#the composition is shit but since when is it not in my drawings who give a glub

[steven-has-exploded]

appetite of a people-pleaser

[senorabond]

Rumor Has It: Chapter 7 Peña x f!reader x Pike

Pairings: Javier Peña x f!reader; Marcus Pike x f!reader; future Peña x f!reader x Pike

Chapter 7 Summary: The case is progressing more quickly than expected, presenting the first opportunity to set the bait for the narcos. When plans for the undercover operation go awry, you have to think and act fast. Meanwhile, whatever is going on between you and Javi gets kicked into high gear.

Rating: 18+ (Minors DNI), Explicit sexual content, additional warnings may be added for future chapters

Chapter Warnings: no use of y/n, previous relationship (Marcus x f!Reader), boss!Marcus, slowburn, workplace romance, ohh the yearning, fake relationship, protective!Javi, Dom/sub dynamic, precisely (1) spank, almost caught, please just fuck already

Reader/Character notes: Reader is fem!afab; No mention of Reader’s body size, shape, composition, or skin color.

Words: 8k

Author’s Note:  I am SO happy to finally post this! I’ve been sick with back-to-back viruses ever since November, so I’ve been slowly chipping away at this chapter. It’s super plotty and a lil smutty, but I had to kick Javi and Reader in the ass to move this shit along somehow. I have so many thots and ideas for these two, especially when we get to see more of Marcus. As always, a HUGE thank you to my dear, sweet, lovely beta @kilamonster, who lets me torture her endlessly with all the dirty things that come to mind and for correcting my atrocious Spanish. 💋💜

Masterlist || Previous Chapter

The Next Morning   Washington, D.C.

There’s a knock at Marcus’ office door and a grinning man pokes his head inside. He’s got a slight build, and sandy hair that falls across his forehead in natural waves. You had always told Marcus this agent reminded you of that weaselly guy in Dirty Dancing, Neil, and he can certainly see it now. Though the resemblance was probably more down to personality than looks.

"Sir, you wanted to see me?" The man asks, waiting for permission to enter. 

"Yeah, Wilkins, come in – and shut the door.” Wilkins has to halt midway to turn around and close the door and is looking a bit less confident now as he sits down in the chair across from Pike.

Pike fixes the smaller man with a neutral expression. He'll give Wilkins a chance to be honest and forthright, but he’s not going to beat around the bush. 

"Did you receive a call from a DEA agent about helping them with a potential art money laundering case?" 

Wilkins' eyes grow wide for a second, and he stumbles a bit over his next words. "Uh, I'm not sure, maybe?"

"Maybe?" The fewer words Marcus gives Wilkins to work with, the more he'll have to come up with himself, and the less he’ll be able to turn Marcus’ words back around on him – a common interrogation technique.

"I remember a call from somebody at the DEA, but I don't think I recall the specifics." Wilkins fidgets with his tie.

Marcus keeps his face neutral, but laces his fingers together on his desk and leans forward, closing the space between them. "What do you recall?" 

"He might have mentioned some drug dealers." Wilkins, a man with an ego the size of Nationals Park, has already been reduced to a little boy getting in trouble at school. 

"Being that he's DEA, that would make sense." Pike says blandly, waiting for Wilkins to continue. 

"Yeah. And... there might have been some talk about art." Wilkins’ voice is small, tentative. He knows he’s been caught out, and it’s no small matter.

"That's interesting. And why do you think this DEA agent called us – the FBI art squad – about art?" 

Wilkins doesn't say anything in response. He knows there's nothing else he could say in his defense at this point. 

"Do you know who that DEA agent was, Wilkins?" 

Wilkins juts his chin out defiantly. "No, Sir."

"You might, if you'd bothered to get his name." Wilkins has grown sullen, already tired of the tongue lashing. 

Pike has no patience for this guy’s attitude. Normally, Marcus wouldn’t draw out disciplinary issues like this, on the rare occasions he has them with his crew. But this guy has pissed him off too many times. 

"That was Special Agent Javier Peña. You might have heard of him, made the news awhile back." Marcus leans back in his chair, watches Wilkins’ petulant shrug.

"He put away Pablo Escobar and the Cali Cartel, remember them?" Wilkins doesn’t respond, but there’s recognition in his eyes. "So when Javier fucking Peña calls to ask for help, that's probably when you should tell your superior.” 

Marcus pauses, waiting for Wilkins to say something, anything, but he just sits there.

“Do you agree?" Marcus prompts, each word punctuated.

"Yes, Sir." The man replies, his tone clipped. 

"Glad to hear it." 

"Is that all?" Wilkins stands, and Marcus fights the urge to stand as well. But there’s power in showing you’re confident enough to not rely on being physically overbearing. 

"No, I'll tell you when that's all. There have been some rumors floating around the office for a while now.” Finally, what Marcus has wanted to confront Wilkins about for months. 

“I tried to ignore them, thinking it was just some office gossip, but then one of our best liaisons at Customs fast-tracked a transfer.” Marcus has to take a breath, the lead ball in his stomach growing heavy. “Some of that office gossip was about her. Know anything about that, Wilkins?"

"No, Sir." Wilkins shifts from foot to foot, glancing around the office nervously. Marcus lets him squirm for a bit longer. 

"That's good. Because if you did know something about who was spreading those harmful rumors – rumors that affect the lives and careers of federal agents who outperform you on any given day – we’d be having a very different conversation." 

Wilkins stands rigid, eyes wide.

"That's all." Marcus turns back to his computer and without giving Wilkins another glance. 

______________________________________________________________

That Afternoon Texas

The briefing went off without a hitch. You could feel Javier's smile on you from the other side of the briefing room while you talked through each of the slides. Your stomach was in your throat, but Javier's presence gave you the bit of confidence you needed every time you glanced his way. 

The other agents ask questions you and Javi had anticipated and discussed thoroughly the day before, and even a few you didn’t prepare for. Once you answer their questions flawlessly, Javier dismisses the group to their respective assignments. Several of them shake your hand on their way out. 

Javi stands back and watches the crowd file out, then saunters over to you. You’re beaming a smile at him and fight the urge to throw your arms around him in a grateful embrace. 

“That was…” You shake your head in disbelief, eyes as wide as your smile.

“‘Amazing.’ You can say it.” He’s smiling in return and leans a slim hip against the table, crossing his arms. 

“It was amazing! God, that felt good.” Adrenaline pumps through your limbs in a rush.

“You did a great job today.” 

“Thanks, I had a lot of help.” You start to gather the briefing materials and Javi jumps in, working his way around the opposite side of the table. You meet on the other side, where he adds the stack from your hands to his own.

“Not as much as you think.” Javier tucks the stack of briefings under his arm and gives you a friendly wink. Friendly, yet it still manages to set those butterflies flitting again. You haven’t felt this moony over a guy in…well, awhile. 

The rest of the day goes by like a blur. Javier introduces you to the two agents he’s assigning to report directly to you for the duration of the case – Diaz and Tran – and the three of you get to work immediately. The first thing you do is get in touch with the closest ports of entry to see what high-priced artwork may have crossed in or out of the country within the past few months.  

You lose yourself in piles of customs reports, flagging anything that catches your eye, and before you know it, Javier appears at your desk, knocking on the wall of your cubicle. Blinking, you’re surprised to see that the office has emptied out. 

“Hey,” he says softly. 

Your eyes widen when you see that it’s past seven o’clock on your computer screen. “Jesus, no wonder I was starting to go cross-eyed.”

You start putting the reports away in your bag, intending to look at them some more at home. The excitement and buzz of the day is fading, and the fatigue finally starts setting in. 

"Want to grab a drink?" Javier has his jacket over his arm, a hand casually in his pocket. 

"Can I take a rain check?" You feel bad saying no, because you actually would like to have a drink with Javi. 

“Are you going to keep working at home?”

“That was the plan,” you admit sheepishly.

“Then, no.”

“‘No,’ what?” 

“No rain check. Let’s go – there will be plenty more to do tomorrow. I had to learn that the hard way.” Javier reaches over and takes your bag. 

You let out a long-suffering sigh for dramatic effect and shut down your computer. As you join Javier, he splays a broad hand between your shoulder blades, guiding you to the elevator. You barely have a chance to register the warmth of his hand before it drops, leaving pleasant tingles in its wake. 

The silence between you is born from that day’s weariness, yet it feels comfortable. Javi takes you to the same bar as before, and you grab the same table in the back while he orders you each a beer. A server brings a couple of glasses of water over as well, which you find a sensible choice, given how tired you feel already. 

Javier settles back in his chair with a groan and starts taking off his tie. As he stretches his long neck, you try not to stare, but those freckles and prominent veins hold your gaze. He takes a long pull from his bottle of beer, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

Tearing your eyes away, you focus on the rings of condensation your beer bottles have left on the table and try to think of anything to talk about. Before you can think of something, Javier speaks up. 

“I got a call today.” He’s fiddling with the label on his beer bottle, peeling it back. His knee bounces under the table, jiggling close enough that you can feel the edge of his pant leg against yours.

When he doesn’t continue, you prompt him with a soft, “Oh?” and take a swig of your beer. 

“It was the FBI art squad getting back to me.” 

You pause before swallowing, determined to play this cool. “About time.” 

“Yeah, the guy was really apologetic. He said they could assign a couple of people to help us with whatever we need.” Javier finishes pulling the label off his bottle, all in one piece. 

“That’s great!” You hope Javi can hear the genuine enthusiasm you feel in your voice. “My contact said they’d help, but wasn’t sure what they could do.”

“I spoke to the agent in charge, Pike. Do you know him?” He keeps his large, brown eyes on you as he takes another sip of beer. 

Schooling your features, you dare yourself to meet his gaze. “I do, yeah.”

“Have you worked with him before?” Javier tilts his head a fraction, watching you.

“That case I finished before transferring, he and I worked on that together.”

“Closely?”

“What are you trying to get at?” You counter, putting your beer down harder than you intended, your hackles starting to rise.

“Nothing.” Javier shakes his head and looks down at his beer, but you can see a hint of a smirk appearing under his mustache.

Huffing, you slouch and take a sip of your beer, then cross your arms, feeling a little like a child. “Yes.”

“Hmm?” Javi looks up at you through his lashes. Those damned eyes of his. He could bring entire cartels to their knees with those eyes. 

“Yes, he’s the person I had a… thing with.” You cross one leg over the other, bouncing it peevishly.

“Sounds complicated,” Javier remarks, not unkindly. 

You shrug, as though to say it was nothing. As though the time you spent with Marcus didn’t mean anything to you, and wasn’t the healthiest relationship you’d ever been in, even if it didn’t have the label society demanded. You’re embarrassed to feel the sting of tears in your eyes and turn your face away from Javi before he can see.

“I understand complicated,” Javi says, his soft words a balm to soothe your injured heart. 

The beers are finished in contemplative silence. Both of you take plaintive sips of water, mindful of the drives ahead and the weariness you’re each already fighting. 

Neither of you seem to mind that the space between you is shrinking, or that your legs rest gently against each other’s under the table. Neither of you flinch or pull away when the backs of your hands wrapped around your water glasses touch. When Javi’s thumb grazes your knuckles, you only look at him, but his face stays turned down determinedly. 

You move your thumb against his in a soothing repetition. Slowly, but without hesitation, Javi takes your hand in his, linking your fingers, and you give a gentle squeeze. Your breath slows, the noise of the bar fades, and the tension in your muscles unwinds as you inhale and exhale in time with Javi. 

Without a word, without a glance, Javi pulls you to your feet and begins to lead you out of the bar. 

It’s completely dark now, but the goosebumps erupting across your arms aren’t from any chill in the air. Holding tight to Javi’s hand, you follow swiftly behind him. He lengthens his stride, shoulders back and jaw set. 

About half a block from your office building, Javier pulls you around a corner and onto a darkened side street. You let him lead you without thinking, completely trusting him. But before you can blink, he’s got you pressed up against the wall of a building, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other around your waist. Instinctively, your hands grip onto the lapels of his jacket to not lose your balance. 

Everything Javier does is purposeful, focused, intentional – he is not a man to lose complete control of himself, especially when he feels out of control. With his face mere inches from yours, and the faint scent of beer on his breath, he speaks. 

“Tell me to stop.” 

Javi’s tongue pokes out and licks his plump bottom lip. The cool stone of the building at your back is a welcome relief from the heat pooling in your lower belly. 

“W-what?” A glance at his eyes, black from the shadows around you, makes your knees shake. 

“If you don’t want this, tell me now.” The hand on the back of your head gently eases down to cup your face, and Javi caresses your cheek with his thumb.

“Please,” he pleads in a whisper, his lips a hair’s breadth from your own. “Before I do something I’ll regret.” 

“Don’t…” Your breath shakes. 

A sigh from Javi’s lips is warm on your face. Almost imperceptibly, Javi nods and begins pulling away. You tighten your grip on his jacket, holding him in place. 

“I mean - don’t stop.” 

Javi’s smile changes his entire face, and the tension in his shoulders eases. 

“Cariño,” he murmurs, resting your foreheads together and nudging your nose with the tip of his. 

Before Javi can do more than brush his lips against yours, a small group of people pass by on the sidewalk a few feet away. This close to the office, it’s very possible they work in the same building – might have even come from the same bar. Fortunately, Javier reacts quickly. He shifts your bodies and tucks your head into his chest, blocking the light from the nearby street lamp – and their view of you – entirely.

Their chattering ceases abruptly as they spot your forms in the shadows, one letting out a quiet, “Whoops,” under his breath. Another sniggers, and they continue on their way. You think you hear one of them whisper Peña a bit too loudly and get shushed by their companions.

Javier holds you there a few more moments, your bodies molded to one another in the dark. Stilling your pounding heart, you breathe in his scent and run your hands around his back, underneath his suit jacket. The muscles of his back are firm under your hands. He presses his face to the top of your head and wraps his arms around you in return. For a while, you stay there together, breathing in sync and savoring this stolen moment.

Eventually, Javier starts to pull away, and you reluctantly let go. He leans in, and tenderly places a kiss to your forehead, your cheek, and your ear. Softly, he says, “Come on, cariño, I’ll walk you back to your car.” 

Holding hands again, your pace is much slower this time. There seems to be an understanding that what you just experienced was too close a call. Still, neither of you are in any hurry for this to end, whatever it is. 

At your car, Javier stands back with his hands in his pockets while you open the door and toss your bag inside. 

“Get home safe, cariño.” 

“You too, Javi.” 

In your mirror, you see him give a small wave as you drive away.

~*~*~*~

It was stupid to ask you to grab a drink after work. Javier doesn't really understand what motivated him to ask you in the first place. 

That’s a lie – he knows exactly why he asked you, why he asked you about Pike, why he dragged you out of that bar. You're on his mind all the time now, to the point of distraction. Javier sees you when he closes his eyes, pictures you lying next to him when he’s going to sleep, tries to imagine the feel of your skin, soft on his fingertips. The only relief he feels is when he's with you in the flesh. 

It’s selfish of him, he realizes, to want these things from you. You haven’t said much about what happened in D.C., but it was enough for him to understand that he can’t put you in that position again. People are cruel, especially to women. 

With a heaving sigh, Javier rolls over in bed. Even if he can’t allow himself to act on his desires, he can let go a little in his mind. For a moment, he lets himself indulge in the fantasy of having you, fueled by the memories of your fingers laced with his, the heat from your back where he placed a gently guiding hand, the scent of your shampoo when he kissed your face. 

Javier imagines what it would feel like, being able to touch and feel you in those natural ways people together do: your arms wrapped around his chest and kissing the back of his neck and shoulders, the weight of you seated on his lap, caressing all of your lines and curves. All the things he could do with you, just because you’re his. 

______________________________________________________________

Five Days Later Texas

You’ve never seen a case get off the ground and progress so quickly. In the last few days, the DEA managed to bring in the art gallery couple suspected of planning a money laundering deal with the narcos under investigation. Not only did the couple admit to their plan, but they agreed to cooperate with the investigation in exchange for immunity. 

The gallery was hosting a special exhibit opening that night, and the narcos – Castano and Lopez – were confirmed guests. The timing was perfect to introduce Peña and another agent, Bateman, who would be posing undercover as business partners in competition with the art gallery owners. But that meant their task force had to act fast to get everything organized and ready in time.

Surveillance had been placed on Castano and Lopez, and the agents tailing them were sending in frequent reports on the men’s movements. They had already arranged transportation to get them to the gallery event after dining at an expensive restaurant nearby. Their dirty money certainly didn’t stop them from enjoying a lavish lifestyle. 

You check over the information on the tablet in your hands. Posing as an event coordinator gave you access to all areas of the gallery, service entrances, back rooms, the whole shebang. It also gave you the ability to watch a live video feed of all the cameras placed around the gallery, right from your tablet, and listen in on the audio through the wires Peña and Bateman would be wearing. 

A few other agents were staged as caterers, wait staff, and private security detail for the special event, but this evening would only have one mission: get the narcos interested in finding out what Peña and his “business partner” could offer. He and Bateman were already out on the gallery floor, mingling with the crowd, and looking at the art. 

Javi was wearing a dark blue suit, fitting snugly to his broad shoulders and tapering in at his slim waist. He’d obviously taken extra time grooming himself that evening, because he had some kind of pomade in his hair that added a sleek wave, and his mustache was neatly trimmed. It was criminal how fucking good he looked.

Surveillance checks in to report an ETA of approximately 10 minutes. Letting out a deep breath, you tap out a message on your tablet with the ETA and send it to Javi’s phone. Through your earpiece, you hear Javi’s phone ding, a pause, and then his voice mutters, “Copy.” 

Things between you and Javier that week had been a bit tense, to say the least. The two of you orbited each other, coming close yet never touching before being slingshot back out in opposite directions. 

The memory of his arms around you and his lips ghosting across your mouth kept you warm each night. You continuously waffled back and forth between reprimanding yourself for even thinking about indulging in another workplace fling, and craving him like a drug. It was maddening. 

Diaz’s voice in your ear says, “Targets have arrived, entering now.” You message Javi, and he confirms he has eyes on them. He and Bateman continue circulating a bit, keeping an eye on Castano and Lopez, but blending with the crowd for now. Things are right on track. 

Closing your eyes for a moment, you take a deep breath and lean against a wall in the back corridor. The coolness of the wall reminds you of the cool stone against your skin in that alleyway. You let the radio chatter in your earpiece fade as you remember the heat from Javi’s hands, the strength of his arms and chest, the smile on his lips when you told him ‘don’t stop.’ Heat pools in your lower belly, imagining what could have happened if you hadn’t been interrupted.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” You hear Javi’s voice in your ear and your eyes fly open. A few taps on your tablet and you’re watching video from a nearby camera. Bateman is gripping his abdomen and grimacing in pain. 

“Yeah, just this stomach ache. I’ve had it for days.” Bateman gestures to his lower right side. Something tells you that’s no mere stomach ache.

Quickly, yet calmly, you bustle over to their location and assume your best event coordinator voice. “Sir, is everything alright? Can I get you some water?” 

Bateman tries to wave you off, but is interrupted as another wave of pain hits him and he doubles over. Javi watches his partner and concern knits his brow. 

“Boss, the targets are headed in your direction, I think they’re trying to check out what’s going on,” Tran’s falsetto says over the radio. 

You lay a hand on Bateman’s shoulder, lowering your voice to say, “We need to get him out of here.”

You put your arm around Bateman’s hunched shoulders and say loudly enough for some of the looky-loos to hear you, “Everything’s alright, Sir. Please come with me.” You give a meaningful look to Javi and gesture for him to come with you.

The gallery owners have a small office in the back that’s part of a larger storage area with a loading dock for larger works of art. You take Bateman and Javi back to the office, passing through the swarm of catering staff, who have been using the storage room as their staging area. Pulling out one of the office chairs, you guide Bateman to sit. Diaz bursts into the small room, dressed in the typical black attire of private security, worry etched across his face. 

“Nick? Talk to me – what’s happening?” Diaz’s voice is a bit tremulous, but he takes charge and gets on the radio to report an agent down. You’ve seen how close Diaz and Bateman are at the office and wonder if there’s something more between them than friendship.

Javi catches your eye and nods his head to the side, indicating for you to both exit the office. Following him a bit down the hallway, you step close to his side to escape the bustle of caterers with trays of hors d'oeuvres. 

“What’s happening?” Javi wipes a hand over his mustache and flicks a finger at your tablet. 

He leans over to look at your screen and you swipe through several views until you spot Castano sipping on champagne and Lopez looking bored. The latter was the one, if memory serves, who made the comment about modern art being just a bunch of splattered paint. 

The scent of Javi’s cologne and his closeness make your hands tremble. You haven’t been this close to him since he almost kissed you. In fact, his face was near enough to your own that you could easily turn your head and place your lips to the side of his neck or shoulder. Your head swims at the thought.

Hazarding a glance up, you see out of the corner of your eye that Javi isn’t looking at your tablet anymore either. His chest rises and falls, brushing your arm with every inhale. Those dark chocolate eyes are nearly black, his pupils wide and intense. Seconds tick by that could be minutes, both of your bodies frozen in place. 

Movement on the screen in your hands catches your attention and breaks the reverie. You can’t let yourself be distracted by whatever is happening between you and Javi. Not now, on this big of a case – your first opportunity to really prove that you’re capable on your own, and not someone who fucks their way up the ranks. 

Javi takes half a step back, and you clamp your teeth down on your lower lip to stifle a sigh at your loss. How the hell are you supposed to focus with all of these feelings and urges flying through your body? 

Clearing his throat, Javi rasps, “I better get back out there.”

You nod your head in agreement. “Yeah. That’s good, I’ll - uh, check on Bateman.” Javi moves to leave but pauses. 

“You’re doing great,” he whispers next to your ear, his touch on your lower back light as a feather before slipping off back into the crowded gallery. You fight the urge to run after him and shift your focus back to Bateman. Stepping back into the office, Diaz is already on the radio, arranging transportation for the two of them to the hospital. 

“I think it’s his appendix,” Diaz says to you quietly when you walk over. 

You grimace. Shit.

Bateman was chosen to be Javi’s partner in this operation because he could carry a conversation about art and make it convincing. Javi – to use his own words again – doesn’t know shit about art. 

Looking down at your tablet, you tap through the various video feeds and see that the narcos are in the same section of the gallery as Javier. Switching the channel on your earpiece, you listen in on the audio feed coming from his wire. 

You’re not sure if Javi is genuinely distressed over Bateman’s condition, or if he’s acting it up to try and draw the attention of the narcos, but you can hear his labored breathing from his wire. Could he be nervous? You select the video feed with the best vantage and see Javi rubbing the back of his neck and fiddling with his tie. 

With Javi’s breathing in your ear, you make up your mind. You can’t let him finish this alone. 

“Diaz, you got this?” 

“Yes, ma’am. Transport will be here in less than five minutes.” 

You’re already setting down your tablet and removing the curlicue wire from behind your ear. 

“Good. Report in once you get him seen to.” Diaz nods, but watches you curiously. 

Next goes your blazer and the clip holding your hair back. You grab your purse and find the red lipstick, quickly applying a fresh coat to your lips.

“Well, how do I look? Can I pass as a shady art dealer’s girlfriend?” You step back and smooth down the dress you were wearing under the blazer. 

You don’t have many occasions to wear the black cocktail dress, but for tonight you needed something more stylish than your regular work clothes. Its V-neckline is relatively modest, but the smooth material clings to your curves in a way that leaves nothing to the imagination. 

Diaz gives you a once over and says, “With all due respect, Boss…you look hot.” 

“Thanks,” you fluff your hair a bit, using your reflection in the office’s window. “Bateman, take it easy. We’ve got this.” Bateman groans in response and you rush out the door. 

You’re flying blind now – no eyes or ears on anything but what’s in front of you. Tran spots you and cocks her head quizzically, but otherwise doesn’t break her cover as she approaches you with a tray of champagne flutes. 

Grabbing a glass, you mutter, “Bateman is down, I had to do something.” She nods and quirks an amused lip. 

“I like your dress,” she mutters back. You toss back the rest of the champagne in your glass for courage, and Tran hands you another to take its place. 

“Thanks, so does Diaz.” Tran snorts and pivots to offer champagne to a cluster of guests nearby. 

The three of you gelled almost immediately, and you felt immensely grateful. Their support on the case made you feel at ease with being in charge of a team. You wonder if Javi assigned Diaz and Tran on purpose, thinking you’d all suit one another.

Javier, Castano, and Lopez are still in the same gallery space, admiring adjacent pieces. Well, Lopez is digging a finger into his ear, but at least Castano seems genuinely interested. 

Seemingly more relaxed now, Javi stands with his back slightly to you, leaving his body language open to the targets. But you already know him better than the casual observer. The veins in Javi’s neck are more prominent, and you tamp down the urge to lick them. He’s practically vibrating like a plucked wire, but his shoulders are relaxed, one hand casually in his pocket. Fuck, he looks good in that suit. 

Taking a deep breath, you decide you’ll just have to go for it. It’s just for tonight, after all. 

“Babe!” A few people turn their heads to look at you, including the three men you needed to take notice. 

You shuffle over on your tiptoes to not break an ankle in your heels, and Javi – to his credit – doesn’t react beyond a shift in his eyes and a twitch of his jaw.

“Oh, my god! I’ve been looking for you everywhere, babe.” You practically throw yourself at Javi and cling to his side. He wraps an arm around your waist, the other hand coming out of his pocket to lightly grasp your bare arm.

“I saw poor Nicky – he didn’t look so good,” you say, placing your free hand on Javi’s chest and adding a touch of real concern to your voice. 

Javier’s entire demeanor shifts with you in his arms, his body relaxes, immediately falling into lockstep with you. You’re impressed at how quickly he responds to this curveball. Neither of you could have prepared for something like this.

“Yeah, he decided to head home, probably just ate something bad.” Javi took everything in stride. “You’re feeling okay, right?” He pulls back a bit to take you in, like he’s checking you over for bumps and bruises.

“Yeah, baby, I’m okay. But…” you drop your voice to a stage whisper, aware that at least Lopez is paying attention to this little charade. “What about the you-know-what?”

Javi glances around like he’s worried somebody might hear you. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out. He wasn’t moving it until next week anyway.” Javi kisses your temple. You nod, seemingly pacified, and offer your glass to him. 

He smirks, and instead of taking it from your hand, he leans down and places his lips to the rim. You let out a little giggle and tilt the glass for him. A little dribbles over the side of his mouth, dripping off his mustache. Letting out a mock tutting sound, you wipe it away with your thumb and lick the remnants from your skin. 

Your eyes meet, and you melt a bit, seeing that Javi’s pupils are completely blown.

“I can’t take you anywhere,” you tease, managing to regain composure. 

“I know exactly where you can take me,” he fires back, and – to your utter shock and private enjoyment – squeezes your ass. 

“Babe!” You gasp, and hit him playfully on the arm. Looking around nervously, you notice Lopez staring lasciviously at this public display, and you still, clearing your throat. Javi notices, and follows your gaze to Lopez, who is now adjusting his pants by his gaudy belt buckle.

“Hey - qué pasa contigo?” Javi’s face morphs into something serious and intimidating.

The two men exchange some words in rapid Spanish, and Castano gets involved. You’re genuinely flummoxed, not understanding what the men are saying, but it’s clear Castano is trying to apologize for Lopez’s rudeness and making amends. 

You tug at Javi’s arm to pull him back to you, running a soothing hand over his chest. “Come on, baby. It’s fine.” 

“I want an apology,” Javi says, stubbornly. 

“Lo siento, Señor,” Lopez mutters, and Javi shakes his head. 

“An apology to her,” he clarifies, his eyes boring holes into Lopez’s forehead. 

Lopez repeats himself, but can’t meet your eyes. Castano steps forward and reaches out a hand. Without thinking, you place your hand in his, and he holds it between his own. You know what this man before you is capable of, what he’s suspected and guilty of, and you fight the urge to shudder. 

“Miss, I am so sorry for my associate’s bad manners,” Castano begins in lightly accented English. “When a woman as beautiful as you is nearby, any man would take notice.” 

Pretending to be flattered and appeased, you dip your head. Castano – a slim man of equal height – bends at the waist formally and brushes dry lips to your knuckles. You turn a disgusted curl of your lip into a demure smile. 

“Thank you,” you simper. 

Javi says something to Castano in Spanish, and the two begin to converse, their tone much more pleasant now with formalities out of the way. He drops his arm from your waist and joins Castano at the painting he’d been admiring.

You catch Lopez’s eye and let the corner of your mouth tilt up as you take a sip of your champagne, now warm and flat. The man – squat, with a thick unibrow under a greasy forehead – is the kind of fish you want to keep on the hook for a while. It lets them think they’re winning. 

“Cariño,” Javi says and beckons you to join the men. 

Sauntering over, you let the high heels do their job and smile sweetly up at him. The conforming dress rises up your thighs a bit higher than you’d be comfortable with in real life, but you decide to leave the hem where it rests when you see Javi’s eyes rake over your exposed skin. The hair on your arms stands up, and the heat in your core begins to rise. 

“Señor Castano has a question about this piece, and I told him you were the brains between us,” he winks, and your breath hitches. 

Over the next ten minutes, you speak knowledgeably about the art on exhibit in the gallery. You’d never felt more grateful for the times Marcus would get excited about a case or piece of evidence and animatedly answer your questions while sharing takeout from one of your regular haunts. There’s a sudden pang in your chest. 

Just as suddenly, Javi is right behind you, stroking the backs of his fingers up and down a bare arm. His left hand is on your hip, caressing his thumb over the thin fabric of your dress. You relax into his touch, melting back into him until you feel the swell of your ass meet the front of his pants. 

Javi sucks in a sharp breath, and his fingers on your hip tighten their grip. You’re trying to focus on Castano’s words, but you feel Javi’s breath shudder a bit as he makes the smallest of movements with his hips, pressing himself into your ass. 

“...and that’s why we’re here tonight, drinking champagne, admiring the works of art on display… and speaking with beautiful women,” Castano finishes. The smile on his face would be genuinely charming if you didn’t already know what a deplorable human being he is. 

“Mi amor loves talking about art, I only wish I knew more. She and my partner could talk all night about our latest deals–” Javi stops himself short, pretending that he’s let something slip.

Castano’s eyes go sharp, but his smile barely changes. Showing a bit of intelligence, even Lopez perks up at this false faux pas. You’re surprised he was even listening, he’s been so busy shoveling canapes into his mouth and ogling the other women nearby.

“Ah, so you are art dealers then!” Castano exclaims. “Little wonder Señorita is so knowledgeable.”

You move your left hand to caress Javi’s on your hip. Not sure if Castano thinks you and Javi are married, or he’s just being polite, you’d rather play it safe and leave your ring fingers out of his sight until you and Javi can speak privately. 

“My partner is really the art dealer, it’s a shame you couldn’t meet him tonight. I’m just another man of business.” 

“And what line of business are you in, Señor?” Castano asks.

“Please, call me Javi,” he says with a casual wave of his free hand. “And I’m in whatever line of business is good – I’ve done a bit of this, a bit of that. Here, have my card.”

Javi fishes out the prop business card from the inner breast pocket of his suit jacket. “I represent my client’s business interests, whatever they may be.” 

Castano takes the card and glances it over, then hands it to Lopez to hold. “And your clients are interested in art?”

“Some are. That’s how I met mi alma. She was working at the private gallery my new partner owns.” Javi stands next to you, keeping his fingers locked with yours on your hip, and smiles down at you. 

You have to remind yourself that none of this is real, it’s all for the cover – and a last-minute cover, at that. None of this was supposed to happen. But standing there, basking in the warmth of Javi’s affection, your heart races a bit and you give him a genuine smile in return.

“And the rest is history,” you finish with a small shrug of your shoulder, then rest your head on Javi’s shoulder for a second. Lopez’s phone rings and he turns away to answer it quietly, then taps Castano on the shoulder deferentially.

“Well, Javi, Señorita,” Castano nods at each of you in turn. “I would love to treat you to dinner soon. I have a new case of vintage bordeaux and a new painting I’m looking for any excuse to show off. I’ll have my associate call to make the arrangements. Please, bring your business partner.” 

Javi nods and shakes Castano’s hand. The two men leave, and you see Lopez stuff a napkin full of food into his suit pocket. Castano rolls his eyes in exasperation and glides away to the front exit. 

Javi gives your waist a squeeze, and you turn to face him, smiles on both of your faces. You hover for a minute, just in case the men return, but then Tran comes by with another tray of champagne. 

“May I take your glass, ma’am?” Javi takes the glass from your hand and sets it gently on the tray. He busies himself by taking another so Tran can murmur, “They’re off the premises, tracking in place.” 

Javi nods and sips the champagne. Tran moves away once more. A couple beats pass, and Javi sets the champagne down on a nearby cocktail table, grips your hand tightly, and starts pulling you in the direction of the back office. 

This time you struggle more to keep up with him, not in your usual office attire. Javi is pulling at his tie and undoing the top buttons of his shirt. In the back storage area, Javi drops your hand and makes a beeline into the small office. 

You slow almost to a stop, a bit winded from practically jogging in heels. Javi turns and meets your eye. Seeing the intensity in his face, you pause before the threshold and worry flits across your mind. 

Maybe Javi’s actually upset with you for going rogue, for jumping in and messing with the plan. Maybe he’s just really good undercover, and you projected your own desires onto his smiles and touches. He silently crooks two fingers, bidding you to join him in the office. 

Steeling your spine, preparing for a fight, you pull your shoulders back and strut into the office. Closing the door behind you, you take a breath, ready to go toe-to-toe with Javi if that’s what it takes to prove you were in the right. 

You made an executive decision in what could have been a crisis, and you’ll stand by that judgment call. You did what a good leader is supposed to do when plans go south. Everything worked out with the narcos, and even if they don’t take the bait and call, you still have tracking and surveillance on them.

Javi remains silent, finishes unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his freckled skin underneath. He removes the wire taped to his chest, then sets it down on the desk and switches off the receiver. You open your mouth, prepared to state your defense.

In two strides, Javi closes the distance between you and takes your mouth in a crushing kiss. You throw your arms around his neck and his hands grip the backs of your bare thighs, lifting you effortlessly and setting you onto the desk. 

Deepening the kiss, Javi’s tongue plunders your mouth and he lets out a strangled grunt when you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him flush against your panty-clad pussy. Groaning, you feel his cock quickly getting hard and you soon realize you were already wet before he even started kissing you. 

Javi kisses a searing trail across your jaw, the hairs of his mustache tickling the tender flesh under your ear as he nips at the lobe. You gasp and rut against the front of his pants. 

“You are – fucking – incredible,” Javi growls in your ear, grinding his straining cock against the damp spot on your panties for emphasis. Your breathing is shallow, and you cling to his broad back as he continues his way down your neck. 

“You’re amazing,” he adds, then gently sinks his teeth into the flesh between your neck and shoulder, eliciting a small whimper from your lips. 

Letting your head loll to the side, willing him to take whatever he desires, you whisper, “Javi, please…” 

You can feel his mustache turn up as he smiles, his path across your clavicle interrupted. 

“‘Please’, what, cariño?” His wide hands roam up the expanse of your back, then down to massage the meat of your hips and ass. You rock yourself against his cock again, but he holds your hips still and pulls back to look into your wrecked face, lifting an eyebrow in question. 

“Fuck, Javi–” You rebel against the grip of his hands, trying to feel that pressure from his hard cock again, but he stops you. He mimics your tut-tut from earlier out in the gallery, and pulls his hips away from yours. You lock your ankles behind him, trying in vain to keep him in place. 

Javi smacks a hand against the flesh of your ass that’s still covered by your dress, which luckily muffles the sound. Your mouth pops open in surprise, and you look at him. The intensity in his face has returned, but there’s no malice in his eyes, just hunger. Without a word exchanged, you unhook your ankles from behind his waist and let your legs spread open. 

Javi lets out a satisfied moan from deep in his chest. “Mm, somebody trained you well, cariño.” 

You let out a shuddering breath and Javi leans in to capture your bottom lip between his, sucking it between his teeth before letting it go with a soft pop. You nod, just barely, and wait for him to continue. 

“I bet I can guess who it was,” he teases, then his tone changes. “Stand up and turn around. Palms on the desk.” 

Javi pulls away and walks the two steps to the door, never looking away as he watches you follow his command. Your dress is now hitched up onto your hips, your ass presented to him. 

Before he can lock the door, a tentative knock on the other side makes both of you jump. You immediately straighten up and pull your dress down, while Javi checks through the blinds in the door’s window. 

“Tran,” he mouths. 

You try to smooth your hair down and Javi opens the door and quickly turns away, busying himself with the wire and receiver on the desk, as though he’d just turned it off. 

Clearing her throat, Tran stands in the doorway, not meeting your eye and says, “Boss, Diaz just reported in. Bateman is getting an emergency appendectomy, but he should be fine. They got him to the ER before it got too bad.” 

Both you and Javi let out sighs of relief. “Thanks, Tran. We’ll debrief in the morning.” 

Tran glances between you and Javi, and gives you a sly smile. “Sure thing, Boss. Have a good night.” She winks and closes the office door behind her. You’ll have to deal with that later.

“Fuck me,” you sigh and sink down in the office chair. All the adrenaline of the evening was starting to make your legs shaky. Javi sits a hip on the corner of the desk in a way that reminds you of Pike. 

“That’s kind of what I was trying to do,” he tosses his head at the door. “Before we got interrupted.” 

“It was very rude,” you agree, both of you sharing a smirk before going quiet. 

“Listen,” Javi swipes a thumb at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t know if this is a good idea–” You put a hand on his knee to stop him.

“But it’s what I want. And you obviously want it too,” you look pointedly at his crotch, where his aroused state is still quite evident, despite the interruption. 

“Fuck yeah, I do,” he states emphatically. “It’s just…” He sighs and places his hand over yours. “I recognize what a huge deal this case is for you, for professional and personal reasons.” 

Javi pulls you to stand and cups your face. “I couldn’t live with myself if I fucked that up for you.” 

You sigh, and think for a moment. 

“Javi, no offense, but that’s bullshit.” 

“What?” He pulls back in surprise.

“First, you’re giving yourself way too much credit,” you chuckle to break the tension, then grow serious. “Secondly, I’m a grown ass woman who can make her own choices. If anything gets fucked up, it’s because I made a decision, so I’ll deal with the consequences.” 

Javi takes a deep breath, evaluating your words. You can see that he doesn’t like the idea of what those consequences may be, nor the thought of you being the one to deal with them. 

He swears under his breath in Spanish, looking to the heavens for help, then leans in and kisses you. Gently at first, then more persistently, holding your face until you’re both breathing heavily through your noses. He breaks the kiss and you both take a deep breath.

“Okay, ‘grown ass woman,’” he says, and you let out a small laugh. “I’ve got a choice for you to make.”

“Oh, yeah? And what’s that?” 

“Your place or mine?”

Chapter 8 - Coming Soon!

Additional Author’s Note: Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for all the lovely comments and reblogs! I can’t tell you how much they mean to me. As always, I would love-love-love to know what you think. I really want to become a better writer, so any and all feedback is welcome! Thank you for reading! 💜

[buubonita]

Already send an ask related to this to howlsofbloodhounds but i also wanted to hear your thoughts because i think you're cool gangalang ✊️😔

Yk the animalistic skeleton headcanons

What if nightmare had cat traits and dream owl traits

Yes im giving them the traits of the animals they dont like (im pretty sure its canon 🧍‍♀️)

Like nightmare puffs up when spooked, sits in trees looking over people, purrs, likes being under blankets (that may just be my cat..but okay) and likes being in the sun

I dont know shit about owls but ima try

Dream has big fucking eyelights, bro is staring at you like this ⚫️∀⚫️. Also if he wants to look at something he moves his entire head, not just his eyelights

Also he can turn his head WAY too far then humanly possible

Also he actually likes the night more

And nightmare sleeps whenever there jsnt anything to do

Oooh, I really appreciate you taking the time to write to me!I'm also a big fan of skeletons imitating animal behaviors. I'll try to cover as much as possible.

I'm not the biggest Dreamtale expert, but I can confirm that Dream is scared of owls. Nightmare doesn't like a lot of things because his nature requires it, although I like to think that he's not a big fan of cats because of Neil, who is the person responsible for Dream being able to get out of Dreamtale alive by stealing the statue. Neil is also a person who has influence on Dream because he's one of the few friends he has, so whatever he says has power over whatever cruel tricks Nightmare wants to put into Dream's head.

Moving on to the twins' animal behaviors. I like the idea that Nightmare behaves like a cat. Like, imagine his tentacles waving or whipping like a cat's tail when he's happy or angry. Nightmare's tentacles are the most expressive part of him. They are selfconcious as well (this is not a canon fact, but id consider it since the creator made this lil drawing)

Also the fact that he puffs up when he's scared is funny! I think his emotions greatly affect his body composition (which is literally liquid). Don't worry about the cat under the covers, my cat does the same! Now, about lying in the sun it's funny because the light weakens Nightmare but he can stay in the sun, I think if you give him a choice, he wouldn't do it. I think Nightmare is a combination of mixed animal behaviors because I associate him with octopuses, when he's stressed, he'll hide so he can't be seen.

Dream as an owl is cute, in fact his eyes are huge and bright. That he can push the limits of his body is likely but I don't think he'll do it in front of others because it's downright scary. Dream as a nocturnal creature makes sense because he can't sleep but also because he has to stay on alert in case his brother happens to show up.

[deblklesb]

[Angel of the small death — Sevika × Reader OneShot]

[ballet dancer reader, bodyguard Sevika, smut (MDNI)]

Summary: Being Silco's daughter it's not some simple thing, especially thinking about the necessity of being guarded at all times. When a conflict starts, Sevika, his best employee, becomes your main bodyguard. It turns out things escalate a little bit until you bout break the tension.

a/n: boy oh boy this is BIG and it took me more time than i expected. this was an anonymous request so i can't tag the person who did it, but i enjoyed writing this, thanks sm! I'm so sorry for the delay, I hope you enjoy it, anon! 💗✨

cw: some violence (a loose member), blood, smut (cunnilingus, masturbation, fingering)

not proof read | 5.2k words

[reblogs are highly appreciated!]

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Living is such a weird concept; that's all you can think about as you look through the songs on your playlists, laying on the bed. Nothing seemed to draw your attention, the assignment of your last class in mind created an urge to find the answers to your inspiration. It was a good thing, exactly what you needed now, and you couldn't let it slip through your fingers. 

The plan was to show your teacher how capable you really were. Composition wasn't an easy thing, and even though you loved that subject the song was a major part to determine your next steps on that project. So you were searching restlessly, seeking for that high only an insight could provide, as fast as you could. 

You had to interrupt your plans, though, when the screen of your phone showed an incoming call. 

"Hi, dad", the other side of the line was weirdly messy, he usually tried to get a quiet place before calling you. 

"You need to go to my office. I see you there in ten minutes"

"Is everything okay?" You sat on the bed. His tone wasn't usual either. 

"I'll explain later. Now go." 

When Silco tells you to go, you go. 

The fact was that you didn't like your dad's work. All the illegal shit surrounded the places since you could remember, even if he tried hard to cover it in front of a kid. The whispers and smiles, usually opportunistics but also nervous, the feeling of being treated like a rare piece, the fear exhaling from people who knew what was happening but couldn't tell. You saw how everyone feared the slender, incisive man. 

For quite some time you thought you should fear him too. But, for better or worse, he was a different person when he was with you. And as you grew old, he started to explain the situations and dynamics to you, teach you things, show what you could have. In your late twenty's now, you could use a gun and threaten people using an infinite amount of goons, but you definitely rather not. 

Another thing he did was give you whatever you wanted. And some would say that wasn't a good thing, but it wasn't all that bad either. I mean, come on; he would let you go to the water park and in exchange you wouldn't miss behave, it was actually a very fair agreement. So he let you play with puppies when you were young, go out with your friends when you were a teenager and, most importantly, he'd encourage you to be a professional ballet dancer. 

Thinking about his honesty and open conversations, you entered the crowded building right before David, your bodyguard, ignoring the loud music, usual from a never ending night at The Last Drop. Since that was a common scenario for you, stopping to look around and enjoy the mood wasn't necessary. Your father's tone on that call was enough to make you walk upstairs, directly towards his office at the end of the hallway. 

Aside from what you feared, the scene in front of you was actually kinda unsettling. For sure he was a man that started to tell you stuff while you grew up, but a bloody finger on top of the table was new - it wasn’t attached to a body. Red stains on the wood were shining under the lights, contrasting too much with the green bathing the room due to the big glass window behind his desk. The finger had a cross tattooed on it and a golden ring, both now looking uncanny under the crimson that drew too much attention from you. 

“You didn’t have a tattooed finger before”, was all you could say, almost out of breath. 

“Well, there’s a first time for everything, right?” 

Your eyes wandered around; there was the only unfamiliar thing, and still was capable of making you feel uncomfortable. It was a surprise for yourself, the girl who beat a school colleague at seven years old because she called you a bitch. Silco tried very hard not to congratulate you too much that day, speaking politely with the principal but also making a point of not allowing that other girl to get an apology from you; she was cursing you, not the other way around - and it wasn’t just because some childish argument, the fact that you were from Zaun made you a target of mean looks and disdain all around Piltover while growing up. That girl had it coming (a broken nose) and you got a popsicle. So, yeah, blood wasn’t that out of your reality, but for some reason that detached finger made you change the weight from one leg to the other, breathing deeply. 

“What happened?”

“Some idiot had the idea of snitching, we lost a guy who was in Rebecca's factory.” The well dressed man pointed to the bloody, sole body part. “This was her way of telling she found out about our plans”

“Point made, I guess”

“I just called you here so we could arrange things with David.” You frowned, looking over your shoulder to the serious, suited man behind. “I’m assigning someone else to guard you from now on. At least until this troublesome, unnecessary hostility ends”

“You’re trying to invade each other’s business, I’m pretty sure it’s not that unnecessary, dad”, the amount of discomfort was making you uneasy. That conflict was growing too much, a finger wouldn’t be the most alarming body part to appear around. 

As much as your dad had had numerous conflicts around, the tension between Glasc Company and your father’s business took a turn when Rebecca decided to sell drugs herself. Losing territory, the one he fought too hard to get, was very unpleasant.

So, with quick heartbeats and perspiring palms, you watched as your father gave David some papers and instructions. The tall guy nodded, turning and offering you a smile - probably for the second or third time, which made it look very off-putting for him. 

“It was very nice working for you. I never said a thing because it wasn’t part of the work”, it was more words than you’ve ever heard from him. His voice was different that you thought based on the monosyllabic answers he always gave. “but your book recommendations and songs were good. Thanks”

“Well, that’s more than I expected, I genuinely thought you hated me.” You chuckled. “It was nice having you around, David”

Then he left the room and you were left with your dad and that stupid finger, Silco seated on his couch and grabbed a cigar. “Aren’t you going to grab that finger? I thought it was rude to show it around for nothing”, you seated next to him. 

Even though your father wasn’t hurt, the aspect of where that war could lead to made you think about very violent and scary endings. He was a good criminal, but still a man, a mortal one.

“I need someone else to see it” He crossed his legs as you got closer, laying the head on his shoulder before he pulled you closer on a sided embrace. “She’ll come soon. Until then, tell me how your classes are.” 

He always did that, since you were a kid. Being on a college level didn’t make that much of a difference in his eyes, at least about that topic. He would listen to you talk about muscle pains and lame history classes, instrumental music, group dynamics and upcoming events. It was simple and chill, but it was his way of connecting with you in an area he didn’t know a lot about, aside from your yearly spectacles. 

“This new assignment seems tiring, darling” He observed. “But, like they say, break a leg. You will be just fine” 

Before you could make a joke about his use of theatrical sayings, the door swung open to reveal a tall, cloaked woman with short dark hair. The look on her face revealed dissatisfaction when she traveled it from the detached, bloody finger to you; the same you knew very well from everytime you both crossed paths. The same one you couldn’t forget for two days after receiving it. 

She just stood there, silent, hands on the side of her built body, looking directly at you as if she was waiting for something - or someone. You could involuntarily lose yourself under the grayish orbs, as much as you hated this fact, but an insight struck you. 

You backed off your father, turning to stare at him, not getting a single word in response. That must be a joke. 

“You can’t be serious”, the tone in your voice was almost desperate. He couldn’t be doing this, right? 

 “That finger points otherwise”

・・・・・・・・・・

Telling David you thought he hated you was a silly comment to cool the mood. Saying that Sevika probably hated you was an understatement. 

The first time you met she had just been hired and you both made a scene when she didn't believe you about being Silco's daughter. When your father introduced you officially, she just looked annoyed and bit back some unpleasant comment, knowing very well that it could cost her work. 

Since then, you haven't spoken peacefully with each other. She always had a snarky comment about your classes and the way you behaved - which, to be fair, she wasn't kinda wrong; every year you realized how stupid you could've been the year before, maturity didn't come out of nowhere. Sevika herself got more mature too. She was probably five years older than you and with much more life experience, but she wasn't the holder of all knowledge and could be very judgemental too. 

Putting you together wasn't a choice your father made for nothing. Sevika was his best employee. She fought better than anyone and would prioritize your safety at all costs, since it was her job now. That meant that if you wanted to go somewhere, Sevika had a saying on if you could go or not. If you wanted to visit a new place, it had to be checked before. If you wanted to stay up all night practicing in a studio you rented - because your apartment wasn't that big in order to not draw too much attention -, she had to be there and also get more people to guard the building. 

And that's exactly what was happening right now. 

A month since the finger incident, with Sevika being your bodyguard. She didn't look pleased. And you could say you weren't either… But that would be a massive lie. 

Because you liked her looks in your direction when you were getting out of classes, and you liked the way she rolled her eyes at your bad jokes, the ones you did solely to annoy her - you were very mature but you also loved to annoy her. You liked to stand next to her on coffee shop lines, instead of being in front of her, and you liked to dress better just so she could give you a look from head to toes whenever you got out of your apartment in the mornings. 

Honestly, who could judge you? 

You didn't realize those things until a week later after this whole shit started, when you tried to get off one night and accidentally imagine her. It was a very embarrassing moment and you forced yourself to sleep as soon as you got back from that high, but the image didn't fade away. The image of her towering you and kissing you, pressing her body against yours in the most desperate way. You got off imagining kisses and intimacy with Sevika. Not necessarily pornographic scenarios, no; just the thought of her lips on yours and how she would react when feeling you on her fingers, her face and the words she could say, the heavy breaths. That turned you on. The feeling of being so close you could feel the heat and your heart beat faster. 

You don't know what is the worst part: coming when imagining Sevika, or the fact that what got into your mind wasn't even that explicit. It was so simple, it made you pissed off about how she could affect you with so little. 

But it was just a fantasy, a distant and unrealistic one. She didn't like you. Right? 

Right. 

That ideas were fucking you up bit by bit. At this point it was difficult to practice, head far gone, not in the slightest focusing on that amazing song you got to choose - La Danse Macabre was one of your favorite pieces and fit the theme well in your vision. So you needed to compose a four  minute choreography and you have been practicing it for four weeks straight. You'd go from classes to the studio every day, staying up until late. Your feet hurt, your body was most definitely not that used to the extra effort, but it would be worth it. Not to brag, but it was kinda dope. 

So there you were, looking at yourself in the mirror, trying to convey all the feelings you needed to: the sensuality of death, calling the viewer in the most subtle and dangerous way at first, but ending up being beautiful. 

Your body gesture had to be on point with the postures and the weight of the moviments, it wasn't easy the fact that you would present it alone. 

At some point, you didn't know when, you noticed Sevika on the corner next to the door. She was just there, quiet, looking at you. 

Her presence threw you off. You slipped a little, losing timing and concentration. "Fuck", you hissed. 

The song stopped when you reached your phone to pause it. Looking at the time, it had been three hours since you arrived. Your legs were sore and, honestly, the concentration was so little that just the image of that woman was enough to make you lose it. Tiredness and frustration got into you, making you sigh and turn to her. She didn't move an inch. 

"What are you looking at?" That sounded more harsh than you wished.

"I thought you were a dancer. They usually are looked at, anyways", she didn't seem to diminish anything there, or to bother by your tone. That fucking look she had, the one that told you how you wouldn't get anything from her; it was nerve-wracking. 

You thought you saw her eyes wandering through your body, but it probably was just some illusion. 

"Yeah, I guess so", you shrugged, trying not to notice her posture or to imagine her torso under that cloak. And shirt. Numerous thoughts came back; no, illusions. Fantasies. Sevika holding you and her breath against your skin, would the feeling of her torso under your palms be so pleasant? Would her lips be so good on yours? Would the warmth give you butterflies? "Do you like what you see?" 

The fact that you said "see" and not "saw" didn't click immediately; you weren't talking about the dance. 

Sevika gulped. She gulped while analyzing your body on that collant and pantyhose, thinking about how your would skin feel under her touch. How she wanted to hear you calling her name and gasping, while she tried to make you feel so good like you never felt. 

The looks weren't just your imagination. The way she noticed you dressing a little bit differently, that was real. And she'd spent the day trying to focus on her work and not laughing at your horrible jokes, or not feeling too good about you succeeding in your classes and beating all those snobs' pilties. She wanted to congratulate you about the choreography and say how she would follow you without question if you were death, because dying under your hypnotizing moves would be a blessing. 

She wanted to say how you could do whatever you wanted to her. 

So that question was so timely. The smirk on her full dark lips made you shiver, a feeling pooling on your stomach, anticipation. Gods help you, the need to kiss her was so fucking overwhelming now. 

"I do, actually", Sevika said. "I like it very much. It's a gorgeous view"

It could be all. That moment could end and you'd never mention it again, leave it like water under the bridge. But, oh, you wanted to drown. You wanted to drink that water, savor it, until that thirst ended. 

So you gave a step. And seeing her chest moving with a breath, you gave another. You walked towards her carefully, like she could escape any minute, and when you were finally close enough that pressure seemed to crush your chest, taking the air from your lungs. 

In your life it wasn't that many times you'd sweat before kissing someone. And yet there you were, palms perspiring because Sevika wasn't moving.

"Show me how you like it, then", you said. "I'm a physical, practical learner, by the way" 

She chuckled lightly, looking away and then to you again. That could literally cost her life or yours. 

You could be the angel of her small death, and Sevika would die happily. 

Throwing all the reasoning away, she finally touched you. She pulled you close and erased the space between your lips, poisoning herself in your taste and your tongue. Your mind flooded with stimuli: her lips and tongue, her shoulders under your hands, the weight of her touch on your hips, the imaginary scenes your mind created to make you ask yourself about what you both could do. 

The small moan that escaped between the kiss made her hold you tighter, dominating that moment with her need. Her hair felt soft, intertwined with your fingers, and the muscles pressing yours made your head spin. It must be a gift from the goddesses. 

It didn't matter the other guards outside of the room or the building, right now it was just you both. 

"Show me how you like it", you whispered, untying her cloak to reveal her strong torso and shoulders covered by the dark shirt. "How you'd like to take me"

She groaned, kissing you again and pulling you by the thighs, forcing you to wrap the legs around her as she walked to sit on a simple couch there. 

The feeling of her body under your touch was capable of numbing your thoughts, skin warm and scarred. Her kiss was so fucking intoxicating, consuming you from inside out while she grabbed your flesh. 

When her lips traveled through your chin and jaw, going to your neck, you sighed and moved the hips on her lap. Your fingers got the elastic off her hair, letting the strands fall loose around her face as you pulled back to look at the woman. The dark grayish eyes and the full lips, beautiful nose, that jawline, some scars around; Sevika was so pretty it took your breath away. 

"I don't think you want to spend all the time looking at me, princess", she murmured and her voice made all your body respond. The smirk added to her movements to lose your hair from the high bun; fuck, you were out of words. "What? Did the cat get your tongue?" 

"I'll look at you a lot later", you finally said, fingers caressing her features as she analyzed you closely. "Now I really need you to handle me around" 

Sevika's smug was something so intimate to you, something that, you swear, could make you go insane. 

She pulled the straps of your leotard, eyes still glued to your reactions as the cool air reached your nipples, making you sigh. Without wasting any more time, Sevika held you by the waist with the prosthetic hand and used the other to play with one breast. A warm tongue tasted the other one, and she was so careful to let you feel every inch of that contact. You felt that throbbing between your legs more intensely the more she twisted the muscle, savoring, tasting. Her thumb and index finger played with the free nipple, shivers across your body making you breathe heavily with the sensations. 

Your hands worked on feeling every muscle you could, hips moving because the sensations spreading from between your legs through your body were getting more and more prominent. Her tongue was soft, but your attention got divided by the cool prosthetic hand pulling the leotard. You didn’t want to separate from her, but you had too. 

Sevika kept looking at your body as you pulled away, getting up between her strong legs. And she analyzed as you started to take off the clothes and the pointe shoes. Being under her sight like that was something else, you could feel your heart beating across your whole body, getting heated and desperate. Her demeanor, the laid back posture, spread legs and trenchant look got you wanting to get on your knees. And that’s what you did. 

Throwing the fabric pieces away, you started to unbelt her pants and pull the zip down while squatting and kneeling. She’d stare at you, at your easy hands and light touches going especially fast to open the clothing. The contrast between this and the way you looked at her could make her go impatient, but she held back the instinct to do everything on her time when seeing the hunger growing in you. 

“I thought you wanted me to handle you”, she smirked while raising the hips to take away the pants, after doing the same with her shoes. You helped, caressing the muscular thighs with admiration in your mind. Fuck, she was so beautiful. 

“And I hope you do”, you kissed the right thigh, trailing up slowly until you reached her crotch. Under the shirt you saw her abdomen contracting in response and the chest expanding with her heavy breaths. “Never rode someone’s face?” You smirked, right hand touching the side of her body, up and down. 

As you imagined, she then proceeded to lean in your direction while a hand grabbed you by the, now, loose hair. It wasn’t hard, but enough to make you throb and, for sure, get more wet. When she noticed your reaction was positive something shifted. Her pupils blown, and you could notice the mood changing by the glit in her eyes. 

She got so close the tip of your noses bumped, silence crushing you while she made sure you wouldn’t falt back. And then, you could swear, Sevika got a bigger hunger in her. “Finish taking this shit off”, she said. 

You needed a second as she laid back again. She arched an eyebrow as a cue for you to pull the boxers off, and as much as you tried you didn’t paid a single fuck to where that piece of fabric went. Not when Sevika drew you closer with a single ministration through your head, pulling you to her core as your heart beat faster.

She was wet and, fuck, she looked so appealing. Your mouth watered as you rested the hands on her bare thighs. 

“Tongue out”, you obeyed. 

Sevika finally pulled one last time and a satisfied, low sound got out of you, as you finally tasted her. And, oh, she was delicious.

Her hips started to move, the vision from that angle would never fade from your mind. She was enjoying this, dragging her core on your tongue, holding you there so you couldn’t leave, using you to her pleasure. And your mind was getting too crowded with that much information in the best way. Your pussy clenched when she moaned low, nipples somehow getting even harder to the point of hurting. Her taste was being scattered around your mouth and you wanted to be there for your whole life. 

“Flat your tongue”, and you did, with a rush that made her smirk. Her abs would flex with her movements, so as her thighs. 

Having Sevika riding your face was something so heavenly, so divine. You almost envied those girls in the brothel, who could get to do it so much, but then you'd remember that this woman was so worked up already because of you.  

Her bud against your palate, the juices going on your lips and chin, the expressions due to the pleasure that came to bestow her, the loose hair falling on her face and the muscles contracting. The little wet sounds of your tongue against her core made the situation more erotic, and at some point you started to move the muscle that was in contact there. It drew a moan from Sevika, who was using the left arm to sustain her weight while she rubbed herself on you, seeking pleasure. 

The more the seconds went by, the more Sevika loosened herself. She started to fault in her moves, twitching and spasming as her dark gray eyes ate the sight of you so eagerly tasting her. A small moan escaped, followed by a growl and her legs spreading more. 

Your hands flew to her breasts under the shirt, palming the warm flesh, searching for her nipples as you hummed against her core. The vibrations pleased her. 

The way you started to flick your tongue heavily got the tall woman groaning and pressing your head harder against herself. You saw the frown and the way her eyes rolled before closing, her body tensing, the shaky and sharp breaths as you felt her getting excessively wet. 

"Fuck–!" She gasped, a smirk on her full, attractive lips. "So good, princess", her words were as smooth as the caresses the woman made on your hair, still spasming everytime your tongue drew on her swollen bud. 

The flavor was divine; you thought as you palate went on her entrance. The fact that you could taste her forever made you hotter, eager, needier. 

Sevika leaned and pulled you again, making you sulk a little at the distance from that heavenly position. But then she got you back on her lap, against her chest, legs open. 

Even though no one else was there, you felt exposed. As if your secret were being revealed and, suddenly, the whole world could watch as your most recent forbidden fantasies played out. 

The way she held you there, prosthetic hand under a knee as the other one traveled around your naked body, creating heat paths on your skin. Her lips distribute kisses along your neck and shoulder, taking sighs from you. And underneath all of it was an overwhelming heartbeat that got you panting at the sensation of her touch going south. 

"Shit, you're dripping", she whispered, getting your attention. You turned to look at her, lips parted brushing on hers as her fingers went from your entrance to your already sensitive clit. "Got so worked up just from me riding your face?" 

"Yes…" 

Her digits, soaked, rubbed smoothly on your bud. You rested a hand on her hair, the other playing with your nipples as she tortuously stimulated your core. 

"So good… Do you get that wet when you touch yourself thinking about me?" 

You froze, eyes wandering around her face just to capture that smug. Despite that, Sevika didn't stop. She kept working on you, massaging your whole cunt, getting her own palm full of your moistures as you felt yourself throb. "I heard you one night. You didn't even notice you called my name, uh?"

Shit.

You actually did. With her on the other side of the door, you kinda expected that you had said it lower than it actually was, and that she hadn't listened to it that night. But it seems like life wouldn't let it pass.

"So now" Sevika kissed you, pecking on your lips as her fingers concentrated on your sensitive bud. "Let me hear you. Loud and clear" 

Her ministrations were making you move your hips. Everything started to be too much, her breath against your skin, the cold of the prosthetic hand and the air. You wanted to give in entirely, wishing you were at home so she could rail you on your bed. She increased the speed, having your moans growing bit by bit. 

It felt good. Too good. You kept messing with your own breasts, eyes rolling with your hips and her hand, feeling that high approaching. 

"Getting all loosen up and relax for me, I might as well fuck you again tonight, princess", she hissed, taking a small smile for you as two of her fingers pressed and got inside of you. 

You moaned more languidly as she moved with ease, in and out smoothly due to how wet you were. And it didn't take long until you felt that pull in your stomach, clenching around her digits and gasping, whining, a hand full of her hair as you moved without control. 

The climax made you arch your back, her fingers came back to circle on your clit again as you trembled and murmured some incomprehensible words. Throbbing and spasming; that woman made you so full of desire it was ridiculous. 

"Gorgeous", Sevika whispered, kissing your neck as you came down from your high, breathing deeply and feeling your body floating on her lap. 

"That was some stupid shit", you chuckled, panting. 

Her hands closed your legs and helped you turn a little so you could rest on her prosthetic arm and look better at her. Some sweat drops were on her forehead and the side of her neck, the dark skin glowing a bit. 

"I learned a lot today, thanks", the woman laughed, accepting your touch on her face. "It was very delightful" 

"I'm glad I could provide you some knowledge", her right hand rested on your thighs, thumb caressing your skin. "I hope on the future you can teach me how to make your fantasies come true"

At that, your core sent a shiver through your body, heat rising slightly. "Maybe someday I'll tell you"

Sevika nodded as you rested the head on her shoulder. She felt warm. Was it wrong to want her on your bed? 

"I'll look forward to it" 

・・・・・・・・・・

Your body was full of energy right now, the feeling of being on top of the world consuming you from inside out. It was almost possible to feel every molecule vibrating, twisting your guts. 

"Call another guard", you murmured to Sevika discreetly while passing by her. 

She followed you outside the building of Art classes, looking around as usual. The car was waiting, following the time established by orders. 

The whole way to your apartment was silent. Your class came back to memory, the sensation of finally presenting the piece you've been planning for weeks now. The music took you away and, during those notes that reverberated on your flesh, no one was there. Just you and the music, working together. And it didn't feel real when your teacher congratulated you with a smile on her fine lips; she wasn't the type of teacher to smile that much. That meant a lot. It was huge actually. 

But before telling anyone, you wanted to let all this energy flow to something else. To somebody else. 

So you waited until a knock on your bedroom door, and you saw her getting inside carefully, confusion on her face as you asked her to sit by a corner. 

Resting on your bed, heartbeat increasing, you moistened your lips. "Do you wanna know what else I fantasized about?"

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

[dividers by @froopis]

[dreamii-krybaby]

Y’all remember my raspberry swap au? Which is basically a doll and uzi role swap

Here are like some main ideas

Fist of all, Khan WAS the assigned colony leader but after getting murdered by the disassembly drones (N *cough cough*) alongside Nori, in his will he gave the role to one of his trusted friends, “Adán” (which is Doll’s father btw)

Adán is much more younger than Khan and didn’t have much experience, so getting the role of leader of the colony, plus the fact he is grieving Yeva’s death deeply and has to deal with Doll’s antics takes a heavy toll on him

Adán tried to give the job to someone else but no one wanted and he felt he would be disrespecting khan. So what’s up with his relationship with doll?

Its strained, due to Adán being new to the job and having to manage so many things, he is overworked and burned out and is not in the right headspace at all. And is in deep grieving, which has let him to not pay much attention to doll’s needs, he occasionally seems to be in his own bubble not paying attention to anyone or anything.

Doll is also grieving but in a different way, it has mostly affected her academically. And since her dad hasn’t been paying attention to her emotionally she occasionally lashes out, which lets to arguments which lets to her getting ground and things getting progressively more complicated.

She eventually makes a friend at school, lizzy :3

Meanwhile Uzi kinda goes the same path as Doll does in canon. She plans a whole revenge plan on prom night. On everyone favorite’s boy, N. Who takes more different personality.

Oh and Adán and Doll speak english! But with a very heavy russian accent, but there are scenes where they actually speak russian. Meanwhile Uzi speaks japanese! She got it from Nori.

Also Uzi’s home is similar to doll’s but different aesthetic as in the composition and colors. Also her parents corpse’s are on the living room (get it- haha)

She also has countless of gadgets and weapons littered around and buckets and bags full of drone parts and oil. Also, yes her house is infested with insects but like i was thinking that instead of roaches its like moths or spiders.

Also instead of Uzi bringing knifes she brings many little gadgets, but one of my ideas is that she carries a purse that actually turns into a sort of weapon but still thinking about it.

As for Doll, her equivalent of Uzi’s SAH railgun would be maybe a crossbow or a dagger with poison but am still thinking about it. May go with the crossbow

Also since Doll and Uzi are based on highschooler archetypes, i was thinking that Doll takes more on the “quiet true crimes artsy kid” meanwhile for Uzi, am still figuring her archetype, but definitely am thinking that she is that one kid who gets the highest marks without even trying.

As for Yeva and Nori, their personality wont change that much, as for now. Yeva is more unstable rather than unhinged. As in constant breakdowns, anxiety attacks and dwelling in unhealthy coping mechanisms (Smoking and drinking). She tried her best to make Doll think everything was ok but she became dependent a bit on Adán and all of this happened when she started getting the visions. And I was thinking that instead of doing drawings its maybe something with photography maybe, like collages maybe. But idk

Adán was there for Yeva but things got complicated as he couldn’t deal with how unstable Yeva became. And he blamed himself deeply after Yeva was murdered by the disassembly drones, by being shot in the head.

Also character design wise, Adán is almost the same as his canon design, Doll gets a wardrobe change, Uzi does too. Am still thinking about the rest.

If you have any ideas pleaseeee tell me. I would greatly appreciate it. Also you can ask me anything regarding this AU

Also Yeva’s and Nori’s and Khan’s death didn’t have a big time gap btw, maybe a few months apart.

Also I was thinking of Uzi trying to restrain N by building her own contraption :3

Edit: when the whole “leaving your kid to die” shit happens. When V and Doll team up and beat J’s and N’s ass and win. Adán immediately goes to hug doll and try to apologize but Doll shoves him away and call’s him out, telling him that she feels like she is being treated as nothing but as a burden. Then the rest plays out like in canon mostly

This let’s to Adán trying to find ways to cope (in a healthy way) and get some sort of help with managing the colony and his grief

Edit: Nori’s and Khan’s corpses display nanite acid and have parts that are completely burned or melted off.

[mrs-gucci]

Casting Couch {Charlie Barber x Reader}

author’s notes: hello, hello! I was driving home from work the other day and this idea just suddenly took over my entire thought process. so, naturally, I went ahead and wrote it up :)

warnings (what you see here is what you’ll get!): smut. the enemy of my enemy is my ally (with benefits). p in v sex. protected sex. rough oral sex. cum- swallowing.

(possible) tw’s: semi-public sex.

word count: 3.2k

charlie’s taglist peeps! {charlie currently doesn’t have any taglist peeps} my general taglist peeps! @frank-and-honey @shygirl268 @icarusinthesea​  @gildedstarlight​ @mrs-zimmerman @soldmysoulagain @roseepossee @pascalisfairyy​ @I-can’t-draw-faces @ahsoka1​ @babbushka​ @safarigirlsp​ (if you’d like to be added to or removed from any of my taglists, the link to the google form is HERE or on the top of my masterlist)

Two Years Ago.

“Y/N...she fucking did it again.” Nicole says as she barges through the door of hers and Charlie’s shared brownstone. “She got the fucking TV gig.”

Charlie’s eyebrows furrow a bit before looking up at his wife with an empathetic expression, setting the notebook and pen he’d been using down on the coffee table.

“Bummer. I really thought you had it in the bag.” He says, elbows on his thighs as he leans forward a bit, folding his hands. “There will be other roles; I wouldn’t worry too much. You win some, you lose some; that’s how it goes in this industry. You’ve taken plenty of roles from her.”

She sighs, nodding. “Yeah, I know, but this one I was excited about. And I really thought I had it, too. It just stung a little extra, you know?”

Her husband nods, patting the seat next to him on the couch. “C’mere, sit with me. We’ll have a glass of wine.”

Nicole gives somewhat of a dreadful grimace, a clear sign she really wasn’t interested. Charlie’s been noticing this for the past few months, her disinterest in being with him as much as she usually was, but he figured it was just her being tired. She’s been doing a lot of odd jobs to make some ends meet lately, so it’s probably a result of that.

“Are you sure?” He asks, a twang of longing sadness in his voice.

She nods. “Yeah, I’m just gonna go lay down for a bit.”

Charlie just nods, picking back up his notebook and pen, continuing to review and add to his notes from the day. 

“Let me know if you need anything.” He calls after her. “I love you.”

She only offers him a small smile over her shoulder in return before emerging into their bedroom, closing the door immediately behind her. 

Present Day.

It feels strange, holding auditions for a female lead. He hasn’t had to do so in almost a decade;  just yet another reminder of how much of his life has changed just in the past year.

The divorce had been painful, stressful, and he was honestly more relieved than anything when it finally came to a close, despite it not really turning out the way he’d hoped for in terms of custody over Henry. 

Luckily, he’s dove deeper into his one true love, directing, as a way to cope with the loss of everything he’d worked so hard to build for himself; the marriage, the 'American dream’ family and home he wished he’d had growing up.

Now, after six months of weekly therapy appointments and keeping himself busy with work, he’s feeling more like the old Charlie he was back before everything went to shit. Actually, he’s feeling like an even better version of that Charlie, the best version of himself there’s been in a while, perhaps even before he met and married Nicole.

The first audition comes onstage and Charlie can’t decide what’s worse, her off-pitch singing or her monotonous speaking voice. 

God, this was going to be a long fucking day.

-

You’d heard through the grapevine that the famed Broadway director had moved here to LA, and that he’d divorced his witch of a wife, Nicole. 

Nicole Barber had been your biggest rival ever since you swiped that first movie role away from her. She hates you, and you don’t particularly like her, either, thus your rivalry began. And it was pretty heated, too; the two of you were always trying to one-up each other.

It really was a back-and-forth battle, her swiping roles from you, you returning the favor; it was a game, to put it simply. Although lately, you’ve been getting more roles than she has, not that you’re complaining, and there’s a part of you that hopes she quits the business for good.

Word got around that Charlie is heading his first LA Broadway production and what better way to hit Nicole close to home than to show up at her ex-husband’s auditions? Even better, what if you got the female lead in her ex-husband’s production? Oh god, that would be fantastic, not only for the rivalry but also for your career.

You’ve been looking to branch out into more theater roles, and this is as good an opportunity as to dip your toe in the theater world water. Plus, you’re not necessarily complaining about having the chance to look at and work with Charlie Barber every day...

So you prepared your piece of dialogue and a section of one of the choice songs, heading over to the theater fifteen minutes before your set audition time. Your knee bounces as you sit in the waiting area, eyes running over your script and lyrics sheet one final time, solidifying it all in your memory.

Your name is called a few minutes later and you head out onto the stage, handing over your headshot and qualifications resume. The agent hands over your profile to the handsome director, but he doesn’t even really look at it, already knowing exactly who you are. A small smirk grazes his lips as he flips to a new page of his notebook, clicking the top of his pen.

“Whenever you’re ready, Miss Y/N.”

After you’re finished, Charlie scribbles one final thing in his notebook before looking up at you. His eyes trail over your figure for a moment, another smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Would you be comfortable coming back for a more intimate audition later this week? Maybe, Friday at four? I would like to get to know you better, see if you meet all of my... qualifications.”

The look in his eye tells you all you need to know about the true motivations behind his question. You nod, biting your lip.

“It’d be my absolute pleasure, Mr. Barber.” You purr.

He shifts in his seat suddenly and quickly crosses one leg over the other before opening up your folder, handing the top sheet to his assistant.

“Diane, go ahead and have Miss Y/N put down all of her contact information.” His gaze never leave you as he speaks to the timid-seeming young woman. “Make sure she gives her personal cell number.”

You pull a pen from your bag on the stage, clicking it open before Diane hands you the paper. As you write every means of contact you can think of, starting with your cell number, you playfully bite the end of the pen and tap it against your bottom lip, something that certainly keeps the already attentive director’s full attention.

“Thank you so much for this opportunity, Mr. Barber.” Your tone is innocent-sounding, but your gaze is anything but. It sends a chill down Charlie’s spine. “I promise I won’t disappoint.”

“Oh, I’m sure you won’t.” A small tug at one corner of his lip accompanies his response. “See you soon, Miss Y/N.”

You offer him a nod.

“Looking forward to it.”

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

In preparation for your upcoming...meeting with Charlie, you take a quick trip to the nearest intimates store, picking up a pretty little lace bra and panty set. Your lingerie wardrobe is long overdue for a bit of sprucing up, anyway.

When the time comes, you slip the fresh lace garments on before putting on your planned outfit, a cute-but-subtly-sexy low cut romper. You put on a light face of makeup, purely for professionalism’s sake, then head out with a small bag which contains various personal items as well as your script and composition page.

He’s not in his backstage office when you arrive, but he comes in a couple minutes later, a strong stench of cigarette smoke trailing behind him as he walks by your chair.

“I apologize for the delay. You weren’t waiting long, were you?”

You shake your head as he takes a seat behind the ratty oak desk, shifting a few small stacks of papers around on the heavily scratched surface.

“No, no I wasn’t waiting long.”

He nods, then folds his hands atop the desk, eyes flickering up to meet yours. For a moment, his eyes dart down to where your cleavage creeps out of your low-cut top.

“You’ve got the part.” Charlie says with a small smile. “You’re by far the best and most qualified audition we had yesterday, and I like the way you carry yourself. You’re exactly the type of person I like working with. Part’s yours if you want it.”

You’re overcome with joy, a wide smile spreading itself across your lips. “I’d love to be a part of this production, Mr. Barber. I’m really excited to get to work with you and the rest of the crew.”

“That’s great, I’m glad to hear it.” He nods, smile widening when as he processes your acceptance. His delighted expression falls after a few moments, replaced by one much more salacious.

“Now that we’ve gotten that part out of the way...I think you know why I called a meeting of such, uh, privacy.”

You smirk softly, shifting around in your seat slightly. “I believe I do.”

His feet plant on the ground as he pushes the rolling office chair out from under the desk, standing up and walking around the desk to tower over you. 

“Before anything happens, though, I want you to know that whether or not you do this with me will not affect my casting decision. Even if you decline, you still have the part.”

You nod before standing, quickly and swiftly, stepping forward to press yourself flush against him.

“Charlie?”

“Yeah?”

Your hands rest on his chest, neck craning slightly to look up at him. “Just kiss me, will you?”

He laughs, massive hand moving to cradle the back of your head before he bends down and connects your lips in a passionate kiss. There’s nothing tender or gentle about this embrace, it’s all tongue and teeth, raw lust coursing between your two bodies.

“Couch.” His voice is soft but husky.

“Unzip me first?” You ask, turning around so he can unzip you. He does, then his hands slide down to your hips and pushes you towards the leather couch tucked in the corner of his office.

The material squeaks when you’re laid down on top of it, head resting comfortably on the cushy fabric accent pillow as he climbs on top of you. He presses his hips forward while he tucks his face into the crook of your neck and plants kisses on the skin there.

Your eyes widen as his impressive bulge rubs up against your inner thigh and you quickly wonder how in the world you’ll be able to take him. His crooked teeth scrape over the taut muscles in your neck while his hands pull the backs of your romper down over your shoulders.

His hands grab and grope your breasts beneath where they rest in your nice bra, one you wore just for him, and your back arches slightly up off the cushions with a soft sigh. 

A small smile crosses his expression, teeth sinking gently into your neck. “I like the little noises you make for me, Y/N.”

“Yeah?” You smirk, running your hands through his hair. “Then I bet you���ll like my moans, too. If you think you can draw them out of me, that is.”

He laughs softly, sucking and licking at at the place his teeth have just abused. “Is that a challenge?”

“Well, it’s more like an invitation to prove yourself, but ‘challenge’ is also a good word for it.”

Charlie pulls away with a smirk, shaking his head as he sits back on his haunches and begins to unbuckle his belt.

“Brat.”

Once he’s undone his pants and pulled them down enough to expose himself to you, he leans down once more and pulls your romper the rest of the way off, leaving you completely bare, minus your undergarments. His eyes roam your figure for a moment before he dips a hand beneath the patch of black fabric nestled between your thighs.

Your breath hitches as his fingertips swipe over your erect clit, giving it a few little circles before yanking the panties off your hips and down your ankles, tossing them down alongside your previously-discarded romper.

His eyes widen in realization, cheeks flushing pink.

“Do you have any, um, protection?”

You smirk, nodding as you sit up and pat his chest. “Indeed, I do.”

He crawls off of you and you walk over to your purse, grabbing a condom from the mini-stash you keep in your wallet, the one you replenished just minutes before you left the house this afternoon. He takes it from you and pinches the tip, rolling it down his shaft. For a moment, you’re worried that it isn’t going to fit, but he rolls it on with little issue.

His hips press forward, then, entering you slowly but steadily with a soft grunt. You whine as your insides stretch out around him, hands reaching up to tangle in his hair.  “S-Shit.”

“You’re really fucking tight, jesus.” He growls between gritted teeth, jaw screwed shut as his hips begin to move. “I haven’t fffucked anyone in a while, Y/N, so I can’t guarantee that I’ll last very long.”

You nod, softly. “It’s alright, Charlie; it’s been a little while for muh--me, too.”

Your eyes flutter shut and your face begins to scrunch up with each time his fat cockhead brushes up against your cervix. His pace increases after a minute or so, a consistent slap-slap-slap noise now echoing off the drywall with each snap of his hips. 

“You’ve got a nice little pussy, you know that? Always knew you would be, too, knew you’d be a good little cccocksleeve.”

You moan shakily as he adjusts his position, towering over you and pinning your wrists above your head with one of his large hands. Your body begins to bounce, tits, thighs and tummy jiggling each time he thrusts in. 

He’s starting to sweat, a few dark hairs sticking to his dimly-glowing forehead, more and more accumulating there as his hair rocks back and forth in time with the rhythm of his hips.

“Touch yourself, now, rrrub your little clit.” His voice is getting shaky as he draws nearer to climax.

Nodding, your hand slides down between your joined bodies until your fingertips settle onto the small bundle of nerves. The hand that’s still weaved in Charlie’s locks clenches and he lets out a sudden deep growl, hips stuttering for a moment.

“Ooooh, Charlie.” You moan, hips lifting and gyrating against both his cock and your fingers.

“God, fffuck I love this cunt.” A vulgar squelching sound knits itself within the quilt of your salacious symphony. “Wrapped around my cock like a vice, gonna pull the fucking cum right out of it. Swear you get tighter each time I push back in...christ, I’m not gonna last.”

Your fingers circle your clit faster, setting a desperate pace, one that almost matches his quick and sloppy thrusts. You’re close now, too, and it doesn’t take much longer for your orgasm to hit.

You cream around him with a long moan and a string of various other noises, with a few profanities thrown in as well. The product of your release coats his shaft in a pearlescent sheen, dripping down his ball-sack soon enough. 

The sensations your climax creates around Charlie forces him to pull away almost immediately after, quickly yanking the condom off and onto his office floor, squeezing the base of his flaming red length. 

His hand seizes your jaw tightly, thumb pressing down on your tongue, prying your mouth open. “I’m gonna fuck your mouth and shove my cum down your throat, and you’re gonna take it all, isn’t that right?”

You’re nodding instantly, slacking your jaw to open even further in preparation for his upcoming intrusion. He smirks.

“Good. Now, on your knees.”

He sits down where you once laid, lazily pumping his throbbing length as you get into position between his spread legs. He pulls your hair up into a makeshift ponytail with his hand, then lines you up with his cock and eases your mouth down onto him.

“Thaaaaaat’s it, oh, gooooood girl.”

You start gagging about three quarters of the way down his shaft, but he still keeps pushing until you’ve got the whole thing in your mouth. Your jaw’s already getting sore as he begins thrusting upwards, fucking your mouth. 

Tears swell in your eyes and begin to spill down your cheeks the more he goes, mascara surely ruined and running down your face. The sight only arouses him further, a low groan rumbling through his puffed chest.

He’s trying so hard to keep himself together, to stave off his orgasm for as long as he can manage, but soon he finds it next to impossible to hold back. His bottom lip quivers ever so slightly as his length begins to twitch, balls drawing up.

“Fuck, I’m gonna--”

You taste and feel the salty ropes shooting down your throat before he can even finish his warning.

“Ah, fffuuuuck.” His head falls back against the couch cushions, hips bucking gently as each bit of release is spilled into your mouth. His grip on your head relaxes after he’s finished, cock softening while he catches his breath and re-grounds himself in reality.

Your chest heaves as full airflow returns to your lungs, knees and jaw aching a bit sore from their exertion. You grab your underwear from where they lay discarded on top of your romper, putting them back on before standing up on somewhat shaky legs. 

Charlie also redresses, standing and straightening himself out as you do the same. 

“Mind zipping me back up?” You ask, turning around again. 

He pulls the zipper up your back until it’s at the end of its tracks, then steps up behind you, placing a soft kiss to your shoulder blade.

“Thank you.”

A soft smile grazes your lips. “No ‘thanks’ needed; the sweet taste of revenge and spite is payment enough.”

He laughs quietly.

“Well, I’ll certainly be available, should you ever need a little replenishing of those feelings.”

“Mr. Barber, you wouldn’t be saying that because you’d like to see me naked again, now would you?” Your eyebrows raise and you look over your shoulder, a playful smile on your face.

He laughs again, blushing a bit. “Uh, yeah, sure, I'd like that a lot. But I’d also like to see you, um...not naked, fully clothed, maybe at a restaurant in the city for dinner sometime? I totally get it if you’re not interested, it’s not a big deal if you don’t want to...”

Holy shit, he’s asking you out on a date. Well, he’s trying to, at least.

You laugh, cheeks warming at his proposition.

“Sure thing. I just accepted this new job, though, so I’ll have to get back to you about my availability...”

Charlie smiles, shoving his hands down in his khaki pockets. “I’m sure your new boss would be more than willing to accommodate. He’s a pretty cool guy, or so I’ve heard. Handsome, too.”

“Oh yeah? Sounds like you have a reliable informant.” You turn around as you laugh softly, grabbing your bag off the chair before stepping up in front of him. Your lips plant a quick peck on his, hands resting on his broad chest. “See you soon.”

He nods, biting his lip to hold back his big, goofy smile.

“Can’t wait.”

[lenaka19days]

Since everyone is going on about this moment : here's my opinion (if anyone gives a shit about it lol) :

Ok so, almost all the fandom pretty much agrees on the fact that Mo wasn't jealous when he saw the girl, and so do I. But then, what went through his head when he looked at this girl and He Tian ? Why did he run away in the few next panel ?

First, I don't think Mo is jealous of this girl, she has clearly no importance. She is not the main focus of the drawing and doesn't even seem to reach He Tian : the wall behind them cut the image in two parts. He Tian's part takes 2/3 of the image and if full of a light that emphasizes it, while hers is only taking 1/3, on the right, somber, almost invisible and the hair of the girl is grey like the wall : it's like we didn't see her at all. Plus, He Tian is not fully facing her, he doesn't really care about her.

We understand here that though the girl has her little importance, so jealousy is not the theme of those panels. So what pushed Mo to run away ? If not jealousy, what did he feel ?

To me, Mo Guan Shan is hurt and embarrassed by the distance he suddenly feels, between him and He Tian. Let's get a look at the composition of those two panels, and precisely: their opposition. In the first panel, it almost looks like it's the evening, it's a little dark. There's nobody around Guan Shan (or at least nobody really visible, plus they're far away), he's alone. It gives a feeling of solitude. Plus, notice that he is not really the main focus of the drawing : there is a tree next to him, taking half of the place. It looks like Mo is almost part of the decor. And in opposition with this, there is the second panel : brighter, He Tian and this girl don't even seem to pay attention to Mo, while this latter watches them from apart.

All this emphasizes the impression that they are in two separate worlds. Mo looks so little, so far away from He Tian, as it was clear that He Tian didn't need him from where he was. Even though how close those two got, it felt like Mo was nothing in He Tian's world, because he was out of it. That's why the bandaid seemed ridiculous : the girl was there to help He Tian and Mo was now useless. This distance probably made him feel like he could never fit in, it wasn't his place to care for He Tian and be by his side since the girl(s) was (were) already there.

Also check out @guanshanyevich ,who talks about the parallel between the girl and Mo and that I also find really interesting :)

[graboidfarmer]

Yoooooooooooooo! CONGLATURATION!!! I am honoured on your behalf :P. Since you're taking drabble requests, I had a really out-of-left-field idea: something involving Mouse and Robbie (because it occurred to me that I don't think they've interacted much in the main fic, if at all, and I wanna see your take on insecure emo boy. :V)

Thanks for the request, this was so much fun! I love getting to stretch my nerd muscles. (Also this turned out hella long.

It’s another typical day at the library: filling hold requests, reshelving books, selecting others to be put up for sale. There’s a certain point when it becomes mindless busy work, and you fall into a trance. At first you don’t even notice the teenaged boy standing in the middle of the Romance section.

He’s tall and skinny, with jet-black hair that covers eyes rimmed with smudged liner. You recognize him as the boy who dated Wendy and terrorized Dipper last summer; Dipper’s drawings of him are shockingly accurate. Robbie Something. He’s hunched over a paperback sporting an image of a muscle-bound man and a scantily-clad woman riding a wild-eyed stallion. Poor horse must be in agony.

The kid’s expression is that of mingled bewilderment and horror. You decide to take pity on him. Trying to be as unobtrusive as possible, you walk quietly over to him.

“Hi, can I—“

The book nearly flies out of his hand as he jerks in surprise. “Holy shit!” he gasps. “Where’d you even come from? You snuck up on me like a little…”

“Mouse?” you supply with an apologetic smile. “Sorry. You just looked like you might need some assistance.”

The teen narrows his eyes. “What, do you work here or something?”

In answer, you tap the name tag on your chest.

“Oh,” he blurts. “Right. No, I’m good. This?” He gestures at the lurid novel in his hands. “This isn’t— I don’t read this kind of stuff. This is just for… research. I’m working on a project.”

You pretend to ignore the obvious avoidance tactic. “Oh, what kind of project?” you ask with interest.

“Composition. I’m a musician.” He leans against the bookshelf behind him, the very picture of directionless youthful rebellion. “Indie punk rock. You probably wouldn’t be into it.”

You shrug. “I don’t know, I like the Ramones, and the Pixies. Are they punk?”

The kid’s eyebrows shoot upward, clearly not expecting that response. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “Yeah, those guys are legit.”

You suppress a smile. “So, you’re writing a punk love song?”

The boy — Robbie — immediately goes on the defense. “Maybe, so what?”

“No, that’s great,” you tell him. “It’s just… Harlequin romances may not be the best resource. From what I understand, punk is about defying stereotypes and cultural norms, and those books kind of perpetuate outdated, sexist ideas of love and gender roles.”

He gives a scoff. “So you’re some kind of love expert?” he asks skeptically.

You nearly let out a laugh. “Wow. Uhh, no. Quite the opposite, actually.” A harsh, bitter quality seeps into your voice, against your wishes. “I just read a lot. Librarian.” You clear your throat. “Anyway, I’ll be over here if you need help.”

You start to walk away, but Robbie calls to you. “Wait.”

Turning, you find him wringing the old paperback in his hands. “Okay, look,” he says in a low voice. “My girlfriend broke up with me over this stupid fight. I’m writing a song to get her back. Not like… get her back, like I want revenge,” he amends quickly. “I just… She’s super important to me, and I don’t want to lose her.”

He looks so genuinely remorseful, you can’t help feeling sorry for him. “I think a song would be a really sweet gesture,” you tell him quietly. “What sort of things does your girlfriend like to read?”

He reaches up and scratches the back of his neck. Fingerless gloves. Oof. “She’s… really into poetry,” he replies at last. “Shakespeare and Dickinson and Keats and crap like that.”

A smirk finds its way onto your face. “Okay, well, people wouldn’t still be performing Shakespeare’s plays four hundred years after he’d written them if they were crap, but anyway. Let’s check out the poetry section.”

He follows you like a lost puppy, the cheesy romance novel still clutched in one hand. “You know, writing songs is a lot like writing poetry,” you say as you scan the shelves. “They’re both about rhythm, flow, expression, hidden meanings.”

“Pshh, I know that.” His eyes dart around, as if expecting someone to challenge his claim.

After a moment, you find what you’re looking for. “It sounds like your girlfriend has an appreciation for Gothic poetry. How familiar are you with Poe?”

For the first time, Robbie smiles. Well, almost anyway. “I’ve read some of his stuff for school. He wrote The Tell-tale Heart, right? That was sick.”

“He also wrote a lot of poetry. Not just ‘The Raven’, but some beautiful love poems. They’re full of such vivid imagery and loss and melancholy, and his use of rhythm is masterful.”

Ah, dream too bright to last!

Ah, starry Hope! that didst arise

But to be overcast!—

You shake your head. “I’d recommend ‘Annabel Lee’, ‘A Dream within a Dream’, and ‘To One in Paradise’, for starters,” you say, handing him an anthology of poems. “Just don’t copy out of them, because I can almost guarantee your girlfriend has already read them.”

Robbie’s cheeks turn red. “Yeah, no, I learned my lesson. I write all my own songs now.”

You check his book out for him at the front counter, glancing at his full name on the computer screen. Robbie Valentino. Appropriate, you think with a smile as you slide the book back to him.

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

“No problem,” you reply. “Good luck. Oh, hold up!” you add as he starts to leave. He frowns, but stays where he is as you run to the Fiction section and grab an additional book: High Fidelity. “This isn’t poetry, but I think you might find it interesting. It’s about a guy who works in a record store and loves music. He goes through a breakup and has kind of an existential crisis, but he learns a lot of things about himself. And his name is Rob.”

Robbie blinks a few times. “Uhh… okay, I’ll check it out.” You quickly scan it and hand it to him. “Later.”

His manner is amusingly furtive as he leaves, as if he’s terrified that someone he knows will see him carrying around a book of poems. But at least he took them. There’s hope for him yet.

The next time Robbie comes in to the library, he makes a beeline to the counter just to inform you that his girlfriend loved the song, and they’re back together. He invites you to come hear his band play at the all-ages club in town, and that you had better not “lame out”. As you watch him go with another armful of poetry, you feel strangely smug.

You may have been a nerd in school, but it’s finally paying off.

[khalixascorner]

Flirting Frogs

RSummary: Peter is trying a new spell when he gets unexpected results in the form of a unicycle riding amphibian with an over the top personality. Needless to say, Tony isn't impressed.

Read on AO3 Here

Tags: Starker, HP AU, Ravenclaw Tony and Peter, Dorks in Love, totally FF

Prologue

All of the professors thought Peter and Tony were an odd pair. Frankly, they were odd in general, especially for Ravenclaws. Peter's shyness and loyalty was more reminiscent of a Hufflepuff while Tony's boldness favored Gryffindor, and yet, the two of them were geniuses and the house of Rowena claimed them both.

And yet, Dumbledore's eyes would always twinkle when the other professors brought up the pair's latest escapade and remind them that the sorting hat didn't make mistakes. They belonged in Ravenclaw, even if no one else could see why yet.

Of Frogs and Men

If you asked Tony or Peter which house they belonged in, they'd simply shrug. To them, it didn't matter what colors they wore, only that no one interrupted their latest experiments. Their classmates never did understand the fascination a wizard could have with science, but very few of them were born to muggle families, and even fewer had the intelligence to realize what could be accomplished if you could combine the two.

However, in order to do that, they first had to master them both. And like the true scientists they were, they approached it methodically, one topic at a time, one new spell at a time, until they had learned all that the library could provide. Then they started trying to make their own.

"Are you sure this is going to work?" Tony asked, reading through Peter's notes again. "Normally, you need a connection to summon anything."

"The connection is knowing the composition of the creature, its base components, and its key traits to lock in on the nearest one," Peter retorted. "It's not like wild animals have complex souls or personalities we're looking to quantify."

"Ok, but if this goes wrong, who knows what you'll get."

"My summoning circle specifies exactly what size, shape, and composition I'm calling to me. At worst, I'll get a different lizard," Peter said, triple checking his circle and spell one last time. "Now shush, I need to get this right."

Tony snorted but stepped back and held his wand at the ready. They were a team, always watching each other's backs, and it had been that way since first year potions with Professor Snape. They'd ensured their schedules matched ever since. Why ruin a good thing after all?

"Ok, here goes nothing," Peter said, drawing in a breath. "VENI RANAE!"

There's a small poof of smoke, and amazingly enough, in the center of all of it, is a frog. Of course, that's the only thing right with the picture.

"Um, Pete, darling, love of my life, is that frog on a unicycle?" Tony asked, trying to hold back his laughter, because of course Peter would somehow summon a frog on a unicycle. In a tux no less, and holding a miniature rose.

"Not a word, Stark," Peter bit out as he looked frantically over his notes. "I just don't understand."

"Understand what, mon cherie?" the frog asked, startling them both.

"The fuck-?"

"Holy shit, Tony! It talks."

"Excuse you, sir, I am not an it," the frog interrupted. "I am most decidedly a he, and I would appreciate it if you would close your mouths. You hardly look like you have the appendage for fly catching and the view is rather ghastly otherwise."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Peter said even as Tony snorted in the background. "I wasn't really expecting to get a frog with a personality and it's a bit shocking. If you'll give me a moment, I'll reverse the summons."

The frog stops and looks at Peter more carefully before bowing gracefully from his unicycle.

"Not to worry, fair prince," the frog said smoothly. "An easy mistake to make. I am Mercutio, and it is my pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Tony eyed the frog with an odd look on his face as Peter continued reading his notes while absentmindedly answering the frog.

"Nice to meet you as well, Mercutio. I'm Peter. That's my boyfriend, Tony."

Tony waved his wand but was dismissed by the frog, causing the older boy to huff.

“I’m sure there’s no need to rush, dear prince,” Mercutio said. “Perhaps we could get to know one another. Go for a night on the town. Dancing, dinner, romantic candlelight?”

That made Peter stop and look at the frog dead on.

“I’m sorry, what did you just say?”Peter asked, because surely he didn’t hear the frog flirting with him.

“A date, my prince, I’m trying to ask you on a date,” Mercutio said, offering up his miniature flower. “It has been so long since I’ve laid eyes on one who shines like the very moon brought to life.”

“Alright, that’s enough out of you, Leggy,” Tony said, striding over. “For one, that’s my boyfriend you’re hitting on there, and for two, this isn’t the Princess and the Frog, so don’t be expecting a kiss, Fly breath.”

“Cad! How dare you try to speak for the prince!” Mercutio retorted, turning back to Peter. “Fai, don't let such a scallywag order you about!”

Peter just chuckled and leaned into Tony.

“Sorry, Mr. Frog, I’m afraid even if this was the Princess and the Frog I’d be of no help,” Peter said with a small grin. “Tony’s already stolen my heart and is the only one I kiss.”

“Of all of the ridiculous things,” the frog muttered. “How dare you summon me here and not at least allow me the pleasure of a date. I am a man of needs and fine tastes, and yet you would seek to deny me?”

“Yeah, I think I’m seeing how you pissed off a witch or wizard and got yourself cursed into a frog,” Tony said with a huff. “How long will it take to send him back, Petey Pie?”

“I’m still looking. It should just be the reverse order but I used the latin for come instead of bring, so now I’m not sure if I should use go or return or leave to send him back.”

Peter looked quite contrite but Tony just rolled his eyes.

“Don’t worry, babe, I got it,” Tony said, an evil smirk crossing his lips. “I know just where to send this thing.”

Tony picked up the loud mouth frog in one hand and had his wand at the ready. Then, before Peter could argue, he opened the window and flung the frog as hard as he could, yelling “VOLITO!” at the last second before the frog was totally out of sight.

“Tony, what did you do?!?!”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tony said, dropping a kiss on Peter’s cheek. “I just flung him towards the Forbidden Forest and cast a float spell on him. With any luck, he’ll drift right into one of the watery parts where he can flirt with lady frogs for the rest of his days.”

“Tony-” Peter tried to chide him but the other boy just stole another kiss before heading back to their workbench.

“So you love me, huh?”

“Of course I do, you idiot.”

Epilogue

Dumbledore chuckled as he read the latest reports from Hagrid. Apparently they had a new resident in the Forbidden Forest, though he seemed to be an unwilling one if the long line of complaints the groundskeeper reported were true. Perhaps he’d reach out to the local witches and see if anyone was missing a frog familiar. It could probably wait though. Much to do and so little time.

[mellowyandere]

SCP Academia Eraserhead Part 2

Reader: F

Characters: Aizawa Shouta (main); Kurogiri

Summary: After struggling to find his way out with Dr. L/N, Eraserhead is offered some help. (This turned into a lot more exposition than expected. Part 3 will get steamy though I promise! I’m just a hoe for setting the stage.)

Length: 1442 words

Warning: Yandere-themes.

He had been running for a while now. Hallways and corridors bleeding into one another in a way that turned his head upside down. He hadn’t had to open any doors so far, and a strange absence of security set off little alarms in the back of his head.

Left…no right? He snarled in frustration. Curse this stupid foundation. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy but this was simply ridiculous. He peered down at your unconscious form, nestled protectively against his chest in a layer of his tendrils. So small and weak... he had to keep pushing forwards.

He had been forced to kill a couple of SCP’s along the way, not all being as sentient and rational as himself. Their desire to kill you forfeiting their rights to life.

Shit. Another dead end.

Something cleared their throat behind him, causing him to spin on his heel. His tendrils flared out ready to cut down whatever it was. To his surprise there stood what appeared to be a man made of mist, wearing human clothing. His sharp attire strongly contrasted his own, which consisted of an orange jumpsuit, the top half having been torn to shreds when he unleashed his tendrils, and a pair of standard issued boots.

“Move out the way. Don’t make me hurt you.” He didn’t have time for this, who knew when security would appear to regain control of the breach.

The mist man raised his hands to show his non-hostility. “You look a bit lost… would you like some help leaving this place?”

Eraserhead narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Why would you help me?”

“Don’t you find it odd..” Ah great this might take a minute. If he wasn’t blocking off the hallway Eraserhead would have left by now, but the man in front of him didn’t look like someone he could simply side step.

“Beings such as ourselves don’t belong here. By all means humans are nothing more than fodder in comparison. And yet they contain us? They’re witty creatures with dangerous minds, it’s what gotten them this far. But so are we. This containment breach was no accident, I’m sure you’ve already noticed almost every enclosure open, save for the truly unhinged ones. And a complete lack of guards to corral you back to your prison. No, there are higher powers at play. But now isn’t the time to delve into that, so I’ll ask again… would you like some help leaving this place?”

The mist man finished his little speech and opened his arms, inviting Eraserhead forward.

“What’s the catch?” Eraserhead knew better. Nothing in this world was done from the kindness of one’s heart. Well, except for you. You were the only real kindness he had ever known.

The mist man chuckled. “I see you are a man of caution. Yes this exchange is not for free. We’ll be keeping tabs on you. Your intelligence and abilities make you a very strong creature indeed. One day we’ll need you to help free our kind from the shackles of humanity.”

Lowering his arms the man took on a more sinister aura. “Let it be known though, I don’t need your consent to teleport you. I’d choose my offer. After all that human in your arms looks so frail, she might not make it out here alive if you keep at it.”

Shit. This bastard wasn’t leaving him with much choice.. should he fight his way out? He wasn’t exactly sure what his opponents abilities were besides teleportation. Even if he erased them, can you punch a man made of mist? His clothes clung to him, but who knew his real body composition.

No. This man was too dangerous, and his threat towards your well-being still hung heavily in the air. “Alright. Deal.”

The mist mans nodded with a hum, satisfied with his answer. “Start with continent, State or province, then major nearby city. Small nearby towns if applicable.”

Eraserhead listed off what was asked of him. His goal was to bring you to his old self-isolation home. He used to live amongst humans with little to no problems. His larger than normal stature at 6’10” raised a few eyebrows but nothing too serious. He kept the dark markings along his torso covered, and a scarf helped to hide his deathly white complexion. As for the eyes, he always wore sunglasses.

His issue had arisen with the month of his “birth”. For as long as he could remember, during the month humans called November, he went absolutely feral. Losing all control over his himself he’d slaughter anything that crossed his path. He’d make sure to isolate before November came along, and for the most part it worked. He had lived many centuries alongside humans with only the occasional slip up.

Five years ago he slipped up. And the SCP foundation had been all over him ever since.

“I can’t get you to any of the nearby towns, but I can get you to the city,” the mist man stated. “Step forward, I’ll take you there now.”

With that the man began to spread out the mist that defined his body, pooling out until he filled the entirety of the corridor. Eraserhead stepped forward into the blackish purple abyss, his vision going dark. Squinting he tried to peer through the pitch black that surrounded him, until finally he could see again. Stars lit up the night sky above him, and the sound of cars echoed down far below. Stepping onto concrete he moved out of the portal. This creature had quite a powerful ability. 

“What you do from here is up to you. We’ll give you some time to adjust and then we’ll contact you. Do not think that you can hide from us.” With that the mist vanished and Eraserhead was left alone atop a tall building with you in his arms.

It would be about a half a day of running to get you home from here. Meaning it would be wise to stock up on supplies now. That way he wouldn’t have any reason to leave you alone for the next week or two as you adjusted to your new home. The tall creature checked you over, making sure you wouldn’t wake up anytime soon before leaving you on the rooftop. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but he’d move fast.

Jumping from building to building he made quick work of locating and snagging some clothes from a local donation box in order to change out of the tattered orange jumpsuit. One extra-large black long sleeve shirt and accompanying extra-large pair of blacks pants. Grabbing a few bags that had also been inside, he headed for the nearest chain supermarket. He’d stock up on essentials like food and nest making materials, as well as daintier things that you might like such as feminine soaps and fluffy stuffed animals.

Due to the limitations in his interactions with you he didn’t really know what you’d want, but he had the rest of your time together to learn.

He was going to prove to you that he was the best mate you could ever dream of having. No one else would ever be good enough for you. And no one else would ever be good enough for him with you now in his life. He had never encountered a human like you before, and he’d be damned if anyone ever dared try to take you away or hurt you.

Making quick work of the supermarket he dashed out as the alarms rang. It hardly mattered though, he wouldn’t be coming back to this city. He had enough money stashed away that he’d be able to buy what he needed from small towns as to not draw attention to himself. Despite what the mist man had said about a new world order, he didn’t want to chance the foundation getting back on its feet and finding him.

Quickly climbing the building he left you on he was relieved to see your small form still sound asleep on the cold concrete. He wrapped his tendrils around his new stash of goods and scooped you up in his arms yet again, taking a moment to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck and deeply inhaling your scent.

Even if he had to give up part of his freedom to get here, holding you in his arms had all been worth it. Now all he had to do was get you home, and then he’d make sure to repay every gesture of kindness you had ever shown him tenfold. His precious cute little human.

[ezrasarm]

Ori’jagyc

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x Mandalorian!Reader

Word count: 4.2K

Summary: Paz beats the shit out of someone. But he does it with love!

Warnings: Canon typical (?) violence, a bit of angst over here, a bit of fluff over there, my attempt to give a character with five seconds of screen time an entire backstory… this is a mere interpretation!

A/n: I don’t know when… I don’t know how… but I have fallen for the big blue buckethead ...sooooooo this happened. I’m new to writing for Paz so please let me know how it went!

[ masterlist ]

Paz wasn’t exactly a prideful man. But he did carry the name Mando with a type of honour and sanctity that you saw in few others. He was fiercely devoted to his creed and to upholding the Mandalorian way and although part of that was accepting that other Mandalorians interpreted the tenets of Mandalorian life in different ways, he did have a tendency to take other’s looser abidance by the creed personally. You had no reason to believe this time was any exception.

You hadn’t been planning on stopping by the training arena today but a low thrum reverberating off of the coverts walls piqued your curiosity. The closer you followed the noise the clearer it became, soon morphing into what you could make out as the cacophonous metal clang of beskar consorted with raucous shouts. It wasn’t until you had stepped into the buzzing space that you saw the dense huddle of Mandalorians encircling one of the many training mats. The scene was not new to you, it seemed that a well-matched fight of this nature broke out at least once a week and was able to draw the eyes of those with nothing better to do than watch. It wasn’t until you were close enough for their chants to make out decipherable words that it hit you. “Paz” they were shouting, over and over again, cheering him on. 

Your pace quickened at that, shoulders forceful and your smaller frame coming to your advantage as you slipped between the clamouring bodies until you found a familiar silhouette. “What happened?” You asked, your voice already breathless when you gripped Din’s upper arm. Paz and Din had a long-standing difference of opinion on many things but they still treated one another as brothers. He had a genuine concern for the large, blue-clad mandalorian that not many in the covert did, thinking that a man of that size could certainly handle himself. 

Din hesitated a moment before speaking, mouth dry and words clumsy falling out of his mouth. “He insulted his ability to protect the clan,” Din said, concern clear in his tone when he leaned closer to speak over the roar of mandalorians looking for their afternoon’s entertainment. 

“Kriff,” you muttered under your breath. A comment like that around Paz and you surely had a death wish. To insult his ability to protect was as good as insulting his devotion to his religion and that was not something he took lightly. 

His parents had died in their fight to uphold the mandalorian way. To him, dishonouring it was as good as dishonouring them. Heroes, who died warriors’ deaths. He would not allow those deaths to be in vain and he most certainly would not allow himself to taint their family name. So a careless insult like that was not something he could let stand. 

Unfortunately, they happened a lot. People saw a man of his stature and reputation and they saw a challenge. Someone to provoke so they could prove their strength. Sadly for them it didn’t always work out that way. “Why didn’t you stop him?” You ask, as though you could even attempt placing that responsibly on him.

“He wouldn’t listen. He never does.” Din sighs but you’re already turning your attention to the front of the crowd where you can hear the clash of armour on armour. “Wait, I wouldn’t-” Din had tried to argue, arm stretching out to try and catch your wrist but you had already disappeared from his line of sight, jostling your way through more solid bodies.

You had seen Paz lose his temper before. He could be quick to anger and even quicker to start a fight. What was worse was he didn’t often lose. You could remember quite clearly those times as kids- he would never admit it of course but he was a sensitive child. One mal word in his direction and he would lose it. Speaking about things as cumbersome as emotions wasn’t something people tended to invest their time in so no one really took the time to find out why. They excused it as anger issues and went on with their days. 

He had grown better about it over the years, more level headed and harder to shake- both qualities which made him the good leader he was. But there were still times where he would fracture and that same angry, hurting child would burst forth. 

When you finally managed to wriggle your way to the front, he was pacing the fighting ring slowly. Carefully circling his prey. A routine you knew quite well at this point. “Ori'buyce, kih'kovid.” he spoke, his voice warning and serious but it carried a hearty edge to it. One that normally caused a warmth to bloom in your chest but in this case it made your blood run cold. He was enjoying this too much. “How’s the view from down there, alor?”

His opponent was on his knees, folded over himself. One palm was planted firmly on the mat while the other clutched at his ribs. “Nar'sheb,” he gasped out before pushing himself upright, the hand that had been gripped at his side now held out a vibroblade which Paz hit out of his grasp with what was quite literally a slap on the wrist before dragging him closer by his extended arm. You gasped when he jutted a hand out to grab the olive green armoured mandalorian by the throat, raising him a foot or so in the air before slamming him back down into the ground. Paz crouched over him now, his helmet hardly a couple of inches from that of his opponent’s before speaking again.

“You want to try that again?” He asked through what you were sure were gritted teeth.

“Nar’” the green-tinged mandalorian choked out through a raspy cough, “sheb,” he finished. Your stomach dropped at that. He had just given Paz the exact excuse he wanted. If it was an insult to him, it was an insult to the creed and that, to Paz, was justification enough for punishment. Before you knew it he was kneeling on his opponent’s chest pounding blow after unwavering blow into the offender’s helmet. You knew his hands would be raw and bloody after that. You kept waiting for him to stop- for him to get tired, or bored or for some sense to be knocked into him- but he kept going and when an ear splitting crack of the plastoid composite giving way fired through the room you knew the next hit would be fatal.

“Paz!” You exclaimed. You hadn’t raised your voice but it carried nonetheless. You hadn’t realized you had lurched yourself into the ring either until his fist stopped in mid-air, the cheering shouts which had since turned to panicked murmurs of protest, went silent as it shook there. You could see the cogs turning in his head, the war of anger and reason grappling in his mind. “Stop.” You said. It could have been a whisper but his hand dropped nonetheless, falling limp at his side as he rolled off of his opponent so he sat, folded in on himself, arms balanced on the tops of his knees as he heaved in exhaustion.

When it dawned on you that, having taken away their only source of entertainment, you had since become the centre of attention. You paused, straightening up as you turned to face the crowd of spectators. “What are you doing looking at me for? Get him to a med bay.” You said. You held no authority here and yet suddenly when you spoke you found people listening and the large green warrior was being shuffled out of the room by several bystanders. 

“And you,” You said quieter now. The words were only meant for you and him to hear when you pressed a palm to his shoulder. “You need to calm yourself down.” You said. Your voice, firm but gentle as you spoke, gripping one of his hands firmly to act as leverage for him to find his footing. The strongman act had returned when he was upright again. Posture stoic and back rigid as he gave you a quiet nod but he still seemed... lost: in a daze that made it hard for you to be mad at him. “I’ll be over to check on you in a minute.” You whisper now, pointing him off in the direction of the benches which lined the large room.

“I don’t know how you do that.” Din spoke. Pushing himself off the wall of the hallway as you left the med bay where you had gone to check on Paz’s latest sparring partner. You needed to keep yourself busy. You needed to give Paz some space. 

“Do what?” You ask, as you swivel on your heel to face him.

“Get him to listen to you.” Din added. You had to laugh at that. It often felt like Paz didn’t listen to anyone but himself. He may be physically strong but he was headstrong too, which, as you had learned, could be a dangerous combination. “You really don’t know do you?” Din asks. There’s an amused lilt to his voice and you find your eyebrows furrowing under your mask at the sound of it. 

You would have told him to wipe that smirk off his face but you were too confused by the question that went with it so care. “Know what?” You ask, giving him a skeptical nod as you readjust your posture.

“You have him wrapped around your finger.” Din chuckles now as though it's obvious. 

You yourself acknowledged that the sight was a funny one to behold. A man as large, burly and threatening as himself being told what to do by someone about half his size. The idea that he listened at all- that you held so much power over him- well that concept was amusing enough but now Din asked you how and you had no explanation for him.

Perhaps it was because of the soft spot you’d had for him since childhood. While others saw a big intimidating bully you saw a misunderstood child. A warm heart with a sense of humour like no other and a will to do nothing but the best for those he cared for. You weren’t quite sure when it was that Paz became your responsibility. To put him back together in more ways than one after a particularly gruelling fight, to check in on him when a mission didn’t go according to plan or to keep him company when others were too scared. But you took on the deed without hesitation. You did it because you saw something in him that pulled at your heartstrings. You did it because you cared for him and as much as you knew he would never admit it, he needed the support. He needed you…

Which was why you found yourself swallowing down the questions you had for Din and excusing yourself. “How are you doing over here, ori’jagyc?” You asked, nudging his foot gently with the toe of your boot. The word, a schoolyard insult he had been pestered with as a child, would normally cause his blood to boil had it been said by anyone else. But he liked the way it sounded coming off of your tongue. The way you reclaimed it as a term of endearment for him rather than a way to tease him over his size and sometimes tumultuous temper.

He was sitting on the edge of the bench you had left him at in the now nearly empty training hall. Feet planted on the floor, elbows planted on his knees and helmet planted in his palms. “Paz...” you said as you came to kneel in front of him when you got no acknowledgement.

“It was a fair fight.” He finally spoke after a few more moments. His face was still buried from view but you thought that was progress enough. 

“I know it was, Paz.” You hummed softly, placing a hand on his knee to test the waters. When he didn’t shove you away, you scooted yourself a little closer between his feet to try and coax his gaze up to yours but he didn’t budge. 

“I didn’t mean to...” His voice trails off as though he’s at a loss for words. “Ni nu copaani kyr'amur ner vod.” He says, voice half-broken and weak in a way you knew not many got to bare witness to. You could hear the regret even through the crackle of his modulator. 

“I know you didn’t.” You crooned. “He might not be challenging you to a rematch any time soon but I hear he’s gonna be okay.” You assure him. You don’t get to know Paz Vizsla as well as you do without knowing that sometimes he miscalculated his own strength. He had taken a vow to protect the covert- all of it- and you knew he would never do anything to undermine that, even if the idiot had it coming. “He was taunting you, he shouldn’t have done that.” You conceded. 

But what you saw today was no scuffle over a few carelessly discarded insults. There was something else burning behind those punches you just couldn’t figure out what it was yet. You would have asked him but when your gaze fell to his lap to try and gather your thoughts you spotted his hands still trembling slightly between you and you winced. The mental note you had made from before coming back to the forefront of your mind. 

“May I?” You murmured sliding your small hands under his giant palms and waiting for permission before gently tugging at each of the fingertips to loosen them and sliding the gloves off as delicately as you could. If he felt any pain- you were sure he must have- he didn’t show it. Your eyes scanned over his knuckles, bruised, bloodied and swollen already. You were sure he must have fractured a few bones just by looking at it. You wondered how he could have done this. What must have boiled over in him to inflict this kind of pain upon himself without hesitation.

Your other hand had come to lift his chin but he resisted and it made you sigh in gentle exasperation. “Look at me.” You said. Your tone wasn’t demanding or harsh. Instead, it was gentle and maybe even a little bit desperate. It made his heart clench in his chest and then there it was again, that inexplicable obedience and razor-sharp consideration of your every word as his visor tilted up to settle on you. 

“Paz, I’m worried that one day you aren’t going to stop in time.” You say suddenly. You know he can’t see them but your eyes are pleading behind your mask. “You don’t need that kind of blood on your hands. Your conscience suffers enough without it.” This time he’s the one to sigh. You can feel the tension of his head trying to bow out of sight again but you keep your palm on the cheek of his helmet rooted, steady in its place and he gives in.

“I knew better.” He agrees solemnly. “I know that. But something snapped inside of me. Something I couldn’t control- that I still can’t- I…” His words trail off and you can sense his reluctance to finish the thought so you take the opportunity to fill the silence instead.

“Din said he insulted you.” You pressed, tentatively. You didn’t want to reignite a conflict that should remain extinguished but you had to know what that anger was. At that, he actually choked out a laugh that caught you slightly off guard.

“They can insult me all they want.” Was his response. His head shaking as though you should have known that already. “You taught me that. I’m used to it at this point.” He explained and the thought that anything you said actually stuck in that big head of his actually warmed your heart a little. Now your mind reeled with even more questions of what all that was about, what it was that could possibly have gotten him so angry, why Din had said what he had earlier, why it felt different this time, why it struck fear in you, why- 

You were so deep in thought you hadn’t realized the way your hand squeezed down on his until a low hiss broke through his modulator and your gaze flitted back down to his hands. Suddenly your sympathy for his wounds and need to care for them outweighed your curiosity as you muttered a whisper of an apology and touched the crown of your helmet to his briefly as you got up. The action was so quick, and instinctual you hardly even realized you had done it. But Paz had. It was over so fast he wondered if it might have been an accident but it made his heart skip a beat and his cheeks heat up behind his visor nonetheless.

“C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up, big man.” You say now, nodding in the direction of the exit when he didn’t follow you immediately. Too stunned in his place for his actions to keep up with his mind. At that he let out a huff as he heaved his undoubtedly aching body onto his feet and followed you out into the stone gilded corridors of the covert.

“I hear you’ve gone soft, Vizsla!” a voice you didn’t recognize shouted from the end of the hall. You squeezed Paz’s arm, a silent urge for him to stay put as you whipped around on your heel, sliding the staff from off of your back into your grip as you paced down the hallway to his pesterer. That softness he spoke of, and the juxtaposition of it to his hulking form had to be one of your favourite parts about him. You thought of the way his thumbs had grazed over the backs of your hands as you inspected his knuckles only moments ago, the tickle of his silk-like touch against yours and the way it made you tingle with some emotion you couldn’t quite place. The fact that it and the warmth that it brought to you could be strung into an insult made your blood boil. “I hear you can’t finish what you start!”

“You want to wind up in the same shape as the other guy?” you ask, pointing the stick in the direction where the victim of Paz’s most recent outburst had been lying under an hour ago. 

“What? You gonna get him to swoop in and fight your battles for you again, copikla?” He chuckled, taking a challenging step closer to you. Again? You thought, but you were too busy being insulted by his gross underestimation of both you and Paz to care.

“I wasn’t talking about him.” You threatened, jabbing the staff towards him with a practiced flourish, only stopping when it hovered just in front of his windpipe. You stayed like that for a few moments, maintaining eye contact for a menacingly long period of time before dropping your grip so the weapon rested at your side. “I think we’ve all seen enough action for one day.” You declare, not missing the opportunity to swing his heels out from beneath him in one swift motion of your staff as you turned to walk away. 

“You’re good with that thing.” Paz remarked, still slightly dumbfounded in his place. He knew you could fight. He had experienced it first hand before. But this time was different. The refinement with which you held your weapon and the elegance you possessed as you moved with it as though it was an extension of your own body was not lost on him. The tact to your words and the conviction in each step all the more enticing. And the fact that it was for him... Paz couldn’t deny that watching the whole ordeal unfold made his chest swell with pride, admiration and maybe a little bit of something else.

“I know.” He can hear the smirk in your voice as you rejoin him, not quite sure why his praise towards you and the way his gaze lingered on you made your stomach churn with nerves.

“Remind me not to vex you.” He notes when he finally finds the sense to fall into step beside you again.

“You would do well to remember that anyway, ori’jagyc.” You huff through a smile, bumping into him gently with your shoulder. 

And that was the tipping point. 

Every bit of tension that had been building in him since you had stepped into that ring and put everyone, including himself, in their place came bursting forth. He just had to do something. Tell you anything. To let you know how wild you drove him. To show you how much he appreciated you and how little he would be without you. To tell you about all the things that he would do for you if you would just ask. 

Before you knew it he was grabbing you by the elbow and dragging you into a darkened alcove away from prying eyes. The action may have been harsh but his touch was light when he pressed you to the cool stone wall, breathing ragged through his modulator.

“What he insulted, was your honour, verd’ika.” Paz said quite suddenly, voice breathless as though he couldn’t get the words out fast enough. “And that, I was not willing to let stand.” He admitted. Still struggling to gain your bearings, it took you a moment for your mind to catch up. He must have been continuing your conversation from before. The one that left your head spinning with so many questions. All at once that comment from before made sense now. Again. You thought. He had been fighting for you...

You softened at the thought of it. Here you had been, scolding him for falling back into old habits. Letting his rage get the better of him. Something you thought he had learned to control. Yet now, the thought that it was all for you, that you could drive such passion from him, made your breath catch in your lungs. It was one thing to fight for your own honour, something which had landed him in trouble countless times before, but another thing entirely to fight to protect someone else’s. You were glad he couldn’t see the tears that threatened to breach your eyes or the way your mouth gaped trying to find a response to him.

“I… I don’t know what to say...” You murmured back to him. He didn’t miss the way your voice caught in your throat. 

“You don’t have to say anything, cy-” He cut himself off abruptly and you felt heat rise up your neck until it licked at your cheeks and the bridge of your nose at the thought of what he had almost said.

“So that was all... for me?” You ask, your mind flitting back to the fury with which he threw his punches, the conviction and intensity behind them and suddenly you felt a similar feeling blooming in the cavity of your chest. Except instead of anger or rage to accompany it you felt an overwhelming urge to draw him as close to you as possible.

As if reading your mind his feet shuffled closer, the grip you hadn’t even realized was on your hip, slipped to the small of your back, your spine curving so your chest pressed flush against his as he towered over you. You supposed it could have been intimidating, the way his frame engulfed you, but instead an incredible sense of calm and security washed over you. Like you had just found refuge in the safest of sanctuaries and now you never wanted to leave. 

“There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you, meshla.” He said, bowing his head so he could kiss the crown of his helmet to yours. The exact way that hadn’t stopped playing through his head on repeat since the unceremonious bonk of your forehead to his minutes ago. He had never wished so hard that he could take it off as now in his heady daze of affection. That he could feel your skin on his, smell the scent that tangled in your hair and taste your lips against his own. Your arms slipped around the back of his neck, your eyes squeezing shut as you nuzzled into him and focused all of your attention on the feeling of your chest rising and falling in unison with his.

“I would do anything for you ...cyare.” You hum into him, a light teasing tone for the way he had choked on his words just a moment ago. 

You did that to him. 

You caused the covert’s most intimidating warrior to stutter on his words and his palms to sweat. A warm rumble rolls through his chest like thunder in a summer storm. It makes your lips pry upwards at the sound of it. 

Ori’jagyc. 

The nickname causes a hint of a laugh to bubble in the back of your throat when you’re trapped in his embrace like this. He’s warm and his arms are secure around you. His touch so feather-light on you that you wonder how it’s possible for him to strike fear in so many people when he turned around and treated you this way. 

Your ori’jagyc.

You supposed you had an answer for Din’s question now.

-- Mando’a Translations

Ori'buyce, kih'kovid - all helmet no head (usually used to talk to someone with an over-inflated sense of authority)

Alor - boss

Nar'sheb - like “shove it” but much stronger

Ori’jagyc - bully, swaggering big-mouth - someone who picks on someone smaller - lit. *big man* said sarcastically, applied equally to women 

Ni nu copaani kyr'amur ner vod - I would not willingly shed my brother's blood

Copikla - cutie (taken as an insult in mandalorian culture)

Verd’ika - little warrior

meshla - beautiful

Cyare - Beloved

[ masterlist ]

Permanent Taglist

I am aware that Paz is not a Pedro character. If you wish not to be tagged in Paz stories in the future let me know!

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Paz Vizsla Taglist

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[j0hn-deacons-perm]

Charcoal Dust

Female reader x Brian May

Word Count ~6,100. 

I had this fic sitting in my documents since August and re-reading it, I didn’t hate it. So I guess I’m posting it. A bit of a warning I suppose...it goes get slightly suggestive but not 18+..If you’re sensative to that sort of thing, maybe skip this one my dudes.

With the last flick of your eyeliner, you deem yourself ready to head out to the bar. Freddie wanted to let off some steam with finals and you couldn't help but to join in. The apartment you two share have been littered with projects and materials and he almost strangled you for not cleaning up your charcoal dust. With that being the straw which broke the camel's back, tonight is to just get shit faced and to have fun. At least Fred settled one a bar that isn't too much of a walk so you don't have to worry about driving. Grabbing your coat, you leave the complex and into the cold december night.

***

"Y/N, dearie, you're here! Finally the night can commence!"

Freddie runs to you and wraps his arm around your shoulders. 

"The boys are here as well. Can't tell you how much work it took to get John out."

Your eyes settle on Deaky, already a bit drunk and waving at you with a grin. "Evenin' Y/N! How's it going?"

"Not as good as you from the looks of it. But I bet a couple drinks could fix that."

You turn to the bar and order your usual mix drink along with a round of shots for everyone. 

"Here's to having a good night amongst friends!"

"Cheers!"

Everyone downs their shot and you finally sit down, taking the empty spot next to Deaky. Roger and Brian seem to be in their own little world talking about something so you don't bother with that can of worms yet.

"Y/N, did you find a new model for your drawing yet?"

"Nope. That fucking Steven kid answered my ad, took my payment then just vanished. Won't answer the phone, haven't seen him around campus..I'm out like 80 quid and nothing to draw for my final."

"Ouch. What does it entail exactly?"

"I need to do a live nude model study."

Roger's ears seem to perk up with the mention of 'nude'.

"I can help you out with that, love."

Brian rolls his eyes and Freddie chuckles. 

"So, me buying you a shot doesn't get your attention but mentioning I need to draw a naked person does?"

"Well, yeah. You should know this by now."

"I thought alcohol and nudity were on the same tier of importance to you, Taylor."

"Close..but not quite."

You nod at him with a fake academic-like expression as you rub your chin.

"Right, so if anyone knows someone who would be down to model for me let me know."

"I just said I was!"

"Anyone but Roger."

"Oh! What about Brian, dear? He'd be a great model."

The man in question glares.

"Uh..Fred, I don't think so."

"Why ever the fuck not? I've seen you naked before, May. You'd be fantastic. Plus Y/N gets to see your cute little bottom and huge cock!"

His cheeks turn bright red.

"Absolutely not, Fred."

Freddie looks over to your face, laughing despite blushing profusely. He knows of your small crush on the guitarist and loves to relish in opportunities making you and Brian uncomfortable in hopes you two would actually do something. Much to his, and your disappointment, nothing ever happens.

"Well I would do it but I don't have the time in my schedule considering I'm going to be stuck in the art building working on my own shit. Now come on, don't subject her to Roger."

Brian looks over to you, finding you playing with a hem on your shirt, trying to distract yourself from the awkward conversation.

"Well we both know Bri's not going to do it, so when can I come over, love?"

With a slump of your shoulders, you face the blonde.

"It's not a sexual thing where I draw everything, you know. You're going to be in a pose you can hold for a long period of time while I focus on drawing mainly your prominent body landmarks like ribs, pelvis, and muscles along with bones."

"See, Bri? It's not a personal experience, she's just studying your anatomy. With how lanky you are, it'd be easy to see everything."

"I'll also pay you for your time. Might be a bit before I can get the money but you will be compensated. Also if it's too much for you, you can wear your underwear for most of it until I need to get a certain part."

He looks between you and Freddie, a sigh escapes his lips.

"Fine. I'll do it."

Freddie smirks at you and gives a wink before coming into to whisper in your ear.

"Just a heads up, I've seen him naked and you may have to draw three legs."

You turn bright red but can't help but to cackle at his comment. Brian rolls his eyes and says 'fucker' under his breath. 

*** A couple drinks turn to quite a few and talking with Brian ended up with the date, time and place for your drawing session. Now that three days have passed, the time arrives along with four knocks on the door. 

"Hey Y/N."

"Hey Bri, thank you so much again for doing this for me."

He looks around the living room and sees you've set up your workspace: an easel, one of the living room chairs and one of the end tables with your box of drawing utensils. He also looks at how it's pointed towards the sofa with a sheet draped on it. 

"How would you like me?"

"Comfortable. You'd probably be stuck in that spot for a while. I have pillows if you want 'em."

He nods and sits down on the sofa while you go towards the record player and pop on one of your favorite records.

"I like to work to music so hope you're okay listening to the Beatles for a few hours."

"Why would I complain about good music?"

You chuckle as you sit down in your spot, making any last minute adjustments to the easel's height. Turning your head to the sofa, you see him unbuckling his belt before slipping his shirt off. Back towards you. 

Freddie was right, he has a good figure to make this assignment easy for you. Despite trying to stay professional, it's hard to not check out your crush as he strips. When the pants start slipping off, you turn away, too shy to look anymore. 

He is your friend, Y/N...he is your friend who is helping you with a project. Don't make this weird..

But then you remember your roll of tape for the sheet so when it's break time, you won't lose the pose. 

Shit...

"Hey Bri, once you settle on a pose, would it be okay if I put some tape around you so we don't lose the pose after we take a break?"

"Yeah, that's okay. I also might take you up on that pillow offer."

"Sounds good, I'll be right back."

You smile as you get up and leave for your bedroom to grab him a couple pillows off your bed. When you walk back into the living room, you swear the air has shifted once you see him laying in his underwear on the couch, watching the record spin on the turn table. A knot forms in your stomach..

You're working on your final, you're working on your final, you're working on your final.....

You walk up towards him and hands him the pillows. He promptly adjusts them to fit his pose.

"This alright for your composition, Y/N?"

"Let me check."

You sit down back in your chair and look at what you can see. You can see many of the body's landmarks..ribs, collar bones, muscles, parts of the pelvis...but not the strongest for a good composition.

"The pose is fine but I'm going to move over a bit to get a more interesting angle of ya."

You scoot your set up closer towards the turntable, giving a more dynamic angle of your model.

"Alright, we're looking good. Just need to tape where you're at and we can get started."

Hands slightly shaking on the masking tape roll, you rip pieces off and place them where Brian's posed. It's easy to tell he's tense.

"Bri, you're welcome to chat during this if you want. And whenever you want to take a break to stretch out, do not hesitate to ask."

"Sounds good, love. I guess I'm ready when you are."

He's called you love before but now it seems a bit different...

HE IS JUST HELPING YOU ON YOUR FINAL PROJECT, STOP IT

You rub over your paper pad, sighing and grab your hard charcoal to get the initial lines and shapes in. You can see him closing his eyes once more marks land on your paper. His shoulders also slowly begin to become less tense. 

*** Two full albums later, Brian calls break time. You clean your hands off on your pants and set your charcoal back in its box next to you. Having the main structures done and angles correct, you feel good about the progress. 

"How's it coming along, love?"

"I think maybe another hour or so and we'll be good."

"Can I sneak a look or is it confidential?"

You nod your head for him to take a look, his presence now behind your back as he analyzes your work. Nerves become more apparent the longer he's silent. You're about to look over your shoulder until you hear him say

"I'm really liking it so far, Y/N. Fred's told us about your work and it's incredibly articulate. However it is odd knowing that's me on your paper."

You blush profusely at his compliment, even more so now that you realize he's extremely close to your body wearing just underwear. 

"Well how about I grab you a robe and I'll make us some coffee?"

"Sounds lovely to me, especially since seeing how you're fully clothed, I'm a bit vulnerable."

"I don't mean to make you uncomfortable! Let's get that robe."

"I'm not uncomfortable, just a bit cold maybe."

Leaving for your room once again, you grab your robe. It might be a bit too short for the gentle giant in your living room but it's better than nothing.

"I'm surprised you didn't give me Fred's."

"You don't want it, trust me."

He laughs, tying the belt around his middle and follows you into the small kitchen to grab his favorite mug whenever he visits. The silence grows more comfortable as you hear the coffee drip into the small pot and another cabinet opens to grab the sugar. You open the fridge to grab the milk. Your pour the hot liquid as he adds the sugar to the two mugs, followed by the splash of milk you like in yours. Smiles meet each other and you two sit back in the living room, a new record begging to be played. 

"Want more Beatles or how about just some John? I have Plastic Ono Band and Imagine."

"Oh god, that's a decision isn't it?"

"It really is. I'm half tempted to just put Hard Day's Night on."

"Did you see that in theaters? The girls went absolutely mad."

"With that scene with John in the bath? I'm sure I still have hearing issues from that. It got even worse seeing Help."

"George bit?"

"George bit."

Laughs echoed amongst the walls, sharing knowing glances at how loud the shrieking was. 

"Have to love sort of shared traumatic experiences. But I'm intrigued, who is your favorite of the four?"

"The Beatles or Queen?"

A slight smirk dances across his lips.

"Beatles? When I was younger, Paul. In more recent years, has to be John. I really respect his political work and his solo albums are so personal and raw."

He nods at your answer, agreeing.

"But with you lot? No one. Don't tell Freddie that, he'll plant something in my bed."

He answers in a hearty laugh.

'It's not like I can say you before we get back to working on a naked drawing of you...'

*** With Lennon playing on the speakers and more charcoal on paper, you're back at it again. Brian somehow managed to get himself back into the same pose with one or two directions from you. Things are now going easier considering the drawing is now just filling in the blanks until you couldn't get one detail right due to it being covered by his underwear. The more you try to remember how the muscles and bone look, the more incorrect it looks to your eyes. The inevitable needs to happen.

"Hey Brian, I'm hating to ask this but uh...I can't get the lower abs to look right with the pelvis. Could you....takeyourunderwearoff."

The last part just rushed past your lips as fast as you could. Your cheeks are bright red, a tell tale sign being how hot your face just became. It's even worse when he arches his brow.

"What was that last part?"

You sigh deeply.

"Could you...take your underwear off so I can get your pelvis a bit better?"

"Oh...uh, yeah."

His cheeks probably match yours but you cover your eyes while he strips the last bit of cloth standing between him being completely exposed in front of you.  

"Alright Y/N, you can look now."

His nervous laughter is puntuated with your eyes opening again. While you have a clearer view of the muscles in question, you also have a clearer view of other things.

You now understand why it's called a happy trail. 

Correcting his angles once again, you start where you just left off. Only to have the record stop playing, meaning you had to stand up and change the music. Meaning probably a clear view of his, what Freddie called, 'his third leg'. Hands slightly shakey as they remove the vinyl and put it back in its respective sleeve. Fingers lead their way towards Revolver, your go-to homework album. Once the intro of Taxman plays, you make your way back to your seat. During which, your peripheral vision does you dirty. 

Fred wasn't entirely kidding. Dear god, Y/N, you're almost done just finish your damn project so Bri can go home and you can take a cold shower...

You sit back down and sigh, taking your charcoal and getting back to work, correcting any inaccuracies caused by his underwear being in the way and adding more to his figure. Side one is over far too soon, causing you to get up and be betrayed by your eyes once again.

At least now it's just adding a bit of definition to the head and small details. Taking the blunt end of your charcoal stick, you begin adding some hair to the drawing. The couple hairs on his chest, a gesture of pubic hair and some messy lines for the curls on top of his head. Staring at his face now, he peeks his eyes open and winks at you then smiles. 

"I thought you weren't going to draw my face?"

"Just a little something so it's not just a blank shape."

"Alright. Do you want my eyes open or closed?"

"Do what you want, Bri."

His eyes land on the legs of your easel, moving them around a bit to follow the smudges of paint and charcoal about. Your eyes trace along the angles of his face, adding them to the basic head shape you added during the beginning steps. Browbone, cheeks, nose, eyes, brows, and gesture of his slightly open mouth put down on paper as you mark it done. Looking at the lower right corner of your paper and taking your thin marker, you write your name, class session, semester, and model's first name. 

"Alright Bri, I think we're good to go. Want to come take a look?"

Standing up and putting your robe back on, he walks behind the chair. His eyes take in the final composition, from the pillows to his curls all the way down to how to managed to get the angle right on his feet. The sofa, while made of basic abstract shapes, make him look like he's properly weighed out on the cushions. 

"It's weird seeing me like that."

"I bet. Talking with some of the models outside of class, they tell me it takes some getting used to seeing shit like this."

"Seeing what others see in your naked body is very...daunting. I think you made me look too good to be honest."

"I just drew what I saw, May."

You look up behind you and catch him blushing, looking down at you while smiling.

"You are incredibly talented, Y/N. If you don't get an A, I'm taking personal offense with your instructor."

You blush hard at the compliment while laughing at his comment. 

"Honestly, I would too. You made a beautiful model, Bri. It was an honor to draw you."

Why did I just say that?..

He looks away, face looking shy. He takes compliments almost as bad as you. He sits down back on the sofa, looking at you.

"Now, you did say at the bar that I'd be compensated for my time."

"That I did."

You start to pack away your drawing supplies before digging a can of hairspray out of your backpack. Spraying a light coat over your drawing, you let it dry before packing it away for safe keeping.

 His eyes watch you dismantle your workspace, showing him something you've done nearly a hundred times over. Little did you know, seeing you in your element like this made his heart swell. Brian knew you were an art student but never saw you at work. Little did he know, yours did the same when you saw him at practice or on stage. After cleaning up and putting furniture back in their right spots, you sit down in the chair to only find Brian patting the cushion next to him. Giving him a fake glare, you sit next to him. 

"I've been thinking of payment and would it just be fine if we ordered some take away and hung out? I'd feel bad taking your money."

"You sure? I'd feel bad not compensating you for your time."

"Y/N, I laid on your couch, chatted with you and listened to my favorite music. Yeah it was a bit weird considering I take a girl out before she sees me naked but hey."

You laugh nervously at his joke, blushing for probably the 53rd time that night.

"I'll get dressed and we'll head out, that good for you?"

"Yeah. I need to change clothes anyway."

"Why? You look cute covered in charcoal."

Your heart nearly jumps out of your chest like a looney toons character. You and the guys are used to calling eachother cute or handsome but something about him being just about naked underneath your robe after drawing him for nearly two hours makes your heart race at a dangerous pace. 

"Let's get ready, hmm?"

He stands up, clothes in tow as he walks to the bathroom. The sound of the door closing brings you back to the moment. Grabbing your pillows and sheet off the couch, you leave for your room. The slight smell of him lingering on the fabric fills your nostrils as you throw it towards your laundry basket. 

"Goddammit...don't get your hopes up. It's not like this is a date, Y/N..." You whisper under your breath. 

Grabbing the clothes you wore earlier today, you get dressed and apply a little extra deodarant and perfume. By the time you've put your shoes on and out of your room, he's slipping his shoes on. Even in mid-December, he's wearing his clogs. He hears your laughter from across the room.

"What's so funny?"

"Bri, it's Christmas in nearly two weeks and you're wearing clogs? If you slip on ice thanks to those things, I’m not helping you up."

"It hasn’t snowed yet, though! Have to wear them while there's still time. Besides, look who's bloody talking wearing canvas sneakers in the cold."

"At least my entire foot is in the shoe."

"That's it, I'm not letting you borrow my scarf if it's still windy. Not with that attitude."

You smack his arm and grab your purse off the coat rack. Locking the door behind you is the last thing before you two leave for any place that is still serving food at this hour. 

***

Only getting as far as a corner store, you two buy a couple drinks then enough snacks to constitute a meal. The walk back to the apartment was on the quiet side, Brian looking up to the sky every few blocks in a vain attempt to see any stars that would accompany the moon shining that night. Not much for viewing besides the waxing moon hanging above your heads, hundreds of thousands miles away. 

"Hey Bri?"

His features seem almost guilty, being caught in the act but he smiles at you.

"Would it be possible for you to teach me some things about what's up there? Fred's showed me some astrology stuff but it would be kinda cool seeing the constellations and what makes them, y'know?"

"I'd just talk your ear off."

"Can't be too bad, I deal with that already."

You wink as he rolls his eyes. 

"But I'm serious, I want to know a little bit about what you study in uni. Especially since we go to different schools, it'd be interesting seeing another side of academics that isn't just color theory or how to mathematically draw cylinders."

"How do you mathematically draw cylinders?"

"It's all about angles and where it sits in space, mostly. Getting that perspective correct. After enough practice I guess you can just sort of see it rather than drawing out all these different grids and lines."

"Does that tie in with drawing people?...That's probably a stupid question of course it does."

"It does but with that, you also need to keep in mind where things in the body are. In our class we also have to do these...sculpting lessons. We're given half a skeleton on a stand and we sculpt the muscles using clay."

He nods, listening to you talk about your coursework and your subject matters from basics to more focused studies. Once back to your apartment, you find Freddie has returned from the art building. The noises of you and Brian taking off shoes and coats made him pop his head around the wall.

"Y/N, lovie, how did your drawing session go?"

"Rather well! Want to see it?"

"Well of course, dear!"

You grab your and Brian's bags from the corner store and place it on the kitchen counter before heading over to your drawing pad, propped up against your chair. Nerves arise as you watch his eyes gaze over your work, the smell of the hairspray you used seal in the charcoal floating to your nostrils. 

"Fucking hell, this is brilliant. If you get a bad mark I'm visiting your professor during office hours and giving them a piece of my mind."

He looks down Brian's legs on the paper, your careful contour lines elegantly outlining the muscles. 

"I think you forgot a leg, though."

Brian's rolls his eyes as Fred's cackle fills the room. You slap the sketchpad closed and return it to it's spot next to your school bag. A sympathetic look is aimed towards your model. 

"Come on you two, lighten up. How about a game of Scrabble, hmm?"

"It is getting a little late, Fred, and Brian has to get back to his place."

"He knows he's welcome to crash on the couch if he wants."

The man in question looks between you two, biting his lip in thought.

"I wouldn't mind crashing here tonight. I'm sure Roger wouldn't mind the flat to himself."

"Then it's settled. You old ladies get your food out of the kitchen and we start this game."

What wasn't expected was Brian winning with such a lead. You could've sworn you've seen Fred's eyes glow red as he told the curly haired man to get out of his home for disrepecting him that severely. He went to bed infuriated as he left you two out in the living room to watch TV. 

"You sure you want to spend the rest of your Friday night here?"

"It's technically Saturday morning now."

"Smart ass."

He smiles and slowly leans towards you on the sofa, his warmth sneaking up the arm closest to him. 

"Hey Bri?"

He hums in response, eyes not leaving the program painting the screen.

"I never really properly thanked you for helping me with my assignment. You honestly saved my grade modeling for me."

He turns his head to face you, eyes looking at yours illuminated by the screen's light.

"You're more than welcome, love. It was interesting watching you work. You have this little face you make when you're really concentrated."

"Where I don't blink and my mouth is partially open? That's my focusing amphibian look."

He chuckles.

"Roger does the same thing but that's his confused look."

"I thought his confused face was this.."

You imitate the face you've seen many times during your homework sessions with the boys. Also when he tries to understand what Fred wants to do add extra flair to shows or songs.

"No, you're right. That's the one." He laughs. 

Comfortable silence floats around the air as you two continue watching telly. Thirty meants turn into 90 as the episodes of various shows play before you. Slight comments here and there said but it wasn't until Brian laid his head on top of your head that something was really spoken. 

"I have a question."

"Care to share with the class, May?"

You can feel his cheeks stretch out with a slight smile.

"Would you think less of me if I put my studies on hold when, or even if the band gets bigger? I know we only have one album out at the minute but I've thought about it and..."

Patting his knee, you spoke.

"I could never think less of you for persuing something like that. You and the guys have worked your asses off and if, no, when your hardwork pays off, grab those opportunities. You earned any success that comes your way."

He moves his head to look directly into your eyes.

"Knowing you, you'll eventually get your PhD but sometimes life throws you a curveball and you have to just roll with what it gives you. If it's Queen, then see it through."

Surprise washes over you as he gives you a hug, enveloping you in his arms tightly as his face creates a home in the crook of your neck. This breath along your skin giving away to goosebumps. 

"I've been thinking about this for weeks and um...."

"Did you already drop out, Bri?"

"No, no..."

"Uh huh..." You narrow your eyes at him.

"Seriously, Y/N, I haven't dropped out of uni. I've been thinking about...."

You pull away and look at his eyes directly, cheeks flushed even in the low light of the living room. 

"What is it?"

He sighs, looking down at his lap.

"You."

Eyes going wide, you look at anything but him. The stray floaty in the air, the reflection of light as a car drives past your flat, the one stray strand of yarn or whatever it is sticking out of the rug on the floor. 

"I'm not saying this because you drew me naked and I'm feeling obligated to but tonight made me realize something."

Your eyes finally focusing on your hands, fingernails picking at cuticles. 

"If this does become something larger than life, I don't want to leave you behind. When Freddie introduced us to you last year, there was something about you I couldn't shake off. I wasn't sure what it was the chalk pastel dust you were covered in or something else."

You smile at his words but your heart doesn't lighten up the speed at the rate it's beating. When it comes loose, it's going to skyrocket across the English channel.

"But now actually getting to know you over time and tonight made me come to the conclusion that....I certainly have feelings for you and I don't know what you want to do with that information."

Your fingers stop picking at a loose bit of skin on the side of your nail and you swear your heart just stopped in your chest. Eyes wide, you stare at him. Mouth agape, not knowing what to say other than just "Bri..."

"I can see I made you uncomfortable, I'm sorry. Maybe I should head ho-"

As he begins to stand up, you grab his wrist and pull him right back down towards your side. 

"Meeting you was one of the most profound days in my life, Bri. You...fuck,...I'm not a wordsmith and I'm nervous as all hell right now."

He smiles ever so slightly but his leg bounces with such vigor you wouldn't be surprised if your downstairs neighbor complained to the landlord tomorrow.

"And now hearing you may have feelings for me? Like...how do I even process this when it's something I've been wanting to hear for almost a year?"

It's now his turn for his eyes to buldge open in shock.

"When you first talked to me about astrophysics and I saw your entire demeanor light up with such passion, my heart damn near stopped. I couldn't focus on anything else but you. Even when you're just relaxed I feel like that. You're breathtaking and I'm pretty sure I went comotose and had a lucid dream seeing you perform with the boys for the first time."

He smiles, eyes looking directly into yours as your mouth just vomits out any word you promised to never let out.

"I've fallen for you so hard. I love your smile and laugh. I love the slope of your nose. I love that you've let your hair be curly because let's be real, you looked real questionable when you straightened it."

He laughs and you can tell his cheeks are heating up.

"I love that little noise you make when you find something interesting in your textbooks and your hums when you're thinking of a new song and your little eyerolls at the boys when they're being dumbasses and your sense of humor and just......fuck, look at you! You're so fucking handsome and that's even with the clogs!"

He grabs your hands, rubbing his thumbs against the knuckles. His smile shining so bright even with the low light from the television that's now taken a backside seat of your conversation. He looks down at your entertwined hands.

"Calling you a friend and wanting to see you has gotten me out of bed so many days Y/N, I've lost count. I can't even imagine if you'd be more than a friend to me but I guess we can find out."

Your smile has extended to lengths you didn't know possible. Letting go of his hands, you wrap your arms around him instead.

"I forgot to say this, but I also love your hugs."

A chuckle escapes his chest and he holds you tighter, a kiss lands on your cheek. Time goes by as shows flash before your eyes, eventually leading to you falling asleep in his arms with him not too far behind.

*** Hours pass before you awake, head laying on his lap and knees tucked in. Sitting up, you find him using the arm rest as his pillow, arms crossed underneath his face. He looks so peaceful and you don't want to take him up but you want to sleep in your bed. 

Dare you ask if he wants to join you?

It'll just be us sleeping together in the same bed and maybe cuddles...?

You brush his curls away from his face, tucking what you can behind his ear as you shake him gently. 

"Hey Brian..?"

He doesn't stir, contemplating on just his carrying his lanky ass to your room. 

"Bri.. wake up, hon. Come on."

You continue rubbing his upper arm until he stirs awake, opening his eyes and squinting at the screen's light.

"...What time is it?"

"Late. Would you want to sleep on the couch or my bed?"

"I'm fine out here, I don't want to take your bed from you."

You smile and chuckly slightly.

"I mean share the bed with me."

He smiles at the idea but eyes are shy.

"I'd like that."

You two stand up, him shutting up the TV and you leading the way to your room with his hand in yours. Navigating the small hallway at night lead to him bumping into you twice, and him saying apologies but you could not care less.

Once in your room and switching on the light, he's greeted to your own personal space. He can see canvases with studio projects painted on them under your bed, posters littering your walls. Some local band shows you've attended, a Queen one catching his interest. His eyes also catch your Beatles poster, the one from their White Album. He also sees the pillow he used earlier that day when he was modeling along with the robe tossed into the corner with the rest of your dirty laundry.

"I think I might have a pair of pants you could wear unless you're not a pants to bed kind of guy."

"No pants is what I normally go for but if you're uncomfortable with that I ca-"

"It's fine with me, just no funny business, May."

"Are cuddles out of the equation?"

"I sure as hell hope not."

He smiles and removes his necklaces, placing them next to your sketchbooks on top of the small desk next to the bed. You change into sleep shorts as he takes his trousers off. 

Never thought I'd see that twice today.

Shutting off the light and climbing into bed, he goes first, leaving you in your usual spot. Fluffing up the pillows and adjusting the blankets now done, He wraps you in his arms almost immediately, lips kissing your cheek gently.

"You have enough pillows, Bri?"

"Yes. Thank you, love."

"Want me to grab another blanket?"

He laughs gently, kissing your face one last time.

"I'm more than okay."

You turn around to face him head on, able to make out where his eyes are looking. Fingers playing with one curl, eventually leading to caressing the side of his face. Thumb tracing over one of his cheekbones.

"You're so handsome, Bri."

"Ever look at yourself?"

"Do you always kiss ass?"

"Not until the 3rd date."

You slap his arm, laughing.

"I guess with that comment I won't give you a kiss goodnight."

His face contorts in fake hurt. It's wiped off as soon as you bring your lips to his, fingers gently caressing his jaw as you kiss him. Almost as fast as it happened, it stopped. Smiles painting both your faces.

"Goodnight Y/N."

"Goodnight Bri."

Turning back around, you scoot closer to him. Arms around your waist and face tucked near your shoulder, you two fall asleep. 

*** You wake up before him. His arms are still wrapped around your middle and your legs entangled with one anothers. Your bladder urging you out of the warm confines of your bed, you carefully move out of his grasp to not awake him. Mission was successful as you close the door behind you, hearing Freddie in the kitchen as you walk to the bathroom. After giving yourself a pep talk while washing you hands, you face your roommate, face giving you a smirk.

"Y/N....I saw his god awful shoes by the door but he wasn't on the couch. Please tell me the details, darling!"

"Nothing really happened, Fred! We ended up talking after you went to bed and he sort of told me he had feelings for me and we passed out on the couch."

"He finally told you? About fucking time! You have no idea how much Roger got on his case. Even Deaky was begging him to shut up and ask you out. 'Oh how is Y/N doing? Is she free sometime soon, Fred? What should I get her for Christmas? What does she like? Do you think she likes me?'....every practice Y/N..every practice."

"At least I finally got around to it, Freddie."

He wrapped his arms around you, voice heavy with sleep.

"Now I get to annoy you about her even more now that we're dating."

Brian kisses your neck as Freddie pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Please don't subject us to that. We've suffered enough, dear."

***

aaaay, it’s done! Tbh, I got the idea for this fic after looking through some of my life drawing sketches. Also, a tip with charcoal or chalk pastel drawings from an art student...use hair spray. It’s cheaper than fixitive spray, works just as well, doesn’t affect the colors in chalk pastels, and doesn’t harm your lungs with the fumes (not nearly as badly, anyway). Besides that, thank you so much for reading, liking, reblogging, etc 💖💖

[bookcoversalt]

Have you noticed the latest edition of Charlie Bowater can only draw one (1) face? She did The Princess Will Save You and Cast In Firelight both YA Fantasy set to be released this year. And they are how you say... the same fucking cover

Ah yes so you saw the same tweet I did

I know I literally just posted that we cannot outlaw book covers from looking like each other, but ! Oof!

The only thing that softens the blow here is that Charlie has improved at representing nonwhite features such that characters look like POC rather than tan white people, although,, that bar was low. Anybody remember the ACOTAR coloring book.

(Would you have guessed that 2/3 of these people are nonwhite? Or even that they’re supposed to be three different men? I guess all the men in Prythian have the same haircut?)

But that minor victory is mostly lost in the quagmires of the fact that Charlie’s style is to give everyone instagram face:

I wouldn’t even call this “Sameface” necessarily: that implies limitation, that an artist is only capable of drawing a single facial structure competently. Bowater is incredibly technically talented, she just chooses to give everyone catlike fae eyes and the cheekbones of a starving nymph. (My previous post on this here.)

But I don’t really blame her for that, or for these hilariously identical, nearly devoid of personality covers. Artists are allowed to do whatever they want. Artists who make art for covers are being art directed by designers and marketing teams who bear responsibility for how the finished pieces turn out.

No, this is our fault, as a community and an industry and..... society, kind of, for valuing character portraits that are “pretty” (“pretty” being an extremely loaded, culturally subjective concept) over art that actually Says Something About The Story. Bowater’s style happens to dovetail perfectly with what we currently collectively find pretty, and so we’ve put her art on a pedestal at the cost of everything else art can or should do for our stories.

And this is understandable: in contemporary western culture, pretty is a value unto itself. Seeing our characters portrayed as pretty denotes them as special, as smart, as powerful. It’s almost impossible to de-program ourselves from that reaction. There are approximately five kajillion studies on how beautiful people are at personal and professional advantages; how they’re perceived to be happier, healthier, more successful, and how those perceptions can translate into realities. (Nevermind how thinness and whiteness enter that equation, see above note about “pretty”.) I would love to see more “average” or weird- looking characters abound (and be accurately visually represented) in the YA/ Genre lit sphere, but for now... everyone is pretty.

Which sometimes means everyone is pretty boring.

But that’s just the specific, "What’s the deal with Bowater’s success in book circles and her style and all the sameiness” part of this equation. What if we backed up and asked: why character art at all? Beyond a question of “pretty”-ness (and general obvious Artistic Quality), why do we gravitate towards it, what's the purpose of it, how does it fall flat in a general sense, and how can it be utilized more effectively?

This is something I think about all the time. I follow writers on social media (because..... I am a writer on social media, regrettably), and we have an enormous collective boner for character art. “Getting fanart [of the characters]” is one of the achievement pinnacles constantly cited when people get or want to get published. Commissioning character art is something we reward ourselves with, or save up for (WHICH IS GOOD AND CORRECT. FREE ART IS GREAT BUT DO NOT SOLICIT IT. PAY YOUR ARTISTS). And like???? Same????? We love our stories because we’re invested in our characters. Most humans, even prose writers, are visual creatures to some extent, and no matter how happy we are with our text-based art, it’s exciting to see our creations exist in that form. So we turn that art into promo material and we advocate for it on our covers-- because it’s so meaningful to us! It goes with the story perfectly!! Look at my dumb beautiful children!!!!!

But on an emotional level, it’s hard to grasp that it only means something to us. Particularly when you take into account the aforementioned vast landscape of beautiful visual blandness of many characters (in the YA/ genre lit sphere, that’s pretty much all I’m ever talking about), character art can be like baby photos. If you know the baby, if that baby is your new niece or your friend’s kid, if you’ve held them and their parent texts you updates when they do cute shit, you’re probably excited to see that baby photo. But unless it’s exceptionally cute, a random stranger’s baby photo isn’t likely to invoke an emotional reaction other than “this is why I don’t get on facebook.”

Seeing art of characters they don’t know might intrigue a reader, but especially if the characters or art are unremarkable-looking, it’s doing a hell of a lot more for the people who already have an emotional attachment to that character than anybody else. And that’s fine. Art for a small, invested audience is incredibly rewarding. But like the parent who cannot see why you don’t think their baby is THE MOST BEAUTIFUL BABY IN THE WORLD???? I think we have trouble divesting our emotional reaction to character art from its actual marketing value, which.... is often pretty minimal. This is my hill to die on #143:

Character portraits, even beautiful ones, are meaningless as a marketing tool without additional context or imagery. 

I love character art! I’m not saying it should not exist or that it’s worthless! Even art that appeals to only the one single person who made it has value and the right to exist. And part of this conversation is how important for POC to see themselves on covers, whether illustrations or stock imagery, particularly in YA/kidlit. I’m not saying character portrait covers are “bad”. 

I am saying that I have seen dozens and dozens of sets of character art for characters who look interchangeable, and it has never driven me to preorder a book. (Also one character portrait for a high-profile 2019 debut that was clearly just a painting of Amanda Seyfriend. You know the one. There’s nothing wrong with faceclaims but lmfao, girl,,,,)

I’m sure that’s not true for everyone! I am incredibly picky about art. It’s my job. There’s nothing wrong with your card deck of cell-shaded boys of ambiguous age and ethnicity who all have the same button nose and smirk if it Sparks Joy for you.

But if your goal is not only to delight yourself, but to sell books, it’s in your best interest to remember that art, like writing, is a form of communication. The publishing industry runs on pitches: querys, blurbs, proposals, self-promo tweets. What if we applied that logic to our visuals? How can we utilize our character design and art to communicate as much about our stories as possible, in the most enticing way?

Social media has already driven the embrace of this concept in a very general sense. Authors are now supposed to have ~ aesthetics. “Picspams” or graphics, modular collages that function as mini moodboards, are commonplace. But the labor intensity and relative scarcity of character art visible in bookish circles, even on covers, means that application of marketing sensibility to it is less intuitive than throwing together a pinterest board.

Since we were talking about it earlier, WICKED SAINTS, as a case study of a recent “successful” fantasy YA debut, arguably owed a lot of its early social media momentum to fanart.

(Early fanart by @warickaart)

The most frequently drawn character, Malachiasz, has long hair, claws, and distinctive face tattoos. WS has a strong aesthetic in general, but those features clearly marked his fanart as him in a way even someone unfamiliar with the book could clearly track across different styles. Different interpretations of his tattoos from different artists even became a point of interest.

(Art by Jaria Rambaran, also super early days of WS Being A Thing)

Aside from distinctiveness, it's a clear visual representation of his history as a cult member, his monstrous powers, and the story’s dark, medieval tone. The above image is also a great example of character interaction, something missing from straightforward portraits, that communicates a dynamic. Character dynamics draw people into stories: enemies-to-lovers, friends-to-lovers, childhood rivals, platonic life partners, love triangles, devoted siblings, exes who still carry the flame-- there’s a reason we codify these into tropes, and integrate that language and shared knowledge into our marketing. For another example in that vein, I really love this art by @MabyMin, commissioned by Gina Chen:

The wrist grip! The fancy outfits! These are two nobles who hate each other and want to bone and I am sold. 

In terms of true portraits, the best recent example I can think of is the set @NicoleDeal did for Roshani Chokshi’s GILDED WOLVES (I believe as a preorder incentive of some kind?): 

They showcase settings, props, and poses that all communicate the characters’ interests, skills, and personality, as well as the glamorous, elaborate aesthetic of the overall story. Even elements in the gold borders change, alluding to other plot points and symbology.

For painterly accuracy in character portraits on covers, I love SPIN THE DAWN. The heroine looks like a beautiful badass, yes, but the thoughtful, detailed rendering of every element, soft textures, and dynamic, fluid composition form a really cohesive, stunning illustration that presents an intriguing collection of story elements.

The devil isn’t always in the details, though: stark, moody, highly stylized or graphic art with an emphasis on textural contrast and bold color and shape rather than representational accuracy can communicate a lot (emotionally and tonally) while pretty much foregoing realism.

The new Lunar Chronicles covers are actually the best examples I found of this (Trying to stay within the realm of existing bookish art rather than branch into All Art Of Human Figures Forever):

Taking cues from styles more typical of the comics and video game industries.  (Games and comics, as visual mediums, are sources of incredible character art and I highly recommend following artists in those industries if you want to See More Cool Art On Your Timeline.)

TL;DR: Character art and design, as a marketing tool (even an incidental one) should be as unique to your story and your characters as possible, and tell us about the story in ways that make us want to read it. I tried to give examples because there are so many ways to do this, and so many different kinds of art, and I could give many more! But I’m bored now. So to circle all the way back:

These are not just bad because they look like each other, although that is embarrassing and illuminating. These are bad covers (although,,,,, PRINCESS is the far worse offender, at least FIRELIGHT suggests a thoughtful cultural analogue) because a desire for Pretty Character Art overrode the basic cover function to tell us about the story. We get no sense of who these people are, what their relationships are, what these books are about beyond the most general genre, or why we might care. The expressions are vague, the characters generic-looking, the compositions uninteresting and the colors failing to be indicative of anything in particular. 

They’re somebody else’s baby pictures.

(And yes, that’s the CRUEL PRINCE font on PRINCESS. I better not have to do a roundup post but it’s on thin fucking ice.)

[copias-thrall]

There’s Something About Mary

A day in the life of our crusty Mr. Goore

Mary POV chapter bc I want to and I can.

⬅️ Previous

*public masturbation, kinda*

Mary wakes up horny.

He must have been having a pleasant dream, because his cock is hard and throbbing where it rests heavy against his thigh. He shoves a hand down into his undone jeans to give his cock a squeeze—just for a moment of relief—and, as the touch wakes him up fully, he realizes he can hear the distinct sounds of sex from one of the rooms. A thump thump thump and a squeak squeak squeak, all punctuated with blatant moans.

Fuck it, he thinks, and he begins to jack it to the sex orchestra going on, not 10ft from where he lies on the couch. Once a place they sometimes took turns on, the couch has become Mary’s de facto room—a subtle punishment for his supposed defection. So, he has no qualms about masturbating in his room, and if any of the other guys have an issue with it, Mary has no problem making his display more public, just for spite.

He pauses only to spit in his hand when his dry palm begins to chafe. It doesn’t even matter when the noises from the other room cease (and later Mary will have to tease them about their staying power), Mary just scrolls through his mental Rolodex until he brings up the memory of his dick in between Suey’s tits, how they jiggled despite being held together, how shiny they became once covered in his jizz, and how she looked up at him as she contorted one to bring it up to her mouth to lap some off.

“Shit, shit,” he exclaims as the memory of her pink tongue lapping up his cum causes him to release. Some shoots up his bare chest, but most of it lands and pools in his belly button. Eyes still closed, his free hand shoots out and fumbles for the box of tissues on the table, encountering instead a stack of thin takeout napkins.

As he does his best to clean himself up with the napkins—whose integrity is suspect—he can hear the low rumble of male voices and a high, feminine giggle from the sex room. Just to be a jackass, he gets himself up so that he can have first dibs on the bathroom.

Making sure to lock the door behind him, Mary turns on the hot faucet, willing the water to warm up sooner than later. He takes the opportunity, while he waits, to piss in the toilet; it’s already open—toilet seat up—even though it’s supposed to put it down when they have guests. They’re out of TP again, so a roll of paper towels rests on the lid of the tank.

Once the water is warm enough, Mary uses a couple pieces from the roll to clean off the jizz drying and to give himself a brief wipe down. His face is still half crusty with makeup, and he’s tempted to just add to it, but he’s learned from hard experience how that can fuck up your face, so—even though it’s a goddamned pain—Mary washes his face. He even uses the harsh Dial hand soap, even though the acrid smell will get up into his nose for hours.

He thinks of the nice-smelling scrub Suey has and her drugstore face cream he sometimes rubs into his skin.

In the soap- and toothpaste-speckled mirror, he starts to apply his “Day Face” (as Suey calls it) from the communal box of makeup (his better stuff is in his backpack): a light dusting of white powder; some eyeliner all the way around; a dull, red lipstick; and black shadow on his cheekbones.

He’s just starting on his hair when there comes a pounding on the door

“Fucks’ sake. C’mon, Goore.”

Mary turns his head upside down in the sink basin so he can haphazardly splash some water into his hair.

“Fuck off, douchebag.”

He starts to work his fingers into his locks, coaxing the glue already in it to activate.

“She’s gotta pee, man.”

He fluffs his forelock in the mirror as his other hand searches for the blood tube in the box.

“We have a kitchen sink.”

A small voice tells him not to take his annoyance with his friends out on the girl, and he sighs.

“Stop being a di—”

The voice cuts off as Mary swings the door open. Brendan's angry face smooths into one of minor irritation. The girl—Lisa?—stands, thighs crushed together, in an oversized kitten t-shirt. She looks at Mary, wide-eyed; her gaze darts to his bare, wet chest before snapping back up.

“Lis,” he says, winking as he saunters out.

Her face crumples a little.

“Lizzy,” she says, and Mary’s stomach swoops a bit when he realizes he’s probably slept with her before.

He makes himself smile as she moves past him to the bathroom.

“That’s what I said: Liz.” He shoots her a finger gun at her as Brendan scowls at them both. When the door closes and Brendan is still glaring, Mary lets out a “What?”

“You sticking around for breakfast, man?”

Mary rolls his eyes. “I’m here, ain’t I?” He starts to paw through the plastic shelving drawers next to the couch for a shirt.

Brendan shrugs. “Thought your pussy-whipped ass might need to get back to that uptown princess of yours.”

He glares at Brendan. “Stop being dick.”

“She’s fucking slumming it, dude. I’m warning you.”

It’s not a new argument, so Mary just ignores him, instead trying to apply a bit of blood to the tip of his forelock using the heart compact Suey gave him.

Titus emerges from the shared room, yawning, in his terrible leopard print robe that’s way too short.

“Morning, asswipe,” he says to Mary as he walks by. “What’re we bitching about?”

Brendan says “uptown girl” as Mary says “nothing.”

Titus sighs.

“Jesus, Brendan. You gotta get over that. That’s Mary’s mistake to make.”

“You know what? Fuck this shit.” Mary starts getting his backpack in order.

“That’s right! Blow off another band meeting!” says Brendan, and Mary spins on his heel to stomp back.

He jabs a finger into his chest. “I’m here all the goddamned time, more than I am at her place. I come to every meeting you tell me about.”

“I shouldn’t have to tell you about anything. You should just be here. You should be committed,” hisses Brendan.

“I’m going to make some toast,” says Titus as he swishes toward the kitchen.

Mary rifles through his plastic draws and slams a notebook and loose papers onto the table.

“There’s mine, dude. Lyrics. Composition. Where’s yours?”

Donnie and Jamie wander out of their room.

“Not this shit again. It’s too fucking early,” says Donnie.

Brendan vibrates. “What about funds, man? A social media presence? You think all that happens by magic?”

“So I’m supposed to write, and compose, and do the budget?” snarls Mary.

“Guys,” moans Jamie.

“And our Insta is shit, by the way.”

“Fuck. Can we not?” moans Donnie.

Mary again jabs a finger at Brendan. “Then tell him to can it. I’ve already been exiled to the couch. I don’t need him picking fights because he doesn’t like my girlfriend, who—by the way—has never fucking done anything wrong.”

“You haven’t been exil—” Jamie starts.

“We were supposed to fucking share those rooms,” Mary hisses as he gesticulates. “I pay the same amount of rent, and yet I come home one day to find all my stuff in a pile in the living room. I have to wait for you guys to stop playing video games because ‘this is shared space’ to fucking sleep.”

“We all agreed—”

“No. You guys agreed. I didn’t get shit to say about it. So you’ll forgive me if I’m not too fucking keen on being pleasant.”

They all stand there, glowering at each other until Donnie says, “I need to take a goddamned piss,” and finds the bathroom door locked. At his soft The fuck? the lock clicks, and Lizzy opens the door cautiously.

“I’m sorry. It just. Seemed like you guys were getting into it.”

Brendan sighs. “C’mon, babe. Let’s get your stuff.”

The fight isn’t a new one, and—with no resolution in sight—they all drop the subject so they can get on with the breakfast of eggs on toast Titus brings out and the subsequent band meeting. The Brick—a cheap, overworked laptop—is brought out so they can go over band business: the budget; the van maintenance and parking costs; the gig and practice schedule is outlined so that they can align their work shifts; new merch ideas are bandied about; and they talk about how to improve their digital sales.

Mary’s leg jiggles impatiently.

The meeting breaks nearly 5hrs later; Jamie goes back to sleep because he’s got the night shift at the Quik•Mart; Brendan heads out for his afternoon shift at Target; it’s Donnie’s day off, so he cues up Mario Kart; and Titus decides he’s going to go pound on the drums in the practice space they rent, since his dad pays his bills.

Mary has been saddled with stopping by the local record stores to see if any of their physical CDs have sold to prove he’s “committed,” even though he’s got the closing shift at Sixes & Sevens.

As he’s leaving the building, he encounters Brendan, who is leaning against the brick, smoking a cigarette. Mary’s fingers twitch.

“So you’re not coming back tonight, then.”

“We have band business?”

“No.”

“Then, no.”

Brendan lets out a puff of smoke.

“You think I’m being a dick, but that girl does not care about you. She’s a tourist. Us—the band. That’s what’s real, Mary.”

Mary knows he should keep walking, but even after counting to 10, he’s still pissed, so he spins on his heel.

“You don’t know anything about her or her goddamned life.”

“Neither do you.” He finishes the smoke, then tosses it to the pavement to grind under his combat boot. “We’ll be here when it all explodes in your face, Goore. But you’re going to have to rebuild a lot of bridges.”

And then he’s off down the sidewalk. Mary stands there, seething, waiting until Brendan disappears round the corner since he’s also headed in that direction.

He’s not really in the best of moods when he hits up the first store, but by the 4th, he’s back to his plucky repartee. The owner of his favorite shop intimates that a vinyl version of their LP might sell much better than their DIY CD, and Mary enthusiastically thanks the dude as if it’s the first time such a concept has been considered.

The whole route honestly doesn’t even really take that much time at all—maybe 2 hours—so he chances stopping by Suey’s. Worst case, he’ll take a nap; best case, she’ll be there to bitch at him.

Like everything else today, however, circumstances are just not on his side, and he opens the door to her tiny fucking apartment to find it empty. The mail is bad again, and he rifles through it, plucking out anything that’s obviously junk to toss and anything that looks like a bill to put on her counter. There’s only a bowl in the sink, so he leaves it.

He’s hoping that she comes home before he has to leave—maybe she’ll even give him a blow job—as he wraps himself up in the afghan that smells slightly of her.

She doesn’t.

His alarm wakes him up at 4:15pm for his shift at 6. Groggily, he stumbles to the fridge to see what there is to eat, and finds a pot crammed in haphazardly amongst the other food items. Mary’s not really sure what he’s looking at—Suey tends to just throw shit together when she can’t be bothered, but most of the time it’s edible.

It ends up being some sort of cheesy potato stew and actually isn’t that bad. He eats the whole thing out of the pot before scrubbing it and the lone bowl clean. He waits as long as he dares to watch her come clomping tiredly through her door, but he really does have to leave. He leaves a kiss on her mirror after he reapplies his lipstick. (He should probably redo his face but: eh.)

Work is work. It starts slow—with Mary taking down the chairs and wiping off everything with the disinfectant spray. Sometimes Mary finds this kind of Zen—a time to hum out chords and roll around lyrics in his head—but today he’s just tired. It gets a little better when Mickey and the other bartender show up to do citrus prep. It’s a weekday, so there’s only a moderate crowd, and Mickey leaves them to it so he can do business manager-type things in his office.

And then there are the girls. Most of the girls who come to Sixes & Sevens aren’t the type to be put off by Mary’s whole shtick—and there are obviously the ones who come here expressly to flirt with him—so he has no qualms turning on his charms. Mickey lets him do it because customers are customers, and if girls want to come and spend money on drinks while they purr at Mary, who is Mickey to stop them? Len or Mika don’t give a shit because tips are pooled.

Used to be Mary could have his pick of a warm body for the evening—some girl (or occasionally some guy if Mary deemed him beefy enough) who’d take him to her nice-smelling, clean apartment … who’d let him spend the night on her soft, downy pillows after he pounded her into next year, before kicking him out at dawn. But now he’s got a girlfriend—one who makes sure he eats and yells at him to wash his face—waiting for him in her stale apartment with her flat, polyester pillows, and Mary hopes he’s not fool enough to fuck that up.

Not that his dick has gotten the memo.

No matter how many times Mary tells that fucker that he’s not going to fuck any of these women, his dick still twitches in interest whenever plump lips are wrapped around straws or fingertips trail over his hand. Tonight is especially bad for some reason, and Mary has to stick close to the walls of the bar so that no one can see his semi. A girl in a furry, white shrug seems particularly on his dick, and he does his best to flirt just enough for a good tip, but not enough for a proposition.

When he gets his break, Mary takes it out back in the alley by the dumpster. The air is chill, but it feels good after the humidity of the bar. He was hoping maybe his dick would go down, but it’s like it’s trying to spite him. Leaning his head back on the wall, he can’t help but close his eyes and run his palm lightly over the outline. It’s a fool’s errand—it’s not like he can get off without it showing on his pants—but that doesn’t stop him from touching.

A voice clears, and Mary startles. He’s out here by the rancid garbage so he can be alone, so he wasn’t really expecting to find anyone else.

“I can help you with that,” says the girl with the white fur that may or may not be real. She’s standing across from him, and he can see that she’s in a dress so simple that it must be hella expensive. She’s holding an unlit cigarette.

Mary jerks his hand away from his crotch, shifting so that he can surreptitiously adjust his jeans.

“The fuck are you doing out back here?”

She shrugs. “Needed to get away from my bitches. I love them but: drama city. You got a light?”

He knows it’s a ruse, but he still fumbles out his Zippo because he’s a goddamned gentleman. She, shockingly, takes the opportunity to move in closer to his body as he holds out the flame … close enough to blow the smoke of the first drag in his face.

“So,” she says, eyes darting down to his semi. “You want me suck that?” She gesticulates with her chin, posture nonchalant but eyes hungry.

His dick gives an answering throb, but he shrugs. “Nah. I got a girl.”

She looks at him, assessing, before half crossing her arms and taking another drag. Smoke pours out her nose.

“She’s not here.”

Mary doesn’t respond immediately, not knowing how to get out of this. She hasn’t said anything untrue. He’s horny, Suey’s not here, and she wants to suck his cock.

He reaches his hand up and taps his breast where he thinks his heart is.

“She’s here,” he says, and he’s glad Suey’s not present because hoo boy would she give him shit for that winner.

The girl just tilts her head at him, this time blowing smoke out the side of her mouth after she inhales. It occurs to Mary that he wants her cigarette more than his dick wants to be sucked. If she thinks this is some kind of elaborate game of hard to get, she’s sorely mistaken.

“You got a picture?”

“A … what?”

She gesticulates impatiently. “A picture. Of this girlfriend.”

Mary thinks, then pats around for his wallet, even though he only ever puts it in his back pocket. When she sees the wallet come out, she laughs.

“An actual picture? That’s old school.”

He shrugs as he rifles. “I’m on my break.” He doesn’t tell her that his ancient flip phone doesn’t take pictures. Well, not good ones.

The photo of Suey he has is relatively new—slipped in behind the old, worn one of his mum—but its edges are starting to soften. In the image, Suey stands, hip popped, as she gives him the finger with a snotty look on her face. She’s in one of her weird 90′s outfits—a micro mini and tied up band tee—and the cute pudge of her belly hangs over her waist band a little. Her hair is pushed back from her face because she’s just lifted up her sunglasses—there’s still a little mark on her nose where they were resting.

She hates this picture, but her attitude makes him smile.

“You gonna ogle it all night, Mary?”

Mary’s attention snaps back to the alley. He ignores the intimacy. Carefully, with a stern look on his face that he hopes conveys how much the photo is not to be fucked with, he hands the picture over.

White Fur looks at the picture for a long time. Then she looks up at him. She gives the image one more glance before handing it back to him.

“Yeah, ok,” she says as she crosses her arms again.

Mary tucks the photo back into his wallet.

“The fuck does that mean?” he scowls. He’s just about had it with people insulting Suey today, and some random-ass girl in a back alley is the last person he’d let get away with it, even if she is a fan.

She takes her last drag before flicking the stub in the direction of a dumpster.

“Dunno. You seem like the type to have some scene girl with more legs than brains hanging off your arm.”

Mary thinks that’s a little uncharitable: he’s always been an equal-opportunity lay.

“She seems legit though,” the girl continues. “Makes sense.”

“Uh. Thanks?”

“Yeah, no problem.” She heads for the door, but stops to smirk at him. “Looks like I helped after all.”

As she swings back inside, Mary looks down to realize his hard-on is gone.

Mickey doesn’t cut him early, but he doesn’t make him stay past closing either. Even so, it’s still after 3am when he gets to Suey’s. The bills are gone from the counter, but there are no new dishes in the sink. He opens the fridge to find a pizza box crumpled into the top, balanced precariously on the other items. Mary takes it out and inhales the cold pizza right from the box; he knows they’re all for him because Suey fucking hates pepperoni. (Though it doesn’t escape his notice that she’s put one piece of pineapple in the center to mess with him.)

He leaves the box by the trash (he’ll flatten it tomorrow), and then makes his way to her bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth, lest he incur her wrath.

When he finally wiggles into her twin bed in his boxers, he’s bone tired. His dick still kinda wants some action, but Mary thinks he’d probably just fall asleep in the middle, and Suey really would bite his head off if he woke her up for no reason. He wishes she’d just sleep nude, but finding her in one of his well-worn shirts is the next best thing. He doesn’t mean to wake her up, but he can’t help himself from running his hands all over her—this girl who sees him and not his “image.”

“Mare?” she says in a quiet, sleepy voice.

He kisses her head.

“Go back to sleep, baby doll.”

She doesn’t speak again, but she squirms around until she’s sprawled across his chest. He’d prefer to have her caught up in a little spoon, but having her pressed into him—body sleep warm—is nothing to wave a stick at.

This is all he wanted, anyway.

Next ➡️

[hoe-for-yukhei]

Clean Freak Idol BF taeyong — Soloist [fem] reader

Everybody knows the tea between 10th floor and 5th floor.

Then there's Taeyong.

"We are here because we want to talk about the most awaited collaboration of the most iconic ship in the kpop industry, before we talk about your new mini album 'NO HISTORY' let me ask you guys a question first. The whole world knew you two used to date, isn't it awkward to work with each other?"

Man, what is this girl saying?

Taeyong and I stared at each other and laughed.

"Hahahahaha what are you guys laughing about? hahahaha"

The audacity to ask us.

Before inviting guests into your show, please dig some information about them.

"No hahaha sorry it's just so funny. Such a ridiculous question."

Taeyong stopped you for saying anything blunt, you have this image that you're straightforward and blunt, and to others they see it as rude.

You're not doing it for clout or to be savage wannabe, that's just who you are.

"No, we didn't broke up, we just lived apart. We moved out of our dorms and shared an apartment. But we didn't take it well so we moved back in."

Really taeyong? We didn't BROKE UP? interesting..

"Why? What didn't work out for the two of you?"

Oh let me tell you the story.

"Taeyong what are you doing? Stop covering your face! smile!"

"Eh-Andwae! I just woke up!"

What is he talking about?

Bare faced Taeyong is art.

Everyone who gets to see him fresh out of bed is so blessed, this would add 10,000,000+ on your lifespan.

"Oppa you stopped eating, Isn't the dish good?"

"Yes it's good! You should try that side dish too! I was just thinking about something."

Here we go again.

Taeyong is zoning out lately, I thought he's worrying about the NCT comeback, yearbook and all but turns out he isn't.

"What is it? Tell me hmm?"

"I was thinking, since we're already dating for 5 years why won't we live together already? I mean we're already in the right age and all."

Hmm I haven't thought about that.

"Why? Aren't you happy here with the members? And besides you have the whole room to yourself it's just like having your own house. Why need one?"

"Of course I'm happy. We grew up together and I treat them as biological brothers.. it's not about them. I want to start a life with you.. but if you don't want to then fine with me.."

"What do you mean I don't want to? I would love to move in with you. But heads up honey I'm a living mess. It will drive you nuts clean freak."

Everyone knows he's a clean freak. Aesthetic, spotless, and organized. He can't stand dirt. He's the type of guy who always bathe unlike jungwoo, the guy who would always wear gloves when handling food and dishes unlike jaehyun and yuta who uhh never you know what,he has sheets on his bed (and it's white as fuck no creases and lints jaehyun has been slapped hard),the guy who gets cranky when his clothes are not handled right so he ends up doing laundry everyday, he's also the guy who praises febreeze. Febreeze is his life,addiction,religion and many more.

Yes he loves febreeze more than me.

2 years went by like a bliss. Everything's good.

Actually too good.

We spent happy days together loving each other more as time passes by until he can't take it all anymore.

He knelt to the ground and pulled a ring and said 

"Marry me y/n."

"T-taeyong.."

"I know I know.. but please hear me out. y/n we spent 7 years together full of love,laughs,and cries. I know you're finally going to have your debut next week and can't be seen in a relationship for like 2 years, but I can't take it anymore I don't want to lose you..this industry is fucked up y/n.Just please promise me you'll hold on to me.. to us.."

"Of course. You're my rod in this dark world without you I'll be lost. I'll forever hold on you. But you sure this isn't an engagement ring?"

"*sighs; you know it's not. I really want to but I already know the answer after I proposed for you like 3 times already. You're not yet ready.. but I'll wait."

"I'm sorry taeyong–"

"No don't say sorry I understand"

You were both in the right age but still young to marry.. and both of your careers are not helping.

NCT PROJECT again. You're happy for Taeyong, he really likes it whenever the whole 23 of them perform together.

But also pitied him.

"What is wrong with you two?! I expected better than this. You better composed some good ones or I'll give back the job to  composers."

"No sir, I really want to participate again in composing I can give you a better one—"

"Then do it. I want it done by next week. I only let you boys play composer and lyricist again because the crowd wants to. You get me Johnny? Taeyong?"

It's the 6th time this week. You always pass by the room because it's in the same way of the recording studio. He was getting yelled at again.

And again.

And again. 

Taeyong's been stressed for the whole 2months. Johnny and he were told they could participate in producing the album.

At last they can express themselves.

Johnny really wants to write songs but never given the opportunity to. So Johnny and he are working hard. Knowing SM they're controlling as ever this means it's a one and only lifetime opportunity. 

His dog died. His best friend and buddy.

The warm condolences of his fans comforted him. He's thankful to have them.

Y/n's first ever single is coming out. You have been pretty busy too. Recordings, photoshoots,MV filming etc. And SM and fans are breathing down your neck everytime you move.

Some anti spread fake rumors about you. Usually you'll ignore it but right now is different. Being new to this industry brought pressure to you and you don't know what to do but just cry..

You saw a cat. You always love cats, they calm you down. It gives comfort to you. You decided to bring it home to your shared space with taeyong.

You did him a favor and put a little spice in his composition then while drinking your hot chocolate you were called by your mother leaving the cat,the chocolate and the house you hurried to the hospital.

Stressed ate taeyong. He's frustrated at the moment he wants to shout and cry his heart out.

The 8th song they made just got rejected. again.

It's the last draw and they can't participate in writing on the album anymore. Mark, xiaojun and taeil got injured while practicing,the new choreographer is a dick. A stubborn stylist doesn't follow anyone's instruction causing jaehyun to be called out because of his hair and the management wants them to do nothing. Some anti is making fun of his dog's death and a sasaeng is following him right now.

The house is where he rests,it's his favorite place .

But now it isn't.

The house is a fucking mess.

Dishes on sink

Furs on sofas and floor

Chocolate drink spilled on the carpeted floor of his work space.

The computer is on

Somebody touched his music

The air smelled like a stray dog or cat

Shits on his pile of clothes and a cat is napping on the end of the bed.

Lee. Taeyong. Mad.

He's angry asf.

"Oh hey taeyong you are home?? How was your da-"

"What is that?"

"A cat?"

"and that?"

"My drink.."

"That?"

"Dishe–okay what is your point?"

"Nothing.  Just you being a pig."

"Wh-what?.."

"You're disgusting. Be ashamed of yourself y/n can't believe a woman doesn't know how to take care of a house."

"What's wrong with you?! That's so sexist!"

"What's wrong with me?! Your stupid new cat shitted on my clothes! The house is shit! Everything's shit! Even you! You messed up my song!"

"Taeyong calm down there was an emergency and about your song i-"

"shut up y/n! I'm tired! The last thing I want to see is a dumpsite! I have to keep up shits at work and I have to keep up with your everyday shits too?! I'm so sick! It looks like the house isn't the only one that needs cleaning. My life too.. I can't believe I put up with a garab6e like you. You should've been taken out a long time ago—"

"The only shit here is you."

You took your new cat and went.

Your grandmother died. That's the emergency.

It's heartbreaking and with taeyong earlier the last hanging piece of your heart shattered completely.

You went back to your own place, you ask hae-un a friend of yours who's a model under the same entertainment to get all your stuff in your house. 

She came back with seong-hyun his boyfriend carrying boxes and bags.

"Y/n.. take a break..I'm here for you."

"He wants to talk to you y/n. he said he was—"

"SEONG-HYUN!STOP!"

"okay.. I understand. Everything will be fine y/n hae-un and I will never leave you. We'll get through this together just like the old days.."

"Thank-you.."

Hae-un take care of your things at work. You decided to wake up from the slump and change labels,made depression your motivation, you skyrocketed. Soon after many articles about you were made.

“솔로이스트 Y/N L/N은 왜 SM 엔터테인먼트를 떠났을까?”

(Why did Soloist Y/N L/N leave SM entertainment?)

"할머니의 갑작스러운 죽음으로 솔로이스트 Y/N이 망했다. '나는 망연자실했다. 어떻게 해야 할지..' "

(Soloist Y/N went hiatus due to Grandmother's sudden death

"I was devastated. I don't know to do..")

"솔로 퀸 Y/N L/N 7년 동안 NCT 이태용과 데이트 했었다고?!"

(SOLO QUEEN Y/N L/N USED TO DATE NCT LEE TAEYONG FOR 7 YEARS?!)

"엘, 채널, 헤르메스 뉴 앰배서더, 모델 Y/N L/N. 그녀가 어떻게 도망가는지 지켜봐."

(ELLE, Channel, Hermes New ambassador and model Y/N L/N. Watch how she rules the runway)

P-NATION의 솔로퀸 Y/N L/N이 NCT 김도영, 루카스 웡과 함께 메디컬 로맨스 드라마 '더 터치 오브 유어'로 데뷔한다.

(P-NATION's Solo Queen Y/N L/N, will debut as an Actress in a Medical romance Kdrama "The touch of you" with NCT Kim Doyoung and Lucas Wong)

You have so many projects going on. Actually you were not ready for this. At SM you’re only an underrated singer who mostly writes others songs instead of doing yours. What can you do? It’s the higher ups orders.

Haeun recommended PNATION this is where you really felt like you’re an artist and family rather. Of Course you love your sunbaes and colleagues. It's just that SM restricts everyone and they try to shape them into KPOP robots that everyone will buy. 

You love all of your projects well..except one.

"P-NATION의 솔로퀸 Y/N L/N이 전 남자친구 NCT 이태용과 함께 새 미니 앨범 'NO History'를 발매한다!"

(P-NATION's Solo Queen Y/N L/N will release her new album "NO HISTORY" with ex-boyfriend NCT Lee Taeyong!)

Oh great…

You haven't 

Communicated with Taeyong since you left the house.

You actually avoided him.

Taeyong would straight up walk to you when on stage such as Music Bank, Inkigayo, Mama etc. But you always find a way to avoid the guy.

The fans ship you guys after finding out your 7year relationship with him. You were chill with it but you always reminded your fans that you're not together anymore theyy should snap back to reality.

Y/N doesn't like the reality now.

His ex boyfriend is in front of him doing arrangements eating Sweet Potato cubes from Starbucks and guess what.

He's formal and silent asf.

Like you guys didn't date and almost got married.

There were 5 songs in the Mini Album

Ethereal

Seoulite

Letters on the floor

Sunset 

DOUCHEBAG

The title track is Ethereal. You have to dance to that sexy love hoe song. Produced and composed by yours truly.

You just sat on your swivel chair discussing with the other producer while Taeyong wrinkles his forehead seeing the album content.

Track 6. "DOUCHEBAG"

Who The fuck would name their song douchebag?

Taeyong is confused but at the same time a little hope and warm blooms at his heart. Thinking DOUCHEBAG is all about him. Little did he know it's a diss track about MNET.

Don't worry taeyong douchebag may not be about you but most of the songs are.

He's keeping his distance letting you adjust to him..but that doesn't look like it to Y/N.

The audacity of this guy to ignore me. Bitch.

It's noon and you haven't eaten breakfast yet. Taeyong comes to your side to invite you to lunch until he is cut off by a high pitch squeal of yours.

" y/n ssi—"

"DOIEEEEEEEEEEEEE~"

"Hahahahahah calm down, you miss me that much?"

"YEAH!"

It's Doyoung.

He knows you have a few modeling projects with doyoung and an ongoing drama but he didn't know you two were this close.

You smooch your face on doyoung's face and smile brightly at him.

Ah he hates it.

"Hahahahahah enough y/n I'm here for hyung. Hyung do you want to go grab lunch?"

"Ani. Doyoung-ah i’m not hungry. Comeback next time."

"I'll come with you oppa."

“YAH!”

Taeyong stood up.

Oppa was the last straw for him. You don’t call anyone oppa.

Let alone smooch your face to someone’s chest.

You’re that brat girl who only warms up at him. 

Only him.

Doyoung and Y/N were surprised by Taeyong’s sudden actions.

Why is he angry? Did you guys do something wrong?

“Taeyong-ssi, gwaenchana? Is there something wrong?”

Taeyong suddenly realized what he did. So foolish of him. Now he looks like an ex-boyfriend who’s jealous of his ex’s friend.

He isn’t like that. He just wants closure with you.

We’ll look into that later.

“‘Y-YAH! What are you guys doing there? I thought we were going to eat?’ that’s what i’m trying to say.”

“Ahhhh~”

You and Doyoung just nodded, you thought you guys did something wrong to upset him hahaha.

Taeyong is literally speaking in small fonts as he says his excuse. As stupid as it sounds. You two believed him. Thank god phew.

You survived your 1 month with Taeyong. And for guys who dated for 7 years you two were awkward as fuck. It’s like the first time all over again. Calling each other with Honorifics and bowing whenever you two meet at the hallways, Just keeping it civil. But you gotta admit it to yourself, you start to warm up again to Taeyong these past few weeks. Dyed his hair black, and has that boyfriend material aura again.

YOU ARE A HUGE SIMP Y/N L/N.

Taeyong is planning something to win you back . He just woke up and realized ‘What if I show her again why she fell for me in the first place?’

He’s doing simple things to get close to you again. Your heart beats fast whenever he comes close.

“Jduigywfwygf Lee Taeyong i swear to god you-”

“I am what?

“You Scared me! Stop doing that! Why are you even here? I won’t record today. I'm going to learn the choreo.”

“Me too.”

“What?”

“What?”

Our Choreographer came and hell he was teaching us some sexy ass moves. I didn’t even know Taeyong was supposed to dance with me too. I suddenly have  flashbacks to Hyuna unnie and E’dawn sunbae’s Cage Dance Performance.

“One, Two, Step, Three, Step, Four”

“Y/N what are you doing? You missed the step.”

“I did?”

“Yes, It’s the 5th time already. Taeyong teach her. I’m going to take a break”

Y/N is very tense. He felt it. Especially whenever you two grind and to that one part where you kneel in front of him.

“You’re stiff and tense right now. How about you take a break?”

“Omg! Finally!”

“You left your body while we're dancing. Something wrong?”

“Nah I just feel Awkward and all. Knowing our history and everything.”

“Why would you?”

“It’s just you know uhmm.. I don’t know how to explain but you get what I mean.”

“Then Let’s be friends again! So it wouldn’t be awkward.”

He’s just waiting for you to open the topic. That’s all it takes to get Taeyong creep back to your heart. You don’t know if befriending your ex is good or what but it’s nice to have him back. It’s like normal. The teasings, hugs, and laughter are back. It’s like when you two were still together minus the label of course.

Since you two were close again why not invite him to your shoot? Besides Doyoung and Winwin are there.

Taeyong internally passed out when you invited him. He’s so happy for you. The dream of you being an actor never left his mind. Now he gets to see it with front-viewed seats, until that scene comes up.

Myeorin’s starts to tear up. He run after Haju and  hugged him behind. “H-haju you don’t have to..” 

The man just kept a blank face but you can see he’s having a hard time letting go.

“Go. I want you to be happy. You love him Myeorin”

“H-haju no! I love you!”

“You know you don’t. You're just stuck in our past memories.”

Haju breaks free from Myeorin’s hug, he cups her face and their foreheads touch each other while sobbing.

“I still want to live in that past. With you haju.”

He stared into Myeorin’s eyes and landed a soft peck at her temple.

“‘The beautiful journey of today can only begin when we learn to let go of yesterday.’ The person who taught me doesn't apply it to herself. Pabo. Go, you have  no time left i heard he’s leaving”

Myeorin realizes Haju’s words and runs to chase the one  that she truly loves. “Do Hyejeong you bitch you didn’t tell me you’re leaving”

The Set changes and moves to a different venue.

Myeorin stands outside of Hyejeong’s penthouse sobbing. He erratically rang the bell 30th time already and no one’s answering. 

A Janitor saw Myeorin and confronted her.

“Miss Myeorin! What are you doing there?”

“Ahjussi *sniffs* have you seen Hyejong?”

“Ah! sir Hyejong?  He just left a while ago carrying his personal belongings. Why?”

Myeorin just stared at Mr.Kang and suddenly wailed.

“Ah-Uh M-miss did I do something wrong?”

Myeorin just missed Hyejeong. Knowing him  he wouldn’t come back ever again.

“What are you crying at you brat? You’re causing a scene in my property.”

“Hye-Hyejong!” Upon hearing that cold voice she stood up and faced Hyejeong with swollen, teary eyes, and a dripping nose.

“Sir Hyejong I promised I didn’t make her cry! She just suddenly weeps when I said-”

“It’s okay Mr. Kang I know. No need to clean here anymore. you can rest now. And you brat go inside.”

The two of them went inside. Hyejeong comfortably sat on his aesthetically white L-shaped sofa in front of his Floor to ceiling big windows. While Myeorin stands there dumbfounded.

“I-I thought you’re leaving…”

“Well yeah I am until Professor Shin said I have to cover his surgery tomorrow because his wife is in labor.”

“So you’re not leaving anymore?”

“I still am.”

Confused about Hyejeongs statement, creases were formed at her temples. She extended both of her hands trying to block the huge door. The lad just lowkey snickered at her actions.

“What do you mean?! No! nuh uh you won’t leave this place over my dead body.”

“”Why Won’t I leave?”

“Because I love you.”

Hyejong suddenly stopped sipping his drink and just stared at her with those big bunny-like eyes.

“What?”

“Do Hyejong Saranghae.”

He rose from the chair and met her body.

“You lose.”

“I don't careabout the bet anymoret. I love you.”

Hyejeong's mind left the earth. His lips unconsciously guided him to  Myeorin’s plump, soft, pinkish lips. It tasted like pure heaven.

“CUT!”

Taeyong got startled at the director’s cue. No thoughts, mind empty, just watching his love of his life kissing his best friend. He knew it’s part of their work and he’s proud of the both of them  but a part of him just aches knowing you’re single and doyoung single, you might fall for his kisses that used to be his.

“Y/N! Focus!”

“You okay?”

“Yeah just out of character.”

Y/N didn’t know the kissing scene and suggestive scenes are the ones that they'll be filming today. It’s supposed to be Next week! Now she felt odd knowing Taeyong’s here. She turned to Taeyong’s space, seeing him sending her a death glare while eating sweet potato chews.

“KISSING SCENE TAKE 2”

“KISSING SCENE TAKE 3”

“TAKE 6”

“TAKE 12”

The number of takes irked taeyong. Was he invited here just to suffer? Finally you guys nailed the scene. He thought it’s over yet there’s more to come.

Myeorin and Hyejeong were intoxicated with each other. A peck on the lips results in a very deep passionate one. Hyejong carried her in his arms, not letting go of her tasty lips together and they traveled towards the bedroom.

Taeyong stormed off the set. Right in front of my Sweet potato chews he said.

“Taeyong! Where are you going?”

“Don’t follow me. I’ll go home now.”

“What? why? I brought you here. I thought we were going to have ice cream after this?

“EAT ICE CREAM WITH ‘HYEJONG’ INSTEAD hmp.”

He mimicked her voice. Taeyong tried to look angry. But in Y/N’s eyes he’s a baby pouting.

“H-Hyejong? Who is that?”

“Duh? Doyoung?”

“Why would i eat ice cream with him?”

“Yeah right. Why would you guys eat ice cream if you two can just suck each other’s faces off.”

“OMG HAHAHAHAHA ARE YOU JEALOUS?”

“No! Why would I?”

“Hmm..”

“Fine I am! You said today’s going to be fun. Yeah fun for you you kissed doyoung 17 times.”

You grinned like a mad man  at his accusation even though you’re guilty of it. It’s just so cute you can’t help but to..

 “Why would you do that?! You kissed another guy then you kiss me? Don’t give me false hope Y/N.”

“Okay.. I won’t kiss you anymore. You said it yourself.”

“No, I didn’t mean it like that! It’s just that it’s giving me false hope..”

“About what?”

“About you. About us being together again. So don’t kiss me i you don’t mean i-”

Yeah you kissed your ex. He needs to shut up.

“Do you still love me?

“Of course. I have always been Taeyong.”

Cut the chase and hide and seek. You  won’t deny your feelings anymore. The feeling of missing him, his warmth, and love. You won’t deny it all again.

You two left the Area hand in hand, talking while having a little stroll.

“Hey I have a question?”

“What is it?

“Did you change your perfume?”

“Yeah. It’s Yves Saint Laurent’s  Black Opium”

“I like the old one better.”

“What smell do you love the most? Me or Febreeze? ”

“Definitely Febreeze.”

The sound of your laughs and voices faints as you two went back to the set

"If you were to pick what is your favorite song in this album? And What part of it makes you like it?"

The Interviewer  asks.

You picked up your mic and said

 “Ethereal. I like the pre chorus part the

 i can't wait to see him next

and witness his ethereal glow

he is my darling

and nothing or no one

could ever come between

bonded for life

he is my king. 

It just reminded me of someone. Someone I missed..” The crowd goes wild, they're squealing and most of them are screaming Lee Taeyong!

Taeyong goes shy.. He can’t believe you wrote him that song when he asked you who’s your inspiration you just said ‘my grandma why?’ now he knows.

He Throws you a ‘you’re hiding it from me’ look while you just replied a simple wink.

“Okay, Let’s get back to the unanswered question.. What didn't work out for the two of you?”

You two stared at each other's eyes knowing the answer.

Once again you grabbed your mic and said

“Let’s just say he’s a major clean freak.”

[ashketchup119]

Musicality

Ok I LOVE this story!! I made a whole story based off a lil convo @jemtoka and I had, and I made oc’s based off each of us and went to town. It was very fun to write, and I got to combine my music knowledge with my writing skills.

Enjoy!

When Benji had first set out to find the ghost of Beethoven, he wasn’t actually sure that he’d be able to do it. His brother had once called him “all bite and no bark”, a reference to the fact that out of the four brothers, Benji had been the only one to not outgrow his infant habit of biting things- or people- when stressed. But in this situation, he definitely felt like he’d bitten off more than he could chew.

He absentmindedly chewed on his chewing necklace as he drafted a grant proposal with his friend, Mujika. Muji was drawing in a notebook, something for his art classes, though he looked up when prompted to review the words that had appeared on Benji’s screen. Muji had done his fair share of research, and though he did want to help with the writing of the research paper, it had been agreed that Benji was the more… academic writer. The two of them had met through social media a couple of years ago, and once they’d started direct messaging, had become close friends quickly through a mesh of shared interests, similar humor, and a half-baked scheme to take over the world.

Which led them here, to a table in the back of a 24-hour McDonalds, Benji chewing the head off a stiff chewable bat pendant and Muji using his nocturnal tendencies to do things like “make sure his friend drank water and didn’t forget that he was a person.”

“Fo you fink ish bit avou duh Immoruhl Bewuved ith done? Ish kinda duh hoh vashis of arr puhposal so…” Benji trailed off, jaw absentmindedly moving over the poor bat, whose head was holding on by sheer force of will to the rest of its body.

“What?” Muji asked. He did not speak bat-in-mouth.

Benji pulled the pendant out of his mouth with an audible pop. “Y’think this bit about the Immortal Beloved is finished? It’s like, the whole basis of our proposal n shit.”

He turned the laptop towards Muji, who closed his notebook, set it to the side, and pulled the laptop in front of him. He read it quietly, and Benji began to tap out the beat to the song playing on low volume in his earbuds. He began to hum, too, murmuring lyrics under his breath as he stared off into the distance.

“I think it looks good.” Muji finally replied, turning the laptop back toward Benji and grabbing his notebook again. “I can’t think of anything else we could add to that section.”

Benji gave a little half shrug. “I guess you’re right.”

The two of them once again worked in solitude, only broken by Benji ordering fries at about 1 AM. At 3, they decided to call it quits, though Benji seemed more wired than ever and voiced some apprehension about “going to sleep when there’s so much work to be done, Muji!” Muji chastised him slightly and promised that they could come back the next day- or rather, later that day- to finish up. There were only slight revisions to be done, then it could be sent off to the Music Master Scholars, an organization dedicated to the care and keeping of the ghosts widely considered Music Masters, which included household names like Mozart and Beethoven, but also lesser-known composers like Joseph Bologne and Francesca Caccini.

Ghosts were, of course, a commonplace occurrence, though one could theoretically live their life without interacting with one. That was rare, though; ghosts had a tendency to wander, though they could only appear in places that held significance to them in life and graveyards, but even living in a house increased the average person’s chances of encountering a ghost exponentially.

But these ghosts were special, because of the knowledge they possessed and the lives they’d lead. The Music Master Scholars were the only people in the world who both knew and had access to the location of every ghost, and to join their ranks, one had to find the location of one of the ‘hidden’ Music Masters- of which Beethoven was the most hidden. Their non-administrative members were unknown, but said to be most, if not all, of the foremost music scholars in the world. How could they not be, with the Masters themselves guiding their research?

Benji and Muji really, really wanted to be Music Master Scholars.

When he was 10, Benji had been given some sort of “young musician” scholarship to visit Europe for a month. He was a double bassist, a dying breed in the modern age, and the fact that he had progressed from monotonic exercises to Baroque sinfonias in the span of four months had impressed his teachers.

His parents had gone along, too, mostly because they knew their child, and Benji did have a propensity to get into trouble. Devil’s luck, his mother had tsked, and that had been that.

He’d managed to escape the group in the middle of a museum, though he didn’t wander far. He just wanted to look at everything without feeling like people were constantly breathing down his neck.

Well. HE didn’t consider “the park near the museum” to be far. His parents did, though, he found out later.

At the park, he found a man. Well, not a man. A ghost. The ghost was staring wistfully at the museum in the distance, and started when he noticed a small child staring at him.

“Hi! Who are you?” Benji asked, clutching the stuffed animal his parents had gotten him at another museum the day before.

The ghost cleared his throat. “I’m uh…” He started in a raspy voice before pausing and clearing his throat again. “I’m,” He sighed. “I’m Johannes Brahms.”

“Yo-hahn Brahmzzzz.” Benji repeated, drawing out the last “s” sound. “Oh! You did music, right?”

Brahms smiled slightly, and nodded.

The two of them talked for a while before Benji’s parents arrived, harried and frustrated. They apologized profusely to the ghost, who insisted it hadn’t been a problem.

The whole experience left Benji starry-eyed, and with the help of a friend he’d made in Germany, he would call and converse with Brahms for hours, asking about counterpoint and meaning and technique and just in general picking his mind. The composer took this with grace, and seemed more than happy to answer the young musician’s questions. When he’d told Benji about the Scholars, Benji had immediately decided that he was going to be a Music Master Scholar.

Muji had played violin until he’d dropped out of high school to take care of his mom, and hadn’t resumed it until after him and Benji had been talking for a while. He didn’t know much about composition, but he loved music history, and after getting his GED and enrolling in college, had even majored in it. Plus, he just kinda just thought the whole thing was cool.

They’d been researching for a year and a half, with pointers from Brahms, and tips from a professor Benji’d had two years ago, a Classical scholar named Dr. Chang. Benji had once emailed her and asked, point-blank, if she was a Music Master Scholar, but she’d only sent back a cryptic winky face emoji in response.

The next day, after three more hours of sitting in McDonalds, revising the proposal (most of which was Muji saying “Benji it looks fine!” and Benji responding with “No, no, this comma in paragraph seven just makes it sound better! Ties it all together, don’t you think?”), it was sent off in an email, and Benji resolved not to think about it while Muji resolved to mention it at the most inopportune moments, just to mess with his friend a little.

They were approved a month later, and three months after that day at McDonalds, they were sitting on a plane heading to Austria, Benji mouthing practice phrases in German as Muji slept. They had about a month to traipse all over Europe in search of a ghost very few people had been able to find, and they were excited to start.

The first week was spent in Austria, visiting Beethoven’s own grave (a nonstarter; the ghosts there hadn’t seen Beethoven since he was buried, and none knew where he’d gone), his childhood home and the area surrounding.

Nothing.

The second week was spent in Vienna. There, they visited the ghost of Mozart, who was a fidgety, flighty sort. He was known for being somewhat immaterial, and often took to jumping on top of objects in a manner that caused the people around them to panic for a few seconds before realizing he was too immaterial to do anything more than whisper vaguely about his childhood. He’d tried to pet Muji’s hair and got annoyed when nothing happened, so it wasn’t a particularly long visit.

They tried to visit Haydn, but while the location of Haydn’s ghost was well-known, only Music Master Scholars were allowed to see him, as he claimed the crowds exhausted him, and he wanted to be able to give his full attention to those visiting him. It made sense, since ghosts used massive amounts of energy to communicate and interact with the world around them, and the more energy they expended, the less time they were able to spend on earth. Despite this, the two  of them did make an effort, but were summarily barred from entering.

“Next time!” Benji declared confidently as they walked to their next potential Beethoven hot spot.

They visited Brahms, who had resolved to meet them in Vienna upon learning they were coming, and spent a whole day with him, visiting locations which had been important to him and letting his impromptu history lessons wash over them with a look of awed reverence.

Beethoven wasn’t in Vienna, and by the third week the two friends were feeling the threat of rejection hot on their heels. They began keeping odd hours, trying their hardest to figure out their next move.

“Maybe we should reread our proposal? Clearly the Scholars saw something in it, right?” Muji theorized from the bed he’d claimed as his their first night in the hotel.

“Mmmm.” Benji responded from his position on the floor at the foot of his bed, still feeling the after-effects of a well-deserved mental breakdown.

“Come on, Benji!” Muji tried to motivate him. “We can do it! You’re a super cool music spy, remember?”

Benji huffed at the reminder of an old, inane conversation between the two. “I don’t know, Muji. I think it’s kinda pointless.”

“Come on, Benji!” Muji tried again. “This is like, your dream! It’s now or never! Put our mutual brain cell to use so we can find Beethoven!”

Benji sighed and got up. “Fine, fine.” He murmured as he got off the floor, grabbed his copy of the proposal from his bag, laid down on the bed, and stuffed another chewable pendant into his mouth. “Wet’s fee.”

Silence reigned for a few, brief seconds, before Muji suddenly exclaimed, “Hey! We never checked out anything about the Immortal Beloved, right?”

Benji sat up straight on his bed and spit out the pendant. “Holy shit, we never checked out anything about the Immortal Beloved.”

After a quick Google search, two train tickets, a couple of sandwiches, and a dash through the rain, they arrived at the Frankfurt Main Cemetery. There, they asked after the name they’d listed in their proposal as the possible Immortal Beloved, and the ghosts pointed them towards the back of the cemetery.

In a ghost grotto, they found a woman, calmly humming the tune from one of the Diabelli variations, though in their excitement neither Benji nor Muji could name the tune.

“Are you-“ Benji paused and took a couple of deep breaths. “Are you the Immortal Beloved?

The woman stopped humming and smiled at them.

“Ah, that is a moniker I have not heard in some time.” She arose and walked away from them, lifting her skirts elegantly in a manner which conveyed a sense of class. “Come; I think you are the ones I’ve been expecting.”

The two followed after her eagerly and looked confused when they stopped at a mail office in town. There, she reached into a P.O. box, pulled out a silver envelope, and gave it to Benji.

“This is yours.” She murmured. “Please do come to visit; it’s rare that I receive visitors.”

With this, she disappeared.

The two stared at the envelope for a couple of seconds before Benji eagerly opened it, accidentally ripping the envelope in half. He then read it, brow furrowing in confusion.

“What’s it say?” Asked Muji, eagerly, from over his shoulder.

“It says… it’s just numbers? I don’t get it.” Benji gave him the paper, trying to puzzle out what it meant.

Muji frowned, then plugged the numbers into Google.

“It’s a location!” He burst out, excitedly shoving the phone in Benji’s face.

The two of them hurriedly called a taxi, listing the location Muji’s phone had given them. They were dropped off in front of the building, and saw someone standing at the entrance. They showed the person (a Scholar!) their letter, and with a large smile, they were taken inside, their guide walking confidently as Benji and Muji trailed behind them. The interior of the building was long and winding, which left the two feeling as though they’d been deceived by the outward appearance of the building. The building had looked small and unassuming, and this place was built like a maze. They were sure they’d be lost if they tried to head back without a guide.

Near the end of the path they heard the sound of a piano playing, and warm light spilled into the hallway. They eagerly rushed ahead, much to the amusement of the Scholar.

There, facing the wall, conducting half a beat behind the sound coming from the recorder behind him, stood Beethoven.

Benji gasped, and clutched Muji’s shoulder. He pointed ecstatically at the figure in the room. “It’s Beethoven!!!” He stage-whispered.

Muji smiled widely as he nodded back. “Yeah!!”

The two of them turned around when a voice behind them cleared. The Scholar gave them each a thick letter with the recognized seal of the Music Master Scholars on the back, and the two of them stared at it, unsure of what to do.

“Well?” The Scholar prompted, rocking back and forth on their heels. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

Benji ripped into his envelope first, completely abandoning the flap as he tore the side off. His hands shook as he pulled out a letter on creamy white stationary. He skimmed the words and began crying, clutching the letter and envelope to his chest.

Muji was slightly more careful, removing the letter from the envelope via the flap and pulling out the other contents of the envelope. A laminated membership card, a list of locations of other ghosts, and an alphabetized list of other Scholars with contact info and a small bio were also in the envelope. He pulled out each one, looked at it, and put it back in the envelope. He then stopped and held the envelope in his hands, staring at it.

After about ten minutes, the guide worriedly asked Muji, “Is Benji alright? He’s been crying for a while.”

Muji nodded absentmindedly. “Yeah, he cried for like two hours after I finished streaming Crisis Core for him.” At the guide’s look of confusion, he added, “Video game.”

The guide made a small noise of understanding and nodded.

When Benji’s sobs finally faded into sniffles, the three of them began the trek out of the building.

“Sorry this route is so long.” The Scholar apologized. “Oh! Also! I forgot to introduce myself.” They paused and turned, offering their hand. “I’m Soraya Cham! I was the last person to find Beethoven’s ghost. When I heard about you guys, I got excited, really. I was rooting for you!”

The two of them shook her hand and nodded, unsure what else to say.

Soraya continued, then hailed a taxi when they reached the road. They waved goodbye to Benji and Muji as the two of them got in the backseat.

“We did it!” Benji shouted once they were back at their hotel.