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buckyownsmylife · 4 years

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Say it, just say it - Harry Styles smut

The one where you and Harry hate each other.

Warnings: hate sex, use of the words bitch and whore.

Word count: 3k<

A/N: this is for an anon request that wanted hate sex with Harry Styles. This was the best I could do - apparently the idea of having sex with someone you hate isn’t something my brain can process, so here’s some really rough sex that forces two idiots to deal with their feelings. Also this somehow goes from second person to third person p.o.v. but when I tried to fix it, I didn’t like it. So 🤷‍♀️

Harry hated her.

There was no easy way to say it, no cliche that could hide the absolute honest, factual emotion that he felt towards the woman with whom he was supposed to work for the next four months.

It had been this way for as long as he could remember. The first time you were introduced to each other, during one of those extremely boring parties the record company insisted on throwing, he’d been praying for a distraction, any type of distraction, and when you appeared, looking just as bored and so much like an angel it hurt to look at you for too long, he thought that was it.

Maybe you were it. Maybe you were the person who would finally make this entire thing make sense, remind him why he even became famous in the first place. Harry had been growing more and more disappointed about his environment with each passing day and he needed something to make him stay, to remind him why he got into this industry in the first place.

Your face, your gentle way of being, the way you had so suddenly risen to fame and not allowed yourself to get pushed into the wrong kinds of behavior were some of the reasons why he had grown fascinated with you. Now that he had the chance to finally meet his newest idol, maybe you’d be the one to give him a reason to keep going.

He couldn’t have been more wrong. For starters, you barely gave him the time of day, smiling politely after being introduced but remaining mostly silent even though he kept trying to make conversation with you. You looked uncomfortable, and it made him uncomfortable. And when you finally snapped and told him to, “Stop trying, it’s never going to happen,” and immediately left, he decided right then and there - he hated you.

He hated you. He hated the way you made him feel, back then and every time you met since - like he’d done something fundamentally wrong just by being the way he was. He hated that he believed even for a split second that you could help him, that you could take him away from this path of nonsense he’d started walking, only to be left lost and alone. He hated how sweet your perfume was, like an intoxicating cloud trying to make sure he’d never be able to forget you. And most of all, he hated that no matter how hard he tried, he still grew hard as a rock just at the sight of you.

It all became that much harder to deal with when your record label decided you’d be having a joint tour for the next year. Of course, you tried to fight it - Harry wouldn’t be too surprised if he learned you screamed and threw a fit, although he never ever heard of you behaving in such a way… He just had to believe that you did. It was pointless, anyway. The decision had been made with your fans’ best interest - and your managers deep pockets - in mind. And if there was one thing he had to admit, it was that you truly were a professional, even when it came to doing things you didn’t want to do.

That didn’t mean he didn’t feel the urge to tighten his hand around your throat every time you opened your fucking mouth to shoot one of your derogatory comments at him.

“Oh, you’re not going out to party?” You asked, barely glancing up at him from your spot on the couch when he entered the tour bus in search of his phone. Truth was, his plan most definitely had been to go out and get drunk, mostly to try to get some sleep that wasn’t filled with dreams of a very naked you riding him until he was whimpering, but now that you said that, he wanted to go directly to bed if only to prove you wrong.

“What the fuck is your problem, huh?” He asked, reaching out for a bottle of vodka and quickly deciding to forgo glasses and drink directly from it. “Are you so sexually frustrated up on that high horse of yours you can’t let other people get their rocks off in peace?”

That won your attention, your gaze slipping from the television to meet his in clear annoyance. God, why do you still look so fucking cute when you have your eyes narrowed like that? “Excuse me?”

Harry could have dropped it. He very well could. Roll his eyes and make a hasty escape, either to the bar or to bed, like he’d done thousand of times before. But he was tired, and he was moody, and frankly, he was a little sexually frustrated. It didn’t matter how many girls he found to occupy himself with after a show, the second he saw you again when he got back to the bus, his cock was back to a half-mast.

“You heard me.” He decided to throw caution to the wind. At the very least, he’d get to say some things that had been swirling around his head ever since you met, and maybe that would help ease some of the tension inside of him. “You’re such a fucking prude you can’t even go out to grab a drink with your bandmates. Or maybe you don’t go because you know no one would want you. That know-it-all attitude isn’t exactly attractive, but I think you know that already.”

When you darted out of the sofa, he already knew what was going to happen. But instead of doing anything to stop it, he found himself incredibly aroused at being slapped on the face by the woman before him.

“Oh, no, you won’t.” He captured your wrist before you could walk away from him, pulling you so forcefully back to where you stood that you ended up falling over his chest. And then, after a second of tense silence where you both just stood there, staring at each other, Harry finally found the courage - or the stupidity - to do what he’d been wanting for so long.

He leaned down and connected his lips to yours.

He didn’t know what to expect - frankly, it’s not like he was thinking straight. Even though he hadn’t really drank enough to be even near buzzed, you just had that effect on him - acting like an intensifier, making every color seem brighter and every sound louder, igniting his emotions so easily there really was no point in drinking anything whenever you were around.

But still, everything was possible, from him earning another slap - one he wouldn’t feel inclined to complain about, knowing he crossed a lot of boundaries by pulling you this close and possessing you lips like he’d had - to having you run away and never speak to him again. He was prepared for every outcome, except the one where you reciprocated his kiss with just as much hunger as he felt towards your body.

It was all teeth and tongue, he swiped his over the top of your mouth, you bit down on his bottom lip, making him whine and inadvertently rub his hardened cock on your stomach. But you didn’t seem to mind. In fact, you only pressed your own body tighter against his, trapping him against the counter while he got lost in your taste and then…

Then you suddenly stepped away, breathing hard while looking at him with an accusatory expression, like this was all his fault, like he’d done something against your will. “Let me go, Harry,” you ordered, pulling the arm that he still clutched, while he stared back at you with a dumbfounded look on his face. “I’m not one of your common whores, I’m not gonna just sit back and be a good girl for you.”

His entire body still tingled from being that close to her, his mind taking too long to catch up to yet another turn of events. He just stared down at her smaller frame, still confused and surprised until yet again, it all turned into anger.

“Not one of my common whores, huh?” Harry could see just how lustful she actually was. He could see it in the way her eyes glinted, how she still hadn’t been able to breathe with her mouth closed since he lost the feeling of her against his lips, and how despite her forceful words, she still hadn’t made an actual effort to step away from him.

She could pull away if she wanted to. He didn’t have enough control of his body to hold her that tight. And to make it even clearer, he just released her arm, fingers running down her body until her hands were falling limp by her side, surprise clear on her face.

She didn’t want to be anywhere else.

And when that was out in the open, he leaped on her, cradling her face between his hands - so big that they could encompass her entire head - and descended upon her again, mouths connecting and a delicious whimper escaping into the tense atmosphere between them, making her so surprised at herself it gave him just enough of the upper-hand that he managed to invert their positions and have *her pressed against the counter now.

He kissed her like he wanted to leave bruises on her lips, etch this memory in her mind just like he knew he’d never be able to forget about it. He’d be damned if he didn’t show her the best lay of her life. Maybe then she wouldn’t go back to being such a fucking bitch to him.

“Look at this, you say you’re not a whore, but where’s your underwear?” Her breath hitched when Harry’s hand made its way between her legs, finding her not only bare, but wet and ready for him. “My girlfriends all wore panties, like proper ladies do, pet. Where’s yours?”

The poor thing didn’t seem to be able to speak, mostly because she had to bite her lip so she wouldn’t say something that would stop him from toying with her clit, making her pussy clench in the most delicious of ways.

“God, you’re such a fucking temptation.” The way his warm breath hit her face, before he kissed her cheek while he kept playing with her, only added to the warmth she felt exponentially grow inside her body. “You turned me on all this entire time… If I’d known you just walked around without underwear, I would have bent you over a desk and had my way with you long ago.”

At last abandoning her clit, Harry pushed two of his long fingers inside of her, immediately replicating the pace with which he’d rubbed her pussy, no sign of slow and sweet anywhere in his mind.

“But you just have to walk around being a distraction… You know, the least you could do was to play nice. Or do you just like being a bitch all the fucking time?” He nipped on her jaw as she held onto the counter behind her, eyes raised to the ceiling, begging for God to grant her a release. Unfortunately, the only one who could give her that was Harry, and he was not feeling merciful.

“At least your pussy is sweet,” he mocked when he pulled his fingers away from her pussy, right when she was about to reach her high, and wrapped his pretty pink lips around them. “Something about you had to be.”

But she was too breathless, too lost to the desire to care about his taunts. All she could do was watch with bated breath as Harry hummed with the taste of her, eyes fluttering open to meet hers before he smirked.

“Come.” He took her to the couch, not stripping her of her clothes, but fully ripping them from her trembling body. He bent her over the soft cushions, standing back only for enough time to unbuckle his belt and push his jeans down, but it was enough for her to find her voice again.

“Someone can come in…” She pointed out, looking behind her to find him staring at the apex of her thighs, completely ignoring her eyes. He looked almost hypnotized by what he saw. She could only flush in embarrassment as she imagined. She *knew how wet she was, she could feel it. It dripped from her, slowly running down her thighs and making her feel weaker than she already was.

“I don’t care.” Harry’s voice broke her from her thoughts, seeing him still attentively looking at her offering. “Let them watch, if they want. Let them see how good you take it.” And that was all the warning she got before he pushed himself inside of you, stretching her like no one else had ever done before.

He didn’t give her any time to adjust, either. Immediately settling on a bruising pace, he fucked her hard, like he had decided to eliminate every single ounce of frustration he’d ever had with her right then, with the help of her body.

“Get your hands off your cunt.” He slapped her hand away, the one she’d been using to rub her little clit in the urge to reach that high again, too scared he’d take it from her once more. “It’s mine now.”

And so his thumb settled right where she’d been, swiping her nub with surprising dexterity for someone who was keeping such a steady and forceful pace as he bruised her cervix. His sneer was the only thing that warned her of the persistence of his temper.

“Don’t like following orders unless it’s for me to touch your sweet pussy, huh?” She was too immersed in the pleasure, the sounds of their rough sex making her head swirl inside the empty bus. She’d never been fucked this hard in her life, and it sated some deep desire she’d never even acknowledged she had until that very moment.

“I fucking knew you weren’t some precious little innocent thing,” Harry continued, still keeping up his pace. “You’re a slut, you like being fucked like a whore, isn’t that so?” He pulled her so her back would be attached to his front, and she gasped with the change of position.

“Answer me.” All she could do was nod, but that was enough for her torturer, who suddenly seemed much too interested in her jaw, on the skin of her neck, whatever part he could reach with his soft, pillowy lips.

“Admit it,” he whispered, so differently from how he’d been speaking up until then that she almost missed it. “Admit that you’ve wanted this just as much as I did.” The implications of what he meant had her tightening around him, and his groan was as delicious to hear as the first notes of his solos.

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t open her mouth to say it, because it was just too much. It would make this moment more real, more burdensome than she could bear. This was supposed to be only sex. She couldn’t deal with any emotions.

“N-no,” she tried to assert, but it sounded weak and unconvincing even to her own ears. And the whine that escaped her lips when Harry pulled out of her only served to solidify that image of her.

“Yes. Say it,” he urged, having turned her around before thrusting his member back inside of her all at once. “We both know it’s the truth. You just have to say it. Tell me you’re mine.”

His thumbs brushed on her cheekbones while his cock dragged in and out of her channel and the sensations were too much for her, especially when he was looking at her like *that. “I-I can’t,” she resisted. “I can’t get closer to you.”

Harry didn’t like that. No more soft caresses, his hands left her face to grip the cushions underneath her, so he could speed up his movements once more, pounding her against the couch.

“Oh, so you prefer to touch yourself while thinking of me, and leaving me frustrated, is that it?” The way he was talking to her had her tightening around him once more, and she knew it wouldn’t belong until she cummed all over him. “Too fucking bad, the only way I can stand to be close to you now is if I’m buried in this little cunt.”

Her vision blurred and she buried her nails in his biceps, her mouth falling open right when Harry ordered her to, “Cum, fucking cum.” Her pussy clenching around him brought him to his own orgasm, and he threw his head back as he too reached his high.

They relished in the aftermath for a while, enjoying the comfortable silence that had fallen between them for the first time. But when Y/N tried to push him away so she could clean herself up, Harry lifted his head to look her in the eye and said, in the most serious voice she had ever heard him use, “You’re not going to sleep without me. I wasn’t joking.”

And she was surprisingly okay with that.

#my fics #harry styles smut #smut #harry styles #my requests #harry styles request #harry styles x reader #harry styles reader #harry styles reader insert #harry styles reader inserts #harry styles fanfiction

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writing-prompts-for-friends · 4 years

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Notes from Stephen King’s “On Writing” 07: The Revision Process

Next, King walks us through his revision process. He makes it clear that this method is not the only method. It is merely a method.

How Many Drafts?

“For me, the answer has always been two drafts and a polish (with the advent of word-processing technology, my polishes have become closer to a third draft).”

King admits that this number of drafts is not the golden rule. Kurt Vonnegut rewrote each page of his novels until he got them exactly the way he wanted them. This meant that when the manuscript was finished, the book was finished. (I certainly am not that big of a perfectionist, nor am I that patient lol.)

For beginner writers in particular, King offers the following advice:

“Let me urge that you take your story through at least two drafts; the one you do with the study door closed and the one you do with it open.

“This first draft--the All-Story Draft--should be written with no help (or interference) from anyone else. There may come a point when you want to show what you’re doing to a close friend because you’re proud of what you’re doing or because you’re doubtful about it. My best advice is to resist this impulse. Keep the pressure on; don’t lower it by exposing what you’ve written to the doubt, the praise, or even the well-meaning questions of someone from the Outside World. Let your hope of success (and your fear of failure) carry you on, difficult as that can be. There’ll be time to show off what you’ve done when you finish...but even after finishing I think you must be cautious and give yourself a chance to think while the story is still like a field of freshly fallen snow, absent of any tracks save your own.”

Basically, King just wants you to get it all out onto the paper, with no external forces influencing you (for better or for worse). Just get that first draft out, and then open it up for closer examination both to yourself and others.

Let It Breathe and Then Dig In!

Okay, so you finished writing the first draft! Celebrate! Rejoice! Maybe cry!

...And then throw that manuscript into a drawer, lock it up tight, and don’t look at it for a minimum of six weeks. And in the meantime, do something totally unrelated to what you wrote. Get into knitting. Write a short story that is nothing like what you just finished. It’s consumed you for months now--so give your mind and imagination some time to reset and chill.

King recommends a minimum of six weeks, but even longer is okay. Resist all temptation to peek at it. And once the six weeks have passed, do the following:

“Take your manuscript out of the drawer. If it looks like an alien relic bought at a junk-shop or a yard sale where you can hardly remember stopping, you’re ready. Sit down with your door shut, a pencil in your hand, and a legal pad by your side. Then read your manuscript over.

“Do it all in one sitting, if possible. Make all the notes you want, but concentrate on the mundane housekeeping jobs, like fixing misspellings and picking up inconsistencies. There’ll be plenty; only God gets it right the first time and only a slob says, ‘oh well, let it go, that’s what copyeditors are for.’

“If you’ve never done it before, you’ll find reading your book over after a six-week layover to be a strange, often exhilarating experience. It’s yours, you’ll recognize it as yours, even be able to remember what tune was on the stereo when you wrote certain lines, and yet it will also be like reading the work of someone else, a soul-twin, perhaps. This is the way it should be, the reason you waited. It’s always easier to kill someone else’s darlings than it is to kill your own.”

You’ll also be on the lookout for any glaring holes in the plot or character development. And if you spot any of these big holes, you are forbidden from feeling depressed about them. Don’t be hard on yourself. Everybody makes mistakes, and they can all be fixed.

Generally King goes through the first reading fixing all the superficial issues, like typos and unclear antecedents. But as he’s doing that, he’s also asking himself the Big Questions:

Is this story coherent?

If it is, what will turn coherence into a song?

What are the recurring elements?

Do they entwine and make a theme?

What’s it all about?

“Most of all, I’m looking for what I meant, because in the second draft I’ll want to add scenes and incidents that reinforce that meaning. I’ll also want to delete stuff that goes in other directions. There’s apt to be a lot of that stuff, especially near the beginning of a story, when I have a tendency to flail.”

I can understand what King is saying here about the flailing at the beginning. Because I do not plot when I write, I have ideas that crop up halfway through that would require being introduced earlier, for example. Or perhaps as my understanding of the characters evolved as I wrote more, I realize that they behaved out-of-character earlier on. This is certainly one downside to not plotting. But isn’t is also kinda liberating to be able to take detours and wind up at a different but equally interesting destination?

Okay. So go ahead and fix all of the issues you found, and your first revision is complete.

Second Opinions and the Second Revision

“Do all opinions weigh the same? Not for me.”

Now you’re done with the first draft. You’ve patched over any plot holes and smoothed out those typos and grammar mistakes. You’ve polished the symbols and themes until they shine.

Once this is done, King gives a copy of work to his wife and several close friends (4-8) to receive detailed feedback. In other words, he has several close friends beta for him.

“Many writing texts caution against asking friends to read your stuff, suggesting you’re not apt to get a very unbiased opinion from folks who’ve eaten dinner at your house and sent their kids over to play with your kids in your backyard.

“The idea has some validity, but I don’t think an unbiased opinion is exactly what I’m looking for. And I believe that most people smart enough to read a novel are also tactful enough to find a gentler mode of expression than ‘This sucks.’ Besides, if you really did write a stinker, wouldn’t you rather hear the news from a friend while the entire edition consists of a half-dozen Xerox copies?”

What he gets back is 4-8 very detailed and different analyses of what he wrote. What’s very important to remember is that every reader looks at a work through a different lens. If half of them say a character’s portrayal is far-fetched but the other half say the opposite, than their feedback regarding that point has balanced out. However, if the majority of them say that something doesn’t work, then King goes back and sees if he can improve it.

Also, different readers pick up on different details. This is the age of internet and now we are able to check facts whenever we like, but it is still nice to have something of a subject matter expert on hand, because they are liable to pick up on details that the writer may not.

For example, I often beta fanfiction for anime. I am fluent in Japanese, live in Japan, and have studied Japanese culture and history. While I would never claim to be a “subject matter expert” on Japan, I am able to make certain corrections regarding, say, the type of kimono a character should be wearing, that the writer would not have considered.

It’s very easy to accept feedback that deals with facts (i.e. a beta corrects you on the standard procedures for CPR). However, it’s much harder to handle subjective feedback (i.e. “The ending felt inconclusive.”). Having put as much work as you have into creating this, it can feel like a personal attack because this story is a very dear part of you. What do you do if your beta tells you something like this?

“Subjective evaluations are, as I say, a little harder to deal with, but listen: if everyone who reads your book says you have a problem, you’ve got a problem and you better do something about it.

“Plenty of writers resist this idea. They feel that revising a story according to the likes and dislikes of an audience is somehow akin to prostitution. ... But come on, we’re talking about half a dozen people you know and respect. If you ask the right ones, they can tell you a lot.

“Do all opinions weigh the same? Not for me. In the end I listen most closely to [my wife], because she’s the one I write for, the one i want to wow. If you’re writing primarily for one person besides yourself, I advise you pay very close attention to that person’s opinion. And if what you hear makes sense, then make the changes. You can’t let the whole world into your story, but you can let in the ones that matter the most. And you should.”

I think, especially in the age of prolific fanfiction in which the author usually updates as they write the story, the author feels a lot of pressure from their readers. Readers chomping at the bit for the main characters to have a naughty scene, or demanding to know about that one secret thing that you keep alluding to. A lot of fanfic writers struggle to tow the line of “writing a good story based on reader feedback” and “pandering.”

My advice to fanfic writers out there is to tell those thirsty readers to read a one-shot if they’re looking for a quick fix of smut, and to have some goddamn patience. You’re trying to tell a story, one that builds and progresses, and that takes time. Don’t give in to those “OMG MAKE THEM KISS ALREADY” reviews. But if a lot of readers say something like, “I feel like this character wouldn’t do that,” then perhaps you should re-evaluate that.

On Pace and Reducing Glut

“Formula: 2nd Draft = 1st Draft - 10%.”

So now you have your first draft done. You have your feedback from your trusted betas. And now you need to go and make the final changes.

King states that you should rely on your most trusted betas to gauge whether or not your story is paced correctly and if you’ve handled the back story in satisfactory fashion. “Pace” is the speed at which your narrative unfolds.

”There is a kind of unspoken (hence undefended and unexamined) belief in publishing circles that the most commercially successful stories are novels are fast-paced. I guess the underlying thought is that people have so many things to do today, and are so easily distracted from the printed word, that you’ll lose them unless you become a kind of short-order cook, serving up sizzling burgers, fries, and eggs over easy just as fast as you can.

“But you can overdo the speed thing. Move too fast and you risk leaving the reader behind, either by confusing or by wearing him/her out. ... I believe each story should be allowed to unfold at its own pace, and that pace is not always double time. Nevertheless, you need to beware--if you slow the pace down too much, even the most patient reader is apt to grow restive.”

So how can you strike a happy medium? Rely on your most trusted betas and their input. King says, “Every story and novel is collapsible to some degree. If you can’t get out ten percent of it while retaining the basic story and flavor, you’re not trying very hard. The effect of judicious cutting is immediate and often amazing. You’ll feel it and your betas will too.”

On backstory, King issues some opinions and advice:

It’s important to get the backstory in as quickly as possible, but it’s also important to do it with some grace.

A reader is more interested in what’s going to happen instead of what already did.

Even when you tell your story in a straightforward manner, you’ll discover you can’t escape at least some backstory.

“The most important things to remember about backstory are that (a) everyone has a history and (b) most of it isn’t very interesting. Stick to the parts that are, and don’t get carried away with the rest.”

Source: King, Stephen. On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft. Hodder, 2012.

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marvelouscaptainrogers · 5 years

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Temptation

Requested?: Yes.

Summary: Your super soldier boyfriend is buried in his work one night when he was supposed to be with you. Being impatient and a bit needy, you go to his office and try to get his attention. When he doesn’t give it to you, you end up showing him something you know he can’t say no to.

Warnings: NSFW! 18+. Smut. Basically straight porn with a plot. Swearing. Masturbating. Unprotected Sex. Office sex. A bit of Dom!Steve. Oral sex (Male and female receiving). Calling Steve “Captain” bc we all know he’d get so hard over that.

Characters: Steve Rogers x Reader

You currently lay in bed, scrolling through your phone. It’s around 7:30 PM, and your boyfriend Steve, was still in his office working.

You started dating ten months ago. About six months in, you both agreed to just start sharing a room in the tower since you were always spending the night together anyways. So that’s how things were now. You and Steve always had a rule: No working past 7 PM or before 9 AM, missions excluded of course.

You had texted him twenty minutes ago, asking him if he was done for the evening.

Stevie: No, doll. I’m sorry. I’m gonna be at least another couple of hours. Go ahead and have dinner and go to bed. I’ll be there as soon as I’m finished I promise. I love you.

His text was cute and sweet as always, but pissed you off nonetheless.

Steve usually took your ‘no work from 7 to 9’ rule very seriously. He even enforced it when you tried to go and work out a little in the evenings. Occasionally he would let you, as long as he could come with, but between 7 PM and 9 AM, that was your time to spend together. Not to work. Not to train. Not to do paperwork. No. Just to be together.

The fact that he was breaking the rule that he usually strongly enforced meant that whatever he was doing must’ve been important, but... You were nothing if not a bratty little girlfriend when you didn’t get your way.

That’s when an idea pops into your head that makes you giggle deviously, leading to you jumping off the bed and heading to the closet.

Once you’re fully dressed in your new ensemble, you do a bit of touch ups to your hair and makeup before leaving the room, and making your way to your boyfriends’ office.

Once you get there, you see the door cracked, allowing you to gently push it open and slip in. He looks up at you as you enter, and a smile crosses his angelic features.

“Hey sweetheart. What’re you doing? I told you to go eat something and go to bed.” He Says with a grin as you walk over, sitting across his lap in his office chair with your arms around his neck.

“Yeah but it’s after seven. What’s so important that it can’t be done after 9 tomorrow?” You ask, carding your fingers through his blonde locks. His hand gently caresses your thigh.

“A lot of paperwork for the Secretary of State, that’s what. He needs it filled out and turned in ASAP.” He says, moving his hand from your thigh and flipping through some of the pages.

“Then tell the Secretary of State that you will get it to him sometime after 9 AM tomorrow.” You say. He rolls his eyes with a smirk, looking at you.

“I would say that to anyone else but, not the Secretary of State, sweetheart. This has to be done tonight.” He Says.

“Well-“

Just as you start speaking, you’re cut off by his phone ringing. Once he picks it up and looks at the screen, he turns to you.

“Hold on baby I have to take this.” He says, bringing the phone to his ear as he starts speaking.

About five minutes into the call, you start getting annoyed. It was now past 8. And he was still working. It was time to take matters into your own hands.

As your boyfriend talks away on the phone, reaching over your legs to the desk where he flips through page after page of paperwork, you decide if your words won’t make him stop, maybe your actions will.

You lean in, pressing your lips against his jaw, leaving slow, open mouthed kisses on his neck and jawline. He tenses underneath you, trying to pull away from you to the best of his ability when you’re literally sitting on top of him.

You finally get to his sweet spot, stopping to swipe your tongue over it and nibble at it with your teeth. You hear his breath hitch in his throat, and you can’t help but quietly giggle. He begrudgingly pulls away though, putting his hand over the phone as he looks at you.

“Baby I promise I’ll be done in a couple of hours, okay?” He says, gently moving you from his lap. You move off of him with a huff of annoyance, watching as he continues with his phone call.

Fine, Rogers. Have it your way.

With him being hyper focused on the papers in front of him, he doesn’t even notice as you pull off your gray crop top, dropping it on the small couch over to the side, before undoing your denim shorts, and letting them fall to the floor.

You’re now stood in your new red lingerie. Steve, being the patriotic man he is, always loved seeing you in red or blue, and you knew this set would get him going the second he saw you.

Moving around the room, his eyes finally catch on you as you sit down in the chair across from his desk, propping your bare feet up on the edge.

His jaw tightens as he looks at you, and his eyes grow dark, but you manage to hold your poker face, looking around innocently and twirling your hair around your fingers.

“Yeah, let me put you on hold for just a second. I’ve got that file in my desk drawer I’ve just got to get to it.” He says, putting the phone on silent.

“Y/N, Sweetheart, go to bed. If I have to stop what I’m doing, you won’t be able to walk for a week.” He Says. You don’t even bother to reply. You just smirk at him as he brings the phone back to his ear, reading some things off of the paper in front of him to the other person on the line.

At this point, your already thin patience has completely disappeared, and you’re beyond frustrated. There’s an ache between your legs that only he can fix, but he’d rather talk on the damn phone.

After another couple minutes of squirming around in your chair to get the ache to go away, you throw caution to the wind, getting up and moving some things off of his desk. He watches you with furrowed brows, wondering why you’re standing there in your lingerie, and cleaning his desk off.

His questions are answered though, when you perch yourself up on the desk in front of him, and lay back. The cold wood stings your skin, but you couldn’t care less. You put one foot on each arm rest of his chair, leaving him sitting directly between your legs, before slowly slipping your hand into your panties, and rubbing slow, soft circles around your clit. Steve nearly drops the phone, making you giggle quietly. The feeling of your fingers on your clit brings you a little bit of relief, but you know you won’t be fully relieved until he’s railing you on his desk.

Steve tries to tear his eyes off of you, to focus on his phone call, but he can’t. You’re quietly whimpering, and he can smell your arousal. His cock is straining against his joggers, only making it more difficult to focus on the task at hand.

He watches you move a bit, hooking your thumbs into your panties as you pull them off, dropping them in his lap before assuming your previous position, legs spread on either side of him.

Your bare pussy is now maybe twelve inches away from his face, and it takes every bit of resolve that he has to not throw the phone across the room, and bury his face in your cunt, tasting you and devouring every drop that your body will give him.

The smell of you grows stronger now without the thin lace being in the way, and he can see your tight pink lips glistening with wetness as your fingers move back between your legs, and gliding down your slit.

You go back to rubbing soft circles around the sensitive little pearl, ignoring the sound of Steve still talking on the phone. Instead, your focus is fixated on how intently he’s watching you. Every bit of blue around his eyes is gone, and his pupils are dilated to the size of quarters. His free hand is on his crotch, stroking his hard cock through his joggers as he gazes at you.

Your fingers circle your clit a few more times, before gliding down, and slipping two inside yourself.

Steve can literally hear how wet you are and it’s only serving to further torture him.

“Steve.” You moan softly, curving your fingers inside yourself, as your palm presses against your clit.

You alternate between fingering yourself, and rubbing your clit. With Steve looking at you the way he is, it didn’t take long for your orgasm to start creeping up on you, beginning with the burning in your lower belly that slowly spreads over your whole body.

“Don’t you dare.” Steve says, pulling the phone away from his ear to speak, before continuing his conversation.

Of course, you don’t listen, and you continue rubbing fast circles around your clit until your back is arching off the desk. You bite back a moan, letting it out as a ragged breath when you release.

At this point, Steve is so furious and turned on that he can’t even focus on what’s being said to him on the phone. How could he when his girlfriend is sprawled across his desk, fingering herself right in front of him?

“That will be great. I’ll call you tomorrow. Thank you.” Steve Says, his words short and to-the-point as he hangs up the phone, throwing it on the desk beside him. He looks at you while you’re sucking the juices off your fingers.

“What the hell are you thinking, Y/N?” He asks, standing up between your legs.

“I’m thinking that I’m fucking horny and you’re not paying attention to me.” You say. He grips your jaw in his hand, pulling you up to a sitting position, your face only inches from his.

“I would’ve been more than happy to fuck you once I got back to our room later... But since you decided to lie across my desk and make me watch you fingering yourself, plans have changed. Not to mention, I told you not to cum, and you did it anyways... How would you feel if I cuffed you to the bed, and made you watch as I jerked off right in front of you? If I made you watch as I covered you in my cum, but never once touched you?” He says, still tightly holding your jaw in his fingers.

“Wouldn’t feel good, would it?” He asks. You shake your head, looking up at him with big doe eyes.

“Exactly, and I should do that... But, I made you a promise, sweetheart. I’ve had to stop working. That means you’re not gonna be able to walk for a week.” He says, stepping back to pull you up off the desk, and turning you around, bending you over the surface.

“Put your hands behind your back. Don’t move.” He says. You quickly comply, interlocking your hands on your lower back as his own palms are rubbing your ass, gripping the flesh in his hands before you feel a hard smack to one cheek. Your body jolts forward on instinct, and you moan out, pushing your ass back against his bulge.

“You look so good like this. I really think you need to be punished, sweetheart.” He says, his hands still gripping your ass.

“Whatever you want, Captain.” You reply, earning a groan from Steve, before he lands yet another hard smack to your ass, getting another moan out of you as he soothes the skin with his warm palms.

“You know, the spankings don’t seem to be a good punishment anymore. You’re not supposed to enjoy your punishment, little one.” He says, leaning over to leave a kiss between your shoulder blades.

“I might have to resort to another punishment… Maybe since you decided to cum when I told you not to, I should just make you leave and go to bed. You’ve already had your fun, right?” He asks. You start to panic a little, wondering if he really would send you back to your room without even giving you what you came here for.

“No! Please! I’ll do anything just please don’t make me go.” You whine. Steve smirks down at you, knowing damn well that he could never turn you away when you’re so wet and ready for him.

“Are you gonna be good and start doing as I say? Are you gonna listen to me?” He asks, moving his finger to your exposed slit, gently swiping it through your juices.

“Fuck! Yes baby I promise I’ll be good! I’ll do whatever you say just please!” You keen. Steve lets out a dark chuckle before slowly slipping a finger inside you, feeling the way your walls clench around the digit, almost as if you’re pulling him in.

“You got yourself so worked up, baby. You’re soaking wet.” He says, pulling the one finger out and replacing it with two. He watches in awe as his fingers slip out of you, then disappear inside you once more.

“Captain, please…” You whine, your head resting against the mahogany desk as he curls his fingers inside you, making an audible squelching noise that normally would’ve embarrassed you, but right now you’re far too aroused to care.

“Shh… I got you, sweetheart. Just relax. Let me take care of you.” He says, gently pulling his fingers to his mouth, cleaning your juices off of them.

“Mmm… You always taste so good baby.” He says, making you squirm against the desk at the mental picture of him sucking the remnants of you from his fingers.

“What do I taste like, Captain?” You ask, trying to remain still as you feel his lips on your ass.

“Like raspberries and honey.” He says, gripping your cheeks in his hands and gently pulling them apart, allowing him full access to delve his tongue into the tangy sweetness of your pussy. You suck in a harsh breath, letting it out as a moan when he pulls your labia between his plump lips, sucking it into his mouth where his tongue teases the sensitive flesh.

“Steve! Oh god!” You moan. He removes his mouth from your folds for a moment. You don’t even have time to complain about it before he’s sinking his teeth into your ass cheek. His bite is hard, and it sends chills up your spine.

“You know what to call me, baby.” He says. You let out a whimper as his tongue licks at the forming bite mark on your cheek, soothing the skin where he knew there’d be a bruise in the morning.

“Captain, please. Your mouth feels so good.” You moan, pushing your hips back against him. Steve is having none of it though. He is far stronger than you, and all it takes is his hands gripping your thighs to push you back in place.

“Relax baby. I’m not finished yet.” He says, reattaching his mouth to your pussy. He dips his tongue into your entrance, getting a full taste as your juices practically pour into his mouth. He groans out against you, swallowing every drop that you can offer him before reaching his hand up between your legs, his thumb gently rubbing at your clit. With both his mouth and his finger working you over, you quickly turn into mess of moans and whimpers.

“Captain! O-Oh god…”

Steve listens to your breathing getting heavier, and he knows you’re close. He presses his thumb just a little harder on your clit, sucking your labia into his mouth once more.

Only a few seconds later, you hit your peak, falling into euphoria as Steve’s sinful mouth works you over.

Steve has always loved eating you out. Not only does he love the taste of you, but he loves the view. When you’re on your back, he can always look up, seeing your body rolling with pleasure while your fingers pinch and tease your nipples. When you’re on your stomach, he can grip your ass and gently pull you apart, revealing both of your holes for him to devour as he pleases. When you’re riding his face, he nearly loses his mind. He always wraps his arms around your thighs, and pleasures you by fucking you with his tongue. He gets to look up at you, body trembling and quivering from overstimulation, but he knows you can’t move, not with his arms locked around your thighs. Those are the times he knows he can lock you down, and make you cum repeatedly, until you’re begging him to stop. One time he even made you squirt a bit while riding his face. At that point he had already made you cum four times in a row, just with his lips and tongue working you over, and on the fifth time, he was beyond pleased to feel the warm liquid pouring into his mouth and down his chin. He drank every drop he could before finally releasing his grip on you. He had made you squirt before quite a few times during your rougher nights of sex, but he never thought he could get you there with just his mouth.

Steve pulls away from you, licking his lips to get every last taste of you that he can before standing, pulling you up off the desk to face him.

“As good as this looks on you baby, I want it off. Then get on your knees.” He says, his fingers grazing over the soft lace of your bra.

You quickly comply, unclasping the bra and throwing it to the side as you drop onto your knees. Steve sits back in his chair, looking at you.

“I want that pretty little mouth on me, sweetheart.”

As soon as those words leave him, he swears he sees your eyes light up. Immediately you scramble to pull down his joggers and boxer briefs, his hard cock springing free and laying against his stomach. You take him in your hand, softly stroking him before taking his tip into your mouth. He hisses as his head tips back against the chair, and you hum around his length, taking more and more of him in.

“Fuck… That’s it baby. Keep going.” He says, encouraging you as his knuckles lovingly graze your cheek. With Steve being so big, it took you a bit of practice to get to the point where you could take all of him in. It led to a lot of sore mouth and neck muscles but you finally got there.

When Steve feels your throat expanding and contracting around him, he nearly loses it, pushing your hair back to watch you go further, until your nose is presses against his base, and his balls are touching your chin.

“Y/N! Fuck!” He groans, feeling you swallowing around him, making your throat tighten around him. He moans before pulling out of your mouth. You inhale a deep breath, leaning in to take him back down your throat, but he stops you.

“No baby. If you keep going I’m gonna cum in your mouth, and I need to be inside you. C’mere.” He says, pulling you up off the floor and sitting you back up on the desk.

“Baby.. Take your shirt off.” You whine, your fingers reaching for the hem of his t-shirt. He chuckles and grips the white fabric, pulling it off his frame.

“Happy?” He asks, earning him a nod as your hands move up his bare chest.

“You must’ve been hurting for me pretty bad to come in here and interrupt me, huh baby?” He asks, gently pushing you to lie back on the desk.

“Yes. Fuck. I need you so bad it hurts, baby.” You say.

“How about we fix that?” He says, plunging his cock into you in one swift movement.

“Steve! Fuck!” You scream, as your back arches up off the wooden desk. Without giving you time to adjust, he starts a rough, fast pace that already has your head spinning only two seconds in.

This is what you’d been longing for; to feel him balls deep inside you, to feel his hands gripping the supple flesh of your thighs as he rammed into you. You needed this.

Steve knew damn well that once you got in this kind of mood, there was only one way to satiate your needs, and it’s like this. Normally he would take his time, kissing and licking you all over before he fucks you, slow and deep, the way he knows will have you writhing against him and begging for more. But when you get in this kind of mood, he knows you won’t be satisfied until he’s slamming his cock into your soaking walls, making you cum over and over before finally filling you with his seed. He knew how badly you had to be craving him to come and blatantly interrupt his work. If you were craving him that bad, he’s glad you came to him. He hates the thought of you locked away in your bedroom, trying to fulfill your needs all by yourself. That’s his job, and he doesn’t want you to feel like you have to do it yourself.

“God baby you’re so wet. You feel so fucking good.” Steve Says, holding your thighs open as he pounds you against the desk.

“Fuck!! Ahhhh! Please don’t stop! Oh my god, please don’t stop!” You scream, your body finally coming alive at the feeling of him inside you, pressing into every single sweet spot you didn’t even know you had.

Your hand moves between your legs, rubbing quick two-finger circles around your bundle of nerves.

“Oh fuck! I’m gonna cum!” You moan, your thighs attempting to close on the own accord, but Steve’s grip on them is firm, keeping you exposed to him as he fucks into you.

“Cum for me, sweetheart.” He Says. Your free hand grips at the edge of the desk, and you release, your third orgasm coming over you like a hot shower.

Steve’s thrust slow down, before he pulls out of you completely, eliciting a long whine from your throat.

“More! Please more!” You moan. Steve smiles to himself as he picks you up, carrying you over to the small couch over to the side.

“On your knees, baby.” He Says. With shaky legs, Steve helps you move around, getting you on your knees with your face against the cushions. His hands caress your ass, gripping and massaging the thick supple flesh in his hands before slowly slipping inside you once more.

“F-Fuuuuck!” You scream, moans coming out broken now due to how wrecked you are.

“Shit baby. C’mere.” He says, pulling you up by your shoulders so that his chest is pressed against your back. One arm wraps around your waist, while the other hand is gently wrapped around your throat. Your own hands are grasping onto his thick forearms, loving the way his muscles are shifting beneath the skin.

“Steve! Harder, please, fuck me harder!” You scream. Steve groans against your shoulder, before speeding up his thrusts. Your resolve starts to crumble, feeling your thighs shaking under you. If it hadn’t been for Steve’s iron grip on you, you would’ve collapsed by now.

“B-Baby, I’m so c-close!” You scream. Steve’s hand slowly slides down your body, reaching your clit to rub slow, soft circles around it.

“Cum for me, baby. I’m right here with you.” Steve says, feeling his own release building up inside him. When your walls tighten and flutter around him, he can’t fight it back anymore, so he succumbs to it, his hips stuttering as he groans against your shoulder.

“Fuck, Steve! Fuuuuck... OH!” You moan, your body going slack against Steve’s as you feel his warmth filling you.

He slowly removes himself from you, feeling you nearly collapse in his arms. He picks you up, lying down on the couch with you on his chest.

“Are you alright, little one?” He asks, running his fingers through your hair.

“Me? I’m fucking great.” You reply with a giggle. A laugh rumbled through his chest as he kisses the top of your head.

“I’m sorry I interrupted your work.” You say softly, tracing your finger over his chest. Steve places his hand over yours before bringing it to his lips, kissing your knuckles.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m glad you did. I’m sorry I broke our rule. I just... Feel like I have so much to do. So little time... And I’m worried it’s just gonna keep piling up.” He Says. You pull away from him, getting up and reaching for your clothes.

“Let me help you. With both of us working on everything, we can get it done in half the time.” You say, pulling on your panties as you speak. Steve pulls his own joggers back into place as he sits up, looking at you.

“That’s not your responsibility, sweetheart. You don’t have to-“

“I want to, Stevie. I don’t want you feeling so stressed about this. Let me help you. You know we work well together. What would take you three hours we could probably have done in a fraction of the time.” You say. A smile graces his features, watching you slip on your shorts, which he’s only now noticing are his favorites on you.

“It’s late. You should be resting. Are you sure you want to be cooped up in here with me?” He asks, laughing when he sees you roll your eyes at him.

“Yes Steve, because spending time with you is just, absolute torture.” You say, leaning in to peck his lips.

“Alright, alright. Well, let’s get to work. No more distractions.” He Says, pointing his finger at you with a smile.

“I make no promises, Captain.”

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chaoticneutralwriter · 5 years

Text

A Demon’s Musings

If Marie Kondo could see him now, she would be very pleased (well, as much as a person would with a demon). And though the things he used to get into don’t quite spark the same kind of joy like it did in his earlier days, he still thinks he’s one hell of a demon -- just with different priorities now.

guardian demon! Jimin x reader

genre: fluff, comedy, supernatural, slow-burning, slice of life

word count: 6.8k

Warnings: some heavily implied shady shit like deaths, drugs, alcohol, murder, violence and generally things that don’t faze a demon.

A side story during the time of Distance and the Heart

Related works: See Masterlist

A/N: Not a straight continuation from where we last left off but some exposition stuff and delving into the mind of our dear guardian demon Jimin :) Also a little bit of a rushed edit so....anything funky going on please forgive me ^^;;

Small.

So small.

And so very fragile — human lives that is.

It’s made even more obvious when you happen to be a demon, standing atop the tallest building you can find, looking down from it. How easily the change of perspective can turn even the most powerful man to look like nothing more than a scurrying ant, marching in a colony – a worker, a drone.

Humans, he thinks, become so easily obsessed with such meaningless things like money or power to stand above the rest that in the grand scheme of things, they’re just like everyone else.

Pathetic.

It all means nothing in the end anyways, especially when you’re standing at the gates (figuratively speaking). Now which one, well, it’s up to them.

Still, it’s fun to mess with them.... Correction was fun.

Jimin grunts to himself at the thought as he begins pacing precariously along the building’s ledge, hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket.

But he hasn’t always been like this, so disinterested in his nature as a demon spawned from the depths of hell — his inclination to lure poor, hapless souls to the dark side.

He’d taken great pleasure doing those things; nothing more satisfying than seeing his handy work play out like an oncoming train wreck. In his lifetime, he’s seen them all: from the simple cheating spouse to cold-blooded murder itself. It’s what demons do best; whisper sweet temptations of the deepest, darkest desire to tip the scale in their favour and once their victim has fallen from grace, catch them with open arms.

That’s the name of the game — corruption of the human soul, exploiting their weak nature. It’s simple and cute.

Jimin stops his pacing, reaching the end of the ledge to glare at nothing in particular as he thinks ruefully;

But so easy.

He flicks one single finger and it all comes crashing down like a house of cards with them willingly in it. It even came to the point where he doesn’t even have to do anything to gain a corrupt soul; all he had to do was look around the corner. It’s like humans send themselves to hell for him. And so, he set off to find himself a new game to play, one that would at least give him a run for his money.

If anyone who knew Jimin, they would say he was too ambitious for his own good and he would say that they’re right because admittedly, it’s what landed him in his current situation in the first place. In his quest to finding a new challenge, he had asked himself; what’s harder to tempt than puny, pathetic humans? Evidently anything.

Impassively, Jimin takes a step off of the building and gravity immediately takes hold as he begins to make his sharp descent. Air rushes past him, whipping his hair and stinging his eyes but still, he remains stoic in the face of what would be a gruesome death to most. The corner of his lips twitch, feeling the adrenaline kick in as the ground draws nearer and just as he’s about to collide with it, his body halts, feet hovering just inches above the concrete and with the grace of a dancer, he floats the rest of the way down without a single scuff on his Louis Vuitton loafers.

He runs a hand through his locks, ruffling the silken strands until he felt that they were somewhat tamed and with a final fixes to his jacket, Jimin saunters off down the busy street, not a single soul aware of what happened.

Humans — so blissfully ignorant, Jimin sometimes finds himself envious of them as he moves through various crowds of people scurrying by. Even though he was under the cloaking spell, invisible to mortal eyes he still thinks they wouldn’t spare him a second glance, too busy rushing off to places or glued to their phones. It all further reminded him of his predicament; they’re such easy picking that eventually it didn’t take him long to find the perfect way to up the ante in his little game.

Angels.

More specifically: guardian angels.

A shiver runs through him from the memory and he can’t quite hide the grin that has taken over plush lips. Ah, it seems like eons ago that he had conjured up that idea. Curiosity isn’t a sin but one definitely has to exercise caution with it but Jimin would always rather throw it to the wind because who didn’t want to know if a demon can tempt an angel into sin.

Granted, it was only a low class angel but you gotta start small right?

And it was far easier finding one than you think.

Because you see, all humans — as incompetent as they can be — are all assigned to a guardian angel, meant to do what demons also do except the complete opposite: influence good actions and reward with good karma. Contrary to popular beliefs, demons and angels are all fairly equal in power because both have similar hierarchy. A lowly demon can be on par with a starting guardian angel and through time, both can climb the ladder through gaining respective karmic energy through the deeds of the person they influence.

So it wasn’t that hard for Jimin to find a potential target — fresh-faced, hard working, green, and naive. He almost felt sorry when he was planting seeds of doubt into that pretty head of theirs. Didn’t help that he was assigned to a deplorable excuse for a human being to look after that perhaps that’s why by the end of it all, Jimin found he had grown a soft spot for his newly acquired fallen angel of a friend.

For such a long, arduous process, it didn’t take long for everyone to find out; both upstairs and downstairs and boy did Jimin get an earful from his boss (in fact nearly got his ass singed off which would’ve been a huge loss for the world). Even though admittedly the stunt he pulled was ballsy and impressive (his boss’ words, not his), Jimin still needed to receive ‘divine punishment’ lest his boss wanted to deal with a bunch of literal holier-than-thou angels rioting at the gates of hell. So to get him out of his hair (to deal with an onslaught of paperwork) and for Jimin to avoid certain death via smiting, he was given his ultimatum — his quote on quote ‘community service hours’. And the rest was history.

Now fast forward to his first check-in.

It was nothing special nor worth noting as he had relayed to you before leaving; just a business-like meeting with his boss where he gets told if he’s doing a good job or not and any other updates regarding his case in overstepping the line. It wouldn’t even take him a full day — a simple in-and-out.

Only it wasn’t so because 1) his meeting gets crashed by an uninvited guest (a colleague thankfully, but there goes his discrepancies) and 2) Jimin is informed that he was not meeting his daily quota.

The memory has Jimin kissing his teeth in annoyance before he can stop himself, steps becoming a little heavier as he powers on down the street. He couldn’t believe it the first time he heard it. Him slacking? There’s no way in hell.

But the numbers check out (his dear colleague made sure it was very clear to him i.e. shoving the report into his face and cackling loudly), even if he did miss it by a margin. And as if to add further insult to injury, it goes further on to say that heaven however, is satisfied with his work as temp guardian (sloppy but satisfactorily enough, at least she hasn’t died yet, it had read).

It baffled him to no end; how is it that he’s managed to shirk his duties, as a demon but be somewhat good at being a guardian angel-albeit-demon?

“You’re losing your touch, brother.” His underling colleague teased. “Don’t tell me you’ve grown soft ever since you’ve became a guardian to that human.”

Jimin responded by setting fire to his pant leg.

Lost his touch? Soft? As if.

With nothing more to say, Jimin had stormed out of the room and crossed right back over to the mortal planes, jaw clenched and temper burning. The crisp cool air that had greeted him helped somewhat to tame it, but he could still feel the steam practically rising from his skin. He needed to vent and being back so early, he figured he had enough time to spare without jeopardizing your safety with his absence.

So for the past few days he’d been going around observing the daily life of a human on earth like he had always done in the past, scoping out fresh meat to meddle his way into. He’d got the occasional shop lifter, scammer, one of those obnoxious teens who think they’re suddenly Nascar drivers the moment they are privileged with their own car…

Jimin tsks like a disappointed mother, recalling that moment well; it was an illegal street race at 3AM (of course), a bunch of rambunctious teenagers who are so desperate to one-up their buddies at a game they didn’t realize they couldn’t win in no matter how many modifications they’ve made to their car.

All it took was a drift turn gone wrong.

Once again, how anti-climatic.

Jimin heaves a breath, twisting his neck this way and that to release a satisfying crack as he watches the street lamps above him flicker to life; the sun had long set thanks to the short days of the winter season. Boredom was such a bitch to get out of once you’ve fallen into its dark abyss. It seems like there’s no cure for it. Which is a wonder why Jimin finds himself standing right across the street to the entrance of probably one of the places a demon like himself can get a bang for his buck.

A nightclub.

He can practically smell the alcohol and indecency from here. It’s a cesspool.

His lips twitch at the sight, eyeing the burly man acting as a bouncer and the steady line of people waiting to get in. Jimin feels the bass of the music rather than hears it leaking through the closed door and the neon lights cast everything within its reach in a vibrant aqua green and pink shade. He feels like he’s outgrown places like these (an easy hunting ground) but tonight, he has no other plans.

With a shrug, Jimin drops his cloaking spell and takes long, confident strides towards the front of the line. As soon as he gets within peripheral vision of the crowd, all heads turn and he feels the heat of their gazes on him. He bites his lips subtly to keep himself from smirking; never gets old.

He approaches the bouncer head-on, maintaining steady eye contact and though it seems like the much larger, muscular man is unfazed by Jimin’s magic, he steps aside without a single word, allowing the demon in disguise to pass through the door and into the club. No protest was made from anyone.

The music is even louder once Jimin passes through the threshold, down the illuminated cool tone hallway with its frosted glass walls before he finally reaches the heart of the club. The dance floor is filled with gyrating bodies moving to the beat of the song, strobe lights flickering sporadically in multiple colours being the only strong source of light to this dimly lit building. The DJ is situated on a slightly raised platform at the head of the dance floor, bobbing his head as he works the turn table and just slightly off to his side is one of many staircases leading up to the second floor, most likely holding VIP areas.

Not much has changed from this scene, Jimin muses to himself as his eyes survey his surroundings. As he makes his way down the border aisle of the dance floor, he feels numerous sets of eyes following him, all vying for his attention. It makes him double check on himself to make sure he isn’t still using his enthralling magic (he’s not). Jimin pays them no mind, bypassing the bar, the fumes of smoke giving off dizzying, euphoric effects that had he not been a demonic entity would surely effected him with a single breath, before he makes it to one of the stairs leading upwards.

He ascends them quickly until he’s on the second floor which was littered with various occupied booths, another fancier looking bar situated off to one side, standing side tables that overlooked the level below and a sectioned off area with velvet ropes and another bouncer. Perhaps to most, this would be the more intimidating places in a club because right off the bat, Jimin can see the shift in its patrons; he sees the sleek way they dress, the way they hold themselves with a higher air as they sip from crystal glasses with dark liquid in it, the impressive bottle sitting not too far from their reach on the table and the subtle glint their jewels give off when the light catches.

Most people would turn tail and run, feeling out of their league in this place.

But not Jimin; not when he has a face like this and an aura that can easily dwarf these…. lesser beings.

So he proceeds on forward unbothered, hand tousling his hair out of the way as he slides into the nearest stool by the bar. The bartender is immediately at his side, asking what he would like to order.

“A glass of whiskey.” His eyes wander for a moment at the selection and his bartender waits patiently, almost with baited breath. Jimin’s eyes land on one of the tall, darken bottles before he answers with an easy smile. “Make it a Macallan please.”

The bartender flounders for a split second, blinking from Jimin to the expensive bottle of whiskey before nodding and rushing off to prepare the drink. In the meantime, Jimin takes to turning around in his seat, leaning back casually against the glass bar counter, legs crossed to do what he does best; people-watch.

Or more like play a twisted game of ‘I Spy’ with himself. It’s even more fun when he knows that everyone here thinks they can get away with things just because the lighting is a little dim.

Like he spies with his little eyes, a pill being popped a little too eagerly.

He sees things getting passed around, things being slipped with the sleight of hands and people getting frisky under the table. Nothing much escapes Jimin’s sharp eyes.

Not even the girl who slyly slips into the seat next to him, her own eyes trained onto his profile like a hawk.

“I see you’re a whiskey kind of guy.” The booming music gives her an excuse to lean in closer to Jimin but what she doesn’t know is that he can hear her perfectly fine without her having to. It makes his lips twitch as he smoothly reaches beside him for said drink and takes a slow sip, letting the smoky taste of the alcohol coat his tongue before feeling the burn of it travel down his throat. Demons don’t actually feel the effects of alcohol but they can still taste the flavour the drinks have to offer, which is why Jimin likes to indulge in a few drinks here and there.

He keeps a hold of his glass, swirling the dark liquid before he languidly lets his gaze slide to his surprise companion, head tilting to allow strands of hair to fall into his darkened gaze in the slightest way to show that she’s caught his attention.

“And what kind of drink are you?” Jimin indulges, shifting a little forward to let the timbre of his voice project more. The girl gets flustered now that he has eyes on her but with a valiant effort, she plays it cool, flicking her dark hair off to one side flirtatiously.

“How about you buy me one and find out?”

The reply causes Jimin to throw his head back with a laugh; the sight obviously pleases her as red lips spread into a wide smile. He nods to himself and turns to the bartender, waving him down easily for the girl beside him to order her drink (a mojito). Jimin’s reaction gives her a boost of confidence, making her shift closer until she’s practically pressing into his side.

“I’m Jenny by the way. I don’t think I’ve seen you here before, first time?”

Jimin lets out a chuckle, bringing the glass up again to take another sip. “You could say that.” He pauses, letting the rim of the glass brush his bottom lip as he thinks for a moment before answering, “Julien.”

Jenny’s drink arrives and she takes it into her hand, holding it out to him to clink against. “Cheers to that then.”

He grins before obliging, tapping his glass to hers and it’s as if she’s unknowingly sealed the deal with the devil himself. A good portion of the night was spent getting to know one another (Jimin uses that term loosely), ordering more drinks and her getting braver each time. Though Jimin was not particularly engaged with the conversations they were having, he’s amused from the not-so-subtle ways she’s been trying to get him to leave the club with her to engage in…. other activities.

Even more so when there were times he’s caught her peeking at her phone, seeing the way it lights up constantly until with a huff of annoyance, she puts it on silent mode, tosses it into her clutch and never bothers with it again. He pretends not to notice, keeping up with the charade and wrapping her around his fingers further.

“Is it weird for me to say that it feels like I’ve known you my entire life?” Jenny giggles drunkenly, batting her eyelashes coyly from over the rim of her glass.

“Oh?” Jimin responds playfully, swiveling his body to face her while propping an elbow up on the counter to support his chin, eyes glued to her as if he’s completely enamoured. “How so?”

She puts her empty glass down and shuffles forward until she’s at the edge of her seat, leaning over slightly to accentuate the cleavage her dress’s deep neckline has to offer. The pretty brunette mimics Jimin’s gesture, eyes taking on a sheen from the alcohol consumption but no doubt still determined to get into his pants.

“I don’t know…. It’s like,” She pauses, voice coming out breathy as her free hand begins to trail tantalizing up one of his knees to his upper thigh. Jimin pays it no mind, gaze steady on her face and it pushes her to continue. “I feel like we have really good chemistry together.”

Jimin makes it seem like he’s intrigued by the idea, index finger rubbing against his bottom lip but finds that he has to hold himself from cracking a smile because of the way Jenny’s eyes flicker down to them, watching and unconsciously biting down on her own.

“And do you have any proof to back up such a bold claim?”

Jimin deliberately sets her up and she takes it – hook, line and sinker. He thinks he’s dragged this out long enough because frankly, he’s getting bored. The clueless girl can’t contain her smile, taking the invitation by leaning all the way until her lips just about brushes Jimin’s as she whispers, “Let me show you.”

She closes the rest of the distance, almost crashing unceremoniously against Jimin and he grunts at the sudden added weight, one hand flying to her waist to steady her while the other cups the underside of her jaw. She moves fervently against his lips, hand carding through his hair while the other one remains firmly pressed against his thigh. Her enthusiasm nearly bulldozes Jimin, but he’s no pushover, especially to some drunk, human girl. So he easily takes charge, retaliating with a harsh nip to her lower lip when she had so eagerly tried to invade her tongue into his mouth and it elicits a whine. He grips her waist more firmly, moving to wedge his leg between hers and immediately, he feels her body submit to him.

Jimin peers at her through half-closed lids, watching her melt under his touch so easily as the hand on her jaw snakes lower until it situates closer to her throat. He feels the desperation coming from her, sees the way her thighs part for him to get closer, causing the short skirt of her dress to ride up further. But he won’t give her that satisfaction, even as his tongue pries open her mouth and she lets out a whimpering moan.

No, he won’t give her that satisfaction because this is all just a game to him.

He pulls away the same time his hand on her waist comes to stop hers from inching any closer to the area between his legs, the whiffs of her sweet perfume had long become too suffocating for his senses. The girl is obviously displeased, brows scrunching up as she attempts to chase his lips. Jimin leans back slightly but doesn’t evade her when she presses her lips to his again, only this time he’s unresponsive. He waits and watches her come to realize his lack of response before he allows his gaze to drift off to the side where he spies the male figure who stands frozen at the head of the stairs, looking disheveled and with a phone clenched so hard in one hand that even Jimin can see the knuckles turn white from where he is.

He feels, rather than sees Jenny’s lips leave his slowly and after a beat, Jimin dares to tilt his head to gauge her reaction. It nearly makes him burst out laughing.

The girl looks absolutely horrified as all her attention is no longer on Jimin but on the man a few feet from her. The demon continues watching delightedly, like a drama unfolding before his very eyes as Jenny puts distance between herself and him as she staggers to stand from her seat, mouth agape. Jimin can’t help but to take the chance to add more fuel to this rapidly growing fire.

“Someone…you know?” He asks tentatively as best as he can, despite knowing exactly who this is.

He sees the girl’s breath hitch before she utters out a single name, “Tony…”

Like Jimin had said, nothing goes unnoticed by him. Not when the mirror panels by the bar perfectly reflected the name that had flashed on her phone multiple times before she had decided to put it away.

Tony is the first to snap out of his stupor, face darkening as he stomps over to his girlfriend. Without even sparing a single glance at Jimin, the man snatches her wrist and proceeds to forcefully drag her away. Jenny stumbles after his longer strides, crying out and slapping at his back as he takes her down the stairs and Jimin watches on impassively until the couple disappear out of sight. With the show being over, he turns back around, running a hand through his hair to fix the mess the girl had made. He also catches sight of his reflection and kisses his teeth at what he finds.

Reaching for a napkin, Jimin wipes away the lipstick residue coating his mouth. He manages to get most of it off, leaving his lips tinged in the slightest shade of pink. He scoffs, annoyed before taking his glass and knocking back the rest of his drink. Jimin calls for the bill, swiftly tapping his black card on the machine without even glancing at the grand total and gets up to leave. He makes it halfway down the stairs before he decides to cloak himself for a swifter exit. With just a few steps, he’s teleported out of the club and into the chill night air.

Only this time, there’s a commotion and he easily spots the cause. Jenny and her boyfriend were a few steps down the street from where the club was and were currently screaming their heads off at each other. There were a couple of onlookers but everyone seems very keen on not getting involved with this particular couple’s spat. Tony is visibly distressed, a hand aggressively running through his hair as he paces like an angry lion. Jenny is on the defensive, refusing to budge and making great effort in spite of her occasional wobbles. Jimin has to stifle a laugh, feeling very tempted to stay just to see how this will all end. Eventually, Tony has stopped pacing for a moment to point an accusatory finger at Jenny, cursing at her for cheating on him. She in turn yells back about the argument that lead up to that point.

Enraged, Tony closes the gap between them to tower over Jenny who, even though has stood her grounds for the most part with liquid courage on her side, is rightfully intimidated by the aggression the male holds. There’s a tense moment of silence, the two glaring daggers at each other and Jimin watches on until he can’t bear the lack of action any longer.

“What will you do?” He whispers but the weight of his words carry thanks to the magic underlying it, his eyes taking on an ominous glow. “She doesn’t deserve to be forgiven.”

He watches as his dark tempting take influence, sees the way the male’s vision cloud over in blinded fury before he makes to grab the girl’s wrist and drags her off, screaming and cursing all the way. Jimin takes that as his cue to leave, his job done and proceeds to carry on as if nothing has happened. But now he’s back to being bored, dispassionately roaming the streets like he always had. It was fun while it lasted.

In his musings, he doesn’t realize that his feet have taken him down a familiar path. The small restaurants and cafes becoming recognizable and the hustle and bustle part of the main city gradually fades, giving way to quieter streets that lead to small neighbourhoods.

Ah, he realizes, this is the way to your house.

His thoughts naturally change to that of you, remembering how it had actually been a good week or so since he’d last seen you but judging from the lack of disturbances he feels in your aura, he surmises that you’re doing fine (i.e. not dead or mortally injured). Still, he can’t help the chuckle that escapes under his breath when he slows his pace to let the fact that he had unconsciously been lead back to you, be it by his own will or the nature of the contract sink in.

Perhaps it was a sign for him to finally go check on you. He hates to admit it, but the bantering you both share are way more entertaining than some of the stuff he’s done for the past few days. It’s always fun because your reactions are like a kaleidoscope of emotions, all morphing from one to another in the span of a minute at the things he does or says. You’re a human who lives diligently like many others, fighting against this harsh and dreary world but managing to find solace in what he thinks is a rather interesting choice of subject:

An idol K-Pop boy band by the name of BTS.

Just what does BTS mean to you? He only knows that the face in which he mimics is one that you seek comfort from the most. But where does this fierce adoration and unconditional love come from? He gets the feeling that it’s more than a pretty face and good music (and it seems the same goes for all the members of this group); it doesn’t quite fit with what he has seen with the humans who do the same. It tickles his curiosity to figure out more than what he had gleaned when he first took up this guardian position. He hums at the idea, finding it fascinating.

A shout sharply cuts him from his thoughts and he immediately feels a spike in your aura from within his chest. His gaze whips to the source and sees that just ahead of him is a figure, tall in stature and clearly male, an arm outstretched over his head with what appears to be a mobile phone held in his hand. He teeters his weight from his right leg to his left in an effort to keep away a much smaller figure that peeks around his gangly frame.

Jimin doesn’t need to get a clear view of who it might be because the distress and annoyance creates an unmistakable tug that leaves no room for questioning. Your shrieking only affirms this.

Funny, he thinks as he finds himself making quick strides to close the distance between him and this nuisance of a man, that this scene is playing out in a similar fashion he had just witnessed not even ten minutes ago but it manages to evoke a much stronger reaction from him; pulse rushing, head reeling, and jaw clenching.

Maybe it was because of the contract, or maybe because of who was involved. He doesn’t have time to figure it out — what any of it means.

All he knows is that he’s irritated.

He’s finally within reach, just in time to cut off the unsavoury sentence pouring out of the guy’s mouth by catching the hand that held the phone hostage in a literal bone-crushing grip.

“I do believe the young lady said no.”

Quite frankly, the rest of what happened was a blur to Jimin. After trying to be ‘Mr. Nice Demon’ by ignoring the piece of trash behind him, he quickly realized he wasn’t cut out for it. Especially when said piece of trash actually tried to land a hit on him (and doing so even after getting a few of his fingers crushed? Jimin doesn’t know whether to be impressed or annoyed).

He would’ve actually dumped the guy into a literal trash can in the alleyway had it not been for you insisting that he doesn’t but still ended up knocking him out anyways and breaking his nose. Not something Jimin was satisfied with but beggars can’t be choosers he suppose (at least it got him to finally shut up).

When the situation calmed down and he was able to get a good look at you, Jimin couldn’t help but soften at the slightly disheveled way you had looked. Cheeks flushed, pouting lips and eyes that are a little watery set into a glare his way even though to him, you looked more like an angry kitten than a tiger as you berate him for being gone for so long.

He inwardly sighs to himself, what is he going to do with you?

Clearly you had a rough night, that much Jimin can tell. So with the mind to placate your fuming self, he lets you slap his $5,000 jacket (even lets you wear it in the end) and prepares to send you off home (you really need to sleep). Of course things don’t go as planned (or they did, depending on who you ask) because your friend and roommate just so happens to show up at that exact moment. It gave Jimin another entertaining show to experience before the end of the night (probably not something you appreciate but this ain’t about you).

Either way, with your roommate there, it gave Jimin a great excuse to take care of this unfortunate soul and though you had warned him not to do any killing, it didn’t mean he was barred from doing everything else; the possibility was still endless.

So here he was, on top of a building that’s currently under construction with an unconscious man dangling upside from one of the tower cranes.

Life’s good.

Jimin hovers face-to-face with the man, sipping on the water bottle he’d snatched along the way (it’s thirsty work, even for a demon). The guy still got blood smeared down his lips and chin from his broken nose, which was starting to bruise and swell. But that’s not the problem here — the problem here is that he’s still unconscious.

The demon fixes that by splashing the rest of his drink onto his face. The cold does the trick to shock his victim awake with a choked splutter.

“And here I thought I could just leave you for the crows to pick at.” Jimin sighs.

“WH-What the fuck?!” The man garbles, voice nasally as he tries to blink away the remaining water droplets falling from his face. His hands instinctively try to reach up to wipe it but finds that he can’t because on top of tying his feet to dangle 20 feet in the air, Jimin has also bound his hands because why not. The realization sends him into a rising panic and the man begins to struggle while a steady stream of profanity leaves his mouth. Jimin’s grin only grows wider as he watches it morph into a full-blown freak out when the man finally realizes he’s been put in a rather precarious situation. The amusement is short-lived however when the demon can’t stand his incessant screaming.

“Silence, human.” He growls, resorting to chucking the bottle right at the man. It immediately catches his attention, wild eyes darting back to Jimin who only narrows his in return.

“Who’re—You’re…You’re that fucker!”

“Oh I wouldn’t be talking to your only saviour like that if I were you.” Jimin tsk, hands casually shoved into his pocket as he glares down at the offender. “Your life’s hanging by a thread — quite literally.” He projects himself upwards until his feet touches the metal of the crane, loafers tapping lightly as he makes his way to stand directly above the man’s prone figure. Jimin chuckles lowly to himself once he catches sight of the expression he has on; clearly the whole situation he’s in is too absurd for his small brain to process at the moment.

Jimin sees his lips moving quickly, making out words like ‘this isn’t real’, ‘what the fuck’, and ‘I must be dreaming.’ He takes the chance to generously settle those assumptions for him.

“If it helps, I’ll be happy to drop you to see if it’s true or not.” Jimin bounces on the balls of his heels, the disturbance causes the crane to creak, which makes the man sway. He lets out a terrified shout and Jimin pauses to let the momentum carry on by itself. Crouching down, the demon watches with a bored expression as the dangling male screws his eyes shut, whimpering more words to convince himself that he’s not actually 20 feet from dropping to his death and that some good-looking psycho is the cause of it all.

Jimin takes out his phone after a while, checking the time to find that it’s late and his patience is growing thin. With a huff, he straightens himself up and taps his foot against the metal to get the blubbering male’s attention.

“Listen, I don’t have all night to listen to you piss yourself so I’m just going to cut you loose and we can both be done with it yeah?”

“H-Hey no! Wait! What the fuck’s your problem?!” The man yells, voice pitching as he tries his best to look at his tormentor. “Is it because I messed with your girl?! Look, I didn’t even know she was alright?!”

Jimin tilts his head; amused by the conclusion he’s been given. The demon hums but other than that, gives no further response. Not like a lowly scum deserves an answer anyways.

“It doesn’t matter, and quite frankly, it’s none of your business too. Just know that you’re scum and deserve to perish. So….” Kneeling down, Jimin’s hand grasps at the rope keeping said scum from experiencing the bungee jump of his life. “See you in hell, Mike.”

The rope snaps from the flash of intense heat coming from the demon’s palm and before he has the chance to utter another word, Mike is plummeting towards the ground, his screams fading fast. No sooner afterwards, Jimin teleports himself to the safety of the ground below, squinting upwards to catch the speck that is Mike still making his steep descent.

Closer…. Closer….

Now he hears his screaming gradually becoming louder and for a split second, Jimin’s anticipation gets the better of him, giddy to see the result of a human body falling from such a height. That is, until your warning tone echoes from the back of his mind, the nagging begrudgingly makes him scowl with a roll of his eyes before he outstretches a hand above his head and just mere inches from cracking his head open on the gravel ground, Mike’s body comes to a complete stop though he continues wailing.

Jimin’s scowl deepens as he glares down at the man. He runs an agitated hand through his blue-tinted locks but evidently couldn’t restrain himself from kicking him right in the face…again. It puts a swift end to his endless banshee scream. A heavy sigh escapes his parted lips as he unsympathetically releases the hold he has on Mike’s body, letting him topple over ungraciously with a loud thud.

“You’re so lucky; I would’ve dumped your body into the nearest river and call it a night.” Jimin mutters angrily, peering down at Mike’s unconscious form disdainfully with hands on either side of his hips. He stares at his stupid face, nose bent in an unnatural way for a few moments longer and with another frustrated inhale through his nose, Jimin impulsively gives one last kick to the man in his gut. They say you shouldn’t kick a man while he’s down but Jimin’s last fuck had long been given away already. Plus, it did him some good; it took the remainder of his steam because he finally straightens himself out, rolls his shoulders to release any tension left before he stoops down to rifle through the man’s pockets.

He pulls out his wallet, deft hands quickly sifting through various cards until it lands on a university student ID, the institution’s name printed on the plastic with bold letters. Giving the worn leather wallet a shake, a key tumbles out into Jimin’s awaiting hand (along with a bunch of loose change but Mike doesn’t need them). Engraved on the head are a number and letter, no doubt pertaining to the dorm he’s living in. That’s all Jimin needs as he conjures up a portal leading to the location, removes the bindings from Mike’s wrist and feet and all but rolls him through to the floor of his bedroom with the soles of his shoes.

Jimin tosses the wallet carelessly through too and closes the portal, hands brushing against each other like he had taken out a hefty pile of trash (in a way he did). Feeling a little lighter in mood, Jimin turns to regard his surroundings, stretches and take in the still cool night air. Guess he should probably head on back to your place to check up on you now; it wouldn’t do him any good if he had kept you up worrying over some insignificant scum like Mike.

So with quick steps, Jimin vanishes in wisps of dark smoke, only to re-materialize in your bedroom. He was honestly half-expecting to be scolded by you the moment he made his appearance but find a much different sight altogether (though still unsurprising). You’re slouched against the wall at the head of your bed, head lopping off to one side in a way that looked too uncomfortable to remain in with the sheets only halfway pulled up over your body. Jimin can’t help the air that escapes through his nose in a quiet giggle, hands suddenly itching to snap a picture of you. He gives in to the temptation, pulling out his mobile with ease.

After taking a sufficient amount of photos (with various amounts of filters to each), Jimin moves soundlessly towards the edge of the bed to loop an arm around your shoulders, careful to cradle your head against his chest before you used his other free hand to momentarily discard the blanket to make room to scoot you down to the pillows. Once he’s laid you down properly, he fixes the covers again, tucking them under your chin and snuggling the plush cat toy you’re so fond of closer to your side.

You let out an indecipherable murmur, head shifting to sink further into your bed before letting out a deep exhale, a small smile playing on your lips. Jimin shakes his head though his own smile threatens to overtake his lips. He turns around, satisfied and settles into your desk chair, allowing his eyes to slip shut and the rhythmic sounds of your breathing to lull him into a sense of ease he hasn’t felt in a long time.

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thewhiterabbit42 · 6 years

Text

Impala Sex

Pairing: Mick x reader

Summary: A hunt almost goes sideways and you and Mick find yourselves giving in to temptation in less than ideal places.

Written for: @spnkinkbingo and @yeahbecauseimbatman

Kink Bingo Square Filled: Impala Sex

Word Count: 1492

Tags/Warnings: vaginal sex, unprotected sex

Beta’d by the lovely lady formerly known as @sumara62

“We shouldn’t be doing this.”

Mick’s whisper becomes swallowed. By the heady thrill of danger dancing along the air. By your mouth as your lips lay claim to his once more, unable to keep yourself from stealing taste after taste. Your fingers rake through his hair, and despite his protest, his hands are at your hips, tugging you flush against his body.

He’s right. It’s neither the time nor place. You’re both splattered in vamp blood that has yet to fully dry, and the Winchesters should be back any minute. But ideal is as foreign a concept as the luxury that comes from working with the British Men of Letters, and you’re well beyond the point of caring who might catch you with your pants around your ankles, or that you actually have a decent hotel room you can drop them in.

“Wait.”

He grabs your hands, a war raging inside of him, one one that adds an urgency to his tone. It implores you to listen, but also doesn’t stop you when you reach forward to palm him through his pants. His resolve fractures, frenetic fingertips tugging your undershirt free from your jeans so that he can drink in the smooth expanse of flesh beneath it.

You’re tired of waiting, and you know he is too. You can still see the look of horror on his face that went beyond almost witnessing a colleague being ripped apart. You can still feel weighted certainty that this is it clinging to your being. You need this. Him. Something to keep you from facing the fact that you almost didn’t come back this time.

You know you’ve won the battle the moment he allows you to push him into the backseat of the Impala.

He bounces across the leather, dragging his legs hastily in to make space for you. You’re thankful for the way your boots simply zip up the side, making it easy to lose them. Your jeans are a little less cooperative, but, ever eager to lend a helping hand, Mick reaches forward, wrenching them down to your knees.

Any other time you might have cracked a joke. He’s been nothing but cordial business and gentlemanly manners around you, and his eagerness is a nice development. But, there’s no time for humor, no desire other than to quench the the need roiling low in your stomach.

You only bother with one pant leg, dragging the rest into the car before shutting the door behind you. Strong hands land at your hips and he hoists you into his lap where your fingers immediately fly to his belt. You have the front of his pants open and your own underwear pushed aside in mere moments, though it feels like an eternity passes before you can finally free him.

Again, not ideal. There's not enough space to fully appreciate him or for him to appreciate you, and you’re certain you’d earn a one-way ticket off Winchester Island if Dean even had an inkling of what was happening inside his car.

That does little to stop you from enjoying the man beneath you.

You line him up with your entrance, sinking yourself down upon him. You groan in satisfaction as your walls give a burning stretch, whereas Mick sucks in air between his teeth as if he might come apart at that moment.

“Oh god,” he moans when he's fully hilted, fingers digging so tightly into you there's bound to be a few prints left behind.

He tugs, urging you to move, and you raise up until you're almost completely off him before he's buried in your wet heat again. You find a comfortable pace to start, one that quickly gains in tempo, until there's nothing but the sounds of your ragged breaths and groans within the vehicle.

You can tell it’s frustrating that he can’t get to you. Not fully. Not in ways he so clearly wants. He’s everywhere, frantically trying to touch every part of you, as if he may never get another opportunity to again. Despite his desperation, he’s controlled, grip firm but no longer bruising, drinking you in until you nearly suffocate, but never forgetting to let you come up for air.

You’ve thought about this many times, but no amount of fantasizing could have prepared you for the way you perfectly fit in his lap, how he knows how to handle you, how you need him fast, hard, without reservation.

It’s the best post-hunt high you’ve ever chased. It’s intense, all-encompassing, and as much as you’d love to make the most of the experience, you do everything you can to push him over the edge first. He doesn’t just trip over it, but goes careening over the finish line, a series of fucks echoing with his erratic, then slowing thrusts.

He slumps, head dropping back onto the seat. Both your chests are heaving and it takes a moment for you to catch your breath. As much as you want to revel in how thoroughly sated he looks, you know you can’t.

Carefully, you slide off him, your body protesting at the sudden emptiness. Without a word you get back into your pants, hastily climbing back out of the car to find your boots and escape the stifling silence.

By the time he emerges, you’ve not only put yourself back to rights, but you’ve taken a seat on top of the hood. Other than the residual glow in your cheeks and the obvious sex hair he’s sporting, there’s no other evidence of what just happened. None that’s visible, anyway.

“Hey.” You acknowledge him, unsure of what else to do. This all feels a little out of your league. You’ve slept with other hunters before, but never anyone as important as him, and never anyone you’ve had feelings for.

“I hope you’ll accept my apology,” he begins, and your slowing heart begins racing anew at his stiff, distant tone.

You swallow. “For?”

You don't mean to sound so challenging, but the slick on your thighs hasn't even dried and he's already making excuses, which is fast, even for a bureaucrat.

He releases a breath, hand raking through his hair. His eyes drop, wandering over the ground as he looks at nothing in particular. You hope the measured pause he gives is him choosing his next words carefully.

“Not adhering to proper etiquette.”

Whatever etiquette he’s referring to must be British, because you have no idea what he's talking about.

Your brow arches, but you refrain from saying anything until he explains himself.

“You know…” He jams his hands into his pockets and clears his throat. “Ladies first?”

You turn to look at him, really look at him, and you realize what you’ve been picking up on isn’t him being detached so much as embarrassed.

“Oh.” That. “I mean…” You’ve never had anyone care enough to apologize. What does one say in this situation?

Sorry I couldn’t wait another half hour to jump your bones?

No. You didn’t need him thinking you’re even more desperate than you already seemed.

No big deal. It happens all the time?

Yeah, maybe if you want him to think dragging men into the backseat after a hunt is par for the course.

The pressure to say something overwhelms you, and you decide to throw caution to the wind.

“...the night’s still young?”

His eyes snap up and you freeze. He goes as still as stone, and your heart follows suit, unsure of what it means.

A roguish smile breaks through the surface, lighting up his eyes. “I guess it is.”

He steps in front of you, hand brushing the hair back from your face before taking you by the chin. “May I?”

You smile, relief flooding your system as you grab the front of his suit. You get lost in each other again, but this time it’s different. It’s slow and sweet, filled with electricity and a tenderness that’s sorely been missing from your life. He takes the time to explore your mouth, your tongue, all the places along your neck that make you sigh. For a few minutes, there’s nothing but you and him, and the world without monsters he’d pitched to you months back is suddenly a reality.

Until the Winchesters return and promptly burn it to the ground.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Dean yells, emerging from the treeline. “What are you, fifteen? Quit necking on my car!”

Sam trails behind him with a snort. “Necking, Dean? Really?”

“I mean it,” his brother warns. “Off!”

You draw back, putting your hands up in surrender and Mick mutters something that suspiciously sounds like bloody wankers though it could have just been Winchesters. He steps back giving you room to hop down and while he looks less than thrilled, you can’t keep yourself from smirking at the vein starting to pop on Dean’s forehead.

If only he knew what you’d really been up to in his precious Baby.

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jarryprompts · 6 years

Text

Harry making a deal with a demon (James). Prompt Fill

Submitted by @itsacruelirony as a response to this prompt. Thank you!

Warnings for some dubcon so approach with caution. Smutt from the outset so under a cut :)

Harry feels the bile rise in his throat and quickly chokes it back down. He won’t get paid if he vomits on his client. Even if this is his most loyal and kind client, it would still earn him a beating and lose him the day’s earnings. Instead he fakes his pleasure, because he knows this man likes him to be responsive, and gives the appropriate moans and touches. His mind conjures up images of the few boyfriends he’d had in the past and of porn he’d watched - anything to make this even slightly enjoyable.

Finally, with a grunt and one deep thrust, the man finishes, slumping over Harry’s prone body to catch his breath. Harry dares not move, despite how rank the man’s aftershave smells and the way the hands still clutch his hips. Hot breath puffs against his ear. Wet, open mouthed kisses press against his neck and bare chest. A tight squeeze of his hips for a moment causes a strike of fear in Harry’s mind - does he want to go again?

Thankfully, the man rolls off him and pulls up his trousers, zipping his fly with finality. Harry gives a sigh of relief. As the man straightens his shirt and tie and slips his blazer back on, Harry takes stock of his body. No matter how often he does this, how integral to his life it is now, he will never get used to the pain and the humiliation he feels every second of the day. But this is his life now.

“I might give you tip. You make me regret being married.” The man jokes, drinking in the sight of Harry’s still exposed body and winking lecherously. The man fishes a wad of cash out of his wallet and hands it over. Harry gapes at the amount but tucks it away before the man can snatch it back.

“Much appreciated.” Harry needs every penny he can get. Maybe, once the cut for his family comes out, he will have enough to spare for a crisps, water and biscuits. A bland diet, he knows, but he’s not ill or deficient in any vitamins yet, so it’ll do.

The man lingers in the alley, stood in his suit with an honest to God briefcase, looking impossible out of place. Harry doesn’t say anything as he fidgets on his sleeping bag. Will the man just leave already? This is awkward.

“…Everything okay?…” He asks hesitantly. His stomach begins to twist nervously.

“You’re a good person.” The man isn’t looking at him. He contemplates the moss growing on the damp brick walls, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t deserve to live your life like this. I know you, and you deserve a second chance.”

“I’ve my second chance and I blew it. If you knew me, you’d know that. Are you done here?”

The client ignores the dismissal, finally turning back to Harry. His hand holding the briefcase clenches. “I can help you. I have a way to make all of your problems disappear. Poof! Gone. And it’s not money.”

Harry knows it is too good to be true, but so long as the man isn’t offering to buy him completely and fix his problems with sex. A miracle fix for his problems. That is the dream. It could make his money worries go away, get him a flat to live in, stop him ever going hungry, get him back into uni, fix his relationship with his father, cure his sister’s near-incurable disease. Harry has wished on every star, on the first snowflake that falls - he would hunt for a genie’s lamp if he thought they existed.

“Go on.” What does he have to lose?

The man doesn’t answer, instead, he winks and smirks and places his case down on the ground and opens it. Harry can’t see what the man is doing, rummaging around in it as if the inside were bigger than the outside. Harry’s heart speeds in anticipation, and he suddenly aware that he is still naked. The chilling breeze nips at his shoulders as he hunches over his drawn up knees. A spark of irritation flies at the man who delights in building the suspense as he stares at Harry.

Finally, from the inside of the case, the man retrieves a thick book. But it is so much more than a simple book. Cracked, burnt black leather covers, with clasps made of a shining red metal, inlaid with inky black pearls. The pages are crumpled and jagged, something rust coloured stains the parchment. It looks to be a thousand years old at the very least. It is too ancient for a sexually deviant businessman to be carrying around in his man-bag. What is it?

As if he could read Harry’s mind, the man begins to explain. “This book and many like it have been handed down the generations of my family, we are the custodians of the secrets it holds. We gift it to those we deem worthy - and you, I think, are worthy. I see how desperate you are, how low life has brought you. You sleep on the ground, in the dirt, like a common beast, and you sell yourself to the highest bidder. And the lowest. You’re starving. You’re hopeless and dying down here. I see everything and I give this to you.”

The man holds out the ominous tome, pressing it into Harry’s hands. He almost buckles under the weight of it. Thankfully it is large enough to cover his modesty from his creepy client.

“How does any of that make me worthy? And what even is this? What am I meant to do with this book? Sell it, eat it, use it as a pillow?”

He should have known. No power in the world is capable of fixing the absolute mess Harry has made of his life. And now this charlatan thinks a stupid book can fix all of his problems. If a book could fix his fucked up life then university wouldn’t have been such a failure at university. He’s kidding himself even thinking he can get together enough money to pay for a private treatment for Dee Dee. His life is fucked.

The man rolls his eyes and growls angrily. For a moment, Harry thinks his eyes flash red. But a second later it’s gone. He must have imagined it. Low blood sugar probably.

“Read it and you’ll know. Do what it takes to improve your life.”

With that dire instruction, the man slips away down the alley, smart shoes clicking on the pavement. He leaves Harry naked on his thin and patchy sleeping bag, with a medieval book in his lap, feeling more humiliated and taken advantage of than he did when the man was screwing him. A book? If only, he scoffs.

In the cold silence that Harry has grown used to now, he gets dressed, cleaning himself up and preparing for his next client. Money safely stashed away, he tries to focus on his motivation - Dee Dee, and his family - but his thoughts and eyes drift constantly to the bloody book. So out of place in the modern world. Finally, he give sin to the temptation to open it and read. There’s nothing else for him to do.

Reading it turns out to be a bust, because not only is it in some near illegible fancy calligraphy, but it appears to be in Latin, which Harry only knows from his old boarding school’s motto. He doesn’t know near enough to translate this thing. But, undeterred, he examines the pages and the accompanying illustrations, hoping for something to help him, or at least, entertain him until he has to go in search of a new customer.

Weeks later, as he finishes the last page, Harry goes back to the beginning and starts all over again. And again. And again. With each rereading he understands more and more of the contents. When he realises that it is a Satanic text about demons and spells and evil deeds, he only contemplates throwing it away for a second before starting to read again. It’s not like there’s an abundance of reading material for homeless prostitutes, and besides, it’s actually pretty interesting.

In the dark of the night, when he has no light by which to read his tome, Harry wonders why his client gave this to him, and he mulls over his cryptic words as a kind of lullaby. He hasn’t seen the man since so has no one to go to for answers. While the book is illuminating in many ways, he still doesn’t know what to do.

That is until the day he collects his meagre savings and shoves them into a wrinkled brown envelope. It’s not enough, even with the money he was going to save for himself so that he could eat a little better the following week. Dee Dee’s treatment is expensive, he knows, and this will barely put a dent into it. But he posts it through the flat’s letterbox anyway, when he knows that everyone is out.

It’s as he lets the tears fall down his cheeks, as the realisation that this could very well be his life until the day he dies washes over him, that he understands. He was given the book because he has nothing to lose and everything to gain. So he might as well use what he’s learnt. Harry doesn’t care if this is a ploy to suck him into some cult, or steal his immortal soul or whatever, he really does have nothing left to lose.

So, by the fading light of the day, Harry settles down on his sleeping bag, a demonic book in his lap, and prepares to summon a demon. It’s what the book is for. It details all the requirements - not many - and the consequences - a few - and the risks - too many to list. Harry feels prepared for this, so he confidently recites the required Latin text. Though he stumbles over pronunciation he guesses it doesn’t matter how he pronounces a dead language, and carries on. It’s the intent that matters, anyway.

As he finishes the silence in the alley presses down on him. No birds sing, no cars rumble by, no wind whistles. Harry’s breathing becomes laboured as fear creeps in. What did he just do?

“Hello, Harry.”

Harry shrieks and nearly jumps out of his skin. For where there once was empty space, now stands the most handsome man Harry has ever seen. Well, demon, he supposes, given the ritual he just performed. But he looks nothing like a demon. He’s dressed in an impeccable suit, hair combed back, and completely devoid of a pitchfork and tail. Thankfully the man - demon - says nothing about his scream.

Neither of them speak. Harry tries and fails to break the silence but his jaw merely opens and close noiselessly like a dumb fish. God, he must look so stupid and brainless to this impressive and immortal demon. A puny, pathetic prostitute.

Seemingly amused, the demon takes a step forward and gracefully folds himself down to sit next to Harry. Harry looks up, at the demon, confused.

“Take your time. I know that book doesn’t quite prepare you well enough for demon summoning.”

“I— I— I just summoned a demon?”

“Yes. Me.”

“Do you have a name?”

“… What?” That startles the demon. Harry feels flicker of pride at having shocked someone as powerful as him before the confusion and shock settle in again.

“A name. It’s rude to just call you demon, isn’t it? I’d find it rude if I called ‘human’ or ‘person’ all the time. Surely you have a name.”

“Oh. My real name is rather difficult for your kind to pronounce - much like that Latin you butchered.”

“Sorry. Is there a name you want me to call you, then? One I can pronounce.”

“You may call me James.”

“Very well. Nice to meet you, James.” Harry hold out his hand for the demon - James - to shake, rather surprising himself. And James if the look on his face is anything to go by. “Just go with it. I think I’m in shock.” With a quirk of his lips, the demon shakes his hand.

“What happens now?” The book didn’t explain what to do once the demon has been summoned, it seems to rely on the person working the spell having some sort of natural instinct. Something Harry does not have. If he did, he wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place.

“Well, you are obviously worthy, since you have the book. Tell me what you need to do and we’ll work out a deal.”

“A deal?”

“Obviously, I don’t do this for free.”

“No, I… I knew that, obviously. I just… you’ll do it? No matter what? So if I needed someone to die in order to improve my life, then you’d do it? What if I asked you to commit genocide?”

James doesn’t bat an eyelid. “It would be done. For a price.” There is no doubt that the price would be steep, but the fact that he would kill a person, or an entire race of people, for a price - for Harry - is startling. Though, Harry supposes, he is a demon. Demons don’t exactly have morals.

“But I doubt you need me murder anyone, let alone an entire population.” James reassures him. Harry finds he quite likes this man. It might be because he’s the first person to have a proper conversation with him in months. Or because he is undeniably attractive and Harry can feel the stirrings of desire in his stomach. “What is your predicament?”

Harry sighs, his shoulders sagging where he sits and feeling more relaxed next to an omnipotent demon than he has done in a long time. He shuts the book and scrapes his nails gently on the tough cover; absently, he notices how long and dirty his nails have gotten.

“I did something my father can’t forgive.”

“I can’t change the past, Harry. No one can. I’m sorry.” Somehow, Harry believes James.

“I didn’t expect you too. I’d either screw up again exactly the same or be so plagued with guilt about it I’d tell my dad and be back here again. I messed up, got kicked out and I just need to make amends so that I can go back home.”

“And you’re making amends how?”

“Any money I have goes towards paying for a treatment for my sister. She has autoimmune encephalitis and there’s a treatment that might help but it’s experimental and not available on the NHS, so the family have to pay.” There’s something wrong about paying for a child’s medical bills with sex, but it’s the only choice Harry has. No savings, no job, no smart clothes for an interview or a printer for a CV. Being homeless sucks.

“You’re selling your body for your sister. For your family. And how do they feel knowing the money you give them comes from a man abusing your body?”

“I don’t really know. I post it through the letter box when I know they’re out.” Harry fidgets guiltily. He can’t even face his family, how will things ever be okay? “They’d hate it. I’m disgusting and dirty… they won’t want me anywhere near the kids. And too right.”

“So you won’t be allowed near the sister you sacrificed yourself for. Charming.” James doesn’t try hard to keep the contempt out of his voice. It brings a rare smile to Harry’s face to have someone on his side - a smile he fights down because that’s a selfish thought and it’s wrong.

“I guess I need… I would like Dee Dee to be healthy. I want her safe and comfortable, and I don’t want it come at the cost of my family’s financial stability. I want my family to be happy.”

“And what about you? Is there anything you want for yourself?”

“I don’t deserve anything. I’m a lost cause.”

James stiffens beside him, but Harry doesn’t dare look at him. He knows he has a sort of ally, but he can’t see the pity or compassion. Not when he doesn’t have it from his family.

“Very well. I will require something in return.”

No matter what was demanded of him, Harry has nothing to lose. That was what drew him to summon a demon in the first place. And for his sister? He would give anything to see her smile again, to have her laugh and be carefree, without tubes sticking out of her. “Anything.”

“Your soul.”

“And what will you do with my soul?”

“Set you free.”

#jarry #filledjarryprompt #smut #demon james #au fantasy #itsacruelirony #submission

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artificialqueens · 6 years

Text

The Language of Flowers, Chapter 2.5 (Multi) - Albatross

AN: Well the first Witney/Courtney-centric chapter is here and as mentioned before; they’ll have a .5 in the title to distinguish from the Shinkx-centric chapters. Trixya will start appearing in the next chapter and will be featured about equally on both sides. The next update for this particular piece should be up in about 4-5 weeks. I’ve finally gotten a start on the sequel to ‘Say My Name’ and the first half of that will be posted in two weeks. Not sure about the title yet but its going to feature a throuple, so yay for that people who’ve been asking for more throuple fics.

“Maybe it’s time for a change,” Katya suggested in a casual voice as she sipped her soda, “This could be the sign you’re looking for.”

Courtney groaned as her head fell forward into her arms and collapsed against the granite island counter top in her neighbor’s kitchen. She really did not want to deal with this right now; earlier today she had just received word from her upper management that the office would be relocating at the end of the month. 'Don’t worry,’ they assured her. She’ll still have her job…she’ll just need to commute 40 minutes to get there…provided that traffic isn’t too heavy on the way, of course. Besides, what are the chances of traffic backing up during rush hour?

What a load of bullshit…But Courtney would never say that to them; she just grinned and told them she’d think about it over the weekend before confirming that she’ll be moving along with the rest of the staff. They were very agreeable, she had to admit, they even offered a small pay increase to offset the cost of gas but still…a 40-minute minimum drive every day? Both ways? God, this day just sucks!

“I don’t know what else I can do, Kat!” she exclaimed in a beaten voice. “Our rent’s already skyrocketed and I don’t have time to find anywhere cheaper. Where else can I find a job that pays this well on such short notice?”

“You could always move in with me,” Katya said suggestively. Even before Courtney raised her head, she knew Katya was doing that stupid eyebrow wiggle that would almost always crack her up. Today however, it only did half of the job but at least it got a smile out of her.

“Hard pass,” Courtney shot back firmly. “I hear enough of you across the hall as it is. Don’t need to be sharing a bathroom and bedroom wall with you too.”

“Can’t say I don’t get good reviews,” she stated proudly. “And speaking of reviews; why don’t you give me yours tonight?”

Suspiciously, Courtney asked, “For your show or…?”

“Both,” Katya replied with a flirty wink. Courtney didn’t bother to hide her less than amused expression until Katya finally cracked in her facade and broke down laughing. “Fine, just the show,” she relented through her own amused chuckling.

“Alright,” Courtney said with a sigh, “I’ve got nothing better to do. Why not drown myself in alcohol as well?”

“Great! Besides, there’s someone I want you to meet…” Katya mentioned with a secretive smile.

Immediately a red flag went up in Courtney’s mind as she asked warningly, “You’re not trying to set me up on a blind date, are you?”

“No, this one’s mine…for now…” the younger blonde reassured her yet couldn’t resist the temptation to add in, “But if you like her, I’m willing to share.”

“No.”

“Fine, don’t say I didn’t offer,” Katya replied with a bright, yet concerning smile. “I think you’ll find her…interesting.”

“Can’t wait,” Courtney responded with a sarcastic eye roll.

***********

As Courtney has learned from plenty of experience with Katya; you should always be wary whenever she gets mysterious. If there is ever a time when she’s not gleefully telling you what she’s thinking, no matter how bizarre or off topic it seems, always proceed with caution. And tonight that’s exactly what Courtney was determined to do. She’s known for quite awhile that Katya has been a regular performer at the local burlesque shows but she had yet to see any of her recent gigs. Katya often raved how she’s changed her act up over the last few months, sometimes working with a partner and other times not, but Courtney has been leery about attending ever since a rather raunchy display she had witnessed some two years ago, courtesy of Katya dragging her there after work one day. To put it bluntly, more modesty could be seen in most porn she had watched than what had been showcased on the stage that night. Needless to say, Courtney was somewhat reluctant to experience a second round of that mentally scarring performance but the number of drinks she was planning on consuming tonight would probably be enough to block any memory from forming…so she hoped. And she was well on her way to reaching that amount by the time Katya’s number had actually started.

If you asked Courtney how Katya’s act had gone over, she could say with perfect honesty that the crowd loved it. She distinctly remembers the other patrons screaming their heads off and throwing tips to the stage, all while begging for more. If you asked her what Katya actually did during her performance, then you might get a vague or fudged answer. To her irritation, she spent the majority of her time trying to peek through the bobbing heads and flailing arms just to get a glimpse of what Katya was doing. If the silhouette reflected on the walls behind her were anything to judge by, then the blocked view might have been a blessing in disguise. Every so often Courtney was able to spot Katya between the gaps in the crowd and she had to admit, Katya looked absolutely stunning tonight. Her make up was flawless as far she could tell with the distance and her body was perfectly toned and showing just the right amount of skin in her tight leather outfit. It wasn’t too gaudy nor too conservative and Courtney would bet anything that someone else helped her pick it out. Not to say that Katya couldn’t have found it on her own but her style always tended to be more flashy and this particular outfit looked just bit out of her normal comfort zone…more subdued and mature than what Courtney remembered from the last show.

All too quickly, Katya finished her number to the roar of the crowd and Courtney was left to make her way back to the bar. Within a few minutes, the giddy blonde joined her, now changed into more comfortable every-day clothing and eager to listen to Courtney’s review. Not wanting to disappoint her friend by admitting she couldn’t even see most of the show aside from what the shadows implied, Courtney exclaimed repeatedly how much the crowd had gone wild when she took the stage and of course complimented her whole look tonight. Katya drank it up with a bright smile and ordered herself a bottle of water to re-hydrate after such an intense performance. As she slowly winded down, Courtney asked about the person she was supposed to be introduced to. Katya’s smile grew to an alarming size as she told Courtney that the woman in question was actually the one performing at the moment and pointed towards the stage. Curiously, Courtney turned away from her friend in time to see a body wrapped around a flimsy ring become suspended into the air. An audible gasp left her as watched the young woman twisting her limbs effortlessly as though she weren’t hanging several feet above the crowd and easily could come crashing to the floor with one wrong move.

Reality had a way of escaping as Courtney stood mesmerized by the performance but by the time the mystery woman descended and disappeared backstage, the ice in her glass had mostly melted and Katya’s water bottle had been replaced with a soda. “She’s something, huh?” Katya asked knowingly.

“I’ll say,” Courtney replied, thoroughly impressed by the show.

With a playful wink, Katya added in, “Should see her in bed…loves the kinky shit.”

At the moment Katya made her last comment, Courtney had the misfortune to have been taking a sip of her drink and promptly began choking as the implication registered in her mind. “You and her have already…?” she asked in disbelief as she grabbed a napkin to clean up the mess she had made.

“Yep, for the past couple of weeks,” Katya confirmed proudly. Doing her best to sound enticing, she proposed, “And there’s still room for one more…we’ll go easy on you…at first.”

Courtney couldn’t even bring herself to dignify the offer with a verbal response. She simply glared at Katya until she had the good grace to give a slightly shamefaced smile. Shaking her head in disbelief, Courtney asked aloud, “Why am I friends with you again?”

Katya’s only reaction was to let out her trademark cackle and press a soft kiss to Courtney’s cheek as a way of apology. “Save some action for me, Kat,” a voice called out teasingly.

Still in the same outfit she had just finished performing in, the young and slightly out of breath entertainer joined the two blondes at the bar and flagged down one of the servers. As they waited for her drink to be mixed, Katya introduced the two women, “Court, this is Violet. Violet, this is Courtney, my neighbor from across the hall.”

“Ah, so you’re the one I’ve heard about,” Violet mused as she took the first sip of her drink.

Shooting a wary look toward Katya, Courtney asked, “What have you heard exactly?”

Giving a dismissive wave of her hand, Violet replied nonchalantly, “Nothing bad, just that you’re joining us tonight.”

“Katya!” Courtney all but screamed at her friend. Her cheeks were a fiery red as she turned to glare the other blonde but the way she was struggling not to laugh gave Courtney reason to pause. Glancing back at Violet, she found the younger woman watching her in amusement and suddenly it clicked that they were just trying to rile her up. Rubbing her fingers along her temple, she grumbled, “This is going to be a long night, isn’t it?” and ordered another much stronger drink.

**********************

Looking back, perhaps she ought to have begun ordering fewer drinks once the night had turned into the next day. Perhaps she ought to have just stopped drinking altogether after realizing she had been bitching about her job for the last half hour. And perhaps she ought to have called it a night once she found herself eyeing up both of the younger women consideringly. But the moment she knew that she was absolutely, 100%, without a doubt in too deep was when she found herself in the back seat of an Uber making out with a certain someone who may or may not have been her neighbor. Her entire body felt overheated and on edge as she frantically clutched at the other woman’s clothes in a halfhearted attempt to remove them. A hand brushed hers away every time she began making process and when she finally pulled away to question it, she found a brunette eagerly awaiting to capture her lips herself. The last thing Courtney truly remembered was a hand carefully cradling her cheek as a tongue licked its way into her mouth with considerable practice.

Some time later, Courtney found herself waking up on a couch she vaguely recognized as Katya’s, listening to some very vocal calls of said woman’s name. If she had to guess, she’d say Violet was fully enjoying herself at the moment but hardly the same could be said for Courtney. She was very tempted to wander across the hall back to her own apartment but the instant she tried sitting up, her head began spinning and throbbing to the point where it was not worth the effort. Falling back onto the couch, she wrapped herself in a blanket Katya must have draped over her and buried her head beneath the throw pillow in a futile attempt to block out the noises drifting from the bedroom. By the time she fell asleep, Courtney felt confident she could probably give a more accurate description of what Katya had been doing to Violet than what had gone on during her performance. If she had to choose two words to describe Violet after just meeting her tonight, they would undoubtedly be 'loud’ and 'explicit’.

When Courtney awoke the second time, she found herself feeling decidedly worse and even the smell of food did nothing to improve her mood. Katya could be heard singing/screaming off key somewhere behind her as she clanged around in the kitchen. Grumbling to herself, Courtney rolled off the couch and groggily made her way to the island countertop. Seating herself parallel to Violet, who seemed to be borrowing some of Katya’s garish clothing for the time being, she slumped over the counter and held her hands out imploringly for coffee. Sliding her own mug across the empty space into the awaiting grasp, Violet greeted her with a taunting, “Morning, sunshine. Sleep well?”

Glaring at her as she took a deep swig, Courtney swallowed the much needed caffeine and asked reluctantly, “What happened last night?”

Without missing a beat, Katya brightly asked as she prepared their breakfast, “Before or after you passed out on the couch?”

“Before,” Courtney replied in a no-nonsense tone, “I heard quite enough this morning to piece together what happened after.”

Taking pity on the hungover blonde, Violet gave her a very brief and very censored version of the previous night’s events following their introduction to one another. Evidently, Courtney had drank far more than she had originally planned and some time after she met Violet, it began to take its effect. Aside from her alcohol-induced ranting about the recent ultimatum with her job, apparently Courtney also had hit on the very openly gay bartender (who promptly confiscated her keys) and nearly got into a fight after someone had spilled their drink on her shoes. The two women ushered her out of the club before anything became physical and no sooner had they entered the Uber driver’s car than Courtney decided then would be the best time to force her tongue down Katya’s throat.

Although Katya was snickering in the background at this part, Courtney had never felt more ashamed and was instantly apologizing for her actions to both women. Each brushed it off and began eating the meal that Katya had finished placing in front of them; a slightly burnt, semi-circular mystery food that ended up looking more like thick crepes than the fluffy pancakes they were probably intended to be. They tasted much better than they looked to each of the women’s secret relief…especially after you cut off the blackened edges. Downing more of the coffee, Courtney asked what happened after they arrived back at the apartment complex.

“Well, Violet and I were going to put you to bed but it seems your apartment key was also on the same ring as your car keys- you’ll need to stop back at the club later to pick those up by the way…So we brought you back to my place and got you settled in on the couch…We didn’t think you’d want to wake up in my bed to find Vi bent over with a-”

“No! Thanks!” Courtney interrupted with wide eyes, “Don’t need to hear any more about that, trust me. Heard plenty already.”

“You were right, Kat…” Violet interjected with a teasing smile, “She is cute when she gets flustered.”

Narrowing her eyes at both women, Courtney drained the final remnants within the mug and muttered, “I hate you both.”

Leaning forward to pry the cup from the older blonde’s resisting hands, Violet asked casually, “So what job is horrible enough that it drove you to drink as much as you did?”

While Violet poured a second mugful, Courtney groaned softly and replied, “It’s not the work itself that’s the problem; it’s the fact that starting next month, I’m now going to have to drive probably an hour both ways every day to get to it! If I enjoyed the position more maybe it’d be a different story but…I’m just not happy there. I miss my old job, to be honest.”

Pushing the steaming cup back in front of the Aussie, Violet proposed simply, “Then why not go back to it?”

“The pay wasn’t as good…” Courtney admitted as she took a shallow sip, “And it was barely more than part time…I was working at a clothing boutique as well to cover the missing hours.”

“Mm…if you don’t mind me asking, where was the job at?” Violet asked curiously.

“The flower shop on 34th,” Courtney stated with a hint of longing in her voice, “'Marcie’s Marvelous Arrangements’. You know, the one right across from cafe?”

Nodding, Violet answered calmly, “Uh-huh, I’m very familiar with that place…They’re one of my biggest competitors…One of my previous assistants left to go work there a few months ago…”

“Oh! Sorry,” Courtney apologized as her cheeks filled with pink.

“Don’t be. Her choice, not yours…” Violet told her kindly. “But, you know…if you’re interested…I do have a full-time position for a florist that needs filled…and I can guarantee we’ll pay you better than at Marcie’s.”

“Really?” Courtney exclaimed gleefully. Suddenly her hangover seemed much more manageable than it had five minutes ago.

“Uh-huh,” Violet drew out with a lazy smile as she side-eyed the other blonde, “It’s funny…I could have sworn that just the other day I was telling Katya what a difficult time I was having finding another florist.”

Not even daring to make eye contact with the other women, the grinning blonde choked back a laugh and replied in a strained voice, “Did you? Don’t remember. Maybe that collar was tighter than I thought last night.”

“Mh-mm,” Violet said with a knowing tone as she leant with her hand on her cheek, “Must have been…Hard to imagine you pulling off a stunt like this without blurting it out midway through. Isn’t it nice when things work out, though?”

**************

Some time after breakfast, Courtney showered and changed into some of Katya’s less flamboyant clothes before taking an Uber with Violet back to the club to pick up her keys and car. While she was there, she apologized repeatedly to the bartender (after Violet pointed out which one it was) for her behavior the previous night. He accepted with a gracious smile and informed her that she wasn’t the first and probably wouldn’t be the last any time soon. She left feeling a good deal less shameful than when she had arrived and drove Violet back to her own apartment. As she dropped her off, Violet asked her to come by the flower shop tomorrow afternoon to sign the paperwork for her job offer. She was very adamant that it be in the mid-afternoon as it would be less busy and of course, her business partner would also be there to meet her. Courtney admitted that she was rather excited to meet her future boss but the way Violet had snickered at that statement gave her cause for alarm…and as it turned out; that feeling was quite an understatement.

If she had any idea what Sharon would be like upon meeting her, she would have been far less optimistic as she walked into the shop for the first time. The older woman seemed friendly enough at first; she greeted her with a welcoming smile and asked how she could help her but before Courtney was able to get a single word out, Violet swept in beside her and announced sweetly that Courtney was about to become their newest florist.

“What?” Sharon asked venomously as a scowl worked its way across her lips.

Unaffected, Violet reiterated in a defiant tone, “You said we needed a third assistant so I went and found one.”

Courtney could hear the shop’s door opening behind her but the majority of her attention was on the sudden realization that this was all news to Sharon. The resentful look on her face deepened as she replied sarcastically, “And let me guess, this one’s name is Daisy or Lily or some shit?”

Violet’s lips curled into a smirk as she replied coolly, “Nope…it’s Courtney.”

“Right…And what’s her last name then?” Sharon scoffed as though she were waiting for unwanted punchline from the younger woman.

“'Act’,” Courtney supplied with a friendly smile. Sharon’s eyebrow arched at her voice, seemingly caught off guard by the accent. Not that this was an unusual occurrence but the icy glare that seemed to be boring deep into her soul was a little more than unsettling at the moment. She almost wanted to crawl into a pit and die as Sharon stared at her like she was some insignificant insect unworthy of her time. Her gaze barely left Courtney’s as she traded cutting remarks with Violet, who simply deflected every possible argument she could have had with considerable ease. She clearly had years of experience butting heads with Sharon and now she was an expert in providing rational counter-statements in the most annoying way she could manage.

Courtney stood awkwardly at the counter as she tried not to fidget with the sleeves of her sweater; she was unused to being argued over as though she weren’t even there. Even when she chanced a glance towards the shop’s work area, she found that the only other shop assistant was looking quite uncomfortable as well. It seemed as though she were debating if she should leave the room or not. When Sharon finally began to address her personally, Courtney did her best to remain polite and friendly. Her answers were honest regarding her past experience at 'Marcie’s’ but Sharon was not the type to be easily impressed, even though Violet pointed out that their other assistants came in with no experience whatsoever and they had worked out well. That particular comment earned a powerful glare from the older blonde.

Finally after what felt like hours of debate and interrogation, Sharon relented with a very long-suffering sigh and proceeded to print off the paperwork. With the older woman’s guidance, Courtney rushed through adding in her signatures and initials until they came to the section discussing her salary. Violet filled in the field herself and Courtney would later swear to Katya that she had never seen anyone look as pissed off as Sharon did once she saw what Violet had written.

“That’s more than what the other girls were hired at!” Sharon remarked in a fierce whisper.

“She’s worth it!” Violet argued firmly. “Trust me. You have for everything else!”

Upon hearing that final declaration, Sharon held her tongue until the forms were filled out in their entirety and she quickly paper-clipped them together to be filed that night. Courtney was glad that Violet seemed as eager to leave the shop as she was following that exchange but the smirk she sent back to her partner as they left had definitely crossed a line. Courtney could tell that Sharon was fuming before the door had even hit the frame. As the pair walked towards their cars, Violet pulled her aside and told her, “She’ll get over it, I promise. Her attitude in there has nothing to do with you or me, she’s just…going through some shit right now.”

“And you’re giving her an outlet?” Courtney asked wisely.

With a secret smile, the brunette confirmed, “If she takes it.”

“You’re a good friend,” Courtney commented sincerely.

“Yeah, but don’t tell anyone,” Violet said with a playful wink, “I have a reputation to protect.”

******************

It had been just over three weeks since she began working there and Courtney was already feeling at home. Aside from Sharon, she was welcomed into the fold with open arms and got along quite well with the other women. Ivy and Jinkx especially had taken to showing her how the shop ran, which was a good deal more relaxed than at 'Marcie’s’. Granted there was always an underlying air of professionalism but Courtney loved the fact that her coworkers genuinely got along, if you discount Sharon and Violet’s near daily arguments that is. Previously, she would only see her coworkers as mere work relationships; she never really considered them her friends, especially not the ones from the office who often were much older than her. But working at 'Pines and Needles’ made her rethink the possibility entirely. More than once she found herself wanting to go out with the girls to brunch or something but the closest she came in those first few weeks were the times when Violet would make an appearance in Katya’s apartment…or perhaps 'when Violet could be heard from Katya’s apartment’ would be more accurate.

As she worked on gathering up her courage to invite at least one of them out for a social call, the shop became slammed with a new wave of customers. There hardly seemed time in the day to talk about anything other than orders, much less if someone would like to grab a drink with her after work. Finally the rush began to die down in the late afternoon and the girls were able to resume their normal duties. Ivy was helping Violet tidy up in the front and Courtney was left to bring in the new packages that had been dropped off in the back of the building. Usually the deliveries were scheduled to arrive in the early morning so as to keep the flowers fresh and avoid the confusion of coordinating the restocking with the orders to be filled but today the wrong vases had arrived with the shipment so Violet sent them back to be corrected. It was an easy enough switch to make and there was no shortage of vases in the meantime, the only unfortunate part of the scenario was that the replacements arrived during the tail end of the lunch rush. There was hardly any time for Violet to even check that this shipment was accurate before she had to dash off and help with the next customer. The boxes were left sitting in the delivery area for most of the afternoon until a break in the onslaught finally gave Courtney a chance to bring them in.

She was used to heavy lifting, thanks to both 'Marcie’s’ and her own habit of going to the gym, but the sheer size of some of the boxes was a bit daunting for someone to carry in on their own. Taking a deep sigh, she got to work on the smallest boxes first and quickly made noticeable dent in the number. Twenty minutes later, all that was left were eight or so of the largest boxes she had saved for last in the hopes someone might come and help her. But as she took a brief glance to the front of the shop, she could see that both Violet and Ivy were assisting customers. Oh, well. Help certainly was not on its way anytime soon so she might as well get this over with. Thankfully the boxes weren’t too heavy but carrying them was a bit awkward for someone of her size. She could barely see over the top and mostly had to rely on her own memory of the shop’s layout to navigate her way safely through the storage area.

The first box made the task seem easy enough but by the time she began working on the third, her muscles were screaming at her to take a break. Part of her problem had been slowing down and allowing her body time to realize just how tired it truly was. Her fingers were aching, her feet were sore, and her back was quickly developing a sharp pain. At least she was almost finished…

Still moving at a tentative pace, Courtney proceed up the steps from the delivery area into the break room. She was just starting to turn towards the storage area when the box she was carrying became noticeably lighter. A pair of well manicured hands joined hers in balancing the load and guided her effortlessly towards storage room. As she heard the heels clicking against the tiles, Courtney felt confident that it was Violet that had come back to help. Only rarely did Ivy ever wear anything other than flats while working. Craning her neck over the top of the box, Courtney was shocked to see a swath of blonde hair instead of brunette. Was Sharon actually helping her? And why did she come back to the shop? Her shift ended hours ago and she promptly disappeared into her apartment without another word.

A multitude of questions raced through her mind but as soon as the box was on the ground, only one remained, “Who are you?”

Arching an eyebrow at the inquiry, the mystery blonde said flatly, “That’s how you thank someone for helping you?”

“What?” Courtney asked confusedly, before remembering her manners, “Oh, right, right. Thanks…but who are you?”

“Willam,” the young woman replied simply as she started to exit the room.

Following after her, Courtney asked cautiously, “You…don’t work here, do you?”

“Nope.”

“Then why are you…?”

“Violet asked me to come check on you when I came in,” Willam said offhandedly as she stopped at the fridge for a bottle of water. “Said you’ve been back here awhile. Guess she wanted to make sure you didn’t get your tiny little self killed moving those boxes.”

Feeling a her lips curl downward, Courtney replied defensively, “I’d say I managed quite well on my own, thank you.”

Taking note of the change in tone, Willam told her mildly, “Don’t take it personally, princess. It’s just an observation.”

Courtney’s eye twitched at the unwanted nickname, something Willam certainly did not miss as she studied the other blonde. Trying her best not to let this young woman annoy her any further, Courtney replied bluntly, “Well, you can tell her I’m almost done; there’s only a few boxes left.”

She was starting to march outside to bring in said boxes but the way Willam stared at her as she made her way to the door made her stop in her tracks. Somewhat irritated, Courtney snapped tiredly, “What?”

Ignoring the tone, Willam asked, “Aren’t you going to ask for help?”

“Why? I did the rest by myself,” Courtney responded as her arms crossed involuntarily.

Setting her water bottle on the counter, Willam stated in a candid voice, “Because you didn’t have a choice…Now there’s someone else here and you’re not going to utilize that? Look, princess,-”

“Stop calling me that,” Courtney interjected.

“-It doesn’t make a difference to me one way or another if you’re set on carrying all those boxes by yourself. But I’ll tell you this now; there’s nothing wrong with asking for help, especially if you need it. You don’t have to do this all on your own and no one here expects you to. They all help each other and if you’re smart, you’ll accept it. Now…what do you say?”

Running her hand sheepishly along her upper arm, Courtney had to admit she was right. She wasn’t sure why she felt so defensive about finishing the task alone. Maybe just to prove to herself that she could…Taking a thick swallow, the older blonde asked softly, “Can you help me with the last of the boxes…please?”

“That’s better,” Willam stated as she ushered Courtney outside. With the two of them working together, they managed to carry in the remaining boxes in a mere five minutes. Now that she finally had a chance to rest, Courtney collapsed into a chair and tried to will her feet to stop throbbing.

Sitting down beside the Aussie with a smug look, Willam placed a cold bottle of water in front of her and taunted lightly, “See? You don’t always have to do it the hard way, right, princess?”

Side-eyeing the dirty blonde for a moment, she accepted the bottle and tiredly told her, “Please stop calling me that…and thank you.”

“Any time…princess,” Willam replied with a smirk.

Courtney rolled her eyes yet couldn’t stop a smile from working its way across her lips. After being friends with someone like Katya for so long, Courtney learned to recognize when to just accept playful teasing as an unchanging form of communication. Though she wasn’t entirely fond of the nickname, it was starting to grow on her the more Willam said it. While relaxing for a few minutes that she had definitely earned, Courtney made polite inquiries with Willam. She learned that the young blonde was friends with both of the owners and made occasional visits to the shop. Tonight, in fact, she was going out clubbing with Sharon. This lead to a passionate discussion between the two of their favorite hot spots to visit. Courtney was surprised to learn that there was quite a bit of overlap in the clubs each frequented and even some of the employees both knew at the venues.

As they were exchanging contact information to meet up at some point, Sharon entered the break room from the shared door to her apartment. The sight of the two getting along so well caused her eyebrow to arch. As she stood beside them, she addressed Willam, “I see you’ve met our new…assistant.” The final word seemed to be struggle for her to say without sounding sarcastic.

“Mh-mm…” Willam replied with a lazy smile, “She’s cool.”

“Really? Mm.”

To Courtney’s astonishment, Sharon actually seemed intrigued by the statement. She gave the younger blonde a considering once-over and almost instantly Courtney could tell that Sharon’s opinion of her had risen. Mentally thanking Willam for whatever influence she might have had over her friend, she gave Sharon a shy smile and announced she ought to be returning back to her shift soon. Nodding her head approvingly, Sharon turned to ask Willam, “Ready to head out?”

“Yeah, my car’s down the street. Let’s go before I get another ticket.”

As they left through the back door to the delivery area, Sharon called over her shoulder, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Courtney.”

Her smile became the brightest it had ever been while working in the shop as she called out a quick goodbye to both of the women. Even though it was small; it was still progress and Courtney would gladly take anything she could get from Sharon…and she even made a new friend to boot. Things were really starting to come together for her.

***************

Over the coming days Sharon’s attitude towards both her and Violet had significantly improved to the point where she no longer seemed to resent Courtney’s presence in the shop. She still argued with Violet from time to time but it was more like friendly squabbling than anything. Courtney learned from Willam that the two had always done this for as long as they have known each other and it never really amounted to anything serious. Although Violet did have a special talent for knowing which topics would annoy Sharon the most and often used that to her advantage. There were times when Willam would visit the shop while both of them were working and they seemed to have developed a game as to who could make Sharon leave first. Courtney often found herself watching these moments with great interest and even begun keeping a mental score.

Of all the people she had met through this job, Willam was the one that fascinated Courtney the most. She was flamboyant and mouthy, down to earth yet still so untouchable until she deemed you worthy. Slowly but surely, the two were spending more and more time together and not just at the shop. In the beginning, the two would simply meet up at the club and it was there that Courtney got to experience the power Willam held over others first hand. Something about her made people pay attention to her, whether she was acting as the life of the party or just relaxing with Courtney in the booths. No one seemed to be immune to her boisterous charm once it was directed at them.

Willam was even somewhat well known at a few venues but every time she entered it was like they were all seeing her for the first time. Courtney herself was no stranger to being the center of attention and at times she had even competed a little for it but with Willam, something made her stand back with the rest of the crowd and watch her work her magic. Drinks seemed to flow endlessly for her and not just because she had a way with the bartenders. Admittedly, Courtney was a bit jealous at first, often times it’d be up to an hour before she was offered a drink from some random stranger but Willam usually found one within the first ten minutes she appeared at the bar.

And more often than not she’d repay the gesture in such a way that it left the men craving for more. One of the first nights they had gone out, Courtney was shocked to find that in the few seconds she had turned away to pick up their drinks; Willam had already been handed one and was promptly drinking it out of a stranger’s mouth. Granted it was only a single shot so there wasn’t much to drink, but the lip lock that resulted from it left the man speechless as they broke apart. He was wide-eyed and slack-jawed as she flounced away from him, sending a flirty wink back in his direction as she pulled Courtney with her towards the crowd.

Their nights out in the club often followed the same basic procedure; arrive early, drink and dance, break apart if they found someone who piqued their interest and then if everything went right, they’d following the other person home before the morning light broke. It was all a very predictable routine and one that Courtney had little interest in deviating from at this time. But about two months after their club-hopping became a regular thing, one of them broke that pattern.

It started out as a typical night; Courtney and Willam both drank until they had a good buzz going and then promptly disappeared onto the dance floor. They remained side by side for some time until Courtney turned her attention to a slightly scruffy gym rat that had caught her eye. The pair were dancing fluidly together but as Courtney worked up the courage to ask if he wanted to leave with her, his sight drifted to another man and instantly Courtney could see the change in his expression. His gaze became more attentive as he excused himself to go dance with the newfound eye-candy. Courtney wasn’t particularly bothered by the development, just slightly annoyed that she might be leaving alone tonight as no one else had really seemed like a viable option to her.

She remained on the dance floor until the end of the song then slowly worked her way through the sea of grinding bodies towards the restrooms. While in the stall, she heard the bathroom door being roughly pushed open, followed by the sharp clicking of two pairs of heels. A brief moan echoed before being quickly cut off by what Courtney could only assume was another person’s mouth. Finishing up, Courtney kept her head low as she walked past the pair of women making out against the parallel wall and made quick work of washing her hands at the sink. As she dried her hands, she chanced a glance into the mirror and found that the women still had yet to move any further from the door than when they first arrived. They were frantically feeling each other up, one of them already slipping a hand beneath the other’s tiny dress while the other moaned eagerly into her mouth. Her cheeks were burning at the unashamed display but as she turned around and got a better look at the pair of blondes groping each other, she was startled to find that she had recognized one of the girl’s outfits.

“Willam?!?” she called out in astonishment.

Almost instantly the pair broke apart and Willam’s hand retreated from beneath the other girl’s hemline. For a split second as she turned around, Courtney swore she saw a look of guilt over the dirty blonde’s face but she quickly fixed as much of neutral expression as she could manage as she stared at her shocked friend. Courtney could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she tried to gather her thoughts. There was a twinge of some foreign feeling in the pit of her stomach but right now she didn’t have the brain power to try and figure out what it meant. The pair stared at each other in silence until Willam’s anonymous partner slipped from behind her and promptly left the room. All at once Courtney seemed to regain the ability to speak but the best she could work up was a series of simple words like, “How-What-?”

Before she could attempt to create a more coherent sentence, Willam grabbed her hand and pulled her out from the bathroom. Courtney gave up trying to speak until they were in Willam’s car with the radio playing softly to fill the dead air. Although they weren’t driving, Willam’s hands were clutched around the steering wheel in a near death-grip. Courtney couldn’t help but to notice that Willam seemed almost afraid of what her reaction would be now that they were truly alone. This was the closest Willam had ever come to showing weakness around her thus far. Taking a deep breath, Courtney asked, “You and…her…was that serious?”

Willam gave her a confused, in-what-way sort of look and immediately Courtney back-tracked to try again, “I mean, were you attracted to her…like-”

“Yeah, I was,” Willam said briskly as she focused her gaze on her shaking hands.

“Oh,” Courtney replied lamely. Try as she might, she couldn’t come up with a better response. She wish she knew what to say to make it right but everything she thought of seemed clumsy and awkward.

There was a small moment of silence before Willam gave a heavy sigh and turned to ask, “Look, I like men and I like women…Is that a problem?”

“No, no! Not at all-” Courtney began quickly.

“Good,” Willam said in a slightly relieved but still defensive tone. “Cause if it is; you are definitely working in the wrong shop.”

Distracted, Courtney continued on, “I mean, I kind of like women, too? Not that I’ve really done much with them…but I’m open to it…If I like them that is. Wait…” Courtney paused as her mind caught up to what Willam had said, “What do mean 'wrong shop’?”

The two stared at each for what felt like minutes; Courtney in innocent confusion and Willam in a stunned disbelief. Finally, Willam broke the silence as she realized Courtney genuinely didn’t have a clue as what she was referring to. “Oh my god,” she exclaimed softly. “You are unbelievable. You have no sense of gay-dar, do you?”

“I know about Violet!” she said defensively as her cheeks tinted a light pink.

“She’s not the only one, you know.”

“Who else?” Courtney asked, very much taken aback at the knowledge.

“Pretty much everyone that’s ever worked there! The shop’s not located in the center of the gayborhood for no reason!”

“What?” Courtney all but shouted at the revelation. “No way.”

Rubbing her hand over her temple, Willam gave the older blonde a pitying look and asked, “Look, you’re off on Wednesdays, right?”

As Courtney nodded, Willam told her, “Come by my apartment tomorrow around four and we’ll head over to the shop. I want to show you something…We can go to dinner afterwards.”

Courtney looked uncertain but agreed to meet her friend as she planned. A great deal of her was curious about what Willam had said and wanted to find out more. It honestly had never occurred to her to question what her coworkers’ sexualities might be. Not that she assumed anything but it wasn’t really a topic she gave much thought to prior to Willam’s statement. Now she was genuinely wondering though…

The next day Courtney spent more time than she cared to admit getting herself ready to meet up with Willam. On her days off she usually made it a point to put in as little effort as needed and just relax in her own skin but today she at least wanted to look somewhat cute. Not because of Willam, of course…although Courtney was sure that she wouldn’t be leaving her apartment looking anything less than her best…No, her coworkers would be there, she told herself. She didn’t want them to see her in her baggy, lazy day clothes with no make up…Although she had see Sharon in her flimsy night clothes already and of course she’d seen Violet in various states of undress- No! That’s enough of that. Courtney decided she will be keeping her thoughts far away from those memories, thank you very much. Although she hadn’t heard them lately (small victories), she’s still seen enough skin from both her and Katya to last a lifetime.

Upon arriving at Willam’s apartment, she was less than surprised to find the other woman dressed as though she were heading out for another night on the town. Her long, dirty blonde hair was hanging loosely in her trademark beachy curls and her makeup was blended perfectly to look messy yet still put together, a technique she’s spent years perfecting. To top it all off, she was wearing her typical stylish heels, a vaguely shiny top (probably to compensate for the lack of the usual glitter around her eyes) and a skirt so light and thin that even a gentle breeze could raise it up past her thighs. Though Courtney wanted to remain casual and comfy, she couldn’t help but to feel quite under-dressed in her own outfit; a flouncy white skirt, pink halter top, chunky heels and just enough makeup to hide any blemishes. Next to Willam, she looked rather plain and boring to her mind but there’s not much to be done about it now.

They drove together in relative silence and parked just up the street as a midway point between the shop and the cafe they’d be visiting afterwards. At Courtney’s urging, the parking meter was paid for the next few hours unlike Willam’s usual gamble of taking the spot and hoping a meter maid wouldn’t be walking by any time soon. That was just one of Willam’s habits that bugged Courtney ever so slightly; she never understood why Willam would even chance a ticket worth a minimum of $30 instead of just tossing in a few quarters for a couple of hours. Better safe than sorry to her mind but its not her call to make. At least this time, Willam listened and actually paid the meter for once.

The shop wasn’t too busy at this time of day and they easily snuck in without being noticed by the other girls, aside from Violet at the front counter. She waved at them carelessly and returned back to chatting on the phone as she flipped through her order sheets. 'Probably negotiating with another supplier,’ Courtney thought. It was hard sometimes to find reasonable prices as Courtney had learned but she always thought Violet did a wonderful job working her magic over the phone. And she was kind of looking forward to seeing what new stock would arrive in the next few days…

Willam led her with an air of determination up the steps to second level and brought her over towards the edge of the banister. Leaning against the railing, Willam reaffirmed, “So you said you knew about Violet already, right?”

“Yeah…she’s dating my neighbor. Well, they’re sleeping together…at least…they were for awhile,” Courtney said in an unsure tone. Now that she thought about, she wasn’t entirely positive what kind of relationship those two had. Violet certainly was coming over to Katya’s on a regular basis but it was hard to say if they were anything else going on with them anymore…she’d have to ask about that later.

Unconcerned with the details, Willam stated, “Good, don’t have to explain that at least…Now, take a look down at the work stations…”

Standing next to Willam, she focused her sight down into the alcove and found the other two florists enjoying the quiet reprieve between rushes. “Jinkx and Ivy? What about them?”

“Just watch for minute, princess,” the dirty blonde assured her.

Slightly miffed with the return of the nickname, Courtney did as directed and studied the two women as best as she could. Jinkx was reading as per usual ever since she found a hidden collection of books about two weeks ago and Ivy was sitting next to her, tapping away at her touch screen. Nothing seemed too out of the ordinary but Willam wouldn’t have pointed it out if there wasn’t something she wanted Courtney to see. Focusing her attention even more, she found that the two women were in fact quite close to each other…enough that their shoulders would brush occasionally. It was a bit odd to her that neither of the women thought to move apart just a little bit further to prevent that from happening but that sort of thing didn’t bother everyone so to each her own she guessed. After a few minutes, Ivy gave a little yawn and slouched her way into leaning heavily against Jinkx’s side. Though the redhead didn’t make a comment on it as far Courtney could tell, it was plain to see her lips curled ever so slightly as her friend used her as a makeshift pillow while she scrolled through her phone. The two shared a brief glance towards each other after a few seconds and almost instantly a smile broke out across their faces. With Jinkx’s silent approval, Ivy nestled further into her side until she was comfortably resting her against the other’s shoulder with a content look on her face.

Courtney gasped as her mind finally began connecting the dots and she turned to Willam with a shocked expression. “Are they both…?” she asked, unable to finish her sentence.

Shrugging, Willam replied, “Not sure about Ivy, to be honest. She’s the only one I haven’t figured out yet but Jinkx definitely has an interest in women…Ivy, especially…But whatever Ivy’s orientation is, the feeling isn’t mutual.”

“Oh,” Courtney mumbled with a hint of sadness. “I feel kind of bad for Jinkx…”

“Don’t be…” Willam said in her confident, yet blunt manner, “They’re better off as friends. Jinkx’ll realize that soon enough.”

Curiously, Courtney asked, “How do you know?”

Before Willam could answer, a voice from below the balcony caught their attention. “Hey,” Sharon called out to Courtney, “Isn’t it your day off?”

“Yeah,” she replied sheepishly as she stared down at her boss.

With an amused expression, Sharon arched her eyebrow and asked, “So what are you two doing up there then?”

“Teaching Courtney about the facts of life,” Willam stated in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Right…” Sharon drew out with a disbelieving nod of her head. Very quickly she determined that whatever they were up to, she wanted no part of. Letting her eyes drift down the dirty blonde’s outfit, she smirked at the view and told the young woman, “Love the lace by the way.”

While Courtney’s hand immediately shot down to hold her skirt firmly against her thighs, Willam shamelessly spread her legs apart just a little bit wider as she leant against the railing to ask knowingly, “Your favorite pair, weren’t they?”

“They were,” Sharon agreed with a reminiscent glint in her eyes. “You always did look good in cerulean.”

“But you’re more into red now, huh?” Willam taunted with a smirk.

Sharon seemed taken aback by the question but quickly retaliated with, “And pink’s your new favorite, isn’t it?”

At once Willam’s expression shifted dramatically from teasing to stunned to as close to embarrassed as Courtney ever saw her. She wasn’t sure what the two women were talking about but she was certain Sharon had won that round hands down. Almost to prove her point, Willam ushered Courtney out of the shop, much like a dog with its tail between its legs, and refused to make further eye contact with anyone else as they left. The last Courtney saw of the older blonde was the look she and Violet shared of smug satisfaction, although what Violet was so proud of as she watched the exchange, Courtney could only guess.

It was about fifteen minutes into their meal before Courtney dared to broach the topic she was dying to talk about, “So…you and Sharon?”

“Uh huh,” Willam confirmed in a huff. She clearly didn’t like losing face in front of anyone and was still annoyed by the recent events in the shop.

“Are you two still…?”

“No.” Willam answered quickly. “Haven’t for a few months now…It was casual, never meant anything.”

“Ah,” Courtney said understandingly. The situation sounds similar to Katya and Violet’s.

Elaborating further, Willam added in, “She found someone she’s actually into so we just decided to make a clean break of it.”

“Oh!” Courtney exclaimed in interest, “Are they dating?”

“No…” Willam trailed off as though in thought, “It’s a little bit of a…tricky situation.”

Courtney was pondering if she should keep asking questions about her boss’ personal life without her knowledge when Willam decided to dangle the information in front of her enticingly. “Do you wanna know who it is?” she asked with a playful smirk. The older blonde was nodding her head vigorously until Willam shot down her hopes with a simple, “Then go find out…”

At once, Courtney’s face dropped and she sent a halfhearted glare to Willam for teasing her. To her surprise Willam encouraged her with, “Seriously, go find out! It shouldn’t be that hard if you pay attention. Just watch her for a little bit and once you know what to look for; it’s really obvious.”

“Alright,” Courtney agreed reluctantly. She’d humor Willam and at least try but she had serious doubts she would be able to figure out who Sharon was interested in. At least Willam seemed to have some faith in her to put the pieces together.

*********************** For the next week or so Courtney made sure to pay special attention to Sharon’s interactions with everyone that came into the shop, whether they were a customer or business relation. By the fourth day, she feared she wasn’t being as subtle about it as she had hoped. Sharon had begun giving her weird looks almost every time she glanced over and more than once she even asked the younger blonde, “What?” in increasingly suspicious tones. And Willam was certainly no help. Every time Courtney tried to weasel the information out of her, the dirty blonde just distracted her either with a quip or a taunt or just flat out laughed at her. She was very close to giving up but for every exasperated sigh, Willam just gave her some more prodding and suddenly she found herself watching Sharon again. This routine repeated itself on an almost daily basis until Courtney finally found the answer she was looking for.

One day as she was working the morning shift, she noticed Sharon at the register scanning the bar code on the back of the book. It seemed odd to her at first, as there were no customers at the time, but she brushed it aside and returned to working on the order sheet for that day. Shortly after, Sharon stepped into the alcove to cut off a strip of ribbon and promptly disappeared into the break area with both items for a good five minutes. When she returned, she was empty handed and Courtney figured she must have taken them next door to her apartment for some reason. She didn’t have a chance to give the situation much more thought before the usual morning rush swept into the building and quickly occupied everyone’s attention. Jinkx arrived to begin her shift as the crowd died down and between them, they were able to restock the shop’s floor just in time for the second wave to hit. For the next few hours, the three women were dashing back and forth to assist customers and grab a few bites of their lunch. When it all finally died down, they were absolutely beat. Courtney’s own shift would be ending once Ivy arrived so she offered to restock the work station for them as Jinkx took a much needed break.

Noticing the colored cellophane was running low, Courtney decided to bring in a few rolls from the storage room just in case they happen to run out during the night shift. As she was balancing the box in her hands, she stumbled upon a scene she never thought she’d witness. Jinkx had her arms wrapped tightly around Sharon’s midsection with the most joyful smile Courtney had ever seen from her and Sharon was actually allowing it! She even had a content smile of her own as she returned the embrace and toyed with a lock of her employee’s hair. It almost seemed entirely unreal until Courtney noticed what Jinkx was clutching in her hand; the same book and ribbon she had seen Sharon with earlier!

The longer she stood in the doorway, the more Courtney could feel the blood rising to her face. She was having an intense internal debate of whether or not she should hide in the storage room for a few minutes or continue past them like nothing was unusual until fate decided to make the decision for her. Before she could mentally prepare herself, Sharon caught her staring and almost instantly a noticeable blush graced her cheeks. The pair soon broke apart and Courtney rushed past them with her eyes glued to the ground as she mumbled an embarrassed, “Pardon me.”

For the rest of her shift, she couldn’t bring herself to look directly at either woman as she tried to process all that she had discovered. It was a huge relief when Ivy arrived early to take Courtney’s place and like a shot, Courtney sped over to Willam’s apartment. Calling the dirty blonde as she entered the elevator, she confirmed, “You’re at home, right?”

“Yeah,” the distracted voice answered, “Just painting my toenails. Got tired of looking at the old polish on them. Why?”

“Open your door,” Courtney replied as she stood impatiently outside of the apartment.

In less than 20 seconds, the door was pulled open and Courtney was met by a vaguely confused look. The expression only deepened as Courtney blurted out, “It’s Jinkx!”

There was a slight pause as the younger woman’s mind caught up with what Courtney was referring to but once she did, her eyes rolled as she muttered, “Took you long enough.”

As soon as Willam moved aside to let her in, Courtney threw herself down on the couch and excitedly began narrating the scene she had walked in on. Willam listened with an amused smile as she returned to painting her nails while Courtney enthusiastically recollected all of the other instances she had overlooked prior to this revelation. Over the coming weeks, Courtney made it a habit to stop by Willam’s apartment after work and keep her up to date on the latest gossip regarding those two. Willam wasn’t particularly interested herself but she never interrupted Courtney as she gushed over the little shared moments she occasionally found herself walking in on. The most recent development was Sharon’s encouragement of Jinkx’s newest passion; creating arrangements based on the special meaning assigned to certain flowers. There was something in the quiet and comforting way that Sharon showed her support for Jinkx’s interest that Courtney found to be utterly adorable. But even as infatuated with their relationship as she was, a part of her was frustrated that neither woman was inclined to pursue it further. She was voicing this opinion to Willam and even begun hinting that they ought to take a hand in the situation but Willam immediately shot the idea down with a firm denial.

“But they’d be so cute together! Why can’t we help that along?” Courtney argued as she curled her legs onto the couch with a glass of wine in her hand.

“Leave it alone, Courtney.” Willam stated with an unyielding, no-nonsense tone. “They need to work things out for themselves. Nothing good’ll happen if you try to push them before they’re ready.”

As tempted as she was to try and pout to get her way, this unusually serious manner from Willam gave her a moment’s pause. In the few months they had known each other, Courtney came to realize that once Willam’s mind was made up, precious little could be done to change it and being that this would involve one of her closest friends? Well, Hell was more likely to freeze over than for Willam to willingly play a role in getting the two women together. With a very reluctant huff, Courtney relented, “Fine. I won’t get involved in their relationship.”

“Thank you,” Willam replied sarcastically as she pulled back the tab on her beer can.

Though Courtney hated to admit it, she knew this topic was settled and she would have to keep her promise. She had so many ideas for how encourage the pair to admit their feelings but if Willam caught even a whiff of a plan; she would certain go off on Courtney without hesitation. Despite her teasing of the older blonde, Willam was quite protective of Sharon, as she was with any of her friends, and if someone was stepping out of line, Willam had no problem letting them know.

The two reclined on the couch in peace as some program played across the screen but a nagging sensation in the back of Courtney’s mind kept her from truly paying attention. She knew she was forgetting something but for the life of her, she had no inkling as to what. It was only when a commercial for local storage room rentals came on that she finally remembered. “Oh, yeah. Do you have anything planned for Sunday?” she asked Willam.

Thinking for moment, the dirty blonde replied, “Not that I know of. Why?”

“I need to leave my apartment for a few hours that afternoon. Do you mind if I hang out here?” Courtney asked as she gave her friend the best set of sad puppy eyes as she could muster.

“Ugh, fine. If you have to.” Willam muttered with an exaggerated groan of annoyance. “I hate having to be so nice to you.”

Rolling her eyes at the unconvincing display, Courtney cooed sweetly, “Thank you, Bill.”

Try as might to hide it, Willam’s lips curled into a pleased grin as she questioned, “Maintenance again?”

“No, Kats is just moving in. Thought it’d be nice to give her some space as she gets settled in her room,” Courtney replied back with a shrug as she returned to watching the TV.

At once, Willam’s attitude did a complete 180 and she icily asked, “Who’s 'Kats’?”

Turning back at the sharpness of the tone, Courtney responded slowly, “My neighbor, Katya…Bill, I told you about this already.”

Shocked, the younger woman demanded, “When?”

“Last week!” Courtney insisted as her own emotions began to get the better of her.

The two held each other’s gaze in a combative stare-down but Courtney had no clue as to why Willam was acting like this. She knows she mentioned it before; she was almost certain she still had the text saved in her phone from when she first told Willam. Either the other girl missed that part of the message or just didn’t read it but either way, she had no call to act so bitchy about it now. Courtney had done nothing wrong and not even Willam was going to make her feel like she had. Taking a deep breath in order to keep her voice level, she asked calmly, “Why do you have such a problem with this?”

Willam’s hand twitched ever so slightly, almost enough to make Courtney question doubt if it even happened, but to her surprise Willam’s offended demeanor quickly dissolved into one of gloomy disappointment as she asked, “Why didn’t you ask me?”

Taken aback, the blonde stumbled, “I-Would you have wanted to?”

“I don’t know!” Willam blurted out defensively as she crossed her arms and pulled her legs closer to her chest. “Maybe?”

Despite her earlier intentions, Courtney did feel a twinge of guilt for not even considering asking Willam if she would want to move in with her. Moving across the couch to Willam’s side, the older blonde explained, “It was nothing personal, honestly. She already lives across the hall so it just made sense to move in together. We’d thrown the idea around before but never gave it much thought until they raised our rent again last month. Katya was the one who introduced me to Violet, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember,” Willam answered dismally.

Giving her friend a soft smile, she apologized, “Really, Bill, I’m sorry I didn’t ask you. I promise that next time, you’ll be my first choice.”

Though she tried to resist it, a grin reappeared on Willam’s lips as she retorted, “I better be, bitch, or this friendship is over.”

#albatross #shinkx #witney #trixya #one-sided jivy #vatya #flowershop au #fluff #angst #willam belli #jinkx monsoon #sharon needles #trixie mattel #katya zamolodchikova #courtney act #ivy winters #rpdr fanfiction #the language of flowers #lesbian au

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sugarpinecrews · 7 years

Text

title: eye of the storm word count: 2,751 warning(s): major warnings for alcohol, violence, and death. a/n: it’s another parker fic, what do you want from me. mostly an akrasia re-write.

Solitude never has been an easy pill to swallow. Dependency on others came second nature to people like Parker, all reserved and naive to the dark side of the world, and yet he somehow never expected this tight leash to eventually snap. He never expected things to end, to inevitably leave him standing alone amidst all of this wreckage, and how pathetic is that? How sad a thought, that of complete ignorance, of unadulterated oblivion --- how could anyone be so stupid?

The sun is finally beginning to set, a picturesque ending that casts a hazy coat of warm tones against the now quiet home, and Parker silently kicks himself for having fallen into such a rut; friends were meant to be lost, he supposes, even if he liked to think otherwise. He clung to that optimism so tightly, and where did that get him? What good did this choice do? It only left him lonely, a miserable excuse of a lovelorn fool, and that was no way to live. He knew this much. To ignore the painful reminders surrounding him, he busies himself with cleaning around the house, tidying away the mess his roommates have left behind; even the two he considers his best friends have of late seemed too preoccupied to notice him, only ever acknowledging his existence if he was somehow intruding into their lives --- he only gives this thought a brief moment of light before quickly shoving it away, hoping disregard would cause the possibility to simply disappear. He makes quick work of haphazard cleaning, and decides to reward himself with a little bit of television --- maybe something would be interesting enough to distract ( from the quiet, or this gaping loneliness, or this itch that he simply cannot scratch --- ).

Time seems to pass ever so slowly now, seconds seeping into this space separating want and tangibility like nails down a chalkboard; without giving the action much thought, Parker grabs his phone, checking for...what, well, he isn’t exactly sure. The screen lights up bright, his lock screen showing a picture of himself and a man he supposed he could no longer call a friend. The man’s girlfriend stands between them, beaming like the sun; her hair blocks out the face of both men standing behind her, but only slightly. He could feel the distaste from his friend --- or, friend of a friend --- even through the photo, and this feeling causes him to awkwardly lock the screen, picture quickly fading to black as he sets his phone back at his side. He turns his attention back to the television in front of him, hoping for something to catch his eye. Surely something could distract him. Anything.

It is an unexpected interaction, Steven asking him to step outside to speak privately, and Cib almost thinks that it’s a joke. He wants to believe that this is all just one big elaborate ploy, a prank that would soon enough have a punchline, a plot twist, anything. Even as Steven speaks to him, all slow and calm, he silently begs for this all to be a lie --- they were messing with him, they had to be; Sami Jo would never do that, he thinks, drills this thought into his brain until its existence is undeniable, and yet he still listens, nods along to the words being said. Sami Jo went to Parker, Sami Jo betrayed his trust, Sami Jo lied to him --- seconds pass like a millennia, and time gives anger a chance to fester inside of him. How could she do this to him? How could she run to a man who has done nothing but intrude, nothing but interfere in a relationship that was meant to be none of his concern? These thoughts are abruptly shoved aside as Steven speaks again, breaks this barrier of silence with the suggestion of solitude; he was to take the rest of the day off, to go home and relax. They hug it out, all awkward and insincere, and Cib walks away.

He was told to go home, but Steven must know him better than this; he ends up, just a couple of hours later, perched against a dingy bar top, attempting to drown his demons in alcohol too sharp to savor. Thoughts inevitably drift back to his girlfriend, all faux innocence and false loyalty, and this path naturally leads itself to Parker, a man he was meant to trust. Even despite the recently strained relationship between the two, he feels betrayed, hurt by the other man’s willingness to be deceitful; did Cib deserve this? Was he meant to feel this much pain? With this thought in mind, he downs another shot, trying to chase this vengeful flame away; he couldn’t act upon this need to fight fire with fire, he couldn’t.

The night passes slowly, and with loneliness comes retrospection; Parker stares blankly ahead, the moving pictures before him living their lives oblivious to his own, and this realization paints a vivid portrait against a backdrop of black; somewhere, well across town, Steven and his friends were probably laughing along to some joke, some silly little bit they were writing for a show he could only occasionally step in on. This neglect presents itself as a driving force behind the separation, but Parker knows otherwise; he knows that this is all his fault, that if he were to just keep his emotions hidden, just like he always had, that perhaps things would be different. For once, he has expressed his true feelings, allowed himself to be completely honest with the men he called his friends, and where did that get him? What did he gain from all of this trembling truth, this shaky ground he so often avoided? It only placed him in the same place he’s always been in, all ignored and left behind.

His mind toes the line between acceptance and regret, dancing between apologies and memories he would much rather forget, and the latter train of thought detours itself towards the kitchen; suddenly, Parker recalls the alcohol left behind from his friends, those roommates that seem to have so suddenly lost interest in him. The freedom to drink was lost long ago, but he supposed a few glasses couldn’t hurt anyone --- it would only calm his head, help to ease the pain of what he’s done, and where was the harm in this? What the world didn’t know couldn’t hurt anyone, he supposed, dragging his feet as he approached the cupboards hiding this liquid salvation. He would only have a few drinks --- nothing too strong, nothing too hurtful; just enough to distract, he reminds himself, drills this thought into his mind until it is impossible to avoid. He couldn’t allow himself to get too carried away with this, he couldn’t, and yet the rising buzz swings freedom just in front of his gaze. Only a few glasses, he reminds himself, leaning up against the counter as he tries to drink his way into a better ending than this.

Temptation is a friend of anger, a distant cousin that only appears when the promise of violence presents itself, and Cib realizes this all too suddenly as he sits here at this bar top, swirling a nearly empty glass around in his hand. Deception would always be painful, always seeping red with confrontations not yet occurred, and yet he tries so often to simply brush this betrayal off; everyone lies to a friend, everyone makes mistakes that they would much rather forget. James has done it --- hell, even Steven has done it --- and this thought gives rise to a new set of concern; the secret rendezvous involved two participants, and who was he to make assumptions of intent? Who was he to believe his girlfriend would so openly betray him like this? Even if she has, the other man involved should have stopped it.

Keys tap nervously against the counter of the bar, beating themselves almost rhythmically against layers of grime and second thoughts as he silently considers his options; he could speak with his girlfriend, confront her while his anger is at its rawest form, or he could wait, allow himself the time to place rationale before judgement. Alcohol, however, creates a screen of indignation, and before he even knows it, he is drunkenly speeding through the darkened streets of Los Angeles, sending messy texts to a girl he hopes can still return his feelings. Their meeting is jarring, and he steadies himself upon the sands of their first date --- all happiness and new beginnings --- as she insists upon innocence. He’s a good listener, she says, unlike you, and these words provide an escape for any untamed anger he held just beneath the surface; the two inevitably part ways, and as he stumbles his way back to his car, he very unsteadily finds his phone, calling the only person he knows that will listen to him. I’m sorry, he says, all distressed and unsure of himself, I’m ending this right now.

A shot glass is slammed upon the smooth of a counter top, and the sound is nearly immediately followed by a disgusted groan; he only had a few glasses of wine before deciding to resort to something a bit stronger, and despite the countless shots beforehand, the taste of whiskey still hasn’t settled against his taste buds well enough. He supposes this was understandable, though focusing on the thought for too long begins to pose a considerable challenge to the all too inebriated man now struggling to remain upright; he leans against the kitchen counter, one hand sloppily gripping the edge as he stares at the wall opposite his current position. The television still drones on in the other room, distant voices playing secondary characters to his own self-destruction, and he briefly considers going to find his phone. Alcohol allows inhibitions the ability to roam free, and the guard he so often places before emotions and true expression has long since fallen to pieces upon the floor; surely Sami Jo would want to hear from him again, he thinks, deciding all too suddenly to throw all caution to the wind. He struggles to down one more shot of whiskey first --- a good luck charm, he tells himself, the words slurring themselves into fruition just before he shoots it straight --- and then he is stumbling his way back into the living room, staggering against walls and furniture before eventually collapsing onto the couch. The change of position is shocking at first, but he allows himself no time to focus on this development; he fumbles through his recent messages before finding the desired recipient. Before he even clicks to send a voice message, he is already speaking, syllables slamming into each other with no hope of separation.

“Sami ---...uh,” he starts, then abruptly pauses, leaning his head back in some failed attempt of calming the dizziness now plaguing him. The audio must reflect this, as his voice becomes further away from the phone simply setting in his lap. “...hi. I was just...uh, I was just thinking about you, and us...mostly us, because I miss you. I know I just saw you the other --- ...oh god, “ he pauses once more, giving himself a brief moment to, yet again, try to steady himself. The effort proves itself pointless, and he again starts to speak. “ --- we saw each other...yesterday, I think? The day before that? And I...I really miss you. I hope, uh...god, I just hope you’re okay. ‘Cause I’m...I don’t think I am.” he then falls quiet, a soft groan escaping him as he moves to sit up and send the message. A glossy stare finds itself glued to the screen for awhile as the message is sent, and he isn’t sure why he expected an immediate response; it’s so far into the evening, he reminds himself, throwing his phone to the other end of the couch in a hasty bout of distress. The next few minutes are spent in silence, the television continuing to play a distant soundtrack, and it is only then that he realizes it was playing as he recorded his message. A string of swearing escapes him, all muddled and messy, and the realization provides a reason for him to stumble his way back to the bottle awaiting him in the kitchen. Before he has even left the living room, the front door opens.

Cib doesn’t possess much of a plan, but he knows that he has to speak to Parker. Maybe a discussion face to face would help to dispel any harsh feelings brought upon by this latest endeavor come to light, or maybe he just wanted to get into a fight. Maybe he needed for Parker to feel what he felt, the sort of pain no amount of hospital bills could repair; he enters the home of his now friend turned rival, silently staggering his way towards the man who has so proudly acted upon something he had no business even feeling in the first place. They meet just behind the couch, and Cib takes the opportunity to speak well before Parker even realizes what’s going on. Are you a good listener, he asks, and the man standing him opposite begins to stutter out a response; I don’t --- ...I don’t know what that means, he starts, but Cib doesn’t feel the need to explain. It’s a simple question, after all, and he feels he owes no one an explanation; if he was to be left in the dark, hurt behind closed doors, then he would do the same to them. It’s only fair, he thinks, but before he can act upon any further aggravation, Parker is again breaking the silence.

“You can’t just...uh, damn it,” he starts, swearing as he nearly loses solid footing; he grabs onto the back of the couch, gripping the furniture tightly as he holds his free hand up in preemptive defense. “...you can’t do this. I didn’t... I didn’t do anything this time,” he tries to protect himself this way, vocally expressing his feelings in some desperate attempt of stopping this impending altercation, but before he can say anything further, Cib is storming forward. With his typical guard down, the expected filter of denial and acceptance long since disappeared, Parker has little to reason with; a sober mindset would write this off as Cib being upset, or his friends again seeking solace in being harmful towards him, but alcohol insists upon abuse no longer being acceptable. This thought causes arms to rise in defense, fists forming as he tries to root himself against the hardwood beneath him.

Little thought accompanies his next few actions, fists forced outward in both defense and an unexpected offense, and yet the adrenaline pumping through his veins feels like no other he has experienced; blood shines red against knuckles from both men, bruises already painting shades of blue against pale skin, and all Parker can think to do is fight. He fights not for his own life, but for the girl he longs to have, the only light in this life turned dim; were he sober, he would insist upon violence solving nothing, upon Sami Jo working things out with Cib, upon his own involvement being little and unimportant, but alcohol provides a pedestal for anger to sit upon. Before he knows it, he is insisting upon his heart’s true standpoint, slurring together strings of she deserves better, of this is why I tried to help, of this is all your fault; the two men eventually stagger their way into the next room, where Parker finally finds himself on the leading end of the battle. Cib soon enough stumbles back, losing his already unsteady solid ground; he grabs for the edge of a nearby table in some desperate attempt of again standing upright and controlling the fight, and without thinking, Parker grabs the back of his shirt. Maybe his emotions held to his actions a bit too tightly, or maybe this was already a long time coming; either way, he shoves Cib forward, causing the man to consequently hit his head against the table edge he so hopelessly reached for. Cib falls limp to the floor, blood pooling as the open wound rests against the cool hardwood below. The television behind him continues to play, and Parker swears he can hear his phone vibrate against the couch cushion it was left on.

#the winter and the wolves. | my writing.#ship pine 7

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