptious hues of your surroundings. Rainbows of hard candies trickled along the ground to decorate the view prompting the compulsion to sink your teeth into every delicacy especially when your eyes would cast upon the pastel colors of macarons- flavors of creams protruding between the slices. You would barely miss his silhouette exploring amongst a bed of gumdrops that sat a far distance from an enormous peppermint pinwheel breezing against stalks of blue and pink clouds of cotton candy.

Visions of prancing gummy bears decorate a mountain of frozen ice cream while gingerbread men scope the milky river to avoid being caught by the currents desperate to travel the terrain as you longed to with the man lost in this wonderland of a universe. Oreo crumbs trail on either side of the stream, the smell of chocolate wafts in your direction while you continue the journey. Humming to yourself, your adventure is to endeavor the red velvet island- cream cheese frosting fluffing in an appearance of frames of pictures of more delights as well as smeared professionally into an imagined ceiling. The deep red, walls caked firmly with countless desserts poised in different areas of the domain tempted tourists passing by into taking a bite of their delectable treats.

Nearing the entrance, you would pause, recognizing him pirouetting throughout the greenery resembling grass but is edible as everything made in this dream you are infatuated by. When the pang of something grasps your attention, you searched your eyes along the sky- not noticing anything right away and when you returned your glance to where you found him, he disappeared. Halted in curiosity, you gasp at the tap on your shoulder. Crescent eyes beaming while he brushes his fingers along your gleaming lips, and that’s when your fantasy would wonder the feel of his kiss. The taste of strawberries encompassed your tongue once you would lean into him, but when something else nickered your frame, you pulled away. In awe, you observe minuscule, circular sprinkles shower the two of you in surprise. They tangle within your hair while boisterous laughter escapes both of you simultaneously- palms rising above your head while you spin, attempting to catch them as they rain. Shuffling the sprinklings within your hands, you are in love with the resilient colors brightening the atmosphere as it heightened the happiness.

The dream that has become your most cherished- golden pinecones stick to floating silvery cotton where chocolate cupcakes with thick swirls of white icing blend with red, glistening ornaments- the aroma of fresh pastries with shiny, red jelly are enticed with powdered sugar; thistles of brush dangling above while you whirl around at the enchanting view. Polka dots beautify the walls imaging fondant icing while slithers of whipped cream dazzle the rest of the desserts present. It doesn’t take long before an existence melts behind you, wrapping his arms around your frame, plopping his chin onto your shoulder. It’s the sweetness of his countenance, the plush kiss he places on the corner of your jaw; the delicate aura you are scared can magically disappear; the delicious taste of his kiss when he twirls you to capture your lips, pinning you against another wall reflecting swirls of cinnamon, fingers pressing into your waist while your hands grip his plumy tufts in desperation for more. Sprinkles clang numerously within the walls miraculously not needing a sky to downpour; lips locked and lost in time, it finalizes the fantasy where you wake up with a dazed smile.

“Please tell me you’re not contemplating macarons again,” Seokjin’s voice breaks through the cloud of thoughts bringing you back to reality while you awkwardly suppress the burn of a blush flooding your chest. “I purposely withheld your favorite flavors in hopes of you trying something new.”

“Oh, you brute, I should have known!” You laugh, seeing his shoulders shake in response to his teasing toward you, “So new? Like, new new or never had before new? I um… You know, I was actually planning on trying something new today,” you do not mean to lie, but you kind of lie.

“You had every intention on getting your usuals, and I have bamboozled you.”

“Alright, sir, two can play at this game because I can always go to Hoseok’s bakery-”

“Okay now you’re just being cruel!” Seokjin’s laugh is your favorite sound as he chuckles. Hoseok is his competition but also his best friend, and he is aware that Hoseok has been gaining much success with the recent opening of his bakery, but of course your heart belongs with Seokjin and his glorious, scrumptious delicacies warm and inviting within the glass casings.

“It is called revenge, and I shall prevail.” You wink.

Shaking his head, he quiets but only enough before he lifts his gaze to yours once again, “Speaking of anything new, I think I may have something in mind that you might like actually. I’m preparing to add another dessert to the menu, but I need someone to taste test to make sure it’s good enough to sell to the general public. Would you like to be the judge?” Seokjin leans off the glass casing still smiling at you while your eyebrows shoot up in excitement.

“Hm,” you release a purposeful ponder, “When are you wanting to showcase?”

“How about on Valentine’s day itself? I will be closing the shop early and you can come by after hours. Besides, I don’t really have anything else to do, and when I get bored, I bake.”

Boldly, you tilt your head, a knowing smile budding on your lips, “Are you asking me on a date, Seokjin?”

“I would be lying if I said I wasn’t.” Your heart flutters in reaction to his tender grin that follows his words. You have dreamed for countless months to win this man’s affections and here you are, about to experience your first date with him on Valentine’s day of all days.

“Well, I guess I will see you this weekend,” you muse, “I have high expectations for whatever you create, Seokjin.” Turning on a heel, you shift ever so slightly to throw him a chirpy shrug. Outwardly, it is all a show of composure though your inner self is screaming in joyous bursts mirroring the fireworks going off beneath his chest.

When Valentine’s day comes, Seokjin goes all out in early hours of the morning before the shop opens, red streams curl from the walls where he carefully tapes them- red, pink, and white balloons hover along the ceiling to bring more colors and the very second, he closes for the day, he will paint the floor with a myriad of rose petals while candles flicker upon the tables sporadically. He wants to prove to you that he has been waiting for this moment for a long time and he will celebrate you every day if you let him. A bundle of dark red roses lay hidden in his office as well as a heart shaped box of what one would assume is the typical fill of chocolates, but nay, it is holding the surprise of your favorite macaron flavors, just to add to the dessert that he is elated to make. He begins his swift trek to the kitchen, collecting all the ingredients and sprawling them along the counter in preparation before the crowd sets in. And when they do, he serves the happy couples with all smiles, looking forward to whenever he gets to see you.

When the hour comes for the bakery to close, he rushes to finish up the pastry, pouring melted chocolate as the completing touch. “Perfect,” he whispers, protecting the sweets with a lid to maintain the heat. A soft knock on the door makes his heart skip a beat as he briefly flings his apron on the counter, dusting off any crumb excess off his clothes and ruffling his hair before throwing a mint in his mouth. Releasing a slow exhale, he smiles, “Operation, win her heart.”

Sauntering to the entrance, he pauses in awe. Your hair is styled flawlessly while the red, shimmery dress clings to your figure complimenting a pair of high heels. Makeup covers your face in an exceptional amount where the color of your eyes shine, once you see him- mouth ajar, eyes widening in reaction, he robotically opens the door to invite you in. The smell of roses and small hints of lemon reach your nostrils calming the anxiety quivering within your fingertips. Seokjin looks so handsome as he always does, the black turtleneck hugging his torso while the tan slacks hang slightly loose against his long legs. “You look amazing,” you murmur, him shaking his head to bring himself back to the present.

“I can say the exact same to you. You look… God, you look-”

“Proper? Trim? Elegant? …Alluring-”

“All of the above,” he says breathlessly, “But you always look so beautiful,”

Blushing at his compliment, it is hard for you to stay serious sometimes especially when you are nervous, so your eyes scan the décor of the building, “I love what you’ve done with the place,” you step forward with the click of a heel, noticing the rose petals glinting upon the mahogany colored floor.

“I was hoping you would say that.” he clears his throat, “But here, have a seat, I have the dessert ready as well as a few other surprises,” he skids a chair out for you as you descend in shock. Other surprises? He disappears but only for a few minutes before he confidently returns with a lidded case covering whatever it is, he has made just for you. His other hand hides behind his back as he effortlessly places the tray upon the table. “And walla,” he smirks, lifting the lid as your eyes enlarge at the golden brown pastries pressing against a truffle of cream, some protruding delicately on the sides as melted chocolate trickles from the pastry and onto the plate. The sight is so tasty, and you can feel your mouth watering as the smell of the treat becomes prevalent.

“What is this?” You say in uttermost anticipation as he chuckles at your readiness.

“Profiteroles,” he replies, “They are one of my absolute favorites, and I have been wanting to make them for some time but haven’t until now.”

“Try one with me,” you break eye contact with the mesmerizing profiteroles to stare into the chocolate of Seokjin’s eyes, “But after you reveal what is behind your back.”

When a hearty laugh brushes past his widened smile, you are beyond yourself when he gradually brings into your line of vision, a bundle of roses and a heart shaped box, “You are not allowed to open the box until you eat a profiterole though,” Seokjin playfully demands, “So until then, I will protect this box at all costs.”

“I promise I will not touch until you say so. You have my word,” you raise your hands in defense to add to your statement. Seokjin sits across from you, settling the gifts next to the plate. Soft music reverberates suddenly to drown the silence as you feel your heart flying- you are certain that no one has ever done anything as sweet as this for you.

“Are you ready?” He says, scooting the plate closer to you.

“Very ready,” reaching carefully, you grab the treat, knowing very well that you want to devour it whole, and when you do, the cream mingled with the chocolate melts on your tongue deliciously as you close your eyes hazy. “Oh, my word,” you breathe, wanting another one immediately. “This is delicious! You have met every expectation! Jin, customers are going to love these!” The nickname flew from your mouth so naturally and instead of verbally responding, Seokjin chortling a high pitch laugh, leans forward, reaching his thumb to swipe a spot of chocolate from the corner of your mouth. The gesture is so sweet, you can’t help but gaze at him as he returns his hand back to lay on the table. “Have you tried one yet?” You speak softly. “You should. You’re phenomenal.”

He swats the air, “I’ll have one later. Your opinion matters to me the most anyways,”

“You?” Speechless, your eyes flit between his, nothing but admiration falls from his stare. “How do you do it? How do you make my mind drift to the happiest of places? I swear you just- I can’t- it doesn’t matter where I am, I am not happy until I see you.”

Reaching across the table, he leans forward, intertwining his fingers with yours as cliché as a movie, but this is the only movie you are willing to watch where the fairytale of him is connecting with you. “That’s why I always made sure your usuals were made as soon as I arrived. I didn’t want to disappoint nor have you betray me for Hoseok. Plus, he prefers coconut macaroons, not macarons.”

“The distinction between how they are actually pronounced. Thank you for clarifying,” there is nobody that has made you laugh as much as he has. “In all seriousness though, I don’t think I’ve ever had anything to look forward to until I found you.”

“And I couldn’t focus unless I knew who you were and if I was going to see you again. That’s why I always made conversation no matter how small until time gave me enough courage to finally ask you to be here.”  

“Well, I am very glad that you asked.” Smiles linger while eyes remain connected. He has the most eloquent, gentle manly charm and you hope he will end up being your eventual forever one day.

“Come here,” In one flawless swoop, Seokjin reaches for the arm of your chair, sliding it closer to where your legs touch. Surprised laughter serenades his ears once the chair is paused, but the nearness of him sends tingles along your skin. A faint scent of cologne grips to his clothes igniting the further desire building from the crave on your lips. He leans in, you meeting halfway to close the gap in the softest brush of his kiss. Sunlight exposes through the windows to illuminate in response to the magic happening right now in this moment. Linking your arms behind his neck, he wraps his around you, tugging you closer, deepening the kiss- getting so lost in you that nothing else outside of this bakery matters- only you matter.

Feeling his smile within his kiss, you pull away but still close enough to feel his breath swiping your chin, you giggle, “So what’s in the box?”

“I guess you’ll have to see,” he presses a quick, giddy kiss. You squeezing him once ecstatically.

“Okay, but first, let me get some more sugar.” You move your palms to squish his cheeks to where his lips pucker. “I don’t know about you, but I like it brutal.” And with that, you kiss him again, letting destiny complete its story on a day you never dreamed would mean so much.

[leia-imogen]

aaron & the family he's found all by himself; vol. 2 // vol. 1

( ft. short jokes, a belated birthday shopping trip, & an ultra-chaotic winter break )

( for @criswisstuff & anyone who enjoyed the first one <3 )

savannah, who is 5'9, is constantly teasing aaron and cleo for being short. katelyn's good at 5'6, and also a bit impossible to tease bcs she's the actual best, so she gets to escape this

cleo ( 5'2 ) is perfectly delighted to have someone shorter than her for once in her life, even by only 2 inches

aaron: guys, just try and see this from my point of view

sav: [ collapses ]

katelyn: [ crouches down ]

cleo: [ sits cross-legged on floor ]

aaron: dude you're literally 2 inches taller than me

cleo: 2 and a quarter

sav is so smug about this but in a good-natured way, in that she and cleo call aaron "kid" or "kiddo" or "pipsqueak" and he doesn't mind bcs they always say it w such a huge smile and he likes to respond to sav with "how's the weather up there, tall-ass?"

and katelyn thinks it's ridiculously adorable how tiny aaron is and obviously she uses him as an armrest all the time

katelyn, petting aaron's hair: guys guys omg he's like an angsty mini blond kitten and i would kill for him <3

sav, popping up between them: mini-yard :))

before i get super distracted, i just wanna mention that aaron met sav and cleo towards the end of november, so they missed the twin's birthday

but sav still insists that she must take him shopping bcs sure his fashion sense is fine but there's always room for improvement, isn't there, aaron??

he relents, so long as she and cleo and katelyn ( who already gave him a birthday present?? why's she doing this??? ) don't spend too much money

sav drags him all around south carolina to the best thrift stores she can find and cleo and katelyn are amazed that she can get such fantastic deals on the supermodel clothes she wears

fr she's literally a fashion design major ( + minoring in business management ) and she shows up to class in skilfully done drugstore makeup and an absolutely killer outfit for like 15 bucks

she grew up poor, and she's still poor now, even if she ( thankfully ) managed to scrape a cheerleading scholarship

sav, flicking through a rack of dresses labelled $4 apiece: RIP to little miss rich bitch reynolds but i'm different ;)

no hate to allison she's awesome but she grew up in the lap of luxury surrounded by designer brands so she knows NOTHING about thrifting and rationing money in general

oh and sav and allison have kind of a frenemies thing going on bcs they're both fighting for the top spot of their fashion design course

they spend the whole day shopping and aaron ends up with a highly upgraded wardrobe that contains a lot of cute pastel stuff and sav's promise to do his makeup

aaron insists on paying for dinner at the really nice pizza place a short drive from campus even tho they all protest

and andrew knows he's found new friends, but has no idea that it's the vixens and he's dating one of them. nicky does tho, but he's sworn to secrecy

nicky thinks his new clothes are adorable and is stunned when aaron tells him the total cost

"oh my GOD that girl sounds like a genius."

"yeah, her name's sav. you guys,, would get along, i think."

okay now for the winter break part!!

i think that you can get permission to stay at dorms if you're an international student or something??

anyways since sav's super upset bcs her father straight-up told her not to come home bcs he has a new girlfriend ( god i hate sav's father )

katelyn would stay with her, but her dad can finally have her home in new york for christmas and she really doesn't want to miss it

cleo, the only one with a properly functional family, is going back to her big family house and loving parents and grandma and aunt and siblings and cousins. love that for her.

so aaron and sav are stuck at psu for 2 weeks and aaron's surprisingly cool with this. and sav's excited bcs for the first time since her mom died, she can spend her christmas with someone she actually wants around instead of her shitty-ass father and his constant stream of bitchy girlfriends

they spend a lot of time together, stealing food from the athlete's dining hall to make their own weird combos, which usually ends with aaron making something Cool and Interesting and sav gagging and spitting out whatever strange concoction she had previously insisted would taste good

i literally can't bring myself to give a shit about the twinyards' deal bcs andrew literally became best friends with renee?? and hooks up with guys at eden’s??? idk what's going on there but it's like andrew is trying to control aaron's life while he can do whatever he wants??? and honestly wtf????

also let me just make it clear that i ADORE andrew so so much he's one of my favourite comfort characters ever but i'm not gonna make excuses for his shitty behaviour. i fully believe he heals and puts away his pride to apologise to aaron, nicky, and kevin for his treatment of them

that's definitely not to say that aaron's internalised homophobia isn't eww, but with so many important people in his life gay, he makes a huge effort to get over it

so andrew just thinks that aaron is spending a lot of time in the library or out with nicky or something

and when aaron tells sav about this deal, she's kinda horrified, but it's pretty clear to her that aaron so desperately wants to fix his relationship with his brother, and she's not in any place to discourage him, is she?

the only thing she can do is hope that he won't come out all the worse for it

and stare at the boy curled up on the other end of the pale pink sofa cleo's parents had gotten, wonder just how much shit he'd been put through, and decide she was going to be his best friend

aaron's face has gone entirely impassive. sav nudges his fluffy-socked foot with her own, then reaches out to smooth the crease between his eyebrows. "careful, you'll wrinkle your pretty little face."

aaron is very caught off guard by this, and very promptly flushes bright red, which contrasts with the pale teal hoodie he stole from katelyn

"okay, enough talk about depressing crap. wanna go make christmas cookies now?"

"yeah."

so they make christmas cookies. well, it was supposed to be christmas cookies, but it turns into double chocolate fudge cookies somewhere along the line. neither of them knows how

them baking together is the definition of chaos. they're still blasting songs, and sav is singing along terribly

"yOu'Re A mEaN oNe, Mr. GrInCh," while poking aaron's cheek as he tries to mix something. he throws a handful of flour at her. "yOu ReAlLy ArE A hEel."

anyways obviously sav retaliates and that ends in a flour fight. it only stops when aaron deadass cracks an egg on sav's head and she smears chocolate into his hair

she also tries to make him sing along to baby, it's cold outside

"i'Ve GoT tO Go `wAAyyy~" she holds a spatula up to his face

"go away."

they video call katelyn, who takes one look at the mess in the cramped dorm kitchen and sighs so loudly and dramatically that her dad pops in and asks if everything's okay

aaron freezes up at the sight of him and sav quickly turns off the camera, bcs they both want to make good impressions on him, and being covered in various cookie ingredients just won't cut it, ya know?

the cookies turn out delicious and sav sends all their group chat various photos of the process, most of which consist of selfies with her making goofy faces while aaron is simultaneously baking and flipping off the camera

plus a several videos of sav enthusiastically dancing and mouthing the lyrics of, as follows, all i want for christmas is you, let it snow, and santa claus is coming to town and aggressively pointing a spatula at aaron

"c'mon aari, just sing! please??? please???? please you can do it i believe in you!!"

finally he just. gives up. "okay, you know what? fine, i'll sing to ONE and then you will STOP bothering me you insolent dumbass."

sav beams. santa baby starts playing. aaron is very clearly going through five stages of grief in 0.5 seconds

"go on," sav says sweetly as she slides in next to a pouting aaron, "i'll sing with you."

sav slings an arm around his shoulder and sways with him, so it's just her doing that and him grumpily mumbling the lyrics

and when the cookies are cooling down, they start cleaning the kitchen up. aaron rubs some spilled egg yolk into sav's hair but it goes pretty okay otherwise, since they're just listening to more christmas songs and chatting about light stuff, like aaron's biochem course, sav's fashion course, and their dumb classmates

aaron mostly listens tho, and learns that sav kind of hates allison reynolds for giving up her inheritance when she would do ANYTHING for even the tiniest fraction of that money

but she still thinks allison's gorgeous bcs c'mon

and that sav's dream is to one day open her own boutique!!

aaron spends most of the actual christmas day with the monsters at eden's bcs nicky and andrew wanted to

he spent a lot of the time texting on their group chat

doessavvyisgay: so u just go to a nightclub every week??

unaliveme: i mean yeah, i literally worked here for a while. we needed money and nicky was already working 2 jobs night and day

actualblessing: babe ur backstory is so tragic

unaliveme: i'm a fox for a reason ig

cleo.magda: Yes but-

doessavvyisgay renamed this conversation "aaron miniyard support group"

unaliveme: oh ffs

unaliveme: sav subject change go

doessavvyisgay: i'm at the clothes store what should i get?

actualblessing: something pretty :)

doessavvyisgay: sorry, i can't buy the cashier

cleo.magda: Wow.

doessavvyisgay: I DID GET HER NUMBER THO

unaliveme: lmaooo what's her name?

doessavvyisgay: uh

unaliveme: savannah istg u don't even know her name??

actualblessing: s a v

actualblessing: damn u really do be turning on the Charm tho

actualblessing: respect i didn't even talk to aaron till i asked him for notes bcs he has rly pretty notes and also a rly pretty face

actualblessing: and even then i was like :0

unaliveme: IT WAS CUTE I PROMISE

doessavvyisgay: u 2 = the only valid heterosexual couple

actualblessing: rt

unaliveme: oh shit i'm getting super drunk

cleo.magda: Aaron, you drink? That's not legal, get out of there right now. Kids these days-

unaliveme: cleo u have literally seen me get drunk af,, the first time we met,,, and anyways this is how my family bonds ✌🏻

doessavvyisgay: that's. so damn weird kiddo but go off ig

actualblessing: no go find better things to bond about other than alcohol and weird sweaty dancing

cleo.magda: Yeah, go watch some Christmas movies!

unaliveme: nicky makes us watch die hard every year

doessavvyisgay: see u in hell, kiddo ;)

cleo.magda: I meant things like The Polar Express and Home Alone.

actualblessing: merry christmas ya filthy animals!!

doessavvyisgay: merry xmas y'all i'm gonna go to that christmas party bcs i'm super bored

unaliveme: merry christmas mothers and fuckers

cleo.magda: Merry Christmas, you guys!

[master-sass-blast]

The Color of Our Love.

I LIVEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!

Summary: You and Piotr take the next step in making your house a home: painting the walls.

Pairing(s): Piotr Rasputin x Reader.

Rating: G.

Word Count: 1.5k.

Set after “It’s Truly Magical.”

Taglist:  @marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie, @girl-obsessed-with-things, @super-darkcloudstudent, @dandyqueen, @leo-writer

It’s the smell that gets to you the most. You’re used to soaring through the skies, drawing in gulps of fresh, pure air into your lungs. You’re used to smelling sun-warmed grass and fresh flowers and the dampness of rain in the air once a storm’s passed and—

“How do you deal with this?” You grimace, rubbing the bridge of your nose as your husband opens cans of paints and pours them into the trays meant for roller brushes. “I’m gonna get a headache.”

“You get used to it,” Piotr says as he unwraps the detachable brush head for his roller brush. He smiles sympathetically when you start massaging your temples and pats your shoulder reassuringly. “We can open windows. And take breaks.”

The two of you are starting the next leg of your journey to making your house a home: painting. Neither of you like looking at bland white walls.

It’s been a long process, though, of quibbling over color options, making sure those options match with the other choices for other rooms (as needed), and planning out which rooms to do when so you don’t inadvertently spend a whole paycheck on cans of paint.

You two decided to start in the master bedroom, for the sake of simplicity down the line.

Impatient, you pick up one of the paintbrushes Piotr had purchased for edging around window and door frames and smear a thick stripe of paint over an empty stretch of wall. “Chop chop, baby! We’re wasting daylight!”

Piotr laughs, loading up a roller brush with paint and letting the excess drip back into the tray. “After you, myshka.”

The two of you work for a while, chatting aimlessly while you transform the room from a sterile sea of white to something much homier –and less likely to cause eyestrain. Piotr handles outlining the window and door frames so there’s guidelines for the rollers and takes care of the high spots, while you flit around the room, alternating between the regular brusher and a roller brush as you fill in the places your husband’s prepped for you.

Eventually, though, your self-control starts to wane –and then your opportunity presents itself on a silver platter.

Piotr’s got his back to you. He’s working on painting the parts of the wall near the ceiling.

And, on prime display in a pair of old gym shorts, is his butt.

(God, he has a fantastic butt. Perfectly sculpted by innumerable squats and obscene amounts of protein bars. You can bounce a quarter off his ass –and, yes, you’re speaking from experience.

Not that you’d warned Piotr what you were planning on doing when you’d tried it.)

You bite on your lower lip, trying to stifle your excited giggles as you coat your hand with paint from your brush. Then, before Piotr can turn around, you dash across the room and smack your hand against his rear.

Piotr yelps. Jumps. Whirls around, twists to look at his backside, then faces you. His eyes are wide, mouth hanging open in a smile, as if to say, “did you really just do that?” Then, his grin broadens as he paints his own hand with his roller brush. “It is on.”

“No!” You squeal and sprint away, darting around your bedroom as you try to evade your husband’s pursuit of vengeance.

There’s only so much space, though, and your husband’s a large man. He catches you eventually, snagging you with his clean hand and locking you against him with his arm before pressing his paint-covered hand against your chest.

You bust out laughing, leaning back against his solid, warm chest; there’s not much point in trying to run away, now that you’ve been caught. “Not on my boob!”

“Serves you right,” Piotr teases, nuzzling against your cheek. “Naughty myshka.”

You tip your head back and grin up at him. “Yours.”

He grins back, then dips his head and presses his lips against yours.

 ***

 Fumes aside, there’s not a single other thing you dislike about the painting process. It’s incredible to watch the bedroom slowly transform before your eyes.

“It’s like the feeling off the room has changed,” you comment as Piotr works on the delicate edging work near the crown molding; the two of you had opted for a soft, pastel color for the bedroom to promote rest and relaxation. “It feels cozier now. More relaxing.”

“Da.” He lays down a careful line along the crown molding –miraculously not getting so much as a speck of paint on the pure white border, which is why he’s doing this job and you are not—then dips his brush back into the pint can in his hand. “Is color psychology. Impacts our mood, perception of room.”

“I like it.” You stretch your arms, smiling as you admire the freshly painted walls. “It feels like it’s ours now.”

Piotr nods. He smiles as he finishes the last of the edgework, then sets his paint can down next to the roller tray. “Shall we rinse brushes, then take break for lunch before starting work downstairs?”

“I like the sound of the lunch part,” you say, offering up an impish grin.

“How about this,” Piotr chuckles. “I will rinse brushes, and you can make us lunch.”

“Okay, yes. Sounds great!” You shove your paintbrush into Piotr’s hand, then quickly skip out of the room and float down the stairs. “Love you!”

Piotr’s laughter echoes down the hall after you.

 ***

 “Oh, yeah. This is it. This is how I want to work from now on.”

Piotr glances over his shoulder at you. A smirk tugs at his lips. “You are sitting on couch while I paint.”

“Correction!” You hold up your index finger. “I am sitting on the couch while you paint and staring at your butt. It’s a very integral part of the process.”

Piotr snorts and shakes his head. His cheeks flush –and, even though he’s trying to hide it, you can see the bashful smile playing on his lips. “My apologies, myshka. How could I forget?”

“I get it. I doubt you spend much time staring at your own butt –which, really is such a shame; you’ve got an amazing ass, babe.”

He laughs and shakes his head once more.

The reason he’s working and you’re not –aside from the obvious superiority of sitting down and staring at your husband’s ass—is because the family room and kitchen require a lot of edge work. You’d offered to help… and then gotten paint all over the baseboards, light switches, window frames, and crown molding within fifty seconds of starting.

You just don’t have the patience –or Piotr’s well-practiced, steady hand.

“Are you still going to do the zhostovo mural in the kitchen?” you ask as you watch Piotr work.

“Da. I have sketches in art studio, if you want look.”

You’re never one to pass up on seeing Piotr’s art, so you hop of the couch and scamper down the hall to his art studio.

Since Piotr’s art studio is fastidiously organized, it’s no trouble at all to find the sketchbook with the mural sketches in them. You flip through it until you find the various drawings of the bright, richly colored flowers, then lean against his desk as you gaze down at the page.

The bulk of the mural –which, based on Piotr’s sketches, looks like it’s going to be in the center of the wall between the fridge and the coffee counter—is comprised of large, delicately curved flowers. Roses, daisies, poppies, cornflowers… all of them weave together, bowing outward in dramatic flourishes of color. Vibrant green blades of grass form the base of the main mural, moving with the arcs of the flowers and leaves. You can see a few different designs for some edgework –to be placed on the edges and corners of the wall, so as to frame the main part of the mural—made of varying bits of filigree, Russian lettering, and tiny, white and purple tinged blooms.

You grin. Your fingers trace over the various filigree designs Piotr had been testing out. Wow. You amble back into the main room, gaze still focused on your husband’s designs. “These are amazing, sweetheart.”

“Spasibo, myshka.” Piotr looks up from his lining work, watching you –almost apprehensively—as you study his artwork. “Do you like design?”

“Piotr… I love it.” You let out a small, stunned laugh; as if there was ever a chance you wouldn’t like his art. “It’s so beautiful. It’s going to look perfect in the kitchen.”

Piotr ducks his head, cheeks flushing. His lips curve into a pleased smile. “Thank you, dorogoy.”

“Do you know which border you’re going to pick?”

“Not yet.” He shrugs. “Cannot find right ‘feel.’”

“You’ll get there,” you reassure him. “I kind of like the one you paired the Cyrillic. What does it say?”

“Is blessing,” Piotr explains. “Moya babushka made for family home, in Siberia. Illyana would have to do magic for it, but I liked idea of including words in design.”

“I like it, too.” You close the sketchbook and set it carefully on the coffee table (where it’ll be safe from potential paint splatters), then walk up behind Piotr and wrap your arms around his waist. “We have a home,” you murmur as you nuzzle your face against his back.

Piotr lets out a delighted giggle. His free hand clasps both of yours. “That we do, lyublyu.”

“I love you, Piotr. So much.”

“And I love you, Y/N, so very much, too.”

[goodomensblog]

Parched

This one is for lovely Emily! ( @sunshineandchemistry )

Happy Birthday you beautiful effervescent pineapple! I hope you are having the BEST birthday aaaand I hope that a little bit of ineffable husbands kissing will make it all the better.

Parched

Seventeen days, twenty hours and eleven minutes after the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t, an angel and demon, following a luxurious dinner at Le Gavroche, stroll along a crowded London promenade, their hands intertwined. 

For Crowley, strolling with the sunset sky bleeding pastel and their interlocked hands swinging between them, it is impossible to conceal the bounce in his step - nor does he try. And it is only his dark glasses, perched diligently on the bridge of his nose, that stand between his pleasure-creased gaze and outright discovery.

As they arrive back at Crowley’s apartment, the demon holds open the door. Once inside, Crowley shrugs out of his jacket and then helps Aziraphale with his coat. As the angel settles, Crowley procures a bottle of wine, and it really is shaping up to be an excellent evening when -

“Crowley, my dear. You never told me you had a collection of poetry!”

Crowley’s arm snaps back, and he forcefully wrenches the cork free of the bottle. It bounces across his immaculate kitchen.

Aziraphale is kneeling in front of the exposed stash of poetry, and with his hands braced on his knees and his lips pursed in interest, he appears positively delighted by the discovery.

Crowley, is decidedly less so.

Because Crowley, owner of said poetry, failed to properly conceal the cache of contraband verses within their designated cupboard prior to Aziraphale’s arrival;  and so, at the sight of Aziraphale kneeling in front of his very best kept secret, Crowley pours himself a brimming glass of wine.

It’s not that he’s ashamed of the poetry collection. They are quality works. He is of course, a demon of impeccable taste. 

But he does have a certain image to maintain. 

Sure, he’s not technically speaking, working for Hell these days. But he is a demon, and they generally don’t go around waxing poetic. 

And they especially do not collect The Art of Pining: 101 Love Poems by Pablo Neruda. 

Taking a deep swig of wine, Crowley props his hip against the counter and slouches into a rather elaborate shrug. 

“They’re, er, not mine.”

Aziraphale pauses in brushing his fingers over aged spines. Arching a brow, the angel conveys, without using a single word, that he believes Crowley to be rather full of shit.

“I mean,” Crowley starts, stammering, “I uh, stole them?”

“From whom?”

“I - er, a sweet old lady. Was a dastardly business, angel.”

“Honestly, dear.”

“Fine. I didn’t steal them. But I didn’t go out collecting them either! They were gifts angel. You of all people should know it’s rude to refuse a gift.”

Crowley is prepared to go on - about how he had sent the thank you notes weeks later than was polite - but Aziraphale is no longer listening. He’s already turned back to the shelf and is, once more, running reverent fingers over knobbly spines. Plucking one from the shelf, he flips through the pages. It’s a Shakespeare.

Swallowing the rest of his wine, Crowley miracles the glass full and stalks around to the bookshelf.

The collection is comprised largely of gifts. They had been sent in thanks for the sizable donations made in support of the various poets. Despite its reputation, Crowley had always thought poetry, at heart, to be an incredibly demonic endeavor. Yeah, sure, it’s beautiful, but there’s no rule that says demonic traits can’t be beautiful. And besides, some poetry is so beautiful, the writing and reading of it has been known to stir up all kinds of impulses. Not all of them good. Just ask Byron. 

Crowley decides that he is going to tell Aziraphale exactly this, when the unimaginable happens. 

The angel is pulling an aged collection of T.S. Elliot’s poetry from the shelf, when a single leaf of paper slips from the pages, flips once, and flutters down, onto his lap.

The tea-yellow page is vaguely familiar, and taking a fortifying sip of wine, Crowley bends, peering over Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

As Aziraphale’s curious fingers unfold the page, the memory of precisely what the page is strikes Crowley with all the force of a freight train fueled by Hellfire.

A half empty bottle of wine lingers, forgotten on his desk. Wrinkled papers crowd the surface, and ink spots sprinkle polished wood. Amidst it all, Crowley sits, hair mussed and tongue pressing between his lips as he glares down at ink smeared words. It is 1863 and the last time he’d seen Aziraphale, it had been at St. James’ Park. They’d argued. Thunder clouds had gathered on the horizon and it smelled of rain, but even so, the sun had played about Aziraphale’s hair, catching the blue in his eyes - and so Crowley scribbles on the page, because if Shakespeare and Dickinson and Byron could do it, surely he can; because he feels too bloody much and it hurts because Aziraphale is gone and not talking to him, and Crowley loves, he loves-

Crowley glimpses smeared ink, and knows with a sudden, intense clarity, exactly the manner of writing the angel will discover on that page.

Red wine pours, like a waterfall, from the glass dangling loose in Crowley’s grasp.

Yelping, Aziraphale scrambles back, barely avoiding the splatter of red.

Glancing incredulously between Crowley and the pooling wine, Aziraphale purses his lips, and with a curt gesture, miracles the spreading puddle back into the bottle.

“Really, Crowley. Sober up a bit, darling. You’re making a mess.”

“M’not drunk.”

For the second time that evening, Aziraphale treats him to the look.

“Really, I was just, uh,” Crowley sets the empty glass aside and folds his arms, attempting to look as though he’s not seconds away from discorporating from sheer mortification. “What’ve you got there? Can I have it?”

Aziraphale looks from the innocuously folded page to Crowley, and then back to the page. Curiosity is settling into the angel’s bright blue gaze, and Crowley's stomach turns over.

“...what is it?”

“Nothing. Just old stuff. Trash, basically. Might as well get rid of it,” Crowley says, and presses thumb and middle finger together to banish the humiliating creation for good.

Aziraphale is faster.

With a single blink, Aziraphale and the paper wink out of existence. They reappear on the other side of the room. Aziraphale is seated in Crowley’s overlarge desk chair and the paper is open on the desk. With a snap, the angel’s reading glasses materialize on his face, and when he glances down, his eyes go wide and bright.

“I had no idea you wrote, Crowley!”

Crowley is across the room before Aziraphale can so much as take a second glance at the page. He slaps a hand over the paper. 

As if drawn by the movement, Aziraphale’s eyes flick down, and they are automatically tracing the first line -

“Aziraphale, stop!”

It comes out choked, and there is no concealing the raw edge of panic in his tone.

Aziraphale jerks back, retracting his hand as if burned. 

Snatching up the page, Crowley clutches it, pressing it to his chest. And the room sinks into a heavy, uncomfortable silence.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale says at last, gently breaking the quiet. 

Crowley can feel the angel studying him, taking in his tense shoulders, pale countenance, and white-knuckled hands clutching at the paper.

“Oh, darling,” Aziraphale murmurs, guilt heavy in his voice, “I didn’t mean - oh, I shouldn’t have. It’s yours. And it’s clearly private. I hardly saw anything, I promise. And I won’t attempt to read any further.”

And then Aziraphale is rising from the chair, circling the desk. Crowley blinks and careful hands are brushing up his arms. Relaxing at the touch is as simple as breathing; dipping his head, Crowley leans into it.

The apocalypse has come and gone. They survived it. And then survived the wrath of both Heaven and Hell which came immediately after. And now, against all odds - in a twist of fate Crowley hadn’t dared to dream of, he and Aziraphale have a life together. A life where touches like this are allowed. 

And with Aziraphale there, knuckles gently tracing the backs of Crowley’s hands as whispered apologies and assurances blend together into a single soothing murmur, Crowley comes to the abrupt and startling realization that he is acting like a twat.

“Forgive me,” Aziraphale says, soft fingers brushing over Crowley’s clenched hands.

Crowley’s fists unclench, and Aziraphale’s fingers immediately tangle with his own.

“Nothing to forgive, angel,” Crowley replies, running fumbling thumbs over the backs of Aziraphale’s hands.

And he is being foolish, because this is Aziraphale. They shared bodies for someone’s sake. After all that, sharing a bit of poetry should be a simple thing.

“It’s, ah, it’s okay,” Crowley finally manages. “Just - let me read it to you, yeah? A bit easier for me that way.”

Aziraphale pulls back, his concerned gaze tracing Crowley’s expression. 

“Really, you don’t have to do anything you don’t-”

“I want to,” Crowley interrupts. Against his chest, the paper feels warm - and he has to glance to check he hasn’t accidentally set it ablaze. “Just...take a seat?”

Aziraphale does. Folding his hands in his lap, he perches in Crowley’s high-backed chair.

Swallowing once, Crowley glances over the paper. How many times has he imagined reading this very page to Aziraphale? Of course, in his fantasies, they both wore gilded doublets and elegant ruffs - and Crowley often pictured himself delivering the poetry in a verdant, flowering garden, with Aziraphale listening, enraptured, from a moonlit balcony above.

But this works too.

Rubbing his uncomfortably moist palms on his pants, Crowley grimaces, glancing up.

“Dear, if this is too stressful-”

“It’s fine, just - the poem - it’s, um, about you.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale says, and leans back, cheeks pink.

Smoothing the abused paper, Crowley takes a fortifying look at Aziraphale, and begins.

“I dreamt, once,” he starts, and hesitates, shifting his weight between his feet. He can feel his heartbeat - which, physiologically speaking, he doesn’t strictly need - a staccato rhythm against his ribs.

A glance up -

Aziraphale waits, hands folded in his lap. His lips curve in a gentle, patient smile.

It’s just a poem, Crowley reasons. And besides, with Aziraphale right here, looking at him - smiling - it is ridiculous to be afraid.

Clearing his throat, he begins again.

-

“I dreamt, once

I was earth - summer dry,

Parched

And you, my heart,

An afternoon storm.”

-

Golden eyes flick up. A nervous tongue brushes dry lips.

-

“Lush drops,

Cut summer soft air

Striking earth

As I shed dust and drank in

Your every inch.

-

And if you were the gale,

I was the grass

Shivering

As I waited

Wanting.”

-

Crowley can feel Azirphale’s gaze, a prickling pressure, but he won’t look up from the page. If he stops, he fears he may not have enough courage to again start.

-

“And you, darling,

Rent the very air

Electric 

Engulfing earth, 

Me,

Everything

Everything.

-

Alone,

I woke

In a bed too large

With thunder groaning

And rain 

Pattering on the window 

Soft as you.”

-

He finishes, his voice little more than a croak.

Aziraphale rises from the chair.

Lowering the poem, Crowley presses his lips together, and nods once, looking at the floor. “It wasn’t much, I know. Not really much of a poet-”

Aziraphale interrupts him with a kiss.

“Hush,” Aziraphale says, kissing the frown from his lips. “It was lovely. You are lovely, my dear.”

Laid bare before the angel, Crowley feels reduced to his origins - a scattered constellation of fractured, burning lights. And yet, here, in Aziraphale’s warm, gentle arms, he is pulled together; made whole. 

When Aziraphale’s hands rise to cup Crowley’s face, the poem slips through his fingers. As they kiss, Crowley shifts a hand to Aziraphale’s back; and when he carefully presses Aziraphale against the desk, he makes sure his hand is between the hard edge and Aziraphale’s back.

Crowley kisses the corner of his mouth, the edge of his jaw, and then a slow, lingering path down the angel’s neck.

“You do remember that we confessed to, ah, a rather mutual love in the days following the whole Tadfield business. You really needn’t be embarrassed by - ah, um, a bit of poetry, dear.”

Bending, Crowley presses his face into the curve between Aziraphale’s shoulder and neck and admits, “...wrote it after that day in St. James’ Park. You know, the fight. Hadn’t seen you in quite a while and I,” he heaves a breath, “really missed you.”

“Oh my dear,” Aziraphale says, voice soft as a caress. And then fingers are stroking up Crowley’s neck, brushing soothing trails through his hair. “You weren’t the only one who spent a good few decades pining away.”

Sighing against Aziraphale’s skin, Crowley parts his lips and presses a delicate kiss against the freckles nestled in curve of his neck. “Worked out in the end, at least.”

“I daresay it did. And I learned you are quite the poet.”

Crowley presses a hand up over Aziraphale’s mouth. “Shh..”

Aziraphale chuckles and brushes feather-soft kisses against his fingers. “As I said before, dear - it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Retracing his way back up Aziraphale’s neck, Crowley mutters, “I’m a demon. Demons don’t wax poetic.”

“Oh they most certainly do. Have you ever listened to yourself speak?”

“Angel,” Crowley murmurs, kissing a path from Aziraphale’s jaw to his softly parted lips.

“Just, ah -”

Crowley hesitates, fingers stroking over Aziraphale’s waist.

“I’d like to hear it. Again,” Aziraphale says.

Crowley’s eyes flick up.

“Your poem.”

As Aziraphale reaches for the dropped page, Crowley grasps his hand. Massaging circles into his angel’s palm, Crowley brushes his lips over Aziraphale’s cheek. 

“I dreamt, once, I was earth. Parched...”

- - - - - - - - -

I am NOT a poet and probably severely overextended my writing abilities attempting to create the poem for this. I sincerely hope it is not embarrassingly bad, and if it is - maybe all of the kissing made up for it? :D

[some-cookie-crumbz]

Finger painting with baby for TodoMomo??

YA COMING FOR ME WITH SOFT PROMPTS!!!!!! Please accept this humble ball of pure sugary fluff! Also there’s some reference to Huwumi because I have no self control so I hope you don’t mind!

Coordinating schedules was always a strenuous task but well worth it, as far as Shoto was concerned. When he first agreed to begin the takeover of the Endeavor agency nearly four years ago, he had expected his father to be a merciless slave driver about it. And for the first two years, he kind of was; it was all long hours and strict orders and tedious paperwork. Then, when Momo announced she was pregnant with their child, Enji changed a bit. He was more flexible with Shoto’s schedule, more lenient about him coming and going to accommodate for doctor’s appointments and home preparations.

And then, on June 7th, little Anzu came into the world.

And when Shoto decided to take a full three months off of work after Anzu’s birth to help take care of her, Enji hadn’t said a word against it either. It was strange, but he was grateful. Being a parent was something that Shoto had wanted desperately, but had been nervous about as well. He didn’t have the best example growing up but he was dedicated to the idea of giving his own children what he didn’t have. Once the three months were up, Momo spent another six on maternity before they had the discussion of how to proceed. Neither of them liked the idea of having to leave her with nannies or at a daycare for an excessive amount of time. Momo herself decided that she’d work half shifts while Shoto would boost his own hours a bit, taking the other half of her patrols as well as resuming his training under Enji for the official switch over. And so it became a game of shuffling schedules around to assure that, in the brief and occasional lap over where they were both at work, she was with someone else in the family. Fuyumi tended to be the one most often helping them out, as she and Keigo had four kids of their own and knew what to expect.

Plus, watching Fuyumi’s kids dote on the newborn when he dropped her off or picked her up was always a delight.

That was how things were still proceeding in the current time, with Anzu’s 2nd birthday having just recently passed. Shoto himself was basically running the Endeavor agency on his own at this point, with the official announcement planned in six weeks time. He kicked off his shoes as he walked in the door, feeling exhausted. A part of him wondered if it would be rude to take a nap before dinner but the thought was cast aside at the pattering of tiny feet tearing down the hall. He felt a small smile twist up on his lips at the excited gasp of “Dada!” he heard at the end of the hallway.

He lifted his head to be met with a bright grey eyes and a huge grin. “Hey there, Anzu. Where’s your Mama?” he asked, sliding on his slippers and moving over to her. It was then he noticed a yellow splotch on her forehead. “Hmm? What’s this?” He reached out to touch her forehead, but instead she grabbed his hand and started leading him down the hallway. He noticed other little pepperings of color along her hands as well.

“Mama here! Play!” she said happily. He chuckled before reaching down and picking her up, settling her on his hip with one arm and heading for her playroom. It was then he noticed the slightly thicker apron-esque item she was sporting over the little romper he’d dressed her in that morning. Still curious about the mark on her forehead, he carefully adjusted his grip on her to reach up with his other hand. He carefully rubbed at the yellow splotch toting the line by her hairline, blinking when it came back wet and smeared on himself.

“Is this paint?” he mumbled incredulously as he stepped through the doorway of the little playroom they’d prepared for her.

“She wanted to paint a picture for you,” Momo giggled from her spot, kneeling on the ground beside Anzu’s little easel, what he now realized was a painter’s smock draped over her as well. The little tot in question squirmed until he set her down and she tore over to the little table in the corner.

When she returned, she excitedly presented a piece of paper almost as tall as her and covered in various squiggles and shapes in a plethora of colors. “I make for Dada!” she said.

He blinked before smiling and reaching out to take it, looking over the page. It looked like it was recently dried and the paper crinkled a bit but he felt his heart swell. “Aw, thank you, baby girl,” he breathed softly. His eyes swept over the depicted scene, using color association and inference to determine what, exactly, she’d drawn. “This is a lovely picture of when we went to the park last week.”

Anzu’s eyes lit up in delight and she giggled excitedly, nodding her head eagerly. She said something else in response but it was far too garbled for him to parse out exactly, despite usually being rather skilled with toddlerese. She darted over to the little shelf of supplies, shifting through one of the shelves, while he shifted to join his wife on the ground. “You were able to tell what that was?” she asked with an impressed puff of laughter.

“Well, she’s got a pretty good form for most of the details,” He pointed towards an almost-oval shape in yellow with a pink line through part of it. “Right here is the dog that the nice elderly owner let her pet while we were there. It’s collar was pink.”

“... I honestly thought that was the little swaying horse toy,” she mumbled thoughtfully. They both perked up as Anzu returned with a fresh sheet of paper. “Here, hun. Let me get this in place for you.”

“I don’t remember her having paintbrushes to work with, though,” he realized, glancing at the little tray of the easel. Instead, there was just the assorted jars of colored paint, all the lids hanging via magnets in front of their respective color.

“That’s because she’s been finger-painting,” Momo hummed. When he answered her with a blank look she cocked her head. “You’ve… really never finger-painted before, Shoto?”

He shook his head. While his younger years had a few happier memories of toys and games with his mother, Enji had always been very strict about games or toys that made too much of a mess. Painting - or any arts and crafts, really - fell under that bracket. Suddenly there was a weight on his thighs and two chubby little hands turning his head to face their daughter, a pout clear on her face. “Oh no, Dada. Oh no,” she said, shaking her head as she spoke.

He chuckled a bit at the amount of sheer sass before swooping one arm around her waist as he moved closer to the easel. “Well, since Dada’s never done this before, you can teach me. We can make a picture together,” he suggested, maneuvering her to sit in his lap instead of stand.

She squealed excitedly at that and nodded, nearly knocking him in the chin in her enthusiasm. “Oh, let me get you a smock to work with first,” Momo hummed, carefully pushing off the floor to scamper off to the supply drawer again.

He watched her go before looking down at Anzu again, who was bouncing with giddiness in her lap. “So what do you think we should paint together?” he asked.

“Family!” she squeaked.

“Our family? You, me and Mama?”

“With everybody!” she proclaimed, stretching her arms out wide and slumping back against his chest to look up at him. "With Gamas and Gampas and Aunties and Uncles and cousins!" He smiled and gently reached up to push some of her hair out of her face. She smiled up at him and nuzzled into his hand when he brought it back down to playfully pinch her cheek.

He perked up as Momo returned, a smock tucked into one arm. He made quick work of slipping it on before turning his full attention back to his little girl. “Okay, where should we start?” he prompted.

From there, it devolved into a fun little game of her dipping his fingers into the different colors and dragging them along the page, more using him like a puppet to help create her masterpiece. He couldn’t help but go with the flow of it, though, as her tiny fingers pinched at his wrist to move it this way or that. At one point, he sneezed and ended up with a smearing of red paint along his left cheek. The two ladies got a kick out of that. After sketching in Rei and Enji, Anzu dragged Momo into the work as well, repeating her process all over.

It made Shoto’s heart skip a beat, watching Momo try to modestly hide her giggles while Anzu moved a green-coated finger along the page, little brow knit and tongue poking out in determination. It was strange to think this little whirlwind of a child was theirs, but he wouldn’t trade her for anything in the world.

He dipped his pinkie into the pink paint and, when she turned back to him, gently pressed it to the little tot’s right cheek. “Boop,” he mused as he brought his finger up in an arch and then back around to connect it. There, standing out on her cheek, was a little heart. She couldn’t see what he’d drawn and assumed he was starting a paint fight. Momo let out a small squeak of protest as Anzu dipped a hand into the purple jar and peppered little pats of her fingers along Shoto’s cheeks and jaw. And then she squealed when she lunged for her mother next, other hand covered in light blue, and etched a crude star on her forehead.

Pictures of the trio coated in various pastel paint spots were uploaded to Twitter and Instagram, suspiciously winding up on both he and Momo’s official Hero pages.

He framed both the picture of them, covered in paint, as well as the family picture they all painted together. And he hung them in his office on his first day as the official owner and operator of the Endeavor agency.

[jingabitch]

An Arrangement for Convenience ch.11

Summary: It’s ridiculous that girl groups aren’t allowed to date, and are kept under such strict lock and key that they can’t satisfy their desires. Enter Ha-eun, YG’s solution to the problem.

Pairings: Jennie x oc, eventual ot4 x oc

Warnings: oral sex (f receiving) | sex work | body worship (?) | this chapter is really soft guys there’s nothing much here.

Series index

Jisoo, more than any of the other girls, loved to dress Ha-eun up. You’d think it would be one of the others, maybe Jennie with her love of fashion, but even though she wished she could go shopping with Ha-eun like they were normal girls, she rarely bought things for the escort.

Jisoo, on the other hand, delighted in it. Almost every week there was some delivery arriving at the dorm that she’d ordered online for Ha-eun, and almost all of them were cutesy clothes; rompers, pastels and white, and babydoll dresses. Without needing much explanation, Ha-eun accepted it as one of the older girl’s quirks, chalking it up to her mommy kink. The clothes weren’t necessarily her style, but she was happy enough to play along. She knew it turned the older girl on when she dressed up in her clothes and went out, almost like a secret stamp of possession.

Which was another thing – even though it was usually impossible for her to indulge in this kink, Ha-eun was fairly sure that there was an exhibitionist streak in the idol. Not that she necessarily wanted to have sex in public; it was more like she wanted others to know that Ha-eun was hers in some way. It explained her enthusiasm for buying Ha-eun so many clothes and that remark she’d made that one time Ha-eun had gone to the studio and they’d made her crawl to the van behind them.

Shivering at the memories, Ha-eun bit her lip as she put the finishing touches on her makeup. It was probably stupid to put makeup on tonight, when she was sure it would end up a smeared mess all over her face, but with where they were going, and who she was going to be with, she just felt a little insecure about going barefaced.

Dabbing on a natural-looking lip tint that she knew wouldn’t smear, Ha-eun stepped back and looked over her appearance again. She was dressed in one of Jisoo’s gifts, a gorgeous pale pink number that probably cost more than her rent. It had an A-line skirt that puffed out almost like a tutu and ended right above her knee, and a strapless bodice, cinched in at the waist with a bow that rested over her stomach. Her hair was curled lightly and pinned back into a half-updo that had taken way more time (and almost burns) than she’d expected when watching the instruction video, and matching pink heeled pumps with slim ankle straps completed the look.

Well, not completely. Ha-eun picked up the slender collar that the girls had gifted her and buckled it around her neck, adjusting it so that the ring in the middle sat against her throat properly. She’d had to take the bell off to make it dinner-appropriate, but it still made the point nicely, she thought. And they’d gotten such a pretty one that it almost looked like a trendy choker, just a slightly edgy accessory. G-Dragon had certainly worn more adventurous items in his life, she figured, stroking the delicate leather with her fingertips.

Checking her phone, she saw that Jisoo was already waiting downstairs, and she hurried out of her room, grabbing her little purse as she went. “Bye, Han-bin! Be good and make sure you get to bed early!” she yelled at her brother, who was locked in his room doing God-knows-what. She checked once more that there was enough food for him – silly, really, since he’d all but taken over all the cooking in their home by now – then left.

Exiting her apartment building and coming down the short flight of steps to the street, she smiled when she saw the black Lexus parked outside her building. Sleek and luxe but still nondescript, it was the perfect vehicle for their date. She opened the back door and climbed in.

“Good evening, Jisoo-unnie,” she said, sliding closer to the older girl and trying her best to give the older girl a hug in the limited space available. She smiled and leaned in for the embrace, stretching one arm out to pat Ha-eun on the back. When Ha-eun settled back into her seat on the other side of the backseat, she gasped in surprise as she leaned forward, bracing herself on the back of the passenger seat. “Manager-oppa, you’re driving tonight? I thought you’d be off,” she greeted the manager, who was in the driver’s seat.

He smiled at her, making eye contact in the rearview mirror. “As if you two could be trusted to behave around a random driver,” he teased. Ha-eun giggled and blushed but didn’t deny his charge as she sank back into her seat. Reaching over, she took Jisoo’s hand in hers and squeezed it, smiling at the idol.

“You look really pretty tonight, unnie,” she praised the older girl, who smiled in acknowledgement and tugged on Ha-eun’s fingers so that she had to lean over slightly. Hooking her fingers in the collar, Jisoo closed the rest of the distance between them.

“You look good too, baby girl,” she breathed before pressing her lips against the escort’s.

Ha-eun’s breath escaped with a soft, sultry moan, as she slid her free arm over Jisoo’s shoulder, pulling the older girl closer. Their seatbelts inhibited their movements, however, and with a little huff of frustration, Jisoo shook her hand free from Ha-eun’s and used it to pop open the buckle on her seat belt, ignoring Ha-eun’s gasp of surprise as the belt whizzed past her ear and back to its spot beside the door.

A second later, between the combined efforts of the two girls, Ha-eun was half in Jisoo’s lap. Giggling, she wrapped her arms around the older girl’s neck and deepened the kiss in a way that had been impossible in their previous position, the glide of her tongue against Jisoo’s making the other girl moan into her mouth.

Ha-eun could barely hide her smirk of satisfaction at that. These girls may be dommes, but she was clearly the one in charge, her experience making it easy for her to tell what she should do or say to garner the perfect response.

“Jisoo-yah, Ha-eun-ah, this isn’t safe!” The manager’s slightly panicked voice cut through the heady atmosphere filling the backseat, and Ha-eun started to jerk away from Jisoo and return to her seat. She knew from his tone of voice that the manager was wildly uncomfortable and using safety as an excuse to have them return to their own seats, and truth be told, she felt a little bad for him. It was one thing to have to arrange the girls’ secret trysts with her, but to actually be present for it must be incredibly uncomfortable for him.

Jisoo, however, didn’t see it the same way and huffed as she clutched Ha-eun tighter to her. “I’ll hold on tight, it’s fine,” she said in a husky voice, nuzzling at Ha-eun’s neck before pressing a series of kisses down the side to the collar. Ha-eun shivered in the older girl’s grip.

“Unnie, save it for later,” she whispered into Jisoo’s ear, before sucking her earlobe into her mouth and then trailing her tongue down her neck softly. The older girl looked a little dazed, and Ha-eun took the opportunity to escape back to her own seat, clicking her seat belt back into place as she winked teasingly at the other girl. To Jisoo, it seemed like Ha-eun was being a brat on purpose so that she could punish her later, but the manager gave her a grateful look through the rearview mirror, which she accepted gracefully with a small nod.

Reaching over, she tangled her fingers with Jisoo’s and gave them a little squeeze. “I missed you, unnie,” she said, biting her lip for extra cuteness. Jisoo seemed to melt as she squeezed Ha-eun’s hand back.

“I missed you too, baby girl,” Jisoo said, her voice starting to return to normal.

They continued to make small talk all the way to the restaurant, a highly exclusive (and expensive) one that Ha-eun had chosen precisely because it was only celebrities and chaebol family members who could afford it. That meant that no one would bat an eye at Jisoo from Blackpink being there with a random girl, since it was the new hot spot for discreet yet special dates with secret spouses, mistresses – you name it. It was a great way for Jisoo to indulge in her kink without risking anything.

Even the entrance to the restaurant was discreet – there was a private elevator from the carpark of the building that opened straight into the restaurant. That section of the carpark was cordoned off so that only patrons with a reservation could enter, and there was strictly no paparazzi. Jisoo was impressed at how thorough the security was and the way she’d had to roll down her window to show that it was, indeed, Kim Jisoo of Blackpink whose name the reservation was under before the car was allowed into the restricted section, and told Ha-eun as much. “How did you even find this place?” she asked.

Ha-eun laughed lightly. “You forget what my job is, unnie,” she said lightly, and it was all that was said on the topic. In truth, it had been one of Ha-eun’s previous clients, a wealthy chaebol heir in a loveless arranged marriage, who’d first brought her here, but she didn’t think Jisoo needed to know that. None of them really asked her for more details about her previous clients than was necessary, and it wasn’t like Ha-eun could say much anyway, since most of her clients would prefer to remain anonymous.

When the car pulled up at the drop-off point in front of the private elevator, doormen leapt into action, pulling open the car doors. Before Jisoo and Ha-eun left the car, the manager said bade them goodbye with a, “Have fun! Don’t do anything that would land you in the news tomorrow!”

Jisoo scoffed. “Ha-eun could get on her knees for me on the street and the paparazzi still wouldn’t think it was what it was,” she said, rolling her eyes. Ha-eun stifled a giggle with her hand, because it was true. As much as the public loved to see the girls and boys of various groups being close and affectionate with each other, they really were pretty dense when it came to actual same-sex relationships because it was such a conservative society.

The manager sighed. “Be that as it may…” Ha-eun was sure he’d said more, but the car doors slammed shut before he could get the rest of his warning out, and then they were on their way.

Jisoo came around the car and joined Ha-eun on the little carpet leading to the elevator lobby, and Ha-eun giggled and put her hand out, waiting for the older girl to take it. Together, they walked into the lobby, another doorman opening the door for them as they approached.

Thankfully, they were alone in the elevator – a detail Ha-eun was sure was intentional, given the clientele of this place – and Jisoo crowded the younger girl against the wall the moment the doors closed. Since the restaurant was on the top floor for a stunning view of the Seoul skyline, the elevator ride was over a minute long, and Jisoo was keen to use the time well.

“You’re going to be a good girl for me tonight, aren’t you, baby girl?” she breathed, leaning in.

Ha-eun bit her lip, the commanding tone Jisoo used bringing heat to her cheeks. “Yes, mommy, I’ll be good,” she said in a small voice, fisting her hands in her own skirt.

Jisoo, looking down, saw and tutted, gently working her fingers out of the fabric. “Don’t do that, baby girl. You’ll wrinkle it.”

The wide-eyed look Ha-eun flashed her in response wasn’t entirely for show.

When the elevator doors opened, Jisoo and Ha-eun were once again standing demurely next to each other, no sign of what had just transpired between them. The maître d’ greeted them as they stepped out, and escorted them to their table, which was in the middle of the dining area, in plain sight of the other patrons, so perfectly placed that it felt like they were on display.

After sitting down, Jisoo and Ha-eun continued chatting while holding hands across the table, looking for all the world like they were on a regular date. The only sign that this was anything more was the fact that Jisoo ordered everything at the table, including the wine and Ha-eun’s food, while the younger girl just smiled adoringly at her, letting her take charge.

It was moments like this that made Jisoo feel alive – taking control, not necessarily to force her own will on someone else, but to take care of them. Picking out Ha-eun’s clothes and meal made her feel powerful, but also like for once, she was necessary and appreciated, something that was more exhilarating to her than she could put into words.

Once she’d caught the younger girl up on all her fun adventures while travelling, Ha-eun started talking about what she’d been up to while the girls had all been away. Apart from sexting, they really hadn’t spoken that much since Jisoo had been busy with work and didn’t have much time to chat, and she was excited to hear about what Ha-eun had been up to. None of them said it, but the girls enjoyed living normal college lives vicariously through Ha-eun’s stories.

If she amended or censored them to maintain the girls’ rosy image of what it was like and remain entertaining and lighthearted to avoid bringing the mood down, they didn’t need to know.

The food was, of course, spectacular, even though Jisoo was hesitant to finish it. She’d been reading hate comments about her weight online again, and thought that maybe she should get more serious about losing weight. After all, she had to stand next to Rosé and Lisa all the time, which inevitably invited comparison with the taller and more slender girls.

Ha-eun, who noticed Jisoo pushing her food around her plate, reached over again and squeezed the hand that wasn’t holding her fork. “Unnie, are you feeling okay? No appetite?”

Jisoo tried to disguise her grimace as a smile. “No, just… this is full of calories,” she said, trying to sound lighthearted about it.

Ha-eun frowned. “Unnie, you don’t have to finish it if you don’t want to, but you should also just finish it if you want. You’re allowed one cheat meal once in a while,” she encouraged the older girl.

“I have to stand next to Lisa and Chaeng, though, and they always look so thin,” Jisoo fussed. “Sometimes the fans say I’m getting too big.”

“Okay, that is so not true, unnie. And you’re gorgeous, okay? You’re perfect just the way you are. If anyone says you’re too big I’ll go beat them up,” Ha-eun said fiercely. “Now finish your food, and if I see you skimping on dessert, we’re going to have words.”

Seeing how annoyed the normally cheerful and easy-go-lucky girl was on her behalf, Jisoo couldn’t help but smile. It had been a long time since someone had given her an unreserved compliment; she knew she was the visual of the group and her face was pretty, but comments were always caveated with her non-ideal body type. Picking up her fork again, she dug into her food with renewed gusto, allowing herself to enjoy it for the first time in what felt like ages. It wasn’t that easy to put away all the expectations and negative thoughts that had become an intrinsic part of her relationship with food after so many years, but she let herself disregard them, just for tonight. After all, it was a night for indulgence and decadence.

Satisfied by Jisoo’s eagerness to keep eating her food, Ha-eun nodded and went back to her meal.

After dessert, which was just as amazing as the rest of the dinner, they paid the bill and then went to the restroom. While Jisoo was drying her hands, Ha-eun backed her against the marble wall and nuzzled her nose into the older girl’s décolletage. “Ha-eun-ah, we shouldn’t, anyone could walk in,” Jisoo protested halfheartedly even as she tilted her head up to give the escort more room to work with.

Ha-eun, busy trailing kisses up Jisoo’s neck, just whined, “But mommy, you’re so pretty.” She knew she couldn’t leave a mark because she’d probably get hell from Jisoo’s makeup artist, so she licked a stripe up her neck to her ear gently, causing the idol to shiver under her tongue. “Just a little bit, please?” she whispered into her ear.

“Okay, baby girl, but only because you asked so nicely,” Jisoo breathed, fisting her hand in Ha-eun’s hair, probably messing up the pretty curls, though neither of them much cared at the moment.

Giggling, Ha-eun pressed closer, letting Jisoo wrap her other arm around her waist as she leaned in to kiss her. They made out languidly in the restroom as the minutes slipped by slowly, until footsteps coming briskly down the hall caused them to break apart hastily, smoothing their clothes out so what they were doing wasn’t so painfully obvious. Ha-eun’s foresight with her lip colour meant that Jisoo’s neck remained unscathed, but unfortunately the older girl’s pretty lipstick was smudged around her mouth and Ha-eun’s.

Ha-eun pressed her lips together to stifle her mirth as she cleaned up around Jisoo’s lips with her thumb. When the door swung open, they sprang apart guiltily like scalded cats, but the lady who’d come in didn’t even spare them a second glance, simply walking past them to the stalls.

“Come on, we should go,” Ha-eun said, taking Jisoo’s hand and leading her back to the elevator. It was clear what they’d just been up to, because Ha-eun’s hair was all messy from Jisoo pulling on it, and Jisoo’s lipstick was all over Ha-eun’s face despite her best attempts to wipe it away, but the staff were used to stuff like this happening at their restaurant by now and didn’t react in any way, bidding them goodbye as they stepped into the elevator with their sanguine smiles firmly in place.

“Wow, this place really is something else,” Jisoo marveled once the doors slid shut and they were in private, going back down to the carpark. Ha-eun had already texted the manager to let him know they were done, and he was waiting for them where he’d dropped them off.

“Isn’t it, though?” Ha-eun laughed. “I think I saw a congressman with an actress in a corner. This place is perfect, though. No gossip or paparazzi because everyone here has something to hide.”

“You’re so smart,” Jisoo praised Ha-eun, sliding closer to her. “I didn’t even know places like this existed.”

“Yeah, perk of the job, I guess,” Ha-eun responded dryly, although the effect was undercut by the giggle she couldn’t quite hold back as Jisoo’s arms wrapped around her waist. Before they could get into it, however, a ding notified them that the elevator doors were about to open, and they made sure to be standing an appropriate distance from each other.

The ride back to the dorm was laced with tension, Ha-eun trying to keep things as normal as possible out of consideration to the manager driving them, but unable to keep from shooting Jisoo heated looks every once in a while.

Ha-eun could tell that the manager was glad to be rid of them for the night when he pulled into the drop-off point for the dorm building. He peeled out of there like the hounds of hell were after him, leaving Jisoo and Ha-eun staring bemusedly at the car as it left. “Do you think he’s in a hurry?” Ha-eun deadpanned, causing Jisoo to snort out a laugh as she took Ha-eun’s hand and pulled her into the building.

The apartment was thankfully empty, the other girls having made other plans (or, in Lisa’s case, in Thailand visiting her family) to let Jisoo have her fun. The lack of jealousy and the support that the girls had towards each other was something that Ha-eun admired; high school girls were all catty and annoying, too insecure to form real friendships with each other, and she hadn’t had the best luck making female friendships in university either, what with being busy with her job and all.

She was still thinking about it when Jisoo pushed her down onto the couch, straddling her lap. From the soft kisses and gentle touches Jisoo lavished on her, Ha-eun could tell she wasn’t in the mood for anything rough, despite what she’d said earlier, and she provided the soft, romantic experience that she sensed the older girl craved. It wasn’t necessarily uncommon – all of the girls had moments where they were overwhelmed with their lives, where they just wanted someone to hold them and tell them everything would be okay, that they were doing well, and despite Ha-eun’s subby tendencies she was more than adept at working the softer aspects into their trysts if they needed it.

It was, after all, why she was the best at what she did.

Jisoo never tugged on Ha-eun’s collar, which was her preferred method of letting Ha-eun know that she was in a mood to play. It reminded her that she was owned, and never failed to send her into subspace. Instead, she stroked her fingertips gently along the edge of the leather, where it rested against her soft skin, until Ha-eun took Jisoo’s hand in her own and kissed her fingertips.

“You’re so pretty, mommy,” Ha-eun sighed into Jisoo’s mouth, running her hands up and down the older girl’s thighs, disappearing under her skirt. Her fingers teased at the edges of the pretty lace panties Jisoo had worn tonight, knowing she would be getting lucky.

“What are you going to do about it?” Jisoo pulled back slightly to ask, her brow raised and head tilted slightly as she stared down at Ha-eun.

Falling into her role perfectly, the younger girl whined softly as she stroked her hands over Jisoo’s lace-clad ass. “I want to kiss you all over, mommy. Can I?” she asked, pouting. The way Jisoo’s hair fell around their faces as she looked down at Ha-eun made it seem like they were secluded in their own little space with just the two of them, and the intimacy felt almost breathtaking.

“How could I deny my baby anything?” Jisoo cooed, bending down to kiss Ha-eun again.

Eventually, they migrated to Jisoo’s bedroom, where they stretched out luxuriantly across the large bed. Jisoo lay on her back, her head cushioned by the pillows, as Ha-eun propped herself up on her elbow by her side, leaning over her.

“Take off your dress,” Jisoo breathed, her half-lidded eyes trained on Ha-eun, who obediently stripped out of the dress that she’d bought her. Under it, she was wearing lingerie that, again, Jisoo had bought for her, and the thought was thrilling to the idol, who looped Ha-eun’s long hair around her fist and used it to drag her back to her mouth for a kiss. “You’re my pretty little baby girl, aren’t you?” she murmured, the words muffled against Ha-eun’s lips.

Biting her lip against the flood of arousal that made her panties sticky, Ha-eun broke away from Jisoo’s mouth to trail kisses down past her jaw to her neck. As she did so, her hands were busy unzipping Jisoo’s dress, the older girl obligingly arching her back off the mattress to give Ha-eun space to work.

“You’re so pretty,” she breathed as she ran her tongue along Jisoo’s collarbone, causing the older girl to shiver, before descending further to where her breasts spilled out of the cups of the strapless bra she’d worn. She whispered the words again as she unhooked the bra, tossing it away and laving first one, then the other nipple with her tongue, until Jisoo was moaning as she ran her hands through Ha-eun’s hair, thoroughly messing up her hairdo.

Moving further down to her belly, which was ever-so-slightly rounded from eating well at dinner, Ha-eun pressed gentle kisses all over it, determined to let Jisoo know that her body was beautiful as it was. Jisoo, slightly uncomfortable with the attention to a part of her body she was insecure about, initially tried to stop Ha-eun by catching her face in her hands, but Ha-eun simply pulled her hands away and kissed them too. “Unnie, you really are gorgeous,” she said, nuzzling into the side of her stomach. The way she’d referred to Jisoo wasn’t lost on either girl; it meant that Ha-eun wasn’t just saying it for the sake of their roleplay, she truly meant it.

Jisoo’s heart warmed as she finally acquiesced, letting Ha-eun have her way with her. Instead of going straight to her pussy, Ha-eun instead left her panties in place as she started working her way down her thighs, pressing kisses and kitten licks on the sensitive flesh on her inner thighs before moving on. It seemed she was indeed intent on kissing every inch of the idol, as she went all the day down to her ankles and even kissed her feet, starting with the tops, then moving on to her toes, then the balls of her feet, then the arches, and finally the heels. The way Jisoo’s stomach dropped as Ha-eun kissed her feet was certainly new, and Jisoo made a mental note to talk to Ha-eun about the new kink she might have just discovered.

When Ha-eun finally returned to her pussy, pulling the panties away from her dripping core and down her legs, Jisoo was too impatient to wait for the younger girl to take her time, using her foot on the back of Ha-eun’s head to push her down and towards her center.

Smirking up at the singer, Ha-eun nevertheless bent obligingly to lap at Jisoo’s folds, her tongue dragging through the soaked curls to reach her slit.

“Mmm, yes,” Jisoo groaned as she widened her stance a little to give Ha-eun more room.

“You’re so pretty here too, mommy,” Ha-eun simpered as she nuzzled into the heated flesh, pressing a teasing peck to Jisoo’s clit, which had come out from its hood and was begging for attention.

“Why don’t you show me how much you like it, baby girl?” Jisoo shot back breathlessly, tilting her hips up slightly as she pushed Ha-eun’s head down more insistently.

Instead of responding verbally, Ha-eun swiped her tongue across Jisoo’s clit, and the older girl sank back into the pillows as her fingers threaded them through her hair.

“Mmm, yes, you’re such a good girl, so good to your mommy,” Jisoo continued her litany of filthy praises as she tilted her hips upwards, almost humping Ha-eun’s face. For her part, Ha-eun was employing all the techniques that she knew Jisoo loved, sucking her clit into her mouth and flicking it with her tongue rhythmically before dipping down to tongue-fuck her, scooping her juices out with her tongue. It wasn’t long before Jisoo was wailing as she pushed Ha-eun’s face as deep into her pussy as it would go, humping it furiously as her orgasm crashed over her.

When it was over, Jisoo sank back into the bed and Ha-eun pulled back slightly to give Jisoo some time for recovery, lapping up the wetness on her folds while avoiding her clit, which she knew was way too sensitive right now. It didn’t take long, though, before Jisoo wanted more, which she indicated to Ha-eun by tugging on her hair so that she came up slightly to worship her clit again.

Three orgasms later, Jisoo was spent, every muscle trembling slightly and completely boneless, while Ha-eun’s face (and panties) were completely soaked. It wasn’t like Jisoo to be a pillow princess, but Ha-eun knew that the idol had been going through something lately, with her body image making the rounds on kpop fansites again, and needed this. Shifting on the bed so that she was lying next to the older girl, she adjusted them both so that Jisoo was lying in her arms, her head pillowed on her chest as she stroked her hair.

“Thank you, Ha-eun-ah,” Jisoo mumbled, barely conscious. Between the physical exhaustion and the soothing feeling of Ha-eun petting her, she was nodding off and almost didn’t manage to finish her sentence before she knocked out.

Looking down at Jisoo’s sleeping face, Ha-eun smiled, running her thumb along her cheekbone fondly. She’d lie here for just a little longer, then go finish herself off in the bathroom. She might not have come tonight, but she was still satisfied with herself.

[a-deep-ocean-of-secrets]

Sneak Peak of Dream a Little Dream Of Me Ch2

Fic Summary:

Headed for Whitmore College in the fall, Elena is meant to be enjoying the best summer of what promises to be a very long life as she soaks up every sun-drenched moment of it.

She's so free of romantic entanglements that a blinking neon sign over her head could advertize: single and ready to mingle. And for the first time since junior year, she isn't being forced to deal with psychotic vampires, devious doppelgängers, megalomaniac hybrids, and unhinged immortals with a two-thousand-year bone to pick.

Everything should be perfect.

But then why is she having the strangest dreams about a certain Original…?

Ch2 Sneak Peak:

She was in the house in Reidsville. The derelict dwelling where she had met Rose, and Trevor, and…

Elijah. 

Taking a precursory glance at herself, she easily noticed that she was in the same clothes as that fateful day. The pastel pink Henley with the delicate lace camisole underneath. Straight denim jeans. Her trusty pair of scuffed Converse. The once familiar weight of Rebekah’s necklace dipping into the valley between her breasts. Falling down her shoulders was her straight, heavy, and nearly waist-length hair; just as it had been when she was seventeen and in the fight of her life. Even smeared onto her sleeve was the tacky splotch of dried blood from her misadventure of being linked to a vindictive Katherine. 

Talk about a walk down memory lane…

“Hello there.”

Gasping in startled fright, Elena whirled around so quickly that her hair slapped her in the face when she came to an abrupt halt. Her hand was raised to her chest as her heart wildly rattled inside her rib cage. Her eyes narrowed into a heated glare at the sight of an all too familiar face. 

“You sure seem to enjoy sneaking up on me like some kind of stalker,” she peevishly spat out. 

Adopting an easy stance, with his hands loosely tucked into the pockets of his trousers, he only raised an eyebrow. “We all have to make our own entertainment somehow.” 

“Someone ought to put a bell on you,” she muttered vehemently under her breath, knowing he could hear her perfectly even from across the spacious room. A flash of finespun delight was there and gone from his eyes in only a few seconds. Mapping his expression, she roughly tugged on her shirtsleeve. “Let me guess: even if someone could pin a bell on you, you’d still be infuriatingly silent, and a major creep on top of that.” 

“To be fair,” he placidly countered, seemingly not bothered at all by her prickly scorn. “I’ve had many years to hone my ‘stalker’ skills, as you so eloquently termed them.” 

And honed them, he had. Even now, with him half-hidden in gloomy shadows and attired in the same black-on-black ensemble he had worn the day they met, she could almost feel the predator inside him swimming so very close to the surface of the gentility he wore as easily as his bespoke suits. It immediately took her back to that momentous encounter that changed the course of her life. 

Read Ch1 on AO3

Thanks for reading!

The new chapter will be posted after Memorial Day weekend.

[thecosmicsen]

*   :   happy valentines day @shesin​  !!

it is that time of the year where the pastel heart-shaped candies flood delicate crystal glass vases.  tacky red and golden helium balloons fill up the recently dusted corners of every single local florist.  suddenly,  no other colour theme besides the roaring lust of reds and dainty pink blush dominate the product spaces of every commercial establishment.  not so long ago,  the rosy extravaganza of this commodified holiday used tickled the boy’s heart with giddy delight to be caught up in the whirlwind romance of valentines day.  the thoughts of handwritten letters sealed with lavishing kiss marks and the abundant sweet lingering fragrance of flowers in the air were a traditional trademark for this month.  even before he had met the love of his life,  the concept of celebrating love in its full bursting eternal glory has always enraptured Jaewoo.  after all,  what is more wholesome than planning a day dedicated to rejoicing the existence of the person who owns your heart  ?

those are the memories that swirl in his mind in a hazy peachy glow filter as he awaits in the opulent hotel reception.  limbs nonchalant but his jaw taut with tension,  he reclines back in the plush armchair as he attempts to keep his impatience at bay.  he knows Inés is going to arrive at this hotel with her new boytoy since he followed her car with hawk-eyed scrutiny,  moreso since this is valentines and he knows she must have selected the disgusting deluxe valentines day hotel room offer.  his nose crinkles with heaving disapproval,  unable to fathom the images of another man between her parted legs upon petal-scattered sheets.  that should be him. 

the second the vehicle disappeared behind the barriers of the five-star destination,  he wasted no time with immediately ditching his own car elsewhere so he can make his way to his very visible spot in the reception.  sure enough,  Inés emerges from the elevators,  her latest thing in tow.  as expected,  she has gone all out for the special occasion with her pout painted ruby red and a v-neck dress that dips down just shy of her navel.  jealousy flares in the pit of his stomach and it takes all of his strained willpower to not stab the man right there and then who has his filthy hands resting on her waist.  no,  he cannot afford to yield at this moment.  he has a special gift for the woman who ruthlessly dominates every square inch space of his heart.  for every single year they have spent so adoringly wrapped up and intertwined with each other,  he has never once missed out on worshipping her existence on this day.  so why should this year be any different  ?  she still wants to claim full ownership of himself.  what Inés wants,  Inés gets. 

now she makes her way from checking in at the front desk,  the gold hotel room keycard gleaming cheekily underneath the decadent lighting as she heads giggling to the elevators,  presumably getting to the room.  on her way,  he makes sure to lock eye contact with her although she pretends to make no notice of his existence as she irritatingly continues to engage with the existence of her new toy.  that’s fine.  it’s a part of today’s exclusive heart-themed plan anyway.  even when she keeps excessively caressing swift palm touches to her new partner’s lower body and arms.  at least she knows he has followed her and made his fixed presence open for her to acknowledge,  as much as she wants to fake ignoring him.  

they head upstairs in the elevators.  to the seventh floor.  is this another fucking jibe  — 

this has become their new routine.  a waltz of lure,  nip and trap.  Inés dangles the bait of her going out with whoever she decided to piss him off with and lure him with the bait of faux albeit temporary ownership over her toy.  look how well I fuck them too,  she seems to be challenging him in his mind,  the devious glint in her darkened eyes forever penetrating the back of his mind.  yet he rises to the challenge every time.  he devours the bait and rolls it around in his mouth in relish.  this is more added time to be with her despite a third party being the cause of interference.  which is fine in the end.  he kills them all anyway.  she moves onto the next one,  he follows after her with his bloody trail.  

depending on his mood and the various circumstances that she smugly twirls him through,  he may follow them to the hotel room and make his grand entrance in there.  but today,  on this wondrous commercial holiday with origins that date back to gruesome blood-splattered epic romance antics,  a different course of action is more suited.  

heading down to the car park instead,  he swiftly searches for her maserati which he finds in no time.  making a full show of checking her car out,  inspecting the tyres,  swiping his fingers across the engine hood,  he finally makes eye contact with where he believes the black box may be hidden.  he knows she has something recording so she can get off from his spectacles of following her gallivanting about town.  now she has video material of him purposefully lurking about her vehicle as she is upstairs doing god knows what to her latest addition.  he’ll leave it up for her suspense on what is to come next.  he isn’t entirely sure on whether her recordings are linked and live-streamed to her phone but it is highly plausible.  perhaps she is even squinting at the stream mid-fucking.  the thought makes him want to smash a dent in the gleaming hood,  his knuckles whitening from the sheer force of violent anger that wrecks his body.  

leave it for later.

heading back upstairs to the reception,  he passes time by obsessively checking instagram and her other online platforms for any potential updates which he inevitably regrets seeing.  moments away from allowing the simmering nausea to just take over and allow himself to throw up on the intricate carpet details,  a more rumpled looking Inés eventually shows up again to check out.  again,  he is thrusted into a furious pooling wave of revolted resentment to witness her fucked out transformation.  but he has a task at hand.  he cannot afford to waste any more seconds of wistfully reminiscing about how he was the one leaning in,  pressing harsh kisses square to her lips,  catching her pout between his teeth till he feels it growing tender with oozing beads of blood.  

snapping out of his reverie,  he waits a few more cautious moments before leaving Inés behind in the reception to skilfully make his way back down to her car.  effortlessly opening up her car,  he quells the security with a simple flare of annoyance to jumble up the system.  he folds himself up to fit in the gap behind the driver’s seat,  his all black outfit camouflaging him for the most part.  he knows Inés will be able to detect him straight away but that doesn’t matter when he places his bets on her not immediately calling him out. 

in due time,  Inés and the guy who doesn’t deserve to have a name head back to her car in which he hears her beginning her tittering again.  rolling his eyes,  he has to stuff his sleeve in his mouth to retain audible retching as he can hear them discuss a spot for a  ‘  change of scenery  ’.  

ah yes,  this is usually the time she flaunts her exhibitionism by deliberately parking in a spot where she knows he will have a full clear view of whatever she decides to do to her partner at hand.  most of the time,  he can barely contain himself for more than a minute before barging in to interrupt the obscene display in full raging fury.  it’s slightly different this time. 

they enter the majestic vehicle,  Inés presumably acting on his bet that she will not immediately call him out for being hidden in the backseat of her car.  if anything,  he knows she purposefully slides a hand over the other male’s thigh to forcefully squeeze and grope at it hard when he slightly peeps over to see what is happening.  fuck you,  Inés.  

it’s only when they’re a good thirty minutes cruising down one of the main big roads when Jaewoo decides he will finally make his move.  stealthily shifting to the seat behind the male passenger in shotgun,  he springs up with his knife in hand and his other hand immediately finding its way to harshly yank at the hair of the male’s head,  preening his neck all the way backwards as he presses the tip of his knife against the crook of his neck.  

“  don’t scream or I’ll slit your throat open,  ”  he smoothly addresses the male.  “  mm-mm,  no funny business either.  ”  grabbing hold of the man’s sneaking hand to his pocket to retrieve his phone,  Jaewoo beats him to it and mercilessly snaps his fancy latest iPhone model within a split second in the murderous crushing grip of his palm.  now turning to Inés who is completely unperturbed by the so-called surprise,  he flattens the entire breadth of his knife’s edge across the male’s neck,  toying along the defining lines of his jaw as he maintains eye contact between her as her gaze flits directly to him and between the road,  addressing her fully now.  “  why another rich bastard with rocks for brains  ?  doesn’t your demon scum already fit that criteria perfectly  ?  pathetic.  how long did he last,  huh  ?  big boy looks like he’s about to piss himself right now.  ”  with that,  he digs in his blade with a tad bit more of pressure till a trickle of blood stains the trembling male’s neck which he smears all over the canvas of his neck,  still carefully assessing Inés’ reaction. 

“  how the fuck is it any of your business,  Jaewoo  ?  ”  she hisses at him,  his name being emphasised with callous glee that address him formally as she turns her gaze back to him with full scorn.  “  shouldn’t you be at home with your bitch  ?  why the fuck are you in my car throwing a fit about who gets to taste my cunt  ?  unlike you,  he knows when to be a good boy so that he can eat my pussy.  ”

that is when his jealousy hits its limit and his body moves wholly out of his control.  jumping forwards to the front seat where the shrieking male attempts to grab hold of him and push away,  Jaewoo is unfazed as he unstraps the cowering figure and shoves him down to the floor so that he can fully slit his throat open with the projectile of fresh blood splaying all over his body.  wrinkling his nose in disgust,  he doesn’t bother wiping off the crimson that stains his face as he shoves the dead weight of the body fully onto the floor which he uses as a footrest for himself now as he belts himself up in full bloody gore.  

the roses that he has tucked in the inner pocket of his jacket remain intact despite the chaotic jostling in the spur of the moment.  but he uses the petals to wipe off any small splatters of blood that manage to escape to the maserati’s crystal clear passenger window.  also wiping off his dripping wet knife onto the roses,  he sets the bloody bouquet in the flower holder,  their wedding ring band fully glimmering underneath the passing city lights,  showing off how its made its way back onto his ring finger.  there’s a silent plea in the silent electric tension that has utterly blanketed the air of the car as he lowers his eyes,  fully focusing on the soaked stained petals.  I killed him for you.  please accept me.  take me back.  I want to listen to you again.  I’ll be your only baby boy.  I’ll do anything to have you back again.  

here he is with a testament to his love for her that still burns like an inferno.  he hasn’t broken their tradition cycle for this day of love.  he hasn’t forgotten and never will.  Inés takes a turn and he realises that she is driving them back to her apartment.  what once used to be their home.  at least this means,  he has successfully done his work for today.  he will get slightly rewarded even if it may be a minuscule moment of her giving to him but he’s desperate.  he’ll lick up anything she has to offer him.

“ happy valentines day,  Inés. ”  he ends up murmuring,  a steely edge to his tone that’s rough with emotion.  

[slightlyrebelliouswriter23]

Ace of Spades

So happy to finally be posting this Six of Crows multichapter fic for the Grishaverse Big Bang! Thank you so much to @corpsecro​ for the beautiful cover art! See end for author’s notes.

Summary: Two years since the events of Crooked Kingdom, the Crows are back and better than ever (or barely holding themselves together) in a swashbuckling hunt across oceans that leads them to legendary catacombs, a secret society, creatures of myth and whimsy, and- if everything goes as planned- a long lost treasure.

POV: Kaz Brekker, Inej Ghafa, Jesper Fahey, Wylan Van Eck, The Lilia (OC)

Chapter 1- Whiskey in a Teacup 

Seventeen months. It’d been seventeen months since Kaz Brekker watched The Wraith set sail.

He’d watched her go. Stood on the docks as the sun painted the horizon a brilliant smear of papaya, then a blush of lilac and rose, to a bruised star-speckled blue. He’d watched that far-off, distant thing that was once a ship and so much more, as it faded to a small smudge in the crease between sea and sky.

Then he’d taken the long way back to the Slat.

After that, it was business as usual. There was work to be done. In seventeen months he’d built an empire in this wretched, glorious town. Though, it had really been more like eight.

The other nine months he’d spent spending—he was positively swimming in kruge. Half the time he didn’t know what to do with all of it. There was no way to spend that kind of money responsibly.

“So spend it irresponsibly,” Jesper had suggested. “You’re the newly crowned King of the Barrel. These are your days of golden enthronement.”

And it had been fun for a while—being the big gang boss of the Barrel, owner of nearly every successful gambling den in Ketterdam, raking in the kruge every night and never worrying because there would always be more.

Kaz couldn’t help but notice that lately, however, most of his time was consumed by the golden contents of a bottle—and that conceivably, the closest thing he had to a golden throne these days was the aureate tub he now slumped in.

Alas, all newness went stale eventually. As it happened, Kaz Brekker was bored out of his mind. 

And his bath was going cold.

With a toe, he spun one of the faucet nozzles. A steady stream of hot water flowed into the tub with a hiss. He sank back, submerging his shoulders under the water’s rosy surface.

He was the kind of bored that made shooting himself in the kneecap seem appealing, if only for the purpose of forcing something interesting out of what had become a very mundane procession of days. The kind of bored that even baths and bubbles and teacups full of whiskey could not fix.

Kaz swirled the finger of amber liquid at the bottom of his cup. It sloshed up onto the porcelain sides and he thought about how much the colour resembled her eyes in a shaft of sunlight.

Then he shook his head. Ludicrous. Categorically asinine.

Here he was, Kaz Brekker, Dirtyhands, Bastard of the Barrel made Barrel Boss, a veritable King of Ketterdam; and he was sketching metaphors in his head for the colour of a girl’s eyes. A girl who was long gone, and indefinitely so.

Be all this as it may, he was also neck-deep in drink and pastel bubbles, so perhaps that was about right.

Not just any girl, he reminded himself, taking another sip of his drink.

She’d assured him she’d come back. And though he knew she would in due course, he had insisted she take all the time she needed to right what had been so very wrong for such a long time.

“Make them fear your name so much they daren’t even whisper it,” he’d told her before she left. “Make them pay, Inej.”

From what he’d heard, she’d lived up to that. Surpassed it, even. Slaughterer of Slavers, they called her. Vengeance of the Sea. What he would have paid to watch her burn their ships to ashes.

Kaz smiled at his teacup.

He looked to the night sky through the wavy glass of the window beside him, raised his makeshift glass to the distorted moon perched on the city skyline, and knocked back the remainder of his drink.

It was funny. He swore he felt the whisper of her presence on the wind with that burning swig. He loosed a chuckle. He was either imagining things or he was much drunker than he thought he was.

For Kaz had not felt the familiar rise of gooseflesh on the back of his neck—usually the first indicator of his Wraith’s presence—in a long while. And as he was most certain he’d be the first to hear of a particular ship making port in the harbour, he doubted it was anything but the ghost of a memory.

Yet, the tingle skittering across his scalp, the keen alertness pricking his senses to life, continued to be the most real thing in that tub.

Definitely drunk, Kaz thought and poured himself another knuckle of whiskey.

The bottle on the service cart next to the bath was old—one he’d been saving for a special occasion. He supposed tonight was just as special as any. In fact, the past four nights had been. He’d made his way through half the bottle, toasting the moon and the stars and whatever else lay around the bathroom as he sat in the tub every evening. They were all the same these days, either way.

“What shall we toast to?” Kaz mumbled to the cloud of pink bubbles eddying near his chest. He swirled the whiskey in his teacup. 

Perhaps he should toast the pistol lying next to the half-empty bottle. It was the only promise of excitement in the room. 

The breeze felt nice. A cool lick of air over the slowly heating bath—

Kaz looked up. Air from where? 

He was sure he’d shut the windows in the adjoining bedroom. Suddenly, his stupor washed away like water down the drain. He glanced at the pistol again, debating whether to get out of the tub and investigate or if he could risk waiting for his assailant in the warm cocoon of water. 

“I’d say to the pursuit of kruge,” a silky voice murmured from behind him. “But it looks like you’ve already got that covered.”

His heart stopped. He didn’t know whether he’d pass out or vomit, but either one might be likely considering the haze of whiskey he struggled to clear from his mind.

He turned to face the source of that familiar voice.

There, perched on the edge of the granite sink top like she’d been there all this time, was someone he hadn’t seen in seventeen months. Kaz couldn’t help the slow smile that crept across his face. 

“Hello, Inej,” he drawled.

“Hello, Kaz,” she said. 

He could have sworn the whole world shimmered when she smiled at him, though he wasn’t entirely certain she was truly here. He could have very well fallen asleep in the bathtub, and he would be none the wiser. Yes, this was all likely a drunken fever dream. His dreams did tend to torment him sometimes.

Nonetheless, he raised a brow and said, “Fancy meeting you here. In my bathroom. While I’m… bathing.”

If she blushed, Kaz could not see it in the golden glow of the bathroom lights. Perhaps the long months of travel and hard battle on the high seas had hardened her to such taunting that would have before made her cheeks stain red like a handful of pomegranate seeds.

In fact, he’d be shocked if she’d come back without a single jagged edge, though he couldn’t tell if that was the reason she held his gaze now, or the fact that he hadn’t delivered the line as smoothly as he would’ve liked. He couldn’t muster up enough wherewithal to care at the moment. Bubbles were really quite fascinating.

The corner of her mouth tilted up. “You were taking too long.”

“I like to soak.”

“I can see that.” Laughter gleamed in her eyes. Those eyes. And suddenly he did not care if this was a cruel figment of his imagination. He’d gladly play along.

Inej eyed the water. “Bubbles?” she asked with a bemused expression.

Kaz shrugged. “One of the more exciting facets of my life these days.”

“Things slow at the Crow Club then?”

“Slow at the Crow Club, slow with the Dregs.” He dipped his index finger in the mass of bubbles and came out with a small dollop which he blew into the air. They floated down like tiny, iridescent snowflakes. “Turns out, when everyone fears crossing you, nothing interesting ever happens.”

“One would think you’d be happy about that,” she said.

Kaz merely hummed noncommittally. “Yes,” he said after a moment. “One would think.”

“You’re not, though.”

He gave her a long look. “Would you be?”

“I’d be happy if I never had to worry,” she said, then knitted her brows. “Is the water pink?”

He smiled lazily. “Courtesy of Jesper. He took up a hobby.”

“Making bath products?”

Kaz nodded. “Soaps, bath fizzers, liquid bubbles, that sort of thing. The Dregs of the Bath, he called it. A business venture. It… did not end well.”

The corners of Inej’s mouth curled, eyes glittering mirthful delight—as if every possible consequence of Jesper and a hoard of perfumes and dyes reeled before her eyes in a resplendent carousel of disastrous hilarity.

This made Kaz very dizzy. Which was ridiculous, of course. It was her carousel. He sat up straighter and decided to stare very hard at a spot on the mirror beside her head.

“What happened?” Inej asked, and Kaz realised he had not offered her an explanation to his ominous statement.

The Dregs of the Bath had actually been a fairly successful business venture for a time. Jesper was good at dreaming up fantastical innovations and scent combinations so wondrous, it surprised Kaz for how much he didn’t mind them. For all of about three weeks, his friend had certainly given even the more established toiletry retailers of Ketterdam a run for their money.

The side effects of production, however…

Kaz remembered the way Jesper had shown up to the Crow Club for nearly a month sporting dark splotches of dye up to his elbows. He’d thought it amusing at first.

Half of the Dregs were covered head to toe in ink anyway, and Kaz didn’t enforce a dress code. Frankly, he didn’t care what any of the Dregs looked like as long as they did their jobs. That is, until the patrons had started whispering something about a plague.

Then, of course, Kaz had immediately grabbed Jesper by the back of his suspenders and hauled him to the nearest sink in the kitchens.

“It won’t come off,” Jesper had groused, scrubbing furiously at his forearms.

“Then I would recommend gloves,” he’d said dryly to his friend. “They make for quite the statement piece. I can loan you a pair.”

Once the dye had all but faded, there was still the matter of the smell, which wasn’t exactly bad so much as it was a little overwhelming. The problem with making your own scented bath products, it seemed, was that the aromas clung to every perceivable surface, and spread like an autumn breeze through a dale.

This was fine when Jesper had only been making one inoffensive citrus-scented bar soap. He’d smelled like a fruit basket for days, and made the entire club give off the impression that it was immaculately clean when Kaz knew it was surely not.

But one innocent fragrance had quickly become a cloud of five, and then an assault of ten.

Soon, every dweller from the Financial District to the Barrel had learned that if you could smell the aromas of the Van Eck manor (which had more than once been mistaken for a perfumery by tourists in those sundry weeks), it was already too late. You, too, would be wrapped in the cloying fragrance cocoon of a fruit basket inside a florist inside a bakery inside a tannery in the heart of a very dense forest.

Kaz had not mentioned it to Jesper, however; and one day, the smell had simply vanished. Jesper, in turn, had not mentioned anything to Kaz. They’d been seeing less and less of each other lately.

He supposed that was just how things went. Jesper had Wylan, and Wylan made his friend very happy. He couldn’t complain about that.

Besides, Kaz had… well, he had lots and lots of baths. And whiskey. And more kruge than he could ever possibly need. And…

A breeze floated in through the open window in the bedroom.

Kaz looked at Inej. There was a small part of him that still doubted her really being here. But then, the draft blew a lock of her crow dark hair loose from its braid—and when it fluttered a caress against her cheek, Kaz knew.

He might be skilled at plotting impossible schemes, but his imagination was not so creative and vivid as this. Especially not half-seas over.

Inej still sat on the countertop, reclined against the mirror, feet dangling over the edge. She eyed him in amusement. Probably mild concern, too, though he couldn’t focus through the steam and his whiskey muddled mind enough to tell.

“He got bored,” Kaz finally said with a shrug. “Moved on to something else. Made his own ale for a while. Regardless, there’s a closet full of bath fizzers of every smell and colour at the Van Eck manor, should you desire spicing up your bath experience.”

Inej laughed. That laugh. And Kaz’s eyes went wide and sober for five whole seconds before the glaze of alcohol and warm water slipped back over his senses.

He leaned back in the tub again. A wave of water sloshed over the side, hitting the tile floor with a splash.

“I think I’ll stick to regular baths for the time being,” she said.

At that, Kaz could think of no response. So he said nothing, but hummed and sank down further into the water.

“Why are you here, Wraith?” he asked when a moment had passed.

Inej’s eyes glinted something mischievous. “I have a proposal.”

♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎♠︎

AN: Thanks so much for reading, everyone! And a massive thank you to The Serrated Spades, the team of creators, editors, and beta readers who’ve been working with me these past few months to create something really special for @grishaversebigbang​ !! 

Check out @6crowgang​ ‘s GORGEOUS comic strip for this chapter!

Thanks so much again to @corpsecro​ for this absolute masterpiece of cover art! (GUYS. It moves!!!)

Get a sneak peek of heist planning (ft. an OC of mine) in this beautiful piece by @fishmaid​ !

This swashbuckling mood board by @ravenclawsandbeak​ sets the vibe just right!

More chapters to come soon- if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters, just shoot me a message/ask 🖤💫

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Tag List: @velarhysismine​ @the-mithridatism-of-jude-duarte​ @knifewifejude​

[supremeuppityone]

Written for Klaroline Valentine's Day Bingo 2020 @kcvalentinesbingo

Prompt: I Never Loved a Man

You can read the sequel here.

Warning: Some angst. Also dick cake. Because who doesn’t love a good dick cake? :)

Please review here.

           Penises were hard. Really, really hard. Caroline sighed, adding more powdered sugar to her countertop before she tried rolling out the flesh-toned fondant again. She had a last-minute erotic cake order to fill for a luncheon tomorrow and given the high-profile event, she wanted to ensure every detail was perfect. And she wouldn’t have time to dwell on all the things that went wrong with Klaus. Coquette Cakes had just started to take off when her asshat of a boyfriend decided to pick a fight with her that grew so explosive she tossed the entire drawer she’d set aside for his stuff out her window and blocked his number.

           In the weeks since then, she’d become even more dedicated to her bakery, from obsessive cleaning to designing a bold new marketing campaign. Partnering with her friend Kat’s male strip club to cater their monthly ‘sweet cheeks’ contest showed business-savvy, despite Klaus’ underwhelmed reaction when she excitedly discussed her plans.

           “I’m not a priority anymore; you’re spending all of your time at the bakery.” She’d been blindsided when Klaus accused her of not putting their relationship first; she’d hired extra staff before her budget could really handle the overhead in an attempt to cut back her hours. She’d even handed over two important cake projects to her staff so that she could attend a family retreat Klaus’ mother and siblings invited them to at the last minute. It had been an entire weekend of skiing at a prestigious mountain resort while fielding invasive and often rude questions about her relationship with Klaus.

           “You could’ve been vague about your profession.” She’d had no idea he was embarrassed by her career. That had been made painfully obvious when he hadn’t bothered to defend her from his family’s thinly veiled barbs when they learned she owned an erotic bakery. His sister, Rebekah, had been especially gleeful in drawing crude comparisons between being a tart versus making them.

           With an irritated huff, she reminded herself to use a delicate touch as she smoothed the fondant along the widest part of the shaft, carefully using the rounded edge of her modeling tool to tuck a loose flap underneath the testicles. Her inner 12-year-old giggled when she had to take extra care not to squish them — cake balls were almost as fragile as their human counterparts. In that moment, she was reminded again that she’d never have more fun at work than at her bakery. It was the best decision she ever made. Even if the price was her relationship. The Mikaelsons were elitist snobs and she was better off without them. Without Klaus.  

           But apparently not all members of the upper class were as judgy as Klaus and his family — this last-minute order was for a fundraising luncheon at the Mystic Falls Country Club. Who knew the pastels-and-pearls crowd would have a sense of humor? She’d just started painting a French-tipped manicure on the fingers encircling the cock when her playlist switched over to the song. Their song.

           They’d been painting her bakery to get Coquette Cakes ready for the grand opening. Caroline was exhausted and stressed to the point that she’d burst into tears twice that day alone. She’d happened to glance at Klaus, suddenly fighting back a smile when she saw the little pink speckles of paint across his nose and dimpled cheeks. Aretha Franklin’s “I Never Loved a Man the Way I Love You” started playing in the background and she impulsively leaned over and kissed him, smearing the bright pink paint across their faces.

“Don't ya never, never say that we we're through,

'Cause I ain't never,

Never, Never, no, no loved a man,

The way that I, I love you.”

           Klaus broke away, his accented voice a bit breathless as he said, “You’ve never looked more beautiful, sweetheart.”

           She giggled at his outrageous lie, but before she could respond, his tone grew serious as he confessed, “And I love you.”

           It was the first time he’d said the words, and she’d quickly told him the same, and they’d kissed each other senseless, laughing and swaying to the music.

           She’d been so happy. It was when her hands wouldn’t stop trembling that Caroline realized she’d been bawling hysterically. With a frustrated whine, she set down the delicate brush, momentarily giving into her sadness. One day she would be happy again.

           Everything was perfect. The manicured nails she’d painted holding the penis were the ideal blend of crisp white and blush pink — matching the striped linen tablecloths and napkins folded into swans. The slight curve of the shaft down to the ribbon draped delicately around the balls were the flirty finishing touches her bakery had become known for. As she carefully rolled the cart toward the banquet area, she felt a flutter of excitement. This was the start of something big.      

           There was a collective gasp as Caroline pulled the cake out of its special crate, gently placing it as the centerpiece of the gilt-edged display table. She glanced around the airy room with its crystal chandeliers, gold leaf china, and impeccably coiffed attendees and felt a moment of uncertainty. She didn’t fit in with women like these. Klaus’ sister made that perfectly clear.

           However, a sudden burst of tinkling laughter caught her off-guard, and she began to relax as it washed over the crowd; the women hiding knowing smiles behind manicured hands and playfully toying with their understated pearls. They were delighted. And also slightly drunk based on the seemingly endless pitchers of mimosas being served.

           Distracted by the excited murmurs, Caroline didn’t realize she was being watched until she heard a familiar scoff. “I suppose a subtle penis was out of the question.”

           Caroline whirled around, blue eyes widening in surprise as she took in Rebekah’s flawless nose job and vintage Chanel. She realized she was gaping and finally said, “Subtle is a dirty word in the erotic cake business.” Noticing that Klaus’ sister didn’t seem surprised to see her, she grew suspicious. “You knew I’d be here today.”

           “Obviously,” she responded with a derisive snort, “I’m the co-chair of this committee. No detail escapes my notice.” She gestured toward a door off to the side, indicating that Caroline should follow her.

           Once they were away from the steady hum of the event, Caroline straightened her spine, steeling herself for whatever insults Rebekah decided to hurl at her. She flatly asked, “What do you want?”

           “To apologize.” Rebekah shifted uncomfortably at her sudden outburst, her voice uncertain as she continued. “I’m a bit of a bitch and my behavior that weekend was appalling. I’m sorry for the role I played in your breakup.”

           “I’m not doing this with you.” She turned to leave, her tone flippant as she added, “Try not to choke on your dick cake.”

           “My brother loves you. He misses you terribly and has been absolutely miserable.”

           Caroline hated the way tears started to gather in the corners of her eyes despite her anger. “Seriously?! What makes you think I even care?”

           Klaus unexpectedly stepped into the room, his clothes a wrinkled mess and looking so haggard and morose that she hardly recognized him. “Because I desperately need you to, sweetheart.”

[mypassionfortrash]

Nothing Serious (Part Nine)

You join Roger in Montreux as Queen prepare to record their next album, and spend time exploring the city... and each other.

Pairing: Roger Taylor x f!reader Warnings: Filth, daddy kink, STRICTLY 18+ Notes: I forgot about this. Sorry. If you like this fic, please reblog it!

💫 CATCH UP HERE! 💫

Tags: @jennyggggrrr​​​; @sarahgurl09​​​; @sunshine112​; @biscuit-barrel​; @sitonmyhot-seatoflove​; @jhoemazzellhoe​; @justgivemethekeys​; @qweenly​; @picturepowderinabottle​

You and Roger sat in the back of the car in stunned silence. You had your nosed pressed up against the glass, admiring the view of Lac Leman. 

Roger admired you admiring the view. 

From the snowy peaks of the alps on the French side, to the cobbled streets and cosy bars in Lausanne, Vevey and Clarens, you were positively enthralled on the journey from Geneva Airport to Montreux. 

You and Roger didn’t even have to make proper, joined up conversation. All he had to do was listen to your awe struck outbursts, pointing out yet another feature he had probably seen many times before on his way to Mountain Studios. Every now and again, he’d give your fingers a supportive squeeze, letting you know that he heard you.

There was something about Montreux alone; above all the other towns you passed on your journey. Something magical. Something that you just couldn’t put your finger on. It made your fears disappear and your worries drift away; home felt like a distant memory. It soothed you with blue skies, and sprawling lake views, and mediterranean-looking buildings with pastel facades and ornate balconies. 

“We’re almost there.”

You turned to Roger, planting a chaste kiss on his cheek. “This is more beautiful than you said.”

“We should go exploring later,” he said, brushing his fingers over your thigh. “There’s a lot of nice little bars and restaurants here. We’ll be staying a block away from the studio. Right about… here,” he said nodding towards a block of bright yellow apartments with stacks of generous balconies. To your right, they offered sprawling lake views against a backdrops of snow-tipped mountains. To your left, you had to crane your neck just to spy the top of the densely-populated hillside.

“Oh,” you sighed, admiring the building and all its exquisite views, “it’s stunning.”

“They really are. You can’t beat a bottle of wine and watching the sun set from up there.”

“It’s perfect for it,” you said, getting out of the car and opening the boot, much to your chauffeur’s dismay. “It’s fine, I’ve got this,” you told him, carting your luggage out and on to the pavement.

“She’s got it,” Roger laughed, taking his own suitcases. “Thank you.”

Standing at the door to the building, you and Roger exchanged excited glances and bolstering sighs, before linking your fingers together. Wandering into the lobby, the atmosphere struck you. It looked and smelled like money and excess and opulence, with shiny slate grey flooring and clean white walls. There were no chandeliers or gold trims. It was a modern kind of rich. A sickening, classy kind of rich. That you actually kind of liked. 

A petite, brunette receptionist greeted you both: “Bonjour Monsieur Taylor. Et Madame.”

“Bonjour, Gaudine,” Roger said, wandering over to the desk. “Do you have my key?”

“Oui – voila!” she said, handing Roger the key. “We’ve cleaned the apartment and it’s ready for your stay. We have put champagne in your fridge and done a bit of shopping so that you have everything you need. If you need anything, just call.”

“Merci beaucoup, Gaudine,” Roger smiled, placing his hand at the small of your back and leading you towards the lift.

You pressed the button and the door slid open in a moment of slick convenience. When the pair of you got inside, you slumped against opposite sides of the compartment, swapping wild grins. You could tell from the way Roger’s eyes devoured every detail of your body that he was dreaming up everything he was going to do to you once you got to the flat. 

Roger chewed his lip. His breath laboured. Pinpricks of desire seared from his chest to his cheeks, flushing him a delightful shade of pink. As the lift ascended, so did his need and his lust. And when the door finally pinged open, he grabbed your arm and hauled you down the corridor towards the flat. 

Discarding your bags at the door, you pounced on him, sending his back flying against the wall.

But he was swift to take control, turning around and hiking your thighs up around his waist making you cling to him for dear life. “You didn’t put your knickers back on, did you?” he purred in your ear. 

You were too busy undoing his jeans to answer him; his cock already stood at attention, thick, intimidating and ready to slip into the next available hole.

“You dirty girl.” Slipping his cock through your pink, swollen folds, Roger pushed into you. 

Feverish and urgent, you ground your hips against his grasp as you gasped at being filled so deliciously again. The sharp, snappy rhythm he settled into made you clench around him.

“What are you Kitten?” Roger growled.

In the throes of delirium, you couldn’t find the words to respond to him. You could only bear to focus on his cock, pumping away at you. In deep, wet passes, he bottomed out inside you time and time again. Your fingers clawed at his shoulders, and his neck, and his hair to find something to cling on to to steady yourself. But he was all the support you needed with his body pressed tight against you. He was all over you.

His chin nestled into your neck, biting down on your skin, rougher and more ravenously with each thrust. “Touch yourself for me, Kitten,” he growled in your ear. “I want to feel that tight  cunt of yours milking my cock when you come.”

If those words of his were enough to shoot sparks of bliss straight between your legs, then god knows what your fingers coupling with his efforts might do to you, you thought as you mindlessly started to draw circles over your clit. An almighty whine escaped you. So loud that you prayed the walls were thick enough to stop the neighbours hearing. And then another. And another. You had to fight to stifle them on Roger’s neck as wave after wave of pleasure ripped through your aching body as you tried to stay clinging to Roger. Quiet whimpers, of “yes Daddy,” or, “right there, Daddy,” were absorbed by the collar of his shirt. And that only made his movements more purposeful as you writhed uncontrollably.

“Good girl,” he coaxed. “Come for me, Kitten. Come for Daddy.”

You frantically rubbed and rubbed until your cunt milked Roger’s cock for every drop of cum he could fill you with.

Roger had to prop you up until you caught your breath and regained some semblance of control.

“You alright, darling?” he chuckled, kissing your forehead.

“Yes, Daddy–Roger! Sorry,” you sighed, smoothing down your dress and clenching your thighs together.

Roger shook his head with a smirk. “We’ll be having more of than now we’re out here. And I love it when you get all awkward on me, Kitten,” he said, fixing your hair for you. “The bathroom’s  there on your right. Clean yourself up and I’ll show you the rest of the flat.”

“Yeah,” you said dreamily, sauntering through to the bathroom. You locked the door behind you and eyed yourself in the mirror with a jolt of horror. Had you really walked through Geneva airport with your hair sticking up in all directions and your mascara caked underneath your eyes? Or the buttons on your dress all askew and misaligned? And those mysterious stains at the back? You clearly hadn’t done as good a job of cleaning yourself up on the plane as you thought you had. And why didn’t Roger tell you? “Fuck,” you laughed to yourself, dragging out a tuft of tissues and bending over the sink to get a better view of your misplaced makeup.

You swiped the tissues underneath your eyes, smearing the thick black gunk off your face. And then you turned your attention towards the rest of your body. Flying had a habit of drying out your skin and making you feel like the grossest thing on two legs; you could practically feel the slurry of germs that crawled all over your body.

In the corner of the room, by the back window that looked out on to the alpine view, stood a sparkling red bath tub. It called out to you, promising that you could be clean in no time.

“Roger!” you shouted.

You heard shuffling coming from outside the bathroom door. “Yes, Kitten?”

“Can you go through my bags and get me something nice to wear and my wash bag please?”

“Of course, darling.”

“Thanks,” you said, flicking off the lock on the door. Setting about throwing off your dress and your bra, you leaned over the tub and put the tap on, sending water cascading into it. Above the tub, there were columns of black and white shelves, stocked with all the expensive looking lotions and potions anyone could ever need. You saw one interesting looking jar, like something out of a sweet shop, bearing the label, ‘pine and patchouli bath salts.’ That would do. You grabbed the bottle and dumped a capful into the boiling hot water. And then went back to eying up the rest of Roger’s accoutrements.

It turned out he was a big fan of lavender and sage, too; you grabbed the soap and the lotion, not caring if they matched your bath salts. And then the bubble bath. How could you forget that? Throwing a generous splodge into the water, you looked down, like a witch admiring her brew, as the bubbles doubled.

“I see you’ve found my spa stash,” a voice from behind you chuckled.

You turned to find Roger laying out towels and a set of pyjamas on the bench at the bathroom door. 

“Sorry, I  needed something after that flight. I haven’t forgotten what you told me about what Steven Tyler gets up to in that plane.”

“Those salts are fantastic when my shoulders are acting up,” he commented with a nod towards the sweetie bottle.

“Do you want to join me, Daddy?” you asked. You felt emboldened again, running your hands up Roger’s chest, making sure you squeezed his aching shoulders. They were still tense, but surely not out of sexual frustration, you thought to yourself. 

“Could do with a quick dunk,” Roger shrugged. He watched as your fingers unfastened the buttons on his shirt one by one. His voice shook from the contact. “Why don’t I get that lovely bottle of champagne from the fridge?”

“Be quick,” you warned, giving him a pat on his bare chest. “I’m not done with you yet, Daddy.”

Roger moved faster than you had ever seen him go, taking him all of thirty seconds to pluck the bottle of champagne from the fridge and locate a couple of glasses in the kitchen, before he returned to find you already sitting comfortably in the tub, stretching out your legs under a blanket of soft, heady bubbles. 

“Do you want to do the honours, Kitten?” he asked, handing you the bottle.

“Don’t mind if I do, Daddy,” you purred, taking it from his grasp. You watched with your hand wrapped tightly around the neck of the bottle as Roger shuffled out of the rest of his clothes, sporting the beginnings of yet another hard on, and stepped into the tub in front of you. You flicked your eyes to his as you bit your lip, sending a visible shiver through him. That raging confidence you had in the beginning was back with a vengeance and nothing was going to stop you from making your time in Montreux as memorable, and as debauched, as you could. “Ready, Daddy?”

Roger woke up in a pile of white silk sheets. The sheer curtain billowed into the room in smoky swathes in time to the cool lakeside breeze, wafting wisps for freshly brewed coffee into the room. He groaned, propping himself up on his elbows to take in the sight of the empty room. You were nowhere to be seen. The culprit for all of his aches and pains, bestowed upon him the night before, was gone. “Darling?” he groaned, sitting upright and scratching his chest. His head pounded and his vision hadn’t quite acclimatised to seeing daylight. “You there?”

Shuffling came from the balcony, then you peeked into the room. Only half of your body was visible to him, as you leaned against the door frame. 

“Good morning, Daddy.”

Roger’s lips curled into a devilish smirk. The thoughts of everything you got up to on your first night together in Montreux raced through his brain so vividly that his hips got the message straight away. He tilted his head back and eyed you through his lashes as you stepped into the room. “Good morning, Kitten,” he purred.

Perching at the end of the bed, you dragged a hand up Roger’s leg over the sheets. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“Sore,” he laughed, giving his shoulder a rub.

You pouted and pondered. “Let me get you a lovely big cup of coffee and I’ll help you work out all those aches and pains,” you said, continuing to massage Roger’s leg.

“That sounds lovely, darling, thank you.”

You wandered back through to the balcony and poured Roger some coffee. So enthralled by your surroundings, the cup almost overflowed. From the way the mid morning sun shimmered over the lake to the snowy peaks of the mountains. This was heaven. And it felt a million miles away from home – and Ibiza. You relished that feeling of giddy optimism as you carried the cup back through to the bedroom to find that Roger was missing.

“Where are you, Roggie?” you called, peering out into the hall.

“Brushing my teeth,” Roger responded through a mouthful of toothpaste. He spat so he could speak more clearly. “And making myself more presentable for you, my love.”

“Don’t be too long,” you grinned, settling down among the covers.

When he arrived back at the bedroom, he hobbled towards you, clutching his aching hip, and pressing at the small of his back. His hair was mussed and messy, and he wore nothing but a short, silk, tiger print robe. And his circular glasses sat daintily perched on the bridge of his nose. He looked exhausted, but that didn’t stop you from eagerly patting the space beside you and thrusting the cup of coffee into his hands to get started on the fun part of your morning. 

You slunk behind him, wrapping your legs around his body and pressing your chest to his back, dragging the fine layer of material from his body. It slipped down his arms, leaving his top half completely naked under your touch. 

Tension radiated from Roger’s body as he sank another mouthful of rich, black coffee to stifle his nerves. 

Your fingertips pressed against either side of his back, where his shoulders met his neck and he moaned in bliss. “Sore there?” you asked.

“Mmm, I’m really showing my age, aren’t I?” he laughed.

“Lucky for you, I think there’s something about senior citizens I find particularly alluring,” you joked, working at the knots on his shoulders.

“Fat wallets?”

“Well, I mean, it helps. But fat something else,” you replied.

“God you’re filthy.”

“It’s your fault,” you said, rubbing his back extra hard to make him squeal.

Roger’s voice faltered, coming down from the bolt of pain, quickly succeeded by the loosening of one of the pressure points on his back. “Oh, why’s that?” he asked.

“I used to be an angel before I met you. And now? All I care about is private jets, champagne and getting shagged anywhere, anytime. How’s that for a change.”

Roger leaned back against you, pinning you between himself and the headboard as he looked up at you with his big tired doe eyes. “Well, for what it’s worth, I quite like the new you, Kitten.”

“Is that right?” you laughed, tickling your fingernails over his chest. “How’s your back feeling?”

“Much much better. I swear you’ve got magic hands.”

“And what’s on our agenda for today?”

“I was hoping I could show you around,” he smiled. “We’ve got a whole day before everyone else gets here. And we won’t have a moment to ourselves afterwards.” Then his voice descended into a naughty, mischievous whisper: “So I was hoping, if you’ll let me, we could make the most of it and be absolute heathens for the rest of the day.”

You placed a long, drawn out kiss to the top of Roger’s head and squeezed him tightly. “That sounds absolutely perfect. Especially the part about us being heathens. That suits us down to a tee, don’t you think, Daddy?”

“It really does, Kitten.”

“Well, I’m going to go and get myself ready,” you explained, untying the front of Roger’s robe to reveal his cock, resting against his stomach. Hard and fully erect. “And you can take care of that.”

“Can’t you do it for me?” Roger pouted. “That mouth of yours looks awfully tempting.”

“I’ll tell you what,” you began, “why don’t I let you know when you’re allowed to take care of it? See how long you last?”

“Oh you’re cruel,” he sighed, watching you slip off the bed and wander over to the wardrobe.

Searching through your clothes to find the optimal outfit to tease Roger in, you glanced over your shoulder. He was still sitting there, looking down at his cock, wondering whether he’d risk disobeying you. “I wonder what you’re like when you’re all needy,” you pondered.

“And what happens if I get myself off anyway?”

“I don’t think you want to know, Daddy. You’re right – I can be very, very cruel.”

Dressed and ready to face the day, you and Roger stepped out into the August sunshine. Midday wasn’t far around the corner and the sun bathed the promenade in a brilliant orange glow. Arm in arm, the pair of you strolled down towards the shimmering blue lake.

You turned your head as you walked, catching the smug grin plastered on Roger’s features. Moving closer to him, you purred in his ear. “You’re looking awfully pleased with yourself there, Roggie.”

“I’m out in my favourite town with the woman of my dreams. Why wouldn’t I be pleased with myself?” His voice was hushed, but jovial.

“I think you’ve been naughty, Daddy,” you whispered, leading Roger along the promenade towards the marketplace. “We can’t have that, can we?”

“What are you going to do about it?” he asked without so much as a flicker of fear or apprehension.

You chuckled, continuing to walk as your eyes darted from the revellers to the ornate facades on the lakefront buildings, letting the scenery brush against your sense of awareness, but never fully grasping it. Until, between a restaurant and a hotel, a cobbled alleyway caught your eye. You veered off your tranquil course, leading Roger towards the main road and away from the lake. “You’re going to be very sorry you disobeyed me once today’s over,” you cooed. The alleyway seemed to stretch up to the sky, spurring off into labyrinthine offshoots even darker and quieter than the next. Losing your breath about half way up the cobbled hill, you tugged Roger into an offshoot, pressing him against the wall. “You’re going to be so, so sorry, Daddy.”

Roger raised his eyebrows and scowled. “Just you try it, sweetheart.”

Palming at the bulge in Roger’s jeans with one hand, you pushed your sunglasses to the top of your head and looked up at Roger.

He just let it happen. It was all he could do, staring up at the clear blue sky and chuckling to himself. In his mind, he had everything to be pleased about; he had earned himself a free handjob – maybe more if he played his cards right. But that was all he wanted. 

The bustle of the promenade wasn’t far out of earshot and if he allowed you to allow him get too carried away, you risked being found out for the pair of perverts you really were. And he couldn’t let that happen.

But you weren’t going to let him off that easily. Undoing Roger’s jeans, you took his cock out; thick, hard and begging for your attention. Eyeing him up for any sign that he might be enjoying this, you pumped your hand over his length, gathering pace until you could hear each moist pass in your quiet alcove.

Roger sighed, jerking his hips into your grasp when your thumb brushed over the swollen tip. “Fuck,” he hissed, his lower lip clamped between his teeth.

“Enjoying this, Daddy?”

“Oh god, yes, Kitten. Keep going. Be quick.”

An evil flicker bolted through your eyes as you grinned up at him, relishing how worked up he became at nothing at all. “I’m gonna have to use my mouth. I know how much you love that,” you teased, sinking down on to your knees. The cobblestones were uncomfortable at best, but you’d only be in that position for a few minutes. And it’d be worth it, you thought, lapping at the underside of his shaft in lazy, wet strokes, groaning for effect. You felt the muscles in his thighs twinge when you grabbed them to steady yourself. And then his fingers, snaked their way through your hair. He wanted you to take him. To give him what he wanted there and then. But you were in control of this. Moving away from his cock with a pop of your lips and a clear thread of saliva tethering you to him, you got off your knees and wiped your chin.

Roger whined like a wounded animal. “You can’t  leave me like this, Kitten!”

“Oh, but I can, Daddy. You didn’t do as you were told this morning,” you scolded, wandering back down the cobbled alleyway, leaving him scrambling to catch up.

“But,” Roger protested, shoving his engorged member back into his jeans, “it’s so fucking obvious. How am I supposed to hide this?”

“Not my problem,” you shrugged. “Where to next?”

Roger’s mouth hung open for a moment, looking around. “We could take a boat to Chateau de Chillon?”

“Is it nice?” you asked, turning to him and placing your hand over your eyes to shield them from the rays.

“It’s gorgeous,” he blustered, leaning in to your ear. “Lots of places for you to finish sucking my cock without getting caught.”

“Whether or not you get to finish is up to me today, remember?” you scolded. “Now which way to the boats?”

Roger paled at how direct you were. How easily you took control. And how you somehow managed to turn his legs to mush with even the slightest telling off. He looked left and he looked right, and then he pointed to a jetty three blocks away. “It’s this way.”

You grabbed Roger’s arm and set off towards the small jetty of tourist boats, bobbing away in the water.

Roger’s efforts to conceal his raging hard-on didn’t go unnoticed by you. He attempted to walk behind you, hoping your handbag would hide his crotch. Then he tried grasping at the hem on his shirt, tugging it down only for it to ride up again. You could tell he was getting flustered, eager to sit down and finally cover the tent in his jeans by crossing his arms protectively over his front. In fact, when you boarded the shabby boat, you swore he had never looked so relieved.

You and Roger sat in silence on opposite sides, exchanging lustful glances the whole way there. Every so often, your gaze trailed down to his crotch, which he so desperately kept covered beneath his hands. You licked your lips and bit them for effect just so you could see your boyfriend squirm in front of a boat full of tourists.

All in all, the journey only took ten minutes but in Roger’s mind, it felt like an eternity. He didn’t care where, or how you did it, all he needed was release. He mentally kicked himself for disobeying you that morning.

Stepping off the boat and on to the wooden jetty, Roger practically dragged you in the direction of the ticket booth, paying for both of your tickets. 

“Where to first, Daddy?” you asked innocently.

Roger scanned the courtyard for the one entrance he knew he could count on. His eyes lit up when he found it. “I know just the place, Kitten,” he said excitedly, striding on ahead of you.

You snorted at his eagerness as he took two steep stone steps at a time, descending into the dark bowels of the castle into a deserted cellar.

Roger paused, glancing around. “Let’s go this way,” he ordered, jabbing his finger into the darkness ahead of you both.

“Where are we going?”

“Somewhere quiet so you can finish me off.”

“No chance,” you jibed.

Roger stopped dead and pushed you against the wall. In the darkness you could just about make out his shoulders rising and falling. “Why don’t we play a game then, darling?” he said, running his hand over your throat so tantalisingly it went straight to your core.

“I love games,” you mocked.

“First one to come today gets a punishment,” he purred, hiking up the hem of your dress. “I wonder how long you’ll last. Oh,” he paused, palming at your slit. “No knickers and a short little dress? I think you’re really trying to tease me.”

That submissive streak inside you simmered away under the surface. “I didn’t think I’d need them,” you sighed, spreading your legs for him. “Seeing how hard you get for me just gets me so wet. I’d have soaked right through them.”

Roger chuckled, and kissed your neck, lulling you into a false sense of security.

It made you wonder when the catch would come. You always suspected Roger had a sadistic streak in him, and you always wondered what it’d be like to push the limits of his happy-go-lucky nature. Maybe today was that day? 

But he was so gentle, so careful. Caressing that sweet spot between your legs with feather light touches that earned stifled, breathless moans from you. Never once did his fingers move with any kind of intent, other than to draw you out for as long as possible. And he clearly adored it.

He kept his forehead pressed to yours as he continued to tease you until his fingers were completely coated in your slick. “I think you like this, Kitten,” he whispered.

“I really do, Daddy.”

“Do you want to come?”

“Not yet.”

“I’ll let you come if you put that mouth of yours to good use.”

“You’re going to need to try harder,” you sassed.

“I thought you’d say that,” he said in a wicked tone.

Before you could choke out another sassy retort, Roger slipped two fingers inside you, curling them up against that one spot guaranteed to make you squeal his name. Then another finger joined them, stretching you out with squelching wet strokes that cut through the dark, quiet cellar. His fingers fucked you, while his thumb circled your clit in firm motions that ratcheted up the tension in your legs with every single round. “Tell me again how I need to try harder, Kitten?”

You grasped and clawed at his shoulders for stability in the throes of pure ecstasy. “Oh god, not here Daddy!”

Roger chuckled, burying his face against your neck to get better access to all the sensitive skin to drag his teeth over. “That’s what you get for teasing me, Kitten,” he whispered, his breath falling in hot feathery wisps on your skin. “Now, you can finish me here and now, or I can make you come and give you a nice punishment when we get back to the flat tonight.”

“I swear I’ll finish you,” you panted. “Please.”

Roger smirked, removing his fingers from your cunt, leaving them saturated. He pressed them to your lips. “Suck them clean,” he commanded, popping them into your mouth before your brain could register what was going on. “Hopefully this’ll teach you not to get mouthy with me.”

You hummed, wrapping your lips around each finger as he pumped them in and out of your mouth until they were all clean, wishing they were still buried in your dripping snatch. You swore your thighs were a mess by that point. But it didn’t matter. You had to let Roger believe that he was getting exactly what he wanted from you – it was all part of the plan.

You grabbed his hand and started wandering ahead, but Roger stayed firmly rooted to the spot. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.

“We need to find some privacy, Roger. We can’t  do that right here,” you whispered.

“Can’t we?” Roger smirked, nodding towards a short wall in the dark recesses of the cellar. “Pretty sure that’s private enough.”

You tugged your lower lip between your teeth, feeling your heart pounding against your chest. If it beat any more violently, it might have burst right out. You walked slowly behind the wall and got to your knees for the second time that day as Roger joined you, hastily tugging down his zipper and pulling out his cock.

Roger wasn’t planning on playing nice. Grabbing the back of your hair with one hand, while the other wrapped around the base of his cock, he looked down and smirked. “Now, be a good girl and open that gorgeous mouth of yours.”

Before you knew it, he had bottomed out; the tip pushing at the back of your throat. You gagged and spluttered and fumbled for something to steady yourself. You clung to Roger’s thighs for dear life. The pace he had set for you was utterly blistering. The kind of face fucking that instantly sent mascara cascading down your cheeks, and great, long strings of saliva dripping from your chin and on to your chest. The sounds of you gagging on his cock alone were disgustingly lewd; even concealed behind the tiny wall, if a rogue tourist happened upon the cellar, they’d hear the pair of you and know straight away what you were getting up to.

“Such a good little slut, aren’t you Kitten?” he sighed, thrusting into your mouth with reckless abandon and no consideration for the state of your hair, or your makeup. “I love girls who do as they’re told.”

The words pouring from his mouth were sheer filth and it went straight to your cunt. You  couldn’t resist reaching down to get yourself off.

But then, Roger tugged you off his cock. Right before any kind of pleasure registered in your brain.

“I didn’t say you could come, did I, Kitten?” he scolded.

You were still panting, trying to suck some air into your lungs, relishing the brief reprieve he offered from his onslaught. Your brain was so cloudy that words weren’t on the agenda.

“Let’s play a game, shall we?” he purred with a sadistic edge. “You get to play with that tight   little cunt of yours, and I get to come wherever I like. How does that sound?”

“Sounds reasonable,” you sighed with a delirious smile, your hand returning to your torture, tense cunt. But Roger’s grip on the back of your head pulled your gaze right back up to him.

“There’s one other thing, though, Kitten. Are you listening?”

“Yes, Daddy,” you cooed.

“Wherever I decide to come, you’re not allowed to clean it off until we’ve walked around the entire castle. So you better hope that mouth of yours pleases me, or it’ll be going on that beautiful face of yours.”

You moaned  hearing those words. Was he really serious? 

You didn’t care. You continued to play with yourself, dutifully opening your mouth to take his cock again.

“Can you imagine what everyone would think if they saw you with spunk dripping down your face, darling?” He groaned; he seemed to know the exact things to say to have you teetering on the edge in seconds flat. “Or maybe I could  fuck you. You love feeling it drip down those thighs, don’t you, Kitten?”

Now that was an idea, you thought. Your eyes popped open with enthusiasm as you gave an approving mewl.

“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you Kitten?” he taunted, his cock hellbent on making your jaw ache. “Tell me how much you want it.”

Of course you couldn’t manage that. Words were impossible when you were gagged by that thick rod of his stuck down your throat. But that didn’t stop you trying, gurgling a comical, “Fuck me please Daddy,” through the unrelenting mouthful.

“So cute,” he teased. “I didn’t quite catch that, Kitten.”

“Oh my god,” you gurgled again, “please fuck me Daddy.”

Roger laughed, yanking you off his cock. He spoke to you like you were a gorgeous little simpleton – slowly, annunciating every syllable. “English, please, Kitten. Tell me again.”

“Please fuck me,” you whined, your hand working overtime between your thighs. 

Then, panic set in. Roger wasn’t focusing on you anymore. Instead, he was busy looking around as the sound of footsteps grew closer. He quickly tucked himself back into his jeans and offered you a hand up.

Your stomach dropped with disappointment.

You quickly wiped the drool off your chin, and power walked out of the cellar and on to the next exhibit in the castle, red face and both of you so frustrated by each other’s teasing that you might have exploded just from walking and holding hands in awkward silence. “Where to next?” you asked him.

“Maybe we should try the armoury?” he sighed. “Might be a bit less busy.”

Clamouring up several flights of stone and wooden steps, you and Roger were horrified to find that the jewel in the crown of Montreux’s most famed tourist attractions in peak season was completely packed. Small children ran amuck in the armoury, enjoying the view and playing around with the wooden toy canons.

It was a sight that could’ve made you and Roger cry.

“Right! Back on the boat,” Roger ordered, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his dark blue jeans and bolting down the wooden steps towards the courtyard.

You struggled to keep up with him as he walked down the stony path towards the jetty to catch the next boat back to Montreux.

“I can’t fucking believe that,” Roger complained. “I was so fucking ready to …”

“Shag my brains out?” you laughed.

Roger’s features changed from bitter frustration to mild agreement, and even, a small meek smile. “Yeah.”

“Where to next,” you began, draping your arm over his shoulder, “Daddy?”

He flicked his eyes over to you and with a devilish smirk, he made his suggestion. “There’s a really good bar on the promenade. And I don’t think they’d bat an eyelid about people shagging in their toilets.”

You laughed, slapping his chest as the boat set sail. You were so ready to give up on the game you were playing. “Haven’t we had enough near misses today?”

“Oh I’m sorry,” Roger began, stepping on to the boat, “I thought we were doing the whole public sex thing now, because my girlfriend’s just realised she’s a bit of a freak!”

You plonked yourself down beside him, resting your head on his shoulder. “I am, but sometimes, you  have to make it about the soft stuff, you know?”

Roger raised an eyebrow in suspicion.

“I’m kidding! Where is this bar you were talking about? It better be good!”

“Drinks are on me, Kitten,” he said softly, patting your thigh.

You and Roger burst into the opulent bathroom at Funky Claude’s with the verve and roguish impatience of a pair of horny teenagers. You giggled, casting an eye over the decadent restroom to make sure no one was there, before bundling Roger into a stall.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” you laughed, hiking your dress up around your hips and planting your hands firmly against the wall at the back of the cubicle. 

“Me neither,” Roger responded. This was followed by the hasty unzipping of his jeans, for the third and hopefully final time that day. He spat on his fingers and dragged them over your cunt, still sensitive and glistening invitingly from the torture Roger had bestowed upon you at the castle. 

You groaned as Roger eased into you. The way he stretched you tight around his girth and stilled for just a split second made you eagerly clench around him. It didn’t do much. But that was ok. Your eyes nearly rolled into the back of your head when he finally began to move in tedious passes, every back and forth filled the tiny bathroom stall with slick sounds that would have given the game away, should someone have wandered in while you were mid rut. 

Roger’s hips snapped into you with a jagged, purposeful intent, that made you curse and brace harder against the wall in front of you. He clung to your waist with his chest firmly glued to your back, hunching over you like an animal. “Such a tight  cunt,” he moaned against your neck. “Touch it for me. Touch your cunt for me, Kitten.”

Those words made your entire body shudder with need. “You do it, Daddy,” you whined.

He chuckled and wrapped one hand around your throat. His free hand slipped between your thighs, seeking out the sensitive little nub he had taken so much pleasure in teasing so harshly before.

Your nails clawed at the wall as another wave ripped through your body. You cursed, loud and unchecked as Roger did his best to bring you to the edge as fast as possible.

But then, you heard the gentle swish of the swing doors to the bathroom. You and Roger stopped dead. His hand moved from your neck to your mouth and his lips pressed to your ear again. “Shhh,” he said, moving his cock painfully slow in. And out.

You blinked and looked around, as if somehow it would make your ears work a bit better in an attempt to track the person’s movements in the stall next to yours. You could hear them shuffle their jeans down. And you heard the stream of urine whizzing out of their bladder. And then their zipper. And a flush. And the taps.

All while Roger continued to fuck you so slowly it made you ache.

Nothing could prepare you for when the hand dryer roared to life. He moved at double the pace as when you were alone, pounding you like he was in heat; his fingers doing the same on your clit until your body convulsed and a loud, pleasure dripping moan escaped you, masked by your fellow bathroom goer drying their hands off after taking a piss.

When they finally left, Roger gave three sharp thrusts, punctuated by guttural grunts with his teeth planted in your shoulder. You could feel him dripping out of you as the pair of you stood there in silence, sandwiched together in your post romp comedown.

“Fuck,” you giggled, making his seed ooze down your thighs as you turned to him. “Can you believe we almost got caught?” Your cheeks burned with humiliation. “Do you think they realised?”

Roger shrugged, tucking his cock back into his tight blue jeans. “It was your idea, Kitten,” he said with a raised eyebrow. “And I for one, actually liked it.”

“That’s reassuring,” you quipped, balling up a wad of toilet paper.

Roger leaned back against the cubicle door and watched, mesmerised as you cleaned yourself up in front of him. Even for you, this was a new level of personal space invasion. 

“Staying for drinks?” he asked casually.

You got up and flushed the toilet then turned to him with a wide grin. “Do you think the people out there realised the two of us just blasted in and shagged in their toilets?”

“It probably happens more than you might think,” he shrugged. He turned and unbolted the door, throwing a glance back at you over his shoulder. “You finish titivating yourself and I’ll get them in. They’ve got a great cocktail menu.”

“Will do,” you sighed, following him out of the cubicle and wandering over to the mirror. Mascara was caked around your lashline from Roger’s earlier efforts at putting your mouth to good use and your lipstick was smudged, leaving only your lipliner intact. Not only that but the blistering August sun had made your foundation cling to all those tiny lines on your face that you didn’t want to admit you had. You opened your bag and fished out your make up to try and fix the damage. Your hair would require a bit more effort. Roger loved it messy, but you weren’t sure you’d be able to bear being seen in a fancy place like this with a raging crow’s nest atop your head. And you weren’t even sure you packed a brush. Snapping the emergency hair tie you wore on your wrist, you reckoned that desperate times called for desperate measures, and scooped your hair up into a high ponytail, hoping to god that Roger wouldn’t get the wrong idea and get another boner for you to take care of tonight. Then you swiped on some lipstick, blended out your mascara and your foundation and blotted on some powder to take the shine off. It never ceased to amaze you the wonders that five minutes in a quiet bathroom could do as you puckered up your lips to blot the excess rouge off. You topped it all off with some perfume and you were good to go.

Roger waited patiently at the bar, seductively sucking an olive from a cocktail stick and eyeing the cocktail menu from over the frames of his glasses. His shirt sat askew and his hair stuck up in all directions, but somehow he fitted right in with the opulence of a place like this. You could  tell he was a big deal. Sometimes, it took your breath away and made the butterflies resurface all over again, remembering that he was yours and no one else’s.

His eyes lit up when he saw you wander over to him from across the crowded room. Like two strangers on an awkward first date, unsure of how to approach each other. But pleased they had found themselves in the same place at the same time.

For some reason, putting one foot in front of the other was much more troublesome in this situation. Not from a day of wandering around Montreux, but from sheer nerves. Feeling your chest burn, you noticed all eyes in the room were on you; you ran your fingers through your ponytail, smoothed down your dress, and sucked your teeth to make sure nothing was stuck between them. Your heart thudded, wondering what exactly was wrong with you. Why were these people staring?

“What’s a beautiful girl like you doing in a dump like this?” Roger smirked when you finally reached him.

“Fella done me wrong,” you joked, hoisting yourself up on the stool next to him. You stole an olive from the dish in front of him, and elbowed his side.

Roger scanned the room at the people who stared at you. Not looking at you, he smiled. “You’re a real head turner, darling.”

“That’s probably you…” you paused, thinking of your next move. 

Why not go with it? 

This was the perfect backdrop to the most perfect date you could imagine. Admiring Roger in the glow from the low-hanging lamps over the bar, you asked him your burning question. “Would you like some company for the night?”

Roger turned to you with a mischievous glint in his eye. He slapped his hand on your thigh and said, “Only if you’ll let me buy you a drink, beautiful.” 

He was playing along.

You scooted closer to him, peering over his shoulder to read the menu in his hands, laughing quietly at the names. “I like the sound of a ‘Money,’” you said, pointing to the page.

“I’m loving this ‘Let’s Dance’ one,” Roger replied. “You know, darling, I’m actually friends with Bowie.”

You knew this. You had seen David’s number pop up on Roger’s phone on numerous occasions, and the comments they’d leave on each others’ Instagram posts. But for the sake of going along with your perfect first date, you widened your eyes in shock. Over played, hammy, fake shock. “Really? What’s he like?”

“Oh he’s great. Peculiar guy. Cracking wardrobe.”

“So are you famous or something?” you pressed, beaming at him.

The bartender ducked between you and Roger – he looked like something out of a 1920’s speakeasy, complete with black armband, suspenders and a moustache. “Monsieur Taylor – que désirez-vous?”

Roger stumbled for a moment, with an um and an ah and then, in perfect French he ordered. “Je voudrais un Money, et pour la dame, une Let’s Dance s’il vous plait.”

“D’accord Monsieur.”

Something about Roger speaking French went straight to your legs; or rather, the spot between them. “You haven’t answered my question,” you prodded, looking visibly flustered by Roger’s linguistic prowess, and squeezing your thighs together for good measure.

“You could say that, darling,” he said, shovelling a handful of nuts into his mouth. “I’m the drummer in a rock band.”

“Oh so you’re a rockstar?” you cooed. “Will I have heard of you?”

“I don’t know, darling. Ever heard of Queen? We’re kind of a big deal,” he boasted in a charmingly modest fashion.

“So that’s where I’ve seen you!” you said with wide eyes. “Personally, I’ve always thought they were kind of shit.”

Roger didn’t know how to respond to that. So instead he did that thing he usually did, where he desperately moved his lips as his usually sharp and nimble brain played a game of catchup. It lasted a few awkward seconds where all you wanted to do was to break character and yell ‘kidding’ at him. But eventually, he changed the subject. “What brings you to Montreux, darling?” he asked, resting his head against his hand as he leaned on the bar and gazed adoringly at you.

“Just some bloke, really,” you sighed.

“Really? And here was me thinking I had a chance,” he pouted. “What’s your man like?”

You lowered your eyebrows and flashed him a smile that made him instantly wish he had never even asked that question. “Well,” you hummed, “he’s lovely. I met him on Tinder, and if you ask me, he’s far too old to be on there. But anyway, I let all that slide. Gave him a chance.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Because he’s everything I could ever want. Shorter than I thought from his pictures, though. Still tall enough. Handsome. Great dress sense. He’s surprisingly intelligent, considering how beautiful he is. And, here’s the kicker. He has the most devilish, vile sense of humour I’ve ever encountered.”

“He sounds like a catch,” Roger sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“He is. I’ve only been with him a short while and he’s completely changed my life for the better. I’m so much more confident because of him. But anyway, why are you here?” you asked, turning to face him and shuffling in your seat.

“A woman.”

“What’s she like?”

“Well, she’s the polar opposite of my ex wife and the kind of woman I should’ve married. So sensible and carefree at the same time. And she really makes me want to be better, you know? I never felt like I could have a life with my ex wife. But this girl. God, she’s got me thinking about it. I don’t know if I’ve missed the boat with all the settling down business. I hope not. Because she’s all I want.”

“And yet you’re in a fancy bar, buying a strange girl a very overpriced drink?” you asked with a wink.

“I think we’ve met before,” he sighed, closing his eyes ever so slightly.

“I think so too,” you said.

Roger turned his gaze towards the bartender, watching him as he made your drinks. You could barely hear the sounds that came out of his mouth. But his lips sure as hell looked like they were saying something important. 

Like: “I love you.”

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