#so i sent them a clip of it and they were like holy shit goddamn

[wawawawawawawawawawawawawa]

i might for funsies do some drr redubs for practice heehee (i'm a voice actor but just as a hobby rn) cuz my voice droppes because of the T so i need to practice- i dont JUST use my normal speaking voice (i lowkey NEVER do lmfao) but i totally change my voice, so i need to practice doing that with my larynx as different as it is

[chanluster]

business proposals | {m}

oneshot | ceo! au | 10.9k words

“It was about time you addressed the cat and mouse game you and your boss have been playing for a time.”

s u m m a r y > > clashing heads with your annoyingly attractive boss was your everyday activity, but when a new, beautiful client comes in for the day you find yourself getting jealous. mr. lee, catching on, uses it to his absolute advantage, causing you to end up in a situation you did not think would end well. fortunately for you, with the way your dark-minded ceo’s mind worked, despite the hiccups in the middle, it ended just perfectly.

w a r n i n g s > > ceo! minho, secretary! reader, you get so annoyed at him all the time, he annoys you all the time, constant teasing, a fuckload of swearing, soooo much (kinda shit) sexual tension, flirtation back and FORTH, titles of endearment, minho is such a fucking dom, reader is a fucking BRAT, making out, fingering, oral (m. and f. receiving) you try to give him blueballs, unprotected sex (stay safe homies!!), semi-public sex (i mean they do it in his office so like), multiple orgasms, y’all be arguing during it all too HELP, minho has a sir kink sjsjskke, minho is so AGGRESSIVE HOLY SHIT, SO MUCH degradation, use of gags? (i mean he uses his tie so) basically you are 100% minho’s bitch by the end period!!

a u t h o r ’ s  n o t e > > hello horny fia is back again with a minho oneshot because she can not control herself!!!1!1! thank you @hyuckworld​ for so much inspo and helping me out omfg the tie thing still on my mind !1!1! anyway this is inspired by minho’s soribada look cause he mf SERVED! and i hope y’all enjoy !

back to masterlist

YOUR SMILE WAS MORE LIKE A FLASH OF TEETH.

“For the last time,” you seethed, trying your very best to contain your bubbling temper, “You cannot see him if you don’t have an appointment.”

The woman before you, a striking image of curls and curves, fitted red dress, white blazer, and Louboutins elevating her height, knifed you with finely-lined eyes. “But I don’t need an appointment! Mr. Lee said so himself I could arrive at his office when I wished to speak with him!”

You pursed your lips. Of course Mr. Fucking Lee said so.

“Well, there’s nothing I can do about it, Miss Kim.” You turned to your computer, opening up the list of clients intended to meet your boss this afternoon. Sure enough, this woman’s name was not accompanied with the others. Once again, he had said some pretty words, but had not reminded you of them so you could write it down for official backing.

You could not help typing a little furiously. It was like he was trying to make your life harder.

“I demand to see him!” Miss Kim exclaimed, raising her voice so the other employees, who were scattered before you at their desks, working away, paused, witnessing the commotion. “I did not travel from another city to be rejected!”

“Ma’am,” you guttered, hands on the telephone, ready to call security, when the misty, glass-like door beside you swung upon.

A firm, sultry voice resonated in the room.

“What is the meaning of this noise?”

Out stepped the one man you were hoping would stay seated in his office.

You turned around in your seat, looking up at the suited figure of Lee Minho — CEO of the corporation you worked under, and the mastermind behind the technological revolution in your city.

He certainly looked the part: black suit unbuttoned with his tie hanging, white shirt contrasting the colours. His trousers hugged his thighs a little too tightly for your own good, designer branded shoes adorning his feet. His dark brown locks were cascading over his forehead, and his calculating eyes assessed the room, finding the reason for such noise behind his doors.

His gaze settled on the woman. “Ah, Miss Kim!” He declared, a known dazzling smile upon his lips. “It’s good you’ve arrived.”

“Of course I would come,” she said, darting her glare back to you. “This little assistant of yours was ready to throw me out of the building.”

A slight tilt of his head. “Oh, really?”

Then, his eyes descended on you, seated before him, and you noticed something already stirring behind them. “And why was this ‘little assistant of mine’ booting you out of here?”

You pointed to your computer. “She’s not on your list of appointments for today.”

“So?” A glance at the woman. “When a pretty lady asks to see me, you oblige her, understand?”

Seething, you lock your hands together. “Then what is the point of the list when you won’t follow it?”

You nearly gasped in anger when you caught slight mischief in his eyes. “Keeping you on your toes, ____.”

“As always,” you hissed, returning his malicious smirk with a scowl.

He only chuckled at your lack of amusement, turning to the woman once more. “Miss Kim,” he addressed her, opening the door, gesturing for her to enter. “Come inside.”

“Thank you, Mr. Lee,” she simpered out, widening her sharp grin at you before going inside his office.

The man stood, regarding you for a minute. You glanced at him, frown still there. “Yes?”

“I am not to be disturbed,” he said, gaze a little too intense for your liking. “Is that understood?”

You made sure to match his stare. “Yes, sir.”

And you could have sworn his lips twitched upward when he turned to his office, entering after the woman.

When the door slid shut, you let out a shuddering breath.

Why in hell were you holding your breath?

“God,” you muttered, furiously typing away on your computer, noticing another presence approaching you. “He’s going to be the death of me.”

“Do not tell me you’re talking about Mr. Lee here.”

You looked up, and rolled your eyes to find Kim Seungmin, one of the salesmen for the firm, standing before you, files in hand and a knowing smile on his lips. “I am, as a matter of fact,” you said. “And how much I want to kill him.”

The man gave you a look. “Now see, I don’t think ‘kill’ was the word I thought you’d use.”

“Oh yeah?” You crossed your arms. “Then what word do you think I’d use?”

“I don’t know, like…” his adorable smile was so unlike his words. “Kiss? Fuck even?”

You let out a harsh gasp, nearly whacking his arm with your scattered files. “Oh my God!”

“You can’t deny it, ____!” Seungmin pointed to the door. “You have a massive crush on him!”

“How can you even say that!” you demanded, pulling you near him so the others around you did not hear. “I hate that cocky bastard.”

Your friend clicked his tongue at your statement. “Then can you please explain to me why you both got enough sexual tension to suffocate the entire building?”

“We do not,” you refused instantly, picking up your mug of coffee. “You’re mistaking my bloodlust with just lust.”

“Can you at least stop pretending to me that you don’t want to suck his dick?”

Nearly choking on your coffee, you struggled it down, sending a sharp glare. “I don’t!” you raised your chin. “I bet it’s tiny anyway. Wouldn't have anything for me to suck on.”

Now that, of all the things you said that afternoon, was a complete, full blown, almost offensive, lie.

Not that you’ve caught a glimpse at the package which settled between Lee Minho’s legs. Well, you had, to your own shame, and were burning at the clothed sight, proving your little claim extremely incorrect. Your boss, devastatingly, had something substantial going for him.

Seungmin’s little laugh had you dropping down to reality. “You were thinking about his cock just now, weren’t you?”

Cheeks burning, you waved him off, groaning as you went back to your computer. Minho’s appointments looked oh so interesting. “Fuck off, Min.”

His laughter only deepened as he stepped away. “There’s no hope for you, girl. You keep daydreaming about that.”

If it weren’t for the people around you, you would have happily sent him away with a middle finger, but figured you should hang onto any scrap of professionalism left in you. The only thing you could do now was write up the new appointments for next week. Or perhaps play some Solitaire.

Anything to stop you thinking about him.

You twisted your lips into a scowl.

This was so unbelievable. Lee Minho was the greatest, most notorious asshole you knew of, yet here you were, like an absolute moron, pondering over him as if he was a lost love. All the time, when it was in meetings, or just bumping each other in the office breakroom, he managed to piss you off without effort, watching you enraged with a disgustingly ravishing smile on his revoltingly beautiful face. It was so, goddamn unfair, that he could rile you up so easily when all you could do was make him more amused.

To hell with him and his fine ass, you thought as you closed all tabs, opening up Solitaire.

Just as you thought you found a moment’s peace in this building, you heard the phone ring drastically loud, stopping you from completing a full set of one deck. Already irritated, you tried to suppress it as you picked up the handset, pressing it to your ear. “Minho and Company?”

The voice that greeted your ears made it incredibly hard to reign in your irritation. “Have you finished the list?”

“No,” was your clipped reply. You focused on the game, matching the cards to the deck of hearts.

“And when will this list finish?”

“I’m a busy woman, you know,” you drawled, aggressively clicking on your mouse. “You give me so much work it’s hard to keep up.”

“Oh, really?” Fuck him, you could hear the taunting in his voice. “So you don’t spend all day playing those stupid Windows games on your work computer?”

Your anger paused, eyes widening. The lack of response had the man cackling through the phone. “I bet you’re on that same card game you always play when you’re trying to avoid my tasks. What was the name again?”

“I can assure you, sir, I am not playing Solitaire.” You then sucked in an agitated breath at your mistake.

“Ah, that’s right.” You hated how you could hear the smirk playing on his lips. “Playing Solitaire and ignoring my work.”

Were you mistaken, or had his voice descended an octave? With the way you bit your lip, you knew you were caught anyway. “I’ll get the list done.”

“Mmm,” he got out, the low baritone still there. “And address me properly when you talk to me.”

Oh my God. “I’ll get the damned list done, sir.”

A small pause. “Good girl.”

And the line cut off.

Your hand nearly went limp holding the phone.

Good girl.

“Shut the fuck up,” you muttered, slamming the handset back in its place, feeling yourself heat up a frightening rate. “Cocky prick.”

All those curses towards him, and yet your cheeks still burned.

You did not cease your profanity — this time aiming more towards your own self.

Dear Lord. You really were in for it this time.

MINHO AND MISS KIM WERE STILL IN THAT ROOM BY THE TIME YOU HAD TO LEAVE THE OFFICE.

You decided to stay a little longer, finishing up the last of the tasks he’d assigned to you, and an hour later, when Seungmin passed your desk to exit the building, he darted his eyes to his boss’ door and wiggled his brows your way.

“Shut up,” you snapped at him, earning a cheeky smile.

“I wonder what they’re doing in there,” he thought out loud, propping a hand on your table.

You typed away, trying to dismiss the worst assumptions in your mind. “I don’t particularly care.”

Seungmin, damn him, could see right through you. “Then why are you still here? Pretending that I didn’t catch you with your ear to the door hours before?”

Unfortunately, he wasn’t lying. About three hours into the meeting, you became so restless you tried to listen in on what exactly was going on. It sounded so bizarre, when Minho had to sit in hours-long meetings every other day, but him alone in his office with that girl didn’t settle well with you.

“Oh, jealousy!” Seungmin chanted, pointing at your face. “Is that you I see before me?”

“Go away!” you waved him off, glowering at him. “I’m not jealous of some girl I saw today. Her and Minho can do whatever they want.”

“Whatever you say, ____,” he said, but the knowing smile lingered, aggravating you even more. “Good night.”

“Good night, Min,” you muttered, waiting for the man to turn out of the building before swinging in your chair.

The door welcomed you still.

You bit the inside of your cheek. Now see, you should not be letting your mind wander. Especially in situations which included your boss, another girl, and closed doors. Your gut twisted at the thought, and you were surprised at such a reaction.

What if Seungmin was right?

“No!” you whispered furiously to yourself, turning back to your computer. “Not jealous, just curious.”

Yes, that’s right. Just interested to know what the fuck they’re talking so long for.

“Oh God,” you breathed out, pressing your legs together. Maybe your friend was right. “Shit.”

Suddenly, you got up from your seat, picking up any scrap of paper and hurrying to the door. Pressing your ear to the misted glass, fingers clasping the metal handle. You could hear soft murmurs, a little laughter, but other than that, you failed to hear anything coherent.

This brought you even more agitation upon you. Doing something wrong, and it wasn’t even going as planned. This is what happened when you let yourself feel something.

Oh, no. Now you even admitted it to yourself that you had felt something for the asshole. If he ever heard of this, you would probably have to quit this job.

You pressed harder on the handle, never been more frustrated in your life than you were at that time. You were pathetic. Utterly disgraceful, but you could not help when you could not deny that Lee Minho-

You could not finish the thought.

Not when your hand slid on the handle too hard, swinging open the door. You let out a shrill screech as you stumbled inside the office, papers leaving your hands.

The conversation ceased, and you did not need to see them to know their eyes were on you.

Minho’s honey voice filled the room.

“What is this intrusion?”

You looked up, and felt your heart stop.

There he was, sitting leaned back at his plush executive chair, spinning a pen between his fingers. His brown locks were now raked back, a few strays cascading on the side of his forehead. His blazer was off, hung on his chair, and his shirt was tight on his hard chest.

Steadying yourself, but not your butterflies inside, you also saw Miss Kim hovering over him, showing him a few documents with her head a little close to his. She glanced up at you, and her face soured.

Minho snapped his fingers, shaking you out of your staring. “I asked you a question, ____.”

You wanted to snap at him, but reigned it in. “Sorry, but…”

But what? Not like you came in here with a plan.

Your eyes slid down to fallen files on the floor. “I needed to discuss...a proposal!”

Kneeling down, you picked up the scattered pieces of paper, on your feet in an instant. “Yes. A business proposal I needed to talk about.”

The man was not stupid; he saw right through your feeble excuse, with the impish gleam in his gaze. “Is that so?”

“What else would it be?” you pressed, masking your growing nerves with your irked frown.

His lips began to curve. You both stared each other down, refusing to back away. Miss Kim cleared her throat, even more angered by you now receiving his full attention.

“Shall I continue or…?” she carried off, completely deprived of his regard. Only when you glanced at her did his smile waver, raising the file.

He kept his eyes on you. “We can review this later,” he said to Miss Kim. He then addressed you. “And this time I’ll have an actual meeting planned. Happy,  ____?”

You couldn’t suppress a scoff, not gone unnoticed yet unaddressed, as the woman took the files from him. She sent him a dazzling smile. “I will see you later, Mr. Lee.”

He returned it with a nod, watching her stroll past you, and out of the office. You watched the door close itself, sensing the silence more now the two of you were alone.

The quiet stretched on for longer before a hard sigh had you facing your boss once again.

“Beautiful, isn’t she,” he began, observing you from his rather messy desk.

That little comment of his pissed you right off. “The prettiest, in my opinion,” you crowed, gripping onto the files harder.

You then caught the shit-eating grin upon his face, and marred your face in a frown, causing him to splutter into laughter.

“Stop laughing,” you spat, but that only made him more breathless. “Oh, I’m leaving!”

“No you’re not,” he rasped out, finally calming down.  He raised a hand across the chair before his desk. “You’re going to sit down and tell me of the proposals.”

A retort was on your tongue when you stopped, taking in his order. “Proposals?”

He cocked his head slightly, stray hairs tumbling with the action. “You said when you burst into my office that-”

He halted himself, everything falling into place.

When he focused on you this time, your stomach coiled at the way his smirk lit up his face. “Are you telling me you pretended to have appointments so you’d have that woman out of my room?”

The lack of response on his question had the man chortling. “My, my. Why so jealous, doll?” He gripped onto the arms of his chair, leaving the seat. “If you wanted me alone all you had to do was ask.”

Taking a step away from the desk, his fingers drummed on the table. “I wouldn’t have insisted on making an appointment either.”

A last surge of courage passed through you, especially from his words. “And what would you have done?” you got out.

The drumming paused, more from surprise at your question.

His piercing stare positively flared. “I don’t think you’d be able to handle it,” he guttered.

I don’t think you’d be able to handle it.

You didn’t know why that enraged you so much.

The cat and mouse game, once again being deflated by his words, leaving you disappointed. Why should you accept defeat this time?

You made sure he heard your thoughts.

“God, you really are a fucking prick!”

A pause. “Why would that be?” He took a step towards you, sharp brows furrowing.

“You…” staring at him, you screwed your face up in anger. “Toying with me all this time, yet doing nothing about it!”

That fine eyebrow was raised, but you carried on, refusing to let him speak. “Every single day, without fail, we see each other, bicker back and forth, and for what? Me all frustrated and you just enjoying it?”

You made sure you knifed your boss with a glare. “You just say words and leave. That’s all you can do.”

There was an eerie stillness after that — a slight shift in Minho’s demeanour, as his eyes narrowed, darkened at your claim. His hands, in his pockets before, slid out, and you saw they were fisted tightly.

“What did you say?”

“You heard me perfectly, sir,” you spat, that damned word he made sure you said every time . “You’re all bark and no bite.

“You’re a fucking coward.”

There it was.

The allegation against him. The words you’ve been wanting to say for so long, because you let yourself feel something for this man, and fuck, if he did not do anything about it you would quit this job here and now.

His next words were a mere whisper. They did not possess a hint of softness.

“Do you really think that?”

Another step.

Veins, slight before, we’re now more visible on his hands, trailing all the way up to the edge of the rolled up sleeves. When you caught his gaze, you nearly gasped at the pure, carnal fire that blazed within.

“Calling me a coward.”

Before you knew it, the man thundered towards you, and those veiny hands gripped your waist, pulling you to him in an iron grip. A small hiss escaped you at the sudden restraint.

“Don’t you dare call me a fucking coward again.”

His breath fanned your mouth, you mere inches from him. You made sure you kept your ground till the very end. Wherever that led you.

“Or what?” Your hands slid up to his shoulders. “Not like you would do anything. As per usual.”

And as the heavy silence reigned on the both of you, you had a little realisation.

Those words might have just been your undoing.

Because the second they left your tongue, Lee Minho growled fiercely before colliding his lips against yours.

His mouth snatched the very breath from you, an instant whine trying to escape yet refused by his lips, capturing yours and taking you with the strength of a wild beast. You nearly fell backwards from the pure momentum but were saved by his hands on you, branding their place on your skin.

The most surprising part was how you kissed him back with the same anger. The same rage which simmered the very first day you argued with him, and vowed to make his life a living hell, just like how he made yours unbearable during work. He captured your lower lip and began sucking on the flesh, and an obscenely loud moan escaped you at the contact.

The bastard was good. He was so, fucking good.

Just when you thought he’d go deeper, he pulled away, a thin bridge of saliva connecting the both of yours lips.

The trail broke when he took a step back, settling himself on his seat. That glistening mouth curved into a feline smirk, thumb stroking his lower lip.

“Still a coward, doll?”

You nearly collapsed without his hold. He took notice of your position, and scoffed at your weakness. “Looks like you took up the role instead.”

“How is that,” you rasped out, breath still uneven.  “When you’re the one who stopped to sit down?”

Taking a step before him, your knees brushed against his own. “Looks like grandpa needs a rest.”

The comment had Minho’s eyes set ablaze. “You fucking—”

His hands reached out, tugging you upon him as he stayed seated. Your legs kneeled on either side of him, straddling him as you wrapped your arms around his neck, willingly accepting his lips. They worked so hypnotically with yours that you did not realise them opening your mouth completely, with his tongue sliding inside. He explored everywhere, finding your own tongue and swirling it along with his, ruining any chance of you suppressing your groaning at his actions.

Perhaps Minho took notice of your stubbornness, because his hands landed on your thighs, fingers tracing the hem of your skirt. You let the groan free as he hitched the fabric higher, higher, higher, removing himself from your lips and descending down, pouncing on a particular patch of skin on your neck.

“Already so—” he sucked hard on your neck, revelling in your whines, “—already so loud when I’ve only just kissed you?”

“Fuck you,” you breathed out, digging his nails into his shirt. He cackled at your response, sinking his teeth and creating the first bruise of the evening.

“I’m gonna have to teach you some manners,” he whispered onto your skin, raising your skirt high enough that your intricate lacing of your lingerie, black as the night, began to show. Minho practically salivated at the image; you knew from the raging lining beneath his trousers.

“All talk,” you merely said, despite the uneven breathing. “All talk and no action.”

His thumbs pressed into your thighs, ceasing your words with a little whine. It had the man capturing your lips again, pulling you down with his hands on your legs, closing any distance between you two, needing to have you all over him. Your lips swelled, bruised by the rough handling of your boss’ mouth, ravaging you in ways you didn’t dare dream of. His fingers, trailing up your skin once again, curled under the waistband of your underwear.

Your heart hammered in your chest at his touch. He was being too slow, too damn slow while you dripped with the beginning of arousal, making you a shuddering mess.

Lee Minho was about to slide the lace down when a shrill call flooded the room.

Both of you stopped dead in your tracks. The man whirled to the origins of the sound, coming from his wide open laptop — a notification for joining a meeting call popped up on the screen, automatically picking up in about five seconds.

Your boss nearly had a heart attack.

With quick thinking, Minho pried you off him, practically dumping you upon the floor with a slight groan. His hands gathered you under the table, pressing a finger to your lips with a stern look before disappearing up on his desk.

You let out a deliberately loud scoff just before he accepted the call, fingers swiping down to pinch you for calling out. You could not see his face, only from the navel down, sat right before you, caging you with his legs.

“Ah, Mr. Lee!”

A gasp almost escaped you, but remembered his glare and actually stopped. One make out session and you already obeyed him like a servant.

Over your dead body.

Your boss’ low growl had you widening your eyes. “What do you want, Chan?”

The hazy answer revealed his employee’s concern. “Mr. Lee, are you okay?” You heard him say through the laptop speaker.

You saw Minho’s leg start bouncing rapidly, and although you could not see his expression, you knew that he was, most definitely, pissed off. “I’m perfect. Fantastic even. Now what do you want?”

You were ready to sit still, wait through the meeting as Chan’s uncertain voice spoke of some specific business deals that needed to be confirmed, few details that needed to be checked over. However, the way your arousal still dripped, ever so slowly, was a weight, reminding you of the activities occurring mere moments before. You didn’t even bother to pull your skirt down.

It was settled. You needed this problem of yours solved now, or never.

Fortunately for you, your solution was presented to you, right before your eyes, and right between Minho’s legs.

His cock still stood, erect against the lining of his trousers.

You gulped at the sight. The bastard was mean, flaunting it all before you, knowing you would have thrust it straight in your mouth if you hadn’t been interrupted.

A spark ignited within you. Why should it stop you now?

Oh God. Why were you suddenly becoming so bold? Was it you, being so turned on that you needed your needs met without wait? Whatever the reason, you found nothing to argue against it.

If Minho was playing games with you, then you would play along with him.

Hands stretching on the floor, you crawled towards him, settling yourself between the space his legs created. Kneeling slightly, your fingers extended towards the zipper on his trousers, prying it down.

The man stilled under your touch.

Head protruding from the edge of the table, you spied Minho’s eyes, ever so carefully darting down to you, his mouth parting slightly under the cover of his hand. He hummed at Chan’s words, but you knew his interest was rooted only to you and your daring fingers.

When you unzipped his trousers, ready to peel them down, his other hand, out of the sight of the laptop, caught your wrist. His grip dug into your skin, stopping you in your tracks.

You looked up at him, making sure you expose your desperation in your eyes. His own widened, only for a second before dragging them back on the screen. A smirk curved onto your lips, knowing he was so affected by your mere actions. How you dared to toy with your boss.

The pout-like expression paid off, when the grip on your wrist loosened. Hurriedly your hands went to the waistband of his trousers, pulling the fabric down, and you had to commend Minho’s ability to look so calm when you were practically drooling at the sight that welcomed you.

You did not even bother to pull the pants right down, stopping just under his knees as you admired his finely sculpted thighs. It was no secret that your boss worked out everyday after he was done with meetings, and every time you caught evidence of his toils you wished you didn’t inwardly moan at the sight. His taut muscle stretched all the way up to his underwear, slightly soiled at the tip of his dick, outlined against the fabric.

Minho glanced down for a second at his antics, and when he looked back at the laptop again there was a ghost of a smirk on his lips.

“Chan, hurry and finish this up,” he jeered.

This was enough signal to start peeling his boxers down too.

Your eyes nearly popped out of your sockets when you saw his cock spring free, curving proudly with its tip inches from his abdomen. The top glistened with the pre-cum, trailing down the length.

Oh dear God.

Your index, on instinct, reached out, cutting the white trail as you journeyed up the shaft. Minho’s low, barely audible growl had you shivering.

“Mr. Lee, you don’t look so well,” you heard the hazy worry of your coworker. You couldn’t help the giggle, and Minho’s side glare had you grinning.

He was not the one in control at the moment.

“I said I’m fine, Chan,” he snapped, and when you swiped up the remaining pre-cum on the head his dick twitched, a choked breath escaping. “Perfectly fine!”

“Uh, okay, then, this won’t take much longer…”

You, on the other hand, were just getting started.

Fingers, first stroking up the shaft, now wrapped around his cock, and with your heart in your throat you began a slow rhythm of sliding your hand up and down. Glancing up, you caught the colour of his face draining, using every ounce of his strength not to groan out loud.

You savoured the harsh tick in his jaw, quickening your pace and watched the man lose his cool, nerves in his neck protruding. Oh God, he was on the edge of his patience. It only encouraged your risky behaviour, dick hardening even more beneath your touch.

Still, there was no vocal outcry, to your irritation. You wanted to embarrass him during his meeting. Make him shut that laptop and moan out what he’s feeling. With these goals in mind, you cupped the base, and snuck a little closer, your face mere inches from his cock.

Taking one last peek at his paled face, you brought out your tongue and slid it along the head.

A soft groan emitted from your boss.

Chan’s monologuing of events paused, but the look on Minho’s face had him hurriedly continuing, while you progressed on, lapping up the remaining pre-cum you couldn’t catch with your index. You were never fond of the taste, but you took it in anyway, just to see the bastard’s mouth part in a way which had you almost leaking too.

Done with the soft, kitty licks, you hung on to your courage as you opened your mouth a little wider, taking in the head with your lips. Your hands stay wrapped around his cock as you, slowly, so slowly, went down, taking in inch by inch.

Minho’s fist smacked against the desk.

“Mr. Lee—”

“Ask me again, and you’re fired,” your boss guttered, hips sliding forward to push his cock further into your mouth. You nearly gagged at the action, but take it all in, obliging him because then you created a pattern of bobbing your head. Up and down, going easy, relaxed at first, you were sure Lee Minho was going to bring down his office.

But he didn’t.

And all because of that fucking meeting.

Suddenly angered, you did not bother fastening your pace, ready to give him blue balls for not reacting to your touches. Your mouth was back on top, lips still wrapped around the head, when you looked up at your boss through your lashes.

He stared down at you. Widened his eyes at the sight of you still enveloping his cock with your mouth, your gaze revealing the irritation of his lack of response.

Oh, he’ll give you something to work with.

His hand immediately when to the back of your head, stopping you from leaving as the other hand grabbed at the laptop screen.

Chan knew exactly what he was about to do. “Mr. Lee, I still have one more thing—”

You did not hear anymore, hearing the sharp SNAP! of the laptop shutting.

The silence returned, but did not stay for long as, gradually, Minho looked down at you, properly this time, and offered you such a lust-filled stare you were glad you did not leave your place upon his cock.

“Did you really think, doll,” he whispered, running his fingers through your hair, “That I was going to let you leave me? Just like that?”

You did not answer back — obviously, because your mouth was a little occupied, but you raised your brows at him, hands tightening at his base. He let out a shuddered breath, chuckling.

“Still a brat, hmm? At least you’re not talking back.”

He tugged harder at your locks. “If this was the way to shut you up, I would have done it a long time ago.”

Although your cheeks burned, you made sure to shut him up when you started your flow once again, closing your eyes as you went up and down on him.

Only this time, you had a little assistance.

Minho’s groaning roamed the room, like sweet music to your ears as you gradually fastened, working his dick with your hands too. Instinctively, the man bucked his hips into you, needing to have all of his inches in your mouth, needing to release all that pent up frustration that you created for him.

He said as much.

“Look at you,” he rasped up at you, curling away flyaways from your face as you worked on him. “Taking all of my cock…ah, all of my cock in your pretty little mouth.”

His filth was encouragement, and as you were sucking harder you could tell he was getting near. Pride washed over you, as your one of your hands reached out to play with his balls, earning a harsh moan from his lips.

“Ah—keep going, doll,” he rasped, his hips straying from a solid rhythm, knowing he’s going to let go soon if you kept up at this rate. “Doing so well.”

Perhaps these pieces of praise had you looking up, making sure he was watching as you hollowed your cheeks, taking him all in fully, a slight curve to your lips.

The absolute sin in the image of you kneeling before him, with his full length in you, had him crying out. He could not control the release that shot into your throat, pouring down and making you gag at its suddenness. Still, you took it all in, accepted the cum instead of spitting it out.

When he was finished, slightly heaving, his eyes danced at you slowly swallowing it down, a challenge in the quirk of your brow. Sweat beaded down at your forehead, but knowing you had Minho moaning over your skill was something to take pride in.

Lapping up the remaining cum, you swiped it off with the back of your hand. “Nice meeting, sir?”

The man could only laugh at your comment, so normal despite the situation. ”Adequate,” he drawled, pulling his boxers and trousers up as he cleaned off his dick. “But there’s still much to discuss.”

He wheeled his chair back, arms wrapping around you to free you from under the desk. You were glad of his help, for your legs were near-buckling. He noticed this too, for a smirk began to play on his lips.

Leaving you for a just a moment, he turned to his desk. He threw all his work off the top, paper and stationary flying from the table and scattering onto the floor. His laptop was thrusted at the ends of the table, unable to be a distraction.

“Hey, your papers will be all messed up,” you started, but he surprised you with a heart-searing kiss, making you almost collapse. You let his tongue slide inside instantly, hands gripping harder onto your hips as he tasted his release on your tongue, and when he roughly tugged on your lower lip, you gasped lightly at the harsh treatment.

He backed you further, the back of your upper thighs hitting his desk, and when he left your lips, his dark gaze had you weakened.

“I don’t really give a fuck about the papers right now, doll.”

You would have leaked out your arousal there and then. “Minho—”

“Did I tell you to call me Minho?” He demanded, fingers digging into your hips. Dazed, you tilted your head, only wanting his tongue down your throat again.

Catching the expression, he shook his head. “I’ll let you off today because you’re being a good little bitch this time.”

Dear God, you hated how you loved being called that.

His tongue working on your neck had you whimpering. “It’s sir to you, understand?”

You already had a counterpoint to piss him off with, but the animalistic threat in his eyes had you gulping. “Yes sir.”

The title had him going hard all over again. He teethed another hickey onto your skin, finding solace in the crook of your neck.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten you all wet for me before, doll,” he whispered, hands sliding down, gripping the hem of your skirt. He hurriedly hitched it upwards, bunching it at your hips.

His fingers skimmed over your thighs before feeling the soft silk of your black lingerie, a familiar sight. “Ah, see?” His sole index traced over the front, dipping the fabric in your slit, already staining with your arousal. “All wet, just for me.”

“Stop it,” you whined, hands on his shoulders. “Stop teasing.”

“Since when do you order me around, ____?” He crowed, palming your clothed cunt, completely ignoring your demands. A ragged breath escaped you at the friction, so pleasurably wonderful you feared what would happen to you when he plays with you without the thin layer.

His attitude, however, still pissed you right off.

“I’ll be dried up by the time you start,” you seethed at him, nails digging into his shoulders. Provoking him was your only option, to get him to stop beating around and rail you on his desk.

“I don’t think so, doll,” he purred, other hand playing with the bands of your panties. You were about to snap when he hooked a finger over the hem of the lace and slid the underwear right down, just above your knee, and your breathing hitched as you found his gaze rooted to your now exposed cunt, already glistening from your arousal.

Minho’s mouth was practically salivating.

Despite the nerves growing in your belly, you still snapped him out of his mind drooling. “Are you going to just keep staring? Because that isn’t going to make me cum.”

His eyes slid to you, and shit, you could tell how much he wanted to beat your ass for your useless commentary. “Don’t make me shut you up again.”

“Talk, talk, talk,” you provoked, grabbing hold of his black tie.

A primal growl emitted from his throat, and when his fingers began skimming over the surface, you let out a whimper. “Oh, so my little doll wants to cum all over my fingers, then?” he muttered, eyes gleaming with an indecipherable goal.

His dirty words, along with him playing over your folds, had your stomach all knotted up. It was this tight feeling which had you breathing out, “Yes sir.”

The title at the end which had him slipping the first finger inside of you.

The feeling of his index sliding inside had you moaning much too loud for an action so small. Minho thoroughly enjoyed your reaction, finger almost fully inside when he palmed your core as well, already had you halfway there to your own undoing.

When his finger was up to the knuckle, his other hand found refuge in your locks, leaving open-mouthed kisses along your throat. He began to slowly pull out, creating the same gradual rhythm you had when your mouth was on his cock before. When only the pad of his finger was inside, he thrust back in, making you whine at the rush.

If that was not enough, a second finger joined in on his labour, stretching your walls and you hissed at the snugness of his digits in your cunt, continuing that pattern which had you crying out from pure ecstasy. Damn the bastard, but he was so good at making you helpless.

A deep feeling settled in your gut, and you knew if he kept up at this, you were going to cum all over him. “I-I’m close,” you got out, wrapping your hand around the tie further, pulling him even closer.

Minho, satisfied with creating a painting of lovebites upon your neck, locked your gaze with his. You were surprised to find sinister mischief in his eyes. “My babydoll is going to cum, now?” he questioned, further puzzled to hear softness in his usual fire-like voice. You nodded desperately, praying that he finger-fucks you after this calm. All you desired now was sweet release.

Which was why you cried out in protest when he slipped his fingers out entirely.

Your lust-hazed eyes looked at him, all wide. “Wh-what?”

The arousal-stained fingers gripped your thigh, a small yelp escaping you. The man’s other hand gripped your chain, making sure you don’t break his carnal stare. “You don’t get to cum unless I say so.”

You nearly sobbed as you felt your orgasm start to fade. You knifed him with a glare, pulling him a hair’s breadth from you with the tie. “What the fuck is up with that, sir?”

His grip on your chin tightened. “Don’t argue back, doll.”

The two digits were pushed inside you once again, and still, damn your senses, your breathing hitched. “If I see release on my fingers, I’ll fuck the orgasm up, understand?”

Although the nerves were back, you wished looks could kill when you stared at him. So he’s going to keep toying with you, then?

Well. Two could play that game.

You convinced him with a timid smile, wrapping your hand around his tie all the way. “As you say, sir.”

Delighted at your response, he struck up that hypnotic flow of his fingers, slowly pumping inside of you. Of course, you relished the way he worked within you, knowing he was waiting for the final cry when he hit a specific spot, but you had to show him your place.

Instead of moaning down the office, like you wished you would, your stubbornness silenced you completely.

Even when Minho fastened his pace, making it incredibly hard for you to stay rigid, you gave him a taste of his own medicine, not a single whine escaping you, just the way he stayed angrily quiet in the meeting. His tie was your only source of venting out your frustration, pulling on it so harshly you wondered how the man’s neck hadn’t given in yet.

A strange sense of hysteria bubbled within you when your boss noticed your silence. Snarling, he dug deeper, and when he hit your g-spot, your eyes nearly burst out of your sockets.

“Being a fucking brat again?” he retorted, fingers playing with the spot until finally, a soft whine came free of your tongue. “Trying to mock me?”

You took in a ragged breath, hair a mess, courtesy of his hand. You glared and glared, but still, you refused to say anything. Refused to say a word, and when you saw his mouth twist into a scowl you savoured his anger.

He ripped his hand from your tie, loosening it from his neck. He straightened it out, every action fuelled with aggression. It made your whole body crawl with excitement.

You parted your mouth to piss him off even more when you suddenly felt a mouthful of silk, completely stopping you. Trying to whine, the tie knotted behind your head, and Minho pulled so hard it nearly stopped your blood circulation.

“Didn’t want to moan, huh?” he guttered, tying up a pretty knot beneath your locks. “Tried to be smart, did you?

The tie wedged inside your mouth stopped you from answering back, Minho taking great satisfaction in your broken mumbling. “Oh, so you wanna talk now?” he mocked, slowly descending, until his face was at level with your cunt. He looked up, and the sight had you shutting up immediately. “No, we’ll play your little game.”

His eyes resembled a demon’s. “One fucking word from you and you’ll be sorry,” he warned, hands, now on your thighs, squeezing the muscle. The anger was so cold you only nodded erratically, fingers gripping the edge of the table.

Spreading your legs a slight, he closed the distance, tongue opening the seams and licking the surface.

You could not help the stifled moan which worked its way out the gag.

Retracting at your reaction, he glanced up, fingers digging into your skin. “Shut your fucking mouth,” he growled, trailing down your inner thigh. That command alone had you in near tears.

He didn’t wait for your incoherable answer as he dived right back in, tongue now licking your clit in a way which had you seeing stars, along with the added assault of his two digits pumping your core. He immediately found your sweet spot and curled his fingers, knowing you would melt right on his face.

Because the gag worked wonders in ceasing your words, you had to vent out your release through gripping Minho’s hair, pushing further, begging him to just let you cum all over his face. The man was a mean prick, though, and wouldn’t ever give you that satisfaction.

His fingers increased their tempo, in and out, and your orgasm was right on the edge, threatening to wash over you if he didn’t stop. You whined as much as you could this time, praying he understood what you meant, and not just you provoking him further.

You tried to curse yourself at how pathetic you were in that state, but you were honestly so fucked out you didn’t particularly care. All you wanted now was for Minho to ruin you.

The man, taking notice of your cries, paused his licking, fingers still at their thrusting. His eyes still up at your ravaged state, and you nearly undid yourself at the pure pride that shone in his gaze. “Does my little brat wanna cum all over my face?” he cooed darkly, and you could not nod fast enough, earning a husky chuckle from him.

“Will you talk back?” God, an even faster shake of your head, eyes glistening. “You better fucking not.” he sighed, blowing on your cunt which had you wailing into the silk. “Well, since the gag’s still on…”

He offered you a small grin, enough to drive you insane.

“Go on then, you fucking slut. Cum on my face.”

His mouth was upon your cunt in seconds, just in time for you crying out into the tie-gag as you released your orgasm, creating a mess of him as you spilled yourself onto his tongue, his chin, everywhere, barely avoiding the office floor. Minho slowed his pumping inside, eventually ceasing as he took in your release, pulling away.

You caught the slight spillage scattered on his chin, and he slid his tongue down, looking up at you with feline amusement. “All that bitching, and you still cummed,” he mused, soothing your throbbing with his fingers. “Still gonna call me a coward?”

He stood, his clothed hard on rubbing against your folds, and you knew you that despite the orgasm, you needed more. His mere fingers, however heavenly, were not enough.

His one hand cupped your head while the other tugged on the gag, pulling it down from your mouth. You coughed lightly at the freedom, desire swirling in your features still. “I…” you started, but your throat still hurt. “I…”

“Use you words, doll,” he ordered, unravelling the knot on his tie behind you. “God knows you use them too well.”

“F-fuck...you,” you rasped out, causing him to raise a brow.

“Still got attitude?” He traced his thumb over your cheek. “Despite you whining like a little bitch to let you cum?”

His hands left your face, sliding to your thighs as he gripped onto them, having you sit on the desk. He then moved down further, tossing your lingerie before wrapping your legs around his waist.

Leaning in, his chuckle tickled your lips. “Guess I’m gonna have to fuck the brat out of you.”

That alone would have had you moaning if Minho didn’t shut you up with a rough kiss, fingers sloppily unbuttoning your shirt. He sucked on your tongue, failing to take the shirt off, and with a harsh groan ripped the parting, buttons popping to the floor. He peeled the attire off you, dumping it with your panties, and when he pulled away, he took in your intricately laced bra, and his malice was replaced with pure, unadulterated lust.

“God, I’m going to ruin you, doll.”

You answered with capturing his mouth, nibbling on his bottom lip, his clothed boner creating friction against your inner thighs. His hands ravaged all over your exposed skin, while your own returned the favour, unbuttoning his shirt and taking it off. You ran your fingers up his abdomen, the granite solidity having you rolling your hips against him. Smiling against your lips, you felt his hands descend, gripping at the underside of your thighs before he lifted you up.

You gasped lightly, wrapping your hands around his neck as Minho, while leaving a trail of kisses down your neck, collarbone, tongue sliding along, turned around, your back to the full view of the nightlife of the city, revealed through floor length windows of his office all around. Walking towards it, he backed you up against the glass, the cold sending shivers down your spine. That, and Minho leaving core-shaking kisses upon your skin, as he began to unhook your bra strap, tearing the lingerie off you.

“Minho!” you exclaimed, when he planted his lips upon your bare breast, sole finger playing with the other. Hearing his name had him grinding against you, making you whimper.

He went up, erratic breathing entering your ears. “It’s sir to you,” he snapped, before diving back in on your breast, licking over your nipple so thoroughly that you felt that overgrowing need to release once again. Again, with the teasing, the playing, when all you needed was his cock to fill you right up.

“Sir, p-please,” you begged, your legs locked tightly behind him.

“Please what, doll?” he hissed onto your skin, one hand tracing your throat.

One more thrust of his hips and your eyes pricked with tears. “P-please fuck me, sir,” the knots in your belly growing.

“Finally,” he breathed out, thumbing your neck, softly compared to the hard on you were practically sitting on. “You’re not being a little bitch.”

One hand still clasped around his neck, you brought the other down to his trousers. Looking up at him, he almost softened.

“Now you’re asking permission?” he cooed, straying from your breasts. “Being a good girl for me?”

You never had an idea on how much that affected you. “Don’t push it,” you countered, a tired smirk still playing on your lips.

“Go on, doll,” he said, hitching you higher on the glass, moistening with the sweat beading down your back. “But I like you better when you beg.”

“Let’s see if you-ah!” you were cut off when you pulled his trousers down, and his cock tried to burst from his stained underwear, rubbing against your cunt much too deliciously. “Fuck me hard enough.”

“Stop running your mouth and pull my boxers off,” he ordered, and this you willingly obliged, careful of your leg-lock as you peeled them down to his knees, he getting them clean off. When his cock sprung free, you were salivating at the sight, angry red and ready to have it inside of you.

When he caught your blatant staring, he snapped his fingers. “Careful, or you’ll start cumming without my permission.”

Your widened eyes darted to him, and your lack of response had him actually laughing. “Already forgotten your words?” he mocked, fingers gripping your chin. “My babydoll is getting dumb staring at my cock.”

“Please, sir,” you murmured, locking your hands behind his neck. “P-please fuck me.”

Minho let out a pleasured sigh at your pleading. “As you wish, ____.”

Pressing his forehead against yours, he clasped his cock, directing the tip to your entrance, already staining the surface with its pre-cum. His other hand gripped onto your hip, steadying you against the glass, now slightly misted.

“Ready?” he asked, surprised to hear a little softness as he caressed your hip with his thumb.

You nodded against his forehead, parting your mouth. “Yes, sir.”

A little scoff escaped him. “Good girl.”

That was all he needed before he began the final descent.

His cock slid inside, and your breathing turned irregular as your walls stretched slightly at the intrusion. He went further and further, moving ever so slowly to let you adjust. Lord knows you needed to, when his dick was so big.

“O-oh my God—” you stumbled out, feeling as if the man had filled you right up to your gut when he was finished. You kept deathly still, fearing you might shatter if you even moved the wrong way.

“It’s okay, doll,” he reassured you, hand leaving his cock and settling upon your other hip. “Whenever you’re set.”

“I’m good,” you said, more scared that you would cum right onto his dick if he tried to move inside you. “Stop worrying and...and fuck me already.”

His thumbs pressed harder on your sides, a pleasured sting ringing. “Now I won’t regret it if you can’t walk after this.”

A ragged scoff escaped you. “We’ll see about that-”

Well, you really couldn’t when Minho began to pull out.

Your mockery was cut off with a shrill cry, hold tightening on him as his cock slowly slid out. The gradual process was so pleasurable you had to hold onto him for dear life, or you knew you would collapse onto the office floor. The man made sure that never happened, grip on your sides never slipping, pressing you against the warming glass.

“I’ve only just started,” he drawled breathlessly, still relishing how loud you were being despite him merely beginning. “Has my babydoll never been fucked before?”

You had, but never had anyone made you so weakened by a simple pull out. In fact, your sexual life was average at best, but you telling him that he would, by far, be the biggest mistake. He’s already got an ego the size of his cock - you were not going to inflate it any larger.

“H-have been,” you gasped out. “B-better even.”

That false claim had him knitting his brows in anger. He thrusted his dick right back in, and another whine choked out of you.

“Liar,” he spat, filling you right to the brim. “Lying to me when my cock’s inside you.”

God, the rage that filled his veins was pure ecstasy in your mind. Good, you thought, making sure you chuckled at him. Provoke him till he breaks you.

“H-he was so much-argh!” you just couldn’t get a word out when he began to pull out once more, Minho now attacking your neck with his lips, bruised patches of your skin as he started up a painfully delightful rhythm of pushing and pulling his cock into you.

“Go on, you fucking brat,” he snarled onto your throat, licking up the column. “Try and tell me there was anyone better.”

You were on to tell him, gloat breathlessly that there were all these obviously real people who had fucked you into oblivion, but when his fingers began to prod at your clit those lies were replaced with thundering mewls, nails digging into his back.

Fastening his pace, you rolled your eyes back, head hitting the glass. Minho, watching you, slammed his hips forward, hitching you upward with the sheer force of his cock and snapping you out of your haze, making you look at him.

“I asked you something, doll,” he demanded with rich sarcasm, fingers never stopping on your clit, nearly taking you over the edge. When the head of his dick hit a certain spot, deep into your core, you couldn’t even control the slight drool which trailed down your spit-slick lips.

Minho’s dark laughter only had the knots tightening in your belly. “Awww, my babydoll’s so fucked out she can’t even speak?” his mouth curled into a smirk. “Only a useless set of holes for me to toy with, aren’t you?”

You thought you said something, hopefully something to shut him up, but when your orgasm was right at the tip of your cunt you knew it was as the bastard said - useless.

As you predicted, Minho quickened his fingers on your bud. “Worthless fucking bitch,” he mocked mercilessly, practically branding you against the glass. With the sheer anger he fucked you with, you were scared the windows would crack. You wouldn’t put it past him.

“C-close, sir,” you finally got out, managed to formulate the only words you needed at that moment. Your boss, at this, only increased his pace of his erratic thrusts, practically decimating your cunt with his cock. You had a feeling among the lust-filled haze of your mind that he, too, was getting close, with the way his flow turned sloppy.

“And…” he took in a sharp breath. “And what about it?”

Oh, you knew what his last game was. Permission from him, pleading to let you spill your arousal all over his cock.

In any normal circumstance, you would have laughed at their face. Made sure they never asked something so atrocious.

Lee Minho, however, was another case entirely. Not when he was your lifeline, the only one in the universe who could save you from this impending doom. Even though he was the bastard who brought it down on you in the first place.

So you did what possibly no human being could ever ask of you.

You pleaded.

Practically begged to let you feel sweet release.

“Can I…” another soft cry left your lips. “F-fuck, please...can I cum?”

Minho imprisoned you with his gaze. Locks sticking to his forehead, mouth parted in desire, and pupils dilated, you still found him so utterly beautiful, despite the wilderness beneath. Found him even more so when he finally decided to show you some mercy.

“Go on, babydoll. Cum for me.”

You didn’t need to be told twice.

Your vision nearly blacked out when you obliged, orgasm spilling out from the tight spaces between your walls and his cock, dribbling down your legs and dripping onto the office carpet. The sight of your spillage had Minho finishing off his own thrusts, releasing an earth-shattering cry as he barrelled his own release into you, ropes of cum spilling out of your cunt, joining your mess on the floor.

A slight peaceful stillness settled over the office, save for the both of you, breathing as if you had been underwater this whole time. Minho’s cock was still inside you, snug around your moistened walls. Slowly, he pulled it out, hanging limp from use, and your cunt felt hollow, emptier than it has ever felt before.

You unlocked your legs from his waist, immediately regretting the action when they gave out under you. Collapsing onto Minho, you were instantly met with his arms, holding you up.

“Careful,” he muttered, leading you to his chair, settling you down on the plush leather. He pulled his boxers up, along with his trousers, finding your own attire on the floor and placing it on your lap.

Smiling lazily, you started adorning your rather dirtied attire. “A good business proposal, no?” you mused, referring to your terrible excuse at the beginning of the evening.

Remembering, he chuckled, putting on his shirt. “I never bought that anyway, doll,” he merely said, buttoning to the top. “I knew you were jealous.”

Cheeks burning, you mumbled a little shut up, earning yourself a grin from the man. Finding your own shirt useless from Minho ripping it open, you said so to the man. “Look what you’ve done to my top”

He only spared it a glance before grabbing his tie, stained with your saliva. “Look what you’ve done to my tie.”

“That was your own fault,” you remarked, hoping your blazer would cover your front up. “You put the gag on me, prick.”

“Feeling brave already?” Minho purred, already putting you on a familiar edge. “Thought I’d fucked the brat out of you by now.”

Oh, he really did. He truly made you his little bitch not moments ago, and perhaps that would be rooted in you for the future.

But of course, you’re not going to tell him that.

You stood up from his chair, slipping into your heels. His eyes watched you as you walked to the door, opening it wide.

You looked back, catching something akin to wonder in his gaze.

“It’s going to take a little more than that, sir,” you declared, and left the room, closing the door behind you.

And as you prepared to leave the building, Lee Minho stayed rooted in his office, feeling his insides go wild all over.

It’s going to take a little more than that, sir.

Oh, God.

The man scoffed.

“Fucking brat.”

“I DEMAND TO BE LET IN!”

Once again, you rolled your eyes at Miss Kim, who was now adorned in magenta, long boots tapping against the marble floor.

“Mr. Lee is busy, Miss Kim,” you told her for the umpteenth time, refusing to believe that one seemingly intelligent woman, who had her own business, could be so thick-headed. “If you would just sit down—”

“You don’t tell me what to do,” she snapped, pointing an acrylic-painted finger at you. “I am a special client of Mr. Lee’s, and don’t need an appointment.”

You let out a sharp breath through your nose. It had not even been two days before she was back at the office, demanding Minho’s presence for the continuation of her meeting before you interrupted them.

A small smile caught onto your lips. Thank God you did.

“Hey!”

You perked up, brows instantly furrowing. “Miss Kim, just like the last time, I cannot help you. I can only give you entrance inside if you have an official appointment.”

Letting out a harsh laugh, she shook her head, wiggling the same finger at you. “Miss whatever your name is, I don’t like to have my time wasted, and you certainly are wasting my time. If I say I want to see Mr. Lee then you better damn well let me see Mr. Lee!”

Your mouth nearly opened to snap back at her when the glass door beside you swung open, and out stepped the CEO himself, who possessed the same irritation on his face as you did as he leaned his figure against the doorway.

“What is this constant racket?” he complained to no one in particular, and when his eyes fell upon his unofficial client he stopped. “Oh, good afternoon Miss Kim.”

“Mr. Lee, your little assistant is being difficult once again,” the woman declared, glaring at you. “She did this the last time I was here, and even when you let me in she’s doing the same thing again.”

“Oh, really now?” Minho got out. He turned to you, his dashing face exposing slight amusement at the claim. “Is that so, ____?”

You fought the urge to smirk at him. “She does not have an appointment,” you explained, spinning your pencil to avoid his searing gaze. “You told me only to let the people who’ve made appointments enter your office.”

Minho grinned for you. “That I did,” he confessed, eyes sliding to Miss Kim, whose smug smile faltered. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid the rules must be followed.”

The woman’s arrogance faded completely when the words left his mouth, finding herself defeated. “I see,” she said, still souring at the sight of you. “Well, I’ll phone up tomorrow morning.”

“You do that, Miss Kim,” he agreed, and watched as the woman turned on her heel, grumpily exiting the building.

The man found your eyes, and you saw them dance with mischief. You already felt your heartbeat pick up the pace when he walked over to you, planting his hands on your desk. “I need you inside the office, doll.”

Oh my God. “Whatever for, sir?” you asked innocently, trying to focus on your round of Solitaire, stark on the computer screen.

The table creaked underneath his fists at the title. “Let’s say it’s a…” he leaned in a little, careful of his employees beyond the hallway. His voice conveyed a slight husky tone. “A business proposal.”

Shivers crawled down your spine. Fuck him. Fuck him for bringing up your shitty excuse of two days ago. “I hate you,” you whispered harshly to him, despite the nerves.

His eyes never left you. “We’ll see about that when we start the meeting, doll.”

He stood straighter, opening his office door. “Now are you coming in?”

You studied the open door, the hidden opportunity that laid beyond. When you caught the growing lust in his gaze, you pressed your thighs together.

Standing up, you hurried to the doorway, earning chuckling from your boss. “Shut up, asshole,” you hissed, entering the fated office. Seeing the desk already had your cheeks burning.

“It’s sir to you, brat,” he only said, hands already on you as he closed the door.

[orionwhispers]

Sweet Disaster// Tommy Shelby

(A/N - hello. so basically, i had a dream about chris evans, and then i modified it into this tommy imagine. it was supposed to be a drabble but i physically cannot write anything less than 12k words so thats great. honestly this is very similar to ‘fools gold’ but hey, im in the mood for some angsty fluff and fighting with our main guy tom. next tommy imagine will be the lolita wedding and that will be the fluffiest fluff that ever fluffed. thanks for everything, PLS let me know what u think. see you soon! stay safe!) 

trigger warnings: fighting, tommy being a douche, everyone being a dumbass, tommy getting jealous and implied sex.

You saw him on a Saturday night, at a bar on the outskirts of the city.

It had been three months, and you had hoped you would have managed to slip through the cracks; pass through the night like the foxes that roamed in the back alleys - but you had never been that lucky, especially not when he was involved.

It was your friend’s birthday, and you tipped back glass after glass of expensive champagne that bubbled and burned at the back of your throat. The lights were blinding, twinkling chandeliers and the smell of cigarettes and french perfume, something like bergamot and vanilla, lingering in the air.

Your dress was cherry red, your hair tied back with a sequinned headband and your lips and cheeks painted in rouge, but you had never felt so awful. It had been bad enough trying to find something to wear, the contents of your wardrobe tipped all over your floor, a mess of mesh and feather and lace, almost everything reminding you of him, as if he had been stitched right into the fabric. You had ended up curled in a ball on the floor, wiping your tears with the Chanel blouse he had bought back from a business trip in Paris.

Stupid fucking boys.

You could hear the girls talking around you, high pitched giggles and exaggerated voices as they gossiped about something or other that faded into static around you. You had spent the past three months holed up in your flat, only leaving for work or the street market on Sunday, stocking up with bread and wine and cheese, everything carb filled and rich to fill the hole in your heart. 

You weren’t used to the company of others or the hustle and bustle of a crowded room, and you sat back against the plush cherry velvet seats, dreaming of climbing into bed and devouring the slab of dark chocolate you had been saving.

Your close friend Emma, the one who knew the reason you were staring into space and not laughing and drinking with the rest of the girls, placed a manicured hand on your shoulder, and tilted her head slightly.

“How are you holding up?”

You snapped out of your trance.“I’m fine. I’m sorry I’m not much fun right now.”

“Nonsense.” She pushed you lightly, her voice as soft and playful as ever. “At least you came out! It hasn’t been the same without you.”

“Yeah - I’m sure everyone missed having me bawl like a baby and mope around.”

She elbowed you, “Stop bloody feeling sorry for yourself and have a shot! Christ! You can spend the rest of the week wrapped up in your duvet, but tonight - suck it up, and have a drink!”

She handed you a glass of something dark, and you brought it to your lips, tipping it into your throat with a wince. It felt as though you were drinking petrol.

“What the bloody hell was that?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care. All that matters is that it’s top shelf and it came from those fellas over there.” She pointed towards a group of men huddled around the bar. They were shooting quick glances and sly winks towards you and your friends. Sure they were relatively attractive, most likely handsomely rich and dressed in suits that looked finely tailored - but they made your skin crawl.

You hated the way that you would always be comparing other men to him, and you especially hated how they would always come up short.

An hour later and whatever liquor was coursing through your bloodstream had done its job, and everything seemed infinitely brighter. You even found yourself laughing at jokes and stories that you only caught halfway through, the alcohol wonderfully dizzying your brain.

You were so caught up in the rush of being drunk and finally feeling somewhat happy for the first time in forever; that you didn’t realise you had caught the attention of one of the men across the bar. You felt him sidle in next to you, following his friends who had snaked their way into your booth, their arms slung around the girls shoulders, whispering sweet little sentiments into their ears.

“Can I get you a drink?” He asked, so close to you that you could smell the sour whiskey on his tongue, your nose wrinkling.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

Perhaps you had spent so long being ‘Tommy Shelby's girl’ that you had forgotten what it was like when you were being hit on. You had spent so many nights safely tucked under his arm, his hands possessively wrapped around your body, an unspoken threat sent out to everyone and anyone around you - it had been a long time since a man had tried his luck with you.

Perhaps you were so infatuated with him that you never noticed anybody else. Your mind forever filled with visions of oceanic eyes and three piece suits, his Birmingham accent ringing through your ears like a gospel. He invaded all of your thoughts and infiltrated your dreams, and you loathed and loved him for it. The way that he filled your brain and heart like smoke, clouding your decisions and judgments, like some kind of magical elixir, blurring everything but the shape of him.

The man beside you didn’t concede. He cleared his throat, running a finger over the rim of your glass, ignoring the way your eyebrows furrowed and lip curled.

“Let me get you a drink, pretty girl.”

Pretty girl.

It sounded so wrong. It was never pretty girl. It was - darling, sweetheart, princess. It was - my love, honey, kitten. It was said teasingly and exasperatedly, it was whispered in your ear and buried into the space between your thighs. It was never said in the sticky corner of a club, from the greedy mouth of a stranger undressing you with his eyes.

“I’m - ” Taken. But you weren’t, not anymore, and you hated the way the thought of him made your lip wobble. It’s had been three goddamn months, why did the memory of him still make your body go up in flames?

Emma stiffened beside you, waving a dismissive hand at the gentleman speaking to her, and turned to face you and your unmoving suitor.

“We’re alright here, love. Thanks.”

A flicker of annoyance. His fingers tightening until his knuckles turned white, his tongue running across the ridge of his front teeth. He obviously didn’t take rejection well, and he was doing a shitty job at hiding it.

“Are you sure? It looks like she could do with another drink.”

You swallowed thickly, eyes rolling back at the way he dismissed you and spoke as though you were incapable of thinking for yourself.

“I’m fine.” Your words were curt and clipped, a clear indication of your disinterest, but he refused to back down.

“You shouldn’t be here all alone.”

“I’m not alone.”

“Really? What kind of man would leave a pretty little thing like you all by herself?”

“The kind of man that would punch you in the fucking teeth for speaking to her like that.”

You froze.

Oh Christ.

A million irreverent, evil, blasphemous phrases hurtled inside of your mind, and you knew that if Polly somehow ever caught wind of what you were thinking, you would be on the receiving end of a sharp slap around the head.

He was here. Of bloody course he was. He had a knack for showing up out of the blue and knocking all of the wind from your lungs.

It hurt like an open wound, feeling his eyes on you, the same ones that had looked at you with love and humour and gentleness, and not being able to fully meet his gaze - knowing just how much it would hurt if you did.

“She’s with me.”

His voice was firm, laced with the same sort of dismissive irritability he used to use whenever somebody tried their luck with you. This time was different however, you couldn’t roll your eyes and kiss him, you couldn’t put your head in the crook of his neck or mutter that you were his under the golden chandeliers, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hip.

You couldn’t do any of that anymore, because you weren’t.

The man seemed pick up on the tension, clicking his tongue slyly, unaware of the consequences his words would have. “Doesn’t seem like she is.”

“Get the fuck out.”

The penny must have dropped for the rest of the boys. The booth going silent as they realised just who the handsome shadowy figure towering over them was. You felt them slowly inch away, head down and gazes low, not wanting to be caught in the crossfire. A few hushed mumbles of “holy shit! That’s Tommy Shelby! One of those blinders!” hurtling around the tables beside you, not completely drowned out by clatter of the jazz band.

“I have every right to be here.” The ballsy stranger said, stiffening up beside you. His spine curled as he tried to make himself bigger. “Who says I have to leave?”

You huffed at his words, exhaling like a balloon. “That’s enough.” You didn’t want to cause a scene. You were exhausted, the night taking such a sudden turn you felt like you had whiplash, and the alcohol sat deep in your gut like a rock. You just wanted to get home, away from the man you wanted so badly your fingers ached to hold him, and crawl into your bed with your cat and a mountain of chocolate.

“Well, considering I own the fucking place, I think that I do - and if you don’t, I’ll shoot you.”

That seemed to do it.

You kept your eyes focused on the mans paling face, the grim look washing over him like salty sea air, you didn't dare turn and face the man you could feel burning holes in your neck.

“I.. I...” The man spluttered almost incoherently, rising to his feet and stumbling out from beside you. From behind you you heard Emma giggling coyly into her glass. “Sorry.” He mumbled quickly, his knees buckling when Tommy clapped a hand around his shoulder, holding him in place like a dog.

Tommy’s voice was still, almost too controlled, and you knew that his words were deadly. “If I see you around these parts again, I’ll put a fucking bullet in your skull.”

He gulped and nodded, darting into the sea of bodies in the crowd.

You kept your eyes low. Fumbling with the pearl clasps of your purse you squeezed Emma’s hand in parting and rose to your feet, wanting to leave as painlessly as possible, not even daring to look up at the face staring you down.

“I should go.” Was all you said, sliding out of the booth and onto the marbled floor. You saw the way the rest of the girls were watching the scene unfold before them, and you knew that by Monday you would have a lot of questions to answer, but right now you needed nothing but the safety of your flat.

You didn’t even let your shoulders brush against him. You coiled around him like a snake, your feet moving so fast your embroidered shoes were nothing but a blur of scarlet. You only made it to the hallway, he let you go far enough that you were in private before he reached for you, a familiar, large hand curving around the dip in your shoulder. You hated the way your body reacted, goosebumps rising to his touch unconsciously.

“(Y/N), wait.”

Your name on his tongue was sweeter than honey and richer than wine, it sounded so right that it hurt. It had been so long since you had heard him call you by your name, so long since he had spoken to you that your gut was twisting inside of you, your whole body aching for him to do nothing but repeat that word like a mantra.

You inhaled, thinking of a way out. It was too dangerous, you were playing with fire and you couldn’t get burnt, not again.

“I’m sorry — I didn’t know, it’s Jessica’s birthday and we - ” You hated how you stumbled over your words. You had never felt so uncomfortable around him and it made your skin crawl. You had kissed him under the stars, laughed with him in the corner of a private party, made love to him in every room of his fucking mansion, and now he felt like a stranger.

You knew what he looked like when he woke up, with his sleepy eyes and tousled hair. You knew what he looked like when had spent the night doing something unholy, you had cleaned his knuckles and kissed his wounds as you sat pressed up against him in the tub, his hands wrapped around your waist. You’d stood by his side, your hands intertwined in the middle of some expansive ballroom, and listened to him sweet-talk his way into a new business deal, all the while stroking his thumb over yours. You had seen him vulnerable, pulling you so close to his chest that it was like you were bound together, whispering to you how he loved you, how he couldn’t live without you.

But he still let you go.

He moved in front of you, leaving you with no choice but to meet his eyes. He looked good, but that was a given, he always did, no matter the circumstances. He looked so... soft. He always seemed that way around you, his eyes getting a little bit kinder, the harshness of his words dipped in sugar, even the sharpness of his jaw looked inviting and gentle, practically begging you to wrap your palm around it.

You bit your tongue. You were being ridiculous. You were seeing things that weren’t there. It was over between the two of you, he had made that very clear. You were grasping at straws and all it was going to do was hurt you.

He spoke suddenly, his thick accent cutting through the silence that felt so loud. “It’s alright. Only really been ours since last night, there were... problems with the last owners.”

Despite everything you felt the ghost of a smile tugging on the edge of your lips, immediately knowing what ‘problems’ he was referring to.

“Arthur?” You asked.

“Yes.” He said with a small grin. “Arthur.”

A moment passed. The air around you feeling all too hot and all to cold at once. It had been a long time since you had seen one another, and both of you were caught up in appreciating such familiar beauty up close. You had missed the small things about him, like the slight curl of his hair and the veins in his neck, you could remember running your lips across the curve and dip of his throat.

You were treading in dangerous waters. It wouldn’t be long until the current pulled you under, and you weren’t quite sure how much longer you could keep a rational mind. You inhaled, flittering your eyes to meet his in some kind of signal of parting, pulling your clutch tighter to your body as an attempt to keep yourself grounded. “I should go. It was good to see you, Tommy.”

You spun on your heel, heading for the large golden doors that led outside. Fresh air would clear your mind, the stars and the velvet night would be good for clearing out all of the junk rattling around in your skull, but you barely got two steps forward before he spoke, already knowing his next words before he even opened his mouth.

“Let me drive you home.”

He spoke so surely, addressing you the way he would one of his brothers or Johnny, as if he knew what was best for you. Once upon a time you would have believed that he did, let him grasp you by the wrists and drag you to the end of the world if he asked nicely, those fucking baby blues and pink lips dulling any warning sirens in your head.

Even now, after everything, you knew that he would never put you in danger, that he would always protect you. And it was with the knowledge of that striking your heart like lightning, you knew that you were still hopelessly, undoubtedly in love with him - not that you ever thought differently, but you had done a damned good job of pushing your feelings away.

“You’ve had a lot to drink,” He said, “and I wouldn’t even let you out on those fucking streets by yourself stone cold sober.”

You pursed your lips. “I’m not drunk, and you don’t tell me what to do.”

“I’m driving you home.”

You looked up at him through your painted lashes, disarming him in a million different ways you didn’t even realise. You were oblivious to the fact that his breath felt trapped in his lungs.“You and I both know that’s not a good idea, Tommy.”

“Cmon. Get your things.”

You sidestepped away, pushing the bottom of your heel deeper into the champagne coloured carpet. “No Tommy, I’m not a child! I don’t need your help.”

He rolled his eyes, something akin to fond exasperation rising to his cheeks. You felt your heart drop and flutter like it was a sparrow inside of you, you had never thought you would see that face again, and it hurt how something so simple could twist and mould you in his hands like clay.

He pressed his hands to the small of your back, pushing you forward.

“I don’t care if you don’t want my help. I’m doing it anyway.”

You huffed. Too tired and drunk and confused to put up a real fight.“Fine.” He smiled coyly and his smug attitude made you click your teeth, running a hand through the curls in your hair, not stopping the childish retort on the edge of your tongue. “Prick.”

You felt his hand swat at you, dangerously close to the hem of your dress and you were certain that your cheeks were the same colour as the candles flickering on the tables below. It was such a playful, tender thing to do, and so horribly familiar - memories of his hands on you, pinching and teasing and digging in, a way of communicating without words, something so intimate and personal, something that only the two of you knew.

You wondered if he felt the same way. You wondered if he was reminded of the past, of peach moons and starlight kisses and strawberry lipstick, but as always he remained impassive, as poker faced as always as he strolled down the hall, pushing open the wide brass doors and waiting for you to pass through, him trailing behind you, like always.

———————————————————————

Through your hazy eyes the moon almost looked pink, like a spotlight shining down on you, illuminating the both of you as Tommy’s car purred down the streets, like a black cat stalking under the cover of darkness.

It smelt like him.

Like cigarettes and sin and mint and woodsmoke. You were reminded of driving at midnight with the windows down, his hand wrapped around your thigh, his eyes anywhere but the road. You thought of sticky skin and leather seats and the smell of sex, breathless little laughs and the feel of his teeth biting down on your top lip.

You stared at the polish on your fingernails, hoping for some kind of distraction from the man beside you. It wasn’t far to your flat, and you prayed that the drive home would be as hitch free as possible.

“Had a good night?” Tommy asked, looking over at you from behind the wheel. He’s not even sure what he’s saying, his usually mechanical brain almost short circuiting because you’re finally next to him again. Words and phrases seem tasteless and meaningless, but he wants to savour as much of you as he can. He knows it makes him hypocritical, especially given everything he’s put you through, but he’s never really been very conventional with his love.

“It was alright.”

“Friends from work?”

“Yeah. It was Jessica’s birthday, she wanted to get drunk, you know how it can be.”

“And that...that man - ?” He cleared his throat, hoping that his words came off breezier than they sounded in his head, pretending as if the thought of you with somebody else didn’t feel like a noose around his neck. “Who was he?”

“Just some stupid twat.”

Your words weren’t doing much to quell the fiery flicker of anger inside of him, half of his brain telling him to turn the car around and put a razor blade through the fuckers eye - but one glance over at your sleepy, beautiful face and all of his jealousy fades into mere smoke.

None of it matters.

Nothing will ever matter more than you.

“I shouldn’t have even been out tonight, but Emma practically dragged me.”

Emma. The name rings a bell. He flips through a mental picture book of everyone you’ve spoken about, and finally lands on the glamorous, dark skinned, velvet haired vixen that you called your best friend.

Memories come flooding back.

The nights you would spend with her when he was too busy with work. How in the darkness of his office with nothing but an empty feeling in his chest and glass of bourbon beside him, the phone would ring and cut through the silence.

He’d roll his eyes when Emma spoke quickly down the line, words slurred and filled with giggles as she would explain the drunken shenanigans you had both fallen into. He’d drive through the night and the dim city streets, his mind for once not filled with business deals or money, instead his heart tugging at the thought of his doe eyed, honey lipped girl waiting for him in the city.

“I think she had too much to drink.” Emma would say, clambering into a taxi cab she had managed to hail, teetering in her tall satin shoes. “I wanted to take her home with me, but she was causing such a big fuss and asking for you - couldn’t bloody say no.”

Outside the club his voice would be stern and his stare would be solid. Clipped, quick words to the doormen, feeling you press your cold nose into the base of his throat, mumbling something incoherent about how pretty he was. He’d scold you fondly. Settle you down in the back seats of his car and cover you up with his jacket, smiling ever so softly at the way you cuddled into the warmth and the familiar smell.

He thought of how lonely his nights had been without you.

“How is she?”

“Fine. Everyone is just fine.”

But how are you? He wants to ask, but he has a feeling that no matter the answer he’ll still end with a bullet in his gut, so he lets the silence engulf the both of you, nothing in the air but unspoken tension and the soft purr of the engine.

He had an idea. Something conniving and crafty, something that he’s been wanting to do since the night he told you that it wasn’t safe to be with him, the night he told you to leave. Thomas Shelby has always been a strong, level headed man, but something about you just makes him crumble. You have a way of twisting around him, snaking around his thoughts and feelings like a vine, and he gives himself up wholly.

He would never put you in a position you were uncomfortable with, but he can’t help the claw in his gut when he thinks of how long it’s been since you’ve been apart. He can smell the sweet liquor and perfume on you, can see the way your eyes are glossed ever and your hair is mussed. You’re tired, and after the way that goddamn leech of a man had been fawning over you Tommy is in no mood to leave you alone, he likes knowing that you’re safe, it’s the only thing that makes him able to sleep at night.

He glanced over to you, watching as you yawned into your palm, your soft, pretty eyes looking at the stars and the moon and his decision was made for him.

“You missed the turn.” You said a few moments later, perking up a little in your seat.

“Hmm?”

“You missed it. You should have turned left back there.”

He doesn’t say anything, and you’re pretty sure you know the reason why. Despite the part of your body that is sparked like a match at the thought of spending the night with him, you also know that it is too dangerous, that the two of you together are fire and gasoline.

“No. No, Tommy. I’m not staying over with you.”

“Yes you are. You can stay in a guest room - it’ll give you time to sleep off that hangover.”

“I’m hardly drunk.”

“Well, when we get home you can walk in a straight line for me, eh?”

“It’s not my home.”

That hurt.

He ignored you, feeling the familiar bite of irritation, hating that he wasn’t the same man to you that he once was. He could feel his tone getting desperate, and under any other circumstance he would be furious at being so weak, but never around you. “Just stay. Tonight? For me. I’ll sleep better knowing you’re not getting into any trouble.”

“Tommy Shelby never sleeps.”

You huffed and crossed your arms over your chest, sighing in defeat. Tommy smiled, and realised as the car lurched over the bridge that’ll take you back where you both belong that he’s the happiest he has been in a long time.

��————————————————————

His house was as intimidating as ever, even more so under the thick blanket of the night. The architecture looked gothic, the sprawling roof and high chimneys almost seeming menacing as the car pulled up along the gravel, the low sound of the rocks crackling like a fire.

It almost felt strange. A house you had stepped foot in hundreds of times, suddenly feeling unfamiliar and mystifying. It was like the very first time you had seen the house a few years ago, how the large rooms and the tall ceilings seemed empty and dangerous, as though they housed a million secrets.

But since then it had been full of so much light. You had danced with him playfully, barefoot on the kitchen floor, with the windows open and soft jazz flittering in the air like sunlight. You had slept on the sofa in the drawing room, tangled up against his bare chest, the room littered with wine stained glasses and cigarette burns. You had laughed until you had cried, kissed him on the vivaciously on the mouth, sat through dozens of rowdy family dinners, shared coffee and pastry under the sleepy morning light - and now it felt as though a million years had passed.

You let him lead you inside. Keeping a safe distance and a wary eye as though he was an unpredictable stray dog that needed to be kept at arms length. He sensed your suspicion and ignored it, marching forward like a solider, pretending that your distrust didn’t make him feel awful. He hated to think of you on edge because of him, he hated how small it made him feel. He never wanted to be insignificant to you.

You noticed how bare it was in the hallway. Once upon a time the coat rack would have been filled with your furs and shawls, your pastel pink boots and his forever charcoal posh oxfords lined next to one another, a poignant reminder of their owners and the differences that you both shared.

It wasn’t just lack of your belongings, somehow the house seemed much emptier. It didn’t smell as worn as it usually did, the warmth of a recently lit fire didn’t dwell in the air and there were no keys or shoes by the front door. You knew that Mary kept a clean house, but this was something different, and a sour thought suddenly hit you.

“You haven’t been home much?” You tried to keep the jealousy out of your voice and remain level headed, but it was proving hard when you were feeling so nauseous at the thought of him sharing a bed with somebody else.

“Lot of late nights at the office.” He shrugged his jacket from his shoulders and wrapped it around a hanger, his icy blue eyes catching yours. “Home didn’t feel like home anymore.”

You didn’t miss the implication in his words, but you chose to ignore it.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“I thought I was here to sleep.”

“You are. But what kind of host would I be if I didn’t offer my guest a nightcap?”

You made a noise. Something halfway between a scoff and a huff.

“Tea? Whiskey?”

“No, I’m fine thank you.”

“What about hot chocolate? I still have some of that god awful strawberry stuff you love so much.”

Memories of sickly sweet strawberry kisses flash in your head. Images of Tommy wincing and groaning as if you had poisoned him. Belly laughs and pillow talk. All things you had tried so hard to forget.

“No. I don’t drink that anymore.”

He looked at you. There were no diamond chandeliers or dark corners or red velvet walls distorting your appearance, just the two of you stood opposite in the hallway of his mansion. He looked you up and down, not in a sleazy way, like the man at the bar who had so desperately wanted to get his hands under your dress but almost - longingly. There was something in his eyes. Swimming right in those ocean eyes was something you couldn’t quite make out, he opened his mouth to say something but before he could speak you heard the whine of the door above you.

“Mr Shelby! You’re back.” It was Mary, stood at the top of the stairs. Still dressed in her maids uniform despite the ungodly hour, she looked as pristine as ever, and you couldn’t think of a time you had seen the elderly woman without makeup on. She flew down the stairs, eager to offer Thomas anything she could, but she stopped dead in her tracks when she finally saw you.

“Miss (Y/L/N)!” She said, trying to control the shock in her voice. She hadn’t been there the day that you left, but it wouldn’t take a fool to guess what had happened between you and her boss. Just like you, she probably assumed you would never return to the Shelby house. After a moment she smiled kindly, regaining her composure after the initial shock. “It’s a pleasure to see you once again.”

“And you, Mary.”

“Oh! Mr Shelby I’ve made up your quarters and -” she stopped, realising what she was saying and she awkwardly shifted as she tried to change the subject. “Can I get you anything? Shall I bring you some tea? Or some wine?”

“Oh no. I’m fine thank you, really.”

“You know what Mary,” You heard Tommy say, a cigarette dangling from his lips. “Can you fix us some drinks? Whatever’s in the cupboards is fine. Oh, and bring us those chocolates Ada brought from New York. We’ll be in the sitting room.”

“Tommy - ” You started, but he was already gone, walking through his house with renewed energy, and you strained your ears to hear the sentences he called out over his shoulder.

“One drink. For old times sake.”

“Ugh. You’ll be the death of me, Shelby.”

———————————————————————

It should have been awkward. It should have been awkward and uncomfortable and painful - but it wasn’t.

He lit a fire, something about the yellow flames and the crackling wood soothing you like warm milk. You missed the feel of his sofas, the ones that cost such an outrageous price that it made your eyes water, and you sunk into the cushions far more easily than you liked. Mary had made your favourite drink, and the situation felt so familiar that it was ridiculous, but it was more ridiculous how good everything felt.

He was as charming as ever. Giving you those side eye glances and cheeky smiles as he spoke, asking about your family and telling you stories of the trouble his brothers had been in. He moved around the room in a blur of navy, because as God would have it tonight of all nights he was wearing your favourite blue suit, the one that made him look so beautiful and powerful.

He didn’t ask about work, and you were glad, because you weren’t ready to tell him yet.

Perhaps an hour passed, the two of you dancing around each other, neither one wanting to be the one that crossed the line first. Your mind was blurry but you knew that this had gone on too long, you needed to pull the plug before it was too late, but as always, Tommy got there first.

“It feels like fate.” He said, his voice so much warmer than it had been a few moments before.

“What does?”

“Running into you tonight.”

You scoffed. “Please. Tommy Shelby doesn’t believe in fate.”

“I didn’t. Not until I met you.”

Your whole body felt like it had been set alight. He knew just what to say to get you to curl around his little finger. He was watching you intently, moving forward so his elbows were on his knees, as though he was desperate to hear your reply. He was being honest, more so than he had been in a long time, but your mind was too filled with the past to give into his sweet words.

“So,” You said, knocking back the last dregs of your drink. “Are you just going to pretend it never happened?”

“What?”

“Cut the crap, Tommy.” You snarked. “You know what I mean.” A breathless laugh. “God, this is ridiculous. I shouldn’t have come here.”

“Don’t say that.”

You rubbed your forehead, massaging away a migraine you could feel brewing. “I need to go to bed. I don’t want to get into all of this again.”

“(Y/N) - ”

“Goodnight, Tommy.”

You stood up and heard the sound of his glass of whisky hitting his red oak table. Your fingers touched the edge of the door handle, but he was pulling you backwards before you could leave. You were facing him, trying to keep your eyes away from his, not wanting to go falling into him the way your body desired.

“You might not want to talk but you can listen.” He said, so close to you that your noses were almost touching. You pursed your lips and squirmed like a child, but he raised an eyebrow and you huffed, letting him speak, his words shattering you like you were a sheet of ice.“Im still in love you.”

You bit your lip to stop from crying. The scab had been picked off, blood clotting down your ankles and onto the floor.

“Think I will be till the day I die. Even after.”

His words were so sincere and you wanted to believe them. You could feel him watching you, cornering you, willing you to say the words back, needing to hear the words fall from your lips.

You held up one finger, trying to stop him from speaking. “Don’t.”

“It’s true.”

You could feel the hot prickle of tears forming in your eyes, and the way your throat constricted like you’d been swallowing cotton balls.“Was this the plan all along? Invite me back, get me drunk and think I’ll crawl back into bed with you after you tell me a few lines?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I would never do that to you.”

He was angry. More so with himself, he’s always been in control, so articulate and calculated, but he was losing his grip on you, his knuckles turning white. He knew he made a mistake that night when he told you to leave, but his pride was too strong to do anything about it. Seeing you tonight had been more than just a coincidence, he knew that, and everything in him was screaming at him to fight for you.

“I miss you.” It ached for him to say it out loud, such a powerful man admitting that you were his weakness, that you bring him to his knees like he’s a child.

“I miss you too, Tommy, you know I do. But - ”

“I fucked up.”

“Tom.”

“I never should have let you leave.”

“We - Us - It’ll never - ” You couldn’t think let alone speak, all of your words twisting and tumbling from your mouth like loose marbles.

“We were a lot of things, but you can’t tell me that we aren’t supposed to be together.”

“I don’t want to talk about this... I can’t!”

“So let’s not talk.”

His lips met yours and you were on fire. The breath you didn’t know you were holding was knocked out of you by the force of his body on yours. His hands were all over you, checking you were real, feeling the curve and dip of your body the way his mind had conjured up in the dark in the months that you had been gone, he savoured you entirely, he devoured you.

“This isn’t - This isn’t right.” It was lie. Nothing felt more right. Your whole body ached and quivered for him, you wanted to breathe in his smell and run your fingers through his hair until they bled, but you also didn’t want to go down without a fight.

He knew you too well though.

“Stop it.” He had you backed up against the wall, his body pressed in between your thighs. He’d caged you in, one hand curling softly under your jaw, manipulating you so that you had no choice but to look right into his damn sea foam eyes. “Stop being so stubborn.”

“Stop being such a prick then.”

Lips on your neck. His hands all over you. Inhaling your perfume and the smell of your hair, digging his fingertips into your hip, a jolt of pain that you knew would leave a bruise. He captured your lips again, relishing in the way you felt under him, he was desperate for more, and he smiled cheekily when he heard you moan.

“I thought you wanted to go to sleep.” He teased, his voice was playful but he was struggling to keep his composure, he felt like his head was being held underwater, the pleasure teetering on pain.

“I hate you.” You said, gasping for air, feeling adrenaline and liquor and lust flow through you.

“No you don’t.”

You bit down on his plump bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood. He winced slightly, and rolled his eyes, shoving you backwards into his bookcase, kissing you even harder. A few novels and a porcelain figurine fell to the floor, the small black horse shattering at your feet. He grumbled slightly, and you giggled into his neck. You bent down to try and collect the broken pieces but he swatted your hand away, kissing and sucking all across your neck and throat, wanting to mark his territory.

“Stop that. I don’t want you cutting yourself.” He muttered into your flesh, clasping your hands together and holding you by the wrists, refusing to let you do anything but melt into him - not that there was anything in the world you would rather be doing.

Slowly the kisses got softer, more tender, all across your collar and shoulders like raindrops. There was something methodical about it, almost poetic, like he was trying to savour the taste of your skin, and the way your body rippled under him. After a moment he stopped, his hands tangling into your hair, gripping you by your jaw, looking into your glossed out, wide eyes.

“I really fucking missed you. I’m sorry.”

You shuddered. “I know.”

“Tomorrow we’ll talk. Alright?” There are a million things he needed to say. A million things he needed you to know, but there was nothing more important to him at that moment than having you under him, letting his body show you all of the things he couldn't put into words. He needed you, all of you. His head was fucked and he needed the wash of calm you gave him, he needed to feel whole, the way that only you could make him.

“Tomorrow.” You whispered.

He nodded solemnly. Ducking his head and pressing your mouths together, hot and raw and heavy. You were sweeter than sugar, stronger than whisky and prettier than all of the stars in the sky, and he struggled to keep himself from buckling at the knees under your touch. The only thing that could stop him from moulding your bodies together were the sweet little words that left your lips, the ones that rang like a gospel in his ears.

“Take me to bed, Tommy.”

————————————————————

He broke it off three months prior.

You had been missing each other, your schedules hectic and mismatched, and it had been a good few weeks since you had spoken for more than a few stolen seconds over the telephone. Finally, like the sun parting through rain clouds, there was one weekend that was empty in both of your diaries and Tommy told you to expect a car outside of your flat one Friday afternoon.

A whole weekend. Two days and three nights spent with your beloved, it should have been a time filled with late nights and rumpled bedsheets, coffee in the morning and wearing nothing but his linen shirts and the pretty lilac underwear he loved so much - but it turned soon turned sour.

On Sunday you had been making rhubarb pie. Folding and rolling the pastry between your fingertips, listening to the birds whistling through the open window and the lull of soft jazz from the radio behind you.

He had taken a call. A sullen look falling over his face as soon as he answered the phone. He had shut himself in his study, and all you could hear was the deep rumble of his voice and the sound of his footsteps, and so you left him alone, and busied yourself with other things.

It had all been so wonderful. Riding his horses through the fields, reading books under his arm as he rifled through papers, stealing kisses that tasted like hard candies and peppermint. You'd forced him to relax, made him take a bubble bath with you, poured lavender and vanilla oil across his aching shoulders until he let out an involuntary moan, ran your fingers through his hair until his breath evened out and his eyes fluttered shut, finally feeling at peace next to the woman he loved.

You’d laughed and made love and kissed and danced and it had all be so perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

For 48 hours he had been yours. He wasn’t “Thomas Shelby, leader of the Peaky Blinders,” he had been your Tommy. You weren’t a fool, you knew that work was always the most important thing to him, that he lived and breathed for the company he had built from his two bare hands, his work ethic and brilliance was something you admired about him, but it didn’t mean that it didn’t sting when he slipped back into business mode.

It had been about an hour, and you were cleaning the counters, something soothing about finding the dark marble granite under the mess of flour. You knew that Mary would have a fit if she knew you were cleaning, but you enjoyed the normalcy it gave you. You heard him before you saw him, the sound of his matte leather brogues on the tile in the hallway, and you lifted your head when you felt his presence in the doorway.

“You need to leave.”

His tone was so sudden and blunt that it almost made you laugh, but one look at the sallowness of his skin and the intensity in his eyes made you straighten up. “Excuse me?”

“It’s Sabini.”

“What about him?”

“He knows - he fucking knows.”

He was being uncharacteristically agitated, and it sent a deep chill down your spine. You lurched forward, hands spread, wanting to carry some of his worry. “Knows what? Tommy, calm down.”

“He’s had men lurking outside your flat.”

“What?”

“One of the new boys spotted ‘em. Fucking filth have been there all weekend.”

You felt your heart sink to your stomach. Truthfully, whilst the thought of Sabini and his men watching you made your skin crawl, you were more worried by the way it seemed to have frazzled Tommy. You weren’t used to seeing him so... anxious, and that sent red hot warning signs to your brain.

Your relationship had never been a secret per se, but you never made it public. After a few months of rendezvous in hotels and bars up and down the country, and Tommy realising his feelings for you were much more than just lust - he laid everything out bare. He told you he wanted you. But he also told you what the consequences of hanging off his arm were. You knew the risks, knew what chaos his love could bring, but you were falling so deeply that none of it mattered to you. You weren’t stupid, and Tommy did everything in his power to keep you safe, and the two of you found a mellow middle ground, a place where you could be happy and young and in love, without all of the mayhem.

“Well - it’s alright. I’m here. I’m safe aren’t I? He was probably just scoping the place out, he probably thought you were there and - ”

You were rambling, and most of what you were saying was untrue. You both knew the reason that Sabini was there, it was a message, a warning. A threat to Tommy that he could take away his weakness with one snap of his slimy little fingers.

You shrugged off your apron, and stepped towards him, shaking your head. “We knew that one day this would happen. That people would find out, it’s not your fault Tom.”

“We were stupid. We were reckless.”

“And what? We were supposed to just stop living our lives in case somebody saw us?”

“Not just somebody. Somebody who could fucking kill you.”

“Tommy.”

“You need to leave.”

“Listen to me -”

“I’ll get Bernard to drive you to the station. Your friend...” He paused momentarily, trying to remember a name he had heard in passing. “Sarah? She still lives in Manchester doesn’t she? You’ll stay with her till I’ve sorted this out.”

You scoffed, your eyes the size of dinner plates.“I’m not leaving.” You tried to make him see sense, but you were having a hard time keeping your voice levelled. “I’ve got work, Tom. I can’t just up and leave.”

He ignored you. You could see his brain whirring a mile a minute, the wheels inside his mind frantically looking for a solution. You marched over to him, forcing him to look at you. “I’m not scared.”

“Well then you’re a fool.”

“Am I? For not running at the first sign of danger?”

“Don’t fucking start with me. Not about this. This isn’t some fucking game.”

“I never said it was, Tom. But what? I’m supposed to hide out in another fucking city until all of this settles down.”

“Stop being so fucking difficult.”

“I’m not being difficult. I know what I signed up for, we both did. We knew this would happen eventually.”

“And now that is has - we have to be smart.”

“Not everything in life is a business deal.”

“What would you know about that?”

It was a low blow. Something that struck you like a winning punch to the gut, you stepped back from the impact, shaking your head and pursing your lips. You’ll let him brew in his anger, let him get worked up and pissed off, and you’ll wait for his apology in a few days, something expensive and designer showing up at your front door, his way of saying “I’m sorry I was such an asshole.”

“You know what? I’m leaving. Call me in a few days when you get your head fucking screwed back on. We can talk then.”

“No.”

It came out strangled, like the word sliced the inside of his throat when he said it.

“What?”

“You need to stay away. We need to end this.”

“End this?” You scoffed. “What? Like we’re just a business deal?”

“It’s not safe, and I can’t do anything that’s going to jeopardise the company.”

“The fucking company?” You were furious, your body stinging with hurt, feeling betrayal wash over you like sour milk. “How - How dare you!”

“I think it’s best if we spend some time apart.”

“So this is it then? You’ll throw away everything just because some fucking man has been looking around corners?” His silence made you more enraged, and you willed him to fight back. Fight for you. “Do you want me to leave? Do you want me to go, Tom?”

Silence.

And then - “It’s not safe.”

“Fuck you.”

That was the last thing you had said to him. Three words replaced with two that shattered around the room like an earthquake. You had tears in your eyes, and you rushed upstairs to pack your things, your heart breaking into sharp little pieces inside of you. He could hear the start of your sobs, the ones you tried so hard to muffle with your hand and he truly fucking hated himself. He gripped the marble above the fireplace and steadied his breathing, pushing out any thoughts of the weekend. He willed himself to shove away the happy memories, the sound of your laugh and the smell of your skin, the way he didn’t hear the shovels when you were beside him, safe and warm in his arms.

He needed to do what he did best, regain control and protect those he cared about, and right at the fucking top of the list was you. Any niggles of rationality and guilt telling him that pushing you away was wrong quickly turned to ash in his mind, he was certain that this was the right thing to do, despite the way that it really fucking hurt. He had to keep you safe. Men like him didn’t get to have nice things like you.

So he shut the door to his office, muffling the sound of you rummaging around upstairs, a part of you wishing and hoping that he would open the door and kiss you and apologise, and instead he picked up the phone, and went back to work.

———————————————————————

You woke up to sunlight painting your skin, and an empty bed, the silk sheets in disarray and bundled beside your bare body.

Oh fuck.

Oh fuck.

Like an ice cold bucket of water dropping over your head, you remembered every detail of what had happened overnight. Your skin relived the feeling of hands and fingertips and oh god, tongue dragging all across you, branded into your memory like a burn. It was the best nights sleep you had gotten in a long time, and the bed was so warm and soft and smelling like sin that you struggled to even lift your head from the pillow to check the time.

Mid morning.

You hadn’t slept in this long for a while, and you knew the reason why. Head slightly pounding from too much alcohol and adrenaline, you crawled out of bed, washing the remnants of last nights makeup from your face and pulling on your crumpled dress and stockings that had been haphazardly flung over the furniture. Your heart lurched a little when you freshened up in the bathroom and noticed your toothbrush still in the holder on the sink, right next to his.

You could hear cluttering downstairs and followed the noise, standing in the doorway of the kitchen, unable to stop the small smile that the sight gave you. He had evidently sent Mary on an errand, something far away so he could make you both breakfast in peace, away from prying eyes. He looked so boyish, so domestic, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, nimble fingers turning the bacon on the pan, his hair mussed from sex and sleep. It made you feel like you had swallowed a match. Your whole body alight from seeing him so gentle and vulnerable, so bare for just you to see.

Thomas Shelby whisking eggs and squeezing oranges, barefoot in his own kitchen, the sight rarer than a unicorn, and you were the only person who ever got close enough.

“Hi.” It left your mouth awkwardly and rolled off your tongue like an ice cube.

“Morning.” He turned and smiled, his lazy eyes trawling the length of your body. You hadn’t noticed it, but he felt a flicker of hurt that you were in your own clothes, a part of him wanting and hoping that you would be in one of his shirts, something that he loved much more than he could comprehend. He shook his head, willing the thoughts away. “It’ll be done soon. I think I’ve burnt the toast though, and probably added too much salt to the eggs.”

You smiled thinly, the light not reaching your eyes. This was all too much, all too soon. He was here and he was beautiful and you were right at the frontline, ready to get your heart broken all over again.“Last night,” You cleared your throat, as though the words were lodged deep inside. “It was a mistake.”

He didn’t blink, cool stare focused on the meal he was preparing, long fingers methodically slicing and dicing, as though your words didn’t make his heart thump against his rib cage. He didn’t like it, not one bit, the way that it sounded as though you regretted the time you had spent together. He never wanted you to feel like that, like the intimacy you had shared was something crude, as though you were a one night stand of a drunken fuck at a bar, this was so much more than that. This was love.

But Tommy liked holding his cards to his chest, and it was much easier to tease you then tell the truth.

“It didn’t feel like a mistake. You seemed to be enjoying yourself.”

You scoffed, hating his cockiness yet knowing that he was obviously right. “Don’t be a twat, Tommy.”

The ghost of a smile on his face, if you had blinked you might have missed it, but you were always the best person at reading him - the only person he had let close enough to see him, flaws and all. He always liked when you bickered with him, his little firecracker. He didn’t tolerate just anyone speaking to him the way you did, but he would let you get away with bloody murder and he couldn’t deny that it didn’t bring a flush to his cheeks when you got particularly feisty.

You opened your mouth to speak but he cut you off, his hands full with cutlery and plates filled with slap up breakfast foods, and you couldn’t deny that your mouth was watering.

“Eat first. We’ll talk later.”

You let out a sound halfway between a huff and a groan but caved in, clambering into the seat he had pulled open for you and piling your fork high. He watched you with a smile, the way you looked so young and pretty and angelic in the morning light, no makeup on and eyes still drowsy with sleep, like some kind of Renaissance painting he wanted to hang above his fireplace and stare at whenever things got rough.

He filled the silence with small talk, noting the weather and a story about one of John’s kids hiding a puppy in her room for almost a week without anyone noticing. You listened as best as you could, but you were distracted by the palomino mare you could see grazing in the fields behind his house, and something was prickling at your skin like brambles.

You cleared your throat, acting as nonchalant as you could muster. “Emma tells me that May Carlton is training your new mare.” Your knife sliced through your yolk, rich butter yellow bleeding across your plate. You tried to keep your voice steady, but you could feel the thickness in your throat as you remembered how it hurt like a bullet wound when your best friend had told you of his new associate. “I hear she is quite beautiful.”

“Yes, I suppose she is.” He murmured, cutting the edge of fat from his bacon. “But she’s nothing compared to you.”

You tried to pretend that his words didn’t make you swoon, and he tried to hide how much he loved it when you got jealous, something about the fire in your eyes making him want to push you up against a wall and kiss you till you couldn’t talk.

He paused, a coy smile on his lips. “Have you been keeping tabs on me?”

You scoffed. “Well, it’s only fair. What with all those Blinders following me. Can’t even go to the bloody shops without one watching me.”

So you had noticed. He had half been expecting a blazing call where you yelled at him for having men watch over you, and it had left a hole of disappointment in his gut when it never came.

“You know I would never let you be unprotected.”

“I know.”

Your eyes met, a wave of warm affection washed over the both of you, but you pulled your gaze back quickly, focusing your attention anywhere else.

“You should come and watch her.”

You froze, wondering if Tommy had just invited you to spend the day with May Carlton, you were sure that would be one evening that would end in blood and tears.

“The mare.” He said, picking up at your uncomfortableness and biting back a smile. “We’ve called her ‘Wicked Gypsy’, and she is brilliant. I reckon she could win the whole bloody thing.”

You liked how passionate he got when he talked about horses. Liked the way that he seemed to light up like a child, despite all the finery and bravado, you liked knowing that the little boy inside of him was still there, hidden deep, deep down, but still there. You were too busy being captivated by him that it took you a moment to realise that he had asked you to join him at the races.

You wanted nothing more, you truly wanted nothing more than to be his girl again. Cradled under his arm, dressed in lace and fur, his lips pressed to the heat of your throat, sweet little words whispered in your ear, a hand tight and possessive around your waist - but it just wasn’t that easy.

You sighed, crossing your cutlery. “Tom. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I want you there. I need my good luck charm.”

“Tommy, after everything. I don’t think we should.”

Firmer now, he looks at you, emphasising his point.“I need you there. When she wins, I need my best girl to be right by my side.”

He was so slippery. So sickly sweet that you could drown in him, struggle to move in the molasses that dripped from his tongue. He was dangerous, carnal fire and sin, but he wasn’t lying, he needed you, really fucking needed you.

You exhaled, thinking things through, and massaging the migraine brewing in your temples. He could see you trying to think of an excuse, another lie about how you’re bad for each other, but he got there first, not wanting to hear it.

“I’ll have a car pick you up on Friday.” He turned his hands so his palms were facing the ceiling, eyebrows raised playfully, “Or... maybe you can stay here the night. You know you’re welcome.”

Always so bloody charming. But you can’t stop the tsunami of thoughts, the mistakes of the past. “What is this, Tommy? What are we doing?”

“I fucked up. I never should have let you go.”

“But you did. And - I don’t want to get hurt all over again.”

“I won’t hurt you.”

“You always do.”

You words stung him worse than if you had slapped him across the face, and he had to take a moment to swallow the sour taste that had been swimming across his tongue. He reached his hands out, clasping them with yours, so large and warm and safe, and he spoke with intensity.

“Just - Come with me, Friday. Please. I can’t do this without you.”

Friday. Suddenly it was no longer about slipping up or falling back in love and wondering what your friends might think when you told them, it was about something else that you needed to tell him.

“I can’t.”

“You can’t? Why not?”

“I’m leaving.”

“Leaving? Leaving where?” His tone was one of disbelief, his eyes sizing you up, wondering if this was some kind of elaborate excuse.

You sighed, taking your hands away from under his, noticing the lack of warmth immediately. “To Oxford. Peggy transferred me to the company over there.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Because I asked her to.”

“You did what?”

You could see him thinking, wondering how none of his boys had found out this priceless piece of information that makes him want to throw his expensive fucking china at the wall.

“I did it all through work. Emma’s the only one who knew. I’m getting the train Wednesday night.”

He stood up so quickly his chair squealed across the wood floor, his mouth agape. “So what? You’re just going to leave?”

“There’s nothing here for me.”

He pointed one finger at you, scolding you like a child. “Don’t say that.”

You narrowed your eyes, shaking your head. “It’s true isn’t it? Why should I waste more time on this stupid cat and mouse game?”

“Is that all this is to you? A game?”

“You left me. For three months I was completely alone! What happens when something comes up, huh? How do I know that you won’t leave me all over again?” It was hard to keep the emotion from your voice, hard not to show just how badly the impact of those three months had been. “We need this! Some...some fucking space. Maybe being a few cities away will be good.”

It was a lie. Nothing sounded worse, but you had to say your piece because god knows you can’t keep holding everything in.

His voice was frayed, split like the hairs in an old rope. “Don’t. Don’t give me space. That’s the last thing I want from you.”

His words and his actions never lined up, and it made your blood boil. All of the anger you had turned into tears had remoulded into red hot rage, and you slammed your hands down on his expensive counter tops, flesh on marble ringing around the kitchen. “So then why did you let me go? Why did you tell me to leave?”

“Because I thought that was best for you!”

“You aren’t the one who gets to decide that!”

“Everything I do. Everything I fucking do - is to protect you.”

“Don’t say that. Protecting me isn’t making me leave, and then not speaking to me for three fucking months.”

You could see the click in his jaw, the vein in his throat throbbing. “You knew what you signed up for when you met me.”

“No, actually, I don’t think I did.”

It was true. You expected late nights, days of no contact, blood staining your bathroom counter and men watching your every move. You expected fights and make ups, going to the races in your finery and then walking down the shit filled streets of Small Heath, but you never expected that he would just leave you the way he did.

He was breathless, trying to control the rise and fall of his chest and the way that his fingers clenched. He never thought that you would leave, he had some fucked up feeling that you would always come back to him, that the two of you would always end up on the same ship, drifting along the same ocean. It was maddening. He had tasted you once again, had you under him, his girl reduced to putty in his hands. It had all made sense, the night seemed to be sweeter and the stars a little brighter and his lungs a little looser when you were next to him. It had all felt so right, and now you were going to leave.

He put it down to exasperation at not being in control anymore, the fact that he was watching you slip between his fingers once again like grains of sand, and so he said the worst thing he thought of, something that he knew would rip through you like a shot to the heart.

“Well at least I got one last fuck eh? That was all you were really any good for anyway.”

He could hear it immediately, the sound of the bullet leaving the gun, or perhaps that’s your heart shattering in two. He regretted it, he regretted it so badly that he wished he could pull the words back down his throat and swallow them like they were poison.

Your eyes watered but you didn’t let him see you cry. Your mouth opened and then closed not wanting to waste your breath on a reply, not wanting to hurt him the way he’d hurt you. You didn’t bother with a reply, not trusting yourself enough to talk, only wanting to be alone to like your wounds in peace. So you turned and left, last nights heels echoing through the hallway, the sound of the front door creaking open and slamming shut, silence falling once again.

Tommy pushed the plates off the table.

—————————————————————————-

Wednesday night and you were listening to your favourite record, something to distract you from the suitcase you were packing. Since the fight you hadn’t heard from Tommy, the first thing you’d packed had been your phone, pulling it off the wall as soon as you got home, not wanting to be on edge waiting for his call.

You didn’t allow yourself the time to wallow, refused to let yourself be beaten up by the words he had said, the ones that hung around your head like dead files. You hated that you let him speak to you that way, and you also hated that you missed him with every bone in your body.

Lilac, sapphire and emerald green. You threw your clothes together, watching the colours fade into a blur. You hadn’t packed anything he had given you, but you didn’t want to throw them out either and so they sat in a lonely purgatory in your wardrobe; a little gift to the next tenant.

You knew who was there the second the doorbell rang. Well, rang three times. The sound so shrill and violent that you tipped your head back in frustration. You considered leaving him outside in the summer rain, but soon the rings were switched with incessant knocking, your door surely about to break from the weight of his fists.

“Fucking hell.” You seethed, dropping your shoes onto the floor and stepping over the piles of toiletries stacked in the hallway. “Fuck you, Tom.”

You wanted to say those three words to him as soon as you opened the door, hoping your eyes reflected the anger bubbling inside of you, but he cut you off with a sigh of relief.

“Thank fuck you’re still here.”

“Not for long.”

You tried to shut the door, you really did, but he pushed past and into your flat with little effort.

“Get out, Tom. Now.”

He spun round to face you, and you finally got a good look at him. He looked rough, frazzled almost. His hair messy and his shirt ruffled and his eyes were mostly white, frantically watching your face.

“I fucked up. I fucked everything up.”

“You came all this way just to tell me that?”

“I should have followed you sooner. I should have followed you the second you walked through that door.”

You quirked an eyebrow in challenge. “Which time?”

He spread his hands out, biting down on his tongue. “Don’t go. Don’t leave.”

You sighed, kicking a stray shampoo bottle with your feet, something to fill the emptiness that surrounded you. “I’ve made up my mind.”

He moved one step closer and you moved one step back. “Is this what you really want?”

“We can’t always get what we want.”

“That’s bullshit.”

You threw your hands up in despair. “I’m not doing this with you now, Tommy. My train leaves in an hour and I have my first day tomorrow and I don’t want to fuck it all up.”

“If it’s what you really want, then you should go. But don’t leave if it’s all because of me.”

You scoffed. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself.”

“And I’m not going to let you go without telling you that I love you. I really fucking love you.”

“Tommy.” It’s a warning. It’s a threat. But it hangs between you both, lingering in the air like smoke.

“I know you love me too. I know you do. I also know that I’m a massive twat who fucked everything up, but I’m not letting you get away, not again.”

You're exasperated. His words like honey, but you’re scared that that’s all they are, and you’re more scared that they might be so much more. “Why should I believe anything you say?”

“Because I’m telling the truth. I don’t care about anything. Nothing matters to me more than you. I don’t care if Sabini has men outside my house every fucking night, you’re only safe with me, and I can only do this with you by my side.”

“Talk is cheap.”

“If I have to spend every day proving how much you mean to me then I will. I can’t - I can’t be without you.”

He was so close to you. Your noses almost touching, the hair on your arms and your spine sticking up, something electric about him. You want to hate him but you can’t. Not when he’s standing in your dimly lit hallway, looking dishevelled and beautiful and dare you say, broken. The edge of his jawline caught the light, shimmering like a jewel, and the pools in his eyes were so sincere and so deeply blue that you wanted to fall right into them.

Were you going to do this? Were you going to let him in again? You thought of everything - rain splattered kisses, dancing under the pale moonlight, sour whisky in the corner of his office. You thought of all of the chaos, all of the blood, all of the family arguments and shouting that echoed around his manor. You thought of all the tears you had shed, all the times your throat had been raw and your heart shattered into pieces. You thought of strawberry fields and his hand in yours, laughing with his brothers until you couldn’t breathe, the way that he felt and smelt and spoke like home.

It had been bad, but it was also the best thing you had ever been a part of.

You sighed loudly, clicking your tongue, meeting him somewhere in the middle. “Fuck. I’m never going to get my deposit back.”

His whole body trembled, relief coming from every pore, and he made a vow to go to Church with Pol on Sunday and thank whoever was listening for getting you back. “Well you’re moving in with me so there’s nothing to worry about.”

You rolled your eyes, his large hands wrapping around your jaw, making you look at him. He smelt like woodsmoke and peppermint, like a million bad decisions and the tang of a smoking barrel. It took everything in you to not buckle at the knees and let him carry you like a child.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” He cradled your face, hoping his words came off as strongly out loud as they did in his head. He’s not going to fuck up again, but even he can’t stop his brain from short circuiting at the sight of you, so pretty with your doe eyes and raspberry lips, the skin on your throat just begging for the tug of his teeth.

You buried your head in his chest when he pulled you close, your words muffled through the cotton of his shirt. “If you ever speak to me like that again I’ll rip your fucking balls off.”

A soft smile, one that washes over him like warm candlelight. “I know.”

He’s not letting you go, not again. You’re a fucking part of him, like the blood that runs through his veins and the steady thump of his chest, you’re a part of his body, the reason why he can breathe and run and love. You’re the thing that stops the tremor in his hands, the thing that makes him so unshakeable, so tough and in control.

He had something to fight for.

And only knowing that you’re by his side, safe and warm and pressed into the crook of his body, does he finally allow himself to exhale.

[script-nef]

Ex-girlfriend | Miya Atsumu

Category: crack, fluff

Warning: profanities

1.4k words; just Miya Atsumu feeding his fans with his “girlfriend”

The link to the “interview” is a ridiculously high-quality cover of Colde singing Nabi Bobet Tau. It’s great, have a listen. The second one is “Lovestruck” also by Colde.

Lmao did you guys see the interview Atsumu did

Okay so I was just chilling on my couch, flicking through channels to see what’s fun and guess who I see. Getting interviewed. With his incredibly red “girlfriend” by his side. (In hindsight it could be because of the winter cold but listening to Atsumu, he’s probably the main cause) And feeding us for the next 2 months while MSBY doesn’t have any interviews or appearances.

Bruh the reporter who had the fortune of randomly meeting them, what’s the power to your luck I want them secrets. I need them secrets.

But honestly, I was in a shitty mood all day and his interview made my mood lift up. If you guys wanna see the interview, it’s here.

 |

LMAO HE SAID “THIS IS MY EX-GIRLFRIEND” ON LIVE CAMERA SHE LOOKED SO MORTIFIED AND I WAS SCREAMING LIKE “WHAT THE FUCK YOU BROKE UP ATSUMU WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING BEG FOR HER TO STAY” THEN HE RAISED HIS HAND UP I SAW THE RING I CAN’T BREATHE

 |

WHEN SHE SAID “Please stop introducing me to everyone like that” IN THE MOST EMBARRASSED VOICE LIKE BOY NOT GONNA LIE YOU HAD US IN THE FIRST HALF

AND IT WAS SO CUTE HOW SHE WAS SO RED AND HER REACTION WHEN SHE REALISED IT WAS LIVE. IT’S A MEME NOW I CALLED IT

 |

Did you see her eyes when he started saying all the soft shit they do together? She was staring off into the distance like she gave up everything but she smiled so cutely when he looked back at her like a puppy. This is what I’m talking about. This shit is my life source. I need me an Atsumu. I need me some romance. 

 |

“What would be different when you’re married?”

“Not much, but now I can use the ‘But I’m your husband’ card whenever I wanna hug!” BOY WHY ARE YOU SO PURE WHEN IT COMES TO HER WHY CAN’T YOU BE LIKE THAT IN YOUR MATCHES THE DUALITY OF THIS MAN

 |

DUDE HE FUCKING SAID THAT WE STAN THE BIGGEST SIMP PLEASE NEVER BREAK UP I AM BEGGING YOU!! FEED ME WITH THIS SOFT SHIT THIS IS WHAT GETS ME GOING

 |

They’re so goddamn cute… Are there more clips of them together or anything like that?

 |

There’s this page where people just dish whenever they see them together outside. It’s basically a massive collection of Atsumu being a lovesick fool for his now-fiancée. Here’s the link. 

Going out

Apparently his girlfriend worked for MSBY and he fell in love with her. But they had some kind of a bullshit “no dating people affiliated with the team” rule or something so he counted down the days until her year-long contract was over.

And everyone was basically rooting for them since they were super obvious and they officially started dating at the small party on her last day. I think there’s like a super grainy video of them hugging for the entire party. And like, she fits into his embrace perfectly like damn what a match I wish my boyfriend hugged me like that.

 |

SHIT IT’S FIANCÉE NOW I CAN’T BELIEVE BE HAPPY YOU FUCKING CUTIES I LOVE YOU GUYS SO MUCH

Café AU

I own a café and Atsumu comes regularly with his girlfriend. She always orders the chocolate waffle combo which is a plateful of waffles topped off with oreo crumbles and chocolate sauce and a milkshake. But Atsumu doesn’t like sweet things so he just watches her the entire time. You know the “chin rested on hand, leaning onto the table and looking at their significant other like the rest of the world doesn’t exist” move? Yeah, imagine that times 2,000. Then square it. And even then you won’t come close to how lovestruck he is for her.

And whenever she looks up from her waffles, he just grins and asks her if it’s nice in the sweetest voice like. You can make those types of voices??? I thought my ears were malfunctioning for a second. 

They’re just really cute and make me happy whenever I see them. I’m pretty sure a lot of my regulars also support them as well. 

 |

So they’re getting married!! Ugh I swear I’m going to give them extra food as my way of saying congratulations the next time they come around.

 |

Wait, are you the owner of ChatNoir Café? Like the one Atsumu uploads onto his Insta all the time??

 |

That’s me! Yeah, thanks to him I’m getting more and more business everyday. You fans are so amazing I even made a deal for you guys. 

Atsumu just uploaded a video of him going through his new house. There is literally nothing in it other than bare essentials lmao. Hopefully they have similar taste in furnitures because I don’t think Atsumu’s going to back down on his decisions.

Insta upload

Atsumu just uploaded a video of him going through his new house. There is literally nothing in it other than bare essentials lmao. Hopefully they have similar taste in furnitures because I don’t think Atsumu’s going to back down on his decisions.

 |

Nah, man. He’s always going to back down for her. You know how a lot of couples break up during the preparation for the wedding because they realised they’re too stubborn and get into fights? I was fearing that happening for Atsumu but then the match incident happened and I realised. This guy is whipped for her. Properly whipped. He’s never going to break up with her.

 |

What’s the match incident?

 |

It’s probably on YouTube, just search “Atsumu kneeling”.

It was a match where he did a spike which bounded off the opponent blocker’s arm and somehow went straight to her face. I was nearby her and my heart literally leapt into my throat when I saw it. She reacted fast enough and blocked it with her hand, but you should really watch the video to hear the sound. It’s somehow still so strong even after hitting the blocker (powerful boi)

Anyway he immediately ran to her to check up on the damage and literally broke down when he saw her skin turning red. He later said she gets bruises easily and that this left one which persisted for like, 3 months. 

She kept saying it was fine and that’s it’s not his fault, but he knelt in front of her to show how sorry he was. In front of everyone. Like, everyone. I couldn’t see one person who wasn’t watching him. And everyone’s jaw was on the floor because holy shit this guy’s kneeling here. I couldn’t believe it and I was standing right there. 

The coach eventually came to take him back and sent her to the infirmary to get the hand checked out, but she said something to Atsumu first which revived him. He never told us what it was but apparently it’s something really good since he got like, 10 services aces after that.

 |

Lovesick Atsumu for the win

 |

LOVESICK ATSUMU FOR THE WIN SAY IT LOUDER SO EVERYONE CAN HEAR

Drawing upload

Atsumu has uploaded yet another painting of him done by his fiancée and it is honestly amazing how someone has that much talent. Like, she’s pretty, probably has the patience and kindness of a God because she’s able to deal with Atsumu, artistic and adorable. Lady, what don’t you have??

 |

I know right??? How are you so amazing please stop being so perfect and live like the rest of us plebeians down on Earth. How will I ever get a girlfriend when you’re everything I dream for??

 |

I can imagine her painting and decorating the whole house while Atsumu trails behind her like a loyal puppy. Am I weird if I say I can see in front of my eyes how he’ll carry everything around and lean down for head pats while saying he deserves them for being good. Anyone else think this? No? Just me? Alright then.

 |

YEAHHHH JOIN THE “ATSUMU IS FOREVER WHIPPED AND WE HAVE EVIDENCE” CLUB EVERYONE IS WELCOME!! In my 2 years of following this man I never thought that someone able to control him would appear but here she is. Our goddess. 

My only wish is for them to love each other and grow old. And hopefully update us on bits of their sweet and fluffy lives.

[itstittycitybaby]

From the Ashes We are Born (Part two)

A/N: Just wanna say thank you so much for the notes and follows! I appreciate it a lot. I forget how broken tumblr is until i have to post something with 1000+ words. Anyways enjoy lmao.

.

The cool and crisp sheets welcomed you in its arms once you woke up. They smelt of pine trees and lemon with a tinge of muskiness to it. A dull ache coursed through your head, causing you to curse. The light did no favours for your head either. You groaned; there was a bedside table with a few candles. A hint of vanilla wafted through the air as the flame flickered and danced. “Where the fuck am I?” You rubbed your eyes to wake yourself up even more before trying to escape wherever the fuck you had been taken to. A bandage was placed on the side of your head where that cop had struck you. Slinging one leg out you raised yourself out of bed, or tried to anyway. The sheets had wrapped itself around your legs and waist. Your left leg felt tingly and weak once you put your weight on it. “Oh fuck,” you yelped as you toppled onto the floor, smacking your nose in the process. A nice thudding sound followed at the impact. Great, now my kidnapper knows I'm definitely awake. It was nice living while it lasted, I guess. As if on cue hurried footsteps caught your attention. The sound traveled throughout the mysterious place and into the room you were currently in. As you tried to untangling your legs out of the cursed sheet, you noticed the mountains and mountains of books piled in the room. Several stacks were behind the bed and there were cases of them piled on the cold floor. 

Shaking your head out of your thoughts, you tried getting up again. However, your legs still refused to cooperate with you. The floor seemed to stare back at you mockingly as you caught yourself from kissing it. Huffing, you resorted to a military like crawl to get around. One arm forward, one leg forward, pull. Now, other arm… “I see you have awakened,” an amused voice said. There, stood your captor. V. You almost laughed at the pink frilly apron tied around his waist. Almost. You sent him a glare as he stood there, amused in the predicament you were in. “I didn’t notice. Where am I?” “My home. The Shadow Gallery,” V said as he extended his arm. “May I?” Sighing, you wrapped your fingers around his arm and let him pull you up. You clutched onto his arm tightly for support. Your knees started to shake and you prepared for them to buckle beneath you for the third goddamn time. “Oh great,” you huffed as you started to fall. You screwed your eyes shut, bracing for impact. It never came. Your eyes flew open and you stood there, confused. That’s when you realized what was supporting your waist. Who was supporting your waist. V’s arm had snaked around your waist and he pulled your side into him. He rested his mask atop your head, warmth radiating off of him. You could smell the musky scent of pine from the sheets as you inhaled. Cheeks singing with heat, you mumbled a “thanks.” “Of course, I wouldn't want you to hurt yourself anymore,” he chuckled. You wanted to ignore the way his voice traveled down your spine and caused your belly to flutter.

“How long was I out for? I can’t really..walk.” “Yes I can see that,” he teased. “Roughly I’d say two days.”  Two days? Two fucking days?!  “How is your head,” V asked as he led you through the gallery. “Hurts,” you quipped, leaning on him for support. His arm was still wrapped around your waist. Not that you noticed. Several Statues and paintings filled the hall as he led you to..somewhere. You gaped in shock; famous paintings and sculptures that had been locked up were sitting here, in the Shadow Gallery. “Holy shit, V. These are..,” you guestered towards the contraband in front of you. “From the vaults of the Ministry of Objectionable Materials,” he finished for you. “How did you manage to steal them?” V chuckled, “Stealing implies ownership, you can’t steal from the censor, I merely reclaimed them.” You laughed, clever as always.

V led you to a small kitchen. A small table sat in the middle of it with the appliances behind it. Knick knacks and books filled the barren beige tiled walls. The Shadow Gallery had a homey feeling to it. Just looking at it made your heart warm. You sank into the chair V had sat you in. A couple books were open on the table along with a few newspapers strewn about. “TERRORIST DEAD!”, was one of the headlines of the paper. A picture of V’s masked face was printed, lying on the floor. You snickered. How stupid people had to be to believe that shit. “I apologize, I was going to tidy up before you woke.” You looked away from the clipping and smiled reassuringly. “It’s alright, V. Much cleaner than my apartment; there’s paint splattered everywhere and clothes around the floor.” “You enjoy painting?” His back was turned to you holding an egg. V cracked it somehow making cracking an egg elegant. It sizzled as it fell onto the pan. “Yea I do. I’m not the best but I love it. It helps me.” You watched V as he moved about the kitchen. 

His gracefulness never failed to astonish you. The spatula he was using caught the egg after he flipped it into the air. It made you smile as you watched him maneuver around the place. “Art is art. Whether or not the quality of it is excellent, it should speak what words cannot.” “Not sure you’d still say that once you looked at it,” you laughed. “I tend to make some weird things.” “I would like to see them one day, you have caught my interest,” V said, scooping the eggs on a plate. He placed a piece of toast on the plate and set it before you. That’s when you caught sight of his hands. They looked painful; they were an angry red and scars littered them. His hands looked incredibly rough and it looked like it hurt. Your heart hurt looking at them. “V,” you said softly, “are you okay?” His eyes caught the direction you were looking at. “Ah, excuse me.” He turned his back to you as he grabbed his gloves. The leather crinkled as he snapped them back on. “There, that’s better,” V said once he turned to you again, flexing his fingers as he held them in front of him. “Did you hurt your hands?” V didn’t say anything for a bit as he looked at his gloves. “Once, a long time ago. There was a fire. I’m fine now, thank you for your concern.”

The air felt tense between you two. V’s body language seemed uncomfortable at the mention of his hands, so you didn’t press any further. You dug into the egg in front of you;yolk poured out as you cut it. You hummed as you took a bite. “God, that’s good.” V chuckled, his shoulders relaxed once the topic of his skin was dropped. “Good,” he said, pouring tea into a cup. His hands were folded as he watched you munch on your toast. The taste of buttery goodness hit your tongue instantly. You looked at him shocked. “That’s...is that real butter?” “Yes, yes it is.” You stared at him, dumbfounded. “How did you..?” “A government supply train on its way to Chancellor Sutler.” Your brows shot up as you gaped at V. He said it so calmly like stealing from a dictator was a normal pastime. “You’re actually crazy. You stole..from Chancellor..Sutler..I..”

“I dare all that may become a man. Who dares more is none,” V quoted. Your brows furrowed  and your lips pulled into a frown at his words. What is he talking about? “I’m pretty sure I don’t understand that reference.” “Macbeth?” Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He probably thinks I’m an idiot. You shook your head and looked down at your food. “Not interested in the fine art of theatre?” You scarfed down your last bite of toast and egg, setting your fork down gently. If you weren’t starving you would be embarrassed of swallowing your food. V didn’t seem to mind anyways. 

“I enjoy seeing plays and things like that. I just never got the chance to read them.” You grabbed your plate and started to rise from your seat, but V stopped you. “I’ve got it Mademoiselle,” he said, grabbing your plate from your hands. “Thanks,” you replied, sitting back in your seat awkwardly. You twirled your thumbs to try and calm the butterflies in your stomach. You felt sick as you stood there. Would he be offended or embarrassed that you hadn’t studied theatre?  “I have a few of his works around the gallery, you’re more than welcome to read them if you’d like.” The sink spat out water. You watched V scrub your plate vigorously. You had to stop yourself from laughing as you realized he’d change his gloves again to rubber yellow ones. “I would, but it’s hard for me to understand what's going on. I probably sound stupid,” you muttered. V shook his head; his hair bouncing along with it. “Nonsense my dear; just because something is difficult does not make you stupid.” You snorted. V turned to you after putting your plate away. The look in your eyes looked faraway, and empty. Underlying it was sadness and a flicker of anger. “My dad would say differently. He was religious and batshit insane.” “What about your mother,” V asked, folding the kitchen towel and hanging it back on the stove. “Cancer took her. I don’t remember her at all.” “I’m sorry to hear that.” You shrugged, “Life moves on. What can you do.” V didn’t say anything. In fact, he didn’t know what to say. He had many skills, but comfort was one he lacked. You looked so bitter as you sat there, sipping your tea. “If you’d like, I’d be happy to read one of Macbeth’s plays to you,” V said gently. Surely, that would help take your mind off of things right? You grinned, ignoring the fluttering in your heart. A distraction was what you needed and V gave you just that. “Sure!”

[lildoodlecat]

Alright buckle the fuck up bc I've just had a morning

So I live about a half hour drive from my college campus, and a couple of my classes this semester require me to buy some art kits from a very specific store that is, obviously, only on campus

Got up at 7, ready to head out for when the store opened at 7:30, and set off in my pajamas with my kiribaku ita bag and ready to make the drive

Google maps oh so handily said hey, did you know there's a highway that'll actually get you there faster than the freeway? So I was like hell yeah I love not driving on the freeway let's fucking go

I head out, drive the freeway for a bit until I hit the exit for the highway, and cruise on down a highway with a lot of construction, but it's been that way for years so whatever

The construction, surprisingly, caused no issue. I made it past and noticed hm, there sure do seem to be a lot of cars piled up ahead

And oh boy. There were. The whole highway backed up who knows how far, on a Tuesday morning.

And I'm thinking, well I don't wanna sit through that. I'm pretty sure there's a side road I can take instead?? So I switch into the exit lane and that's backed up a bit too but not much. I get off, I drive over and pull into a convenience store lot to check my map.

There is no other road.

There is no other fucking road and all that's here are residential neighborhoods and the goddamn maverick I'm parked in front of

So, shit, wrong decision there buddy but it's alright i guess I could just take the entrance ramp and get back on. But I really, really don't fucking want to try and merge onto a highway that's at a long, backed up standstill

I checked the traffic report just in case bc if there's an accident that didn't happen too recently it might clear up if I wait a bit. Yeah no it just happened and hey, that explains all the police that drove by earlier

Anyway I'm a pussy and decided to backtrack (and took a wrong turn and got lost in that residential neighborhood for a bit, during which I pulled over to check my map again and complain to some group chats abt my predicament)

So I changed my destination to the freeway and made it there with only one wrong turn

But the trouble doesn't end there because college campuses are confusing as hell

I got close to the building the store was in but couldn't quite see it as I kept going in circles and the navigator was like take the next left :D into what was, very obviously, a lawn and not a road

I also almost clipped a line of parked cars and gave myself a heart attack when I had to jerk the wheel because I was being a dumbass and trying to look at the map while I was driving slow

So I made it to a parking lot behind the building, and remembered hm, I got a couple emails about parking passes (which I didn't buy since I didn't think I'd need one). Do I need one to park in this lot??? Never figured out if I did but I parked in a corner and got out anyway

It is now 8:45am. Jesus christ, I just wanted to get my shit and go home

I wasn't sure where the hell the tiny hole in the wall store would be in the massive building, but apparently I had some good luck because I found it almost as soon as I walked in

For some reason it doubled as a coffee place?? Which sucks for me bc the smell of coffee makes me nauseous but whatever. I got one of my kits, paid, walked out,

wait a minute don't I need another hold the fuck on

Had to go back and awkwardly be like yeah me again, need another $200 kit mhm okay alrighty

But oh lucky me neither of these heavy fucks had handles so I'm awkwardly carrying both of them and a bigass roll of paper all the way to my car. At which point I just kinda dropped them in the grass to be able to use my keys and toss them in the back seat.

I got most of the way home fine, didn't see a stop sign until I was on top of it tho and had to slam my breaks (which threw my bag into a flip off the passenger seat and I heard something fall in the back but was like whatever it's fine I'm almost home

A little further and a cop pulls in behind me which immediately sent me into a bit of a panic because haha, cops are fucking scary

It was fine, obviously, bc I was going the speed limit and they weren't behind me long before I had to take a right and they kept going straight

The last bump in this hhhHHHARGHARAAAAA morning was a garbage truck that had stopped and was taking up the entire lane so I had to go around into the oncoming lane but it's not like that road is ever busy so it was fine

Made it home at 10:20am, dumped my shit in my room, and promptly collapsed on the couch because holy fuck, my heart hasn't calmed down and I'm still shaking (partially because I haven't eaten since last night but mostly nerves)

I'm good now but uGH I hated that so much

Also I think a part of one of the kits had to be changed so I might have to go back for it later and if that doesn't go at least semi-smoothly I'm gonna find a nice patch of dirt to decompose in

[bapyess1r]

Sunny Daze

WARNINGS: cursing, violence

Pairings: Sam x OC, Nate x OC

Chapter 5

Sunny’s POV

Pow! I gasped at the sound of gunfire. Leave it to Nathan to always end up getting shot at. “God dammit, Nathan…. You and your…. your goddamn brother…” I mumbled in irritation as I pulled a switchblade from my bag and cut a high split into my dress. I snatched my wig off and tossed it in the backseat. With an exasperated sigh, I posted up next to Sully to examine the situation. We watched as people fled the estate at the sound of bullets sounding off.

“Well I’ll be go to hell. You and Sam might’ve been right about taking guns with us.” Sully said, putting out his cigar.

“I’m never wrong about when you need a weapon. And if I am, it doesn’t hurt to be safe.” I shrugged, snapping the heels off of my shoes. It was a shame I had to ruin such pretty shoes. I groaned, taking a hard look as security began to scour the building. I made a face, placing my hands on my hips.

“What are you thinkin’, kid?” He asked me. I ran my fingers through my short curls, feeling the air on my scalp.

“I’m thinkin’ Imma have to go after them. They could get killed…” I said, racking my brain to come up with a plan to find them.

“I’d start from the roof if I were you.” He suggested. I looked up at the massive building and groaned again.

“Because we couldn’t just rob a regular sized building…. It just had to be this behemoth…” I said walking towards the estate.

“I’ll bring the car around. Once you have the boys, meet me in the driveway.” He told me as he rounded the white car. “And Sunny…” I stopped in my tracks and turned to look at him. “Please be careful.”

I gave him the biggest smile.

“I’m practically invincible.” I smirked, reassuring him and pressing the button on my coms as I continued towards the building.

I climbed a pipe to the top of the estate, half crying as I looked down. ‘If I fall, that would be… not the best…’ I thought as I navigated myself across the rooftop. I spotted a guard pacing a balcony with a heavy AK-47 in his hands. I decided that was my gun of choice and climbed stealthily to him. I managed to edge my way to an area behind him and climbed up to position myself for a silent takedown. Jumping on his back to wrap my arms around his neck, I squeezed as hard as I could until the man passed out cold. I took the gun from him and patted his body down for extra ammo. I found only two clips but I’m sure I’d find more on the way. “Talk to me, Natey. Sam? Where are you guys?” I asked, slipping the gun over my shoulder and tightening the strap a bit.

‘Trying to get to the exit but I keep running into guards!’ I heard him respond, bullets flying and popping off in the background. I sighed as I jumped from ledge to ledge. Hopping over a railing that landed me in a courtyard. I could hear him groaning and touching it out though. ‘Nothing I can't handle...’

“Sam, how ‘bout you?” I asked as I followed the pathway down to another courtyard. It was beginning to feel like a maze.

‘Well the good news is: I got a gun! Bad news: I’m under a lotta fire and I’m not sure how much longer my ammo’s gonna last me.’ I heard him answer as bullets seemed to soar past his head. My brain started to work out a plan to get us all out. First, I had to grab Sam.

“Where are you, Sam?” I asked, carefully going down a flight of stairs and peeking behind corners. I peered over the railing to see if I could spot either of them but it was too dark.

‘I had to ditch the uniform. Got cornered in the wine cellar on my way out. I’m kinda pinned down here!’ He shouted over the gunfire. My walk picked up into a sprint as I continued to parkour over every obstacle.

“Hang tight! I’m on my way!” I said as I scanned the area for the quickest route to the cellar. Eventually I found myself on a ledge right above the shootout by the cellar. I counted 8 men. ‘Shit.’ I thought. “This is gonna get hairy…” I mumbled as I readied myself. “Sam, I’m here but you’re gonna have to help me out!” I told him.

‘I’ll take the front, you grab the back! Can you handle that, princess?!’ He groaned. As lovely as his voice sounded in my ear, I couldn’t let him distract me. So I scoffed.

“Don’t call me ‘princess’!” I shouted, jumping off the ledge. I landed on top of a thug and snapped his neck, taking his hand gun in the process. As I pulled the gun to shoot another guard, I could see Sam running out of the cellar with his gun pointed, shooting his shots strategically near their heads to disarm them. As a man grabbed his ear, he charged toward him with a jump and the butt of his gun collided with his temple.

“He’s not gettin’ up after that…” he commented before continuing the fight. It didn’t take long for us to clear the yard and I finished the fight, kicking a man behind the knees to bring him down. When I folded him, I brought my fist to his jaw, quickly knocking him out. “Nice!” I heard Sam say as he approached me. I took a moment to catch my breath, nodding as he acknowledged me. I looked up at him and he began to kick around the loose rocks on the ground; like he was trying to find the right words to say something. I had an inkling of what but we didn’t have time. “Hey listen, uh… Sunny-”

“Not now, Sam. Let’s go get your brother.” I said pushing past him. I began to climb the ledge again and he followed silently.

After a few more minutes of climbing and navigating the tops of the estate, we heard gun shots from below. I ran towards a nearby rail to see a group of men shooting upwards. Hanging from a broken awning was none other than my best friend. “Sam lookit! It’s Nathan!” I said pointing in his direction. He raked his hands through his hair looking around for a way up. “We gotta help him.” A wave of worry spread over me and Sam placed a comforting hand on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze and I looked back at his confident eyes.

“And we will. C’mon. There’s a hatch on the roof.” He said, pulling me by the arm. “C’mere. I’ll give you a boost.” He adjusted his pants and grounded himself, placing his hands before him. I put my hands on his shoulders and kicked off as he hoisted me in the air. I hung from the short ladder, my arms burning a bit as I pulled my weight up, pushing the hatch back to reveal the night sky. A cool breeze hit me as I climbed onto the roof and I laid flat on my stomach to reach out for Sam. “Are you sure you can hold me, princess?”

“Keep calling me princess and I’ll leave you down there.” I warned him.

“Alright, alright! I’m sorry.” He apologized rather quickly before jumping to grab my forearm, his weight pulling me down a bit.

“Jesus H, do you eat enough?” I asked with sarcasm as I readjusted my positioning to pull him up enough to reach the ladder.

“I had a big breakfast.” he grunted as I pulled him up. The wind began to pick up. We ran towards the end of the roof shouting Nathan’s name frantically.

‘Guys! You’re ok!’ I heard him shout as he dangled from the awning.

“Here! I got a gun! Catch!” With that, Sam took his hand gun and tossed it an incredible distance. By God’s grace, Nathan caught it and Sam cheered in amazement as his brother took several successful headshots.

“Because that would’ve really sucked if you missed.” I commented. He gave me a stupid goofy grin.

“I know right?” he chuckled. I began to shoot him a smile until I heard a bullet fly by us. We looked behind us and there was a guard, pointing his gun at us. Sam tugged at my shoulder to make me duck with him and we began to run. “Nathan, we can’t get to you from here so you’re gonna have to meet us in the ballroom!”

‘Got it! You guys be careful!’ Nathan shouted as he began to climb his way around the building.

Sam grabbed a hold of my wrist as we ran towards the end of the roof. I stopped. He did not. I screamed as I watched him fall over the edge just to see him land safely on the ground with a grunt. “Sunny, what are ya doin’?! You gotta jump!” he shouted at me with urgency. My eyes widened at how high up this roof was.

“I can’t make that-”

“I’ll catch you Sunny but you have to jump!” He shouted, holding his arms out. I began to panic a little when I looked back to see the guard pointing his gun to shoot again. “Sunny!” I heard Sam call. “You gotta trust me, okay? Just don’t think about it- I’ll catch you!” I looked at him with nervous eyes as a shot fired near me again. I took a step back and closed my eyes before leaping off with a squeal. It felt like I was falling forever until I landed in a strong pair of arms. “I gotcha! I gotcha… You’re okay.” He whispered to me gently as he sat me on my feet again. He ran a hand down my arms as I gripped onto his sleeves tightly. I looked up at him and he gave a soft comforting smile. There was a twinkle in his eyes that sent a shockwave through my chest and gave me butterflies. Suddenly, he broke the gaze, looking upwards to glance at the roof. Swiftly, he pulled at the extra hand gun tucked away in the back of my dress and grabbed my waist to pull me close. He turned us both and fired two shots towards the roof. I could hear a body hit the ground with a thud. He got that extra guard. My eyes darted between him and the body and I let out a gasp.

“Holy shit.” I breathed as a smile crept across my face. I could feel a laugh vibrate through his chest before we separated.

“Let’s get goin’...” Sam said nervously before heading down the stairs to the big white doors that led to the ballroom. We pushed the doors open, ready to cut through to the driveway when I placed a small hand on his chest to stop him.

“Sam….” I mumbled and he groaned.

“Oh great…” he said as a room full of guards, blocking the exit, turned to look at us. He grinned as he walked further into the room. “Hey fellas! Don’t suppose you’d just… let us walk on outta here, would ya?” he asked the room, loudly. I rolled my eyes and pushed him behind a table as every single guard began to lift their guns and shoot. I screamed as a barrage of bullets sprayed against the other side.

“Are you crazy?!” I exclaimed, slipping the heavy artillery off of my shoulder.

“I thought I’d give it a shot!” Sam shrugged with a chuckle. I shook my head, fighting off a smile when suddenly something crashed through the window. Crawling to cover behind the desk across from us was Nathan. “Jesus Christ, Nathan!” he exclaimed and Nathan shot us a smile.

“Hiya, guys!” he shouted.

“Sully, where ya at?!” I exclaimed, pressing my ear piece. A bit of static came through before his voice rang out.

‘Jesus! Is that you guys in there?!’ I heard him answer.

“Yeah, Victor! We’re in a bit of a tight spot!” Sam shouted before standing up briefly to shoot a few people before taking cover again. I followed suit, letting bullets spray across the room.

‘You kids need to clear that room before the rest of the cavalry comes in!’ He shouted. I sighed as I took cover. Nathan shot me a look. Thee look.

“Nathan…” I said as the adrenaline began to surge again.

“Don’t worry, Sully. If Sunny can trust me, we’ll make short work of this crowd…”

“Nathan!” I shouted.

“We’ll run it like we used to, okay?” He told me calmly. And I looked at him, nervously.

“Hey guys, whatever you’re about to do, do it now!” Sam shouted as the guards began to fan out. I shook my head as I worked up the nerve.

“Damn you, Nate.” I grunted before hopping over the table, spraying another wave of bullets. I pushed forward until I could approach a guard and knocked him in the head with a gun. Nathan came up behind me as another came my way and disarmed him, relieving him of his shotgun. With Sam’s help, we cleared ourselves a path to the exit. As we took cover behind the marble railing to shoot a few more guards, Sully’s white car crashed into a group of them.

‘GET IN HERE NOW!’ He shouted. Without questioning anything, we fought our way across the fountain covered driveway, dodging bullets and punching goons. Just as I got to the car I felt a burning sensation swipe across my thigh. I cursed as I slid into the car, Sam following behind me and Nathan at shotgun.

“Drive! Go, go!” Sam shouted as Sully started the engine and sped off, avoiding the array of bullets.

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 192: The Only Path Forward

Previously on BnHA: Dabi confronted Endeavor and Hawks following Endeavor’s victory over the High Brow Noumu. But then my girl Miruko the rabbit hero showed up, so Dabi fled the scene courtesy of some very familiar black ooze warping. We then cut to the League’s mysterious hideout, where MOTHERFUCKING HAWKS was meeting up with Dabi after the fact to complain that Dabi pulled some bullshit with their AGREED-UPON SECRET PLAN by attacking in the middle of a city with an experimental Noumu. Dabi in turn accused Hawks of playing games because he failed to mention Endeavor would be involved, and he also managed to prevent even a single casualty during the resulting chaos. So neither of them fully trust each other, but in the end Dabi sent Hawks off and agreed to call on him again. We then learned that Hawks is actually working undercover at the request of the police, who need eyes and ears within the League to prevent another disaster like Kamino. Hawks agreed to this knowing it would mean he’d have to make some hard decisions and turn a blind eye to some of the League’s antics. It’s implied he’s feeling guilty over what happened to Endeavor, so I have completed the adoption papers and had them notarized. Oh yeah, and speaking of guilt, for some reason Dabi is standing out looking at the night sky and being weirdly sentimental. So yeah, I basically have no idea who is on whose side at this point, but I’m fucking living for it you guys.

Today on BnHA: The world moves on from this latest incident of high profile villain destruction. Recovery Girl heals Endeavor and Hawks accompanies him to the train station while the two of them discuss the suspiciously coincidental appearance of the Noumu. Hawks manages to dismiss Endeavor’s suspicions, and Endeavor bids him farewell, but not before suggesting that Hawks should find somebody to help him with his investigation. We get an extremely intriguing Hawks flashback and learn that he was groomed to be a hero from childhood due to his talent, but that he never wanted it and longs for the day when society doesn’t need heroes anymore. We then cut to the Todoroki house, where Endeavor greets his three Children With Known Whereabouts and has an unpleasant confrontation with Natsuo, who hasn’t forgiven him despite his seeming change of heart and lets him know that in no uncertain terms. Shouto thoughtfully says that “Endeavor the hero” is amazing, but as far as Endeavor the person goes, his feelings are in line with Natsuo’s. However he wants to see what kind of dad he’ll become from here on out. Endeavor realizes that his new purpose is to secure a good future for his children, and that the only thing he can do is continue to move forward. That night we cut to Deku, who finds himself in a strange dream with his body is covered in black smoke. Shimura and the other OFA users are there as well. And then all of a sudden he’s watching a scene from the past -- All for One standing against his younger brother, the first OFA user.

This chapter is so fucking good and this recap is so fucking long you guys lol. because it’s just so good ahhhhhhh.

(As always, all comments not marked with an ETA are my unspoiled reactions from my first readthrough of this chapter. I’ve read up through chapter 212 now, so any ETAs will reflect that.)

Izuku got the cover of Jump on account of the BnHA movie premiere! congratulations Izuku

and young All Might is in the upper right hand corner looking like a vintage Ken doll as always and weirding me out

I still like young All Might, but idk you guys, there’s just something about the black sclera that just cranks it up to 11 for me. really is a shame that only happens as a result of his injury

and there’s a page with some blurry clips from the movie, and then this awesome color spread celebrating 4 whole years!

it just hit home that I have less than 30 chapters left until I’m all caught up oh shit

fourth popularity poll! YOU CHUCKLEFUCKS BETTER SHOW MIRIO SOME FUCKING RESPECT THIS TIME AROUND YOU HEAR

I see Bakugou is wearing a clip-on tie here. for fuck’s sake you’re sixteen years old learn to tie the damn thing already

what the actual fuck is happening with Todoroki and Deku’s pants. and for once, not Bakugou’s. like seriously what the hell, this is unnerving

okay guys, poll time: which of these hand gestures indicating the number four is most valid. is it Deku’s, even though he’s doing it with both hands and thus arguably indicating the number eight instead? Ochako, who has the opposite problem and is going for a 2+2=4 thing? or Jirou, who opted to be asymmetrical and do three on one hand and one on the other?

why do only the girls have hats. and did Deku really insist on wearing his trademark red sneaks even though they clash so fucking horribly. why did the others allow this to happen

(ETA: you know what, given the outfits they wore during the A Band performance, they probably did not give one single fuck)

anyway, I love this page from the bottom of my heart, but we came here today to learn more about Dabi’s weird angst and to find out how screwed Hawks is and exactly how hot Endeavor is going to be once that scar heals over. so let’s get to this

so now it’s two days later and Endeavor is all healed up thanks to Recovery Girl! the perks of being a U.A. alum and the number one hero whom everyone now loves

oh mama

okay guys but I need someone to tell me right the fuck now how this man still has an eye. and an eyebrow. you’re telling me they could heal the eyeball just fine but not the rest of his face

(ETA: I actually got an ask explaining this, but I haven’t gotten a chance to take another look at the scene where he gets wounded yet. but thank you anon!)

it looks like he actually did lose half of his mustache though omg

anyways I fucking knew he was going to come out of this just unfairly hot. and just fucking look at him. smdh

as for Miruko, she just fucked right out of there to continue doing her thing afterward. lol I’m glad they bothered to tell us but honestly I wasn’t that curious, that’s basically what I assumed already

son of a bitch

dsflhlk okay JUST STOP, Horikoshi. who the fuck do you think you are making Hawks apologize so fucking casually even though we now know that in truth, he actually is responsible on a level Endeavor has no clue about, and actually has some grounds for feeling guilty even though he wasn’t to blame. like, here he is slyly making it out to be an apology for calling that meeting where they got attacked, even though in reality WE KNOW THE TRUTH

speaking of that meeting, I wonder if Endeavor has put the pieces together yet that Something Was Not Quite Right About That

also what the fuck is in this giant wheely suitcase. is it his suit?

anyway, so he’s telling Hawks that his injuries are his own responsibility

and Hawks is all “ooh that’s a good response, can I use it next time I’m injured”

ah here we go

look, Endeavor may be a lot of things, but he’s not stupid

Hawks is all “lmao fuck my life”

well you’ve had two whole days to come up with some kind of story so let’s see what you got. if it were me I’d tie it in to your investigation

he says that they were bound to draw some attention as the #1 and #2 heroes, and they probably just caught the villains’ eye

and he’s thinking to himself that that’s the whole reason why he drew so much attention toward them while they were out, so he’d have an excuse

this sounds considerably less plausible when you just got attacked by a goddamn Noumu though you know. and clearly a new breed of them no less

now Endeavor’s telling him to be careful with his investigation

don’t mind me, I’m just sitting here trying to figure out whether this has a double meaning

probably not -- I did say he wasn’t stupid, but I doubt he’s that smart to have figured the whole thing out either. still, this gave me pause lol

(ETA: yeah, on my second readthrough this just reads to me like “if you ever need backup, call me before you go and do anything stupid.” tsundere affection from someone with almost no prior experience in showing that he cares. I don’t think he has any idea what Hawks is really up to, but I think he has an inkling that there’s more going on than meets the eye, and he wants him to be careful.)

Hawks’s reaction is interesting too

and now he’s grinning in that you-like-krabby-patties-don’t-you-squidward way

he just cares about you and you’re young enough to be his son so he’s looking out for you

SPEAKING OF HIS SON are we gonna get to that anytime soon. is that where you’re headed off to now Endeavor? to be with your family? oh to be a fly on the wall during that meeting. oh wait, we’re reading a manga and I’ll literally get to read all about it in just a couple of pages, probably. fuck yeah

so Hawks says that he’ll be back on the job once all his feathers grow back

“it’ll probably be another day or so” holy shit. that’s some crazy fast recovery time

and now he’s bidding Endeavor farewell

...did Endeavor just adopt Hawks too

(ETA: he sure did. this is not a man who just waves at people. this is a dad wave. it’s weird you guys, it’s so fucking weird, but that’s what it is though! at least that’s how I read it)

don’t tell me I’m gonna have to co-parent this in-over-his-head too-smart-for-his-own-good bird child with the world’s second worst dad (yeah, Overhaul’s still got that #1 on lockdown for the rest of eternity though)

now we’re flashing back to that meeting with the cops when they first told Hawks about the undercover assignment

they’re calling it a “proposal” and Hawks is mildly objecting to that term

(ETA: “despite knowing I can’t possibly refuse.” oh my god I have so many feels for this boy. he has no choice in any of this. I just want to wrap him up and keep him safe and just let him rest and chill out and play video games and eat tacos and not have to worry about villains and secrets and keeping his damn guard up all the time and being discovered or killed or getting someone else killed. HORIKOSHI. PROTECT HIM!!)

the woman says she won’t deny that Hawks coincidentally not being in Kamino worked out well for them

oh shit! now we’re cutting to a car accident scene, and at first I thought ‘oh so is this why he wasn’t in Kamino, was he saving these people’ but no!

so this woman basically sponsored him to be a hero then? interesting

holy shiiiiit

so he genuinely does want that, what he was talking about before. but it’s because this is all he’s been doing for his whole life, and it’s simply because he felt obligated to do it because he had the talent and was pushed into the “with great power...” mindset

like, he didn’t really have a choice, is the vibe I’m getting from this? it was the right thing to do and it’s what everyone wanted and he was good at it. but that doesn’t mean it’s what he wanted. but because it’s what was needed, he went ahead and did it

jesus christ. no wonder he can’t muster any genuine starry-eyed enthusiasm for the profession the way all of the other hero characters seem to do. it’s not his dream. it’s his burden

(ETA: yeah so. imagine saving someone’s life when you’re still just a child. being put on the spot and acting without any training, but doing your best because without you these people would die. and imagine that as a reward you’re told you have an obligation to take up the most dangerous occupation there is, and sacrifice your freedom and potentially your life in order to serve the greater good. and having no choice, because you are a good person, and so you can’t just refuse, knowing that there are more lives that you could save. 

and as far as everyone else is concerned, you’re a prodigy, young and bold and gifted and living your best life. living a life that many others would envy. but the reality is you’re trapped, with no possible escape in sight other than the precarious hope that one day things will be good enough that your services will no longer be needed.

ladies and gentlemen, if I may hit you up with a blast from the past for one moment, please consider this quote from All Might all the way back in chapter one:

Hawks may have never been much of an All Might fan, but as it turns out, the two of them may have more in common than he ever realized.

yeah, so needless to say I’m watching you very closely Horikoshi, and if you so much as sneeze in a way that looks like you might be considering doing our lost little Icarus any harm, you and I are going to have words.)

and now we are cutting to the Todoroki home!

look at these sweet angels

Endeavor how did it take you so fucking long to realize what you had. you had it so fucking good, dude. these kids are all beautiful and smart and kind and talented and yet you either ignored them or treated them like absolute shit. god, man, you fucked up so bad. this is a second chance that you arguably didn’t deserve! but here you have it anyway! do not fucking waste this, dude

also loving that the Todorokis have such a traditional house but they still have the big flat screen TV right there. because they may be traditional but they still like to watch the cooking channel while they eat

so Endeavor is cautiously saying “long time no see” because you gotta start somewhere, huh

OH MY GOD

AIZAWA DROVE HIM HERE. AND THEN WHAT, JUST STAYED OUTSIDE TO WAIT?

(ETA: because who the hell would want to go and talk to Endeavor when you could stay outside and play with a cat instead)

DID THEY HAVE A MEANINGFUL CONVERSATION ON THE WAY OVER. OR WAS IT QUIET AND AWKWARD. PROBABLY A LITTLE OF COLUMN A AND A LITTLE OF COLUMN B. OH MY GOD. someone better have written fic about it!!

OH MY GOD

TODOROKI SHOUTO IS THE SASSIEST FUCKING CHARACTER IN THIS ENTIRE GODDAMN SERIES CONFIRMED. PACK IT UP BOYS. AIN’T NO ONE EVER GONNA OUTSASS THAT

ENJI I LOVE YOUR FUCKING KIDS SO MUCH YOUR FAMILY IS PERFECT YOU DON’T DESERVE THEM GODDAMN YOU

“JUST BECAUSE YOU HATE HIM”

oh shit Natsu’s getting to his feet and apologizing to Fuyu and saying that he just can’t do this

and he’s walking out the door, but Endeavor’s putting a hand on his shoulder as he leaves and telling him that if he has something to say to go ahead and say it

YOU GO AND PREACH IT, NATSU. YOU DESERVE TO GET IT ALL OFF YOUR CHEST AND HE NEEDS TO UNDERSTAND JUST HOW BADLY HE HURT YOU OR YOU ALL ARE NEVER GONNA HEAL

and I mean, damn. if he didn’t even know Shouto’s favorite food was soba then that basically means he never so much as spent five minutes together with his little brother. Shouto fucking loves soba in the same way Deku loves All Might. it’s probably the purest love in the entire series

yet again the series gives us a glorious scene of Shouto eating food during a time of serious discussion. hungry boi Todoroki Shouto. Todoroki “are you going to finish that” Shouto

and Natsu’s thinking back to what Rei said about Enji trying to face his past and his family head on

but he’s not that forgiving

OH SHIT!?!?

TOUYA. THE FINAL TODOROKI CHILD. AND JUST LIKE WE SUSPECTED, HE IS THE OLDEST

and I get the feeling that whatever happened there is the real reason why Natsu has so much rage built up toward his dad. not that the rest of it wouldn’t be more than enough to make him feel that way, mind. “mom screaming and Shouto crying” holy shit. this family has so many fucking demons

this child needs some hugs people. not from you Endeavor. but maybe Fuyu can go comfort him later. you are valid Natsu and this rage is completely justified. 100%

oh my god this scene, though

this, right here, is the difference between redemption and forgiveness. I’ve essayed about this before. but here it is, vividly on display. Endeavor is actively working toward redeeming himself now, and yet he may never actually be forgiven. he can’t change the past and he can’t erase the hurt emanating from his son. pain that he himself caused. Natsuo may never forgive him, and he’s justified in hating him

but at the same time the only thing Endeavor can do is try anyway to be a better person. he came to all of these realizations much too late, and the damage was already done. but it’s not too late to do whatever he can now. and he clearly is trying to do that

just, it’s such a sad situation, and some really poignant writing, honestly

anyway, Natsuo’s just sarcastically screaming “oh, is that so?” and then storming out and tossing a belated apology over at his sister and thanking her for the food

wonder if he’ll run into Aizawa on his way out. Aizawa will no doubt be in for another interesting conversation with Shouto on the way home. someone write this fucking fic. if they haven’t already. holy shit

now Fuyu is holding her head frustratedly and saying that she was hoping that somehow they would finally able to become a proper family after all this

hey. don’t put this all on Shouto. he has even less reason to forgive Endeavor than Natsuo does. don’t pressure him, let him sort out his own feelings goddammit

...

Todoroki Shouto are you honestly a robot though

now the TV is suddenly cutting to the news and talking about Endeavor! what a fucking coincidence!

and it’s showing all these people giving their opinions after the most recent battle

the newscaster is all, “as you can see, the voices of anxiety haven’t changed”

but! “on the other hand...”

oh my god, Endeavor’s awesome fan now has his own fans. GOOD FOR YOU, CAN’T-YA-SEE-KUN

oh my fucking god

we have reached the point of in-universe memes. this is amazing. this kid’s face is plastered all over the BnHA universe’s version of tumblr. he is the new must-use reaction image. people post their faves struggling followed by “CAN’T YA SEE?!” and they get 100,000 likes. oh my god. this is magnificent

do you all realize what this means. there are memes in the BnHA universe. that means that there is a good likelihood that a number of the U.A. kids, who as we all know have risen to quite the level of fame and prominence themselves in a very short time, have their own memes

the sports festival was broadcast on national fucking television after all. you guys. what is the likelihood that broken-arms Deku became a meme (similar to the way he is in real fucking life). or chained-to-the-podium Bakugou. Bakugou would have been the perfect reaction image for any number of “I don’t want to be here” memes. “when your girlfriend wants to introduce you to her parents but you don’t want to go.” “when you’re in the car and your friend puts on a song you hate and you can’t change it because you don’t have the aux.” “when you’re streaming something and the 30-second ad break comes on and you can’t skip it”

oh my god. Bakugou Katsuki is famous for all the wrong reasons you guys

his mom probably saved all of her favorites and spams him with them constantly

anyways. gotta refocus here lol

so the interviewed people are continuing to gush about the battle. they’re hyped not just about Endeavor, but also Hawks and CYS-kun. “everyone was like, in unison, ‘let’s cheer him on!’ it was crazy!”

so here at least is a little bit of comfort for Endeavor. maybe some broken things can’t be mended, but at least he’s finally learning what it means to be a hero! AFTER TWENTY FIVE YEARS Y’ALL. LATE BLOOMER OR WHAT

-- oh my god!?

he can’t make eye contact while saying it. but he still said it. oh my god

and yet the fact that he made a point of clarifying that he was speaking of Endeavor the hero and not Endeavor his father implies a “but” coming on

yep

what kind of dad. can you become a good dad. you’re finally starting to figure all this shit out, but now here comes the biggest challenge of all

also Shouto is so fucking pure and precious, holy shit. “I haven’t forgiven you for how you tormented mom.” not himself. his mother. he doesn’t even bring his own abuse up. even though he has every right to point out that Endeavor specifically made his life a living hell from the time his quirk developed until the time he went off to high school

and is it because forgiveness for that is not even on the table? or is it because he’s already forgiven him? or is it just that he doesn’t even want to think about it because he’s not ready yet? and I sure hope it’s not because he doesn’t realize just how bad it was, though

just, oh man. so much to unpack here as usual with this family

oh my god Shouto

ENDEAVOR YOU SON OF A BITCH YOU DON’T DESERVE THIS GENTLE, THOUGHTFUL, COMPASSIONATE ANGEL OF A SON

and it’s clear he has no idea what to say in response to that, so he’s just standing there while meanwhile Fuyu is tearing up and telling Shouto she’ll bring him some more soup

holy shit we’re getting Endeavor’s first person thoughts now oh my god

like I said, all of this was brought on by him finally achieving the thing he’d sacrificed everything to achieve, only to come to the stark realization that it wasn’t worth it. at all. so a pretty painful catalyst, all things considered, but if any asshole ever needed that kick in the pants it was this fucker right here

oh fucking shit, fuck me if I’m not getting Endeavor feels oh fuck

“for what reason”, All Might asks. and Endeavor realizes: for our children

oh fuck oh fuck

okay so while I so far have very much liked the delicate way this whole process has been handled as far as his children go, when it comes to his wife that’s a whole nother story. that’s going to be even trickier to pull off, and just. oh boy I’m nervous now

(ETA: still nervous tbh. but I guess we’ll see)

so he’s turning to leave, and Fuyu is like “DAD NOW YOU TOO??”

-- and holy shit, he’s apologizing

for everything

bastard finally got those words out. I can hardly believe it

OH DAMN

FUCK ME IF THAT ISN’T EXACTLY WHAT I’VE BEEN SAYING THIS WHOLE DAMN TIME?

holy shit. holy fucking shit this is too damn good and I love it

oh fuck and now we’re cutting back to Heights Alliance. this may just be the one and only time I’ve ever been slightly disappointed to cut back to 1-A and their antics

and we’re cutting back to Deku, who’s wiped out from the day’s training and promptly collapsing into bed upon returning to his room

HOLY SHIT WHAT THE

WHAT THE HELL KIND OF SPOOKY FUCKING DREAM IS THIS. DEKU COVERED IN SOME KIND OF MYSTERIOUS BLACK FIRE??

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

SHIMURAAAAA

HOLY SHIT, IT’S CLEARLY HER. AND DEKU HAS NEVER SEEN HER FACE BEFORE AND YET THIS IS UNMISTAKABLE

IS THIS THE PAST AVATARS SHIT AGAIN AT LONG LAST?? HOLY SHIT?

OH MY GODDDDDDD

IS THAT ALL MIGHT!?!?!?

and he’s remembering that he’s seen this before. and of course we all recall back during his fight with Shinsou when this happened and he was suddenly able to activate OFA and break Shinsou’s mind control

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

HOLY SHITTTTTT

I HAVEN’T CLICKED TO THE NEXT CHAPTER THIS FAST SINCE FUCKING DEKU VS KACCHAN PART TWO. HOLY FUCKING SHIT!!!!! I’M NOT EVEN GONNA FUCKING ANALYZE ANYTHING, FUTURE ME CAN FUCKING DO THAT. I’M JUST HYPED!! YESSSSSSSS. DEKU’S DAD VS HIS UNCLE LMAO

(ETA: well, future me isn’t going to add anything either, since this recap is long enough as it is. but this really is a great ending to an outstanding chapter you guys)

[spectralcreep]

30 Day Horror Movie Challenge: Day 29

Worst Horror Movie You’ve Seen

Brief story time, friends:

A few years back, I regularly participated in the live chat section of a horror movie podcast. I actually ended up becoming pretty good friends with the hosts, we still talk on occasion. My username became a meme within the show. At one point, one of the hosts mentioned to me that they were thinking of doing a voicemail segment where they played clips people sent them, and he asked me to do a brief review of a movie so they could feature it on the show. He said it could be any movie. My hubris guided me in my decision.

From what I knew, they’d never done an episode on the monstrosity known as Tusk. They’d mentioned it, they’d talked about how bad it was, but they’d never gone into detail. I decided I needed to know the truth. Maybe it was one of those bad movies that’s worth watching with a group of drunk friends. So, regrettably, I gathered two friends and we watched Tusk, and then The Babadook as a pallet cleanser. Because holy shit, Tusk was the worst goddamn piece of shit I’d ever seen, and it still holds that ranking.

I left them the longest, drunkest, angriest voicemail. I had to send it in two parts. They censored most of my swearwords for comedic effect, because it was like every other word, one part of the clip got added to their soundboard, it was real fun. But was it worth the emotional torment I had to go through while watching this absolute crap? Kinda. I mean, it was funny.

What’s tragic about this movie to me is that you can tell Kevin Smith is talented, he just needs to stop making movies while baked. There is one scene in particular that’s wildly effective, where the main character wakes up after getting knocked out and finds both of his legs are just gone, and the doctor guy he’s been talking to just brushes it off like it’s no big deal. That scene is legitimately well shot, it’s terrifying, it’s a great example of how to build tension in a horror movie, and it’s in fucking Tusk?!?!

If I go on for any longer I’ll have to put it under a cut, and I’m not gonna do that. Maybe if there’s interest I’ll do a proper review for it, but for now just.... Man, fuck this movie.

[cameronomicon]

I Dream of Jeanie

This blog begins like everything else: with the supernatural. A ghost story. Well, it’s a story about two ghosts: one is corporeal, flesh and bone, hungry. He haunts his own life and the lives of the people who love him. That ghost is me, Cam, a career alcoholic, prescription amphetamine and nicotine addict, and struggling adult human. The other ghost is haunting him. And others. In Orange County, California, of all the world’s god-forsaken places. 

It’s September 2, 2018. I have just emerged from medical detox in a treatment facility in Mission Viejo, California, where I was admitted the evening of August 30. 

The days and weeks preceding this were a blur of teary eyed calls with friends and coworkers, vomiting, tremors, all-day drinking, zero rest, little food, and, finally, an evening drive south to rehab with a very patient friend. I had my dog in tow. The vomit he had saved for over an hour an a half was his parting gift for my friend and her car’s interior as we pulled into the driveway of our suburban destination. 

She is a very, very patient friend. 

The first thing I remember at the facility was the cops showing up to deal with a violent intake who screamed at the graveyard shift tech relentlessly about getting their medication. For the next two and a half days, I staggered around the in an Ativan-induced fog. I managed to execute a supervised grocery run, though I have no recollection of this event. 

After detox, I was driven to one of the houses where I would undergo residential treatment for the disease that has ruled my life in one manifestation or another since that first, boiling-hot, high-school-sized swig of whisky in the Wyman family back house all those years ago. It was, frankly, magic. Alcohol activated something in me that finally allowed me to feel comfortable in my own skin, around others, and as a part of the world. 

A few days passed, and I began to emerge from behind the benzodiazepine cataract. I woke up early one day, as I did every day, and stumbled about in my coffee-making and dog-letting-out routine. I stood outside with a steaming mug amidst the low fog of the costal marine layer, which enveloped palm trees in a smudgy gray that, especially in the golden sunlight of the hours which follow, always seemed eerie and alien. That’s when the graveyard tech walked out to join me. 

“Morning, how you feeling?” he asked. 

“I’m ok.” My dog set off across the yard at a full clip to pursue a rustle in a bush. “Slept like shit, though.”

“Oh really? Must have been that woman screaming.” He laughed.

“The what?” I was incredulous. It was too early. I turned away and watched the fog lick at the clay rooftop tiles of the ascending rows of identical homes on the ridge that kept us from the sea.

“You didn’t hear it? I hear the screams every night.”

*

Over the next few days, residents and staff alike compared notes. All who heard the screaming said it happened late at night, around 3am, and they could not pinpoint the source. Some said it came from across the street, others swore it they heard the scream coming from down the hill. Some of the staff had contemplated calling the police. 

I never heard the screaming because I went to bed too early to be a witness. But there were the nightmares. Horrifying, vivid nightmares the likes of which I’d never experienced before. Graphic visions of being sexually assaulted, of torture, of humiliation and suffering. Horrible, paralyzing dreams that would interrupt my sleep several times every night and continued to haunt me well into my waking hours. The following is from my journal, slightly edited:

“I had a dream last night that I was violently raped by (someone) ... who I was sent to ... as punishment for making a rug dirty. (They) screamed at me and laughed while (they) did it and when I cried (they) made it worse ... Then I was surrounded by empty beer bottles in my childhood bedroom and voices kept saying 'I thought you quit.’”

At the time of this writing, I feel that the whole, unedited content of this and the other dreams I experienced is too graphic for me to feel comfortable sharing. 

This happened to me every single night for over a week.

*

When we told our reiki practitioner about the screaming, she was unfazed. 

“That sounds like Jeanie,” she said matter-of-factly before she began our sessions. “Jeanie died here. Fell out of her bed one night.”

Reiki is a dubious energy healing technique that was offered as a part of the suite of care in our treatment center. Having experienced it myself, I can say that reiki seems to be at best a meditative aid and at worst some psychic hoodwinkery. What we learned is that our reiki master had also serviced the patients in palliative care at our house when it was still a hospice, which was not very long ago at all. She had treated and came to know Jeanie, whose spirit she immediately and authoritatively claimed was the source of the screaming. 

That we seemed to have inherited both reiki and a restless, screaming ghost was a lot to digest on a warm, dry Thursday afternoon in rehab.

What most people don’t know about Orange County, if in fact they know anything at all, is that it is the treatment capital of the world. There is a massive drug and alcohol rehabilitation industry here, with facilities dotting suburban neighborhoods and costal communities alike. Many, such as ours, are indistinguishable from other homes from the outside. Only when you go inside can you spot the differences: no locks on the doors, cameras everywhere, California-required hazard signs and fire extinguishers, motivational-adjacent but woefully empty wall platitudes. 

“Don’t dream your life...live your dreams!” taunted me in perfect cursive from its place on a kitchen wall. In that moment, if I lived my dreams, I’d be in the worst hell I could imagine. Most mornings I simply ignored it as I avocadoed my toast. It was ultimately harmless and forgettable, though I admit I got a mildly satisfying kick out of sneering at it. 

Having administered both reiki and information about our ghost, the master left. We living residents of the house all sat together outside on the back patio to discuss what she had told us. The others smoked or vaped as they speculated about what it could all mean. I crammed a few handfuls of candy in my face, and then I told them about my dreams. 

“Holy god in heaven,” one of my friends cried out. “Now that’s some sick shit.”

Eyes downcast, faces ashen, I could tell my information had affected the others and added a gravity to the situation that hadn’t been there before. We did not speak of it again. 

That night, I dreamed about someone I loved once who couldn’t love me. I saw her across a crowded dance in a school gym. She was made up beautifully, wearing a blue dress, her hair cut short, colored blonde and bouncy. She smiled and reached out to me. I tried to grab her hand, but she fell back into darkness, crying out for me, falling farther and father out of reach, her eyes filled with fear. 

That was the last dream I had at the house. We found out suddenly the next day that we would be moving to a different location, and that the facility we were leaving would be transitioned into a detox. 

Of all the nightmares, this felt the cruelest somehow. I woke up at 3:30am and just sobbed. I was physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted. And this was on top of all of the other challenging work of getting sober. 

But I never had another bad dream after we moved. And the screaming did not follow us.

* I would find out later that a common side effect of Seroquel, along with fugue-state ambulation and sleep-eating, is nightmares. This drug is often prescribed to patients who are in post-acute withdrawal from drugs and alcohol to treat insomnia. Seroquel is what I started taking when I moved into residential treatment. 

Graveyard shifts are notoriously hard on the human body. Inverting the natural  sleep rhythm can do an absolute number on the brain, and often leads to chronic insomnia. Anyone who has stayed up all night can attest to how significantly it messes with your internal systems. I have stayed up multiple consecutive nights before, and have hallucinated. I have heard screaming when there was none, I have seen shadows morph into human forms and vanish just as quickly. 

This is all to say that there seems to be a perfectly logical explanation for the dreams, for the screaming. The reiki master could have just been having some fun with the unruly and obnoxious adult children that were her clients. She could just be full of shit. Night shift guys could have just heard things, or maybe it was a coyote. An owl. Someone actually screaming (hey, maybe it was a detox patient at another facility!) One morning I awoke earlier than usual to find one of the graveyard techs standing in the dark, staring at a street lamp. He was transfixed by a silvery form hanging below it in the yellow light.

“Is that a goddamn bat?” he asked, horrified.

It was a spiderweb.

But...I continued to take the Seroquel after we moved houses, and the nightmares never returned. The other house, Jeanie’s house, became a chaotic mess for the staff. Patients in detox were found fucking in multiple rooms, people disappeared in the middle of the night and others showed up suddenly in the morning...the entire detox program of this treatment facility seemed to be plunged into unmitigated bedlam, and it wasn’t like that before. Sure, there is always going to be some drama at places like this, but techs said they’d never seen things so bad. Anywhere. Additional workers were hired. Others quit without notice. And I have to wonder.

So, this story also ends like everything else: with the supernatural, with the unknown. Life ends with a big fat question mark, and that’s ok. One thing I’ve grown to appreciate is not having all the answers, to accepting the unknown and allowing myself to dip a toe into superstition. Human beings are no strangers to faith, but faith is especially vital for a person like me: faith in myself that I can stay sober, faith in redemption, faith that there is something, somewhere, greater than me that can save my ass. Faith in good friends, faith in good dogs. Faith in a life worth living well. Faith that Jeanie will find whatever she needs to cease her wailing, and faith that one day I’ll be there in time to stop somebody’s falling.

[frejahertziswritingthistime]

We’re not perfect, But we’re good chapter 8

A/N: Holy amaze-balls, I can’t believe it’s already EIGHT chapters. This isn’t nearly as long as I wanted it to be, but it felt like the natural end to the chapter - enjoy it!  Next chapter is going up tomorrow or the day after tomorrow! Send an ask my way, if you want to be added to the taglist!

Summary:  Sam, Dean and reader are on a hunt for a witch, who targets couples. Which means going undercover with you best friend, Dean, as a couple – which turns out to be a lot harder than you expected - especially when you have a crush.

Dean x reader

Warnings: fluff, language

Missed something?

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

MASTERLIST

Feedback is greatly appreciated; feedback is a writer’s food! Un-beta’d. My first language is NOT English, so all mistakes and errors are mine.

DEANS POV

 Oh, no. Mirrored angst looked back at him, Y/N eyes bright and shining.

“What the hell, Sammy?? This wasn’t information worth sharing earlier?” Dean groaned, letting his hand fall off Y/N back. Sam looked annoyed at him. “I tried, Dean, but I’m sorry – you were not really easy to get a hold of!” He jerked his head annoyed, flipping his long hair out of his eyes. “I texted you, called…” Sam finished.

Y/N turned to Dean. “Okay, so we’re fucked. We gotta take it one day at the time, Dean.” A small hand ran down his back, comforting and sent shivers down his spine. He nodded. “Fine, okay. What’s the stich now?” Dean said, looking back at Sam, who looked at them with a peculiar look in his eyes. “Sam?” Dean growled, not really in the mood for waiting. He wanted to kill those goddamn witches.

“Okay, get this – I talked to Bobby a few minutes ago, and we need an iron-knife, burned by holy fire.” Dean sighed. “That’s not exactly easy to come by, Sam.” Sam shook his head. “No. The knife is something we can get, but Bobby thought we might need to carve a power-sealing incantation on the hilt of the knife. Plus, we have no idea how to find holy fire or make it.” Dean groaned. This was going to be harder than he imagined.

“wait, holy fire?” Y/N looked somewhat elated. Dean couldn’t help but smile at her – she was truly beautiful. His heart tightened in his chest at the thought of this spell ending – it’s not like he liked being under a spell, but he loved that it brought him closer to Y/N. She was almost shining, as she talked fervently about the possible options they had – his eyes darting back and forth, memorizing her face. “Dean? What do you think?” She turned to him. “uh..” Sam sighed. “Did you even listen?” Dean smirked guiltily and shook his head. “Y/N suggested we could get Cass down here. To help.” Sam’s voice sounded a tad clipped. “oh! Yeah, sure.” Dean nodded. He wasn’t really all that for bringing Cass down – it would mean awkwardly explaining him, what had happened.

“Dean, it’s our best option right now. We need the goddamn holy fire.” Y/N said. She didn’t seem very happy about the prospect either. Her brows furrowed, a thin, fine line forming between her brows. He never really noticed how fragile she could look.

“Alright. We’ll call him down, then what? We’ll find a butter-knife?” Dean said, demandingly. Y/N’s hand rested lightly on his, and he felt his heart-rate go down a notch. “I don’t know, Dean.” Sam sighed and stood up. I’ll look around, see if anything comes to up.” He left Y/N’s motel-room, leaving Dean and Y/N alone.

Y/N still covered her front with the sheet, shivering slightly, now that the rush of sex had lifted from her. Dean smiled and stretched down, getting his t-shirt, handing it over to her.  

“So, what now, Dean?” She said quietly, pulling the shirt over her head. He groaned – seeing her in his t-shirt did things to him. He felt somewhat possessive. “What d’you mean?” Dean questioned. “I mean, if the spell is actually a twisted version of a fertility-spell, then what the fuck are we going to do? What about us, what is going to happen?” The last words tumbled over her lips, as if she hadn’t intended to say them. Dean searched her face with his eyes, a soft look falling in place. “Well… Man, I don’t know, Y/N. Listen, about us… NO matter what, you’ll always be my girl. Best friend or girlfriend” Y/N’s lips curled into a smile at the word “I’ll always love you. I wouldn’t mind this” – he gestured to their half-naked bodies – “happening again and again.” She smiled at him. His heart fluttered again, feeling a strange sensation in his chest – like an invisible string pulled him closer to her.

“And about the fertility-shit, well… I wouldn’t mind a lil’ peanut running around. Half you, half me? That can only be adorable to look at.” He nudged her shoulder, and a whimper escaped her lips – she looked at him, and he realized tears were falling. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, sweetheart. We’ll manage this. It’s going to be fine.” Dean wrapped his arm around her, resting his chin on her head, as she sobbed into his chest. He was hurting. If she cried at the fucking idea of having a kid with him, loving him, then there was no way in hell she would change her mind. “Listen, forget I said anything. I…” She shook her head slightly under him, and pulled out from his chest, sniffling. “No, Dean. I want that, I want you so bad. A relationship with you? That would be amazing. A kid with you? That would be fucking fantastic.” His heart swelled, and he leaned down to kiss her, only to find a small, soft hand holding him back. He raised his eyebrows in a silent question. She sighed deeply and ran a hand through her soft hair.

“No, Dean, the reason I’m scared is… What the hell are we going to tell Bobby? He will probably drag you to hell personally, when he hears this.”

Dean groaned – of course, that part he hadn’t really thought about. Fuck. Dean knew that Bobby knew, that he was in love with Y/N, but Bobby was fiercely protective of her – he saw Y/N as a daughter, and there was no way in Gods good grace that he would allow this shit.

“Fuck, I don’t know. I guess we better just tell him. There’s no way around it.” He finally sighed. “I’m probably going to get murdered, then brought back to life to get murdered again, if he has his way.” Dean added. Y/N snickered. “Yeah, you probably will.” She confirmed. Dean grunted at the prospect of telling Bobby. He might as well start to prepare his death now. “Salt me after this conversation.” He conceded, pulling his cellphone from the discarded pants on the floor, slowly dialing the numbers. Y/N looked on, her eyes huge. He slowly lifted the phone to his ear, letting it ring, as he found her eyes; bright, big and full of love for him.

He took a steadying breath, when he heard the familiar click of the call being answered, and Bobby’s voice rang out. “Dean? Somethin’ wrong?” “uh, Bobby? I-uh….” Dean paused. “Did you bone my goddamn niece?” Bobby in a dangerous tone. Dean kept his mouth shut, and the silence told Bobby everything he needed to know. “you damn idjit.”

CHAPTER 9

 TAGLIST: @xcaraphernericax

[deathsteel]

This Ain’t a Scene Its a Goddamn Drag Race

A RuPaul Drag Race AU ft your favorite gay angel and bisexual himbo

~Part One~ 

“It’s starting!” he called, wiggling deeper into his usual spot on the couch as he pulled the afghan his brother had knitted for him tighter over his shoulders. “You’re gonna miss it!” 

The commercial on the screen ended and the familiar logo for the show flashed across the screen. 

“Previously on Drag Race…”

“Goddamnit, we have a DVR,” the other man said, skidding into the room with a gigantic bowl of popcorn in his hands. He flopped down and tugged on the corner of the afghan until the first man relinquished a corner of it to him. “You coulda paused it. Did you start the recording? I told your brother we’d record it.”

“Yes, I’m recording it,” the first man sighed, reaching over to snag some popcorn. “It’s not like we didn’t already see all this happen anyway.”

“It’s all in the editing, gummy bear.” the smaller man snarked right back as the intro segment went through its familiar rigamarole on the screen before them. “Now, shush up.”

The other man grumbled in reply, but smiled around his pilfered popcorn. 

Holly Cummunion didn’t bother to hide her smile when she waggled her fingertips at Maura Less as she was sashaying away. She knew the camera would catch her acting like a shady bitch, which wouldn’t win her the crown for Miss Congeniality, but she couldn’t help celebrating the fall of the two-faced monster  that was ‘Destraura’. The fact that the other contestant leaving would make Tasha happy too was just an unintended consequence. 

“Ladies,” Gabby Reale called, garnering the attention of the five remaining contestants after Maura had finally dragged her saggy ass off of the runway. “I hope you take the judges' critiques to heart going forward. You’re my final five, so if you’re still thinking that less is more, well...”

Gabby ended the subtle dig at the eliminated contestant with a coy twist of her shoulders that made the sequins on her deep red ball gown sparkle. 

Holly swallowed hard as she remembered that she had been critiqued heavily by the guest judge for not wearing enough makeup to cover her five o’clock shadow and nodded along solemnly with the other queens. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t been in the bottom two, at this point even the littlest things could mean you were lip syncing for your life. 

“And remember, if you can’t love yourself then how in the hell are you gonna love anybody else? Can I get an ay-men?!” Gabby recited, raising her hand up like Sister Mary Clarence feeling the holy spirit move her. 

“Ay-men!” Holly recited along with the other girls, waiting for Gabby’s call of “Now let the music play!” before rushing over to gather Kim Chi  close to her in a celebratory hug.

“Girl you slayed it!” Holly whispered in her ear, referring to the lip sync battle that the other queen had just won against Maura Less. They’d sung Britney Spears’ Toxic, which was poetic because Maura had been bragging about her Britney skills the whole damn competition, even done a passable impersonation in the Snatch Game. 

Kim just showed her teeth and pulled Holly out onto the runway to dance with her, filming the scene that would play with the end credits of the episode when it aired on T.V. She didn’t have to force a smile as she danced, despite how tired she was, after all she was one step closer to becoming America’s next drag superstar. 

The quintet made it back to the workroom to find ‘You betta werk, E! #Destraura4Lyfe’  scrawled on the mirror in bright pink lipstick. Holly just rolled her eyes at that because no surprise there, trust Maura to be a fucking troll to the bitter end. 

“Well it’s sweet she left us all personal messages,” Kim said sarcastically, snagging up the spray bottle of glass cleaner that had been left on the workspace for her and spraying it liberally over Maura’s parting words. “Bye, bye bye, bitch.”

The other four queens watched in relative silence as Kim finished her task; Dianne Tawank started fidgeting with the tape that was holding up her strapless dress and Holly couldn’t wait to kick off her heels even if wandering around the workroom in her hose would ruin them. 

“Sorry your incestuous little clique got broken up, Momma,” Tasha Salad drawled in Eva Destruction’s direction as the other queen watched Kim’s cleaning with a despondent look on her face. “Guess you’ll have to groom another kitten to play with.”

“I’m not your ‘Momma’, Potato,” Eva Destruction snapped, using the derivative nickname that she and Maura had been calling Tasha behind her back since the beginning of the competition. 

Holly was pretty sure it was the first time the other queen had heard it used to her face because Tasha’s mouth dropped open in pretty genuine looking shock before her expression morphed into fury. 

“Just being respectful to my elders,” Tasha retorted, glancing over at the now clean mirror before storming towards her area of the work room that held her wigs and gowns and many, many trunks of shoes. “But I guess the opera gloves are coming off, Evil.”

Dianne snorted into her hand and rolled her eyes at the other two queens before she dismissed them both and started gingerly tugging at the tape on her dress so that she could take it off. Though her chest was waxed, the other queen still winced as she rolled her skin tight purple dress down her body; revealing angry red marks from the tape, painted on cleavage, padding attached to the inner lining of her dress, and a toned body that Holly couldn’t help but spare a glance at as she moved towards her own makeup kit that held her cold cream near the mirror. 

She’d been single for almost five years, she was fucking allowed to look. Dianne just winked at her in the reflection of the mirror before she swanned over to her where her wig styling head was and started tugging at the edges of her ginger, lace-front wig. 

“Oh, can’t we all just get along, girls?” Holly asked Kim rhetorically, earning a girlish giggle from her as she bounced around in her platform heels causing the tutu she was wearing to flutter prettily. 

Holly presumed the other queen was running on leftover adrenaline from her near-miss with elimination, but her excess energy could also be due to the fact that Kim was about ten years younger than her. God, she made her feel old. 

“What-ever,” Eva scoffed, kicking her heels off without a care to the fact that one of the size 13s almost caught Kim in her shin. “You can’t even be bothered to scrape off that sandpaper on your chin so excuse me if I don’t think you’re the best person to be leading a kumbaya drum circle.”

“Just cause I live on the west coast,” Holly replied evenly, leaning in close to the mirror so she could start smearing cold cream over her jawline. “Doesn’t mean I’m a hippie, so fuck you. And my jaw may be rough, but at least it doesn’t rub as bad as watching my girlfriend get sent home by a teenager. Does it, Mother-dear?”

“Bitch, what’d I just say?” Eva started, rounding quickly on Holly until the older queen was looming menacingly behind her in the mirror.

“Now, now, ladies,” Dianne chided in her clipped British accent as she shimmied the rest of her way out of her dress; draping it carefully over a dress form before she started scratching her painted nails through her short blonde hair that had gotten flattened to her head with sweat while under her wig. “Can you please save your bickering for tomorrow? When I’m hungover enough from celebrating my win to tune you all out?”

There was a tense silence that Dianne must have taken as agreement because the queen just nodded to herself and started tugging the hip padding out of her tights. Holly focused her own attention on getting off as much of her makeup as she could for now and then started the arduous task of getting her own tight, structured dress off without ripping out the boning in the bodice; that shit was a bitch to fix and her fingers already hurt from helping Kim stitch herself into her own dress for the evening. 

Within half an hour the five glamourous women who had entered the workroom had been defrocked down to the five average, gay men that made up their cores. It wasn’t until one of the show’s production assistants was going around to remove their microphones for the evening and the cameras were shut off that one of them spoke up. 

“Anyone down for pizza tonight?” Kevin asked, scratching at a stray smear of his bright green eyeshadow that had somehow ended up on the back of his hand. “My treat?”

“I’m in,” Castiel replied, earning a quick smile from the short Asian man as the group began to head out of the studio; back to the hotel rooms that were their home away from home for the time that they were filming the show. “Balthazar?”

“As long as I can drink as well,” the British expat replied, twitching with the collar of the leather jacket he was wearing over a tight Henley as they emerged into the brisk evening that was San Francisco in early November. 

Balthazar always seemed to be dressed to impressed even though when off camera the contestants spent most of their time playing cards in their hotel, forbidden to go out for even a nightcap by their contracts and an ever watchful security team. They also couldn’t have cell phones, web access, watch the news, or have any contact whatsoever with their family and friends; which was a whole separate bitch in and of itself. 

One thing that all of the contestants had agreed on though was that their rooms had great mini bars, an even better porn selection, and more than enough take-out menus to suit every possible taste. 

“Well, jailbait can’t drink any of it,” Raphael answered in a bored tone as he picked at his chipping nail polish. The other man looked up when his remark was met with silence and it was then he saw the scathing look that Castiel and Balthazar were giving him as Kevin blushed down at his feet. “Whaaaat? You bitches know I’m joking.”

“It’s fine,” Kevin muttered, flinching when Luc shouldered impatiently past him to climb into the backseat of one of the black town cars that was waiting for them at the curb. “You want pizza, Luc?”

“Fuck your pizza,” Luc growled back, his eyes noticeably red-rimmed. “Can we go now?”

The four men looked meaningfully at each other, but it was Castiel that broke first; letting out a deep sigh before he pulled his old college hoodie tighter around himself and climbed into the empty seat beside Luc. Kevin, Raphael and Balthazar would take the other car, unwilling to ride with the sullen man since his friend had just been sent home. 

Castiel suspected (and apparently others did too) that the pair were more than ‘just friends’, but since romantic relationships between contestants were forbidden they had kept mum about Luc and Michael’s closeness while in front of the producers; allowing them to think it was a harmless clique that had formed as they tended to do on reality shows. But it was obvious by how upset the other man was, sniffling into the cuffs of his long sleeved red shirt, that something more had definitely been going on between the two queens. 

“I put him in drag for the first time,” Luc said, breaking the heavy silence that had settled between them on the short drive from the studio to the hotel. 

“Are you going to be okay?” Castiel questioned, unable to hide his concern for the other man, even though it smacked of an overreaction. Hell, it's not like Michael had died or anything; just gone back to New York for a while. 

“Bite me, cum-stain,” Luc replied and Castiel rolled his eyes at the unimaginative nickname. 

He was willing to bet money that that particular gem had been Michael’s idea of a parting shot; not $100,000 of course, but at least a tenner or something. Castiel was pretty certain either way that he’d win it back. 

[jesbakescookies]

Too Hot To Handle: Chapter Thirty-Nine

So I kinda wrote a different kind of fanfiction. It’s nothing as in depth as my other fics so I am going to post it here. ENJOY!!***Actor, Real Person Fanfiction, Walking Dead RPF***Featuring: Jeffrey Dean Morgan X Original Female Character, Norman Reedus and others.. (FYI this is total fiction, as in I know nothing about JDMs life or that of his real SO and son etc. Because of this, for this work of fiction, they don’t exist. Jeffrey’s been a typical actor playboy dating fellow stars etc. This is written for sick daydreaming pleasure.)

Aria St. James is a busy woman with a thriving restaurant. She thought she had everything she needed until a few famous faces visit her dining room. A tall, dark and handsome actor decides Aria’s just what he’s been looking for.

Rating: Mature : NSFW **dirty dirty**

Find Too Hot To Handle Master Chapter List Here

Aria watched the video clip that Megan sent her of Jeffrey's latest interview. The man was as handsome as ever, his smile bright and eyes lively as he spoke with the host. She smirked as he laughed and chatted them up, the man obviously used to working an audience. As they got to conversations about his personal life, the host asked about Aria. 

"So is your wife a very private person? We haven't seen her at many of your events."

"She is, yes but she's also very busy. Aria has her restaurant and is opening second location soon. Her schedule is packed, just like mine."

"How do you do it? How do you make it work, with such little time to spare?"

"Well, we make what time we have count. We don't waste it."

"That explains the sudden wedding!"

Jeffrey chuckled, rubbing his rough jaw. "Yeah, yeah it could."

"I thought she was going to be knocked up!"

Jeffrey laughed, his eyes flashing with something before it was gone. "No, no kids on the way yet."

"Yet, huh? Do you plan on it? Is Negan going to be a daddy?"

"Man you're grillin' me today!"

The conversation steered off and headed back to the movie. While chewing her lip, Aria watched blindly. They hadn't really talked about kids but the look in his eyes was telling. She saw a flicker of excitement at the mention of a pregnancy, a look of want. 

"Shit." She muttered, combing a hand through her hair as she really thought about if it was something she desired. It wasn't an idea she'd thought of seriously before because she'd never had the partner or the time but now she was married. Now she had Jeffrey and she didn't have the time, but maybe she wanted to make time. 

Swallowing thickly, she texted Megan. "Great now the baby talk begins."

"As it should, you'd make gorgeous children. Can you imagine the dimples?"

"Omg. Don't start."

"I'm not but seriously? Those dimples."

"Stop."

"Fine. Have you guys talked about it at least?"

"No."

"How have you not? You're married."

"Ugh. Stop."

"Fine. I'm just saying."

"Well stop saying it. Are you coming to the opening or what?"

"Of course. How could I miss your second grand opening?"

"Good. I will make sure you and Randy get a good table."

“Thanks bitch!”

“You’re welcome hooker.”

  Jeffrey hadn’t seen the restaurant since they’d completed the finishing touches and was now blown away at the place. He sauntered around the dining room and eventually joined Aria in the kitchen, watching her go over every last detail for the opening, her hands pointing and mouth moving quickly as her staff took notes. He’d almost forgotten how attractive it was to see her in control and bossing everyone around.  If her weren’t surrounded by people, he’d bend her over the counter and fuck her proper.

“Chef, there are cameras outside already.”

“Of course there are.” Jeffrey heard her mutter before she glanced at him. “Did Katherine put out a statement?”

“I think she did some kind of announcement.”

“Awesome.” She deadpanned.

“Just think of it as free press.” Jeffrey offered, quirking his brow and wrinkling his nose in the way that always softened her edges. Aria rolled her eyes, as she seemed to catch his not so secret weapon.

“Player.” She murmured, her lips twitching as he approached.

Gripping her hip, Jeffrey leaned in to whisper in her ear. “If all these fuckers weren’t here, I’d fuck you against your new fridge.”

“There’s always closing time.”

Groaning at the thought, Jeffrey kissed her neck, his tongue sneaking out to taste her skin. “I’m gonna hold you to that darlin’ because seeing you boss people around, gets me harder than fucking granite. I wanna fill that loud mouth with something other than orders.”

“Mr. Morgan.” She admonished, her tone haughty. “You are filthy.”

“And you fucking love it sweetheart.”

“Chef, its thirty minutes ‘til open.”

“Thanks Anthony.” She replied without taking her eyes off Jeffrey. “You and me are going to talk later.”

“Oh yeah?” he drawled, an easy grin curling his lips and lightening his eyes. Holy hell, did he love her bossy mouth?

“Oh fucking yeah.” Aria teased, her lips quirked up and adorable. “You and me and that fucking sexy Frigidaire.”

  Aria couldn’t believe the turn out for the first night of her new restaurant. It was unbelievable the amount of diners, as well as press. She knew ninety percent of it was because of Jeffrey and her association with him, but it still felt like an accomplishment. Even though it may have been a successful turnout because of her marriage to a Hollywood star, the rave reviews were her doing. They ate her food and loved it, which was more than enough for Aria. It was what she loved to do, feeding people good food.

She did a few short interviews with reporters, most asking questions regarding the dining experience but a few focusing on her relationship. Jeffrey joined her on a few of them, when he wasn’t mingling with some of their friends who turned up. Most of the night he spent with Megan and Randy, who were more than happy to sit with some of the cast of The Walking Dead.

Sipping her wine, Aria watched as Jeffrey locked the door behind the last of the exiting staff. She smirked as he turned around with a large grin, his swaggering shape making her core tingle.

“A-fucking-lone at last, sweetheart.” He rasped, as he reached out for her wrist, reeling her into his chest. Giggling as he ducked his head into her neck, his whisker covered lips moving along the subtle curve giving her the chills.

“Jeff.” She gasped as he sucked her earlobe into his hot mouth.

“Yeah, baby.” He grumbled, his hands sliding along her back and hips, to cup her ribs and squeeze her breasts. Jeffrey was everywhere at once, his nimble fingers unbuttoning her chef coat and edging under her t-shirt, while his mouth worked magic against hers.

“Fuck.” He growled as she fisted his hair and hooked a leg around his hip. Grabbing the hollow behind her knee, Jeffrey kept her flush against his front to rut into her.

“Take me to the kitchen.”

“Yes ma’am.” He drawled, hiking her up his body with ease. Aria slung her arms around his neck and tightened her legs around his waist, her mouth devouring his, as he walked blindly toward the kitchen doors.

“You fucking me against my new fridge?”

“Fuck yes.”

“I want it.”

“You’re gonna get it, dollface.” He growled deeply, tearing her coat off before working on her pants. Aria was barely able to keep up as he yanked clothing from her and buried himself with one thrust. She moaned out something close to a prayer as he filled her to the brim.

“Goddamn it.” He snarled, his hands clamping onto her ass as he ground her into the flat surface. “Been thinking about fucking you all night.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Fucking hot as fuck yelling at people. All I could think about was stuffing my dick in that mouthy maw.” He growled with a grin, his hips slamming into her. Aria’s pussy clamped down on him with his statement, making his eyes roll back in his head. “Fuck. You’d like that wouldn’t you? Me fucking those lips red.”

“Yes.” She moaned, “do it.”

“Not now. Fuck, you’re pussy’s too good.”

“Please.”

“Cum first.”

“Make me.”

“Say fucking please.”

“Make me cum please, Mr. Morgan.”

Groaning at the plea, Jeffrey shoved into her with a rapid pace, his thumb pressing down on her clit. Grinding the pad back and forth, Aria felt the friction build quickly. The warm, rough skin flicked the sensitive bud as he ordered,  “Cum for daddy.”

“Fu-.” Aria gasped, her head thrown back into the shiny metal, her lips trembling as Jeffrey wrecked her with three words and a well placed digit. He kept his pace as she came hard and fast against his pressing body, her eyes fluttering and thighs quivering.

“Let me suck you.” She gasped, her breath panted over his face. “Let me taste me on you.”

“Fuck.” He growled into her mouth, his greedy hands lowering her to the floor. Aria’s knees shook as she clung to his front, her mouth firmly attached to his, sucking his tongue.

Lowering to her knees, Aria peered up at him while slowly licking him from base to tip.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He panted, his hands flat against the metal door. “Suck it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Fucking hell, doll. Look. at. you.” he moaned, his hand sinking into her brunette hair as she swallowed him down. “Good fucking girl.”

Aria moaned along the heated skin, her tongue curling along the underside of his dick as she bobbed her head. He tasted like a mixture of both of them, her arousal smeared across his salty skin. She couldn’t get enough of it but more than anything, she was addicted to the sight of Jeffrey writhing under her touch. His eyes hooded and lips parted, as he watched her suck him dry. With rocking motions, Jeffrey fucked her mouth, his thumbs stroking her jaw and throat gently. She could feel him swelling with every pump, the head of his dick filling her throat. When his rhythm stuttered and eyes rolled back, Aria quickened her pace.

“Swallow.” He gritted out as he came hard and deep into her mouth.

Aria watched him cum, the flush that reddened his face as his eyes squeezed shut and he groaned deeply. She scratched her nails up his thighs and stomach, feeling the muscle jump under the action.

“Fucking hell.” He gasped, pulling his dick from her mouth before collapsing against the fridge.

“Good?”

“Fuck. Good is not a big enough fucking word.”

“Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious?”

Snorting at her, Jeffrey pulled her from the floor and into his chest. Cupping her cheek he replied, “Super-fucking-califragilisticexpiali-fucking-docious.”

Find Chapter Forty Here:

http://jesbakescookies.tumblr.com/post/165808073411/too-hot-to-handle-chapter-forty

I started posting this fic over on AO3 also. I will probably post in both places since I’m still figuring out AO3 formatting etc.

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged for updates. I’ll try my best to remember!

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[cupcakeshakesnake]

Watching The Doctor Falls for the first time

-It’s here. When i first watched the trailer at home I was jumping around and shrieking all over the place and scaring my dog (unintentionally). I’m very hyped.

-*breathes* Okay. The Season finale. I’m going in.

-holy shit this episode is an hour long

Warning: this post is very, very long. It’s the longest of the posts I ever made so far.

SPOIELRS BELOW THE CUT.

Why is it so peaceful all of a sudden. I‘m concerned

*Family of Blood flashbacks*

!!Is this Bill

when the sunlight is too strong

WTF

-God that sudden dip in the music

-NEVERMIND THAT SHIT I SAID ABOUT BEING PEACEFUL

-Looks like she’s at an orphanage, but there are scenes of the Mondasian ship mixed in, so I’m guessing this is Bill’s subconscious where her old and new memories are mixing together. <- Look at this bullshit from Sunday morning me

*more Family of Blood flashbacks*

eyyyy flashbacks for everyone

this is a pretty wild dream she’s having

RUN

-Okay, mini-break here: I stopped watching after three minutes in because I had to go somewhere yesterday, and this morning I’m watching it again and I noticed the girl here is called Alit. Also, the number in the sky probably doesn’t match that of the floor Bill was on. So, new theory: this is actually another floor on the ship and all this crazy shit’s happening for real. And the half-Cybermen are scarecrows for some reason.

Sheesh the music;; really creepy

DAFUQ

-NOOOOO WTF

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!??!?!

-Is this supposed to be symbolic or what

-(On the other hand, imagine if that’s actually a guy in a Cyberman costume holding Peter Capaldi)

-But shit.... Okay I watched this bit yesterday as well and I thought this was a dream but now if it’s real...

-Oh no.

“Y’all Are Screwed” By Steven Moffat

NOOOO WHY IS HE BLEEDING I DON’T LIKE THIS

-”How many times have you died?”  “How many different ways?”  “Have you burned?”

s TO P

-LEAVE HIM ALONE

-”Have you ever... drowned?”  shit is this a reference to Heaven Sent

-And why does it look like the Doctor is continuously slipping in and out of consciousness

What the fuck?!

haha what

please stop doing that

-thousands of years old and you all still end up gangfighting

-Nardole where are you going

nooo not the owl

hahahahahahahahahahaha wtf

-Did the Master really just high-five himself/herself-ish

shit what are you gonna do to him

...what even

-I... wow

-...Assholes.

Way to skim over due explanation, Moffat.

-Also they tied him up in a wheelchair

-*Last of the Timelords flashback*

remember when this happened

-But seriously what are they trying to achieve by waltzing with themself/themselves and having the Doctor sitting in a wheelchair at the side

-”You mean I’m going to turn into a woman and you don’t even remember it happening?”  THANK YOU  I can’t believe I just said that to you but thank you anyway

-”Oh, am I a woman now?”  ...oh.

“Ugh go get a room”

-He is so tired of their shit

WELL FUCK YOU THEN

-”Well if I told you, I’m afraid you’d be very, very upset.”

-”So... SHE’S RIGHT BEHIND YOU”

-Way to be assholes. Congratulations on being the biggest jerks in the universe, do you want your medals

-To be honest they might actually have a medal for that already

f UCKING STO P

-STOP TORTURING HIM

-HE DIDN’T DESERVE THIS

-HE TRIED, OK??

...hehehe...

-But if they healed him, at least the drumming stopped, right?

-Rassilon: “There, I got rid of the drumming that’s been plaguing you for centuries with my TimeLord magic, now gtfo”

-”-because everybody knows our stupid round face.”  “Round?!”  “It’s a little bit.”  “Shut up!”

...Did that just happen

-Did he just compare Donald Trump to the Cybermen

-...

-BBC fucking did it.

-BBC fucking did it!!

-*claps intensely*

ahahahaha what

-Something happened but I don’t know what happened anymore

-”When you’re winning and I’m in the room, you’re missing something.”

-Please tell me this is how it goes because I don’t want the owl getting beaten up any further

“You shouldn’t have hit me, Missy.”

“You shouldn’t have let me press all those buttons.”

-Also, completely unrelated but, I was skimming through Family of Blood again for screenshots and thought of this. Enjoy.

This bitch empty

YEET

-Okay, back to the episode.

That’s some fast typing right there

-And even faster thinking, like holy shit.

-But if the Doctor “expanded the definition of humanity”, then that includes him too, they’re coming after him as well

Thank you

-You go, give’em the middle finger

-”I can do this. They’re not difficult, they’re Cybermen.”

-”I can do this. It’s not difficult, it’s math.”  Said I who the proceeded to cry three minutes later

“Knock yourself out.”

-ahahaHAHAHAAHA DAMN

-LITERALLY

Don’t know about that

-I don’t know what’s fake and what’s real anymore, coming from you

-Probably fake

-Also it did seem like you had a certain grudge when you hit him square in the chest

Is that the ship that appeared before the intro

-”You hit me really hard!”  “You’re telling me/ I think I’ve still got the bump”

WTF NO

-Plot twist: The Cyberman just wanted a hug

DAMN Bill

-you go girl

-didn’t know the forehead thing could shoot lasers

Missy;; what are you even

-She took the umbrella i her dang mouth

-Look at her go

-Up up and away

-”The Doctor’s dead. He told me he’d always hated you. Let’s go.”  Lol

-”I heard you the first time”

I BELIEVE IN YOU BILL

-YOU CAN DO IT

Looks like that didn’t go very well.

-So from what I can gather is, Cyber-Bill carried the Doctor up on board the ship (somehow), and the gang just revved up the ship to bust through a whole lot of floors until it crashed here.

is tHAT

-*holds breath*

BILLLLLL

-YAAAAS MY GIRL’S BACK

-I BELIEVE IN YOU BILL

-(Although the way the matron’s acting worries me.)

-But forget about that, she’s not lost herself so who cares if she’s actually wearing a sock on her face.

-In fact, I think she is still wearing a sock over her face, but she thinks she’s human.

That’s a mirror isn’t it

CALLED IT

-sheesh Bill’s probably gonna have a mental breakdown and all I can say is ‘called it’

This is probably sad and all but I can’t help finding it funny that they kept a Cyberman in the barn and said Cyberman was either lying down or sitting or crouching in a corner and was the matron bringing her food or blankets I don’t even know

(aww) YAAS HE’S BACK

-But Cyberman speech is really slow... So does that mean the speech kinda lags compared to the version of herself in her head

-And, like, shouldn’t the other people be replying a bit after she says something

YYEEE

but why is his hand bandaged

mAjEsTiC fLoOf

-But why can’t Bill remember anything??

what the

-w h o a   t r a n s i t i o n

damn

Shit, but what if this backfires

-What if this causes her to give in to the programming and become one and the same as the Cybermen down below

-Who tf thought to ‘program’ Cybermen anyway, if it was just because of ‘harsh environments’ you could have left the mind intact and we’d all be happy little robot people and none of this bullshit would have happened

Damn. The screenwriting. It’s so good.

-You know what this reminds me of, though?

You are a DalekCyberman

On one hand, it seems she is still capable of emotions. On the other hand, she is friggin’ mad.

The way the scenes switch though

HOLY SHIT BILL--

same

aw

f c k

-;A;

-*crying emote intensifies*

-God what a mood swing

-Okay not exactly, but I swear I wasn’t crying before

YOUUUU

YOUUUUU

-sorry

o ho ho ho ho

been “busy” now have you

-...I said I’m sorry

fuck you

(from animated movie WALL-E)

-By the way I ended up spending a minute watching that whole clip on Youtube because memories

-Anyway, fuck you Master

You tell him Bill

-He’s just being a troll

NO YOU’RE NOT

-GOD HE’S TRYING TO HOLD IT BACK ISN’T HE

Moffat you better not

WELL I GUESS

-Missy what have you done

-”’Do as she says!’ Is the future gonna be all girl?”  “We can only hope.”

THAT ISN’T A MONDASIAN CYBERMAN

-Well technically maybe yes but seriously that wasn’t the design two weeks ago

Trying to kill a mosquito like

-I love how the Master keeps yelling “kill it”

-If those four were roommates he’d be he one who freaks out the most whenever there’s a bug in the room

-Excuse me while I go draw this  (”Draw” being a relative term here - more like “scribble”)

-I wasn’t gonna draw anything this morning but I end up giving in to the urge.  I sigh as I plug in the tablet.

-While I’m at it, lemme do this too

-Anyway

-THEY UPGRADED ALREADY

-OH YEAH, THE TIME THINGY

Dammit they’re back to sounding like Daleks

UP he goes

-wait they can fly too?!

-Those are like all the different generations?!

Are they seriously gonna fly through the ceiling

They’re fucking doing it

-Maybe there’s some human left in them after all because who else would go “let’s attach rockets to our feet and bust through the ceiling with our goddamn bodies”

...

DYING

-Everything about this is perfect  The way he’s so serious about it, the fact that John Simm is trying to do mascara or eyeshadow or whatever that is, and Missy’s face in the background

WHAT WAS IN THE RIFLE?!?!!

I’m currently enjoying this episode.

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Is this what Michelle Gomez meant when she said what was about to happen is really kind of wrong

-Nah, it’s just something about timey-wimey Tardis circuit things isn’t it

what why

When a good man goes to war...

-But is he a good man

;-;

-Why is he telling the girl to throw an apple at a Cyberman, or is that apple secretly a bomb in disguise

That looks super uncomfortable

whya m i laughingn

Finally! Are they going to talk things through

-Hoping that the ‘dead in a few hours’ part is not true

-That accidentally rhymed

I don’t know how to describe this, but that was a good scene. There wasn’t any dramatic music, in fact there were literally crickets chirping in the background, but it’s still serious. And it’s good.

Somehow I’m not disappointed.

(I keep forgetting them he doesn’t wear a hoodie anymore)

fuck this

well shit

Same thing really

“No thanks.”

-Put a Wilhelm Scream in there and it’d be fucking perfect

-We did get unnecessary shots of Cybermen flipping over though

Really liked the short bell ringing version of the Cyberman leimotif thing (I probably spelled that wrong)

Well...

-Doctor Who: Laughing And Crying

-I’m not gonna go verbose on this, but it was a great scene.

Now what the heck is going on

she killed him??

-what

-That doesn’t make any sense

what

There he goes

-You know that feeling where you have a general feeling of the situation but not enough to actually make much of it and you’re just 1% knowledge and 99% worry?  Yeah that’s me right now

WHAT THE FUCK

-JUST WHEN THINGS WERE STARING TO LOOK A LITTLE BIT BETTER

that is fucked up

...Enjoy your uncomfortable ride?

R.I.P. Missy.

-I never thought I’d be sad to see her go, yet here I am.

Go get them Doctor

I just realized this is the same tune form Heaven Sent...

NOOOOO

Looks like they learned some sass from the Daleks

NO STOP

-And here we see a demonstration of Moffat writing an episode and the fans reacting.

-”The original, you might say.”

-DAMMIT STOP BLASTING HIM

SHIT

Nnononono

No no no no no

NONNONONONONONONONONONONO

No Moffat ;A;

-Fuck you Moffat

-No!

Fuck you Moffat!

noooo

-What happened to Bill

-Are you happy Moffat

-Are you happy now

NOOOOOOOOOOO

-noooooa

-ajsd

-*sobbing*

-Just... no

Is that Bill

NOOO MOFFAat FukcK You

-WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS

MOFFAT YOU COLD HEARTED ASSHOLE

W H Y

NO JUST NO

fuck you moffat why

-I think this is the very first time I’ve legitimately cried over an episode

Moffat you cruel bitch!!

-I’m full out gross sobbing... wow...

...?!?!

HEATHER

Moffat how did you make my face so wet

-why

Does that mean she’s dead

-Please don’t tell me she is dead!!

-I haven’t cried this much in months

-OH NO SHE’S DEAD ISN’T SHE

-SHE’S DEAD

I LOVE YOU AND HATE YOU MOFFAT

-THEY FINALLY GOT BACK TOGETHER

-BILL FINALLY GOT HER GIRL BACK

-BUT WHY DO THEY HAVE TO BE DEAD

-WHY MOFFAT WHY

THIS IS ME RIGHT NOW

-I CAN’T SEE BECAUSE OF THE TEARS

-EXCUSE ME WHILE I GO WASH MY FACE

I CAN’T BELIEVE HE DID THIS

-I WAS HOPING THEY���D GET BACK TOGETHER

-I WAS HOPING HEATHER WOULD COME BACK

-BUT NOT LIKE THIS

-I WASN’T EXPECTING IT TO BE LIKE THIS

-(I... sprained my jaw while crying or something... It hurts...)

what

aefaeafaef

I’m crying, my jaw hurts, this is too much

-”I’m the pilot. I can fly anything. Even you!”   If there was a crying lenny face it’d be perfect

-There’s an old Korean joke that if you cry then laugh you get a hairy butt

-Luckily it’s not true

These tears protect my eyes from the light

ME NEITHER

-I WANT TO *SOB* BELIEEEE*SOB*EEEEVE

*CRIES SOME MORE*

you go girls... see the universe... please don’t get into any more troublr=e... i’m proud of you... *cries more*

shit

??!?!?!!

I... I’m pretty sure that’s not the right word...

-And now I’m laughing again yet my tears haven’t even dried off yet

YOU JUST HAD TO DO THAT DIDN’T YOU MOFFAT YOU COLD BITCH

-He’s reversing

WHy ArE YOU DOing ThIS MOFFAT

WHY

-That beeping Tardis alarm’s a new one. Not the Cloister Bell, for a change.

NOOO

-Too soon

-TOO SOON

Same

What..?

Cloister bell?!

-THIS CAN’T BE GOOD

-THIS TIES INTO THE FIRST SCENE OF ‘WORLD ENOUGH AND TIME’ DOESN’T IT

He’s tired of everything isn’t he...

-Tired of losing, tired of dying, regenerating, trying to get accustomed to a new self

-Moffat please... why can’t he just chill somewhere and have a nice cup of tea for once...

-Well he got the chill part down , it looks very chilly here

whatthefuck

holy shit

HOLY SHIT

WHAT THE SHIT?!?!!

-WHAT

-WHAT

-THAT WAS THE END

-THE EPISODE ENDED

-AND NOW WE HAVE TO WAIT UNTIL CHRISTMAS FOR ANSWERS

...Excuse me. I think I need some time in a corner.

[afjakwritesarchive]

"All right, all right! If you’re so against it, then we can work together to sabotage our own wedding!” USUK! XD

Title: Match Made Pairing: USUKAU: Human, arranged marriageSummary: Arthur Kirkland detests the idea of an arranged marriage enough to make his fiancee help him sabotage their wedding. However, Arthur can’t seem to help falling for the man he’s trying to break away from. Rating: TWord Count: 3,301A/N: Thanks for the prompt sweetheart! 

Within ten minutes of meeting Arthur, it became abundantly clear to Alfred that the man was determined to hate him. The Brit had barely said two words to him whilst their parents chatted, and what he had said was either sarcastic or consisted of one word. When they were finally instructed by their parents to spend some time alone, Alfred had resisted the urge to protest and instead lead his bitter fiancee to the garden.

They walked in silence for a few moments, Arthur with his thick brows furrowed and his arms folded across his chest, pointedly not looking at Alfred.

“...Was I not what you expected?” Alfred asked, glancing at the man with a bit of sadness in his eyes.

“I didn’t expect anything,” Arthur replied bitterly, “because I didn’t expect to be married.”

Alfred’s bright eyes went wide and he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his narrow nose, a nervous habit. “What do you mean?” He questioned, confused.

Arthur dropped his hands in exasperation and stopped walking, turning to stare pointedly at Alfred. His green eyes were strikingly beautiful to Alfred, even when they were glaring at him.

“I don’t want to be married, alright? Especially not when my father has chosen my partner without any regard for my wishes. Not to mention that you are incredibly young compared to me.” The Brit replied in a clipped tone.

“Well, how old are you?” Alfred asked, now slightly concerned.

“I’m twenty-seven.” Arthur answered with a frown.

Alfred’s jaw dropped. “Holy shit!” He exclaimed, surprised. “You’re old”

“Thank you.” Said Arthur with a scoff.

“Sorry. I didn’t realize that you were that much older than me! Not that it bothers me at all.” Alfred replied. “Why don’t you want to get married? I mean, it’s been a custom for, like, hundreds of years in Spades...”

“I do want to get married! One day. Certainly not now. And certainly not because my father wishes me to. If I get married, I want it to be for love, not as the result of some barbaric, outdated practice! My idea of romance and happiness does not start with me marrying a man I barely know purely for the sake of a sound political alliance and financial state. It’s loathsome business.”

Alfred’s heart sank to the pit of his stomach at the man’s harsh words. Despite the fact that he wasn’t all too excited about being forced into marriage himself, he was willing to give it a try. After all, his older brother, Matthew, had been matched by their parents five years earlier and he was as happy as can be. Alfred trusted his parents to make the right decision, and he’d been reassured by Matthew that he’d be a perfect match for anyone, and that whoever his fiancee was would be lucky to have him.

Well, it would seem that Matthew was wrong.

“There’s nothing I could say that would make you okay with this?” Alfred asked sadly.

“Absolutely nothing. Listen, Alfred, you seem like a fine lad, truly. But this is not my idea of romance. I want to fall in love with someone naturally, and marry them on my own terms. With no personal offence to you, I abhor this entire situation, and I will not hesitate to protest our union whenever I have the opportunity.” Arthur told him, feeling a bit guilty when he saw the disappointment on Alfred’s face.

Truly, the American was the most gorgeous creature he’d ever laid eyes on; all plush pink lips, beautiful golden hair, sweet, suntanned skin, lovely blue doe eyes, and a staggering height. Not to mention his muscular frame, and the strength he surely possessed; it was enough to make the Brit hot under the collar. But lust was no basis for marriage, and a superficial attraction could only go so far before unhappiness was sure to befall the both of them.

“Oh.” Said Alfred.

“How can you be so disappointed?! Are you so stuck in your life that you can’t see how wrong it is to force two people into marriage who clearly have no attachment?! We’ve just met for the first time today and yet you act upset at the fact that I don’t immediately want to marry you!”

“Alright, alright! If you’re so against it, then—then let’s sabotage it!” Alfred suddenly exclaimed.

Arthur stopped then, bewildered. “What?”

“Let’s make it impossible for them to let us be married! Fight constantly, show them how seriously incompatible we are, you know. All that!”

“Wait, really? You’d truly be willing to do that?” Arthur asked with surprise.

“Of course I would! I mean, I want us both to be happy. If you don’t want to be married, then we’d both be miserable if we did. So, let’s sabotage it. They set us up because they think we’re compatible and can even each other out and stuff. If we show them that we’re not, there’s no way they’ll make us get married. Right?”

Arthur nodded, green eyes lighting up with excitement. “You’re bloody brilliant!” He exclaimed happily, a gorgeous smile lighting up his face. “So, when should we start?”

“Now.” Alfred said with a determined grin.

“You are the most insufferable, annoying, completely idiotic git I have ever met!” Arthur yelled at the top of his lungs as he stormed into the house, Alfred hot on his trail and looking equally angry.

“Yeah?! Well, maybe if I had a stick up my ass like you, you’d like me better! Sorry I’m not a boring, egotistical asshole like you!”

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself by making me the problem! You are the one with an inflated ego! Your head is full of hot air, and yet you have the audacity to say that I might be boring! At least I’m capable of logical thought!”

“Maybe about tea and crumpets! You’re the one who has to be so goddamned nitpicky and grumpy!” Alfred cried in retaliation.

“Oi, what’s the matter?!” Arthur’s father cried, rushing to stand in between the two fuming men.

“He is completely ridiculous!” Arthur huffed.

“He insults me every five seconds! He’s ridiculous!” Alfred said pointedly, hands settling onto his hips.

“Sweetheart, what happened?” Said Alfred’s mother as she appeared, laying a hand on her son’s shoulder with concern. A moment later, Alfred’s mother came in, standing beside her wife with concern.

“Mom, mama, I want to leave. I can’t be in the same room as him right now.”

“Hah! That makes two of us!” Arthur huffed. “Father, he has the intelligence of a bloody sponge! You expect me to spend the rest of my life with him?! I’ll loose brain cells just talking to him!”

“See, mom?! How am I supposed to be happy with someone who talks to me like that?!” Alfred questioned, turning to his mothers angrily.

“Honey, you need to calm down. Let’s go and have a drink and talk a little, okay? I’m sure whatever happened was just a little misunderstanding.” Said Alfred’s mom.

“Lord Kirkland, we apologize.” Said Alfred’s mama, looking incredibly embarrassed.

“It’s alright. I apologize on behalf of my son as well. Shall we reconvene tomorrow morning?”

“Yes, that sounds fine.” She replied. Alfred and Arthur made sure to glare heatedly at each other as they were lead away.

The next day, Alfred and Arthur found it easy to pretend that they were mad at each other. After their faux fight the day before, Alfred had sent Arthur a note urging the man to meet him in secret, and the pair had met in a bar on the poorer side of Spades, where they were sure not to be recognized. There, Alfred had told Arthur that he’d heard his mothers talking about making them do compatibility tasks, and the pair had decided to try their best to sabotage them, although they had no idea what was in store for them.

After making thorough plans to seem as incompatible as possible, the pair had ended up spending an extra hour together, simply talking. Both left the pub with a peculiar feeling of giddiness in their hearts, each chalking it up to the exhilaration of rebelliousness.

“Alfred, present yourself to Arthur.” Alfred’s mother urged the next day, nudging her son.

Alfred huffed dramatically and took a step forward, taking the hand that Arthur reluctantly presented to him. Alfred bent his head and kissed Arthur’s hand, looking up and winking at him. To his surprise, Arthur flushed red and then jerked his hand away, masking his blush with a frown.

“Alright!” Said Alfred’s mother. “While my wife and Lord Kirkland discuss some things, I’m going to guide you through a few compatibility tests. Sounds fun, right?” She asked happily.

“No.” Alfred said grumpily. Arthur shrugged.

“Okay!” Said Alfred’s mother, unrelentingly cheerful. “Let’s start with a simple test. When I say something, you two say the first thing that pops into your head. It’ll just help us get an idea of where your minds are at.”

Alfred and Arthur glanced briefly at each other, as if to say ‘how do we sabotage this?!’ Then, they nodded.

“Don’t hold back when I say something. Just say the first thing you think of.” She encouraged. “Ready?”

The men each indicated that they were, and she began. “Marriage.”

“Love,” both of them said at once. Arthur flushed, Alfred looked bewildered, and Alfred’s mother beamed.

“Good! You two seem to be on the same page there.” She said with a smile.

“Mom, how does this help us?” Alfred said, trying his best to seem exasperated. Arthur nodded to echo Alfred’s sentiment.

She sighed. “Alright, alright. What do you two suggest, then?”

“Nothing. I want this to be over.” Arthur said. “I mean no disrespect to you, Misses Jones, but your son is absolutely one of the most annoying men I have ever met. I can’t see how I could possibly marry him and be happy. It has nothing to do with you, it’s just personal preference.”

Alfred’s mother frowned. “You’ve barely even given him a chance! Arthur, I assure you that you and Alfred are ideally suited for each other!”

“And how do you know that?!”

“When your father, me, and my wife went to fill out your match tests, you two scored a 100%. A match that good is almost impossible—it only occurs among soulmates.”

“So you admit that parents matching their children don’t usually match for soulmates?” Arthur huffed.

“Yes, but that’s not the point! The point is that you and Alfred are quite literally a perfect match!” She exclaimed.

Arthur and Alfred shared genuine looks of surprise, and looked toward the other. Arthur’s heart was set ablaze; no one had ever doubted the accuracy of a match test, and for him to be 100% matched to Alfred was shocking, to say the least. Alfred was biting at his bottom lip, and Arthur sighed.

“I just... I’m sorry. I don’t think I can. If you force me to marry him, I won’t be happy.” Arthur insisted, feeling a pang in his heart as he said it.

“I won’t either!” Alfred said loudly. “Mom, we can’t be together!”

“We’ll see about that.” She said, and shook her head as she exited the room.

For two months, Alfred and Arthur were forced to keep up the charade of absolutely hating each other. By day, the pair would vehemently protest their marriage, call each other names, get into as many fake arguments as possible, and generally cause mayhem in order to prove that they would make a completely horrible match. By night, however, they met in secret. While these meetings had developed as a way to create plans to sabotage their marriage, they soon developed into general visitation among friends.

Within weeks, the pair were known as regulars at the bar, and were frequently seen together laughing and talking. More than once they’d been mistaken for a married couple, and after the patrons of the bar found out that they weren’t, they’d been heartily encouraged to.

The bartender, a handsome Frenchman in his mid 30′s, had told them that their sexual tension rivaled that of some of the greatest loves he’d ever seen. Arthur, who had a seemingly instinctual hatred for all things French, had told the man that he was a complete loon. However, the more time he spent with Alfred, the more he seemed to have to feign his protestations to the man’s words.

Alfred was affected similarly. The encouragements of the bartender, Francis, were becoming more and more appealing to him, and with each passing day he found himself less and less willing to carry out their plans. His only encouragement came in knowing that Arthur despised the idea of any romantic relationship between them, and Alfred wanted the Brit to be happy. Of course, he had no clue of the Brit’s increasingly prevalent change of heart and desire to be with him.

However, Arthur still did not want to get married. As much as he found himself craving Alfred in every way, he could hardly think of marrying a man he’d only known for a sixth of a year. Being in love with someone did not equal an immediate marriage in Arthur’s mind. Secretly, he begun to hope more that he could simply postpone the marriage until he was ready rather than cause the dissolution of their engagement altogether.

However, luck was not on the pair’s side.

Two days before the three-month mark of the engagement, they were each informed that they were no longer engaged. Their parents had finally acquiesced, and agreed in earnest that they were, in fact, a terrible match, no matter what their test had said.

Both men had felt a strange mixture of happiness and remorse. Happy to finally have achieved their goal, to not be forced into marriage. Remorse, because this meant that they no longer needed to spend so much time together, no longer had any sort of connection.

Alfred didn’t send Arthur a note requesting to meet that night, or any night after. It was only when Arthur sent a note to Alfred a week after their engagement had dissolved and the Brit received no reply did they finally meet again.

Finding himself completely ridiculous, but unable to tamp down a feeling of concern for Alfred, Arthur had traveled to the American’s house. Cursing himself the entire way, and knowing he was acting like a complete fool, Arthur climbed the rose lattice of the American’s, and then onto the balcony that lead into the American’s second-story bedroom.

The curtains were closed. Arthur knocked anyway.

For a moment, nothing happened. The Brit was about to give up and climb back down when the balcony door opened and Alfred appeared looking utterly bewildered. At the sight of Arthur, his jaw dropped.

“Arthur!” He exclaimed, eyes widening. “What are you doing here?”

The Brit turned red and tried to think of a suitable excuse. When nothing came to mind, he blurted out what he was really thinking; “I couldn’t stand not seeing you.”

Alfred blinked. “What—”

“At first it was fine! A few days apart is healthy for people. But we usually meet, and you’ve been ignoring me! D-Don’t think I’m saying that I’m attached to you! I just don’t like being ignored.” Arthur huffed, flushed red to the tips of his ears.

Alfred couldn’t help but to smile at that. “You missed me.” He teased.

“I-I—Oh, God damn it! So what if I did?”

Alfred’s smile turned into a grin. “I missed you too,” he said, and took Arthur’s wrist, gently pulling him inside.

Arthur gulped as he looked at Alfred. His heart was pounding at the simple words, and even he couldn’t fail to see the affection that radiated from Alfred’s hypnotizing blue eyes. Arthur was overcome with the need to hold Alfred, to wrap his arms around him and never let him go.

And so, deciding not to think, he did exactly that. Arthur surged forward, grabbing Alfred by the waist and pulling him onto the bed, dropping down atop the taller man. Alfred stared, looking shocked.

“Arthur?” He asked, his voice beautiful and sweet and melodious.

The Brit smiled down at him, rested his hand on that gorgeous face of Alfred’s. “Can I kiss you, Alfred?” He questioned.

The American blinked up at him, saying nothing for a moment. Then, his lips parted and his hands came to hook around Arthur’s neck, wrenching him down and into a passionate kiss. Arthur kissed him hungrily at first, but soon found himself melting into Alfred, the American quickly taking control of the kiss.

Then, surprising Arthur, Alfred suddenly pushed him up a bit, effectively breaking the kiss. He turned his head to the side.

“We shouldn’t.” He mumbled.

“Why?” Arthur asked, frowning. Did Alfred not want him?

“What are your plans now that we’re not engaged?” Alfred asked, clearly changing the subject as he looked back toward the man.

“My father has decided to let me travel for a year, and then when I get back I will marry. Of course, I have no plans of doing so. Once I leave, he won’t ever see me again.” Arthur grinned.

Alfred smiled too. Arthur’s father had always treated him very poorly, and Alfred was glad to see the man get away from him. Even so, his smile fell away after a moment. “Will I ever see you again?” He asked softly.

Arthur froze. “I... I had given that some thought. I wondered if... W-Well... If you’d thought at all about seeing the world.”

“I’d love to!” The younger exclaimed immediately. “But I can’t...”

The Brit frowned again. “Why?”

Alfred turned his face away once more. “I’m getting married.”

Arthur jolted at the words, suddenly pushing off of Alfred. “What?” He asked, eyes wide.

Alfred moved to sit up and nodded, eyes downcast and full of remorse. “My mothers had more matches lined up for me after you. You were the best, but not the only. I was informed of the next suitor in line on the carriage ride home from your manor.” Alfred said, laughing humorlessly.

“That’s absurd! So soon?!”

“My mothers want me to get married! Not everyone is as lucky as you are. They won’t even let me wait until I turn twenty. I’ve already met him twice.”  

Arthur came forward, cupping Alfred’s face. “You don’t seem happy about that.”

“Of course I’m not!” Alfred scoffed. “How can I be when—fuck it all—when I love you! But you won’t marry me!”

Arthur froze. Heat came in a wave over his entire body, and his eyes began to sting with tears. Despite the sadness of the situation these were tears of joy; tears borne out of the realization that Alfred loved him.

“Run away with me!” He exclaimed.

“What?”

“I said, run away with me!”

“But—But you still won’t marry me!”

“Why are you so obsessed with marriage? Is being with me not enough?”

Alfred stood up. “Of course it’s good enough! But how can I run away with you knowing that you won’t ever marry me?!”

“Who said I wouldn’t ever?!” Arthur cried. “Alfred, when I said I didn’t want to marry you, it was because I’m not ready! Not because I don’t want you! In fact, I do want to marry you! But I want it to be on my own terms. Alright?”

The American rushed forward and pulled Arthur into his arms. “We don’t have to get married.” Alfred said with a laugh. “I just wanted to know that you’d be okay with it. I don’t want to be with someone who wouldn’t want to marry me.”

“I love you, you git. Don’t jump to such ridiculous conclusions.” Arthur huffed.

Alfred laughed. “Alright, alright. When do we run off?”

[vicekings]

im super curious to know more abt bryn and ben king? could you talk about how they got together and just some general facts maybe? i love bryn loads im dying to know more abt him

I'm 100% glad u asked this because goddamn do I love me some rambling about Bryn and Ben tbh. putting it under a cut because it got lonnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnng holy shit

Ok so the tale of Brynden A.J. Stark and Benjamin Motherfuckin’ King starts with both a bang and a whisper; as Julius sends Brynden to save Ben from the Vice King’s coup.

Ben, shot in the left arm and burning with rage, finds himself desperately both clinging to consciousness and his sudden saviour on the back of the “”the playa’s”” motorbike. He's got no idea who the fuck Julius sent, but is grateful anyways. He's too tired to protest when he finds himself being carried from the motorbike and into the church. He's a little more resistant when the Playa plops him down on Johnny's desk and successfully fucks up johnny's cat nap.

Bryn stitched up Ben in complete silence, using the first aid kit he stocked in johnny's office long before hand. The entire procedure is odd, as Bryn basically kicked Johnny out of his own office to tend to his patient (a move he would soon have to make up for with high quality scotch that Johnny doesn't question where “the Doc” got.) Bryn isn't speaking that much either- it's clipped and rough bits to make sure Ben is okay and to keep him relatively calm and focused.

The saints meeting with Ben is done with Bryn watching Ben like a hawk the entire time, though Ben doesn't realize that's because Bryn wants to make sure his stitches aren't gonna open up. They most likely won't, and they don't, but still. Bryns a worrier. The entire time bens talking he can feel silver eyes burning into him.

And like?? Bens in no condition to fight yet. So when he agrees to take on the VKs, he can't actually do much. Julius sends him off with Bryn to recover and lay low in Bryns apartment. Normally Ben might object, but a) desperate times & b) out of the Doc and Johnny Gat, the Doc seemed a lot more reasonable.

Those weeks Ben spent in bryn's apartment were the ones that cemented their friendship. During that time they actually talked to each other like… Once. Bryn rarely talks in SR1, and with Ben around he mainly just communicated through gestures, short notes, and shrugs. Bryn woke up early and made breakfast, and left it on the stove for Ben before he went out. Usually Bryn would make a homemade supper; a nice change from freckle bitches or coffee on the go.

Bryn came home a lot with bruised knuckles and dark bags beneath his eyes and an exhausted air about him. Sometimes he'd pass out on the couch while watching the news. Ben would usually just throw a blanket over him and then go to bed himself. Sometimes he’d sit with Bryn for awhile and they’d watch a movie. Sometimes Bryn would scoot over on the couch enough to rest his head in Ben’s lap and doze off. It worked for them.

“Worked for them” is p much what sr1 bryn&bens relationship was lmao. Bryn got Ben non-addictive painkillers and monitored his healing progress. Ben made tea for them and sat with Bryn while he mapped out locations and jotted down ideas. They benefited a lot off of each other's quiet company.

For the longest time, Ben had no fucking clue what Bryn actually sounded like. He only heard Bryn without a quiet voice and fake accent in like, the middle of the night when Bryn came home late. Bryn was singing in the shower and Ben was unable to fall asleep before hand. All of a sudden Ben just heard this absolutely fucking /angelic/ goddamn voice floating into his room an lo and behold it's Bryn singing something ben's never heard. Ben's enchanted, listening in stunned silence and eventually falling asleep to bryns voice. He thinks it's a bit ironic, how a man who's quiet all the time turns out to be a fantastic singer.

That’s their one conversation. The next morning, Ben casually asks Bryn why he’s still running with a street gang when he could be putting out albums and making millions. Bryn smirks, leans back, and replies cryptically that he “enjoys the temporary anonymity” - no fake accent, just pure irish gold that makes Ben pause. Bryn takes a sip of his tea afterwards and goes right back to his selective mutism.

They both miss living together a little bit whenever Ben’s healed up enough to take the fight to the VKs. If Bryn squeezes Ben’s hand when they get in the elevator and johnny doesn’t notice, well, Ben doesn’t mention it. If Ben squeezes back before letting go, Bryn pretends not to realize.

(That’s the second time Ben hears Bryn in his normal accent. “Hope you don’t mind hepatitis” sounds especially biting coming from Bryn in his own voice. It takes most of Ben’s effort not to laugh.)

When Tanya’s finally dead and Johnny trots off in search of Aisha, Bryn and Ben take a moment together to just stand and wait. Ben tosses over the keys to his now wrecked car, a gift to a sort of friend. A thanks for the care. Ben expects that to be it, so he turns away and starts to walk off, only to be stopped by Bryn’s hand on his arm tugging him back. Bryn smiles and asks Ben if he’d like to go for a coffee. After that coffee date, Ben doesn’t see Bryn again, or even really hear about him.

Until the explosion.

Until Ben chokes on his coffee as he reads in the paper about the death of Alderman Hughes. He reads about the gang member who was fished from the water barely alive, who’s on life support and in a coma in the Stilwater prison. The paper doesn’t say who, but Ben’s gut tells him it’s the Playa.

Ben still doesn’t know Bryn’s name.

He writes him into Regicide anyways-  calls him Apollo and details the quiet moments that they spent together. It’s hella gay lmao. No one fails to notice. Bryn doesn’t, but he’s in a coma. He’ll notice when he reads it later.

Brynden’s back on the streets with a bang in SR2. He only meets with Ben again by accident- they run into each other while visiting the now-refurbished church and go for coffee again. This time around, Bryn doesn’t bother with fake accents. They talk quietly and eventually part ways with promises of meeting up again. For the first time in a long time, Bryn actually feels a bit of calm run through him.

After they grab coffee, Bryn borrows Pierce’s copy of Regicide and reads it. Of course he focuses mainly on the chapters about him, but he does read it all. And of course, Bryn takes not of how much it sounds like Ben has a crush on him.

They meet up for coffee every now and then during the course of the saints reclamation of Stilwater. They’re close enough to call each other friends.

And tbh with so many aus and so many ideas running thru my head for Bryn in SR (gotta remember he originally was a skyrim character and i still do a lot with skyrim bryn) I don’t really have one solid plotline for brynben following sr2. Generally they end up together around the time where Bryn turns 39.

Bryn asks Ben casually to sign his well worn copy of Ben’s book, flirting happens, and then kissing, and then before u know it bryn’s blowing ben on his desk and ben has his hands fisted in bryn’s hair.

Some verses I have BrynBenErik going on with the three of them in a polygamous relationship. It generally starts with Bryn and Erik both flirting with a flustered Ben and pulling him in with them.

But basically bryn and ben’s relationship is built off of mutual respect and snark. They cuddle up a lot, with Bryn’s head resting Ben’s lap as Ben toys with his hair and reads aloud from whatever book they’ve chosen to read together. Bryn makes the meals and Ben does the dishes.

Also au stuff!! Domestic au with Ben as a crime novel writer and Bryn as a doctor, or spy aus with Brynden and Ben snarking at each other while kicking ass.

And ofc Ben does learn Bryn’s real name. How so depends on the verse, but generally Ben’s reaction is “what kind of fucking name is Brynden Arthur James Stark?”

Ben gets along really well with Bryn’s mom, Atla. he’s kind of a little starstruck tbh, because Ben did put in some research on gang stuff in other countries while writing regicide. What the underground info has to say about Atla is stunning. (that and she showers him in gifts and declares him an honorary Stark. Atla’s a huge fan of his book.)

I do have a brynben tag here for other stuff tho i don’t have much there yet lmao so have a real quick brynben doodle