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angryschnauzer · 1 year

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As Sweet As Honey - Chapter 1

Summary: Finding a new life in a new town, you stumble upon a Honey farmer at the town market. You both have pasts that have shaped the way you now live your lives, but can you find a way of putting them behind you to find happiness?

Pairing: ‘Lucas’ Syverson x Female Reader

Fandom: Henry Cavill, Sandcastle (Movie).

Ongoing Genre: Fluff, Angst, and Smut

Warnings: None for this chapter

Here is my masterlist and AO3

Wordcount: 3073

I do not run a tag list, instead please follow @angryschnauzerwrites and put that blog onto notifications, you’ll then get an alert each time i post something new. My AO3 also has my entire back catalogue of stories (going back to 2013).

A Sweet As Honey

Walking slowly through the farmers market you inhaled deeply, the crisp morning air filled with heady scents. From the stall selling baked goods to the one from the fruit farm piled high with berries, you were tempted to buy one of everything. Crafters showed off their wares, hand knitted scarves and carefully crafted leather purses, the array of skills on offer was mind blowing.

Strolling along you turned the corner and saw the bright sign for a honey stand, the retro font proudly proclaiming its name as ‘Akia Honey Farm’. Before you could go any further a familiar face popped into view;

“Hi there Sweetie!”

“Oh hi Mrs Roberts”

The friendly old woman volunteered at the local library, guiding people to the sections they needed, helped at the front desk and was pretty much known as the person that could point you in the right direction of whatever you wanted;

“I had someone asking if i knew of anyone that sold lavender, i didn’t give them your details but took theirs, i know you mentioned that the bushes in your yard are in full bloom”

Taking the piece of paper from her you glanced at it, a single name and number;

“Thanks, i’ll give this Lucas guy a call… the bushes are covered in bees at the moment so they’ll have to wait until they’ve finished feeding”

“I’m sure it’ll be ok, you take care now sweetie!”

Watching the older woman as she walked away she started to chat to other people, you got distracted by a flower stall, being drawn to the bright blooms tied into bunches.

Having made your purchase after much deliberation you recalled your initial intention and approached the honey stand, your attention focused on the produce, so when a soft deep voice greeted you, it made you jump a little;

“Good Morning! Looking for something sweet?”

“OH! Hi!”

The face behind the voice had you mesmerised, the man was tall - at least 6ft - and dressed in soft flannel, blue eyes that sparkled with a hint of mischief and a strong jawline covered in a soft beard. A warm smile spread across his face;

“How are you doing today?”

“Good, great! It's a beautiful morning”

He looked around and smiled again;

“It is indeed, this weather will bring the blossoms out, the bees will love that…”

You were so entranced by the handsome man in front of you, that you’d practically forgotten what you were there for, your brain finally catching up with your heart as you looked down at the produce;

“What would you recommend?”

“Depends what you’re using it for… are you adding it to cereal, or baking?”

“I like to add it to herbal tea, i have herbs in my garden and make my own blends”

He smiled at this and reached over the produce to lift a jar of clear yellow honey;

“You’ll find this the best option then, it’s got a subtle taste and aroma that isn’t overpowering, would you like to try a sample?”

Nodding you watched as he pulled a honey stirrer from an open jar, before nodding to a basket of freshly cut bread to which you picked a piece, holding it out as he drizzled the liquid gold over the soft dough, a small drip landing on your finger. Swapping hands you licked it off your skin before trying it on the bread, the soft flavours hitting your taste buds and making you let out a quiet moan;

“Oh this is so good! I could just lick it off skin , it's so good!…”

The man actually blushed a little at your words and you didn’t know what to say, instead just stuffing the rest of the bread into your mouth and you nodded, muttering like a hamster with its cheeks stuffed that you’d take a jar of it. Noticing that he had other products you moved your attention to those, taking in the beeswax candles before you spotted some waxy fabric squares;

“What are these if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Beeswax Wraps, they’re reusable food wraps, rather than using single use plastic”

“How do they work? They seem really stiff” you frowned at the one in your hand

“Let me show you” he lifted the wrap from your grasp and set an empty bowl on the table in front of you, holding the wrap over it he slowly smoothed it down until it wrapped around the bowl.

“Oh i see! Can i try?”

He passed you another wrap and you tried to mimic his actions, but the fabric wouldn’t behave;

“Why won’t it work?” you muttered to yourself, however you were surprised when he laid his hands over the top of yours;

“You just need to hold it a little longer, let the heat from your palms soften the wax”

You were transfixed by the sheer size of his hands as they covered your own, warm and a little rough from working manual labour, you could have stayed like that all day. When he finally pulled away you had to stop yourself whining at the loss of his touch, but when you looked down your wrap was securely holding around the bowl;

“Oh, it worked!” you picked two fabrics you liked the designs of and handed them over; “Can i take these two as well?”

“Of course, that's great, thank you”

He packed your purchases into a small paper bag with bees printed on it, handing it over as you paid him and he handed you the change;

“Thank you, and if you get a chance please leave a review online or tag us on social media, that’d be great”

You glanced into the bag and saw he’d put a business card in, nodding you smiled at him;

“Absolutely! One last thing, where did you get that bread? Was it at this market?It's amazing!”

The man smiled, the blush returning to his cheeks;

“Actually i baked it myself”

“Oh… Ok, thanks anyway”

As other customers appeared you took your leave, wishing you hadn’t felt quite as awkward around such a handsome guy.

Your walk home was a pleasant one after spending another couple of hours at the market, you lived on the outskirts of town but as the area was known for its hiking trails there was sidewalk well past the town line meaning you didn’t have to walk on the verge of the road. As you strolled along you absentmindedly scrolled through your phone, remembering to pull up the instagram page for the honey seller, and what you saw stopped you in your tracks;

“Good god…” you muttered as you scrolled through his feed. You weren’t sure if it was deliberate, but almost every other post could be considered a thirst trap; from the reel of him using the hand cranked honey spinning centrifuge and the tight white tank top he wore showing off his impressive arms and torso that seemed to be patterned with the occasional scar, to the close up shots of his hands, whether he was gently letting the bees climb over his palms, to the one where he dipped his finger in a jar of honey and sucked it off, his plump lips wrapping around the digit as he held eye contact with the camera.

When you finally looked up from your phone you realised you’d walked past your house, letting out a small laugh you turned and backtracked the hundred feet or so before you finally stepped into your yard, letting the small white gate shut behind you. For a moment you took in the beautiful flowers and herbs you’d so carefully tended, until your attention moved to the long line of Lavender bushes that ran along the back perimeter of your property. They were teaming with bees feasting on the rich nectar, the hum from the insects, a low background noise that added to the calls of the wild birds and the occasional cry of a deer as it strayed from the woodland.

Once you were settled and had packed away your purchases, your flowers happily in water in an old mason jar in the kitchen window you found the slip of paper Mrs Roberts had given you. Glancing at the purple haze the Lavender gave off you dialled the number and listened to it ring, hearing the automated voicemail before you left a message;

“Hi this is a message for Lucas, Mrs Roberts at the library passed me your number that you were looking for Lavender blooms. I have quite a lot in my yard but they are covered in bees at the moment…” you continued the message, leaving your address and suggesting that he come look to see if it's what he was needing before you committed to anything. Hanging up you set your phone aside before making yourself a tea and grabbing the novel you were halfway through, heading out to the wicker chair you had on your little porch at the side of the house, ready to settle in for a while in the sunshine.

Sy finished packing the last of the equipment away, smiling to himself as he saw the number of boxes of product he was loading into the back of his truck were considerably lighter than they had been that morning. With the takings safely locked away in the glove compartment of his truck he sought out the market organiser and paid for the pitch, before calling out for his German Shepherd that had spent most of the day happily snoozing under the table unbeknown to his customers;

“Akia, c’mon Girl!”

As the dog made the rounds of the last few traders that were still packing away in the late afternoon sunshine, Sy checked his phone. Dismissing the social media notifications he saw that he had a voicemail, listening to it as he opened the passenger side door and Akia jumped into the cab;

“Okay, we’ve got a stop to make on the way home, just round the corner from the hives though”

As he pulled up at the small wooden cottage, Sy spotted how it was nicely painted and the gardens tended to perfectly, but if you looked a little closer there were things that needed to be done; shingles loose on the roof, the driveway needed to be re-gravelled, the gutter pipe was loose from the down spout, meaning the rainwater would run down the end of the porch.

“Wait here girl”

The dog didn’t respond, she was back to snoozing again on the wide seats of the truck, Sy gently shut the door so as not to wake his furry best friend. Opening the small wooden gate he noticed that the hinges were worn and that the latch could do with being oiled, but let it quietly close behind him. As he turned the corner of the house two things immediately came into view; the masses of Lavender bushes that filled the senses, and the owner of the cottage quietly sleeping in a chair on the porch, her book hanging from her hand where she’d nodded off mid chapter.

It took him a moment to recognise you, but as the realisation set in he felt a warmth through his body. Curled in your chair with your feet tucked under your legs, your dress had ridden up and he could see the soft curve of your thighs. Without your jacket he could see how your dress clung to your body, accentuating your breasts. Your mouth sat slightly open, your lips plump, and he could imagine himself running his thumb over your bottom lip as he uttered soft praises.

Realising he was now not only staring, but also standing in a strangers garden as she slept, he shook himself;

“C’mon Sy, you’ve seen the Lavender, time to get going”

Quietly leaving the garden he made a mental note to message you back, before driving the short distance home, as it turned out he lived in the plot next door… it just happened that his fields backed onto your property.

Sunday morning rolled around and you were woken by your phone chiming with a text message, reading it through bleary eyes and you saw that it was the guy that wanted some Lavender, suggesting he come over late morning. Typing out a short reply that you were fine with that, you switched to Instagram and sleepily watched the stories, before one came up for Akia Honey;

“Oh what’s he been up to now?”

Tapping through the tags and shares from the previous day's market, you came to a reel he’d posted just a couple of hours earlier, captions showing he was going to be making honey bread. With clips of him mixing the ingredients by hand, before it cut to him kneading the dough wearing what looked like just an apron and jeans. Well, that and a light dusting of flour your fingers just wanted to dust off and feel the heat of his skin beneath. Shaping a loaf it was then captioned ‘time to shape the buns’ and your eyebrows shot up they almost hit your hairline;

“He can shape my buns any time he likes…” you muttered, your vision transfixed as his massive hands shaped the globes of dough, before he placed them onto the baking tray. The reel ended with a shot of the finished loaves, a steaming mug of coffee sat next to them as the morning sunlight streamed in through the window; “Well, I don't know if I now need sex, carbs, or coffee… thank you very much!” you muttered sarcastically, before you finally threw the covers off and headed for the shower.

You were mid way through your 2nd cup of coffee when you heard footsteps on your porch, and a quiet voice saying ‘no, sit, stay’. Peering out of the window you saw Mr Akia Honey outside, to which he saw you and waved.

Stepping out of the side door you smiled;

“Um, Hi…”

“Morning, you called me about the lavender yesterday? Sorry it took so long to come back to you, the market was really busy”

“You’re Lucas?!”

“Lucas Syverson, but just Sy is fine” the man smiled at you and held his hand out to shake, which you cautiously took, hoping as you shook hands you weren’t shaking too much from nerves. At that moment you heard a quiet woof from behind him, and much to your disappointment he withdrew his hand as he stepped aside; “And this is Akia, my trusty bee-hound”

“Bee-hound? That’s a breed? She looks a lot like a German Shepherd to me”

Laughing Sy shook his head;

“No, she’s actually a rescue that I brought back from overseas but i’ve trained her to scent out wild honey, plus her colouring means that ‘Bee-hound’ fits well”

The dog came up to you slowly and sniffed your hand, before she sat in front of you expectantly;

“If you’re comfortable with dogs, she’s waiting for a head pat…”

“Oh! Of course!” stroking the top of Akia’s head she started to wag her tail, before sneezing once and getting up again; “I guess that’s her way of saying that’s enough?”

Laughing, Sy smiled at you;

“That’s about right. So, the Lavender? I swung by yesterday after i’d finished at the market but you were…”

Your heart dropped into your stomach at what he was about to say;

“Oh god, was that when I was asleep on the chair? I’m so sorry about that”

Again with his soft laugh breaking the tension; “It’s fine, it’s your home, it was a long day, it's the weekend. You can do whatever you want, its me that should be apologising for just turning up without calling first”

You both paused for a moment before you nodded to the purple pushes that ran alongside your property boundary line;

“Anyway, how much Lavender did you need? You can take as much as you like”

The pair of you stepped off the porch and onto the soft grass, Akia taking the chance to explore your yard as she sniffed out behind trees and shrubs. Standing a few feet from the purple haze you watched as Sy slowly extended his hand to the sea of blooms.

“Watch out for… bees…”

Smiling at you he turned back to the insect covered flowers;

“Its fine, they’re my bees anyway” you watched as he let the little striped creatures crawl across his hand before buzzing off elsewhere; “I hadn’t realised that your property backs onto mine”

“It does?”

“This is my field” he nodded to the meadow that surrounded your property; “My cabin is just behind those pines” he nodded into the meadow to which you looked into the distance, just able to see the red tin roof of his home; “You see those little blue spots in the distance? They’re the hives”

He turned back to the Lavender and let out a small sigh;

“I’ve never seen blooms quite this vivid. Would you be offended if I made you an offer?”

You couldn’t help it but an eyebrow shot up your forehead, to which Sy turned almost beet red;

“No, no… not that kind of offer… i mean, i’d like to take all of it, the Lavender that is… oh god…” he laughed and raked his hand down his face before taking a deep breath and putting his hands on his hips;

“This crop of Lavender is amazing. I've been looking to add Lavender to a number of products, but it’s so expensive. I was wondering if we could work out a bartering exchange or something? I noticed you have a few shingles loose on the front of your property that I could fix for you, and I can supply you with as much honey as you could ever wish for…”

Standing there you pretended to mull over his offer, knowing full well you would happily accept whatever terms he wanted;

“Throw in a loaf of that amazing bread and you have yourself a deal”

Grinning, he took your hand and shook it;

“Deal”

Ten minutes later you were watching Sy and Akia walk back to their cabin through the meadow, he’d promised to swing by later that afternoon to harvest some of the lavender and bring his tools to fix the shingles on the front of the house. Now you just need to keep yourself busy until then.

Chapter 2 >>>

#syverson x reader #captain syverson #syverson fanfiction #henry cavill

387 notes · View notes

kiribaku-queen · 4 years

Note

Let’s gooo! How about Oikawa x reader, but it’s a secret relationship (married) because she’s a trainer alongside Iwa, but she starts getting shipped with Iwa and pictures of them hugging show up... Basically Oikawa isn’t stupid, he KNOWS they aren’t doing anything behind his back but he does get jealous. So roll around to the Olympics and Iwa and reader are being asked about their relationship and bam Oikawas had enough so he comes over, kisses her and is like this is MY wife so fuck off and stop shipping her with my BESTFRIEND HAHAH

She’s Mine

Pairing: Oikawa x reader

Fluff

Word count: 2.6K

A/N: Thank you for being the first requester ever! I hope this is to your liking. I was actually worried that it wouldn’t be long enough but it actually turned out longer than I was expecting! I tried to make it funny and add Oikawa’s personality to give it that flavour. I’d love to know what you think about it anon! Thank you for your support! <3

“One touch!”

“Chance ball!”

“Get it over!”

The gym was loud with calls from their teammates, every player wanting to play their best even if it was just a practice game. You watched from the bleaches, eyes shining with admiration when you watch a certain brown haired boy spike, earning his team a point.

“Yes!” he cheered for himself and then turned to face you. “(y/n) did you see that?! That was for you baby!” he shouted, making the rest of his teammates laugh and you all red and embarrassed. You just signaled a thumbs up and let them continue with their practice game. You didn’t want to interfere, no matter how much your husband was already interfering.

“Oi, Oikawa! Focus on the game, not your wife! You can do that after!” Iwaizumi scolded him. Oikawa waved him off, his attention back on the game.

“This guy…” Iwa said under his breath. You giggled to yourself and looked at the clipboard in front of you. You were still learning how to effectively position people so that they can play their best against their opponent. And Iwa was there to help you. You guess who could say you were his assistant coach. But it was hard trying to stay professional while your husband is on the team you are coaching.

It was no surprise to the team that you guys were married. Your wedding pictures with them in the background drunk was proof enough. But you had to keep your marriage secret from the rest of the world. And this was purely based on your decision. Oikawa has always been popular, ever since high school. When he became pro, he gained even more followers. You saw it first hand. Some fans could be really obsessive and scary. Though, you knew that most fans would be supportive of you two, but you really didn’t want to risk it. You weren’t scared that they were going to come after you. Actually, you have been preparing for it ever since you got together in case you got exposed early on in your relationship. You didn’t want his fans to freak out and then he would lose his popularity over it. You were so scared that it would permanently damage his career. So you both kept it a secret. For now, at least.

“Good work today!” Iwa shouted. The boys immediately fell to the floor, exhausted. But your hubby didn’t do that. Instead, he ran up to you as soon as he finished practice to embrace you in the tightest hug.

“Babe!” you laughed and tried pushing him away. You pushing away only made him hug you tighter. And since you were trying to run away from him, he added in a few smooches just for fun.

“Okay, okay,” Iwa tugged on Oikawa’s collar to pull him away from you. “You can hug your wife later. Go clean up.” He ordered. With a pout, he left but never failed to look back at you and give you kissy faces. You were also cleaning up, putting the volleyballs away and packing up your things in your duffle bag.

“(y/n),” Iwa called to you and to ran up to him immediately. “What do you think about this line up for the game this weekend?” he asked you. You got close to look at the plan he laid out. As you and Iwa were discussing, a photographer snuck into the private gym and hid in the stands.

“Shit, looks like practice is over,” he cursed to himself. How was he going to get a good scoop now? He looked around the gym. None of the players were around. Just the coaches and maybe a few other irrelevant people. He wanted an exclusive showing how practice was going for the big team, but now he never going to get a good picture in if no one was here. The photographer was about to leave, when out of the corner of his eye, he saw you standing next to the team’s coach. You were wearing the team’s colors and outfit. So you had to be a coach if you were standing close to coach Iwaizumi. You were standing a little too close. And you two were laughing. And play fighting? And flirting? The photographer smirked.

“Now this could be a story,” he said as he snapped a few shots of you and Iwa together. Then he made his way out of the gym, looking at the freshly took pictures for his story.

“Honey!” Oikawa came running with his bag hanging loosely over his shoulder. You ran towards him, meeting halfway and you jumped into his arms. “Ready to go home?”

“Mhm!” you hummed, placing a kiss on his lips. He kissed with equal force, if not harder, and gently set you back down on the ground.

“Still up for lunch tomorrow?” Oikawa turned to his best friend.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll meet you guys there,” he said. Oikawa then wrapped his arm around your waist and held you close.

“Let’s go,” he told you. You looked back at Iwa as you left the gym.

“See you later, Iwa-chan!” you waved at him.

“Mhm, good work today!” he yelled back. He wouldn’t have to yell if Oikawa hadn’t kept you from continuously walking away, further and further from him. But Oikawa was always one to be touchy and protective so it was nothing new. And he was trying to be as lovey-dovey as he could because once they were out in public, absolutely no touching.

The next day, lunch rolls around and Iwaizumi is already waiting for you two at the restaurant you picked out.

“You’re late,” Iwa stated. You sat down, apologizing profusely while your husband just laughs it off.

“Sorry! Someone was in the bathroom too long,” you glared at the man beside you. He scoffed and pointed an accusing finger at you.

“I was ready before you! I was waiting so long, by the time you got out of the bathroom, I had to take a shit,” Oikawa explained himself.

“Well you should have just held it in!”

“I can’t hold my shits in!”

“Well I can!”

“That is so unhealthy,” Iwa chimed in, shaking his head in disappointment. “Why are we even having this conversation?”

“She started it,” Oikawa breathed but oh, you could hear it. And you were about to retort back if it wasn’t for Iwa to stop another oncoming argument.

“Okay, okay. Let’s just order. I’m starving,” Iwa stated, looking over the menu. It took the guys a few minutes to figure out what they wanted but you were stuck on two options. Glancing around the room, you saw another table that had the same order you wanted and boy did it look delicious. The only problem? The portion was gigantic. There was no way you were going to finish all that. So you did what any girlfriend would do.

“Babe, can you share with me?” you asked Oikawa, giving him a pouty face.

“Mm, but I’ll still be hungry later,” he said, giving you an apologetic look.

“But it’s too much food!” you stated, trying to reason with him. If they had a half portion, you would definitely take that. But unfortunately, there was no such thing.

“I’ll eat your leftovers, how about that?” he compromised, making you equally as happy.

“Tank you,” you said in the cutest baby voice that you know he loves. He gushes at how cute you are.

“Anything for you, my love,” he says back in an equally cute tone and touched noses with you. Iwaizumi is just watching this all unfold in front of him. And to think they were just arguing a second ago. He pretends to have a disgusted look on his face but on the inside, he’s happy that you two found each other. Of course, he’s never going to admit that and never will he ever mention it…. EVER.

Time flies when you’re with your two best friends. You guys could talk about everything and anything, arguing back and forth, making fun of each other, having deep talks, you do it all. Sometimes its hard to believe that you guys work together and it makes you cringe how professional you have to be with each other because you’re not used to it at all. You’re already finished with your food because you couldn’t even stomach all that. Now, you were just waiting on the boys to finish up. Especially, Oikawa since he also had to each your leftovers.

“I’ll be back. I’m gonna wash my hands real quick,” Oikawa announces and heads for the men’s room. You and Iwa were left at the table together. You lean your elbows on the table and rest your chin in your hands.

“You think we’re gonna win tomorrow?” you asked Iwa. He’s much more knowledgeable that you were after all.

“Even if we don’t, it’s no big deal. But I want you to take charge tomorrow so you can get the feel and practice,” he explained. You internally, and maybe externally, groaned. You didn’t feel like you were ready and now all the pressure was going to get to your head. “So if we lose tomorrow, it’s all your fault.”

“Iwa!” you smacked his hand across the table. He kept poking fun and laughing at you, loving the reactions you were giving him. If no one knew you guys, they’d think you were dating. And that’s exactly what Mr. Photographer was thinking.

He had just arrived at the restaurant you guys were eating at, watching from behind a few trees with a big camera in hand. You were laughing at something Iwaizumi had said, earning him a few, nice shots. The photographer made sure to get the food presented on the table, as well as a few cute snaps of you two play fighting, laughing and smiling with each other. He was going to wait around longer, in case you two kissed, but he was too eager to write this new news story that he left when he got enough pictures of you two. When the photographer left, Oikawa came back to pay the check and you were on your way out.

It’s the morning of the game and you were fixing up some coffee while Oikawa sat at the dining table, eating the breakfast that you prepared for him. Both of you were minding your own business; you jamming out and singing to your music and your husband reading the news on his phone. Everything was in the ordinary until Oikawa spotted an article that made him do a double take.

[BREAKING] Coach Iwaizumi and Assistant (y/n) Dating!!!

“Honey?” he calls out for you in a questioning tone, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing you. You go over to him, coffee in hand and hug him from behind with your chin resting on his shoulder.

“What is it, love?” you ask and take a sip of your coffee.

“Look at this,” he says and brings his phone up so you can see it as clear as day. “You and Iwa? Dating?! And look at these pictures. What are these?!” You take a closer look and its definitely you and Iwaizumi. But the first picture was from the other day when you were going over positioning. And then the other picture was from yesterday at lunch. Out of context, you guys did look close and lovey-dovey… but it was all false. The more Oikawa looked at these pictures, the more irritated and jealous he got. For heavens sake, he was there both times! And that dumb paparazzi couldn’t see that you and him were together?

“Babe, looks like I’m dating your best friend now,” you laugh but Oikawa didn’t find it funny. He had a big, old pout sitting on his lips and seeing that? You knew it was going to be drama, drama, drama all day.

“Baby, don’t pout. It’s all just rumors. I love you and only you,” you try to cheer him up by giving him as many cheek kisses as you could. Your husband loved that but it didn’t make him feel any better. He should be the one in that article title not Iwa-chan. “It is kind of funny though, I’ll have to let Iwa know later.” You laugh it off and go back to the kitchen. Oikawa laughs too but it was fake and forceful. The moment you went back to the kitchen, his smile drops and a frown is immediately replaced.

It was right before the game and the boys were warming up on the court. The whole ride there, Oikawa was silent. He was acting like a child but you were used to it already that you paid him no mind. You knew he was just going to let it all out during the game. You were standing next to Iwaizumi, watching them practice their spikes. But let’s be honest, you were looking at your dashing husband the whole time. When you got to the venue, you immediately told Iwa the news but he wasn’t surprised because he had already seen it. You both had a good laugh over it and dismissed it. Because what was there to discuss? The whole news was just ridiculous with no proof as backup.

“(y/n),” Iwa came up to you with a clipboard in hand. “Did you-” but before he could finish that sentence, you were both rudely interrupted by a lady shoving a microphone and camera in your face.

“Iwaizumi, (y/n), do you have time for a quick interview?” she asks you. You look up at Iwa because you weren’t used to the sudden aggression. He felt how awkward you were and was the one to speak for the both of you.

“What is it about?”

“You guys look really good together. Is it true that you are both dating?” she asks and shoves the big microphone right in your face.

“No,” Iwa butts in, giving the interviewer and the camera an unamused face.

While Oikawa was focusing on his spikes, he panned over to you just so he could see you. But what he was left a bad taste in his mouth. Interviewers were all in your face. You had a painstakingly uncomfortable expression on your face and he was so tempted to just storm over there and take you away. But professionalism. Remember that. He’s trying so hard to focus back on the warmups but his ears are listening in on your interview.

His ears perk up when he hears that you and his best friend look good together. He looks back in your direction and you were being peer pressured into telling the truth and just being bombarded with unnecessary questions. That’s it. He’s had it. You were his and no one else’s.

“Come on, (y/n). Give us a statement,” the interviewer was coming into you.

“Uhm,” you felt yourself literally backing up. The answer was said to them multiple times but they kept pushing and pushing. It started to get suffocating. And no matter how many times Iwa tried to calm down the situation, it felt like it was just getting worse. All that seemed to disappear when a hand grabs your waist from behind, spins you around and a pair of lips gently cover yours. Your eyes widen in surprise as you see Oikawa passionately kissing you. In public. And on the big screen. A wave of gasps spread throughout the venue and even the interviewer was in shock. When he lets go, you are just all around flustered and Iwa is standing on the side rolling his eyes.

“Please stop pressuring MY WIFE. And please stop shipping her with my dear friend because she’s mine,” Oikawa said to the lady and straight at the camera with a polite smile but threatening eyes.

“And you!” Oikawa dramatically points at his friend and sticks up both middle fingers. “She’s mine so you can fuck off!”

“I don’t even want her, dumbass,” Iwa informs him of the obvious. Oikawa walks off with your hand in his, proud to finally let the world know that you were his and his alone.

#oikawa x reader #oikawa fluff #haikyuu oikawa #oikawa fic #oikawa torū #oikawa oneshot #haikyuu imagine #oikawa imagine #haikyuu oneshot #haikyuu fluff #anon request

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stopeatingwhales · 4 years

Text

about a girl (pt.2) x kurt cobain

hi guys :) so sorry for my inactivity, but i’m here finally lmaoo, this is a part two to my kurt fic that i wrote about a month ago, due to school its been much harder for me to keep up writing as usual, but i will absolutely try my best to finish your guys’ requests soon! anyways, hope you enjoy this <3 Pairing: pre-bleach era kurt x reader

Warnings: nothing :)

Word count: 2.167

Requested by anon (the second part was my idea, but i felt like i should still credit the anon for giving me the idea for this x)

༉‧₊˚✧

The wind exhales short, breezy waves as you lay there, engulfed in your dreams. From the night succeeding to your outstanding performance, you were requited to a favourable hibernation which by admiring you, was needed for not only the sum of a few hours. Your solemn features are painted still, the only movement stimulating from your body is heavy breaths accompanied by a light snore from time to time. I question whether it's righteous of me to allow my eyes to adorn themselves in your serene features, yet I simply cannot stop myself. I find it surreal to witness you in such fragility; for all the pain and sorrow you’ve had to experience in your life, it’s almost like you shouldn’t be sleeping in such a tranquillic state. I wonder if you prefer sleeping than being awake, I wonder if you think it’s a chore to get out of bed. Does the world haunt you? Every click, flash, snap of a camera, does it devastate you? The image you portray to the world is magnificent, yet flawed. It’s almost as if you’re hiding something, yet you don’t care what others think of you, so you do whatever you please. My heart skips a beat every time you shift slightly, cradling your body in the duvet. I advert my stare to your arms, sculpted perfectly in God’s chamber, the lankiness of your bones withering an appearance of discrepancy. You’re not like the rest of them. Your steady breaths softly ease in and out of your flawless torso, your hair so impeccable it looks untouched even when you’re shifting around in your slumber - the hair you willingly dyed and strained with a flavoured drink mix. As I admire you, sleeping beauty, it reminds me of how lucky I am to have you in my life - regardless of where we stand. When you’re awake, you’re the only thing keeping me sane during the day; spending even just a day without you would feel as if I had lost my legs, lost what’s kept me steady for all these draining years. In all my time of knowing and understanding you, have you never not known what to say, for you have such a way with words, it's unfathomable. You carry a sort of intelligence that no one can seem to obtain; you speak words out of a bible and it’s ironic I say that, Mr ‘God is gay’, but it’s true. You’re the reason I wake up in the morning. You’re like a hard candy, sweet and delicate, although the texture is very hard making it a burden to get through to you. I want to taste you on my tongue every morning, if you would like me to be honest. I crave for things as little as your scent even before I’ve risen from the cushion. Your grace must be envied by the heavens; there is and will never be anyone as alluring as you, not that I’m surprised.

As my eyes continue to wander on him, a sudden stretch of his arms and a small groan echoing out of his vocal chords results in my body almost instantaneously sitting up. I watch him as he blinks his eyes a few times, his vision still not clear enough. “Good morning,” he whispers, his arms thrown to the skies; he’s like a baby, reaching out for their mother in the early hours of daylight, moaning and whining for affection, warming my heart with soreful ease. Quickly taking note of the small clock situated beside him that I was aware of for the many hours I had been trapped in thought, it read a bright and early 11am. My stare continues to linger onto him as I watch him shifting around, the heart situated in my upper chest now beating as fast as drum solos in heavy metal songs. A short silence stood in between both presences; I assume that he hadn’t taken note of my pondering state adjacent to him, though was that idea contradicted by his light greeting. “Did you sleep well?” he chirps, now using both palms to rub his what-seemed-like itchy eyes.

Now what is humorous from this scenario is that he asks this as if it means nothing; a simple conversation starter it may be, though, to me it means so much more hearing those light words roll off his tongue, compared to if someone else had said it, even if it was in the exact same moment living right now. A whiff of bad breath hits my face as I laugh lightly, shaking my head in a sort of admiration towards the man lying down ahead of me. He again blinks a few times, now in attempt to adjust the bright scenery to his view. For a couple seconds the room is frozen, Kurt’s alteration in position to sitting up becoming the only sound ringing through both our ears. As I find my gaze glued onto him once again, I subconsciously repeat the question he asked me, this time directed for him. However, from what I’ve seen, I’m certain he slept wonderfully.

A tired chuckle escaped his mouth. “I asked you first,” he mutters, the morning rasp still prominent in his vocal chords. This makes me smile. The raw, genuinity forwards the idea of realism that this moment was actually happening, coming like a pinch snapping someone out of their daydream, though my thoughts will never be known to understand how I was able to spend time with such a man. “I slept well, though.” he adds, a warm smile playing on his lips.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I answered, my face now being cradled by my palms.

I now feel the stare of Kurt burn onto my face. “Why didn’t you wake me up?” he asks, a hint of annoyance laced in his words. “We could’ve stayed up together,”

A small chuckle breezes out of my nose. How considerate, how caring must you be to, even when you have performed such an exasperating gig, stay awake with me because of one night of my mind’s continuous ambles? For all I know, Kurt wouldn’t sleep for days if it meant I would be in absolute glee. It’s those sorts of traits in those who are lost which draw you towards them becoming the significant other to stay with for life. It’s that sense of attachment, connection you hold with someone, so strong that you would give up the roof over your head if it meant a smile to be drawn on their face. ”You looked so peaceful in your sleep,” I replied, staring directly into his loveable eyes, the shade of blue brightening as the sunlight melted onto his face. His hair was now a little more messier compared to how it was less than ten minutes ago, and the urge of me running my fingers through his golden locks only seemed to grow even more as time passed on. For a moment I decided to hold back my words, inhaling sharply to gain composure to my fatigued state. “I didn’t want to disturb you,”

Kurt sighed - knowing that he needed sleep more than anything, though a hint of sadness dwindled in his stomach, his mind conflicted from the idea of me drowning in worry as I tended to do when I couldn’t sleep. Reaching his arm towards the table sat beside him, his fingers got lost in between the opened packet of cigarettes that slept reverently on the white wood, grabbing a random one at choice before placing it in a loose grip between his lips. With the known information that you need a torch to light a cigarette, I threw the one I had on his lap, a small laugh escaping my lips for no apparent reason. Actually no, there was a reason. “Who the fuck smokes first thing in the morning?”

Before he torched the lighter, he stopped, his piercing blue eyes locking in contact with mine. “Me, I do,”

Another laugh tempted to flee itself from my throat, yet I held it back. If you would’ve said that to me the first night I met you, in that small, cramped room, littered with amps that Krist had dragged me into going in to listen to your material, I would’ve scoffed at your blown attitude towards such a random question. Watching you now as you’re admiring the cancer stick with pure attachment, my mind begins to wander over such a topic. I look at you and see a troubled, young kid who just wants love and affection because he seemingly never got enough from the people who designed his childhood; for you haven’t grown up since then. Perhaps in size and features, yes (and definitely the fact that children do not smoke), but hidden inside you is the same boy that was hidden away all those years ago - following onto your parents’ divorce. You say you’ve never been happy since then, you’ve never been able to think optimistically, and maybe you haven’t. Maybe the smile you give to me isn’t genuine; with continuous assurance I’ll consider it to be. Maybe I’ll never heal those bruises that were once your only source of living, and that’s okay, if you’re able to cope with the imprints. If you’re the Kurt Cobain that prefers smoking than having a normal breakfast, so be it; I’d give up my heart for you, and if anything, you’ve already stolen it. Words merely brush the surface of my adoration for you, and sometimes I believe that I’m just lying to myself, that nothing I’m saying in my head is true. Yet, as every minute, every second passes throughout the day, even in silent, contented situations with ceilings bright as yellow from the smoke like these, everything I say to myself simply strengthens in morality. My sweet, you deserve more than one could wish for. You deserve things that this world cannot give you, yet all you believe is that you are worthless. If only you saw yourself in my eyes, maybe then you’d realise, realise the impact you’ve sincerely doused onto me and my mind, you’ve got the moves to empower a generation and perhaps hundreds more - even if you don’t see that yet.

“Give me one,” He hands me one, the strong gusts of cloud escaping his mouth creating a want for the rough substance to coat my throat in brutal ways; even if it’s slowly murdering me. It was a murderous addiction, nicotine, yet it kills us all, our addictions; and we are too blinded by the goodness it seemingly overshadows what we force to neglect in our minds - the bad in it all. We become so unbelievably enthralled by the pain we choose to accept it; we believe it is favourable, not disastrous and catastrophic. Drugs are frowned upon dearly, as they should be, but once you’re stuck, it takes more than simple courage to escape out of the deadly grip it chokes you in. Placing the cigarette in between my lips, identical to how he had just done, I reached my arm out to obtain the lighter that was in my clutch merely seconds ago, swiftly lighting it with one hand. As I breathed out the first tar-filled cloud from my cigar, I fixed my gaze onto him once again, sucking in my top lip as I allowed the droplets of ash fall onto my shirt. “I know I always say this,” I began as I studied his features, trying to identify any solemn, unpleasant emotions, noticing that there was none at all for the time being. “You’re going to make it big one day, I’m now for certain you’re going to take over the world,”

His eyes now locked into mine, a short chuckle leaving his throat as he blew out an even bigger gust of smoke. “I don’t want that,”

Smiling, I took hold of my cigarette and inhaled deeply, holding it in my mouth until my body was unable to carry on without oxygen for longer - not that the air in the room was even oxygen; it was more corrosive chemicals than anything else, yet we’ve become so dependant on a small roll of tobacco to guide us to a path of slow death, its unnoticable. I watched as Kurt’s eyes drifted on to admire the elusive sunlight gleaming through the window, the whiffs of grey contrasting the happiness that was attempting to journey itself into the silent room. No matter how many times I may tell, his belief that he will never be as big as acts like the Sex Pistols will empower over anything I endevour on to phrase. It was inevitable though, whether he dreamt of it or not, that they will be big, bigger than anything they’ve ever seen. The path bridging onto it may cause destruction, heartbreak, and even more addiction, but the future is never in our hands - only until it is close enough for the present to capture it. Time is simply a mantelpiece, the light eventually burns out when there’s not enough coal to keep it going. You continue to refill it as the days go by until you simply cannot any longer, which is what all youths fear and avoid. Surprisingly enough, Kurt wasn’t one of the many crowds in devastating apprehension; he wanted to burn out more than anything else, for there were only small things keeping him going, or perhaps he was waiting for a longer, more agonizing death, hence the many packets of cigarettes vanished in a day.

There was nothing left to say in the room; there was no need for a response - it was only going to result in the same bicker as it resulted in many a time. The room, now physically undergoing a change in colour from the smoke, held a significant ambience, one so serene it left you more relaxed than the aftermath of a crazy high in drug use, though sometimes the relaxation is more pain than anything else. Even when my mind was so consumed in ideation earlier in the morning, my thoughts were louder than ever in this given moment. My mind was mulled over the concept of Kurt and stardom. He would never like it, nor does he even want it. It’s humorous to an extent; how much authenticity can one acclaim, to not even look up to the sugar-coated concept called ‘fame’? You’re not like the others. You don’t want fame, you want to create music. And in all honesty, I wish I lie through my teeth whenever I mumble those encouraging words of how you’re going to make it big; I can’t stand the idea of losing you, but like I said, it's inevitable, one day simple moments like these will just be memories to look back on when you’re old and laughing about your previous attachment to drugs. Maybe you won’t look back on times like these however, maybe you’ll remember the more vivid, buzzing moments like your first gig as Nirvana, and maybe I won’t remember this either, maybe these moments aren’t to be remembered, to be lived in instead. If only you knew how much I loved you, would you be surprised that I haven’t ruined my life because of it. You mean more to me than the stars mean to the night sky, more than a memory means to a person’s mind. It hurts my heart knowing I can’t heal you, though I dream that one day, you’ll wake up, just like you did today, turn to me and say, ‘I’m happy,’ because that’s all I ever dream of you to be.

#kurt cobain x reader #nirvana #dave grohl #krist novoselic #kurt cobain #band imagines #my writing #smut #fluff #angst #grunge #90s #music #imagines

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sooibian · 4 years

Text

The Spy Who Loved Me

gif credits @byunvoyage

Pairing: Spy!Baekhyun x Assassin!Reader ft. Chen, Chanyeol

Description: It’s an obsessive cat and mouse chase

Themes: Dark comedy, angst, heavily inspired by season one of Killing Eve

Warnings: Violence, strong language

Word Count: ~2.8k

A/N: This one-shot comes during a very busy season for me so if you can make time for feedback, I’d be very grateful. Thanks :)

———————————————————————–

It’s the way light escapes their eyes.

Fear. Despair. Hope. Then…nothing.

They hope to be spared. I have a family…what about my children…please…why are you doing this to me…. The utterly foolish ones even offer you money. This imbecility makes the corners of your mouth curl upwards - especially when they’re out of breath from running or begging or whatever it is that gets their heart rate up. Eh. Factor in some cardio before dissolving into a permanent state of slumber, maybe? Poor things always mistake the twitch of your lips for impending clemency…what they don’t know is that it’s always been the breathy ones that peak your excitement.

There’s not a single hit you’ve regretted.

Mostly because you don’t bother with the futility of why. They give you a name and you jet off. To you, it’s really a fun job involving travel, costumes, languages, a hefty allowance, sticking pointy objects in the right places and theatrics. You’re not one to just do your job and slip away quietly. No arterial air embolisms, no unidentifiable fumes or poisons. No boring and discreet. Where’s the fun in that? Flamboyant is your middle name. Every assassination is a heroi-comical poem for you - killing an asthamatic nez with a fatal concoction of perfume or a feeble-hearted fetishist with clamps that turned out to be a wee bit too intense for him.

You’re good at this. No, infact, you’re the best there is, the best there was, the best there ever will be.

“The NIS has deployed a team of four to hunt you down because of the mess you left in Beijing. So you’ll be working with a team now. No more flying solo.” Your handler Chen says nonchalantly.

Shit.

Beijing. “Make it look like a suicide”, had been the directive. The assignment Kasia had been put under witness protection after you’d murdered her mafia boyfriend. She was in a hospital - injured and deranged from the shock of it all, watched over by armed men. Things obviously didn’t go as planned and the security detail bloodbath was, well, collateral damage.

You saunter towards Chen with an intentional swing in your hips, a pout on your lips. You sit a little too close to the astute man, almost purring with seduction, “NIS, you say. Give me a name."

“Byun Baekhyun.” His lips curl into a cat-like smile as he stealthily adds a foot long distance between the both of you.

“Never heard of him”, you say neutrally, gliding closer to his stoic form.

“He was a security officer before this. A nobody. In fact, he was fired right after the Kasia debacle in Beijing. She was his responsibility.” Letting out an exasperated sigh, he gets up on the pretext of fetching a glass of water.

“Why the sudden promotion, then?”

“A change of jobs. He’s heading a team…Operation Jinseong, they call themselves. Apparently, he’s the only one who believed that the murders have all been executed by a woman. If they can get to you, they can get to them. The organization. This conjecture has seemed to have impressed a higher up. After firing him, they swept his computer and found hoards of theories and all the intelligence he could gather about the faceless demon that’s actually…you. An insider thinks he’s fascinated. And a little cuckoo.” Chen’s laughter is throaty and taunting.

He takes a sip of water and places the glass carefully on the counter, eyeing you the entire time. Chen. It’s a nom de plume. He’s a ghost - a shadow of a shadow, if you will. You know nothing about Chen but you know better than to snoop around. He’s always been affable yet distant, but he has this maddening habit of scrutinizing people. The changes in the expression, the dilation of the pupils. The man doesn’t miss a beat. And he stares unapologetically. You wonder what he thinks when he looks at you. You wonder how he feels. Disgusted? Lustful? Terrified?

He wants to know everything that’s behind those vacant eyes. With him, you feel disrobed.

“You’re only as good as your last”, he says finally, in his threateningly soft voice, thrusting a thumb drive into your hand. But you don’t feel threatened. The truth is, you feel nothing at all.

He’s at the door when you exclaim, “You never have sex with me!” Feigning annoyance.

He laughs and states matter -of-factly, “I’m married”, before closing the door behind him.

Like that’s ever stopped a man before.

***

Byun Baekhyun.

You search the thumb drive and a fresh faced man with luminous eyes smiles at you from the screen. His arm is wrapped around a slender, honey-skinned woman with big hair and big teeth. They look like an advertisement for home buyers.

A wave of recognition floods your mind.

He was there.

He was there at the Beijing scene. The beautiful man who helped you with the coffee maker in the hospital. The very same coffee you doused barista Kasia with.

There’s an inexplicable swell in your chest.

You’re no team player.

The undertaking with your ex and her boyfriend didn’t go as planned. Chen should’ve known.

After a disagreement, you instigated her to off him, your shin getting injured in the scuffle. Then you ran her over with the jeep - once, twice. The third time was just to be sure. This commotion affected the escape of the NIS Agent you were after.

The mole that ratted out Baekhyun’s Operation Jinseong.

The murders of your “colleagues” you could manage to explain - you’d tailored them to look like accidents. However, the assignment’s escape was sure to reflect poorly on you.

You’re only as good as your last.

The Agent scurries across a field of dead grass towards the feeder road, putting considerable distance between him and an injured you, where someone sat waiting anxiously in the driver’s seat.

Oh, Baekhyun…

It’s the first time you look into each other’s eyes, the moment stretching between you. It is like standing on the ledge of a skyscraper. With the wind in your hair, the world at your feet but in this space exists trepidation. A fear of falling.

Your gun wielding arm suddenly feels too heavy and your legs threaten to give up on you. Your heart rate escalates as the hot embers of his gaze gloss over the stretch of your skin.

The mole slips into the backseat of Baekhyun’s compact Kia Morning as you continue to take aimless shots at his vitals - eyes still intertwined with Baekhyun’s.

What good was a mole to the NIS?, you wanted to ask. Especially one that looked like a sewer rat.

You were only doing them a favour.

Aiming the gun at Baekhyun, you fire, only to realize he isn’t fearful or panicky. On the contrary, there is a sense of purpose in his eyes as well as something you could only identify as a glimmer. A spark.

Even from a twenty foot distance you can tell Byun Baekhyun is in awe of you.

This…thing…this electricity surges through your veins and you sprint towards your jeep - as fast as your good leg could carry you.

Oops. You didn’t mean to run over her for the fourth time.

***

Reverse. Acceleration. A few well thought out turns and your jeep is hardly a hundred meters behind Baekhyun’s car. You continue to fire and he continues to dart, swerve, sidestep. A good driver.

Suddenly, his car comes to a screeching halt.

He steps out of his vehicle amidst shrill cries of protest from the mole in the backseat and you follow suit.

Weaponless, crouched, he inches towards the gun pointed at him.

“I mean no harm”, despite his scared posture, his voice is confrontational. “Leave the man alone. He has a little girl.”

Oh, Baekhyun…

You smile at him. He smiles back.

A genuine smile. Like the one your father used to give you when he saw you relishing ice-cream as…a little girl.

In a flash, you aim the nozzle at your temple and Baekhyun cries out a loud, pained, “NO!”

Laughing, you lower the gun and fire at his feet. He ducks.

You vanish.

It was exhilarating to use the alias ``Mrs. Byun ” for your next job especially since the man and his giant partner have been on your tail for three months now.

But, maybe, you shouldn’t’ve stolen Baekhyun’s luggage as soon as he landed in Tokyo to investigate the mysterious death of a Chinese colonel. He and his team knew perfectly well whodunnit. But one can’t bring faceless demons to book now, can they?

Who knows how this easily distracted giant of a man is supposed to protect Baekhyun if it should ever come to it. He couldn’t even watch his luggage for a measly five minutes.

***

You watch Baekhyun and the giant from your apartment overlooking the crime scene. He looks frazzled and the giant slightly apologetic. ‘You’ll have your bag back soon, baby’, you whisper, sucking on a bubblegum flavoured lollipop.

Thirty minutes roll by and the investigation seems to be heading nowhere. Bored out of your wits, you slump into your bed and toy with the contents of Baekhyun’s bag - shirts, slacks, underwear, toiletries.

Dull, tedious, and soul-destroyingly unimaginative.

Save for one green scarf.

In a sea of monotones, the scarf stands out. Demanding attention. Fluttering your eyes shut, you slowly bury your face in it - your senses entirely enveloped in his heady scent.

***

“Excuse me, if you don’t mind me asking, where did you get that scarf from?”

Day two in Tokyo. You’ve been following Baekhyun (and, by extension, Chanyeol). Studying him. It was like adopting Chen’s personality. Apart from the occasional loud laughter, his demeanour, you learn, is self-effacing, gracious, and polite. He’s a picky eater who only eats to live and not the other way round. He’s also very observant and intuitive. But not enough to know that he’s being watched.

Also, he’s thinking. Constantly. He’s thinking about you.

“Excuse me?”

Chanyeol asks again - large, deep brown eyes focused on your neck trying to stop you from getting onto the same train as Baekhyun.

Very subtle.

“It’s from my mother’s store. I could give you the address if you like”, smiling, you crane your neck to look into his disturbed eyes as you both pretend not to know each other amidst a swarm of dog-tired people on the platform at six in the evening.

You slip into the crowd but the oaf chooses to follow.

What does he think he’s doing following an assassin through a strange city! Unarmed.

Forty minutes elapse and he continues to chase you through the streets of Tokyo, keeping up with your brisk pace. With your easy charm, you breeze into the club called Camelot and wave Chanyeol goodbye as he’s stopped by the bouncer and sent to the back of the line. His eyes are dark with a murderous rage.

The club is loud, dark…stuffy - the air thick with over-the-counter happiness. Definitely not to your taste but you stay to give Chanyeol a head start. He’s pissed you off and he’ll pay for it later. Not today.

You really didn’t want to upset a tired Baekhyun. At least not until you feel a beefy hand weigh down your shoulder.

“I didn’t want to do this”, you rise on your tippy toes and whisper into his ear before sticking a short blade into the side of his stomach. He’s heaving as you stare into his round, childlike, startled eyes while supporting his stumbling weight and stabbing him repeatedly until he finally collapses.

You leave him to bleed out on the dance floor and on your way out, you grab the arm of a medium-built man, your blood-dipped, glistening lips stretched into a lascivious smile.

“Let’s put you in a costume first”, you say to the unassuming moron, excitably thinking of Baekhyun’s dull shirts.

Grief draws people closer, your grandmother used to say, every time someone died of sickness in that impoverished little village of yours.

Baekhyun’s grieving the oaf who was slowing him down. He’s looking for company. So..he’s snooping.

He’s in your apartment.

The “trusting old lady” - your next door neighbour, who actually works for the same organization as you handed him the key exactly as instructed. You’d been expecting him, this meeting was long overdue. But you wait in the cute little French cafe just around the corner - watching him scout out your apartment through your phone, while devouring a Charlotte Russe cake - dressed pretty in a flouncy pink dress.

He’s careful not to make a squeak. Walking on tippy toes, running his beautifully slender fingers along the drapes, the furniture, the walls as he goes. Your skin tingles all over. Oh, how you wish to be a piece of furniture in the moment. Only Baekhyun could make you want to be something muted and inanimate. Furniture, mattress, drapes.

He saunters slowly to your blackwood Georgian cupboard. The one you use for your wigs, costumes, weapons, and his own green scarf. He wears the scarf around his neck, ruffles the costumes but he’s gentle with the wigs. Stroking and caressing.

From the drawer he picks out a .38 and shoves it in his waistband. Right behind his hip bone.

Oh, Baekhyun…

Pretty boys and their dangerous toys.

He finds himself in the kitchen. The revolver seems to have straightened his spine and suffused his step with a very welcome spring. Mi casa es su casa.

In the fridge he finds exactly what he’s supposed to. No food. Only a dozen bottles of celebratory champagne of the best kind. What comes next from him is a scornful snicker which fills your mouth with a bitter taste. The Charlotte Russe doesn’t look very appetizing anymore. He draws a bottle out of the fridge, studies it and smashes it onto the floor. Then another, then another until all the bottles are reduced to shattered glass dripping in gold strewn across your kitchen floor.

Playtime is over, Baekhyun.

You make a run for your apartment.

***

He’s exhausted.

Breathless, air tousled, shirt crumpled, eyes droopy, beads of sweat lined across his forehead and upper lip - standing clueless, smack-dab in the middle of the mess he’s made - clothes torn off their hangers, furniture overturned. You can’t recognize your upscale Seoul apartment anymore. Careful around the glass, you make your way towards his still frame, withdraw the weapon from his light, jaded grasp.

You take his hand in yours and lead him to your bedroom - which is entirely ransacked just like the rest of your house. Save for the bed.

He lies down on his back and his first words are, “God, I’m tired.”

“Me too”, you say, as you lie facing him, “Are you wearing the cologne I gave you?”

You’d sent him a bottle of cologne along with the bag you had nicked in Tokyo, as a token of appreciation. It was handcrafted to smell like power.

He hums, turning to the side to face you, nestling into the depths of your irises.

“Are you going to kill me?” He asks, eyeing the revolver in your hand.

Your heart falls to pieces at the ache in his voice.

“No”, you say simply, tossing it to the side.

“Really?”

“I promise.”

Relief ripples across his soft, boyish features smoothing the lines of worry as it goes.

“You’re all I think about”, he says, studying your face. And you’re left wondering yet again, about his thoughts. His feelings.

“So you trash my apartment?” You sound as gentle as you can. But if you’re honest, you don’t even have to try that hard.

“I lost my job, my partner, my wife left me, and I even lost my sanity because of you.”

With his dulcet touch, he traces along the edge of your lips.

“Fair enough. I think about you too. I mean, I to you masturbate a lot.” You say as your thumb rubs his cheek lightly.

He lets out a loud, embarrassed giggle that makes him look a decade younger.

“Too much?” You ask, apprehensively.

“No, I just wasn’t expecting that.”

And with that you’re both inching closer to each other, like magnets.

Baekhyun’s soft gaze darkens and simultaneously you feel something sharp poking at your stomach.

“You can’t do it”, you wrap your hand around the blade, almost mocking him. He’s too nice for something this abominable.

“I can”, he whispers, his eyes still nestled in yours, as he plunges the blade deeper, tearing you apart.

He places a chaste, soft kiss on your forehead.

Fear. Despair. Hope.

“Sorry, baby.”

Continuation - My Lovable Curse

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yangrr · 4 years

Text

dear no one [q.kun]

⇾ pairing : qian kun x reader

⇾ summary : love is worth the wait,especially when it’s your favourite food store aunty’s grandson

⇾ wc : 2k

⇾ genre/warnings : implied soulmate! au,inspired by Tori Kelly’s Dear No One | mild swearing

+if i may add,i want to dedicate this to @nctream who has always been the writer whom i admired for the longest time.thank you for being the sweetest person i came across this hellsite,though i never actually communicate with you but you’re so incredible and i hope you know that.much love!

All your life,you’ve wanted nothing more than to meet the one,the soulmate who was allegedly entwined with your soul before your time on Earth even began ticking.Everyone has someone,it was just a matter of time before you meet them.But that was also exactly why you were impatient,counting down daily on the crossed-out boxes of your yearly calendar,most of your friends had met theirs by now.Some married,some even with kids---or just happily dating.All but you.

It sucked really.

Going to work in the wretched company every day was like a punch to the guts when everyone around you was all about love.Mrs Kim on the marketing department always showed off her vacation photos--it was always jolly and exciting,grinning faces of her twin boys seemed to mock you for your lack of relationship.And there was also Mr Lee,a young intern who was at least 4 years younger than you but had already found his one and only.

And how about Mr Park,the old bumbling guy nearing his retirement age?His sweet plump wife never forgets to pack him lunch,constantly reminding him to wear his tweed coat in case he catches a cold in the draughty security room.

What about you?No one to come home to,no one packing your lunch or was there a partner for holidays.Twenty-three pushing twenty-four with no felicity in love.Lady Luck never smiled at you much,you could say.Maybe it’s your resting bitch face,it could probably scare off the fortune bearing deity and leave her quivering in her robes.

The day was cold as it is,heavy rain started its relentless onslaught on the wooden roof of the rickety store off the main road.You were craving hot soup after work and thought it would be a good idea to drive off course to visit the dear old lady who ran the shop on her own.She was an amiable creature,forever ready to offer a radiant smile that let her old beauty trickle through.The granny would probably be one of the few people you were genuinely nice to,which explains your big chunk of discount every time you stopped by.

But it wasn’t a good idea of course.Nothing you ever did was a good idea.

Your engine couldn’t start up after running in the rain for your car.Other than damaging the leather seats of your vehicle,your heels sunk deep into the slushy mud and broke right when you yanked upwards to get it out.Groaning in frustration,your fingers latched onto the tresses of your wet hair,the half-cracking nail getting caught between them.You forgot to cut them last night,and now it had turned its head back to bite you in the arse.

The you that made your way back into the shop shocked the small-framed lady,your disheveled appearance a huge contrast to the sleek you that had left the store a few minutes ago.You probably gave her little heart the dose of pump she never needed.

“Dear,what happened?”She exclaimed,scurrying over to you with two thick towels. “You’ll have to dry off,or you’ll be sick!”

She sat you down on the chair behind the counter,while you attempted to shield your ratty image from the prying eyes of her customers.It didn’t really work though,they still locked glances on you,curious and hushed gossip brewing among the group of malevolent looking ladies who look upon you with their beady eyes.

“Come,”She urged,ushering you towards the baby blue curtains that led into the kitchen,maybe.There was a “STAFF ONLY” hanging above the entrance,and the sound of pans clanging gave it away.

“Qian Kun!”Her frail voice shrieked in Mandarin, “Qian Kun,where are you,you lazy boy,”Tugging you by the arm,she led you further into the cooking area.The smell of cooking was making your full stomach rumble again,and you once again longed for the hot herbal soup with noodles. “Are you on your phone again?”

“I’m not lazy!”Was the reply.A fairly built man emerged out of nowhere,eyebrows furrowed in confusion when his eyes rested on your straggly form. “Who’s this?The new cashier?”He queried,wiping his wet hands on the rag by the table.

You couldn't answer,your usually sharp tongue felt prickly and numb.You only stared back absent-mindedly,but he looked about as enamoured by you like you had been by him.

You knew the old lady told him something,and with the way she was yelling at him,you figured he was too zoned out to concentrate.Both of you tore your gazes away from each other when his grandmother reached up to his broad shoulders to give him a good shake.

“You never listen to me.” She grumbled,huffing indignantly. “All I told you to do is to lend them something to wear,and drop them back.”

The granny gave Kun a small shove, “Naughty boy,and you were so cute back then.”She muttered,retying her apron hastily and hurrying away to wait on the unattended counter.

“I’m still cute now.”He mumbled,looking sheepish in front of you. “I-uh-I apologise,that was embarrassing.”

“No worries.”You let out a small giggle,waving his comment off. “Your grandmother is cute.”

The corners of his mouth pulled up in an amused smile,while he gestured for you to follow him. “I hope you can fit into my granny’s clothes,they are a little old-fashioned but I think you can make it work.”

The door behind the pantry led up to a stairway of wooden steps,and then into a fairly warm lounge.There was a small couch,and a bed accompanied with a shelf of books and board games.You supposed that this could be their resting place of some sort when they closed temporarily for the day,lunch break, or whenever someone feels a little out of it.

“This place looks really comfortable.”You remarked,shifting your black button-up from sticking onto your skin.It clung on like leeches,making this whole ordeal more unpleasant than it already is.The nail was giving you excruciating pain,the shard of the broken end digging vehemently into your fingertips.

“It is,my granny made sure it’s the best condition so all the employees would feel comfy here.” Kun rummaged in the closet to the left of the bed,fishing out a pair of loose black pants and a plain white tee. “Here,she didn’t leave any shirts here,but I hope you’re okay with mine.”

You nodded thankfully,reaching out to take them from him.The shirt smelled nice,your nose picking up on the lavender-scented detergent wafting from the material.

“Then I’ll drive you home?” The warm tone of his voice felt homely, sending hot waves across your body,making you feel like a lightheaded teenager talking to their crush for the first time,tongue heavy with nerves.But yet at the same time,the attraction that bloomed in your chest felt more matured and controlled than the seventeen-year-old you,age muffling the lovesick squeals that you would’ve let out when you’re alone in your room.

You had felt something when you first landed eyes on him,a familiar feeling stemming that made it impossible to wound your mind around.Maybe it was your affection deprived self that was being delusional,and it would pass like one of your many fleeting crushes.

But you couldn’t help but let your mind wander,thinking about what if he was the one you’ve been waiting for?

If there was a chance to hit the pause button,you would, in half a heartbeat.The quiet fragments of conversation shared brought you a sense of ease that you’ve never felt in a long time,with white noises and soft tunes of guitar strumming playing from the car radio was almost ethereal.The drizzle of the rain incorporated flavour to the moment like the topping to your favourite dessert,it was the perfect addition that completed the time shared.

“I’ll drop by tomorrow to return the clothes.”You said,unbuckling the seatbelt as he stopped in the lobby of your apartment complex.

“Alright,I guess I’ll see you tomorrow again?”Kun smiled,the kind that made your organs go mushy and all gooey,like someone stuck a ladle in you and began to stir aggressively.

“For sure!Thank you for the lift.” You limped out of the car slowly,careful to not cause more impairment to your shoes.You didn’t fancy going up the elevator looking like someone ran you over with a truck,but there wasn’t much of an option.

All you could think of that night were Qian Kun and his calloused fingers,deep timbre voice and gentle smiles.Maybe you were going crazy,but again,there wasn’t much of an option either.

“You seem very happy today.” Mrs Kim from the marketing team mentioned,the cheerful grin almost blinding you.You couldn’t help but spot the striking resemblance of the smile to her sons.Now,it suddenly appeared more kind and less scornful than you thought,and you felt a little bad for always being grouchy towards her.You realised it was nothing but your loneliness coming into play,and you would even admit that you were envious of her happy family life. “Had a great day yesterday?”

“Not really,no,”You told her. “But I guess it wasn’t all that bad.”

So the tales of yesterday’s misfortunes came pouring out of you,from the dreaded engine to the antagonising broken nail,Mrs Kim was more than shocked to see the unconscious tug of your lips upwards.

“And you’re still smiling after all that?”She laughed. “I’m gonna say that you met someone.”

Your eyes widened a bit,trying to cough it off. “I didn’t!It was just the store owner’s grandson.”

“So there is someone?”Mrs Kim waggled her eyebrows at you. “You cannot hide from me,child.That’s the face of an infatuated person.”

The bell jingled when you pushed open the glass door.Stepping in,you opened your mouth to greet the granny like usual,but was met with an unknown face gaping at you.It was a boy,around a few years younger,round marble eyes curious yet welcoming.His booming tone greeted you,far too much enthusiasm for your liking.

“Hello,welcome!What would you like today,miss?We have chicken noodle soup for today’s special and--,”

“Lucas,please stop talking so loudly.”Kun’s voice reverberated from behind the thin curtains. “You’re gonna scare all the customers on your first day.”

“I’m here to see Kun.”You spoke to the giant of a human,glancing swiftly at the kitchen entrance,slightly intimidated by his tall stature.He gave you a quick once-over,looking a bit confused.

“Are you his girlfriend?”He questioned,shooting you a broad smirk. “Kun ge is so lucky,I’m--”

“Lucas,what’s taking so long?”Kun appeared again like the first time you met him,drying his damp hands on a small rag. “Oh!”

“Oh,indeed.”Lucas said,mischief written all over his face. “Is this your girlfriend,gege?Should I let granny know about this?”

Kun scowled at him,murmuring something along the lines of ‘if you don’t shut up,I’ll make sure you don’t have a job by the end of today.’

“Hey.”

You passed him the neatly packed parcel, “I’ve washed everything.Thank you again for being so kind to me.”

“I say this calls for a celebration.” Lucas interrupted,peeking from behind the cash register. “Kun,remember that sushi place you wanted to try out?The one near the local university.”

Kun hummed, “What celebration?”

“That someone is finally into you for the first time in twenty-four years?You should appreciate this effort made by this very beautiful individual.”

“Would you kindly shut the fuck up?”Kun hissed,the frown intensifying.

“Well,if you need someone to go with,I know a person who would very much like to.”You interjected,growing more bashful by the second.

“Great!Now you two settle between yourselves.I’ve got work to do!”Lucas said brightly,darting away.

Kun smiled,tucking his phone away in his pocket,glittering irises not leaving yours.

“I’ll call you.” He promised,and somewhere in you just knew he would.

And as you made your way out of the store,the keen sense in your being told you that something very special was about to begin.

Good things truly do come to those who wait,after all.

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lonita · 17 years

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Lost In Translation: Pride and Prejudice x 3

Whenever a popular novel hits the shelves, it's almost certain that a film version will follow. And it's equally certain to give rise to a debate: which was better, the film or the book? While I am not a big fan of film remakes in general, there are some literary stories that have many times been made into films, both for the big screen and the little one, and I do enjoy those for the most part; particularly when it involves one of my favourite literary stories of all time, Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. This classic story has been made into more full-length films and TV series than I can count--three of which I own, by the way--and what I find interesting about watching different versions of a story is noting what each team of creators has chosen to leave in or take out, and how they have chosen to slant the characters. The three versions of Pride and Prejudice that I own (listed by year and principal stars) are: 1940: Greer Garson, Laurence Olivier 1995: Jennifer Ehle, Colin Firth 2005: Keira Knightley, Matthew Macfadyen Taking the limitations of film into account (and that includes time and ability to carry print-based detail into the visual realm), decisions must be made as to choice of content and the handling of the portions of the story that are chosen for translation from book to big screen. You can't stuff every nuance of a novel into a film, no matter how strenuously you try. So, the first thing you might note overall are the details that are chosen to remain--even seemingly subtle ones. One of the things that leaps out most for me is how the ballroom scenes are handled when Elizabeth overhears Mr. Darcy and Charles Bingley discussing the beauty of various ladies and why Mr. Darcy won't dance. While the 1995 and 2005 versions chose to remain book-faithful, more or less, the 1940 version chose to alter the line almost completely, to the point where it changes the flavour from something personal and directly insulting about Elizabeth to being more widely culturally damning. The line in question is spoken by Mr. Darcy and runs as follows: "She's tolerable enough, but I'm in no mood to give consequence to the middle classes at play." This isn't the only incident in the film that is much altered from the book, from a personal insult to something more widely encompassing of class. The ball held at Netherfield, for example, is supposed to simply be a ball; it is not meant to include daytime outdoor events, yet that is the direction chosen for the 1940 version of the film. Caroline Bingley takes the pointed opportunity of insulting the intellect and tastes of "the rustics" by her snide remarks about them being easily amused. It is interesting to note how a quality of behaviour that might in other circumstances be seen as admirable--the ability to make the best out of whatever situation you find yourself in--is here turned into an opportunity to insult and malign. The most glaring omission from this version of the story is the tour of the Peak District Elizabeth takes with her aunt and uncle. It is during this visit that she gets to see Mr. Darcy's estate and accidentally encounters him, and also the phase of the story where her emotions truly shift from those of dislike for Darcy to the burgeoning of love. The film does manage to add in a transitional point, but I think the loss of this portion of the story means a loss of an important aspect of the story's flavour. If you are looking for precision in keeping to the story of the book, then the 1995 version is what you're after. It is not precise--no film could be--but it is faithful enough that you could almost use it for study. I very much appreciate the way the close relationship of the two eldest sisters, Jane and Elizabeth, is portrayed. They are open, honest, and very closely tied. It is a pleasure to see such warmth within a family that is so often portrayed as being wildly disparate. Two other sisters, Kitty and Lydia, seem to have a bond too, but it seems to be one of follower and leader rather than a true meeting of mind or sentiment. I find, though, that much of this version is somewhat too staid and polite. I think it could have done with a little dose of vibrancy to combat the social niceties the story is so much concerned with. I think the most surprising departure from the feeling and flavour of the book is the portrayals of behaviour in the 2005 version of the film, the most shocking of which is Elizabeth Bennet's. In the novel, as well as every other film or television version I've ever seen, she is portrayed as a woman of wit and sagacity, but also a woman of decorum who understands the proprieties of interpersonal behaviour. The 2005 version of the film portrays her as somewhat petty and insulting; as taking things more personally, and, even being, dare I say it, bitchy. She insults her mother in front of other people, seems to take the ballroom insults of Mr. Darcy in a much more wounded and personal fashion than do other portrayals of the character, and her tone is much more demeaning than she is normally portrayed. This, along with subtle other aspects of the film, make it, to my mind, a cheapened version of the tale. One of the other notable aspects of the films that is interesting to pay some attention to is how Mr. Collins is portrayed. While in all three he is portrayed as a socially awkward, boring twit without any sort of comprehension of true social niceties and proprieties, each film has flavoured him slightly differently. In the 1940 version he has an air of pomposity and comic desperation about him that is missing from the other two versions; in the 2005 version he is somewhat more pushy and domineering with no comical aspects; and, in the 1995 version, we have a sweaty, facially flaccid man who can't even eat a meal without making noises. None of these men have much sense when it comes to interpersonal situations, either private or social, and they all seem to assume that the entire world gives as much of a tinker's damn about his patroness as he professes to. Out of all three I would have to choose the 1995 version, just because he is as socially awkward an oaf as they all are, but he has no air about him that we can attach real dislike or hatred to, and I think that's important with this character. We aren't supposed to hate him; just find him useless and socially embarrassing. Despite his flaws, we are meant to see at least some measure of the fact that he is, as all three versions point out in some fashion, respectable. If you ever have an opportunity to see these versions of the story, or any versions, try and make note of little things, like: how the overheard ballroom insult is handled; the discussion of Elizabeth walking alone to Netherfield and her skirt becoming muddy; Caroline Bingley and Elizbeth's "turn about the room" and the surrounding conversation; the visit to Mr. Darcy's estate and Elizabeth's unexpected meeting with him; and the elopement of Lydia with George Wickham. Better yet, read the novel first, and choose your own favourite details to watch for.

#books #films #tv shows #journal

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writingthingsisdifficult · 7 years

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Perfect afternoon

Anonymous sent a request: Could you please write something with Sam for me? Maybe like the song For Forever by Dear Evan Hansen please? I just lost my sister to cancer and I need something to look forward to. Thank you

This was a bit hard to write, had to let the song simmer for a while before inspiration struck, ‘cause the song is so melancholic – but I hope you like what I came up with, and I hope you have let the grief run its course, but not let it consume your life.

Note: I’ve used the song for inspiration, it may not be that easily recognised all the time.

Sam x reader, and there’s no warnings on this that I can think of, except some language, I guess.

Word count: 2620

June has transitioned into July before we caught a bit of a break and got to relax for a while. The spring and early summer was hell, quite literally, and all of us yearned for a few days of just breathing and living without fighting to survive. So at the first sign of peace Dean and I managed to convince Sam that a small holiday was an absolute necessity.

That’s how we find ourselves in a spacious cabin, courtesy of a very grateful, old widow whose late husband tried to shut her in the basement of their very old-fashioned home. Granted: she didn’t fully understand what happened at the time, but she understood enough to know that we saved her life, and rescued her beloved, rat-like, yappy-type dog too, and promptly offered us unlimited use of her mountain cabin. As she said: it was just sitting there, dusty and unused anyway.

Mountain cabin is probably a bit generous, though. It is located on the outskirts of a small town nestled snugly at the base of a picturesque range of tall hills, but not high enough to warrant extra gear or a big car to get us there – but it is private enough to shield us from the curious eyes of the locals.

Dean took to it immediately. The weather is warm, and the air is dry, and he spends the days either on the shore of the small lake just behind the cabin with a cold beer in one hand and a musty, old fishing rod he’s excavated from one of the many cupboards, or with a bucket of soapy water and a rag, taking care of his one true love.

“Baby needs some love,” he says, sending looks of adoration and affection to the car, the water spraying rainbows into the air. The Impala shines like a star, standing happily in the gravel by the porch.

Taking refuge from the scorching mid-day sun, I sit down in the porch swing – carefully, testing that the wood hasn’t rotted through. It proves an unnecessary worry: the swing creaks a bit under my weight, but holds up, and I rock back and forth on my toes. “Seriously, Dean, that is not a healthy relationship,” I tease, giggling from the dark look in his eyes once he overcomes the initial shock of my indecent accusation.

“She’s not young anymore, Y/N, you know that. She needs a lot of TLC –“

“Relax, dude. I didn’t mean it. You two are made for each other. You’ll make each other very happy –“

“Shut it! Go bother Sam if you can’t be nice.” He picks up the bucket and carries it over to the other side of the car, out of my sight.

Shrugging, I get to my feet. “I would, but I don’t know where he is,” I say, hoping my voice sounds normal. Sam has been restless ever since the evening we arrived – like he has forgotten how to relax, and I rarely see him other than at breakfast and dinner. What he does with the rest of his time is a mystery. And it sort of breaks my heart a little.

Sam’s happiness, or lack of, affects me a lot. During the years we’ve known each other, I so very foolishly have gone and fallen in love with him, but I lack the courage to do anything at all about it. Instead, I have buried my thumping heart deep in my chest, and evicted all the fluttering butterflies from my stomach, and pretend that we were just friends. Because that’s what we’ve always been.

Dean pokes his head over the roof of the car and cocks his head. “Last I saw him, he sat out back with his nose in a book. Knowing him, he hasn’t moved yet.” He shakes his head and ducks back down behind the car again, muttering about rest and relaxation and not being able to take a break from research.

Jumping to my feet, I offer thanks over my shoulder and heads for the kitchen, thinking I might as well have an excuse for interrupting Sam when he obviously wants to be alone. I grab a couple of glasses and the mug of lemonade I made for lunch and head into the meadow behind the cabin.

Even though I am used to being around Sam, I still stutter a bit when I see him. He has laid out a folded blanket on the grass and sits with the book in his hand, but his face is turned towards the sun. The flannel he usually wears is discarded in a crumpled heap by his feet, and he’s kicked off his shoes and socks. If I had ever thought about how my personal heaven would look like, this would come very close.

“Hey,” I say when I get close enough.

Opening his eyes, he blinks a couple of times, and then he smiles. “Hey.”

I can’t think of anything else to say, so I simply hold out the lemonade with a tilt to my head: an unspoken offer. Sam puts away his book and scoots over to make room for me. As I sit down, I only spill a couple of drops, but it is enough to make me yelp in surprise as the cold liquid slosh over my knee, sending an icy blast through my veins. The sound of Sam laughing so heartily makes me feel like I am soaring through the blue skies.

It’s as if time slows down. A light breeze blows over us, gifting us the music from unseen birds in the trees and the buzzing insects. Drowsy summer day heat rolls over our faces, and we watch the slow ripples on the lake, just taking in the calm and storing it for times when shit blows up.

I gotta say something – this balloon in my chest is almost bursting, but when I look at Sam, I’m afraid I’m gonna talk gibberish. Taking a deep breath, I roll my shoulders. “You know what I really want right now?” My mind is set, but I chicken out at the last minute, when his beautiful eyes lock with mine. All air rushes out of my lungs. Typical. “A proper ice cream. Like made of cream and real vanilla seeds and chocolate.” The lie comes fast and seamlessly, and I don’t think he notices the hesitation that lasts for a fraction of a moment. But there is no hiding the colour that spreads over my cheeks or the heat that flushes my face like a furnace. I pick at the frayed edge of the blanket.

Sam looks like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t, and we just sit there, watching the trees and the water and the sun slowly making her way over the sky. To our left a bumblebee is busy head-butting all the flowers it can find, and the sight make me giggle.

“They don’t look like the smartest of animals, do they?” I reply to Sam’s curious look, pointing at the flying paradox that is now eagerly trying to fit into a light pink foxglove that is just a couple of sizes too small.

“Uh-huh…” says Sam, laughing at the bumbling creature, not noticing my lingering gaze or how I stop myself from reaching out to run my hand through his hair. Instead, he points to a different flower. “Look, there’s another one. They’re kinda… graceful…”

“Really?” I snort.

“Well, considering they’re not really supposed to be able to fly, I’d say it’s almost like a ballet dancer,” he replies with a sheepish smile.

Flopping over on my stomach, I hide my face in the blanket for a second before laughing loudly and startling the closest bumblebee. “The Ballet of the Bumblebee,” I proclaim, waving my hand dramatically, awkwardly striking a vague pose.

We fall quiet again, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve always been comfortable with silence. So close to the ground, the rich, dark scent of drying soil fills my nose, and I inhale deeply, cementing this day in my memories.

Without thinking, I pick a yellow flower and wafting it slowly back and forth. The scent is almost buttery, and sweet, and transports me back to when I was young and carefree, and the biggest worry I had was the amount of homework Mr. Lewis assigned over the weekend.

The flower slips out of my hand, and floats tucks itself behind my ear –I look up to find Sam looking down at me. His eyes are soft, and his hand lingers around the flower stem. “I…” he says, but shuts up. His eyes flick up towards the cabin, and a few seconds later, Dean saunters past us, with the cooler in one hand, and the fishing rod in the other. He is humming to himself, and almost skips over the grass.

Sitting up, Sam clears his throat. “Hey, Dean, you done with your baby?”

“Huh?” He stops and looks around, as if he hasn’t even noticed us sitting there. “Yeah, for now. Why?”

“Gimme the keys. I want ice cream.”

My head whips in Sam’s direction, and I ungraciously swallow a lot of air, and I probably look like an idiot with my eyes on stalks when Dean fishes the keys from his pocket. Before he tosses them to Sam, he gives us a stern look. “No funny business,” he says with half a smile. “And don’t you dare hurt her,” he adds after some thought.

“What, the car or Y/N?” Sam asks lightly, pulling me to my feet, but Dean’s answer is nothing more than a mumbled grumble. We burst out laughing, and run and stumble towards the cabin before Dean can change his mind.

Sam must have been more awake than me when we first drove into town, because he has no trouble finding parking space, and moments later, he pulls me through the door and into a small ice cream shop that I could swear just popped out of nowhere.

They don’t have too many flavours to choose from, but it’s enough, and we both end up with a couple of scoops of soft deliciousness that threaten to drip down our hands in the heat from the sun.

Licking the ice cream and walking slowly through the sleepy streets, we make our way to a small park that’s obviously made with passing tourists in mind – it’s filled with fake “authentic” monuments over semi-historical events and places, and every couple of yards there’s benches dedicated to people who no doubt are famous if you were born in this town.

Sitting down on one dedicated to Deirdre, who, according to the plaque, didn’t give a crap about the park, but liked to feed the pigeons, we watch people wander by, and the trees and the squirrels foraging and preparing for colder weather.

I nod towards a large grey one, and suck a drop of sugary cream off my finger. “Did you know they sometimes pretend to bury their nuts and seeds to fool other squirrels? Like, they dig a hole and drop the nut in, but really it’s still in their mouth, and then they go bury it somewhere else.” I’m rambling, I know, but suddenly I feel Sam’s sitting so close that my brain can barely function.

“You know so much weird shit, Y/N,” Sam says and stuffs the rest of his cone into his mouth like he has no worries in the whole world. How can he not know how he makes me go all gooey inside?

“Heh, yeah, I’m killing it on trivia nights.”

Smiling, Sam exhales through his nose. “I can’t remember the last time we did a quiz night. It’s gotta be years, right?”

Scrunching my eyes together, I try to remember, but I come up blank. “I think so. We don’t get much normal nights out, do we, Sam?”

“Nah. I guess… What do you think you’d do if… if you weren’t in the, uh, business, I mean?”

His voice is soft, and I imagine I can hear a whole lifetime of sadness in it. “I, uh, I don’t know,” I reply, clearing my throat to remove the sudden lump behind my uvula. “Just normal stuff, you know? Travel, I guess… I hope I’d still be writing. Maybe I’d publish a book or something. That would be cool. But I can’t really imagine having a regular job, you know?” I sigh, and stare down the path that disappears under the trees. “How about you?”

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

I say, “me too,” and smile into my ice cream.

“No really, I mean it, Y/N.” His hand lands on top of mine, the one I rest on the bench seat, and he squeezes lightly. In my chest, my heart stops, and when I finally dare to look up, his eyes shine with something new. “If this is what I get… If I get to be with you, just this day, then… Life will be alright for forever this way.”

Standing up, he suddenly says, “follow me,” and we walk quickly towards the small hill over by the blackberry bushes – and I wonder if I just imagined the last five minutes.

When we pass the berries, and start half climbing up the rocky slope, I’m pretty convinced that my mind is playing tricks on me, but I can’t give up on that thought that something big is going to happen, that soon my life will be turned upside down. With my mind wandering, I place one foot after the other, the ground is wobbly, but the sun shines in our faces, so no one can blame me for not paying attention.

But then I step on a loose stone: I slip and fall, tumbling down a few yards. My foot feels weird, there’s a knobbly branch poking my back, and the world seems upside down indeed. Groaning, I try to feel my foot. It’s not broken. That’s good, at least. No, it’s nothing serious: just a bruised ankle, and an equally bruised pride.

“Oh shit, you okay?” Sam’s head appears over my face, a worried look in his eyes. He has come to get me, and everything is okay. Everything is okay.

I try to nod, but it’s weird when down is up and up is down, so I just smile. “Hhhh… yeah. Just got knocked about a little. I’m… I’m good.” Sitting up, I wince from the pain in my side, but it disappears when Sam offers me his hand and pull me up – and then don’t let go of me when I’m securely on my feet.

Hand in hand we climb to the top – and the view is breathtaking. We can see for forever from here: the vast, blue sky and the mountains and the small town behind us. I step up on a stone, maybe it’s to get a better look, or maybe it’s subconsciously, I don’t know, but blood rushes in my ears from knowing I’m here, with Sam, and we’re watching the sun over the trees and the soft pastels painting the sky. In any case, I don’t notice Sam watching me.

A cool breeze sends a ripple of goosebumps over my skin, and then I feel the warmth of his skin like a wall against my back, and I half turn to look what he’s doing, and his face is so close to mine I feel his breath fan over my lips as he leans in. The hair on my arms rise, and in my chest my heart is beating its rhythmic music, and right that moment – on that perfect afternoon – we’re both on the top of the world.

Tagging my for forever beautiful friends:

@awesomeahwu @brynleewolfe @funwithfanfics @babeinthebowtie @savingapplepie-eatingthings @winchesterprincessbride @savvythedork @littlegreenplasticsoldier @youtubehelpsmesurvive @blackcherrywhiskey @mrswhozeewhatsis @schwarzwaelder-kirschtorte @aiaranradnay @fandomismyspiritanimal @barneybrigade @mogaruke @wstrumpel @whovianextrodinare @hennessy0274-blog @sushi-senpai-chan @tardis-is-mine @badasssweetsrebel @jensensjaredsandmishaslover @megasimpleplan4ever @iamreadinginsecret

#sam x reader #sam winchester #supernatural fanfiction #reader insert #love #for forever #perfect afternoon #spn #fanfic #writing is hard

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bumblebeeishappy-blog · 7 years

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Beauteous Precipitation - Pietro Maximoff X Reader

Chapter One: Mondays Can Go Fuck Themselves

I have no idea how to use this site help me

It’s funny because I’m writing this on a Friday. Contradiction! It’s not actually funny. I’m just really lonely. Help.

I’m so fucking pissed because I can’t find Pietro’s age anywhere and god dammit I low key need it so I can freaking write.

If you know it, please spill, because I’m flying blind and blind birds usually end up crashing into a window, having a seizure then consequently shitting themselves.

Uh… yeah.

So I’m gonna go on a limb and say fuck it, he’s gonna be twenty-three. Deal with it. Or y'know, don’t. I honestly do not care whether you agree or not.

I promise I’m not always this rude.

Okay that’s a lie I’m constantly a bitch. I’m also pretty sure my vocabulary is literally just swears. Oops?

Anyway, let’s get this shitshow on the road!

Pidge, a Bengal cat with a knack of being a complete asshole with unlimited energy. Is relevant to the plot. Always relevant to the plot.

Pidge is the main character concerning the plot.

All hail Pidge.

💨

Mondays fucking suck.

That’s obvious and an understatement. Duh.

I know that they suck because for one, they’re the first day of the God-forbidden week. Secondly, every Monday without fail, something bad just coincidentally manages to plague my life. They range from ‘not so bad, but bad enough to annoy me’ to 'holy shit I almost died.’

Broken arms, broken hearts. Broken vases? You get the gist. It’s a whirlwind. A lottery. I’m waiting for the day when something good finally happened to me for once. In vain.

I honestly sometimes consider that I have a problem, a curse. I should be locked away. Countless times people have gotten hurt because of my bad luck. It’s a danger hazard.

And I know what you’re going to say. There’s no such a thing as luck, you crazy bastard. I used to think that too, honest, but it’s there and it’s happening. There’s no other excuse. And there’s fucking Norse gods in New York. Alien invaders, too. A little dash of bad luck doesn’t seem like such a stretch of reality, really.

It’s as if the universe had this vendetta against me. What the hell did I do to get its panties in a twist?

But this particular Monday had me in it’s mind’s eye as its number one victim. Hurray.

Why do you ask?

Because, for one thing, I failed my final exam in astronomy sciences, my major. Some little prick decided to copy my work and because of goddamn plagiarism, neither of us could pass. That meant i’d have to retake the last few weeks of education. Pay to retake the last few weeks of education if I ever wanted a proper job.

I’m broke.

Another thing; It was completely bucketing down with rain. In July. July.

I had no means of sheltered transport (or money. I lost that at the park when a goose decided that I was it’s next lunch. What gives?), hence I had to walk from Upper Manhatten to Central Manhatten, and though that doesn’t seem like too tedious a walk, it still took me over an hour. In the rain. Just to add, I forgot my rain jacket at home.

I kind of low-key wanted to stab a bitch.

No. Scratch that.

I really wanted to stab a bitch.

But not bitch as in a dog. Let’s face it, dogs are way better than people.

I resisted the urge to completely trash up my apartment as soon as I entered, shivering and muttering curses, through the door. Instead, I decided to vent out my totally appropriate and not-at-all petty anger into furiously eating some dinner because food is the answer to life’s equation.

Probably.

With a nonchalant toss, the sopping bag I used for college landed upside down on the couch that was definitely the home to a nice family of mice. The pillows squeaked suspiciously as the backpack fell against them.

Ignoring the free-loaders, I passed the ill looking sofa in hunt of self-pity food. Ice cream and pizza sounded absolutely perfect for munching my despondency away. For the time being.

But first, I needed to take a shower so I’d lessen the chance of getting an illness. Wouldn’t that just be the screw you icing on the fuck you flavoured cake? It was a present from the deities that lounged above the dense, depressing clouds that forever hung over NYC. They laughed at my suffering as a way too pass the time.

Thanks. Feeling the love.

Assholes.

The only thing greeting me was my middle aged bengal cat, Pidge. His brown rosetted fur stroked against my damp jeans as he stared up at me with an unamused expression.

I sighed, kicking a tinsel ball with my toe. Pidge was quick to leap onto it and continue attacking. He acted like more of a dog than a cat. It proved to be a problem in most cases. He had an unlimited amount of energy and was always on the run. Also always was an asshole, despite my efforts of keeping him occupied. He never fucking sleeps!

I switched on the lights as I went through the comically small apartment, wincing at the fact that half of my lights were busted. Fuck. Pidge darted between my legs, threatening to trip me over.

“Pidge, you shitswizzler,” I muttered as I regained my balance, glaring daggers at the bengal who blinked back at me, feigning innocence.

I continued on anyway, pulling the cheap, tacky curtains across the single-glazed windows in a half-assed attempt to get my box of an apartment building at least at a liveable temperature.

Making my way through the drab and sad apartment, it took me only a few steps to get from one side to the other where the musty and laughably small bathroom was located. My eyes glanced at the mirror for a second before flicking away. I didn’t need to see how terrible the flash rain storm had made me just yet. Pidge meowed emphatically at the closed door. I ignored him.

I peeled off the water-dense, skin-hugging material that stuck to my body like a catsuit. Hoodie, tank top, jeans. They hit the bathroom tiles with a 'splat,’ and I was left in my soaking underwear in front of the sink, finally staring at the mirror to see how crazy I would of looked coming home.

I usually like walking to and from school in the summer months (but not when it’s fucking pouring cats and dogs). It’s not exactly tranquil, and the streets are literally always clogged up with people in suits and beggars on the sidewalk. There’s just a sense of achievement that I saved money and got that little bit fitter at the same time.

I snorted to myself. Yeah, and that little scrape of fitness is about to go down the drain when I splurge on sugary treats.

But did I give a damn?

Pfft, no.

I scrunched my nose at my waterlogged reflection. My hair stuck to my scalp and the remainder of my cheap and poorly applied make-up was everywhere but the correct place. I looked like a cat fucked a raccoon and their hideous hybrid offspring was doused in a pool filled with regrets and all the fucks I didn’t give at that particular moment.

Eh.

I rid my body of the drenched underwear, chucking the garments onto the pile while stepping into the relaxing warm spray of the shower. My muscles spasmed harshly at odd intervals from the dramatic change in temperature, so I was forced to stay in the shower for longer than I usually did.

Not that I’m complaining.

I took the chance of an extended shower by finally scrubbing down fully and extra-throughly washing my hair. After a short while, feeling spick and span, I grasped the metal handle and pushed it towards the wall, cutting off the pleasing flow.

By then, my stomach was grumbling in earnest, but I still took my time to wring my hair and wrap an extra towel around the crown of my head.

I finally obeyed my stomach’s orders with a groan, encasing myself in a fluffy dressing gown and padding to the kitchen, grabbing the phone as I pulled open the freezer and snagged the ice cream carton without a second thought or a guilty conscious. Fuck em. I can do whatever I want.

Using my nearly none-existent fingernails, I pried the plastic lid off, releasing the sweetened dairy product from its grasp, oozing sugar and promising that I’d be regretting the binge in the morning.

But hey, it’s not morning now is it?

Turning away and kicking the freezer closed with a heel, I placed the opened container and lid on the kitchen bench, fishing out a spoon while punching in the numbers for the local pizza shop that I had conveniently memorised to heart from all the times I’ve ordered from them. I’m a regular. They know me by name. That’s not a surprise.

Pidge leapt onto the counter, sticking out his tongue to collect the water droplets that formed on the tap. I rolled my eyes at him.

“Heya Chip,” I spoke into the mouth piece while shoving a spoonful of ice cream beyond my lips. It made me shiver but damn, it tasted good.

I knew it was Chip who was on phone duty. Throughout my excessive pizza ordering (that more often than not were on Mondays), I’ve come to remember each shift the workers had. It was a small business.

Mondays on odd weeks of the year and during the term were Chip’s shifts. I was hoping to hear their masculine/feminine voice through the speaker so I wouldn’t feel stupid. I expected at least a 'So-and-so from The Pizza Pond here, how may I help you?’ but I didn’t even get that.

“Excuse me, miss,” the cool, orderly female voice that sounded almost like a robot emerged from my phone. “But this is a private line. Please remain where you are so I can detect your position and send any additional information about your persons to Mr. Stark.”

Mr. Stark?

Utterly confused, I pulled the phone from the side of my head. Studying the number, I realised that I was missing a whole unit- wait, Mr. Stark?

As in the Mr. Stark?

As in Iron Man?

As in the genius billionaire playboy philanthropist?

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

The spoon of ice cream that was dangling from the corner of my lips tumbled to the bench, splattering the sugary treat everywhere within a ten centimetre radius.

I squeaked out a “sorry, wrong number!” and quickly ended the call, throwing the device at the wall, which cracked.

Both of them cracked.

“Shit,” I mumbled, glaring at the phone as if it was about to sprout legs and attack me with a tiny gun and matching minuscule rounds. It didn’t do such a thing, but instead the screen lit up with the message 'DATA TRANSFERRING’ and a tiny chibi Iron Man helmet.

“Oh, shit,” I repeated my curse, this time with much time emphasis as the screen started to glitch out and then spontaneously die.

A tense minute passed while I stood, just staring at the cracked phone. Maybe it was just a joke?

But then fucking Spider-Man crashed through my window, showering me with shards of glass.

“Uh, hey,” he greeted, seemingly quite out of his comfort zone and a little socially awkward as he stood in front of the window without a window pane, the curtains billowing out behind him. “You’re Y/n L/n, right? Please tell me I’m right, 'cause if not then this is like, super awkward.”

I didn’t know what to do or say. I was frozen, in shock. Rather than blurt out my name and reassure the obviously young hero of his anxieties, I remained silent as I stared at the kid.

“Hey, uh,” the boy spoke, stepping towards me slowly with his hands raised as if to reassure me. “This would be a lot less troublesome if you willingly came with me. Sir Stark the Almighty just wants to talk with you.”

Wait.

What the fuck?

“Sir Stark the Alimighty?” I echoed, narrowing my eyes in disbelief and flippancy.

Spider-Man winced at that, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ah, yeah… can you forget I said that?”

“Will you leave me alone?” I countered adamantly. “And did you have to crash through my window? There are such things as doors, you dork.”

I was tempted to call him something much stronger than dork, but he only sounded like he was in his mid-teens and he was just doing his job.

“… no,” Spider-Man answered the first question hesitantly. “Uh, sorry. Dramatic entrances and stuff. I’ll remember doors for next time.”

I rolled my eyes, scooping a previously spooked Pidge from the ground before he stepped on a shard of glass and had a right fit.

“So…” Spider-Man trailed off, glancing around my dingy apartment, shifting his feet and wincing at the sound of glass crunching beneath them. “Are you gonna come with me..?”

I pretended to ponder thought, grasping Pidge a little tighter, ignoring as he dug his claws into my shoulder and struggled in my arms.

“Um, no,” I deadpanned.

The superboy in front of me sighed. He hung his head in defeat, before lifting it up and, before I knew it, I was encased in a cocoon of web.

“Hey!” I cried indignantly, struggling in my bonds. Pidge was pinned to my chest and was letting out confused, ear-splitting yowls. “This is against my human rights! Plus, animal abuse!”

“If you want, we can leave the cat here,” he offered innocently, as if he didn’t just pin me defenceless against my will.

I glared at him, considering my options. Glancing down at the glass, I knew my answer.

“The cat comes.”

Pidge isn’t stupid, but he is too curious for his own good. If you left him alone, he’d no doubt step on the glass, freak out and then have a fit because he’s alone, injured and an idiot.

Spider-Man shrugged. “If you say so.” And promptly scooped me into his arms, cat, web cocoon and all, and leapt from the window, shifting me on one arm so he could manoeuvre his way through the streets of Manhatten.

I shrieked, and instinctively went to wrap my arms around across his chest and shoulders, but realised I couldn’t because he fucking constricted me.

Pidge was a mess. He fidgeted feverishly. The claws that were dug into my flesh extended even more so, but I could barely feel the pain.

The swinging sensations made my head twirl. My stomach began to churn and- oh god I’m going to puke.

I clenched my mouth shut and tried to calm my stomach, but Spider-Man was really totally not helping at all. I hit my head on his shoulder to get his attention. Another wave of nausea almost sent me over the edge.

The teen quickly glanced down, and once lying his eyes on my pale-greenish face, gasped and started swinging faster.

“Please don’t puke on me,” he begged while shooting webs. “This suit was from Mr. Stark.”

“Do you really think puking is my intention?” I spat back, before regretting opening my mouth and twisting my head away from superboy.

“Okay, we’re here,” he said and gently dropped me to the ground before slicing the back of the web cocoon open.

I wheezed, rolling out of the encasment, bring Pidge with me because he’s my only soul support. He yowled in response.

I ignored him and got to my feet, leaning against the side of a building as I got my bearings back. Once my stomach was calm enough and the ringing had slightly dulled, I turned my head upwards in awe to see the tall, modern building that looked liked it cost much more than a pretty penny to make.

“I know,” Spider-Man said excitedly as he saw my gaping mouth and wide eyes. “I was like that too. Welcome to the Avenger’s Tower.”

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exosmutxoxo · 7 years

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Dangerous Woman (Part 1) 🌙

A/N: Hello everyone! As promised, here is the full ‘Dangerous Woman’ smut for all of you! This is part 1 of the trilogy so look forward to more after this! Part 2 and 3 will not be related to this particular smut so every fic will be based on a different scenario! Hope y’all would enjoy this little baby of mine x

Pairing(s): Luhan x Reader

Warnings: Call-girl industry references, blowjobs, sex in general

Genre: Smutty smut ;)

Requested: No

Summary: In which drug lord! and successful CEO! Luhan goes to a particular call-girl to get his needs fulfilled.

Word Count: 6103

Soundtrack: Dangerous Woman // Ariana Grande

I wanna savour, save it for later

The taste, the flavour

As the CEO of Lu Corporations, the largest upscale drug company in Korea and China, Luhan is viewed as the typical, arrogant and loaded young businessman whom everyone assumes him to be. It’s not exactly untrue; the twenty-six-year-old drug lord basically sits on stacks and stacks of dollar bills in his Lamborghini all day long, admiring his flawless reflection in the rear-view mirror and aimlessly thinking of methods to earn even more money.

Disgustingly handsome and reeking of wealth and power, Luhan walks the world with unbreakable confidence, never seen in public without his perfectly tailored suit and his jet-black hair gelled back with a vengeance. Women clamour to be by his side, dying to look good on his arm. Yet, for some strange and unknown reason, the young drug lord chooses to remain single despite the endless stream of females queuing up to be with him.

Nevertheless, the world views him as one of the luckiest and most successful bachelors out there. Wealth, glory, power, devastatingly good looks, a smooth-running business, a diversity of women to date. What’s there for him to complain about?

Well, there is a teensy little problem for him.

With all the workload and the useless business meetings he has to attend, he barely has enough time for himself and although he might be one of the most successful young men in the country, he’s still…well, a man. And men have their needs that need to be fulfilled, don’t they?

So fulfil them he does. And he accomplishes that by simply picking up the phone and making a call.

“I am what you call a dangerous woman”, I boldly proclaim to Sehun, hopping onto his desk and perching on the edge, plucking a lollipop from the sweet bowl by his elbow and unwrapping it swiftly, popping it into my mouth as I grin down at him.

Sehun rolls his eyes good-naturedly at my declaration, leaning back in his swivel chair with his arms propped behind his head comfortably. “Last week you claimed you were the reincarnation of catwoman and strutted around in cat ears for days on end. What’s with the ‘dangerous woman’ now? Is it a new thing to keep the clients coming back for more?”

I whip the lollipop out of my mouth and point it at him triumphantly. “Bingo”.

He chuckles in response. “Why, though? The cat ears drove the men crazy from what I recalled, judging from the amount of phone calls I had to answer on your behalf”.

“You don’t get it”, I exclaim. “I’m not getting rid of the cat ears. From now onwards, I am a dangerous woman with cat ears. It’s the perfect way to enthral the men, since almost everybody has a kitten kink nowadays”.

“Whatever you say, (Y/N)”, Sehun quips back, pretending to act disinterested, prompting me to lean across his desk and shove him in the shoulder playfully, to which he pulls a funny face in response, causing me to break into giggles.

Sehun has been my best friend ever since I wandered into the call-girl industry a few years back; we’d met when he’d introduced himself as the ‘receptionist’, also known as the guy who takes my calls from my clients and delivers messages to me. On our off days, we would always head out for bubble tea together and talk about everything and anything under the sun. But our friendship has never progressed to a relationship, considering that I’m always too busy pleasing other men and the fact that Sehun is gay. So best friends we’ve been for the past few years and I wouldn’t swap him for any other man in the world.

Now, as I return my attention to my lollipop, the telephone on the desk rings out shrilly. With an air of huffy annoyance, Sehun springs from his swivel chair and picks up the phone, placing it against his left ear. “You’ve reached the line for (Y/N)’s services. May I take a message for her?” He greets in an unusually upbeat tone, the honeyed tone he normally reserves for when it’s time to converse with clients.

He listens intently, tapping a pencil against his lip as the person on the other end natters away. Then he covers the mouthpiece with his other hand, dropping the pencil on the tabletop and gesturing to me. “It’s Mr Lu”, my best friend whispers. “He’s asking for you”.

“He’s always asking for me”, I remark, running my tongue over the lollipop. My heartbeat starts to quicken in my chest, excitement coursing through my veins at the mention of my favourite client. Okay, I know a call-girl isn’t supposed to have a favourite client but who’s to know, eh?

“That’s true”, Sehun admits. “But he wants you to come to the phone”.

I reach over and pluck the receiver from his grasp, putting it to my ear as I splay myself across his desk, much to his exasperation. “(Y/N) speaking”, I say sweetly. “How may I help you today, Mr Lu?”

“Like how you always do, (Y/N)”, Luhan murmurs down the line, voice laced with lustful need. “Got any appointments tonight?”

“Give me a minute”. Covering the mouthpiece, I prod at Sehun’s shoulder. “Hey, secretary boy. Am I seeing any other clients tonight?”

He grumbles at the nickname but still proceeds to check for me, hitting some keys on his laptop and squinting at the screen. “Nope”, he states. “You’re free and available to be a dangerous woman with Luhan tonight”.

Giggling, I resume the call, deliberately making suggestive sucking noises with my lollipop and ensuring that they’re audible enough for Luhan on the other end. He catches it immediately and in my mind’s eye, I can already see his rock-hard erection straining against the material of his pants, begging to be released. “I’m all yours tonight”, I coo down the line, earning a gagging noise from Sehun who pretends to stick his fingers down his throat. In response, I give him the middle finger, sticking out my tongue.

“Excellent”, Luhan croons in my ear, the word itself screaming sex. “See you tonight at our usual hotel downtown. Wait for me at the entrance when you arrive. Oh, and also”, he drops his voice an octave lower, “remember to wear something pretty just for me”.

“And easily removable”, I add coyly, sucking off my lollipop with a flourish and tossing the stick into the nearby trashcan.

“That’s my girl. See you at seven thirty sharp”.

I’ve known Luhan ever since I was younger and more innocent and just freshly starting out in the call-girl industry. We’re only two years apart in age but by the time we met, our livelihood paths were already very different. He was my very first client, back when he’d already clambered his way up the business ladder and appointed himself as the CEO of his drug company. By the time he met me, he was already earning big bucks by the millions, most of which he’s been spending on me for my services. In short, I get paid by the thousands because I’m fucking fantastic in bed. Plus, it doesn’t hurt that I’m an expert in sucking dick.

Don’t get me wrong, though. As much as I love the money, a tiny bit of me has to admit that I love Luhan’s presence even more. Despite his cynical and calculative exterior, he’s a real sweetheart underneath it all. He’s made me laugh whenever he took notice of my down moods during our ‘meet-ups’, indulged in intellectual arguments with me about politics and even wiped away my tears whenever I complained bitterly about how I feel like a cheap whore at times.

But on the other hand, he’s nothing to me but another man to please in order to make a living for myself. And in his eyes, I’m guessing that I’m just another…source to fulfil his needs. In the end though, business is business so I’ll always be down for him (both literally and figuratively) and he’s always ready to slip a cold wad of cash under my pile of discarded clothes before dawn arrives.

So here we are now, seated opposite each other at a candlelit table in the hotel’s banquet which so happens to overlook the entire city. At seven forty-five in the evening, the sky has darkened to a mysterious ink-black and neon lights flicker through the streets, highlighting the blossoming nightlife.

But I don’t notice any of them. Instead, my gaze is fixated on Luhan’s face as he indulges himself in the menu, his lovely dark eyes scanning the lists of delectable dishes. The warm candlelight draws attention to his alluring features and a pang of longing reverberates through me. With his jet-black hair pushed back to reveal his forehead, his ravishing good looks and the confident way he carries himself in the tailored suit he has on, it’s enough to make me want to take him right on this table, in full view of the hotel staff and anybody who might walk past.

“Are you up for lobster tonight, (Y/N)?”

The question startles me out of my inappropriate thoughts and I blink guiltily at Luhan, who’s gazing at me with an eyebrow raised and a knowing expression playing on his features. A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips and he closes the menu, leaning forward. “Or are you up for me instead?” He whispers, shooting a wink at me across the table.

Under the cover of the table, I ease my foot out of my kitten heels (courtesy of Sehun, who insisted that they would complete my dangerous catwoman look) and stretch across to brush my foot against his leg lightly. The flirty action prompts a flicker of lust in his eyes, to which I rest my elbows on the tabletop and prop my chin on the palm of my hand, pursing my lips suggestively. “While lobster –and you- may sound really nice, I would like a banana split”, I state sweetly.

Luhan’s other eyebrow goes up as well, surprise crossing his face and replacing the earlier lust. “You want dessert now?”

“You know how they say that bananas cure depression?”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I guess that’s why people eat cock”.

He bursts into laughter at my dick joke and the sight of his face in the midst of his giggles forces me to stifle my own snickers; Luhan may be the coldest, most cynical and most successful CEO and drug lord of the country but that doesn’t make him less human. He’s still Luhan, a boy at heart and one with an ugly laugh at that.

Jaw unhinged, mouth wide open and eyes screwed up adorably, he’s definitely a sight when he laughs. And a sight I wouldn’t trade for any of my other male clients in the world. So I capture the moment of happiness in my heart, tucking it away safely so that I can pull it out and recall the fond memory whenever I’m feeling down.

And just like that, I’m leaning across the table and kissing him softly on the lips.

Eventually, we end up in the hotel room he’d booked and I find myself demanding for him to keep his eyes shut until I’m done with changing my clothes in the bathroom.

“But why?” Luhan whines, placing his palms over his eyes as he sprawls on the king-sized bed. “Are you going to surprise me?”

“Of course. Don’t open your eyes until I’m done and I tell you to do so!” With that, I disappear into the en suite bathroom with my belongings and lock the door behind me. Dumping my bag on the toilet seat, I unzip it and yank it open, peeping in to see what Sehun packed for me.

The basic essentials stare up at me and a smile tugs at my lips. I must admit that Sehun has more knowledge about makeup and what turns men on better than I do. And I’m supposed to be the call-girl and the epitome of sensuality.

Placing the makeup by the sink, I strip off the fancy strapless dress I have on and unclasp my bra, shoving them deep into my bag. Following that, my fingers close around the lacy lingerie my best friend so kindly packed and I send a silent thank you to him for his undeniably good taste.

Wriggling into it with surprising ease, I send another silent gratitude to him for picking the most accurate size for my built. I’m on the small and petite side, which always make it difficult to find clothes that are not from the kids’ section so Sehun’s clothes-hunting skills are a gift sent from the heavens.

My hand wanders back into the bag, scrabbling around aimlessly for anymore surprises my best friend chucked in and I find myself pulling out a black headband with matching black satin cat ears. A grin stretches across my lips as I slip it on, admiring myself in the mirror above the sink. My reflection stares back at me, a perfect picture of feminine sensuality and sexiness. I’m everything a man wants, an artistic combination of playful and erotic.

And it’s all thanks to Sehun for listening to my babbling about being a ‘dangerous woman with cat ears’ and his amazing taste in lingerie.

A glint in the deep recesses of the bag catches my eye and I reach in to pull the item out, gazing at it with admiration as it twinkles in the glaring light of the bathroom. The handcuffs wink up at me and attached to it is a yellow Post-It note, reading, ‘Cuff him up and savour his taste, his flavour. You’re a taker and you’re a giver. Tease the fuck out of him, dangerous woman x’ in Sehun’s familiar scrawl.

Feeling encouraged, I peel off the Post-It and stuff it back into the bag, pocketing the handcuffs and moving on to the makeup waiting for me patiently by the sink. Uncapping the stick of ruby red lipstick, I slick a coat of it over my lips and set it back down on the sink top, studying my reflection carefully. Usually red lipstick would cause us call-girls to look trashy but surprisingly, this particular shade puts emphasis on my facial features and brings out the shape of my lips, giving me a sultry look. Again, I cannot thank Sehun enough for his good taste.

Giving myself a little smile for confidence, I pivot on my kitten heels and totter out of the bathroom, reaching up self-consciously to adjust my cat ears. Luhan looks up upon hearing the click of the bathroom door, his head propped up against the mountain of the pillows on the bed with his suit jacket already chucked over the nearby chair. Upon catching sight of me, his eyes darken with lust, tongue darting out to lick his lips greedily.

“Like what you see?” I pipe up eagerly, doing a little twirl in my heels to show off every inch of the lacy lingerie and how amazing my ass looks in the dim lighting of the room. I must admit that this is the best I’ve looked in ages, and the cat ears make everything even better.

Luhan gets off the bed, casually strolling across the room towards me with his hands stuffed in his pockets. In the warm lighting of the room, he looks even more handsome than usual; with the sleeves of his button-down shirt pushed up to his elbows and the little tent straining against his pants, it’s enough to make me want to pounce on him and fuck his brains out. But I control my urges, gazing at him sultrily from beneath hooded eyelids as he takes slow steps towards me, reaching out to grab me by the waist and pulling me against him.

“It’s impossible to not like it”, he croons in response to my earlier question, one mischievous hand inching its way down to my ass and giving it a little squeeze. “How’d you know that the cat ears drive me crazy?”

“Cat ears drive every man crazy”, I explain, flattening my palms against his chest and craning my neck to gaze up at him. Even in heels, I’m still a whole head shorter than he is, much to my chagrin.

“I’m not like every other man out there”, he points out, unable to resist reaching out to touch my satin cat ears curiously. His hard-on presses against the interior of my thigh and the promiscuous sensation of it against my bare skin sends sinful jolts of heat down to my aching core, prompting me to weave my hand down to his crotch and palm him through his pants excitedly.

“That’s bullshit”, I simper as a moan reverberates from him, his hips snapping forward and seeking for pleasure in my hand. “Every man wants a woman to be his little kitten, to belong to him and to savour his –and only his- taste for the night. Tell me, Mr Lu. Do you want that?”

As I speak, I grind my hips against his sensually, ensuring that my clothed womanhood circles round his growing erection tauntingly as my hand strokes him through the material of his pants. The breath hitches in his throat, his head falling back in pure bliss. “I want you”. His words come out as a needy whine, much to my satisfaction.

Taking that as a cue, I gently shove him back onto the bed, the two of us tumbling clumsily on it in a tangle of limbs as I pepper his face with lipsticked kisses, pulling bubbles of laughter from him. He squirms beneath me, running his hands down my torso delicately as he rakes his gaze down me appreciatively.

“You’re fucking art”, he whispers, as I tilt my head at a better angle to give his earlobe a playful little nibble, the tip of my tongue darting out to trace the bare skin around his ear stud. Then I pause, digesting his remark and I feel my face flush with pride, the seed of doubt in me shrivelling up and disappearing. Everything –the lingerie, the lipstick, the cat ears, the kitten heels- has paid off, thanks to Luhan’s observant nature. In all the years I’ve been sleeping with all kinds of men, hardly any of them took notice of whatever I was wearing as they were too preoccupied with wanting to take them off.

But with Luhan, I know I can always trust him to appreciate my foreplay and my edgy outfits. Everything –every outfit, every sex toy, every position in bed- I’ve tried and experimented with or on him, he’d always took it in stride and humoured me, appreciating my efforts to pleasure him in the weirdest and most interesting ways possible. And I’ve always received what I gave to him.

So now, while Luhan is distracted as I press my lips to his jawline and sighs blissfully as a result, I swiftly reach for his hands and pin them against the headboard above his head. His eyelids flutter open at the abrupt action, blinking up at me drowsily as I whip the handcuffs out from my pocket, holding it up for him to see. The metal glints in the warm lighting, leering at him mockingly.

Before he can react, the click of the cuffs resonate through the room as I attach his hands to the bedframe, curling my lips into a smirk as a disappointed expression spreads across his features at being tied down.

“Don’t look so down”, I say softly, pecking his lips lightly. “Just because you’re unable to touch me doesn’t make it less pleasurable”. As if to prove my point, I snap my hips forward so that my clothed womanhood grinds against his erection, to which he arches his back slightly with a soft but audible moan.

“Where’s the fun if I can’t touch you?” He mumbles breathlessly, sticking out his lower lip petulantly like a child. A giggle escapes me at his sulky reaction and I toss a wink down at him.

“Just trust me”, I quip confidently. “You’re in safe hands”.

“Well then. Put those hands to good use, kitten”.

Without further ado, my fingers proceed to undo the buttons on his shirt in an agonizingly slow manner, much to Luhan’s frustration and chagrin. But he says nothing, just watching me with hooded eyelids as I eventually undo the last button, allowing the material of the shirt to flap open and reveal his well-toned chest.

It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve feasted my eyes on his visual orgasm of a chest; the sight of it still sends spasms of heat pooling in the pit of my stomach and causes my mouth to salivate. Who the fuck ever said physical aspects don’t matter? They fucking matter.

Lowering my head, I press my lips against the bare skin of his chest, kissing a fiery trail down his torso. He reacts beautifully, his ragged breathing a symphony to my ears. Unable to hide my smile, I release the breath I’ve been holding in as my mouth glides its way down to his crotch, anticipation building up in both of us.

With steady fingers, I undo his belt and slide it out of the loops, meeting his eye as he studies my every move carefully, not wanting to miss a thing. His pants come off next, getting yanked off roughly and chucked on the carpeted floor carelessly in a puddle. There Luhan lies, completely and utterly vulnerable in his boxers and his ripped-open shirt, erection straining against the material of his boxers while his hands strain against the restraints of the cuffs.

This is the same man who runs the most successful drug company in China and Korea, the same man who is one of the most sought-after bachelors in the world, the same man who is a multi-millionaire businessman. And that successful CEO, bachelor and businessman is squirming beneath me at this very moment, nearly naked and whimpering desperately for me to please him. If only the world could see him now.

I lower my mouth over the tent in his boxers, teasing him with the tip of my tongue as I kitten-lick him through the thin material. He curses in Mandarin, to which I understand perfectly. “Fucking hell, (Y/N)”, he hisses, “stop teasing”.

“You don’t tell a dangerous woman what to do, Mr Lu”, I coo, slowly inching my mouth over his clothed erection and causing his hips to buck upwards automatically, seeking for the comfort of my mouth.

Luhan emits a sound of annoyance and frustration, twisting his wrists in the hold of the handcuffs. “Please?” He tries, his voice dwindling into desperation.

I pause, my lips still hovering over his erection temptingly. “Please what?” I murmur. Meeting his eye once more, I curl my fingers around the tent in his boxers and give him an encouraging squeeze, to which he attempts to stifle a whimper.

“Please suck me off”, he rasps, rocking his hips against my mouth for some friction against the tent in his boxers. “I need to feel your pretty little mouth around me”.

“Since you asked so nicely”, I muse aloud, hooking my fingers round the edge of his boxers and pulling them down to his ankles, “why the fuck wouldn’t I?”

His stiff cock springs into view, almost smacking me fresh across the face and I waste no time in taking his leaking tip into my mouth, my lips wrapping around it prettily. The salty tang of his pre-release explodes on my tongue, heightening all of my senses and I move on to take his entire length in my mouth slowly.

Luhan’s back arches off the bed beautifully, breathing heavily as I run my tongue over his shaft, utilizing my mouth to its fullest ability and slathering the entire length of his cock generously. A hoarse moan leaves his lips, lifting his hips to provide me with a better angle and I send him a silent gratitude for that by hallowing out my cheeks, providing as much friction as possible between my mouth and his cock.

As the seconds tick by, we develop a steady rhythm; his hips move in time to the bob of my head, his tip hitting the back of my throat gently. When he feels that I’m accustomed to the size, he increases the pace of his thrusts, feverishly fucking my mouth senseless as my hand drifts over his balls, giving them the attention they crave.

“Oh fuck, (Y/N), your mouth feels so good”, he growls, never pausing in his thrusts. The clanking of the handcuffs as he strains against them reverberates through the sex-filled air, and I allow my eyelids to flutter shut as my mouth works on his cock. Tears pool at the sides of my eyes but I brush them away, focusing on massaging his balls in perfect unison with the flicker of my tongue against his tip which all seem to drive him over the edge.

“Look at me, (Y/N)”, Luhan breathes, so I do. With my lips wrapped nicely around his thick cock, I gaze up at him through drowsy eyes, knowing at the back of my mind that I must be an erotic sight from his position. It’s like I’m almost drunk on his length, saliva pooling in my mouth and my cat ears lopsided. But he seems to love every second of it, judging from the glint in his lust-filled eyes and the way he runs the tip of his tongue over his lips, his hips snapping up to push his length as far back as I can manage.

A moan escapes me at the fulfilling sensation of his cock filling up every inch of my mouth, and Luhan instantly feels the vibration of it. Obviously relishing the feeling, he resumes the rhythm of thrusting provocatively into my mouth, to which I comply with by running my tongue over his shaft, the head and the tip. Combine that with my fingers working their magic on his balls and Luhan is plunged into an orgasmic daze, profanities leaving his lips with a vengeance.

The next thing I’m aware of is the explosion of salty release in my mouth and the ‘fuck’ Luhan utters out, my eyes never straying from his face as I watch satisfyingly at how his features contort with pleasure, head falling back against the pillows. I take it all in, swallowing every drop of his release happily and slowly withdrawing my mouth from his cock. Savouring the taste, the flavour.

He takes his time in coming down from his rollercoaster of an orgasm, panting hard and beads of perspiration dotting his forehead. While he gradually gets his breathing under control, I reach up and unlock the cuffs, releasing his wrists from their restraints. His arms flop by his sides limply, exhaling through pursed lips as he turns his head to the side to look at me.

In response, I bear an innocent grin, reaching up to adjust my cat ears again. “Was that okay?” I ask with faux bashfulness, batting my eyelashes up at him flirtatiously.

Luhan pushes himself up to a sitting position on his elbows, shooting me a sideways glance. “Are you kidding me? That was fucking amazing”, he gushes. “Now I’m jealous because every other man out there has probably gone through that mind-blowing experience of having your lips wrapped around their cocks”.

My confident exterior dents a little at that innocent remark and I swing my gaze away, hugging my knees to my chest. “Yeah, I guess”, I mumble tonelessly, trying my hardest not to think about the reality of my job. Sure, I’ve sucked plenty of dick in my life but it’s not –and will never be- the same as sucking Luhan’s. Not that I’ll ever tell him that to his face.

He notices the sudden shift in my attitude, raising one eyebrow worriedly. Without a word, he beckons me over and pats his bare lap reassuringly and I crawl over, straddling his lap and wrapping my arms around his neck. He rests his hands on my hips fleetingly, quirking up a comforting smile. “Hey now”, he coos, “don’t think so much. It’s just the two of us tonight, am I right?”

Pulling my lower lip in between my teeth, I lift my chin petulantly and nod feverishly, hoping that he doesn’t see the glinting tears in my eyes. “Yeah”, I say softly. “Just me and you”.

“Then just focus on us”, he advises patiently, reaching out to stroke my cat ears. “Like you said earlier, every man wants a woman to be his little kitten, for her to belong to him and only him. So be my kitten for tonight. Devote all your attention to me”. To lighten the mood, he reaches over and tweaks my nose cheekily, throwing in that oh-so-familiar grin of his.

I giggle at that, tilting my head suggestively. “You know, my theme tonight is supposed to be a dangerous woman. But apparently that went down the drain because dangerous women don’t cry in front of their clients”.

“Dangerous women have feelings too”, Luhan points out kindly. “It doesn’t make you any less dangerous. In fact, I’m actually in danger of asking for another blowjob”. We share a laugh at the pun, and he reveals his ugly laugh once more, causing happiness to bubble up in me. When we dwindle back into silence, Luhan runs his hands down my sides appreciatively, admiring the artistically crafted lace of my lingerie.

“You’re so beautiful”, he mutters beneath his breath, startling the both of us as we stare at each other, a crackle of something fizzling in the air. But then it’s gone, disappearing into nothingness as I hastily cover up the awkwardness by wriggling further into his lap.

“I would like a ride, Mr Lu”, I pipe up flirtatiously.

A smirk blooms on his face, and just like that, the raw feeling of his hard-on presses against my inner thigh once more. Grabbing me by the hips, he places his mouth near the shell of my ear, blowing against it gently and sending a breakout of goosebumps all the way down my neck. “Your ride is all ready for you, kitten”, he whispers.

My womanhood moans at his words, aching and burning for him. The heat curls up in me, growing and growing until the familiar wetness starts to soak through the thin material of my cute panties (again, courtesy of Sehun).

Sensing how my body has practically turned to putty in his hands, Luhan grabs the opportunity to assist me in wriggling out of my lingerie until I’m bare and vulnerably naked in front of him for the first time tonight. Not wanting to waste anymore time, I position myself in a way that my eager womanhood is directly above his equally eager cock and slowly but surely, I ease myself down on his length, gripping onto his shoulders tightly for support.

Luhan tenses beneath me as well, his fingernails digging into my bare hips and leaving little grooves in the sensitive skin as his length easily slides into me. My soaking folds accept him, and soon I’m rocking my hips back and forth feverishly, trying to get the right angle for his tip to brush against my sweet spot.

Between pants and grunts, Luhan thrusts his hips up to assist me, brows furrowed in sexual concentration as he works on giving me the pleasure my womanhood is dying for. The wanton sounds of skin slapping against skin just deepens our animalistic want and need for each other and soon, we’ve developed another rhythm, fucking each other to a beat only we can hear in our hearts.

I find myself bouncing on his cock, cat ears still intact on top of my head as we fuck each other to kingdom come. A cacophony of lewd noises leave our lips in such perfect harmony that it puts backup singers to shame, and I can’t help but keep my gaze fixated on the promiscuous sight of his glistening cock sliding in and out of my slick womanhood.

“Do you like this?” I rasp, relishing the way the ball of heat twists in my stomach, getting ready to release itself at any given moment. “Do you like the way I’m riding you, Mr Lu?”

Luhan groans in response, too far gone to even give me a coherent reply. Instead, all that leaves his lips is a flurry of whimpers and the occasional curse word as our hips slap against each other’s. Smirking at how helpless he is, I lean forward and brush my lips against his. “Something ‘bout you makes me feel like a dangerous woman”, I whisper seductively, watching with satisfaction as his features contort with pleasure at my words.

“You’re one fuck-able dangerous woman, that’s for sure”, he pants, tightening his grip on my hips as my folds start to clench around his length, a sure sign that I’m close. The ball of heat in me tightens into a knot, especially as his tip rams straight into my sweet spot, almost making me scream deliriously.

“I’m close”, I choke out, the pace of my hips slackening as I inch towards my orgasm. Luhan clings onto me, pushing his length in and out of me to substitute for my slackening pace and hitting that right spot every single time, throwing me into a blur of white as my womanhood tightens around him one last time.

Then the knot of heat in me unravels itself, propelling me to explode all over him, white strings of release spurting all over the sheets and his lap as I clutch his shoulders for support through my high. For the moment, I’m floating amongst the orgasmic clouds as Luhan fucks me through it. Then he follows suit, the both of us cursing out each other’s name as his warm release flows through me, filling me up in a way that has me wanting more.

It’s all over before I realize it, both of us crash-landing back in reality as the world spins back into focus. Panting and gasping, I roll over and bury myself in the safety of Luhan’s arms, tears trickling down my cheeks. He holds me close, burying his nose in my hair and knocking the cat ears right off my head. We lie in each other’s arms for a long time, not saying a word.

As usual, the moment Luhan dozes off and drifts into dreamland, I slither my way out of his arms and quietly gather up my clothes, slipping back into my dress I wore for dinner earlier this evening as I gather up my belongings and toss them back into the bag.

A glint at the corner of my eye catches my attention and I turn my head a fraction to see the bundle of hundred-dollar bills lying neatly on the nearby table. Reaching for it and slipping it safely into my pocket, I swing my bag over my shoulder and hesitate by the foot of the bed for a split second, observing as Luhan dozes on peacefully and obliviously without a care in the world. Without a second thought, I pad over to him and drop a soft kiss on his cheek. “See you next time, Mr Lu”, I whisper.

Then I turn and leave the hotel room without a backwards glance, the wad of cash in my pocket burning against my thigh as I make my way home.

Luhan never tells anybody about his dirty little secret. He doesn’t breathe a word about his late-night shenanigans with pretty call-girls, too egotistical to do so. But all the same, even after a night of fuck-fun with his source of release, he still returns to Lu Corporations without an inch of him out of place. Nobody ever has the slightest clue of what he gets up to in the ungodly hours of the night. And that’s the way he likes it.

So he returns to work and the cold reality of the business world, dealing with stupid clients and useless meetings even as the lingering thought of a particular call-girl plays in his mind, leaving him with the aftertaste of mind-blowing sex and a few precious moments of laughter with her. And as always, he waits until he feels like he can’t control himself anymore and simply picks up the phone to drop her a call once again.

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