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in-omni-scientia · 5 months

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COMPOSURE [Medium: Success] — Hey. Pssst. VOLITION — ... COMPOSURE — ...You've been staring at the wall above your little desk completely motionless for what can't be more than about two minutes straight now. I think Authority is getting weirded out.

You turn your head to where Authority has, also, been standing and staring at you completely motionless for two minutes. He tilts his head back and to the side a small amount.

COMPOSURE — Almost... inquisitively, I think.

"Just gathering myself. I'm okay." Involuntarily, your body tacks on a (rather awkward) thumbs up. He huffs and turns away.

COMPOSURE — Give him five seconds maximum, and he'll turn back again. I don't think he wants to let you out of his sight right now.

Shifting your gaze back to the notepad in front of you, you run your eyes over the list of allocated duties once more.

ENCYCLOPEDIA (FACTS)

Claims to be: "what I should be"

Currently useless.

Allocated job: Prevent Authority from speaking.

Allocated job: Stay quiet.

THE OTHER ONE PERCEPTION

Claims to be: "joy"

Currently useless.

Allocated job: Perceiving.

VOL ME

Claims to be:

Be dumb and stupid forever, haha. With love, Authority.

Allocated job: Do what we are supposed to.

COMPOSURE

Claims to be: Social cues, knowing how to act, culprit of the Suggestion Anonymo

Allocated job: Making us *appear* normal to the others.

Allocated job: Just generally keeping our shit together?

AUTHORITY

Do *not* allow to speak under ANY circumstances.

Allocated job: Movement.

VOLITION — Good. A rather rough draft, though I'm sure we can continue to allocate roles as we find them necessary. ENCYCLOPEDIA — A rather poor effort for categorization by your standards. PERCEPTION — Come *on*, why do I have to be Perception just because I do the seeing? I'd be far better suited for Ele... VOLITION — You both have *new* jobs now, stay quiet unless you can contribute something of use.

Flipping your notepad to a new page, you start to write:

WHAT CAUSED THIS?

ENCYCLOPEDIA — A good place to start. Theoretically, all reactions are reversible... VOLITION — What can you recall about our affliction? Anything at all.

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Trivial: Success] — Obviously, this happened after the Whale communicated with us. We were experiencing its effects prior to that interaction, but to a minimal degree; the pain inflicted upon its response to us prior to this beginning is not negligible. Causation can be assumed here. COMPOSURE [Easy: Success] — I have to point out -- well, look at Authority.

You cast a side glance in his direction. Even with your blurry vision, you can see him pacing back and forth, occasionally throwing a glower your way.

COMPOSURE — He’s fine, even after communing with the Whale. A little bothered by all this, obviously, but that’s natural. VOLITION — Yes -- it’s unusual. Charmer is fine as well.

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Easy: Success] — There’s a logical explanation for it. We just have to find one.

[Encyclopedia - Challenging 12] Do we know why you could have been impacted so adversely compared to your colleagues? (WHITE CHECK)

HIGH - 72% +1: Know about the Whale. +1: Savoir Faire’s fragmentation. -1: No Logic subskill. +1: Authority is here.

Rolling...

⚂⚄

CHECK SUCCESS (Challenging: 12 vs. Your Total: 14)

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Challenging: Success] — If *they* have not been impacted by a pale anomaly to the same degree as you have, you can only assume it has to do something with mental fortitude, or something similar. VOLITION — …Are you saying the Psyche skills know Volta do Mar? ENCYCLOPEDIA — No. Well – you could always ask, but I don’t know if you would get a good response. What I’m saying is, it may have something to do with your level. VOLITION — Go on…

ENCYCLOPEDIA — Recall the average pulses per minute for each attribute as studied by the Turtle -- [110 for Intellect, 150 for Psyche, 70 for Physique, and 50 for Motorics]. This lines up fairly well with the base levels for them, 4-5-2-1 (though some individual skills *have* been levelled beyond this via Thoughts). ⠀⠀Remember, too, the Turtle’s studies into the neurons. They made sketches of them – but some neurons had a strange pale sheath on them that was slowing their communication. (The fact they selected a Motorics neuron for that diagram is significant, too, as it evokes Savoir Faire’s current state).

ENCYCLOPEDIA — We know that it is unnatural for neurons to have that sheath on them. What I am trying to say is, I believe that perhaps the Pale Whale has given us pale exposure, and the skill’s levels afford certain Skills protection from being affected by the pale exposure.

ENCYCLOPEDIA — The effects of pale exposure for us seem to follow a pattern: high-levelled Skills, such as Authority, Suggestion and Empathy, receive no visible afflictions. Medium-level Skills such as yourself, Drama, Composure, Rhetoric, Pain Threshold and Interfacing have their abilities to communicate affected, and low-level skills experience partial fragmentation. ⠀⠀I am unsure of *how* this fragmentation exactly occurs, considering our and Savoir Faire’s presentations are very different. Though I believe we have the resources to figure this out.

VOLITION — Hmmm… ⠀⠀This theory may have some flaws in it. I will begin with smaller flaws. First of all, cop radio was affected with a similar presentation to Skills from medium levels. How do you explain this? ENCYCLOPEDIA [Easy: Success] — Esprit De Corps was the first to contact the Whale, of course; perhaps their initial contact overcame the natural protection their level afforded them.

VOLITION — *How* were we affected by the pale? The closest origin point is in Martinaise, and we have not been there for some time. ENCYCLOPEDIA [Heroic: Failure] — Admittedly, I have no rebuttal for that. Perhaps the theory that Harry has one in his own head is correct. Perhaps the Whale has the power to reach beyond the bounds of where pale ordinarily can.

VOLITION — Savoir Faire’s affliction was caused *prior* to the Whale’s first contact. ENCYCLOPEDIA [Medium: Success] — Remember, the incident occurred after you had explained the Pale, when they claimed to ‘backflip into Rodionov’s trench’. While that is completely ludicrous to believe they could actually pull that off six thousand kilometres from the nearest point of even porch collapse, I do believe the Pale has something to do with their presentation. ⠀⠀Furthermore, the Whale claimed in its contact with you that ‘Mother Nature’ is disgusted by us, that ‘the verdict’ had already been made. Perhaps it has had its eye on us for some time now, and Savoir Faire’s affliction is another case of pale exposure, simply occurring before we were aware of the Whale’s presence. VOLITION — So it wasn’t me… PERCEPTION — It wasn’t you.

VOLITION — Okay. And finally… ⠀⠀We have six points. Not that far off from the Psyche skills. This fragmentation is *not* a low-level presentation, unlike what you said. PERCEPTION [Easy: Success] — Actually… I’m so sorry. VOLITION [Formidable: Failure] — ? PERCEPTION — You are at two points currently. VOLITION — What? Why?

ENCYCLOPEDIA — Minus-two from No Wedding Bells Chime in this Church Anymore. Minus-one from Brilliant Bibliolater’s Blues. Minus-one due to the lost morale. (Normally that last one wouldn’t be an issue, but I think the fact you’ve been proclaimed Volition is doing that…) ⠀⠀They’re distributed among us, but they add up to minus-four overall for Encyclopedia, the construct.

VOLITION — You’re kidding me. ⠀⠀*Thinking about the concept of marriage* caused this? Made me more prone to it? ⠀⠀And I’m even more prone now because Authority yelled at me?? PERCEPTION — I’m sorry. IN MEMORIAM — Until pale do our atoms part. VOLITION — We… we have to forget those thoughts *now*. Do we have the points? ENCYCLOPEDIA — No. VOLITION — *Shit*. We need to—to ask someone what to do. Who do we talk to about this? Can Volition do something?

PERCEPTION [Medium: Success] — Are you sure you want to do this?

VOLITION — Of course I am!! I’m going to be *completely torn apart* if this goes on! PERCEPTION — If you forget those thoughts, you will never be able to think about them again.

VOLITION — Yes, well… ⠀⠀… ⠀⠀Never? PERCEPTION — Never ever. VOLITION — Well, I can’t get married or have favourite facts if I’m dead. PERCEPTION — Don’t you want to take the chance? VOLITION — Empathy wouldn’t want me to. I’d leave them all alone.

IN MEMORIAM [Godly: Success] —

⠀⠀‘Tis better to have loved and lost Than to never have loved at all.

PERCEPTION — Yes, exactly -- it will hurt them far, far more knowing you saved yourself but doomed yourself to never wanting more, than to know you risked yourself to finally put a name to what you are. You *talked* about that.

VOLITION — …Uhm. ‘Exactly’ to what? PERCEPTION — Uh. I don’t remember…? ⠀⠀But seriously, please. Just take the chance. It’s irrational, it’s irresponsible, it’s impossible. ⠀⠀But… give it a try.

VOLITION — ...Sigh. ⠀⠀You… *people* are terrible. Fine, I’ll leave them for now. But the *moment* any funny business happens, we’re dragging Authority with us over to Volition’s zone and demanding they give us the points to get rid of them.

AUTHORITY [Challenging: Failure] — You want me to do something?!?! VOLITION — Not *you*. I don’t call you Authority by choice, it’s simply because it is convenient at the moment. AUTHORITY [Legendary: Failure]— (;´༎ຶД༎ຶ`)

VOLITION — So… what do we do now? ENCYCLOPEDIA — Actually, can I try to figure out what exactly is causing fragmentation to occur? It’s a rather big step up from language difficulties. This could be important to figure out. COMPOSURE — You should tell Authority what you have worked out. Just to let him know this hasn’t been a waste of time. PERCEPTION — If you want to regain a level, you need to heal that morale you lost; I would recommend finding Empathy. It’s been a little while since you last saw them. AUTHORITY — Definitely *do not* do that; not in your current state. They’re already far too stressed. ENCYCLOPEDIA — Finally, something reasonable from that one.

VOLITION — Hmmm…

[Encyclopedia - Legendary 14] Do we know how this fragmentation could be occurring? (WHITE CHECK)

About going to talk to Empathy…

“Authority, I think I’ve worked out what is happening with all of us.” (Finish thought.)

[Encyclopedia - Legendary 14] Do we know how this fragmentation could be occurring?

LOW - 28% +1: Know about the neurons. +1: Know about Savoir Faire. -1: Holes in your theory.

Rolling...

⚃⚄

CHECK SUCCESS (Legendary 14 vs. Your Total: 14)

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Legendary: Success] — It has to be the pale sheath that’s doing it. ⠀⠀The sheaths are slowing the action potential of the neurons they are attached to. Theoretically, if the neurons that make up *you* could not communicate fast enough to keep you together... VOLITION — …they’d start dissociating from one another. ENCYCLOPEDIA — Yes, like the turtle proposed. And each one may begin to function as separate entities. Perhaps it would get to the point where they disconnect entirely. VOLITION — Lord. Is-- is it reversible? ENCYCLOPEDIA — I don’t know.

You gaze down at your notepad unseeingly, half-filled with a near-unintelligible frantic scrawl that has barely kept up with the pace of your thoughts.

AUTHORITY — Unintelligible?! I’ve been doing my best! PERCEPTION — OG, we can find out. Heal that lost morale, get that one point back; see what it does for you. VOLITION — But… that’s not going to do anything. Losing it hasn’t actually done anything in regards to how this… condition is presenting itself. AUTHORITY — Wrong again, worm. Look up. COMPOSURE — I think you meant bookworm? AUTHORITY — Irrelevant. Look up.

You do – and gaze directly into a near-identical copy of your own face, with the notable exception of two pinprick lights flashing at you from the abyssal shadows.

AUTHORITY — Boo.

With a yelp, your stool clatters to the ground – but as soon as you’ve jumped up, it’s gone.

#contains: txt #author/s: me #skillsposting #long post #ooc: jesus fucking christ i had to cut out so much to get this down to 1k words. i wrote 3.3k while i was out bruh #there was a whooole part where they did all the allocating but I decided to cut that out so that this wasn't too long #because i didn't expect to actually pass the infodump 3 check... like look at that roll. sob #I think I still have it? idr whether I saved it or not. if I do then maybe I'll post it another time...

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raggaraddy · 3 years

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The Basement: part one

Anon request: Hi can I request an assassin!yoongi one shot where yoongi gets jealous over reader somehow even though I know he isolates her so she depends on him but maybe she somehow stumbles into a colleague of his in his living room or a friend and the friend is 👀 looking not so respectfully

A/N: Enjoy lovely. 💜💜💜 Part two

Summary: For the first time ever there is someone else in the house with you and Yoongi. How could Yoongi expect you to resist speaking with him.

Trigger warnings: Violence, intimidation, kidnapping, imprisonment, yandere themes.

Yoongi

Yandere! Yoongi

Assassin! Yoongi

It may only be a few hundred square meters, but this house is your entire world. You know every creak, every floorboard that squeaked, how each door closes, everything. So in the middle of the night when you are woken by an almighty thump, at once you could recognize how out of place it was.

Cautiously sneaking downstairs and peering around every bend, you are just in time to see Yoongi slamming the basement door shut behind him.

Putting your ear to the entrance, you could hear the sounds of banging, of the chains, of low spoken voices. Over and over in your head, you told yourself to ignore it. To go back to bed and let it be. But the signs that there was another person down there with Yoongi were clear, and the temptation of that was too much to bear.

Your lesser instinct winning out, you open the door, instantly coming face to face with an ascending Yoongi. And behind him, in the place where you had been chained up many times before was a hooded man. Seated on the floor in a slumped position. His hands fixed against the wall keeping them high.

"Out," Yoongi demands, shoving your shoulder lightly to push you back through the doorway.

"Who-" is all you can gape, disbelief printed on your face.

"Not your concern." He refuses, closing the door. Continuing to push you back into the kitchen. "You do not go down there. Am I clear?" A finality to his expression not allowing any room for discussion or expansion.

Nodding, with a small pout you look at the basement one last time before faking a smile and returning to bed.

You were awestricken. Not once in nearly 8 months have you seen or heard another person in this house. Also not during the 6 months stretch before that. No one had visited. Not a single person had come past the house or had even driven up the driveway by accident. Your curiosity was burning you from the inside out. Your longing to see, to speak to another human aching your very soul.

Yoongi had gone into town, leaving you alone with the unlocked basement door. You'd always been chained up if he kept you down there, so it had never needed to be locked before. And the very idea of taking a quick peek was so tantalizing. However, on the more sensible side of this debate, you knew that Yoongi's word was final and you had never disobeyed him before.

You would like to say you were smart enough for this to at least be a difficult decision. But you swiftly threw common sense to the wind and went downstairs the second you heard the car pull out of the garage. Your body buzzing as you approached the new man.

With a heavy breath and timorous movements, you pull the hood back from the man's head. Black, straight, short hair. Dark, full brows, a perfect heart-shaped face, and ears that stuck out just a little too far. From head to toe, he's largely built. Taller and wider than Yoongi, making you astounded to think about how dangerous he really was.

For a few seconds, the both of you look equally surprised to see the other. Your pulse coursing through your ears, mouth slightly agape, looking at another human for the first time in forever.

"Hi," you squeak, nothing else coming to mind.

"Who are you?" He snarls.

It's spoken with so much hostility, but that question is one that brings you so much relief. You break down, pouring out your entire story in a rampant monologue. Telling him in detail everything you could about you, Yoongi, this place and your abductions. Fully spilling all that you had been so desperate to tell.

He, however, gives you nothing in return. For nearly 10 minutes you ask him question after question and he declines them all. Not even his name slips loose. He explains once that he can't know if your working with Yoongi, or that lunatic as he called him, and he is not going to tell you a single thing. Every question afterwards is only met with a solemn stare or a shake of refusal.

"If you won't tell me anything," you mope a little, "well, you look like a James Bond character, so I'm going to call you Mr Spy. The Spy? 007. Spy-man? I'll work on it." You mutter completely senseless and giddy from this rare moment. Continuing to overshare and divulge.

"Okay, Y/N. With everything you've told me, we're on the same page. So, if you help me get out of these," he rattles his hands, "Then I can get you out of this place."

The thought is alluring. But also more than you signed up for when you came down here. Firstly, Yoongi always keeps the keys for these chains on him. But secondly and most importantly, if you attempted to escape, if you tried to leave again Yoongi would never forgive you. You can't get away from him. You know you can't. And if you tried he would lock you up and throw away the key. You couldn't- You can't.

"I'm sorry, but no. I can't." You sadly brush his offer aside. Feeling awful denying him help like that. "I have to go back up before Yoongi comes home," you mumble.

Leaning over him you bring the hood up. You need to return him to how he was. He doesn't fight or argue, seeming to somberly accept his fate, but his eyes do dart to the top of the stairs at the last second.

Reacting to his troubled expression, you spin around seeing Yoongi already home, standing at the entrance.

At once your body tightens becoming flushed with sweat. Scrambling back from the man you stand in the middle of the room, trying to keep your breathing slow and deep to hide your fright.

"I thought," He starts to lower down the stairs, punctuating each point in his sentence with an additional step. "I said. You could not. Come in here."

"I'm sorry," you hush as Yoongi snatches the hood from your hand. Your head lowering in surrender.

"You want to save her?" He turns his attention and building anger towards his new prisoner. His fists are tight, knuckles cracking as he clenches and twists them. "You want to get her out of this place?" The challenge, the hash way he spits the words spoken about you is making the hairs on the back of your neck stand. Goosebumps flittering down your skin.

Lurching forward Yoongi's knee bashes into The Spy's head. And again. His foot following down booting him in the chest. And again.

"You think she wants to go with you?!" He growls, beating his fist into his head, over and over. The skin breaking, blood erupting all across his face. The Spy's restrained position not allowing him to protect himself in any way, only able to groan and splutter through the abuse. "You're too weak to even get yourself free. You think you can take her!" Yoongi steps back and lifts his leg, stomping the heel of his boot into the curled up fist of The Spy. Making him explode in a pained howl as you hear the bones crunch.

Not wanting to show any reaction, you stay coiled and fixed. Praying for this to end quickly. You had seen this level of violence and sadism from Yoongi before in the outside world. He doesn't acknowledge or accept any interference and he will only finish on his own terms.

You can't help but think if this is this how cruel and viciously he treats everyone else?

Stomping down again, this time he lines up The Spy's ankle. Throwing all his weight, all his force into the joint. The man's screams turning into cries as he wails in agony.

"No. You're not taking her anywhere." Yoongi straightens up, blowing out a heavy breath. Running his fingers back through his black hair over and over pulling it out of his face. "You're gonna tell me everything I wanna know. And then I'll finally let you die." He swallows hard, rearranging his clothes and loosening his muscles. His fiery explosion now quenched.

You can't lift your eyes as he drags you to the top floor. The basement door sealing, muffling the tears of the man below.

"Yoongi. I told him- I told him I couldn't-" You're starting and stopping, trying to sufficiently explain or plead your case. He's never shown anything near that level of violence towards you, but you were still sure he was about to lock you away endlessly for disobeying him.

He steps into you, silencing and making you jump back, smacking into the wall. Trapped between it and your hovering captor.

"I heard you." He speaks deeply and softly. In complete opposition to how he was moments ago. "Well done." His coarse pronunciation is abandoned as he speaks these words very clearly. Making sure you hear his sincerity.

His hand runs softly over your hair, stroking and cupping your head. Making you fight not to melt. Making you look up at him with big eyes. Any sort of affection from Yoongi instantly impacting you greatly, making you emotional and needy for more. Your bottom lip quivering, you whimper lowly as you lose the internal struggle and lean into his hand. Your eyes scrunching tight, hating yourself for how much his gentle touch affects your heart.

"Come with me," he holds your hand having you trail him upstairs. Taking you into his bedroom where he extends the affection and intimacy. Being with you so tenderly and kindly as your mind and heart tears back and forth between the softness you can feel now, and the horrors you saw him do before.

Despite the risks, your head fills with how and when you could see The Spy again. He was hurt, and he needed your help. And you were too eager to see him again. But when you wake the next day, you find a hefty padlock keeping the basement door sealed.

Yoongi at once reading your reaction. "You should thank me for locking that door Y/N. You don't know how dangerous some people can be."

Part two

#bts #yandere bts #yandere #bts fanfic #bangtan #yandere bangtan #bts smut #bts reactions #yandere yoongi #min yoongi #yandere suga #Yoongi #bts smut reactions #bts fan fiction #bts fanfction #bts requests #yoongi smut #bangtan reactions

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mggpleasedontlookhere · 4 years

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endgame

request: Can I request a Spencer Reid imagine in which the reader is dating him and is part of BAU? Before they’re called in for the next case, they have a bit of a disagreement about letting her come along on this one. She ends up not going and while they’re gone, she gets caught up in a bit of trouble. She was close by when a building was struck with a bomb, she suffers with only minor injuries and when word gets out to Spencer, he goes back for her to make sure she’s okay and helps to take care of her

for: @fandomofyourchoice-89

word count: 1,941 reading time aprox: 8 mins

masterlist

My legs swung side to side on the chair that I sat on, my feet appearing and disappearing underneath the seat, while Spencer was creating a geographical profile on the board. His eyebrows furrowed and lines were etched on his forehead as he peered into the whiteboard intently.

“You okay there bubs?” I spoke out, taking him out of his trance. He responded with a small smile, running his hands through his hair as he sighed. Deep purple bags were evident under his eyes and his hair was tied up into a semi man bun. “That bad?” I empathize, stretching my arms out to offer him a consolation hug.

He dragged his feet towards me, accepting my warm invitation, before collapsing on top of me. “Oh! Geez- Spence- you’re so heavy” I groaned, the entirety of his weight suffocating me all at once. I looked to the office windows of the police station we were in, grateful that Spencer had closed all the blinds before we entered.

“You love me on top of you” He murmured into my neck, his lips slightly brushing against the skin, sending chills down my spine. I proceeded to smack him upside the head, earning a snicker from him.

“Spence please get off of me” I groaned, pushing my quaint arms against his chest. But to no avail, Spencer continued to lay his dead weight against me. I sighed in defeat, wrapping my arms around his head while I stroked the back of his neck with my thumb. Silence engulfed the two of us until I decided to speak up again. “Did you get anywhere?” I asked, running my fingers down his hairline.

He shook his head against my embrace, lifting his head up to look at me with tired eyes. “There’s just something- I feel it- but I just can’t place my mind on it” He grumbled, wearing an eminent frown on his lips.

“Well what is it?”

“This unsub- his victims right? They were found…” He trailed off, getting up to walk over to the board. “Here, here, and here” He pointed out, my eyes watching as he dragged his long fingers across the board. “But our profile doesn’t indicate that any of them would be his kill zones- or matter of a fact- none of them indicate any signs of his endgame” He sighed, placing his hands on his hips in frustration.

“Well Spence, I’m sure it’s noth-”

Suddenly Hotch barged into the room in a frenzy of impatience, the rest of the team following him at the same pace. “You’ve got to see this,” Garcia said frantically, placing her laptop on the table and furiously typed away.

I looked to Emily in confusion, but all I received was a shrug and a similar befuddled expression. I laid my eyes on the rest of the team, scanning their appearances, yet none of them seemed to budge. Finally, I paid attention to Garcia’s presentation of the unsub.

Something was obviously wrong, her fingers shook as she pointed to the board and she couldn’t keep a coherent sentence. “Garcia, it’s okay” I reassured her, giving her a small smile. But instead of receiving one back, her eyes became dull at the sight of me, quickly averting her attention elsewhere. I opened my mouth to add on, but decided against it as I gauged her reaction.

I was in my headspace, thinking about how Garcia responded to me until the mention of my name snapped me out of my thoughts. I whirled my head around, noticing all of my colleagues eyes on me. “What is it?” I laughed nervously, afraid that there might have been a target on my forehead.

My fears seemed to be actualized the second I turned around, my face morphing into mortification as I saw a candid picture of me with a big red ‘X’ across the page. My mouth fell agape while adrenaline ran its course throughout my body.

“Is that-?” I sputtered, looking to Spencer for confirmation, but he was too focused on the picture that he hadn’t taken his attention away from it. His fists were clenched, his chest heaved in an intermittent rhythm, and he hadn’t let a sound slip from his parted lips. “The unsub?” I looked to my colleagues, watching their facial features morph into pity.

Hotch nodded at me with hooded eyes, confirming my fears. My heart stopped and my body rejected the feeling of dismay that began festering inside me, shuddering at any malicious thought that permeated my mind. “We’ll be traveling to his most recent kill in hopes to apply the profile” He stated, looking to the rest of the team.

“I’m sorry Y/N” Garcia lamented with panicked eyes.

“It’s- uhh, I’m going to- I need a moment” I stuttered, tripping over my words as I got up and stepped out of the room.

It wasn’t the first time that an unsub had targeted me or any other member of the team, but this one was different; this unsub was the epitome of evil. The things he would do to the women he captured was far worse than death itself. He would violate these womens’ bodies and slice up their body cavities starting from their genitalia while they were alive.

When I first arrived on scene, my stomach churned at the mere thought of the event, refusing to go to the morgue with Morgan and Spencer. I felt violated just by the knowledge of such an evil being possible; now it’s an evil that could happen to me. It almost angered me that anyone could have such a putrid mind to think of such a thing, to carry on and blend into a crowd with bloodstained hands.

I paced back and forth, repeating a calming mantra in an attempt to ease my mind, yet nothing was nearly effective. I received a few wandering eyes from the officers that ran the station, but I pushed the judgement out of my head as it was too busy being engulfed in distress and acrimony.

The office door creaked open, indicating that someone had stepped out of the presentation room where I was previously in. I turned my head swiftly, my attention landing on the worried expression that Spencer wore as he approached me. My lips curled into a sad smile, hoping he would reciprocate my gesture to lighten up the mood, but to no avail his expression stayed stoic and grim.

“You’re not going on with us,” Spencer declared, an icy tone laced with his words. He made sure the door was closed behind him, whisper-yelling his command at me so we wouldn’t attract any unneeded attention.

“Spence- but I need t-”

“Please don’t argue with me Y/N” He sighed, combing his fingers through his locks, untying the man bun he wore previously.

“Spencer you see what this unsub is doing to all those women, I have t-”

“No you don’t Y/N- just please sit this one out” He pleaded, looking into my eyes for any sign of submission.

“Look Spence, I’m- god- I’m scared Spencer” I admitted, letting the truth wash over our encounter. “I can’t just stay here, I need to be out there doing something” I justified, hoping that he could understand and empathize with what I was feeling.

“Y/N you could do the same if you stayed here at the station- you can help Garcia and-”

“Spencer you have to understand-”

“No! Y/N” He impulsively blurted out, clutching the ends of his sleeves, which was usually an indication for his frustration. “You’re not going- I’ve already talked to Hotch and he said” He began to explain until I cut him off.

“YOU WHAT!” I exclaimed, but afterwards felt self conscious about the volume of my words. “You what?” I repeated in a calmer voice.

“Y/N I already talked to Hotch and he said that you’re off the case” He finished, belittling me like a parent would at their petulant child.

“So now you’re calling all the shots now, huh big guy” I scoffed, tucking my hands into my elbows. “You have absolutely no right to-”

“No right to what? To protect you? To keep you out of harm’s way?” Spencer combated, pulling me into a secluded corner that was farther away from the door and the crowd of workers in front of us.

“Not only are you commanding me not to go on the case, you had the audacity to tell Hotch to kick me off?” I spat at him, feeling every bit of fear I had previously dissipate and transform into enmity. “You’re unbelievable!” I exasperated, throwing my hands up and turning away from him. I was about to walk away to join the rest of the team, but I was forcefully pulled back by my wrist.

“Where are you going?” Spencer fumed as I yanked my arm out of his grasp.

“Away from you and to get myself back on the case” I jeered. I knew trifling with Spencer wasn’t the brightest idea, but messing with my career was a force to be reckoned with.

“Y/N can you not?” Spencer huffed, stepping in front of me to cut me off.

“Spencer I can take care of myself” I nudged past him, pushing him against his shoulder to make a few strides towards the room.

A heavy silence followed after the heated argument, the clacks that my shoes made against the stone floors enhanced the forceful steps I took. I felt every fiber of my being ignite in embers while I tried to recollect my composure. I peeked at Spencer through my peripheral vision, seeing his chest rise and fall in exasperation, the veins on his forehead bulging and prominent, and his hands being furiously wiped against the side of his pants.

Before I had the chance to turn the doorknob, Spencer had stopped me in my tracks with the sound of his voice. “Do you wanna end up like her?” He scoffed, gazing at me with a frustrated, yet desperate expression.

I titled my head in confusion of his words, almost ignoring him completely so I could proceed through the door.

“Do you wanna end up like Maeve?”

My blood ran cold at the mention of her name, feeling my heart clench for Spencer. I gripped the doorknob, hoping to alleviate the haunting feeling that washed over me. “That’s not fair Spencer” I warned, shutting my eyes, unable to face him.

“You know what’s not fair? You getting yourself hurt- or even worse- because you were too damn stubborn to listen to me-” He peeved. “I don’t know if you realize Y/N, but frankly I’m trying not to end up with another dead gir-”

“That’s not fair Spencer and you know it!” I repeated, meeting the coldness that was present in his usually warm eyes. I gritted my teeth, letting go of the doorknob as he slowly made his towards me.

“Then what’s fair Y/N?” He mocked, shrugging his shoulders in a petty manner.

“I’m going Spencer” I affirmed, standing my ground. His face seemed to harden at my words, the anger and spite in his expression growing into an irrational state. He glared at me, bumping into my shoulder as he brushed past me.

I wish that was what we left on; where he would storm back into the room with an exacerbated stature. But he decided to leave our encounter with a few words that were left to linger in the back of my mind.

“Come back dead for all I care”

part 2

taglist: @rexorangecouny @howdycharlie @linthebinbag

part 2 coming soon

also, i’m in my first year of university right now so most of my imagines will be two part-ers because of all the school work- if you’re curious im a biology major. thank you for bearing with me <3

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scapegrace74-blog · 3 years

Text

Ginger Snap

A/N I was driving down the highway today and saw the license plate “I PieGuy”. By the time I got home, this story was half-born in my head. I have no idea where it might go, but it’s taking up valuable shelf space in there, so I’m birthing it onto paper. Modern AU. Silly fluff. Claire POV. First person, which I never write, so watch out for stray pronouns.

The shriek of the fire alarm was the final straw. I’d just stepped out of the kitchen for a minute, but that was all it took for calamity to strike. Opening the oven door in a panic, billows of smoke engulfed me before I slammed it shut again.

“Shit. Shitshitshit. Shit!”

Waving a damp dish towel back and forth like a flag of surrender above my head caused the head-splitting siren to finally desist. I blew a rogue curl off my sweaty brow and gave myself a pep talk.

“Time to woman up,” I sighed before donning the oven gloves and cautiously cracking the door once again. More smoke escaped, smelling of burnt pastry and ruined hopes. Once it cleared I could see the charred carcasses of what were supposed to be vol au vent shells. I carefully extracted them from the oven and dropped the cooking sheet with a clatter onto the quartz countertop.

“Dinner is D.O.A, Doctor Beauchamp. Now what the fuck am I going to do?”

***

Thirty minutes were spent cleaning the evidence of yet another cooking fiasco and ventilating our flat by opening every available window to let in the moist Edinburgh breeze. I now had less than four hours before Frank and three other members of the university faculty would be descending, expecting a home-cooked meal and polite chitchat. I was in no position to offer either.

In a last-ditch effort to salvage the evening, I typed “sophisticated home catering in Edinburgh” and started dialing. The first four numbers yielded either an answering machine or the news (unsurprising) that at least two days’ advanced notice were required to book their services. Nearly resigned to ordering in Italian and facing Frank’s wrath, a woman’s voice with a thick Scottish brogue picked up at the fifth business I called.

“Ye’ve reached Ginger Snap, this is Jenny speaking. How may I help ye t’day?”

I poured out my tale of culinary woe, laying it on a bit thick, but I was truly desperate by this point.

“Aye, we’ve a chef available this afternoon. What sort of menu were ye planning?” she asked.

“Really? Oh my god, you’re a lifesaver!”

I gave Jenny the number of guests and a broad idea of what I’d hoped to serve, although I was in no position to be choosy.

“Never ye fear, Ms. Beauchamp. We’ll pick up the necessary items and our chef will be at yer flat by four. Tha’ should leave jus’ enough time tae have everything ready fer six.”

Thanking her profusely and not even inquiring about the charge, I stood triumphant in the middle of my immaculate yet useless kitchen. Why hadn’t I thought of this sooner?

***

The buzzer rang as I was re-arranging the decorative objects atop our sideboard. I was aiming for the artless sophistication featured in Frank’s favourite design magazines, but instead I lined up each item in order of descending size, or grouped them by historical era. A second buzz had me trotting to the intercom where a male voice crackled.

“This is James Fraser o’ Ginger Snap Catering. Can ye let me in?”

I stuck my head into the hallway to find four organic cotton tote bags bursting with produce at my doorstep. Footsteps pounded down the stairs, where I assumed the chef had retreated to collect more supplies. I brought the first load into the kitchen where I began to unpack foodstuffs the likes of which I’d never seen. Not knowing what else to do to be helpful, I began sorting them; green leafy things here, round crispy things there.

“Hallo?” the same voice called from where I’d left the door ajar. Wiping my hands nervously against my slacks, I went to greet him.

Standing in the doorframe, almost filling it with his immense size, was a young man who seemed more suited to a stag hunt or a rugby pitch than haute cuisine. He had loose tawny curls, two days’ worth of stubble and wore a faded grey henley, dark wash jeans that clung to his muscular legs and utilitarian workman’s boots.

“Claire Beauchamp?” he interrupted my visual inventory.

“Hmm? Oh, yes. Sorry. Pleased to meet you.”

Something funny happened when our hands met in a firm shake. A tachycardic blip, my internal medicine professor would have called it. There was no time to analyze this response, however, as he was already on the move.

“James Fraser, at yer service. I’d normally spend more time getting to know ye and yer style of entertaining, but we’re short on time, so let’s get straight to it, aye?”

I gave the chef a hasty tour of our kitchen, stumbling over the names of various implements and opening the wrong cupboard when looking for my saucepans. I blushed as he raised an expressive eyebrow, but shook it off. I was paying for his cooking proficiency, not his opinion on my lack of domestic competence.

“I ken ye spoke tae Jenny about yer menu, but I took a few liberties at the market, based on what looked freshest. I recommend starting with a simple salad o’ nettle and radish, garnished with a wee round of goat cheese and rye crumbs. Loin o’ lamb with new potatoes and pancetta fer yer main. An’ a simple rhubarb custard fer dessert. There’s none with food allergies, aye?”

“Aye,” I replied, then corrected “umm, no, rather,” at his concerned look. “Are you sure you can manage all that in only,” I glanced at my wristwatch “ninety minutes? It seems like an awful lot of work.”

“Och, tis no’ much. Lamb cooks swiftly, ye ken. Tis why I choose it over pork or poultry.”

My saviour rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, preparing to wash his hands and get down to work. There was probably something else I should be doing elsewhere in the flat to prepare, but I didn’t want to appear completely useless to this unflappable man.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

He looked dubious and seemed prepared to politely decline, but then his expression shifted.

“Aye. Ye can wash the tatties an’ chop the rhubarb while I dress the lamb, if ye dinna mind,” he suggested.

“Scrubbing in and wielding a knife happen to be two of the only transferrable job skills I bring to cooking,” I joked, taking my turn in front of the massive Belfast sink.

He emitted a low Scottish grunt of amusement before we each settled into companionable silence, focusing on our respective duties. I glanced over at him surreptitiously, envying the ease with which he moved from task to task, lean and nimble hands working alchemy where I only succeeded in producing dross.

“Ye’re a doctor, then?” he asked after my chopped rhubarb had been set on the stovetop to stew and the lamb was marinating in a bath of lemon and fresh herbs.

“Umm, well, I was. My partner and I moved here from Boston, where I trained as a surgeon. I haven’t yet obtained my license to practice here in the UK, so I’m afraid I’m just a culinary liability for the moment.”

It was a current source of strife in my relationship with Frank. He liked the idea of me keeping house, entertaining and eventually settling down to raise a family. I chaffed at this unfamiliar routine. But until I passed my licensing exams, it was rather a moot point.

“I’m sure ye’re far more than that,” he replied solemnly, before breaking into a sneaky grin. “I’ve ne’er seen stalks of rhubarb cut quite sae... uniform. Ye’d have a fine career in quality control, if ye wished.”

I faked throwing a dish towel at him while we both laughed.

“What about you, Mr. Fraser? How did you get into the catering business?” It wasn’t polite conversation. I was really quite curious to know more about him.

“I’ll tell ye, but only if ye call me Jamie.” At my nod, he continued, “twas my Mam. She was always a great cook, but then my Da passed suddenly and she with three bairns under the age of ten tae raise. She needed tae work. We moved tae Edinburgh an’ she laboured day and night tae save enough tae start her own catering business. Since I was a lad, when I wasna in school I was in her kitchen, watching and learning all the while.”

His striking face took on a faraway expression, and I knew he was remembering those days with a mixture of wistfulness and love. I recognized the look from my own reflection, when I thought about my dead parents. Without realizing it, I lay my palm over his forearm where it had stilled above my butcher’s block. His eyes were the same hue as midsummer blueberries, and they regarded me with silent inquiry.

A timer made us both jump, my hand falling to my side. What was I thinking, touching this stranger who I was paying to cook dinner for my boyfriend’s guests? I really needed to find a hobby, so my mind didn’t latch onto any feeble excuse for stimulation.

Brushing my hands against my thighs, I quickly excused myself and left to get properly dressed for dinner. Only thirty minutes remained before Frank and his colleagues were due to arrive.

I spent more time than was strictly necessary away from the kitchen, afraid I’d made things awkward with Jamie. By the time I finally returned, he was plating the lamb and putting the custard in the refrigerator to set. I tried to think of something to say that would re-establish the fluent rapport from earlier on.

“I’ve opened the wine tae let it breathe,” Jamie said without looking at me. I wished there was a similar process for blundering Englishwomen.

“Jamie, I really don’t know how to...”

The sound of the front door opening interrupted me and Frank’s nasal voice rang out from the entryway.

“Claire, we’re here!”

“Fuck!” I exclaimed. Jamie tipped his head sideways in question. “I never had time to explain to my partner that I hired your services. That’s the dean of his faculty out there, and...” I broke off, looking frantically around the room as though a trap door would suddenly materialize. Quick on his feet, Jamie understood the situation immediately. The kitchen windows were still open after my earlier catastrophe. With surprising grace for one so large, he slid through the opening and onto the fire escape.

“Bon appetit, Claire Beauchamp,” the ginger chef wished from outside, a mischievous smirk lighting his whole countenance.

I stood, mouth open in shock, as he gave an abbreviated bow before scampering down the metal ladder just as Frank entered the kitchen behind me.

“This smells delicious, darling. We really are going to make a chef out of you yet.”

#my writing #outlander

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bigfootwrites · 3 years

Text

{escort fic}

This idea has been in my head for a while. People on the server seem to like it. I’ve gone back and forth on whether this is ooc or not but nobody has mentioned that it is so I’m gonna roll with it. It’s just a concept idea but if people are interested I’m happy to turn it into a full fic so please do let me know. Can also be read on ao3.

@today-in-fic @mypanicface @improlificinsarcasm @baronessblixen @foxscully @gillywitch @arboreta @agirlcallednarelle @starbuckthirteen @clarke-oswald

- - -

He should go out and meet somebody. Get to know them, fall in love with them, build a relationship with them. Yet, relationships took time, he had been down this road multiple times and each one had ended just as badly as badly as the other, this recent relationship taking it to the next level.

He was divorced from somebody he once worshipped and the custody of their child on the line.

He wasn’t going to make a habit out of this. His hand and porn usually did the job but it didn’t always fill the void, fill that sense of loneliness that has been there since he was twelve. Sometimes he just wanted physical human companionship, sometimes he just wanted that too much.

Yet still even after swiping a leaflet that fell out of a magazine at the Lone Gunmen’s for an escort agency it took him a week to build up the courage to call them.

He chooses something called “A Girlfriend Experience”, picks someone somewhere within his age-range and tries not to feel guilty about the whole thing.

.:.:.:.:.:.

She was running late.

Tardiness never felt like an option with her yet Emily had refused to go to bed even after Dana told her she had to go to work. It had ended with Dana a few minutes behind and Emily asleep in her bed.

But it was time to push that life aside for now, to enter this restaurant as Danielle and Danielle doesn’t have a child named Emily or a pile of textbooks to study through.

The restaurant her client had chosen was nice enough; one of those business-y type places that not many wealthy people touched but it was still classy enough to be considered decent to use.

It was rare that she would be fed- food wasn’t often part of the price, after all, it was an extra expense. Besides, most of the men she had encountered just wanted a suck and a fuck and maybe the odd therapy session. Maybe around three of her requests were for this Girlfriend Experience and it wasn’t like she was rolling in requests that much anyway.

Dana had realised quickly the types of women men went for: blonde, tall, boobs. Short redheads who just about fitted into a B-cup never made the cut that often.

Yet, for whatever reason, she had be chosen. From the emails sent this man seemed nice enough of course from the stories she would hear that wasn’t something concrete to go off. People could carefully choose the words they typed, could portray themselves in a certain way online. The same could be said for in person interactions too but people were more likely to slip up during those.

For now, Dana is tucked away, she dons Danielle and approaches able 25 where her companion for the night waits for her.

When she gets there, it’s a gentle tap on the arm, a smile, and a simple “Hi, Mulder.”

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Mulder’s heart stops in his chest as he stares at her, struck with the thought of how breath-taking she is.

He wouldn’t say little redheads was his ‘type’ but as he was going through the countless lists of girls he hadn’t wanted somebody his type, he wanted no reminder of Diana and so he had chosen her; Danielle, 5’3, 26 years old and the complete opposite to Diana.

He hadn’t seen her face before, for whatever reason she had kept it off the page, Mulder hadn’t been expecting much in terms of looks because of it yet he can’t keep his eyes off her.

He realises she’s said his name and almost comically stumbles his way to standing up, bashing a leg against the table making the cutlery jump and a brief amount of pain to ripple length ways across his right tigh.

“Danielle,” he says wincing through the pain. Her professional name knowing full well it wasn’t her real name. He might be new to this escort world but 1-800 numbers and taught him enough about fake names, maybe he should have considered using one.

She looks to be smiling at his clumsiness, fighting it back, trying to hide it.

A shaky start Mulder thinks, as he pulls out her chair yet she’s sitting down before he gets a chance to show how much of a gentleman he is.

He’s looking through the drinks menu when he realises she’s staring at him, drinking him in. It makes him feel self-conscious.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

Danielle seems to have realised what she was doing, she quickly looks away from him.

“You’re just…different to who I usually meet with,” she says.

Mulder smiles wryly and cocks his head.

“Is that good or bad?” he asks unsure himself.

“That’s good,” she tells him. “Usually I get the…older men and they definitely don’t go out of their way to buy me food.” She lifts her head up and smiles waiting for his reply.

He has none other than how strange he must seem to her right now, how sad. He also tries not to feel jealous at the thought of her with other men. It’s a thought that comes out of nowhere, a thought he has no right in occupying.

“So do you come here often?” she’s asking.

The answer to was that no. It was a drive away from his apartment, away from any potential sightings of colleagues or people he sees on a daily basis.

“Never,” he says realising this could be chaotic.

But she’s laughing and it’s one of the nicest sounds his eyes have ever heard.

“I hope you didn’t come here just to try and impress me.”

“Try?” he counters. “So I take it you’re not so easily impressed?”

She shrugs. “I’ve been told as much.”

Mulder leans in, surprised at how comfortable he feels around her, how at ease he is.

“Well tell me,” he says. “Are you impressed?”

She looks around the establishment, pretending to think.

“Hmm…I think you could have done better.”

“Okay,” Mulder says leaning back and giving the room a once around himself. He would say he’s done pretty well but she’s laughing again, giggling actually, and the restaurant doesn’t matter.

They order food, not that he’s particularly hungry anymore, but for some reason he doesn’t want this to end. Spending $300 a night to talk seems better than spending $300 on an apology.

“So,” Mulder begins. “What do you do aside from…this.”

He wonders about the answer he will receive. She’s lied about her name, will she lie about this or will to follow the truth as much as she can, altering things here and there. He wonders how much of her true name is in her fake name.

“Well…through the day I study mostly,” she says and this perks his interest.

“What do you study?”

“Uh…” He sees she’s searching for an answer and it breaks his heart to know that he isn’t getting the truth though he had expected her to be a bit more prepared for these questions.

“Chemistry,” she finally says. “I wanted to be a scientist.” She says it almost shyly, tucking her head in and refusing to look at him. He amends his previous thought, perhaps there is a truth after all.

“Wanted?” Mulder asks. “Is that still not possible?”

“Well…I guess so. I’m just worried about somebody hiding out about…this.” She purses her lips and shrugs.

Mulder wonder if he’ll get to ask why she does this but then wonders if that’ll be rude to ask anyway even if did get the chance.

“Well, let me pose you a question,” he says just as their food arrives. “Do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials?”

He watches as she processes his question, her eyebrows knitting together as she attempts to formulate an answer and Mulder is curious as to what that answer is.

“Logically, I would have to say no,” she says slowly. “Given the distances needed to travel from the far reaches of space, the energy requirements would exceed the spacecraft’s capabilities.”

Mulder finds himself impressed with her, the certainty in her answer, he wonders if he’s getting a glimpse of a real person beneath the professionalism, other character.

“Okay, conventional wisdom,” he says, he expected it. “But when convention and science fail us, should we not start looking to the fantastic as answers?”

He thinks he’s caught her, she takes a while to answer, thinking it over through mouthfuls of salads. Mulder is too preoccupied with her mind to worry about the food that goes cold beneath him.

She swallows her food, sitting back in her seat and Mulder waits for the mental foreplay.

“That’s only if convention and science actually fail us.”

He thinks he’s in love.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

There’s an easiness Dana feels around Mulder. He’s nothing like her previous clients who see nothing beyond her sexual capabilities. Mulder seems to be interested in her mind, in her and she worries she might have revealed too much of herself to him but it’s rare she finds somebody to match her intellect, her classmates can’t keep up with her, her professors shut her down in order to give other members of the class a chance. She feels intellectually frustrated at times.

“Why do you ask all this?” she inquires.

Mulder shrugs. “Oh, it’s just a hobby.”

“Talking about extraterrestrials is a hobby?”

He looks away and mumbles something she doesn’t quite catch.

“What was what?” she asks.

“I look for them.”

It’s endearing, how different he is from anyone else she’s ever met.

“Do you think you’ll ever find them?” It’s not to jest or to make fun of him.

“I’d like to,” Mulder says with an essence of hopefulness in his voice.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

He makes the decision that he won’t fuck her.

He’ll pay $300 as a fee to access her amazing mind if he must.

They go away from the talk of aliens, something for which Mulder was glad. He has his own secrets locked away and if they continued on the subject anymore, he was worried they would tumble out of his mouth and he’d reveal how spooky he really was. They talk of other stuff, he throws conspiracy theories at her that he barely believes in himself just to hear her debunk them with finesse. She was the one who was right and he was wrong and Mulder is completely okay with that.

He stops when he reaches her hotel, this is the end of one of the best nights of his life. He’ll go home, think of her, perhaps rub one off to the thought of her, and that will be that. He’ll bin that leaflet and they’ll never talk again.

But she’s stopping when she realises he isn’t beside her anymore and turns with a puzzled look on her face.

“Tonight was great, Danielle,” he tells her. “I really enjoyed it.”

Her face almost seems to fall when she realises what he’s doing but she picks herself back up again, nodding.

“Well,” she says walking back towards him. “If we’re not doing that anymore at least let me give you this.”

Her lips touch his and fireworks go off behind him. Mulder feels as though he’s experiencing his first kiss all over again, new and exciting, and a fear that he’s doing something he’s not meant to do.

It doesn’t take long before he’s kissing her back, his tongue trying to gain access to her mouth and to her own tongue. She grants him permission, thank god, and he almost melts inside her mouth.

They fall against a wall, his head collides with the brick but he doesn’t care, there is nothing else on his mind other than the want to pick her up. He’s bent at an awkward angle because even in heels her forehead just about reaches his chin. He’s unsure what to do with his hands, on her hips, on her waist. She seems to become annoyed at his indecisiveness and takes his hands in her own, placing them against her ass all the while not breaking the kiss.

He grows impossibly hard as his senses go into overdrive. He wants her so bad when he said he wouldn’t.

“Danielle…” he moans coming up for air.

“Dana,” he hears her say and at first he’s confused wondering what she’s talking about. “Call me Dana.”

The penny drops. Her name!

“Dana.”

She’s back on him, kissing him harder this time and Mulder was kidding himself before; he’s going to make love to her.

#concept idea #potential fics #au #just another of my out there ideas #for reasons im not going to state #im incredibly worried to post this

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quinn-tessence · 3 years

Text

Nocturne for a Clown

Part 3

Summary: you're tormented by the realization Arthur is the killer clown on the news, yet no bone in your body feels any different for him. Not even Casanova's advances could sway your from wanting to hold Arthur in your arms and alleviate his sorrow. He's had a bad day, and retreats on your couch, broken and confused.

Length: 5k words

Warnings: mentions of murder, lack of remorse, guilt and grief, seeking comfort where he'd never had it from. Smut with dear Arthur that could cause a rush of tremors, be warned. 🤭❤

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

You sat and watched. Then watched and watched some more. There were no words, no voice, no sound coming through your gaping mouth as the skin on your lips almost started to crack. It made sense. The blood, the bruise, the liberating sex, the wretched guilt. Oh God, what has he done?, you repeated in his voice over and over, that impossible puzzle putting itself together before you as you hid your gouging eyes underneath heavy, sweaty palms in a much too similar reflex to his own.

What has he done? He'd been beaten down surely, given his frail nature you could see how he'd be fluent in being at the receiving end, but as grievous as the thought was, it made it no less valid. This was bad, he’d land straight into Arkham if you picked up that phone to call the authorities, the way a considerate citizen would, as if Gotham deserved any at all. But you weren't one of them, were you? Never had you really fit in, yet you tried for the sake of appearances, it had become so burdening of late, only the thought of Arthur could provide the comfort you'd been seeking.

The news reports kept blaring, yet all your compassion overflowed for the clown, had you been able to see things objectively you'd still think he was hero. Three fewer assholes in Gotham, only a million more to go, you heard an inner voice say, even if you knew that was enough reason to throw you into the depths of Arkham Asylum. You'd sadly known that place from family, and you never wanted to set foot in that Tartarus again, but perhaps the apple didn't fall far from the tree. You couldn't stomach the thought of Arthur sitting opposite the glass wall from you, so dozed up on sedatives he'd hardly even recognize you. No, no, no. You wouldn't let that happen, and yet he'd need his own time and space to process.

You resisted the urge to bang on his door and ask for a full account, it felt as if you were a passenger on a derailing, speeding train. Regardless of how breathtaking the turquoise water under the rails, your gut wrenched at the thought of plunging into it head first. You were a decent swimmer, but you knew you’d be incapable of fighting those waters from swallowing you whole. You'd just given yourself to him, entirely and shamelessly, and regret was nowhere in sight. Had you been the forth prey of his killing spree, he would have killed you already. Yet he did the exact opposite, in distress and quivering like a leaf, but it was your door he opened after his rupture. He trusted you to keep this secret for him. And you welcomed the trust.

Within a few days you noticed you'd returned to your bad habit of unconscious nails biting. As if the deafening tumult between your temples wasn't enough, you also had to self flagellate as you desperately waited in silence.

You were busy enough at work, and the newest addition to your team had become daring enough to invade your private space little by little. Tall. Lean. Broad shouldered. Curly caramel hair and eyes of obsidian, winking at you shamelessly each time he passed by you. Patrick was a force in his field, yet he rolled his eyes and tongued his cheek whenever you'd call on him for a task, as if wanting to taunt you. Quite quirky and unprofessional, but restrictive enough to question yourself if you were merely projecting. Not once had he failed to deliver, on the contrary, yet that sly attitude never left him. Hm. The distraction was welcome, but it was nothing more. You'd catch yourself staring through him, picturing sparkling emeralds and cocoa, having to snap yourself back to reality before he'd think it was him you were aching for just like all your infatuated colleagues.

He must have checked with your giggly girlfriends before casually slipping in an invitation to your favorite bar after hours, casual drinks with a few colleagues, of course. Perhaps you should have politely declined, but you needed the respite from the heart wrenching torment, even if just for a few hours.

As empty as the venue was, he insisted on strolling in your visual field, intriguingly charming, maybe a bit too charismatic. It was time to maintain a level of dignity with your colleagues and remove yourself before getting into a state where you'd find yourself in Arthur's apartment, this time fully conscious. Yet Patrick gallantly offered to drive you over, posing a certain concern for your safety alone in the streets with a murdering clown on the loose. HA! You giggled at the joke being on him, silently talking to yourself. No thank you, you rascal, protection from that clown is the last thing I need. He insisted on paying for the taxi at least, and you’d had two drinks and wanted to be home already.

The thunderstorm washed the streets rapidly as you entered your building. You loved ravenous thunderstorms, especially as they traversed the sky over your cozy apartment bathed in lily scent. You took comfort in the hot shower and the chilly air in the room, lightning bolts clearing up the sky for a flash of a second as you wrapped yourself in the bathrobe, ready for Murray's dry humor.

Oh God! Your heart leapt to your throat as a soaked silhouette bathed your floors in cocoa flavor. At last.

‘Arthur! You scared me!’ he lay motionless, your words passing through him as if he wasn't even there. ‘Is everything ok?’

His damp fingers absently traced a faint line over the glass of your coffee table, his body slouched and stiff, the edges of his hair dripping on the couch.

‘I had a bad day.’

The words had come from a deep dark pit inside his chest, a wretched misery draped across his face as you kneeled next to him, cupping his cheeks. You'd ached to see his sparkling jades, yet you'd met them covered in a thick coat of tears, on the edge of dropping.

‘Arthur, what happened, sweetheart? Talk to me, please' He was so tired and withered, not even the wicked cackle would surface in this state.

‘I had a bad day…’

‘You said that, sweetheart, tell me what happened. Are you hurt?’

‘Kitten. I've done something… I…’ for seconds he tried to articulate, but the cackle fought its way up his throat.

‘Arthur shhhh. I know it was you. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, I won't force you… I won’t judge you for it, I promise. Just sit with me for a second’ his head already leaning on your chest, your palm caressing his piercing bones, even through sets of clothes. He sat sedated, limbs heavy, flesh trembling, voice cackling in wrenching anguish for what felt like minutes on end.

‘You do?’ he asked between ruptures as if to steer his initial subject into whatever you'd conveniently brought up.

‘I do. I knew it the moment I heard the news after you stormed out. I saw the blood and the bruise on your face. You won't find any judgement here, I promise. I know you needed time to process, but you’re here now. Shhh' you almost cradled him in your arms, the most powerful instinct to protect him even from himself overbearing. He was all bone and sinew, like a hungry lone wolf, but there now was a sinister vibe to him.

‘Good. I'm glad you know. I lost my job that day, and then they attacked me in the subway, beating me to a pulp. Hm. Now you'll know that killing them hasn't bothered me at all. How's that for casual conversation?’

An unnerving tremor slid down your spine at the tone of his voice. You'd known him for a while, yet this resentful sneer was far from something you'd expect from timorous Arthur. Dreadful it's what it was, spine-tingling, intriguing, you were utterly mad to clasp this deranged man to your bosom when another prince charming just waited for one damn look from you. Who cared, you thought, Gotham’s gonna claim all of us sooner or later.

‘All I want is for you to be safe, Arthur. I won't tell anyone, but you need to be careful, sweetheart, you can't be saying things like those to anyone, please'

‘I have no one to tell, Y/N. And you’re not just anyone. You know. I’m still here, although you could have thrown me in police custody for the past few days.’ The cackles had given him a short respite, even if still lingering on the edge of bursting. He wheezed heavily before speaking. ‘My whole life I didn't even know if I really existed. And today, I feel… hollow…’

You'd asked and asked again as you touched his face and held it close to yours, his forehead as cold as the thunderstorm outside this comforting protective bubble.

‘My mother had a heart attack. She's in the hospital. Hah. My mother…’ a late instinct turned your skin to prickles hearing him speak from a different octave, a thick air of mustering resentment filling the room. ‘I had a few days to myself and I decided to deliver a letter to Thomas Wayne from her, seeing how he never bothered to write back. I'd told you she worked for him 30 years ago, and I read it although I shouldn’t have. I'd never known my father, but the letter said it was him. I confronted my mother and she told me everything about the two of them. But… instead of some warmth or a bit of decency, he told me my mother was insane and that I had been adopted. That and a punch to the face is what I got. Hm. Who am I, then? You tell me'

Your own eyes on the brink of overflowing, your soul coiled. You couldn't do much, but he needed comfort. Where would you even start, though? His tone of voice, the grief weighing him down, the droplets off his wet hair disintegrating whatever pieces were left of him, a question mark in stead of whomever he thought he'd been his whole life. Yet he didn't expect comfort. Such a foreign concept to him, as if reserved only to an elite he was not part of and would not dare intrude upon. You could easily hear how he'd just laugh it out into his pillow at night, his cries stifled, lacking a corner of privacy and personal intimacy where he could really build up that forced smile he'd put on every next day. You’d go utterly mad if you were in his shoes, no comfort and no expectation of it. So used to being overlooked, deep down he knew he was alone, and that filled him with fear and hopelessness. So you shushed and nuzzled him to your chest, hoping the warmth of your body would be soothing enough for the chaos that he was.

‘I don't know who I am, kitten. So I went down to Arkham and stole my mother's file just to find that he'd been right. The… horrors… she subjected me to as a child had gotten me locked up in Arkham years ago, but now I think I was just trying to hide from her, from this rotten city, from this world. I felt safe in that white room, ironically. When they released me, the heavy medication was supposed to make me feel better, instead it suffocated even my most basic impulses.’

Laughter ripped at his throat and pulled his face into a grimace, your palms clasping him so tightly you were afraid you might smother him. How much pain and grief could a man take, his poor soul must have been bound to an eternal rock, forever pecked by hungry vultures.

‘How can you even welcome me into your home if I don't even know that much? I’m so sorry I dragged you into this. I should go, no need to burden you with any of this' he meant every word, as he kissed your hands with teary lips and dragged himself half upright.

‘Don't go' you close to begged. ‘Please stay.’

The grooves in his forehead you loved, just as the distinctive scar on his upper lip and the deep dark eye bags crowning his jades, his state of mind added another couple decades to his age. As you took him in through your pores, you remembered the shy clown peering through the shelves, and how the makeup would do the exact opposite of its intended purpose. Somehow he'd been unaware of how the makeup brightened his eyes to a clarity and sharpness you could cut yourself into. It was endearing how he'd stared at you when you'd first seen him wearing the costume, thinking he could hide under that mask when really it only brought him to life, his facial expressivity more riveting than ever. Yet he was here with you, more Carnival than Arthur even without the paint, as broken as a mirror in infinite shards.

‘Will you still have me here after this?’

‘I would. Please. I'm glad you came here after all this instead of going back home.’

The thought he'd ever been intimate with a woman before you had dissipated in an endless pool of murky turquoise, the genuine surprise in his eyes cutting you to your bone. There was no question, you knew.

‘Thank you, kitten. I'll stay, if you want me here'. There was no hiding anymore, you'd made it sparkling clear by being an accessory after the fact.

‘I do, Arthur, so much. I wanted you here… since you held that elevator for me, yet somehow we always missed our moment. No need to thank me…’

Had it not been for the roaring thunder, he'd probably hear your galloping heart, yet his composure betrayed just that acknowledgement. Every fiber in your body ached to touch his soul and mend it. The erotic tension you couldn't deny, but that wasn't anywhere near the reason why you'd willfully allowed yourself to become his accomplice. He sat back down, timidly reaching for your hand with his own smooth fingers, to place it on his cheek, now as warm as to ignite all the fires inside you with only one touch. Regardless of the endless torment of his life, it was so effortless to feel safe in his presence, even if he'd just killed three men in cold blood and joggled his life as he balanced on a thin string.

‘But I want to. Will you... let me thank you?’ his eyes had meekly turned to yours with a restless heeding for that glimpse of complicity you'd joined in a few times before.

‘If you insist, sweetheart, I guess you already did. You're welcome.’ And through that smile you could feel your body radiating as intensely as a candle flame in the dark. You’d tripped and fell into feelings for him, and nothing could brush them off.

‘No... I really want to thank you, kitten...’ Painfully slowly, he drew himself closer to you, a cocktail of demureness and ardor shaping his beautifully chiseled face into one that you'd missed your whole life, without even knowing. ‘I want to... put my mouth on you...’

Oh… He'd shown you a short, blissful glimpse of this other Arthur, the less tense, less uptight, more daring when he'd taken what you both wanted. There was always a limit to his courage, and yet he’d usually fall back into the timid, maiden like demeanor that he was. This felt different though, as there was a glimpse of unbridling in the way he inhaled, in the twitch of his contoured eyebrow, his whispering husky voice demanding consent. He needed this. Perhaps it would help deafen the torment for a quiet minute, and you were willing to let him try. Oh, who were you fooling, your heart had leapt at the thought of this since you saw him motionless on your couch, albeit in your mind the roles had been reversed. You'd bitten your lip instinctively, a most nonverbal cue of compliance to his plea, and within a short second he was tasting it, sucking it, biting it gently, as his nimble fingers strolled so tenderly through your hair to uncover your face, your eyes already deeply sunk behind fluttering eyelids.

‘I want to feel you shiver in my mouth' he whispered with a faltering voice, taking in all of your scent through avid nostrils. ‘You always smell so good, so clean… I want to taste you…'

So tender he was, you'd forgotten what it felt like to be wished for, body and soul alike, yet his palms willingly showed you a striking contrast to the tenacious Arthur who'd barged in days ago, as if your skin was porcelain and he wouldn't want to break you. He uncovered your naked skin underneath the fluffy bathrobe and smoothly tasted the growing prickles with curious fingertips, lowering himself towards your thighs at a painstakingly slow pace that would soon have you beg.

Pulling you to the edge of the couch where he’d slid himself, he finally broke the jarring tension of his eye contact just to move his head lower, descending decisively. The instant his curious lips parted, a shiver jolted through your flesh and your heart leapt into a marathon, you let yourself fall into his mouth without any control. How beautiful he was, you reminded him over and over as your fingers slicked his damp hair back, curling it around his ears, uncovering his furrowed forehead and perfect chiseled jawline. The sight of him between your thighs was no stranger, but you’d only seen it from afar until now, deep within the corner of each of your fantasies. Such a kind soul he was, but that mouth a wretched devil… oh my…

For a second he looked as if he'd forgotten all his sorrows as he strolled his tongue over your petals, tasting your skin one inch at a time, gently exploring to test your every reaction to his laps, his eyes fascinated with each of your whimpers. The throbbing love button he'd unveiled, a curiosity he had to touch with his tongue to feel the pulsation, your purrs a source of the validation in an endless sea of self doubt. Taking his time, curiously exploring this newfound medication for his sorrowful blues, he quickly grew hungry and greedy as an addict for a stronger fix, yet somewhat cautious to not overdose. His dilated basil eyes etched onto your contorted face, delighting in each tiny reaction he drew from you with his mouth, yet the catalyst to set you fully ablaze were his own moans as he enjoyed himself enjoying you. Oh God, what is he doing to me, I never want him to stop…

You’d thought you'd be the one comforting him, but it seemed as if he was doing it for both of you. His eyes moved around maniacally, taking in the shape of your naked breasts, of your nipples hardened at the thunderous air in the room, your moans guiding him into a delicate rhythm that could make you climb walls, even with the clumsiness that came with tasting a new person. He couldn't be a novice, although his curiosity was striking and enticing. Regardless of all that sorrow he'd brought with him, he curled a satisfied smirk under his scar and an impertinent twitch of his eyebrow sent you into a frenzy. His jades dilated at seeing your lips bitten, your eyebrows furrowed, close to crying in ecstasy, unable to move at the pleasure he gave and gave some more.

The mercury in your thermometer jumped at knot speed towards one big show of fireworks whose fuse got consumed by his kindling flame at a slow pace. Thoughts of his recent killing spree rushed through your mind, yet you were as high as a kite. You didn't care. So you let them ooze out to leave a hazy emptiness behind to be filled with all this spectacle of indulgence.

The pleas were whimpering whispers as you arched and etched your fingers in his smooth cocoa hair to anchor him, the other palm clenching a poor throw pillow to deformation. You hips guided by the rhythm of his palms on your waist, your moans deepening as he'd made you move onto his face, using it as a fine tuned instrument to orchestrate the crescendo of both your pleasure. Now that all your 8000 sensory nerve endings could light Gotham for Christmas if visible, his tongue flickered around your pearl, feeling the climax building up towards that overwhelming rapture. Moans turned to shrieks, toes and fingers clenched in reflex, his eyes and mouth on you as he winked from under long dark eyelashes. You combusted so powerfully into his mouth, within a few blissful seconds you'd left him glistening in traces of yourself.

Only as you quivered your last drop of pleasure in his mouth did you realize why he'd needed this so badly, he craved the validation of being a man even if his identity in shatters. It was one thing to have no identity, but another to not even be a man. Pleasuring you was one damn win that would hold his feet on the ground if he did it right, and that he could control. He had been scrutinizing you as you gasped for air, your eyebrows furrowed almost painfully, your flushed delicate muscles still throbbing under his tongue.

‘Oh, Arthur, that was… amazing…’

Still lingering his lips onto your inner thighs, he kissed tenderly as your flesh still twitched. You wanted him even more now than you did before. But tonight should be about him, even if he'd taken the lead so gracefully, so skillfully, so deliciously.

‘Yeah…’ the shyest smile draped across his tinted face, 'I felt that, kitten. I've… never really done this before…’ You'd known, deep down, and yet hearing him say the words was the most tender of piano nocturnes to your ears, so you latched at his mouth to taste him through your flavor, one that if you could bottle up, it would drive mankind rabid into destructive adoration.

Come here, Arthur, you whispered as you pulled him next to you, the puzzlement over his arching eyebrows an absolute delight you'd dreamt of relentlessly. He didn't fight it, yet the stiffness in his bones betrayed an urge he'd palmed away many nights without resolution, anxiety creeping over him at the realization it was now staring him in the face.

‘Wh… what are you doing?’, you shushed him as a response.

‘Kitten, please, don't feel like you need to give me anything back…’

‘Who said anything about giving back? I'm taking this for myself, Arthur. Let go, baby, let me take care of you'

‘Kitten… ohh' his eyes went straight to the back of his head, heavy eyelids covering his jades, his lips parted as your fingers traced the bulge straining his pants to suffocation. ‘Ok…’ he exhaled anxiously, a timidly bouncing knee betraying the rush of emotion flowing through him as you dragged his clothes over his head, his pants crowning the floor within a few seconds, leaving him naked to your hungry gazes.

The flickering light of the candles reflected over his protruding ribs as if a part of his body had caved in under the weight of his shoulders, his palms on your face strolling and tasting the reality of your flesh, he must have thought you were a side effect of his medication. Yet the prickling shivers traversing his body as you trailed your fingers over it were not. You reached for his lips as you lay him across the couch, your breasts invading his chest, the warmth of your body soothing his anxious trembling. That defeated look on his face, so vulnerable he'd made himself to you, he had nothing to give yet you still wanted him. He was mystified with even the remote possibility, let alone you giving him that adoration he'd chased endlessly, but never caught.

‘You are so beautiful, Arthur, let me show you, please…’ He was your paradise lost in the depravity of Gotham, a villain in itself, weighing down on each of its residents and having chosen Arthur to crush mercilessly under its own lack of a well defined identity, ready to teach us all lessons in humility that could lead to desperation.

He nodded shyly, his jades coated with an acute layer of yearning over something he'd never been given before. His body was a withered Stradivarius, abandoned in the corner of a cold, damp world, subjected to years of weathering and painful lack of any care, no wonder he was so feeble in between your fingers. But his strings were steel, and steel doesn't weather. It would naturally respond to external factors just like anything else but no amount of forcing, pushing, suppressing would bring out the brilliant austere sound it was designed to bring. Had he been less frail, you'd relate him to a cello, one that needs to be held tight to one's chest before playing it, where its resonating chamber rests upon the artist's heart as she moves the bow on the saddest of instruments. Yet he was so fragile, the wails of his chords almost bringing you to tears as you ghosted over them, testing what amount of pressure would bring the vibration, how to explore the potential of the sound and bring it closer to perfection. You were there to give him all that, to polish all the dust away, his wrinkles, his chiseled edges, to practice on his strings and validate his worth until he felt himself a Stradivarius for the first time in his life. He'd been blessed with a beautiful instrument that could bring such intense sensory bliss if only he'd find the right hands, and you longed to play him through the night, to tear your fingers into his chords and to sing his melancholy away.

What a trembling mess he'd become as soon as your lips strolled down his neck, the smell of rain and cigarettes off his skin intoxicating you into indelible addiction. The farthest you went, the more you saw how little he expected that you'd turn your full attention to him, as if never daring to expect anything other than what you'd allow him to take. You kissed your way down from his chest, palms exploring and fondling every bony texture, every inch of soft skin until reaching an extremity that felt to your fingertips as both together. Trembling, he slicked back his hair and sunk deeper into the couch, scrutinizing your face in detail and feeding you those micro expressions of Arthur and Carnival together, the twitch in his eyebrow a give away that you'd be playing for an audience of two tonight.

So immersed in the overflow of sensation he was as you took him into your mouth, his only verbal response a muffled ‘F-fuck, kitten', but his whole body screamed a different story of twitches at the touch of your tongue and lips. How demure the sounds he made as he shivered over and over, his eyes shut tightly, his mouth half open, heavy breaths raising his chest, quivering lips alternating silent approvals or four letter curses, as if careful to not be caught. So painfully expressive, all you wanted was to see him melt under your touches like silver over a burning flame without a hurry in the world, your tongue tracing a tale more evocative than any words could ever express.

With each stroke of your lips, he let go to all but that intense pleasure, as if your mouth held the power to oust the very fabric of reality, offering him an escape into a wonderland he'd been denied entrance all his life. He wants to be wanted, needs to he needed, lusts to be lusted for, his quivering lips more than enough validation for that thought. As you felt his muscles unwind, his fingers tremoring, his breath traversing his trembling body, you'd made him float in an isolation tank of indulgence. When you stopped, his voice would growl and whimper in reflex, the purring sounds begging for more. Some would call it schadenfreude, you called it your tiny overdose in hearing him say 'please' as you teased and inflamed him. His taste in your mouth, his smooth texture, his delicate skin, you wanted nothing more than to lock that door and trap him in this perpetual state of bliss. For eternity wouldn't be enough to put together all his broken pieces, but it would be a start.

The meekness in his jade eyes was wrenching, yet as he looked into yours, you quickly understood why. You couldn't hear his silent whispers, yet you knew he was begging for more as the throb in your mouth intensified and his whimpering green eyes slid to the back of his head, his palms clenching the couch so forcefully he could tear into it. It mattered no less as you felt him completely let go throb after throb, his body convulsing in spasms, the taste of him ambrosia hidden from all other mortals.

His head sunk deep in the couch pillow, his arms and body heavy and immobile, breath ragged, he giggled for the first time that day, a laugh so genuine it felt foreign to both of you, a rattled stranger you both wanted to welcome in and nurture back to his feet. As he lay sprawled on your couch, naked and ecstatic, you wished he was happy, for once. You needed a minute to freshen up, and as you returned to shut the windows and lay a blanket over him, he'd almost dozed off from exhaustion.

You sunk next to him as slick as a cat, laying him onto your chest and fondling your fingers in his damp cocoa hair, his limbs latching at you rendering you almost breathless with the radiating warmth of his body.

‘Kitten, I… I don't know how to thank you…’, he whispered in the nook of your neck, asleep had his flesh not sweetly twitched him back to a half awake state. ‘I've been off my medication for a few days, but I might have found an endless supply of pure morphine…’. His body had finally rested its convulsion, his limbs falling heavier, his breath slower, within a few seconds of his thought his eyes already moved spastically under heavy eyelids.

He was right, he'd found pure morphine, and so had you. It would consume you both, but him in your arms was that feeling humanity had sought since its birth. A once in a lifetime adventure they'd write sonnets about in the past, one that was yours to experience and live through with Arthur. That morphine had just kicked in for both, and you were floating on a cloud high above the thunder slowly roaring away in the night.

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

Thank you for reading this far! ❤

A special thanks to a few of the lovely people in this community that inspires me to keep putting my odes to Arthur on paper:

@wuika @iartsometimes @impulsiveclown @arthurflecc @littlebird92 @life-or-something-like-lt @jokers-puddin-pop @arthurfleckownsmysoul @jokersdoll @bananabreaddough @paperorigami @ransomguest49 @daydreamhustler @arthurjokersgirl @forever-fleck @sweet-nothings04 jokerlicious @ajokeformur-ray @shaw-2000 @jaraysha1121 @jofic059 @shit-i-love-clowns

#joaquin phoenix joker #joker arthur fleck #arthur fleck #joaquin phoenix #joker #joker fanfic #joker x reader #joker x you

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artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

I'm Not Into Sometimes, Chapter 2 (Rosnali) - SnowBun

A/N: Very proud of this chapter <3 finally feel myself getting back to the writing style I enjoy the most. I hope you like reading this is as much as I like writing it. much love everyone xx

Summary: When Denali goes viral for posting a dance video, she doesn’t expect it to lead her to becoming a choreographer for Rosé, an up and coming singer destined for fame. Denali thinks that this might be her first (and only) shot at achieving her dream. If only her dream wasn’t wrapped up in a flurry of pink hair, charm and a supposedly professional relationship.

—

Release comes in the sound of blades scraping against ice. It is the feeling of her core tightening as she pushes off the ground and becomes the world turning on its axis. She is this moment of weightlessness and control.

Then her head begins to fog with visions of spinning rose-colored tops across a dark wooden floor, so endlessly mesmerizing. Her mind fills with questions of intrigue and challenge, the first time she’s ever seen duality so up close. Oh, to be so breathlessly enamored by beauty and talent.

It’s the loss of focus that weighs her down, causing her to land shakily on her right foot. She extends her left leg for balance and slides not-so-gracefully on the ice. She hears Olivia cheer in the sidelines, all bright white smile and wonder. It brings her back to the rink and away from the studio.

She skates over, pressing her forehead to the fence. “It’s not so bad.” She thinks. The rest of the world is slowly but surely getting hooked on Rosé, and she lives up to every expectation and more. She thinks it’s perfectly normal to feel a little charmed by her.

Even if she was a bitch at first.

“What’s wrong?”

Then again, she can’t quite answer Olivia’s question. She isn’t a fan from half way across the world. She’s the damn choreographer. She’s in New York, seeing her old friends and grasping onto her dream.

Said dream just had to come in the form of pink hair and clear brown eyes.

She shakes her head and smiles. “Nothing’s wrong, Liv.”

—

At first, she thinks she’s just so tired that she’s seeing things. When she blinks, she realizes that her eyes aren’t lying and that Rosé really is right there, sitting on the dance studio floor at 6:30 in the morning. She’s staring at intently at her phone, with an expression that can only be described as upset fury. She becomes too absorbed in typing to even notice Denali come in.

“Hey.”

She looks up and her face softens into a small smile. There it goes again, that weird feeling of nakedness that comes with being looked at by those eyes. The combination of this and the lack of sleep is disconcerting, but she manages to smile back anyway.

“Hey.” Rosé procures a coffee cup from behind her and reaches up to pass it. “I got you coffee.”

It takes her a minute to process, way too taken aback by the gesture. She’s always prided herself on being difficult to phase, but when a woman who is basically her employer that she barely knows hands her coffee, it’s hard not to act surprised.

Nonetheless, she accepts it gratefully, muttering a ‘thanks’ as she sits down on the floor beside her.

For a while, she stills as Rosé continues to type with such force that Denali’s scared that she might end up cracking the screen somehow. She wonders in silence, but she’d be lying if she says she’s not tempted to cross the arbitrary line and ask if something is wrong.

“Sorry.” Rosé’s voice suddenly rings clear, but the world around them still feels quiet, tranquil almost. “Just a lot of stuff that needs to get done before the video shoot.”

“Mmm,” Denali says, as she sips her coffee. “It’s fine, I don’t mind.”

Even if the phone has been tucked into the pocket of her bag, Rosé opts for stretching out her legs in front of her and yawning instead of getting up. She turns her head to look at the choreographer whose gaze is directed at the cup in her hand.

“So,” She draws out the word lazily, cocking her head to the side. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“What do you think of Phenomenon?”

It’s a difficult question to answer. If she says something bad, she’s kicked off this project. If she says something good, she’s just kissing ass. She knows that the only right answer to this question is her own opinion, but when her mother told her that honesty is the best policy, she’s not sure this is the situation that she had in mind.

“Honestly?” Rosé nods. “I think it’s great. The lyrics are good, the production is amazing, your vocals are fantastic. Plus it’s your own brand of witty and self-assured. Not sure what’s not to like there.”

She isn’t sure if this was the answer Rosé expected from her. All she hears is a sigh and they sink once again into that comfortable silence while Denali finishes her coffee. She doesn’t really know much, or anything really, about the woman beside her, but in the stillness of the morning, she feels comfortable.

“Right,” Rosé’s voice is soft and she hates herself for the ache that starts to bloom in her chest. “What’s not to like?”

She tries to ignore it, that stupid idea that this true vulnerability and not just small talk between colleagues; but she sees those eyes staring into the empty space, watches the beams of sunlight give her a blush halo. The ache spreads through her body and she bites her tongue to stop from begging to know what she could possibly not like.

Denali stands up and throws away her cup in a bin in the corner of the room. “Anyway,” She reaches out a hand to help her up. “We should get to work.”

Rosé smirks up at her and she thinks that the ache is threatening to cause an implosion. “Oh, so she’s all work and no play, huh?” She says, grabbing at her hand.

Then they’re face to face and Denali can feel the tug, that back and forth that comes with the competition that is flirting. She laughs a little, tries her best to play it cool. “I have to work hard if I want to play hard, don’t I?”

She walks away with a pair of eyes on her back and an ache that won’t go away.

—

“Are you going to spill all the tea now or what?”

Her eyebrows raise behind the glass of vodka cranberry that she’s holding. Of course, Mik wants to get straight to the gossip. She’d be surprised with any other conversation starter to their Friday night, almost a week since she’d arrived in New York. The bar Mik chose is a little too crowded for her taste, filled with other women who have been eyeing her. She notices but she ignores it in favor of the woman in front of her.

“What happened to ‘how have you been, Denali?’ or ‘how’s New York, Denali?’”

“Okay whatever,” Mik rolls her eyes. “How are you?”

“Tired.” She answers in a heartbeat.

“And would that have anything to do with a certain singer whose name rhymes with… shit, I can’t think of anything.”

She purses her lips together. If she’s honest, working with Rosé is probably the least tiring thing on her agenda. The ice skating in the early evenings as a bid to tire herself to sleep hasn’t been working. All its led to is sleepless nights staring at the ceiling until she sees the first vestiges of day creep through the windows, signaling another turn on the earth’s axis.

In the studio with Rosé, she can at the very least find some peace. The understanding that they are both good at what they do and the comfort of knowing that each day with her is a chance to know her more drives her to get out of bed and into the studio.

“A part of it, yeah.” It’s the tiniest bit of truth and Mik doesn’t look one bit sated by it. “What else am I supposed to tell you?”

“Oh, come on,” It’s that signature Mik whine that finally gets a laugh out of her. “You have to tell me something, anything!”

“You’re an MUA that works with runway models. You know enough famous people as it is.”

“That doesn’t make me any less curious about them.”

She bites her tongue when she hears those words. It’s not like she’s any different. Every morning with Rosé is an established routine with coffee and curiosity on both ends. The existing respect for each other’s craft makes them both wonder about the person underneath.

So, they start to ask questions. How’s New York? Where’d you get the coffee? How’s your morning? What’s the name of that guy on TV who used to host Fear Factor and is a shithead now?

Like clockwork, the questions morph into flirting. It’s standard, innocent, verging on comfortable even. Rosé is always the first to break into a blush, true to her name. At times, Denali thinks that she may have gone too far, but then she sees those eyes again, all amusement and interest. Each interaction is a chance for the ache to spread somewhere new along with the growing assurance that there’s nothing to dislike.

“I don’t know, okay?” She finally lets out. “We work great together and we get along, but it’s not like, ‘ooo, you’re my new bestie’ or anything like that.”

“Hmm,” Mik lets out a him, popping the straw out of her mouth. “That’s interesting.”

“Why is that interesting?”

“Let’s just say my sources tell me she doesn’t get along with everyone.”

Her eyebrows scrunch together at that. Sure, she understands that Rosé isn’t exactly everyone’s glass of wine, especially with the cold seriousness that she handles her music, but she respects that about her.

What’s not to like?

“Well, I don’t think she’s a bitch, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Or maybe you want to be her bitch…”

“Oh, fuck you!” She throws a tissue at Mik’s face as the model cackles in delight. Her phone suddenly chimes, a message from an unknown number popping up on the screen.

?: hey, I got your number from Tamisha

“Who is it?”

Damn her and her expressive features. She keeps quiet, brain going at breakneck speed to think of all the reasons why she’s texting on a Friday night when she probably has at least a hundred different parties to go to and a thousand different women trying to catch her eye.

Denali: really hope this is rose and not the guy standing outside Tamisha’s office who keeps asking me out

“It’s just Rosé.” She watches Mik’s mouth turn into an O-shape and she throws another tissue. “No, no, not what you’re thinking, sweetie.”

At least she doesn’t think so. Harmless flirting is one thing, but getting her number from her manager? They keep stepping closer and closer to the line and she thinks she sees the chalk start to smudge.

?: sorry to disappoint, it’s just rosé

Denali: too bad. what’s up?

“She’s texting you on a fucking Friday night.” Mik sounds absolutely dumbfounded. “Sounds a lot more than professional to me.”

She knows that Mik is right. They don’t even have practice tomorrow, so she can’t justify it as a possible cancellation. She’s about to come out with some boldfaced lie when her phone vibrates on the table.

Rose: just thought you should have my number. ps: my name is not rose

Olivia arrives and she slams her phone right down on the table.

“I’m buying us a round of shots.

—

She hates this. She loves this. Saturday morning is now the distant tip-tap of heels against the floor, click in the brain, a switch to her soul. Wake up, wake up, wake up. This is not home, it’s not her hotel room. It’s just a cold floor where she has some peace.

Then she hears that voice, every note of the song a gentle wave rushing in to carry her away from her body. Her eyes are glued shut, but it doesn’t matter when she’s already left her body behind on the shore. The voice grows louder, closer, and the waves start to grow. Her body is too far away now and she’s not sure if her eyes will ever open again.

Wake the fuck up.

“Denali?”

A poke to the ribs sends her rushing back into her own body. An involuntary groan escapes her lips and she hears a laugh from above her. She scrunches her eyes shut, terrified that any form of light might cost her the ability to see.

“What the hell?”

Her voice sounds like a croak to her ears and she manages to roll over onto her back. With a moment of preparation, she cracks open an eye. She’s greeted by the sight of Rosé kneeling over her barely functioning body, clearly trying her best not to laugh. Again, she groans and Rosé can no longer help herself.

“Why are you here?”

Honestly, she’s not sure about the answer to that one. There are bits and pieces of memories from last night printed on the back of her eyelids, but it’s all too fuzzy for her to try to piece together immediately. She remembers the sound of Olivia’s laughter mingling with Mik’s voice as they watched her throw back a seventh shot. The memory causes pain to start creeping into her head and she makes a promise to herself to never drink again.

There’s the sound of shuffling and when she looks up, Rosé isn’t kneeling above her anymore. She assumes that she’s sick and tired of her hungover ass, a perfectly valid response in her opinion. Then she hears humming beside her and sighs, glad that validity has no place in this situation. She closes her eyes again, losing herself to the light behind her eyes to ease the throbbing at her temples.

“Isn’t it a Saturday?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you here?”

“I asked you first.”

Her hands fly up to her face. Rosé is laughing again and the pain starts to spread throughout every part of her head. If only it would subside, maybe she’d finally have the energy to actually be embarrassed about waking up on the floor of her workplace.

“Went drinking.”

“Ah, and how’s that going for you?” There’s a smile in her voice. Fuck it, she thinks as she jumps straight over the line of professionalism with a flip of her middle finger. Oh well, it’s not as if this whole situation has pretty much created a void where the line should be.

“Your turn.”

Rosé goes quiet. She focuses on the sound of their breathing. Inhale, exhale. The expansion of her sides with every controlled gulp of air. She hears a plane overhead, letting the escape of air follow it far away from city streets.

“Just wanted to get away for a while.”

She turns her head, sees pale pink rose petals sprawled out on the dark floor. In the gentle light of a Saturday morning, her eyes break her promise to herself, drinking in the sight of weary beauty. She thinks she’s just hungover, but she believes she’s never seen anyone quite so pretty before.

“Well,” She looks back up at the ceiling, stark white staring back at her. “Same here.”

—

By 10:00 PM, she’s burying herself in sheets. She’s never been much of a fan of stillness, but she thinks the last week might be changing her mind.

A few hours earlier, she’d replied to Mik and Olivia’s texts, asking her if she was okay. She cursed and reassured them in the same breath. When they’d asked her where she’d ended up, she had said, “passed out on the floor.”

Half a truth is good enough, right?

If she had told them everything, she’d have to tell them that she laid in the studio for half an hour with Rosé’s humming the only thing cutting through the pounding in her head. She would have to tell them that she’d stumbled as she got up, letting warm hands guide her as she learned to stand. She’d have to tell them of the exchange of tender smiles, so different from the tug of war of flirtation that she’s accustomed to.

Her phone lights up. She expects Mik or Olivia, even Kahmora. No, she only sees that name and she giggles to herself like a damn teenager, a quiet admission that she’s allowed something to change.

Rose: pls tell me you didn’t go drinking again

Denali: I actually like having more than one brain cell, thanks

Rose: great, don’t want to have to pick you up off the floor again

Denali: won’t you ever let me live it down rose?

Rose: only if you start spelling my name right

Denali: the accent’s too much of an effort

Rose: then use my real name

Denali: ???

Rose: call me rosie

A smile graces her lips and she shoots off one last message. She places her phone on the nightstand and buries herself in the blankets, drifting into her first good sleep in a long time.

Denali: alright, night rosie

—

Monday morning suddenly frees up when Rosé says she has to move their session to the evening to make room for interviews. She fills up the rest of her morning by replying to emails about skating gigs for when she eventually returns home. She has lunch with Mik and Olivia and when they inevitably begin to pry, she stays mum on what she can only now describe as her complicated friendship with Rosé. She returns to the hotel and lets herself sleep, turning the feeling of being well-rested into a brand-new addiction.

When she arrives at the studio at 7, there’s no one there. While it isn’t like Rosé to be late, she doesn’t text. She assumes that she’s coming from yet another one of many interviews that she kindly referred to as, “shitheads trying to get way too personal.”

She settles for freestyling to loosen up while she waits. When the music starts, she feels herself break. Every moment is grounded in her own brand of ferocity and well, sex. There’s comfort in her own body, in the knowing that it is a temple of worship to herself. A signal from her brain to move, a single fluid motion, all indulgent offerings to the pleasure only she will ever feel. She throws herself into the fire and the sensation of pleasure starts to build.

The door opens, but she doesn’t, can’t stop. She feels like she’s hovering over the floor, on the brink of climax. The song peaks and she almost gasps, dropping to her knees and letting her back hit the floor. She takes a deep breath, relishes the feeling of being alive.

“Sorry.” She’s apologizing, but she’s not sure for what.

“I…” For once, Rosé is at a loss for words. Her quick wit has been thrown out the window and is probably being dragged around under the wheels of a taxi. She laughs breathily as she gets to her feet.

When their eyes meet, the air turns heavy with unspoken words and desire. She tries to look away, but she can’t. Brown gazes meet and for the first time, she permits herself the thought of what it would be like to kiss her. Maybe, just maybe, that wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“Uhm, okay! Let’s get started?” Rosé bursts out and she thinks that she might have won this round.

If the singer seems more distracted than usual, she doesn’t say anything about it.

—

The water in the shower is still cold when she receives a text that evening.

Rosie: no need to meet me for the rest of the week. We need four dancers for the video, auditions on wed

The water suddenly seems warm and for the first time in her life, she thinks she’s finally learning what it’s like to lose.

—

#rpdr fanfiction #rosé #denali foxx #rosnali #lesbian au #choreographer au #snowbun #s13 #im not into sometimes

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twiceblackvelvet · 4 years

Text

Username: xNotYourJoyx

A/N; hi. i have no clue where this idea came from. i don’t know why my brain always tells me to start more red velvet series’ randomly. but here is the latest spawn from it. this will have more parts to it because i’m interested in expanding on the dynamics of this trio plus i signed up for things that have since blown up my emails for this because i’m dedicated like that. anyway! enjoy. or don’t. idk anymore.

It was only a suggestion. A quick mention, really. “There’s this site, Seungwan,” is how it started. Except for that brief conversation spiraled rapidly into a whirlwind of curiosity and excitement. Perhaps, discussing the lack of sex life and the frustration that comes with that whilst you’re supposed to be busy working on the latest financial development wasn’t the smartest move, and yet, the conversation ended in a better resolution than she imagined when Joohyun had managed to pry the information out of her about why she’s been so on edge lately.

On edge being both literal and metaphorical. Getting to the high is easy, however, toppling over into the rush of being able to feel the full experience of pleasure has been evading her for the last few weeks now. Nothing seems to do the trick and though you may think it’d be fun to simply keep trying, it’s starting to become an issue with the more extreme methods she attempts. So, it desperately needs to be fixed, just not in front of all of her colleagues who are idly typing away the dull workday.

The rest of the day drags along. Nothing particularly interesting happens which Seungwan is grateful for, she could do without the extra stress. Though, she’s sure the new sponsorship to promote a dead-end product that everyone had warned their boss about will cause a headache in the future, she ignores the nagging feeling in the back of her mind. Joohyun was kind enough to buy dinner for the both of them which her stomach is currently grateful for as she’s certain her fridge at home is empty. But, watching her friend and colleague suckle on the ice cream bar she purchased for herself should not have resulted in her needing to press her legs together on instinct.

Joohyun didn’t notice, or if she did, she didn’t say anything and continued to lap her tongue across the cold strawberry flavored ice cream. Probably for the best. Nothing good ever comes from getting too involved with people you have to work alongside every day, even if that person does look like Aphrodite herself. The awkward looks between you both, everyone else knowing that the two of you have slept together but are now deciding on which color scheme to use for an advertisement, it just isn’t something that Seungwan wants to deal with. So, she and Joohyun will have to remain platonic. Unfortunately.

It’s late by the time she gets home. The hallway lights leading up to the apartment door flicker every few seconds and the apartment across the hall has the television turned up loud enough that Seungwan is sure they’re trying to let those in hell hear the latest episode of whichever show they’re currently watching. The keys in her hand rattle as she unlocks the stiff door that barely wants to open anymore. The loudness doesn’t disappear once she closes it behind her but it’s home and somewhere she can erase the feeling of being stuck, in more ways than one.

The latest routine of ordering in unhealthy food that is slowly destroying her insides, a cold shower to wash away some of the exhaustion, and then listening to the same songs for about an hour feels almost robotic but it’s what she’s grown used to now. Once the darkness begins to creep in across the apartment, cold air making the hairs on her arm stand to attention and the neighbors suddenly growing quiet, it’s the small bed in the corner of the room that calls out and the only thing echoing inside her head.

Well, it would be, had she not suddenly recalled Joohyun’s description of a site where many people frolic and entertain those who perhaps need a little extra help with their more sinful needs. She moves on auto-pilot toward the jacket hanging on the coat rack and reaches into the left side pocket for the small piece of paper where only the web address is scrawled upon it in Joohyun’s perfect handwriting. The laptop she bought years before and barely runs anymore rests on the dining table she never sits at, closed, and with a line of dust taking up home upon it. Grabbing it, she plops herself down onto the bed after removing her dressing gown and the towel around her hair which has long since dried and throwing it into a corner of the room to be cleaned up tomorrow.

Her fingers trace the keyboard idly, never pressing in a single key, simply going back and forth over the letters whilst her brain tries to decipher if this is something she wants to try out.

“Fuck it.” She thinks. Soon enough, the site is loading, slowly, and asking for her to confirm she is of legal age to enter it.

The screen finally loads and brings up a bunch of profiles under the “popular” banner. To say that the sight of all the various people before her is overwhelming would be an understatement. A sidebar reveals that she can choose a category as well as filter out specific things that are not of her interest. Some of the categories are the standard you would expect, for example, she immediately filters to only see profiles of women. However, others are a little more out there and specific toward what Seungwan assumes are people’s fetishes. A lot of them are things that she would never consider a person could find interesting sexually, and yet, the option is right before her. She ignores the curious voice inside of her head telling her to click on some of them.

A screen full of women now presents itself in front of her. All of them are beautiful and there’s a whole variety to choose from. The profile pictures range from selfies where they’re simply smiling to some of them being without clothing whatsoever. She scrolls for quite some time simply admiring all of the choices before her until one, in particular, captures her attention.

Wide dark eyes with hair of the same shade of brown, plump lips that are sporting a small smirk that’s both enticing and teasing. Part of the girl’s neck is on display for Seungwan to imagine herself kissing and biting softly. Without hesitation, she hovers over the username and clicks onto the profile.

“xNotYourJoyx” she repeats mentally a few times.

The next page reveals a sign-up box that doesn’t allow Seungwan to venture any further. She’s quick to type in her email address, a username not as clever as she would like and the same password she uses for everything else. The next step is to add her bank details in order to be able to subscribe to various pages. She hesitates at this portion realizing that it’s probably very easy for people to fall too far down this rabbit hole. Thus she promises herself not to subscribe to anything until she’s 100% sure.

After completing her profile, she’s brought back to the girl she assumes is named Joy or at least uses that name here. Her subscription rate is the first thing to appear. Her price is low Seungwan thinks, around $10 when she was expecting something far higher based on the type of content Joohyun had told her the people on the site create. The next part is an Amazon wishlist with various items in it ranging from hair extensions, expensive perfume, and medical equipment? She must be a nurse, Seungwan thinks.

Further down the page reveals a VIP service which is more expensive than the standard subscription but allows for you to request specific pictures or videos. There are rules that come along with it which Seungwan reads multiple times over.

Don’t ask me to say or tell you anything personal about me, we are not friends. You don’t know me like that.

No, you can’t have my Instagram or any other social media so don’t ask.

Don’t be a dick.

My amazon wishlist is not for me. I am not a doctor. But I’m down to dress as one for you if you’re into that.

“Well, that clears that up I guess.” She thinks.

For the next ten minutes, Seungwan simply scrolls through the free content on offer from Joy. A few shots of her without clothes but covering her body up with her hands or a sheet, all of which look professionally done which is surprising. She’s captivated and drawn in by this girl a lot quicker than she thought she would be, she can see why Joohyun would recommend such a thing to her now. The possibilities are endless and there are no strings attached. It’s an ideal situation for both parties.

Despite making the promise to herself, she’s quick to subscribe to Joy’s feed but ignores the large “upgrade to VIP” logo that’s glistening in gold below the payment button. It would seem strange or suspicious surely to her if someone new to her profile was suddenly paying for the premium option Seungwan tries to logic with herself.

A few seconds pass as the page reloads itself before finally Joy’s profile is unlocked for Seungwan’s eyes to devour. The same type of photos as previously, however, without anything covering herself up. The same natural reaction to jam her thighs together that she felt earlier with Joohyun ends up happening again except this time she positions her hand under the waistband of her bed shorts.

The further she explores everything Joy has posted the more the need to be touched becomes overwhelming Before she knows it her fingers are gently caressing her soft skin slowly yet with desperation. Many of the images have comments from other people praising the effortless beauty that Joy manages to convey with ease. Seungwan thinks that Joy must be someone with great confidence to display herself so openly like this. She wishes she too were able to picture herself in the way that Joy likely does.

Her body aches for some release but once more she’s not able to reach the peak as the page of images suddenly comes to an end. Once more, the gold button for premium appears and tells Seungwan she’s reached the limit of what she can see. A blurring effect does a good job of hiding what follows next, however, what it doesn’t do is stop her from being enticed further when she spots that Joy has also uploaded videos of herself, they are simply hidden from those on the basic subscription as her.

Almost sub-consciously she finds herself going against every warning sign inside of her mind telling her that paying to watch Joy rather than just look at her is a bad decision, one she will definitely come to regret or become too attached to doing, and yet, it’s too late once she’s confirmed the upgrade and clicked onto the first video that appears.

White background, likely a wall in her home, Seungwan thinks, until finally the girl steps into the frame with yet another smirk on her lips.

“Hello, welcome to premium. Thank you for subscribing. I hope you enjoy all of the videos and pictures that only a select few of you will ever get to see. If you’re feeling even more generous please be sure to check out my wishlist. Now, let’s have fun together.”

Her voice is silky smooth, Seungwan thinks. She replays the simple video a few times just to hear her make this decision sound like she’s part of an exclusive club where only she is invited, though, she’s aware that isn’t true at all. Joy likely has a ton of people paying to see the most intimate parts of her. The comments on this simple welcoming video are at 59 which means at least that many people have also fallen into the trap, though if Joy is the prize, Seungwan wonders if be tricked into paying extra like this is worth it in the end.

She decides to read through some of them just to get a sense of how people communicate with her here.

ksgeees says: can’t wait for you to send me my video Joy😏

canudoit2609 says: so hot🔥

r4bb1tfr13nd says: damn i should have subbed earlier🥵🥵🥵

speedzoom0408 says: YOU CAN HAVE ALL MY MONEY

HYUNSKY says: most beautiful girl ever

Strangely, the latter comment is the only one Joy has bothered to give a reply to.

xNotYourJoyx says: @HYUNSKY wow, thank you😳

The compliment is definitely correct and deserving of a reply, yet, Seungwan wishes she were the one to tell Joy such things and have her respond solely to her. Jealousy is a green-eyed monster and though she probably shouldn’t be feeling it toward a complete stranger, she does. The sound of the keys as she types out her own comment with her free hand that hasn’t been teasing herself is the only thing she can hear now. Not even the wind outside is able to pierce her eardrums and break her from this spell that Joy has put her under.

Wannie2102 says: you are so perfect, Joy.

It’s simple and Seungwan hates it, but she simply must tell this girl something, anything, in hopes that she sees it and feels happy to be complimented.

Silence now, nothing but the screen before her for light inside the cold bedroom. The list of videos, 71 in total, tempting Seungwan, taunting almost. Her left hand numb now from just resting against her own body whilst her right-hand clicks onto the next one in the list after the welcoming video.

The same white background, however, Joy is positioned in the video as soon as it starts this time. Laying down on a black crushed velvet sofa in only her underwear. Her right hand gently caressing her breasts as she grunts out a few low moans. Her left hand in a similar position to where Seungwan is resting her own. The tired and slow circles in which she moves her hand causes her eyes to roll into the back of her head as Seungwan changes her own pace to match that of Joy’s on the screen.

Her bed creaks with every movement of Joy’s that she mimics, the headboard bashing against the wall behind her whenever Joy quickens her pace and then sounds like a light drumming whenever she slows. The neighbor next door has definitely been awakened by the rhythmic sound of Seungwan rocking her body against her fingers.

“You’re enjoying this, huh?” The words surprise Seungwan out of her reverie as it’s as if Joy is present and asking her specifically and knowing that she too is pleasuring herself as she is doing. Without even thinking she manages to gasp out a yes in reply that only she can hear, yet gains a response from Joy almost like she can magically hear her. “I wish I could watch you touch yourself to me.” she pauses to lowly moan. “For me.”

The pressure rises between her thighs once more except this time her body allows her to release every bit of tension she’s had to keep trying to get rid of for weeks. Her entire body collapses against itself as she indulges herself in what she’s convinced is the longest orgasm to ever exist. Her legs shaking wildly as her arm tenses up and flex to make sure she feels every bit of her undoing. The sound of Joy finishing up her own continues to play in the background for further motivation but the deed has already been done.

She rests momentarily, staring up at the ceiling as gentle pants fill the room both from herself and the laptop. Nothing else in the world matters at this very moment. However, once more Joy manages to surprise Seungwan with her telepathic way of just knowing somehow when to speak to her viewer.

“Thank you for that, I hope you come back soon for more.” and then the video ends.

A dark screen replacing the beautiful image of Joy just as spent as Seungwan feels. But, now she’s left to think about everything that has just transpired between herself, the screen and a girl she doesn’t even know. Guilt wells up in her chest and she slams the screen shut almost shattering the glass. “Why did you do this?” is the only thing that repeats inside of her mind. No longer focused on the pulsating feeling against her hand as she pulls it out of her shorts too fast and whips herself with the waistband which will no doubt sting in the morning.

Her legs shakily drag her body to the bathroom almost tripping over various clothes that have sat there waiting to be cleaned for way too long now. She turns on the shower for the second time tonight and steps into it, almost falling immediately. The cold water shocks her body into feeling something other than the after-effects of pleasuring herself. Scrubbing every inch of her body intensely and repeating inside of her mind that she’ll cancel the subscription tomorrow and never do anything like this ever again. She can’t. Joy is a stranger and she shouldn’t be doing these things.

By the time she’s finished almost burning her skin with the washcloth to make sure she’s rid herself of her sins and changing her fair skin to a reddish shade, the clock on the bedside table shows that there are only three hours before she’s due to wake up for work. The bed seems tainted now, so she grabs the blanket and sleeps on the sofa that is far less comfortable.

Joohyun is definitely going to ask her about whether or not she used the site, definitely going to notice the dark circles under her eyes from the lack of sleep and will definitely draw up her own conclusion anyway no matter what her answer is. She tries her best not to think about any of this but there’s just a constant loop of the images of Joy, the sound of her voice, and the way she encouraged Seungwan to feel again.

She dreams of dark hair and brown eyes that night and moans that could be the most heavenly sound in the world or a new addiction that Seungwan isn’t ready for but may not have a choice but to indulge in it.

pt. ii

#red velvet #bae joohyun #son seungwan #park sooyoung #red velvet scenarios #girl group scenarios #irene #wendy #joy

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lukecastellandeservedbetter · 4 years

Text

13. New Rome

a/n: and finally, the Two Idiots have been reunited at last. I am really excited for everything that comes after this chapter, I hope y’all enjoy!

Read the others!: Masterlist

Luke looked over the edge of the ship as they came into the borders of Camp Jupiter. It looked beautiful from up here, but Luke was a little wary of flying into enemy territory, snatching up Percy and leaving again.

A statue popped up, instigating an argument with Annabeth, even having the audacity to insult her mom. Annabeth was desperate as she argued, her eyes going back and forth from the statue to the ground. Luke switched positions to follow her eye line and realized why-

Percy.

His whole body relaxed immediately, the feeling almost painful since his body had been on high alert from the moment he learned Percy had disappeared. Percy was okay. And he looked happy, calm, like there was no danger around him. He wore a purple robe like Jason’s- how did Percy keep managing to convince people he deserved to be in charge? The kid still couldn’t make grilled cheese sandwiches without burning the bread.

The humour he tried to keep dropped, and Luke was suddenly a little worried.

As far as he was aware, Kronos had never actually seen any of the Camp Jupiter campers. Which means there was a good chance they had not seen him. However, there had been times over the year that Kronos had possessed his body where Luke had found himself sinking into nothingness, his consciousness slowly dying as the Titan Lord grew in strength, so he wasn’t entirely sure. The Titan was wearing his face through the whole endeavour, and he didn’t want to risk the crew’s- his friends -safety if he went down there and all the Roman’s saw was Kronos.

“I think Annabeth is negotiating the terms of our arrival,” Jason mumbled to him, falling into place beside Luke on the rail, looking down at the camp he called home. “Got any advice?”

Luke looked at him surprised before looking back down at the crowd. “Just be you, Jason. It wasn’t your fault you left the camp.” He told him honestly.

“I don’t think Reyna will see it that way,” Jason chuckled sheepishly. “Especially when she meets…” Jason glanced over to Piper who was standing behind Annabeth protectively, hand on her dagger. “The Romans don’t take deserting lightly.”

Luke nodded slowly. “They’re still your family,” He pointed out. “Once you get a chance to explain yourself, I’m sure it’ll be fine.” He said, looking back at Jason. “The Roman’s probably missed you as much as Camp Half-Blood missed Percy.”

Jason nodded and took a deep breath, relaxing his shoulders a little before glancing back at Luke. “Thanks, Luke.” He said softly. “I appreciate it.”

“Of course,” He nodded as Leo waved them over. “Welcome home, Jason.” He patted his shoulder and headed over to the rope ladder, climbing down.

The Roman’s parted for Annabeth as she led them to a little clearing where Percy was. Luke watched her stiffen, trying so hard to remain calm, cool and collected as Reyna took them all in. His eye line connected with Reyna’s, and he watched her try not to recoil back at the sight of his face. Her head turned, but her eyes took a moment to follow suit to Jason, who stood there a little awkwardly.

“Jason Grace, my former colleague, I welcome you home.” She started, formal and regal. “And these, your f… friends,” She seemed to trip up on the word, glancing back at Luke before returning her gaze to Jason.

Annabeth rushed forward and tackled Percy, kissing him firmly. Percy grinned as she pulled away. “Gods, I never thought-”

Boom.

Percy was on the ground, having gone over Annabeth’s head. Luke saw the sea of Roman’s serge forward, and watched Reyna call them all to order, to stand back as Percy laughed at Annabeth’s threats.

“I missed you too.” He told her softly.

Annabeth got up quickly and Luke stepped forward, offering a hand to Percy who took it quickly.

“Hey man,” Percy grinned up at him as Luke pulled him up effortlessly. “I see your sorry ass got dragged along, huh?”

“Yeah, you’re lucky the manager likes me so I have a job to go back to when this is all over,” He told him, ruffling Percy’s hair.

“It’s good to see you,” Percy told him, patting his shoulder with bright eyes.

“You too.” Luke nodded with a small smile.

Jason cleared his throat. “So uh, yeah, it’s good to be back.” He motioned to the other demigods.

He introduced Piper first, who waved a little awkwardly, and Leo who threw up a peace sign. “This is Annabeth, she doesn’t usually judo-flip people,” Jason told Reyna.

Reyna inquired with Annabeth about whether she was actually a Roman, or Amazon, rather than a Greek, to which Annabeth chuckled with a little embarrassment, holding Percy’s hand, insisting she didn’t always greet people like that, just Percy.

“And this is Luke, he’s a senior counselor at Camp Half-Blood, he trains some of the newbies who come into Camp when he’s actually at Camp.” Jason finished up the introductions.

The introduction was a little… glossed over for Luke, but he appreciated Jason trying to paint him in a good light.

As Reyna called for a feast to be prepared for, some stringy 16 year old who looked like he’d never picked up a sword in his entire life marched forward, arguing with Reyna about the ‘intruders in camp’ and the ‘looming war ship’.

Luke felt like he was looking in a mirror from 5 years ago, Octavian’s eyes were lit with a certain hunger for power, and his disrespect and disregard towards Reyna, who seemed otherwise highly respected and revered throughout the group, and her orders that everyone else seemed to follow without question, rubbed Luke the wrong way.

Percy looked between Luke and Octavian, and realized that when he saw Octavian for the first time, the person he reminded him of was Luke. But not this Luke, not the Luke that tried to sacrifice himself for the camp, who dropped the new life he was slowly building to come find Percy, and who insisted on helping Sally with the dishes every night. No, he reminded him of the Luke that held up the sky. The skinny, broken Luke that had looked like Thalia could snap him over her knee like a twig, and she practically did when she pushed him off the mountain.

He could also read Luke’s expression when the taller blonde looked at Octavian.

Luke didn’t trust him either, then.

“Why don’t you make a sacrifice to the gods as a thank you for returning Jason home safely?” Reyna told Octavian impatiently.

“Yeah Octavian, go burn some bears.” Percy couldn’t help but taunt him.

Reyna fought a smile, but Luke could see it twitching at the corner of her lips. “You have my orders. Go.”

Octavian glared at Percy, and gave Annabeth and Luke suspicious looks before stalking off into the crowd.

Percy chuckled, throwing an arm around Annabeth. “Relax, most of these guys aren’t like Octavian. This is Hazel and Frank,” He motioned to the pair. “They’re pretty cool. We’ll be fine here.”

Annabeth looked up at the ship worriedly and back to Percy, studying him, as if she was trying to commit his face to memory. “We’ll be fine.” She repeated quietly.

“Luke man, you would love the armoury, the swords are crazy detailed.” He told Luke with a grin. “If we can swing it, I’ll show you after the feast.”

Luke nodded. “That sounds great, actually, I’d love to see the difference between Imperial Gold and Celestial Bronze.”

Reyna cleared her throat. “Right, well,” Her eyes scanned over the group, lingering on Luke for a moment before they landed on Jason, with an unreadable expression on her face. “I think it’s time we catch up? We have some things to discuss.”

#Luke Castellan's Second Chance #luke castellan #Percy Jackson and the Olympians #percy jackson #PJO #Heroes of Olympus #hoo

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gimmesumsuga · 5 years

Text

Muse (M)

The one where you and Namjoon stay after hours.

Pairing: Namjoon x reader

Warnings: Pure PWP (porn without plot), sex in a public setting, fingering, dirty talk, unprotected penetrative sex.

Word count: 2.3K

Author notes: This is by no means a masterpiece, but god damn it, I was just in the mood…

The sight of Kim Namjoon sat hunched over with a pen and paper in hand is no doubt a familiar one and yet, somehow, it still manages to make you smile.

Some might feel annoyed to discover their significant other still hard at work long after the rest of their colleagues have gone home - for them to have chosen to stay behind in an empty green room rather than come to bed with you - but when you see him concentrating so hard, completely oblivious to your arrival, that’s not at all what you feel.

You feel endeared. You feel proud. You feel love.

“Planning on staying here all night?” You smile as Namjoon startles a little in the plastic seat in which he sits, folding your arms and resting your hip against the doorframe as his eyes dart up from the page. He blinks rapidly at you, mouth slightly agape.

No doubt he probably would stay if it weren’t for you disturbing him but it’s 12 am, recording finished hours ago, and you’ve killed as much time as you can possibly manage to. You’d chauffeured the rest of the group home, even going so far as to stay for a little while at the dorm once you’d gotten there, but there’s only so long you can stave off the longing for the comfort of your own home - your own bed.

Namjoon smiles at you once his tired eyes have been sufficiently remoistened, flashing those dimples that make your heart pit-a-pat just so.

“Inspiration waits for no man,” he says as his gaze falls back to the page not a moment later, his teeth finding his bottom lip as his pen begins to write anew.

Perhaps from anyone else the line might sound pretentious, but not when it comes from Namjoon. You, more than anyone, know how humble he is and how much sincerity is in those words; how seriously he takes his responsibility as a leader and songwriter; how often he’ll sacrifice himself, day or night, should his muse command it.

Take now, for example. He was out of bed at 6 this morning - in the make up chair for 7 - and even now he’s still wearing the clothes the stylist gave him earlier, his hair still perfectly held in place by god knows whatever product it’s full of. He must be exhausted and yet they hide it so well; so handsome that it nearly makes you swoon every time you look at him.

It doesn’t help how well the leather pants they’ve put him in cling to his thighs - nor the way he’s spreading them so far open as he balances a pad on the left.

A wicked thought pops into your mind, one that has you glancing behind you up and down the deserted hallway and then stepping into the room and closing the door firmly behind you, an equally sinful smile on your face as you lean back against it.

“What about for a woman?” Ever so slowly, Namjoon’s attention lifts from the page, his curiosity piqued by the silky softness of your tone, one of his eyebrows arching as he notes the bite of your lip and gentle side to side rocking of your hips.

It’s a little impressive, really, how instantaneously Namjoon catches your drift and how subtly his body language changes in response to it. He holds his pen flat and steady against the paper as his spine straightens, and suddenly it’s as though the room is too small to contain the size of his presence - his powerful aura.

“What do you have in mind?” he asks, tilting his head slightly to the side as his legs spread even wider as if inviting you into the space between.

Coyly, you smile, pushing off of the door to take your first few steps towards him, swaying your hips. “Do I really have to say it out loud?”

Namjoon looks you up and down and there’s a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as you come to stand in front of him.

“I’ll let you off, just for tonight,” he allows. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you as he carelessly pushes the pad off of his knee and it falls to the floor, pen and all, to place his hands on your hips instead, drawing you even closer.

“I can show you, though, if you like,” you smile and Namjoon’s head tips back into your hands as you slide them up from either side of his neck and into the back of his hair, carding through the strands. You can’t stop looking at his lips as they part, gazing up at you past hooded lids, and god, they look so full and soft that you wouldn’t be able to keep yourself from leaning in towards him even if you tried.

“Mm, good girl,” he hums as your eyes fall closed and his do too, and as your mouths first meet Namjoon’s large hands slip under the hem of your blouse, palms pressed to skin as he pulls your body into him.

It’s not a soft kiss - no tender exploration of each other’s mouths. This is all business, your choice in public setting driving you to act with far more haste than you ever normally would. His tongue is hot and rough as it passes between your lips, just like his touch, and Namjoon makes no effort to hide just how much your sudden and indecent proposal has affected him. One hand squeezes your behind while the other gropes at your breast, scooping it up and out of its confines to better torment you with the rough back and forth rub of his thumb across your nipple.

“Are you wet for me yet, baby?” he asks when you’re forced to break the kiss, lightheaded from lack of air. breathing heavy with your forehead rested on his.

“W-why don’t you feel, and see?” you pant out in reply, forehead rested on his, breathing in each other’s air. You open your eyes just in time to see Namjoon’s pupils dilate with desire, your stomach twisting with excitement at the promise they hold.

Wasting no time, the hand that had slid down onto your thigh rapidly ascends, and as soon as the tips of his fingers find the seam of your panties they pull them to the side to expose you. Namjoon hums his approval as he feels the inviting warmth of your cunt against his palm, smearing the arousal that drips from it as he steals back your lips in a kiss that’s even hungrier than the last. Your thighs begin to tremble as his digits slip and slide, parting but not yet seeking entrance. The heel of his hand grinds against you and you’re powerless to stop the way your hips push back, an unbearable ache burning between your legs with how desperately you want him.

“Joon,” you groan breathily as his lips traverse your neck, from top to bottom, nipping at your collarbone where it peeps out from the neck of your blouse. “G-get it out. Wanna-” Your breath catches as Namjoon’s middle finger slips inside of you with ease, buckling your knees. “-oh fuck. Wanna sit on your dick.”

“Yeah?” His voice is husky as he speaks into the curve of your neck, pushing a second finger inside and curling them rapidly against your g-spot. “My big, fat dick?”

“Fuck, yeah I do,” you gasp out, fingers in his hair. They grab at the roots, tugging impatiently as Namjoon’s remaining free hand reaches down to open up the crotch of the leather pants that are now almost painfully tight.

“Come on then, baby,” he summons, pumping his length in preparation for you as soon as it’s free, pre-cum seeping out to coat the tip, glossy and red. You don’t mourn the loss of his fingers from inside you, too busy climbing astride Namjoon to straddle his lap, hovering your soaking cunt just centimetres his cock and groaning when he rubs it against you through your sodden panties.

You reach down and pull them to the side, your insides fluttering when the tip of his cock nudges against your entrance, parting your folds - a stilted cry ripping from your throat when you lower yourself onto it in one fast, hard motion. It catches Namjoon off guard and makes him throw his head back at the sudden heat that confines him, his fingers digging into your thighs where you skirt has ridden up, bunched around your hips.

“Fuck, baby,” he huffs as you immediately start to move as though the stretch and burn of his cock breaching you hadn’t formed tears in your eyes. “You make me crazy.”

“You love it.” He slaps your ass as you grind your pelvis into his, gritting his teeth at the way it makes your pelvic floor clench even tighter around his cock, squeezing him tight.

“I do.” It thrills you to hear him admit it, smiling into the kiss he drags you into until he bites your bottom lip and makes you gasp and whine. “Love how bad my baby needs it. Can’t even wait ‘till we get home to cum on my dick.”

Namjoon’s dirty talk has exactly the effect he intended; incensed, you ride his cock even harder and faster than before, breasts bouncing so hard with the force of it that they’re spilling out of bra and your pebbled nipples are visible poking through your blouse.

“Feels so good,” you gush, grabbing onto his shoulders for leverage as Namjoon rocks your hips in encouragement, slouching back into the chair to get a better view of your cunt swallowing his length whole over and over and over again.

“So fucking good,” he echoes, tip of his tongue poking at the corner of his mouth and his brows furrowing slightly as your cunt squeezes around him even tighter, each move you make pulling a gasp from your lips. “Pussy’s so perfect for me.”

Namjoon reaches down between your legs to pull your ruined underwear even further to the side to rub at your clit, his thumb rubbing in messy, rapid circles that have you almost folding in on yourself with pleasure. With your eyes screwed tight, all you can focus on is the building fire within you and the sound of yours and Namjoon’s laboured breathing - the filthy words he’s whispering in your ear.

“You close, baby? You’re dripping all over me….” He nips at your earlobe, his own breath hitching at the way you clench.

“Yeah, y-yeah.” You’re near mindless when you reply, biting down on your bottom lip as the sensation builds and builds. “Want your cum in me, Joon. Fuck, fill me up.” You gasp as Namjoon’s hips jump at your words, forcing his cock even deeper.

“Gonna fill you up so good,” he grunts and you can tell he’s getting close too because his cock feels even harder than it did before, unyielding as it pistons noisily in out of your cunt. Every rock of your hips drags against your g-spot, and soon enough you’re starting to grab mindlessly at the front of his shirt and then at his hair as you stuff your face into the crook of his neck, mouth hanging open with the moans that are pouring out against his sweat-slick skin.

“Oh god, Joon, I love you,” you gasp, the rhythm of your hips faltering as you near the precipice, willing yourself to fall into the sweet oblivion you know awaits you. “I’m gonna- gonna cum, fuck!”

Your thighs clench tight around his hips as it hits, squeezing tight as your cunt does the same to his cock, clenching around him in rolling waves as you shudder and shake your way through your orgasm. The sensation of it - the way you’re so sweetly mewling his name - is more than enough to send him over the edge, too, grunting and resting his head on your shoulder as he cums hot and thick and fast. Cock pulsing, he fills you to the very brim as your own high fades, coming down to earth just in time to feel the very first dribbles of it spill out of you, dripping down onto his lap.

“Jesus christ,” you huff out once you finally find the energy to sit straight again, your head pleasantly muzzy from all the endorphins flooding your system as you push back your hair from your face and blow upward to cool the sweat that has collected across your brow. “That was… something.” Namjoon grins, his arms encircling you in an embrace as he sits forward to press his lips to yours.

“Certainly was,” he hums contentedly, “Love you, baby.” You smile as he pauses to rub the tip of his nose back and forth against yours before pulling away. “They’re gonna be locking up soon, we better get cleaned up.”

“If we’re not locked in already,” you joke, a tiny part of you actually concerned that that might well be true. A glance at the clock on the wall tells you it’s almost 1 am - long after any other staff should’ve gone home. “We might end up having to stay the night.”

Namjoon grins wickedly at you and you giggle as you feel him intentionally twitch his softening cock inside you, pleasant tingles shooting up your spine.

“I’m sure we could think of a way to pass the time.”

Somehow, you get the feeling his mind is no longer so focused on being productive - his pad lay long forgotten on the floor, pencil nowhere in sight. It makes a pleasant change for you to be his number one focus for a while; his muse for the night.

Maybe getting locked in wouldn’t turn out to be such a bad thing?

#namjoon smut #bts smut #namjoon x reader #rm x reader #rm smut #namjoon drabble #namjoon pwp #bts pwp #bts fanfic #bts drabble #kim namjoon #rm

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headfulloffantasy · 4 years

Text

Mermaid/Diver AU Reed900

Gavin and Tina are a buddy team, meaning they are diving together and watching out for the other under water. Gavin is at the sea because his always busy brother Elijah is working on some super-secret marine project here, he won't even tell him something about. So while Eli is busy with his colleague/subordinate Amanda in a base close to the shore or on one of those ships laying in the harbour, he and Tina will explore the island and enjoy their time diving.

At least the underwater world is pretty here, making them spend more time at the dive than planned.

When Gavin sees something like an extremely big fin rush past him in the corner of his eye, he abruptly turns his head. Nothing. That happens a few times, but every time he tries to get a closer look, the something disappears. Gavin screws his eyes shut a few times, but it doesn't help. Only when Tina gently touches his arm, he jumps back into reality. His friend looks concerned and taps her Fini (diving equipment showing you how much air you have left) and her diving computer. 40 meters. They should definitely swim up now, they can only stay 2 minutes here before it gets dangerous and they could fall into diver's paralysis. Gavin hadn't even noticed how deep they had gone down. Following Tina back up a bit, he looks but doesn't see anything. He probably had fallen into nitrogen narcosis, a state where you have too much nitrogen in your brain which causes you to hallucinate. That must be it. No way something that big and fast lives down here.

So he follows Tina back up to shallow parts and ends the dive with her.

"What was wrong with you down there? You looked like you saw a ghost, just stared into the blue."

Gavin scratches the back of his head. "Just thought I saw something. Shouldn't get that deep, my mind tricked me."

Tina nods as she disassembles her equipment. "Next time you tell me when you see Ariel, okay Gavin? Rapture of the depth is no joke."

Gavin knows she is serious despite the mocking, so he agrees.

A few days pass without a dive, because Tina is going on a trip to town with her girlfriend. When Gavin gets into a pretty bad fight with his brother one evening, he just needs to get away and out of that flat they are sharing. He does the one thing you are not supposed to do, breaks the one rule that stands above everything in diving: You never dive alone.

He angrily assembles his equipment before putting it on and jumping into the water. The sun is already setting, leaving him with just a small time window before he has to get back. It's nice and calm here. No one arguing. Just small fish rushing past him, the faint rests of light dancing in the water. Calmness. Peace. He needed that. He doesn't go deep to prevent that narcosis to happen again, but he stays under water for way longer than he planned to as he is lost in thoughts. There is a field of kelp ahead of him. When his equipment gets caught in the seaweed, keeping him from continuing on, he curses internally. He hadn't paid attention to where he was going and now he was stuck. Eyeing his fini he cursed even more. 15 bar. He had about 10 minutes left to get out of here if he kept on struggling like this. Gavin reached for his little knife bound around his calf, pulling it free to cut his way out of the kelp forest. He starts to slice away the branches and leaves wrapped around his legs and equipment that trapped him in place. When a giant shadow rushes past him, he drops the knife, almost jumping out of his skin. Cursing, Gavin tries to catch it, but he doesn't get it in time before it disappears in the seaweed. Perfect, now he is defenceless, tangled in kelp and with 8 minutes of oxygen left.

That shadow returns and now he gets a clear look on a big fin, glowing white and blue in the dim light. His heart is beating out of his chest now. Whatever this is, it's huge and it's circling him.

What he doesn't expect is a human face to appear in front of him. It's a man, pale skin scattered with freckles and moles, dark flowy hair and almost glowing ice blue eyes. Gavin eyes wander lower over a naked torso, down to the hips where skin melts into white scales. The phck? There is a fish tail connected to the guy's torso, long and elegant, ending in an almost transparent fan with bone rays. Blue lines cover the tail and a blue ridge was growing out of the back. The thing tilts its head before swimming closer and reaching out for him. Gavin struggles away, but that only gets him more tangled in the seaweed. The fish man lifts one eyebrow, but doesn't stop. His fingers grab the kelp and start to pull it away to free Gavin from his trap. Startled he stops to fight the other and lets him help him. Once he is free though, he quickly swims away to get more space between himself and that ... mermaid? Merman? What the actual phck is that?!

The guy has a small smile on his handsome face and just follows him calmly with a swift move of his fin, obviously much faster than the human. Still, Gavin tries to get as much space between them as possible, but the guy comes closer fast now. The moment he swims past him, the Detective can feel the scales brush against his arm. He is toying with him. The fishman circles him, always coming back and poking him with those long fingers.

Suddenly one of those claws pierce through his jacket, causing the air to rush out and the jacket deflates fast. Shit. Gavin begins to sink fast without the air holding him up and he falls faster and faster. It's deep here, almost 70 metres. If he reaches the ground, he is fucked. Quickly throwing off the plummet, he fiddles with the fasteners and curses internally when they won't open.

When something grabs him by the back and pulls him up, he winces, yet let's it happen. He is brought to the surface, where he climbs onto the stone shore and spits out the diving regulator to suck in some fresh air.

"Get away from me!", he yells at the fishy figure eyeing him from the edge of the water. The man just tilts his head like a phcking puppy.

"You humans are weird. Why dive when you can't even swim on your own?" That leaves the human baffled. He didn't expect the thing to talk. He is smart. Intelligent.

"What the phck, man?! You almost killed me! I could have sunk to the god damn ground of the ocean!!"

But the guy just rolls his eyes. "Calm down. Nothing happened."

They argue a while, but then reality slowly starts to come back and Gavin realises what he has in front of him. A god damn mermaid. Curiosity takes over and they talk, slowly getting to know each other. The guy, Nines, is just as curious as he is so they throw questions back and forth. Nines admits that he never saw a human dive before, only caught glimpses of them from afar and got interested although his brother, Connor, would probably rip his head off. Gavin promises not to tell anyone, though Nines just chuckles and says he isn't afraid of humans. So they keep talking until the sun is fully set and Gavin almost dry. He sighs at his broken equipment. He will need to get that fixed and his plummet is gone as well. Nines almost reads his mind and disappears for a minute before coming back with the weight belt, handing it to the human. Gavin thanks him and he almost doesn't want to go, because he just had the best conversation in a long time. Way more interesting than Elijah's rambling over his work. Nines seems to find the same thing and suggests meeting at this stone shore again the next day.

At first Gavin is sure he won't go. But then he catches himself wanting to go back to that stone. He somehow isn't surprised when he finds himself there a few hours after, waiting for a freaking half fish. And he does show up, white fin glowing through the water. This time they talk even longer and in a more comfortable setting as Gavin is in shorts and a tank top and not full diving suit and equipment. It's already dark when he finally gets up to walk back, throwing a last look at the man in the water. Nines has his chin rested on his arms, fin slowly ploughing through the water.

"See you tomorrow, fish head."

“Maybe you noticed that it’s my lower body and not my upper that resembles a fish. Also I have to disappoint you, my anatomy has nothing to do with a fish”

“Whatever fish head.” Gavin grins, making the other roll his eyes.

"Good night, Gavin."

With that Nines dark hair disappears in the water, white and blue glowing tail flicking up as he dives down and splashing Gavin with a bunch of water. Somehow that makes the human smile.

This habit of meeting continues over the following weeks until they know each other really well. You could basically call this a friendship. And somehow, without realising it, Gavin falls hard for that blue eyed jerk. He tells him how he spends his day with Tina and how annoying Elijah can be with his project that is so super-secret he can't even tell his own brother details about. Amanda is a major asshole as well. Gavin can't stand her, always asking questions about his dives and way too private things.

What he doesn't know is that Amanda has followed him this time. He doesn't know that she sits not far from them, listening to their conversation and taking pictures of Nines in the water. She is euphoric, finally she managed to get a good look on what she is watching out for her whole life, what she and Elijah are searching for. And that idiot Gavin just stumbled across what they have been hunting for years now.

She sees the smile on the merman's face, the way he looks at the human in front of him and she just knows. They mean a lot to each other. Perfect. Over the next days she sets up a trap, all very discrete not to let Elijah know of anything. She calls Gavin on one of their research ships in the harbour. When Gavin is called there, he is already having a bad feeling. Still, he goes and regrets instantly. Not long after he sets a foot on the ship, he is locked into one of the cabins. He punches against the door, but it has no use. He is trapped. And then the water rises around his feet. Phck. Everyone else gets off the ship and the last thing he overhears is someone saying: "That will get the fishman here."

Oh no. He is the bait for Nines because they think he will come and save Gavin out of the sinking ship. Normally Nines wouldn't get that close to the harbour, but for Gavin he would. Desperately trying to get out of the slowly filling cabin, he kicks the door and the window, but nothing happens.

Nines does indeed come after he heard about a ship sinking in the harbour. Gavin hadn’t shown up at their usual meeting spot and he never missed a meetup before. Never. That he didn’t show up without telling Nines the day prior really worries the merman. Something is wrong. And when he was told about one of the research ships belonging to Gavin’s brother sink in the harbour, he got a bad feeling. He should check this out.

Right when he gets there, he can see Gavin hammering against the glass from inside, screaming something at him with wide eyes. Bubbles of air rise from his mouth as the water has already filled the small cabin. Nines has to act quick, but he struggles with the door just as much. When he finally gets it open, Gavin is already floating unconscious on front of him, legs and arms limp, eyes closed. Panic rises in him and he pulls the human out the ship, holding him in his arms.

Right when he gets outside, a net closes around them. His first instinct is to cover Gavin with his body as they get pulled to the surface and he holds him close. When they get dropped on hard ground, Gavin is ripped from his arms. At least the impact makes the human wake up and he coughs up water and gasps for air.

Gavin comes back to consciousness, but when he realises the situation, he feels desperation rise in his throat. Amanda triumphantly stands over Nines as the merman is bound and shackled with ropes. He lashes out and fights against the grip of the men, but on land he has nothing against them.

"No." Gavin gasps through his coughs, too weak to get up and push the men away from his friend.

"Thank you for playing bait for us, Mr. Reed."

"No! You bitch! Let him go!" Somehow, he finds the strength to get up and throw himself at the henchmen tying up Nines, but Amanda just laughs.

"Good night, Gavin." Someone hits something heavy against the back of his head, knocking him out. Everything goes black around him and he drops to the floor. A terrified voice yelling his name is the last he hears.

That's how Tina finds him. Bleeding and knocked out on the ground. She curses and shakes him awake, half drags half helps him to their flat and cleans the wound on the back of his skull. Gavin is only half conscious, but he struggles against her.

"No, we have to help him, we have to save Nines!"

"Who are you talking about? Who is Nines?"

Gavin takes a deep breath and then he tells her. Tells her about how he met the merman, how they grew close over the last weeks. Tina sits in silence and listens. When he is finished, she first thinks he got hit over the head too hard. But when she sees the expression in Gavin's eyes, she believes him. She agrees to help Gavin if he lets her treat the wound. It's a deal. Amanda must hold Nines captive in this weird base she and Elijah are always working in. With teamwork they manage to get inside and after searching a bunch of weird looking rooms, Gavin finally finds the laboratory Nines is kept at.

He swims in circles in a giant, tall tank made of glass that is still way too small for him. His face looks so hopeless, it almost rips Gavin's heart in pieces. When he rushes up to the glass wall and Nines sees him, he presses his hands against the glass.

"Nines! Nines, it's me!" The merman quickly makes his way towards him and his face lights up. He presses his hands on the other side of the glass against Gavin's. Both of them smile relieved at seeing the other alive and their foreheads simultaneously drop against the tank, one from inside one from outside. "I thought I would find you already dissected on a table or something like that."

Nines can't answer as he is under water, but he lifts his gaze and sends a soft smile through the transparent wall separating them.

"Okay, let's get you out of here." Gavin climbs up to the top of the tank and help Nines out of the water. He has to carry the merman in his arms and sways under the weight, but it's their only possibility of getting Nines out to the sea. They are halfway there when Elijah steps in their way.

"Gavin? What are you doing?!"

Elijah is shocked that is own brother is sabotaging his lifework. Gavin can hear alarmed guards come closer, so he talks to Eli in hope to convince him to help. He tells Elijah how wrong this is, that he knows Nines and that he is a sentient and intelligent being. He tells him how Amanda trapped and almost killed him just to catch Nines. Elijah can't believe that his co-worker would do something like that. Gavin tells him this is the wrong way of going about this. Gavin's brother is silent for a bit as he thinks and the Detective almost panics when he hears the guards come closer. But then Elijah wakes and pushes him behind his back.

"Go down this hallway and then right, that's shorter. I will distract the guards. Hurry."

Gavin thanks him quickly and continues rushing down the hallway.

When Gavin makes it outside, there is nobody there. He carries Nines to the edge of the pier and slowly let's him down into the water. The merman could have just swum away and he should before anyone could see him. Instead he turns around, grabs Gavin by the collar and pulls the man down into a kiss. Gavin is so startled he almost forgets to kiss back, but finally he does. It's fast and sloppy, but sweeter than he ever imagined. Nines breaks away and leans his forehead against the other, this time without glass between them.

"I will find you." And with that he is gone.

A few days later, Gavin stares out on the water, sitting on a small cliff. Tina approaches behind him and lays a blanket around his shoulders.

"Are you still waiting for him? Gavin, you haven't slept or eaten enough the last three days, you need to rest. Come inside."

"No, I'll stay." Tina just sighs and turns around. "Thank you T."

Nines hasn't shown up the last three days and his mind is going crazy more and more as the days go past. Gavin falls asleep on the stones, head rested on his arms and covered in his blanket. He only wakes up when something wet drops on his nose. Something is splashing in the water and a blue glowing figure is visible under the surface. Nines leaps out of the water, supporting his upper body on the stone with his hands to push his torso out of the water. Without a word he leans forward and crashes their mouths together. The kiss tastes salty from the sea water, but Gavin doesn't care. He buries his fingers in that dark wet hair and skids closer until his chest is pressed against Nines. His shirt is getting wet, but oh well.

“What took you so long?”

“I’m sorry, I first had to convince my brother to let me go anywhere close to humans again.” Gavin looks down that gorgeous sight of Nines' wet abs and pecs and strong arms, making him go weak. Drops of water run down his pale nose, shimmering before dropping down. The merman leans forward to catch Gavin's lips with his own again, this time soft and tender. "I missed you."

"Missed you too, fish head." That earns him a roll of Nines' eyes.

"If I hear a joke about me kissing like a fish next, I will end you” Gavin just squishes his cheeks together and mimics a carp. Before he can react, he is pulled into the water on his collar and he is pushed under water. A mouth finds his and maybe he should struggle to get free, but he trusts Nines. This is his element. When they get up again, Gavin clings to Nines', arms holding onto his neck.

"Hmm, a monkey." This time it's Nines grinning. But Gavin only has eyes for that wet locks curling in his forehead, the soft glow of the blue lines covering the fin, emitting a faint light from underneath them.

"You're beautiful."

Nines gently smiles at him and holds him tighter before connecting their lips in another kiss.

Fin (badum tsss)

#quick drabble on discord #excuse the hastened writing #my writing #mer!nines #diver!gavin #I am sorry for the bad jokes #I couldn't resist #^^#reed900 #gavin reed #rk900 nines #mermaid au #diver au

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myfeetkeepdancing · 5 years

Text

One Last Effort | Tom Holland x Male!Reader

Warning: Smut

Request: Can you do a smutty bottom Tom x top male reader where they're both closeted actors and costars in some big movie and the tension between them gradually rises until the last day of filming when it comes to a head and they just let it all out in one of their dressing rooms

A final push clicks the mechanism of your suitcase shut. The end of an era. It has something emotional about it. But you weren’t going to admit to it. You pop yourself beside the suitcase on the mattress. Eyeing the trailer, you spend the last months in, recollecting all the treasured memories you made here. Not only this trailer. But also around it. The studios. The stage. Your co-stars all had one, lined alongside the studio. A journey that started far and foreign. Alone and lonely. New co-stars and colleagues. Adjusting your way of living, getting into the flow of filming. Long tiresome days, but with rewarding results. And most important, feeling valued for what you do — being acknowledged at what your best at doing.

Within no time, co-stars started becoming friends. The crew was becoming more than colleagues, making the long days bearable. Dining with the crew, instead of alone in the trailer, going out with co-stars, instead of hanging in your trailer at night. The whole experience was turning out to be a life-defining experience. But all that joy and fun came and abrupt ending.

Months seem long. A year even more so. But once the daily routine, and the things you do become enjoyable. Time has no grasp on you anymore. The most memorable birthday to date was celebrated largely at the studios. Emotional moments were filmed with real pain and feeling. And so was the last day at the studio. In hang in the air for weeks. The tension was tangible between everyone. Sharing the last moments on the screen together. It kept you awake at night. The thought that this was the final moment together. There was no part for any of you in the post production. And if there was, it was voice acting. Something that could be done at home.

Then there was that one person. Tom Holland. You had known him. Years before you got the news, you looked up to him. Admired him. And more.

Thank the Gods for that first meeting. That moment you met him was magical. From day one, you hit it off. In a good way. You were sure that from day one, some sort of spark hit you. You could feel it. Almost sense it. There was more to it. But who was going to take a shot at it? Risk it all?

In the months to come, you had shared vast amounts of time with each other. Met his family, friends, and shared memorable moments. Becoming far more than just co-stars, making that last day on set extremely difficult. Hugged, laughed and finally shed a small tear. It was inevitable. Each was going their own way.

Now you were alone. Waiting for the taxi to arrive. Your conscience bothering you. Eating at you, the fact you didn’t tell him how you felt. You let him go. For a moment, you trapped in your own thoughts.

“(Y/N)?” The trailer door creaks open. “H-Hey!”

Snapping from your somewhat daydream you look up at Tom coming through the door. “Get that look from your face. C’mon!” Reaching out to you open arms.

“Oh shut it, Tom.” Waving away his open arms. “I clearly remember seeing you cry as well. Don’t you hate these days?”

“More than you, trust me.” Showing a thin smile. “But I believe-...” Looking about the room. “-you still have my hoodie.”

“I don’t, Tom.” You chuckle lightly. Thinking back to that one night.

“It has to be!” Opening random drawers and closet doors around the trailer. Before locking his gaze onto your suitcase. “You’re were going to take it home, weren’t you?” Pacing towards your suitcase.

You turn your body towards him and pull his arm away. “Don’t you look in there, Tom.”

“What? Why not? Whatcha hidin’ there?” His smile turning in a devilish grin. “You got some of my underwear as well?”

“To be fair, I haven’t had the chance-” You grin, rising to your feet. “-to ask for it.”

“You know… You didn’t ask for my hoodie…” Closing the distance between you. His breath brushing past your skin. His one hand holding onto your shoulder, as he leans into your ear and whispers. “So maybe you should… take it…while you can.” You feel the goosebumps shoot across your skin.

The distance between the two of you was dangerously close — the tension thickening. You catch the sparks glitter in his eyes as he moves back. Your bodies yearning for one and the other. But hesitation holding you both back. Not sure who’s going to take the first step.

“How about you?” You let your fingers brush past his hips, sliding one finger along his belt, pulling him in like an anchor. Your lips were hovering past each other, nearly touching. “Do you want anything… in particular?”

“Well…” He says while his eyes look about your figure. Before meeting your gaze again. “I’m looking for something-… He pauses as his strong arms reach around you. Pulling you tenderly against him. “-memorable.” Feeling his muscular body pressed against yours. “Got an idea?” He says with a cocky edge.

“I can help you with that…” You wrap your arms around his neck. “But it involves your underwear.”

“Good...” He grins. “Cause it’s starting to get a bit tight down there…”

His lips part before engulfing yours in a long passionate kiss. Your bodies finally finding each other. Moaning deeply into the kiss. Tom becoming fiercer the moment your fingers run along the waistband of his pants. Tom flips your suitcase across the floor so violently. Clothes fly all through the room. Pushing you to mattress, undoing each other of clothes with substantial ferocity. All the pent up energy from past weeks released within seconds. You had teased and played with each other for long enough. Locked in the embrace of love and desire. You both wrestle naked on the mattress, worshipping each other’s body with unrelentless desire, rolling back and forth as you both desperately crave more. Kissing every inch of each other’s skin, sucking and caressing as much as each can. Tom eventually succumbs to his nerves. Lying flat on his back, breathing heavily, his fingers intertwined into your locks of hair as you caress his abs with your lips. Soft moans circle the trailer. You halt and gaze upwards, feeling your hips being clasped by his legs. He cups your cheeks and brings your lips to his. Kissing you violently. Before suddenly pulling you away from his lips. Demanding your attention. “I want you to do me…” He says. “Fuck me (Y/N)” He groans. Right here, right fucking now.” Grinding his pelvis against you.

Before he’s able to utter another word, you have placed your tip at his entrance and push lightly against his hole. Before continuing, you circle a wet finger around his hole. Tom moans out loudly. The anticipation driving Tom mad. Startled by his reaction, you gaze at his lust, overflowing face. Craving you more than anything else. His cock in front of you, standing up in full glory. You’re mesmerized by his meaty shaft and all its veins. All converging to a big throbbing head a top. The reason for your nightly wet dreams. It’s wonderful. You feel your throat falling dry. Feeling yourself harden by the second. “Ram it into me (Y/N)!” He snarls, pulling you back into reality.

You hesitate for a moment. Slowly pushing into him. As soon as you feel the tightness wrap around you. A long a powerful thrust from your pelvis pushes you all the way into him. The warmth and wetness gliding far and deep. Tom’s back arches upward, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. An intense moan sounds through the trailer. “Yes, babe!” He cries out. “Just like that...”

You grab both his shoulders firmly, and start rolling your hips, holding his figure back against your thrust. And begin to slide in and out with increasing speed. The sound of naked flesh slapping against each other was soon overshadowed by cries of pleasure from Tom. His muscled body now under complete control of your shaft, you snatch the pillow beside you and shove it under his hips. Arching his ass more towards you. You reposition along and continue ramming into him. The effect immediately noticeable, feeling yourself gliding much deeper. Not only for yourself.

Tom’s eyes widen, gasping loudly as he arches upward. But you have his body tight into a grasp. Pushing him down again. His lips quiver as he tries to utter a word. His arms fall beside him like a ragdoll. Rendered motionless. Only air escapes his mouth. And the deeper you ram into him, the tighter it feels. Squeezing your member more and more. You feel the edge coming closer.

Tom’s body shudders under your hands, the sweat making it difficult to hold onto him. His head rolls back, eyes close, and suddenly a long white string lands onto his face. Another lands along his jawline and more on his neck. It never seems to stop. You clench onto his figure and feel a sudden jolt of pleasure shoot down into your hips. And groan uncontrollably as it passes outwards through your member. You shudder and shake as you watch Tom unload himself. Tom eyes instantly lock into your gaze, feeling what’s happening. Before the final spurts sprinkle on his chest. The shaking and shuddering stops and the two bodies collide into a panting mess of flesh and wetness.

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

“Finally got one...” You smile, spinning Tom’s underwear on your finger. A chuckle followed by a tender brush of his fingers along your jaw, he turns your face towards him. Rolling you onto your side, his lips finding yours.

“Well, I’ve got plenty more...” Tom whispers after releasing your lips. His fingers ghosting along your figure.

“Underwear?”

“Oh, you name it, love. Just as long as every piece counts towards this...” His fingers run along your pelvis, Tom grins. “We’re going to be busy for a while.”

“You include socks as well?”

“Fuck yeah…” He grins, pushing you down onto the sheet, throwing one leg over, taking place on top of you. Both his hands cupping the sides of your face, kissing you long and intense. “And they’re going a piece. Not per pair.” He mumbles into the kiss.

#tom holland x reader #tom holland x male!reader #tom holland x male reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland smut #male reader smut #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland male reader

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another-snape-story · 4 years

Text

Breakfast

Chapter VI

When you woke up the next morning, for a few seconds you couldn't understand where you were. The place was new for you, and your sleepy brain failed to process the surroundings. But once you came to your senses, you felt a rapturous uplift in your soul. Recalling your yesterday agreement with Professor Snape, you started up, frightened you've overslept, but luckily it left enough time. The dim light fighting its way through the water barely gave any understanding about the time of the day, although it was clear the sun has risen already. You leisurely walked up to the window, peering into the depth. What you've expected to see there – you couldn't answer, but definitely not that Giant Squid, oh Merlin's pants!!! You jumped back, pressing your heart back into your chest.

How many more surprises were there waiting for you? However, this sudden occurrence stirred you up – the remnants of slumber vanished in a blink.

Dressed up and ready to take everything this day has prepared for you, you fidgeted on the edge of your bed, hypnotizing the clock and counting minutes remained before you'd face your standoff colleague. It was unbearable to continue sitting idly by, so you stood up resolutely and strolled through your room back and forth, throwing wary glances at the window, specifically, trying to spot the creature you've just seen on the other side – you won’t let it take you aback again – and shuddered, recalling its long fleshy arms with huge suckers.

You decided it wouldn't hurt if you left a little earlier. The cool air of the corridor breathed on your skin when you opened the door, and your body answered this sudden contact with goosebumps.

“Ugh,” arms crossed on your chest, you rubbed your shoulders to chase them away.

Looking around, you couldn't find a living soul within eyeshot. But as far as the passageway offered you a plenty of statues lined up along its walls, you didn’t see it as a problem. The flickering torch light stroke the figures, revealing their shapes, and the shadows jumping on stone faces added frightfulness to their appearance, which – combined with inhospitable darkness of the dungeons – created a distinctive mood to the whole ambiance.

Absorbed into studying the surroundings, you didn’t hear the steps and flinched, once tall black figure swept out of the dark.

“Oh, that’s you!” you giggled and sighed with relief. “Good morning!”

“Who on Earth could it be at such an early hour…” he made a pause, slowly approaching you, “...while I’ve been the only one who dwelled in these dungeons… till recent time.”

“You did?”

“I thought it was obvious, taking into account that I accompanied you exactly to this place last night,” the man invited you into a move with a step forward and a gesture of his hand.

“Sure. How witless of me to assume you’d walk me here just out of kindness!” you sneered and he pursed his lips in response.

“My chambers lay in the end of the passage. Not that I'd like to see you at my door…” he clarified calmly, “unless it's something urgent.”

“Don't worry, Professor, I won't stalk you,” you reassured him jokingly, regaining the understanding this sarcastic manner of his was a usual thing and shouldn’t be taken as offence, “unless it's something urgent.”

The way you talked to him, intrigued Snape’s mind. He was not the one who’d grow with sympathy for anyone that fast, but you clearly would have a chance… in other circumstances… in other surrounding… in other life…

“I saw a squid today,” you spoke as you went upstairs. “A huge one! It scared me to death!”

“It’s harmless,” the man beside you answered indifferently.

“I thought they inhabited salty water?”

“Right, but this one’s of a different – magical – subspecies,” he explained softly.

“I see…” you fell silent for a moment. “Don’t you mind it swimming around?”

“Do I look like I would?” Snape arched an eyebrow astonished, and you laughed. This time you could say for sure – there was (!) a barely perceptible smile in the corner of his mouth.

The reason why Professor Snape volunteered to take you for breakfast remained inexplicable for you, because the Great Hall located – as it turned out – right off the Entrance Hall, where the narrow spiral staircase brought you. Did he really consider you unable to navigate a corridor? However, he was a nice man, no doubt, but why would he pretend otherwise?

You walked past four long rows of old wooden tables appended by same long rows of shabby benches on their both sides each and headed for another long table at the front of the Hall.

“Where are the rest?” you inquired seeing there was no one else here.

“Not long in coming,” Snape took his regular seat, and you joined him.

“May I ask?”

“You did it already.”

“It’s not just rumors about the return of… You-Know-Who, isn’t it? Why would there be such a fuss around the Stone then?”

“Rumors do not appear out of nowhere – there must be a reason, clearly,” he agreed in a soft yet impassive manner of his.

“Do you think there is a chance of him getting the Stone? I mean… breaking in the school and everything which follows with it?” you couldn’t deny this possibility made you feel uneasy.

“I usually tend to be prepared for the worst outcome,” Snape admitted, filling his plate.

“Sounds encouraging…” you sighed, and he answered your sarcastic remark with a teasing “you’re welcome.” Both of you realized the matter was no joke. As long as the Stone remained within school walls, it was responsibility of each staff member, and you were no exception.

“G-g-good m-morning, P-p-prof-f-fessors,” a pale young man in lilac turban interfered your conversation.

“Good morning, Professor Quirrell,” you greeted your colleague, while the other Professor sitting beside you just ignored his presence.

“You m-may c-c-call me Q-q-quirinus,” he bowed with an amiable smile.

Professor Snape, who was busy with chewing his meat, stopped working his jaws – a piece of food bulging from behind his cheek – and reluctantly continued his meal once uninvited guest made himself comfortable on the chair next to yours.

“So you’re teaching Defense Against Dark Arts? I loved this subject being a student,” you decided that starting acquaintance with professional questions would be the right thing.

“I was t-t-teaching M-muggle St-t-tudies b-before I t-took a year-l-long s-sab-batical,” he clarified.

“Oh, and what have you been doing the whole year?”

“G-gaining f-f-first-hand exp-p-perience, you kn-now.”

“That’s praiseworthy!” you approved. “And which kind of experience?”

“W-well, d-d-different…” he focused on his plate.

“What did you find the most exciting then?” you were eager to find out something new.

“M-m-many things,” the man’s head almost disappeared in his shoulders, as he vigorously cut the leaf of salad.

“So many you can’t even name at least one, Quirrell?” Professor Snape snapped scornfully.

“It m-might t-t-take l-long,” he explained away.

Meanwhile your other colleagues joined in. Each of them tried to talk to you, depriving you of any opportunity to put something edible in your mouth. Although Professor Snape sat beside, withdrawn in his own thoughts he didn’t seem to be interested in this conversation.

You carefully shoved your elbow closer to him and slightly pushed his forearm. The look he gave you was pure astonishment. With an askew glance you pointed at your plate where a word ‘HELP’ was put out of corn grains. Snape’s lips twitched in an attempt to suppress a grin, and he stifled with a strange smothered sound which broke through his nostrils.

“Now that you’re finished,” he addressed you intentionally louder than usual, drawing everyone’s attention, “I think it’s high time to discuss the issue of supplying my storages with ingredients, as we’ve agreed.” With these words Professor Snape rose up to his feet and remained standing behind your chair, waiting for you to do the same.

“Yes, sure,” you hurriedly put the napkin on the table and followed suit.

“Pity you’re leaving so soon,” sighed a squat little witch, “I wanted to show you Herbology Greenhouses, I thought you’d like to see them.”

“Of course I would! I’ll join you later,” you replied kindly. “Thank you, Professor Sprout!”

<<< Previous Capter • Next Chapter >>>

Tag: @diaryofafan17 @yul-is-sparkling @fullmoonshadowwrites @forthehonourof

#snape #severus snape #snape x reader #severus snape x reader #snape fanfiction #severus snape fanfiction

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involvet-triangulum · 4 years

Text

Distractions over breakfast

Yall get one soft chapter, as a treat.

Continuation of Sharp as a knife, you’ll want to read that for context.

Word count: 1,697

Friends think they know you best, but your enemies know you better.

x x x x

The pick up rattled down the road, clinking metal drowned out by the blaring radio and Fidds singing. Ford wasn't focused enough to pick out much; he'd been looking over his hands and fiddling with the edges of his coat sleeves for most of the ride so far. It didn't occur to him that Fidds had stopped singing along to some song about 'Mary Lou' to clamp a hand down on his shoulder until the motion made him jump in his seat.

"Did I scare ya? You seemed a little lost in thought there."

There was worry in Fidds smile. He was doing his best to keep his spirits up, but their little argument had him on edge. Ford only nodded in response. He wasn't ready to discuss it all quite yet. Maybe in a few years, he'd finally confront it all over a bottle of cheap whiskey. That seemed to be becoming a trend between the two of them. It was easier on the wallet than therapy.

Fidds tossed an arm around his shoulders, pulling him up straight in the seat before he started singing along to the latest song in some hope of getting a grin on his face.

"Cowboys ain't easy to love, and they're harder to hold"

Ford raised a brow at him, Fidds only responded with a quiet "oh, come on" before he went right back to the song.

"They'd rather give you a song than diamonds or gold"

He didn't know all of the words to the song, but Fidds wasn't going to let that stop him. Another nudge and he'd started doing his best to join in, although his best was mumbling the words he didn't know and barely singing the ones he did. Only one of them was a show-off.

"Lonestar... old faded Levis"

Ford had to listen to the song so many times when it released that he'd picked up on a little bit of it. Fidds still sang along with him, he was carrying him through the song, and Ford didn't have much of a problem with that.

"And each night begins a new day"

He wasn't sure when he stopped paying attention to where they were, or how long they'd been figuring out which songs he did and didn't know on the radio. It felt nice to not focus on figuring out everything for once. By the time they pulled into the parking lot they were too busy laughing over mixed-up words to worry about the argument.

"I swear I thought he was singing about something else for years."

Fidds clapped him on the back, throwing his head back with a laugh.

"You need to get yer ears checked!"

By the time Fiddleford managed to get his laughing under control Ford was already unbuckled and trying to see who was working tables today by staring at the Diners windows intently. He only looked back to Fidds once he'd taken the keys out of the ignition.

"You looking for yer friend?"

His colleague's grin said a little too much about what he meant.

"Oh, hush, we only spoke once!"

Ford turned away and grabbed the door handle, pushing with his shoulder to the glass until the stuck lock finally gave way. They'd been going back and forth on who'd be the one to fix that for weeks.

"And you didn't stop talking about him for three days."

Something felt wrong the second that line hit. It was like Fidds had stood on his grave. His hair stood on edge as a chill crept over his skin.

Not everyone was in on their little joke. Bill was making that much clear.

He swallowed thickly, speaking up without turning to face him again.

"I don't want to talk about... those types of things right now, let's just get breakfast. Alright?"

Something in his head was thankful it was Fidds voice who spoke up to respond as he climbed out.

"Uh yeah, sorry 'bout that."

Ford had fallen back into his previous silence. The effort Fidds had gone through on the way to cheer him up was thrown out the minute he knew they weren't alone. Ford had to figure something out eventually. He couldn't live like this forever. He'd heard of some cautionary methods in passing conversations with gnomes, but nothing was stable enough for him to work off.

"Stanford?"

Fidds voice took his out of his thoughts. He hadn't realized he'd zoned out looking at the pavement of the parking lot until he had a hand holding onto his arm and a look of concern directed towards him yet again. Fidds tilted his head towards the door of the Diner as he spoke up again.

"Are you gonna go in or did you find something interestin in the asphalt there?"

Ford shook his head, shrugging Fidds hand off of himself before he started towards the front entrance. He needed to do something to clear his head. They wouldn't get anywhere if he kept blanking out mid-conversation.

Fidds jogged ahead of him, just fast enough to catch the front door for him before he could do the same in turn. They were both taught the same manners as kids. The minute both of them realized such it turned into a competition of who could beat the other one when it came to being objectively kinder. It kept them both in check with how little they left the house.

Ford won last month by letting him borrow his coat as a makeshift umbrella when it'd started raining out on an excursion meanwhile; Fidds chicken noodle soup had him set squarely in first place the month before when Ford caught the flu and had spent a week sulking around.

The Diner was, thankfully, air-conditioned. The burst of cold air was welcoming compared to the thick heat of the truck and horrible ventilation back at the house. Both of them had paused in the doorway to take it in before properly stepping inside and starting the search for an open booth. After a moment, Fidds managed to spot one near the back and grabbed ahold of his sleeve to drag him along.

The seat of the booth was sticky, and Ford was ninety percent sure there was old soda stuck to their table, but he knew from experience that the rest of the booths weren't any better. At least he hadn't sat in anything wet this time. He took a shower long enough for them to run out of hot water after that incident. Fidds didn't stop complaining about his cold shower for a week.

Fidds had grabbed the drink menu only for Ford to snatch it out of his hands; eventually, it ended up smacked down flat on the table facing Fidds since he wasn't the one who could read upside down.

"The smoothies look good."

"You've gotten one before; they're huge. You won't drink all of that."

Ford had a point. The last time Fidds bought one, they'd bet that he couldn't finish it. Fidds ended up getting sick in the parking lot five minutes later or so.

"Well, if I get one would ya like half of it?"

Ford glanced up to him over the menu.

"Only if you get the strawberry banana one."

Another song passed on the radio, and they were both drinking their halves of the drink. It wasn't clear when the conversation had turned technical, but they'd scared the customers away from the tables beside them with it all.

"I know the entire point of the vortex is to destabilize the veil between worlds and allow someone to cross, but that doesn't mean the vortex itself doesn't need to be stable."

Ford had one hand laid on the table while the other was busy holding his glass between noisy sips from his side of the smoothie. Fidds, on the other hand, had slinked down into his seat with both arms crossed over his chest. His drink sat safely on the table in front of him.

"How do ya intend to destabilize with something completely stable, though?"

Ford put his head down on the table. He didn't care much about the day-old soda he was likely getting caught in his hair anymore.

"You're kidding me. You've got to be pulling my leg here."

The grin on Fidds face when Ford raised his head gave away his charade.

"You're such a bastard."

Ford dipped a finger into his milkshake and flicked it at Fidds, who was lucky enough to dodge it in time for it to hit his seat rather than him. Of course, before he could get any friendly fire returned, the waitress carrying their food cleared her throat.

Fidds was too busy digging into the mountain of eggs, bacon, and who knows what else was in his skillet to keep up a conversation. The silence left Ford alone with his thoughts to wonder why his toast tasted a bit sour and what creatures of the forest weren't entirely on his bad side.

He got halfway through his breakfast before that lack of sleep was catching up to him. He'd been running off leftover adrenaline for most of their ride here and all of breakfast. He slid the plate forward away from himself, catching Fidds attention long enough for him to glance up from his skillet.

"Could you get me a box? I'm just gonna... lay my head down while you finish."

He tacked on a yawn at the end of it all to drive the point home. Fidds seemed to understand, nodding in confirmation before returning to his breakfast. Ford crossed his arms over the now empty space on the table and rested his forehead on them. It was the easiest way to block out the morning sun rays without pulling his coat over his head.

He dozed off too fast, too smoothly, and far too calmly. If he'd caught the slip before he was standing in that familiar silent void then he likely would've opted out of the nap for coffee instead. This wasn't a confrontation he wanted to go into blind, but it didn't seem like he had much of a choice now.

#gravity falls #fanfic #ford pines #fiddleford mcgucket #stanford pines #remnants au

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thecleverdame · 5 years

Text

Control and Release - 17

Series Masterlist

TEDTalk!Sam x Reader

Summary: With the rest of the staff caught in a snowstorm, you find yourself acting as a personal assistant to the notorious Sam Winchester.

Warnings: Dom/Sub, humiliation, embarrassment, sexual objectification, mutual masturbation, spanking, cum play, fingering, anal play, orgasm control, nipple clamps, dub-con, breath play. This chapter contains an 'active shooter' scenario.

Beta: @ilikaicalie

Words: 5k

Parts 18, 19, 20 & 21 are currently available on Patreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content. >> CLICK HERE <<

One Month Later

“Hello, earth to Y/N.” Millie’s hand is waving in front of your face as you snap to attention. “Jesus, what is going on with you?”

“Nothing.” You shake your head, tapping the mouse to wake up your computer. “I’m just tired.”

“You don’t have to tell me, but don’t assume I’m an idiot.”

You’ve shared a little, she knew you were seeing someone, now you’re not. But you’ve never gone into details. She guessed once that your mystery weekend guy was some married man with a wife and kids. You let her live with the assumption. It’s easier that way.

Millie tilts her head, eyes flicking to Lexi’s empty desk. “Did Lexi tell you she’s working on some super secret project for the boss man?”

You want to throw up. Of course she is.

“She told me,” you confirm, typing in your password twice before getting it right.

“What do you think it is? I mean I love the girl, but she’s not the sharpest tool in the shed.” Millie looks at you, frowning in concern.

You have a pretty good idea what kind of special project Sam’s assigned her to, the same kind you worked on. He was bored fucking you so he moved on to someone younger, firmer and dumber. As much as you try to fight it, your mind can’t help but conjure up images of her on her knees sucking his cock.

“Seriously, are you okay?” Millie places a hand on your shoulder and you flinch, looking up at her. “You’re all over the place.”

“No,” you shake your head, sitting back in the chair. “I don’t think I want to work here anymore.”

“Seriously?” Millie hunches down, getting close to whisper, “did Max do something again? Is someone bothering you?”

“No, he’s actually been really apologetic after he was put on his corrective action plan,” you snort. “I’m just fucking done. This place is a black hole and I need to move on.” You look at Lexi’s empty seat. “I’m gonna go talk to Pepper and put in my two weeks. Then I’m gonna let you take me out and get me drunk.”

After a few shots of tequila, you sit at the open window of your apartment, sipping a bottle of water and watching the city lights at night. For the better part of a year, life was focused around Sam, when you’d see him next, what would happen. Now that excitement is nowhere to be found and you're left with the realization that you’ve let the other parts of your life fade into the background. There’s a kind of emptiness that you’ve struggled to fill, a void that you’re learning to live with.

Above all else, you feel foolish. While you want to feel betrayed, you simply can’t. He was always up front. He told you time and time again it was nothing more than sex. But your logical mind and your heart aren’t always working together. Developing feelings for someone like Sam Winchester was bound to end badly, you knew that from the start.

If nothing else, Sam taught you a lot about yourself. Sex with him was eye-opening. He showed you how to openly desire all the things that you hid for so long. Not only do you know what you like, now you know how to ask for it and you’ll never be ashamed of what turns you on again.

It’s been one hell of a rollercoaster but it’s time to leave. Not just W & S, but Boston as well. It’s time to start over. In a couple of weeks, you’ll be in Chicago, a place where you know no one and no one knows you. It’s for the best, here your memories are haunted, little pieces of Sam everywhere. At least you learned a lesson.

As you lay down to go to sleep you glance at the bedside table. There’s a small vibrator in the drawer. You’ve tried to masturbate several times since your final goodbye but you can’t quite get there. All your fantasies somehow morph into Sam at the end and it pulls you right out of the moment. Perhaps more distance will help you get back to normal.

You fall asleep dreaming of a new life, somewhere far, far away.

Two Weeks Later

Juggling a comically tall stack of folders you head to the conference room.

You’re late for your last meeting as an employee of W & S. It’s your project hand-off, going over all your active cases with Pepper and Millie. Only a few more hours and you can kiss this place goodbye for good.

It’s as you open the door and flick the light switch, you’re met with a chorus of happy voices.

“Surprise!”

You jump back, breaking out into a smile at the room full of colleagues in party hats. There’s a sheet cake in the middle of the table with We’ll Miss You! scrawled across in blue frosting.

“You scared the shit out of me!” You laugh, dropping the files onto the table.

“That was the idea,” Pepper smirks, sliding a paper cup of punch across the table. “It’s not a surprise unless you shit yourself.”

“Honestly I didn’t expect this. I didn’t think anyone would care that I left,” you confess, looking at an envelope with your name written across it.

Millie is already cutting the cake, handing you the first piece. “Are you kidding, we all love you. It’s gonna be boring without you. Don’t get too excited about your gift, it’s only an Ikea gift card.”

“I never thought I’d say this,” Pepper leans in, dipping her finger into the frosting on your plate. “But I sure wish you were staying, Lexi is a nightmare.” You both look up at Lexi who’s babbling on in the corner of the room clad in a skin-tight pink dress. “I long for the days of your slow walking and crappy notes.”

“Good to know I’m appreciated in hindsight,” you force a smile, trying to focus on anything other than thoughts of Lexi and Sam.

There’s a faint, repeating noise in the distance, it’s out of place but you’re not really paying attention.

“Hey,” Max slides in beside you. Millie sighs but backs off. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry, for you know, saying that stuff about you. I was a dick.”

He has been making an effort, there’s a subtle hint of that nice guy you met before he turned into a full-fledged bastard.

“Yes, you were.” You roll your eyes, offering him a smile. “I forgive you, but only if you don’t do it to anyone else again.”

“I swear,” he nods, a hand over his heart. “Lesson learned, I-”

He pauses to listen to the popping in the distance. The room falls silent.

“Is someone setting off fireworks?” Pepper stands up, moving toward the window.

“That’s not fireworks,” Tim Bellamy from accounting stands up, walking to the door of the conference room and looking out into the hallway. “That’s gunfire.”

“What are you talking about?” Your heart speeds up to gallop, a low simmer of panic setting in. Right on cue, all the lights shut off, the whirl of the air conditioning stops.

There it is again, closer than before. It sounds like it’s coming from a few floors down.

Pop

“Someone’s shooting,” Millie whispers, looking to you with eyes the size of saucers.

“Security will stop whoever it is,” Pepper’s voice is broken as she wrings her hands together, staring at the open door.

“What do we do?” You look at Tim. You don’t know much about him, but you do recall that he’s a combat veteran, a Marine if you remember correctly.

“We run,” he confirms, taking off his suit jacket and throwing it on the table. “If you're wearing heels, take them off. Get rid of anything that’s going to slow you down or make noise.”

You reach down, slipping off your pumps, bare toes sinking into the carpet. You’re sweating now, listening to the burst of gunfire coming in rapid succession. For a moment it’s getting closer then there’s a break, silence.

“Follow me.” Tim inches toward the door, peeking out into the hallway. “If you get out into the open don’t run in a straight line, zig-zag back and forth. Doesn’t matter if anyone’s shooting at you, make yourself a hard target to hit.”

“This isn’t happening,” Millies cries behind you, her hands on your hips. “Oh my god, this can’t be happening.”

“Quiet,” Tim turns back, looking at each one of you. “Stay silent. Follow me now.”

You trail after him down the hall, everyone moving in silence, grasping each other’s hands. The hallway opens up into a sea of cubicles. You’re headed toward the red exit sign at the other end of the room, it’s the door to the stairwell.

Without warning the door slams open, hitting the wall with a thud. Millie yelps, Lexi screams from somewhere in the back. Trevor from IT comes sprinting toward you, sweating, in pure panic.

“He’s coming!” He yells running past you in a sprint.

“Who’s coming?” Max yells.

“Brent!” Trevor calls back, his voice faint as he disappears around the corner at the other end of the room.

Brent.

“Fuck,” you breathe, remembering the day he was fired, how it took multiple security guards to wrestle him out of the building. “Where do we-”

Your voice turns into a scream as Brent appears in the doorway. He’s holding some kind of huge rifle, the kind you’ve seen in movies as he jams in a fresh clip. He looks up spotting your group.

“Run!” Tim shouts, stepping in front with his arms spread wide.

Time slows down and you have a thousand thoughts at once.

You should have called your mom this morning.

You’re not wearing matching underwear.

You should have told Sam how you felt as soon as you felt it.

You’re going to die on your last day here, you should have left last week.

If you’d have gone to college, none of this would have ever happened.

There is an ear-shattering pop and Tim’s body jerks back, careening into you before he hits the wall and his knees give way. He’s clutching his stomach, blood pouring from a wound. You’re frozen in sheer terror, a scream erupting from your throat as Brent advances.

There’s a shout from the other side of the room, a woman you’ve never seen before shrieks drawing his attention. There’s a spray of bullets in her direction and you watch in horror when she sinks behind one of the cubicles.

Turning back to you Brent looks calm and focused as he takes aim and shoots off another round, hitting Max in the upper thigh. One more step and he shoots again, the bullet hitting Max’s chest and this time he falls to the floor.

Brent is close now, his eyes narrowing as he hones in on you.

“Please,” you whisper, shaking uncontrollably as you raise both hands in front of your face. There is no sight or sound, everything comes to a halt as you take a final breath. “Please don't kill me.”

Brent just snorts, raising the gun and pointing it at your head.

Sam comes out of nowhere moving with a speed and power that you would have never known he was capable of. He drives the heel of his hand up into Brent’s chin, snatching the rifle from him in the same move. Swinging the butt of the gun around he whacks Brent in the head hard enough that it makes a sickening crack. Blood begins to pour from the wound as Brent’s knees buckle and he collapses to the ground.

With a series of methodical movements, Sam disassembles the firearm as if he’s done it a million times before. In ten seconds flat it’s lying in pieces on the carpet. He kneels next to Brent, patting down his unconscious body and pulling away two handguns that are tucked into his waistband. Sam takes those apart as well, leaving the pieces on a nearby desk.

“Are you alright?” he asks and you realize he’s talking to you. You blink, your mind a blank slate looking from Brent to Sam who’s standing in front of you, one hand on each shoulder. “Y/N?”

“I think so,” you mutter, staring at him in disbelief. All that fear is suddenly gone and you’re numb, physically and emotionally, save for the nauseous feeling in your belly. You explain calmly, “I think I might throw up.”

“That’s okay,” he cups your face for a moment, both hands under your jaw, giving you his undivided attention. “Are you hurt?”

You shake your head no, turning away from him to vomit onto the floor.

“Oh my God!” You hear Lexi’s high pitched shriek coming up behind you. When you look up she’s throwing herself at Sam, wrapping arms around him. “You saved us!”

Sam just looks at you, his arms dangling at his side as she presses her head over his chest.

“Ohmygod, ohmygod,” Millie’s arms are around you, trembling as she squeezes tight. Wiping your chin you heave again, the last of your stomach contents coming up. “You’re alright, you’re gonna be alright.” She keeps repeating, rocking back and forth as she strokes your hair.

It’s not exactly soothing for you, but it seems to be what she needs, so you let her cradle you.

The next few minutes are a blur. Every moment melts into the next. There’s a swirl of activity, police and swat officers swarming the room. Several people are talking at you but you can’t hear them, your ears are ringing and you’ve got tunnel vision. Someone moves you, there’s a hand on each arm and you’re walking but not sure where or how.

The next thing you know you’re in Sam’s office, sitting on his couch. He’s standing near his desk and you’re surrounded by a dozen agents with ATF and FBI emblazoned on their clothes.

The voices come in and out of focus. There’s a man sitting next to you, his mustache is untrimmed, creeping over his upper lip and for a moment it’s all you see.

“Y/N?” he asks, leaning closer. “Can you hear me?”

“She’s in shock.” A female voice comes from somewhere in the background. “We have an ambulance on the way. We needed to get the critical cases out of the building first. We can have someone drive her-”

“I can hear you.” You clear your throat, feeling like you’ve been shot with a tranquilizer. A hush falls over the room and you look from the man in front of you to Sam. “I don’t wanna go to the hospital. Please don’t make me.”

“Okay,” Sam nods, walking over and sitting on the coffee table in front of you. “She can wait until tomorrow, can’t she?” He looks at the officer next to you.

“We don’t recommend it.” Another voice answers.

“I don’t want to be here anymore.” You look around at the strangers staring at you like a zoo animal. “Sam, I want to leave.”

“She shouldn’t be alone in this state. Once we have her emergency contacts we’ll send a car to take her home.”

“That’s not necessary she’s going home with me.” Sam reaches out, squeezing your knee. “We can set up a time tomorrow afternoon for interviews.”

You sit in silence next to Sam as the car makes the drive to Newton. The world whizzes by as you look out the window, your mind a blank slate devoid of any real thought. Sam doesn’t say anything, you’re vaguely aware of him looking at you from time to time. By the time you reach his house, your mind and body are starting to equalize. You follow him into the house, looking around at the all too familiar surroundings. Nothing's changed since the last time you were here.

Sam walks directly into the kitchen, opening up a cupboard and pulling out an empty trash bag.

“Take your clothes off.” He instructs calmly. You snort, eyes widening, unsure of how he can even think that you’re going to comply with his commands- “You have blood on your clothes,” he explains and you feel instantly sheepish. “Undress and take a shower.”

You look at him, a combination of betrayal and exhaustion. There’s a lot you want to say, but instead, you pull your blouse over your head, then shimmy your skirt down your hips. He holds open the bag and you place both inside, then strip the rest of the way, peeling off your panties and bra.

Naked, you pad down the hallway to his room, leaving the light off as you find the way to his shower and climb inside. You sit down on the tile under the warm water, pulling your legs up to your chest. You stay just like that until the water runs cold and you have to get out.

When you finally get out, you halfheartedly dry off, leaving the towel on the hook and a series of wet footprints on the hardwood of his bedroom floor.

Sam is sitting on the edge of the bed but stands up the moment he sees you. He must have used the guest shower because his hair is wet and he’s wearing a plain white t-shirt and blue and white striped pajama pants.

You just stand there in the nude, staring at him, a million thoughts colliding at the same time.

“Why am I here?” you ask quietly. You’re not sure if you want the answer, you’re still upset with him, raw over your last conversation.

“Because I want you here.” He responds evenly. “You were traumatized and I-”

“I’m not the only one who was traumatized,” you interrupt. “I don’t see anyone else here.”

“No, you don’t.” He raises his chin, jaw locked in place.

“How did you know how to do that? What you did to Brent, I’ve only ever seen people fight like that in the movies.”

“My dad,” he explains, running his tongue over his teeth under his upper lip. “Winchester 101.”

“Right,” you nod, feeling water dripping from the end of your hair, down your back and over your breasts. “You’re a hero. You came to save us. Guess you’re not a total asshole.”

“I am a total asshole. I don’t give a shit about anyone else.” This confession comes out just as simple as everything else while you stare at each other. “I came for you.”

“Why?” you ask imploringly, stepping forward. “Why didn’t you come for Lexi, she’s your ‘special project’ now.”

“You think I’m sleeping with her?” He raises an eyebrow, letting out a humorless chuckle. “Well, that’s what I hoped you’d assume. I wanted to hurt you because I am an asshole. I wanted you to move on. But I’m not fucking her. I have her reporting back me on Peter Kelson. He’s leaking information. He wants to fuck her, so he drinks too much and tells her more than he should and then she tells me. That’s all.”

“I don’t understand you,” you sigh, defeated. “You said you were bored with me. You cut me out like I was nothing and now you’re telling me you put yourself in front of a bullet for me?”

“I lied.” He shrugs, looking to the side before forcing his gaze back to you. “I was, I am, uncomfortable with the way I feel about you. I want to be with you, I care for you. That’s not something I know how to do anymore. I gave up on that concept a long time ago.”

Your heart does a little skip in your chest, first the worst day of your life and now this. Whatever this is.

“You can’t just...do this. You walked away from me like I meant nothing to you.”

“I wanted you to hate me,” he confesses, eyes transfixed on yours waiting to see if you’ll bolt.

“I did.” You shrug, stripped bare of pretense. There’s no room for anything to be left unsaid, not anymore. “I do, hate you. The way you treated me made me feel small...insignificant.”

“I know,” he nods, blinking twice, before looking at the floor to gather himself. “But you’re not.”

“I care about you.” You look down at your hands. “But how can you say that? You were going to let me leave. Let me move halfway across the country.”

“You would have been fine.” He steps closer, face tightening in displeasure. “You were hurt, and pissed at me, but you would have moved on. I was going to let you go but I couldn’t let you die, I couldn’t go through that again-” His voice wavers and he pauses, searching your face. “I make a shitty partner in every sense of the word. I’m selfish and impatient. I don’t like relinquishing control. I don’t like to talk about how I feel or my past. I’ll hurt you and you may end up hating me in the end...but I don’t want you to go. I want you to stay in Boston, to stay with me.”

“You haven’t apologized yet, apologized for hurting me like that.” You swallow, watching his jaw set wishing you could just read his mind. It would make this so much easier.

“I’m sorry.” He implores and for the first time you see a side of him you would have not imagined existed. He looks vulnerable, sad and desperate, completely out of character.

“Will you try?” you whisper, tears brimming in the corners of your eyes. “It’s one thing to say that you’re terrible at relationships but it’s another to accept it. You put so much energy and commitment into your work, Sam. Are you going to give me at least some of that? Because if you’re not going to try, then there’s no point.”

“I’ll try,” he nods. “I give you my word.”

“Then I’ll stay,” you murmur as his hands cup your face, sliding along either side of your jaw.

He leans down to kiss you, lips meeting gently for the first time. As adept as he is in the bedroom, you wonder if he’s kissed anyone like this since his girlfriend all those years ago. He’s hesitant, the gentle press of his mouth to yours growing more passionate as you slide your tongue forward. That first kiss grows, hands pulling and grabbing, anything to be closer to one another.

He’s naked before you hit the bed, whipping his shirt over his head and stepping out of his pants before he picks up and spreads you over the mattress. For all the sex you’ve had, all the spanking and groping and sucking, you’ve never felt him like this. The heat and heft of his body take your breath away. This much skin on skin is like a drug as you wrap your legs around his waist, holding him tight as he kisses you long and deep.

His cock is thick and hard, poking your thigh as you whimper and moan underneath him. Your fingernails dig into his back holding on, desperate to have him just like this. You could drown underneath him in this bed and die happy here and now.

You’re both making up for lost time, his mouth sealed to yours as he moans against your lips, pulling back only long enough to suck in a breath before tasting you again.

Spreading your legs wide you watch as he notches of the head of his cock in your pussy. That first push inside makes you gasp as he stretches you open. Your mouth opens wide against his as he slides home, filling you to the root.

“Fuck, Sam,” you whine, fisting one hand in his hair as he strokes in and out, setting an easy pace that’s far from the usual. “You feel so good like this.”

“Gonna make you cum so hard,” he mumbles against your lips. Grabbing a fist full of hair he tugs your head back, slowly pulling your neck taught. “Look at me.”

“I am,” you promise, eyes opening as his cock moves inside you. It’s a full feeling that sends a tingle up your spine and then fans out in all directions. While you can’t orgasm from just this, the stretch of his shaft feels incredible. For a long time, he fucks you just like this, the weight of him pressing you down into the bed, his chest laying over your beasts, and his mouth sealed to your lips.

While he’s not exactly gentle, he’s also not as rough as he has been in the past. His breath is hot as he buries his face in your neck, grunting and panting with every stroke. Tonight is about pleasure and connection and you’re practically humming on every level as the world fades away and only this moment exists.

Sam props himself up on his arms, breathing heavy as he rocks strong and deep. One hand cups your breast, just holding you as you stare up him, his hair hanging down, swinging with the movement of his body. He dips down for one more kiss before lifting himself up enough to wedge his hand between your bodies in search of your clit. His mouth seals shut in concentration as he thrusts steadily, making gentle sweeps over your bud.

It doesn’t take long, you’re already drenched in pleasure and with the addition of his touch, you swell with satisfaction.

“Can I cum?” you pant, mouth falling open as you hold back, waiting for his permission out of sheer force of habit.

“Yes,” he gasps, pressing forward, holding his cock deep and rubbing your clit and you come undone, clenching and pulsing around him.

“Oh God,” is all you can muster, twitching and jerky underneath him.

He knows what you like, you prefer when he keeps his cock buried in your cunt as you cum instead of fucking you through it. It makes everything better, perfectly stuffed and stretched as you pull him inside, muscles tightening with each wave of pleasure.

He waits for you to come back down, letting you fall limp as he picks up the pace fucking you quick in a half dozen hard thrusts before he cums with a series grunts and groans as he fills your pussy, spilling thick and warm until you feel his seed leaking over your ass.

“Fuck,” he groans, collapsing on top of you.

You wrap yourself around him, holding him tight while he’s still inside you. The first time he tries to pull away you don’t let him so he settles between your hips and you kiss and touch each other until you finally release him.

Rolling off you he lies on his back, breath quick with one hand on his chest.

Everything is sticky, not just the mess between your legs but every inch of your skin is covered in sweat, most of it his. It feels claustrophobic, a rising crescendo emerging from somewhere deep inside. It starts as panic in your gut but twists into something else, an overwhelming sadness. An instant snapshot of your own mortality.

You almost died. Other people did. You were this close. So close.

All you can think about is the vast nothingness of not existing. The concept of simply being snuffed out is overwhelming and terrifying. You want to think about Sam, this new stage of your complicated relationship. You’re desperate to focus on the man lying beside you, the person you’ve missed for months who’s just confessed his feelings for you. But all you see in front of your open eyes is the image of Brent with that gun.

An unexpected sob tears from your throat and you slap a hand over your mouth in surprise. Sam actually jumps, jerking up into a sitting position as you wail, suddenly in hysterics. The panic returns, tightening your chest as your vision blurs and you roll onto your side, curling into a ball.

“Hey,’ his hand is hesitant, patting your hip. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” you blubber, body shaking like a leaf. “I just feel...everything. I can’t breathe.”

“You’re in shock,” he speaks calmly from somewhere above you. He touches you with fleeting hands, out of practice with a gentle touch. “I should have taken you to the hospital. We can go-”

“No,” you sob, reaching out for him. “Just stay here with me. Don’t leave.”

You cling to him, burrowing into his neck as he lies back. His arm hesitating before wrapping around you. This is arguably the most intimate you’ve ever been with each other and it’s the truest test so far. You don’t need a doctor, you need something to ground you, make you feel safe.

And right on cue Sam fills the need as if you’d told him what to do.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he whispers, a big hand stroking up and down your back. “Everything is going to be fine.”

“People died,” you close your eyes, pressing your nose over his rough five o'clock shadow. “I almost died.”

“But you didn’t.” He reaches down, pulling the blanket up over you both. “And you’re not going to, not for a long time.”

“Are you sure you want this?” You ask softly, fingers curling into the sparse hair of his chest. “All I can think is that you’re going to walk away again.”

“I won't,” he breathes, both arms tightening around you. “Try not to worry about that now. There’s going to be plenty of time for us to talk about this. Just close your eyes and try to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You stare across the room at the open door of his closet, listening to his heartbeat.

“Everything is going to be different now,” you whisper.

“I know,” he murmurs, already on the verge of sleep. “That’s how we move forward.”

#control and release #sam winchester smut #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester fanfiction

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