#flocked wallpaper
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Eclectic Closet - Raised-Panel
Example of a mid-sized eclectic women's medium tone wood floor dressing room design with raised-panel cabinets and gray cabinets
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Eclectic Closet - Raised-Panel
Example of a mid-sized eclectic women's medium tone wood floor dressing room design with raised-panel cabinets and gray cabinets
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Transitional Powder Room Minneapolis
Inspiration for a transitional powder room remodel
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Powder Room - Bathroom
Inspiration for a transitional powder room remodel
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(i guess technically they can’t get caught if the fanfic is readily available)
#lucienne#the corinthian#continues to inflict his and the creative pursuits of others on matthew#eyeless-smiles#the sandman silliness#corinthian fanfic writers are the best#never stop being nasty pls#obviously dreamling has its own entire wing#i wish my brain wasn't like ofc this needs flocked wallpaper#my comic
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Powder Room in Boston
Image of a mid-sized, elegant powder room with a medium-toned wood floor, furniture-like cabinets, black cabinets, quartzite countertops, and a variety of wall colors.
#wall sconces#bathroom#petite crystal chandelier#apron sink#super white quartzite#black ceiling#vintage flock wallpaper
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thoughts and prayers 2 me pls they finally sold the house 🫶👽💖💕👍
#i saw the woman spend half the amount they sold if for in 7 days as gambling winnings just last month. we’ll see how that goes for them#as for me and my flock we will be heading in not that direction#yellow wallpaper
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In the last playthrough, I suddenly got really into this drider. It's a pity that he cannot be included in the party and didn't even play a particularly big role in the plot. Ooh, but how great was his potential. >_<
While I was drawing him, I thought that with this lantern (the only thing that can disperse the coming darkness) and the crazy preacher’s speeches, he would be a very cool secondary boss ...
With a big spider lair in the church, where adventurers were to be constantly stuck in the web forced to fight off not only spiders, but also the approaching darkness. With the same insane flock, half consisting of spiders capable of burrowing and unexpectedly attacking from a huge number of crevices/cracks/caves. And, of course, with great emphasis on the cult of the Absolute, and not Myrkul and the rest of the Trinity. It would be ironic if a new "divine essence" actually took root and began to form there, coming into direct confrontation with the Trinity...
... But okay, I got a little carried away.
I'm quietly "warming up" after the holidays and starting the year again by drawing a wallpaper, but this time for the phone. (last one was a Hastur for the computer) / Well, also, a couple of variations with spiders separate from each other.
P.S. - also add a process... cause I can \(￣︶￣*\))
#Karniss#drider#baldur's gate 3#baldurs gate 3#baldurs gate fanart#bg3#bg3 fanart#still in love with these spider legs#Perhaps if I have the mood and inspiration#I will draw him as a Preacher/Priest
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This 1879 Gothic Victorian is all original and it's amazing. Look at the carriage house, it's like a little gothic masterpiece. Located in Little Falls, New York, it has 8bds, 3ba, $800K.
Two heavy gothic doors open to reveal a central hall. Notice the tile floor.
The wood is pristine.
Can you imagine opening the door every night and walking into this hall? Look at the details on the newel post, the etched glass in the door.
Look at the fireplace in the reception room.
The details in this home are stunning. Look at the molding and floor.
I love the walls in the dining room. There are 2 different woods- the wainscoting is lighter than the fireplace and ceiling. Can you imagine some buyer coming in here, painting the walls gray and this wood white?
If this isn't a gothic fireplace I don't know what is.
This is nice, an enclosed porch.
Wow, the original stove is still in the kitchen. This home is incredible.
A stained glass window on the landing and two-toned wood "stripes" on the wainscoting.
The linen closets in the hall. I bet that's the original ladder the maids used.
Spacious bedroom with a wonderful fireplace.
All of the bedrooms are large. This one has an alcove.
And, this one has a typically Victorian sink.
This vintage bath! The tub is zinc.
Stairs to the 3rd level where they keep clothing.
More stairs to a 4th level.
They lead to this cool room at the top of the tower.
It's so Vintage up here. Look at the flocked wallpaper.
This bath is fantastic. That sink is clearly original.
Closeup of the carriage house.
Such detailed architecture.
The lot is .37 acre.
https://www.captivatinghouses.com/2024/02/12/1879-victorian-for-sale-in-little-falls-new-york/
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Steve and Eddie: Alternative ‘First’ meeting part 2.
Read Part 1 Here
Eddie Munson never expected Steve to be his friend. He kept waiting for the former king to realise how different their two worlds were. When that day came, he hoped Steve could look back on his time spent with the strange Metalhead with affection.
Several months had passed since the two had their first encounter in the woods outside the trailer park, and he hadn’t scared Steve away yet. Eddie found the boy following at his side every other day when he wasn’t at work. He was loyal as a golden retriever and strangely, almost as happy. When he and Steve run into each other for the first time since Steve’s graduation, one thing was clear: Steve wasn’t happy.
Now, most days, he appeared more happy than not. Yet, he was still distant. There were things he was keeping close to his chest, but Eddie didn’t feel like he was close enough to push.
Eddie kept waiting for the moment he’d chase Steve away. He talked the guy’s ear off about Hellfire, now that the school year was back in full swing. They’d both agreed to keep Steve’s flock of wayward children in the dark about their friendship, lest they think Steve was using Eddie to keep an eye on them, ever the babysitter. Steve listened attentively.
He invited Steve around to watch obscure B-grade, horror schlockfests. There was no way he enjoyed it, but Steve stayed. He jumped at all the right times and laughed at all the wrong ones, just like Eddie. Steve was too good to be true. One day, something had to give.
When they drove together, Eddie played the music too loud and performed air guitar solos at stoplights. He’d even gone so far as to serenade Steve with KISS songs as the guy helped him put together a dinner that wasn’t from a microwave container.
He’d expected Steve to roll his eyes and call him a nerd, which admittedly he did. However, right after, he’d equipped himself with a wooden spoon and performed an equally cheesy rendition of a Bob Seger song.
Hell, once his parents were out of town and they’d stayed the night at Steve’s he’d shown Eddie his best impression of Tom Cruise in Risky Business, complete with high socks, a poorly buttoned button-down, and too-short, shorts. Eddie was so gone for Steve Harrington, and it was horrible because he knew something was going to go wrong.
He was sick of waiting for it to happen. The two had been friends for months, and Eddie was sick of holding his breath, with each passing day knowing that the hurt would be all the greater as his attachment to Steve grew.
Steve’s parents were out of town, which always made for a more relaxed Steve. He’d invited Eddie to stay the night at his place for the first time. Eddie realised what had to happen next as Steve invited him to crash with him in his bed.
This was the thing that would finally scare Steve away. This was the thing that would get Steve to finally give up his reformed jock status and call him a freak. He couldn’t share a bed with Steve without him knowing, it wasn’t fair.
“I kinda like taking the side next to the door. You mind taking the window side?” Steve asked so casually it made Eddie’s heart ache.
He found it hard to swallow as he bit the bullet and told Steve the thing he’d been dancing around for months.
“I’m gay, Steve.” He wished he’d been more eloquent, but he hadn’t. He spoke to the shitty plaid wallpaper, his words running together.
When he finally looked, he found Steve sitting on the bed, his wide eyes looking equal parts alarmed and confused. He wasn’t cursing at Eddie or chasing the guy out of his house, so far, it was going better than he’d expected.
“Uh... thanks for telling me, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you steal my side of the bed,” Steve finally replied. Eddie was goddamn floored.
“You heard me, right?” Eddie repeated. There was no way in hell this wasn’t the thing that chased Steve away.
“Roger Dodger. Loud and clear. You don’t like boobs,” Steve paraphrased as he wriggled under the covers. Eddie let out a sound between a snort and a sob because, holy shit, Steve didn’t care. He was also an absolute idiot, but that was expected.
“And you’re still cool with me sleeping with you?” Eddie asked.
“I don’t like to sleep alone much, anymore,” Steve spoke with a vague shrug of his shoulders. There it was again, the uneasy sense he got that Steve wasn’t telling him something important.
Eddie didn’t pry, because Steve hadn’t pushed when he’d just goddamn come out to him. Eddie slipped beneath the covers, closest to the window and lay beside Steve until the man fell asleep. Eddie couldn’t sleep, his head still reeling.
After an hour, he felt Steve twitch at his side and mumble something incoherent. Eddie stayed still, thinking the moment would pass, quick and painless as a sun shower. Instead, Steve started to thrash. Eddie sat up in bed, flicked on the lights, and gazed down at the former king’s pinched brows. It was hard to believe this was the same boy who’d stalked the halls of Hawkins High, looking seemingly untouchable from Eddie’s ranks amongst the outcasts and common folk.
“Stevie?” Eddie breathed, placing a hand on Steve’s shoulder in an attempt to wake him.
The other man’s body stilled beneath his hand, and his face remained contorted. In his sleep, he crept closer to Eddie, curling his body around him. He had no idea what the hell to do. Steve hating to sleep alone made more sense.
“It’s okay, Harrington. I got you. You’re okay,” Eddie mumbled, taking a risk and leaning down to card his hands through the man’s hair.
Eddie sat there for another half-hour, muttering quiet nothings until he stilled and slept peacefully.
When morning finally came and the two found themselves dancing around each other in the Harrington’s oversized kitchen, Eddie decided to broach the subject. Steve kept setting off alarm bells in his head, and he had no idea how to quiet them on his own.
“Steve, I know I’m a shitty listener because I love to hear the sound of my own voice, but you know, if you ever need to talk about anything, I’m here, right?”
Steve stepped back from the kitchen cabinet to get a better look at Eddie, his face the picture of conflict. He kept looking as though he were seconds from telling Eddie something before going dead quiet. Finally, he spoke.
“I don’t think I’m entirely straight.”
That hadn’t been what he was fishing for, but holy shit.
To make matters worse, Steve was sending him all the right goddamn cues. His eyes flickered to Eddie’s lips, then back to his face. He chewed on his bottom lip and ran his fingers through his carefully styled hair. Screw it.
Eddie crossed the space between them and smash their lips together, pushing Steve’s back against the cabinet. It was a car crash kind of desperation. Limbs and lips everywhere. Steve ended up on the countertop, his legs wrapped around Eddie’s hips, hands in his hair. Eddie’s head was a chorus of holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.
Eddie Munson never expected Steve to be his friend, but the one thing he’d never expected to ruin their friendship was a kiss.
Tags
@rhyswritesreadsandcries @lightwoodbanethings @beeing-stuupid @chaoticvictorianspirit @korixae @ihaveahordingproblem @lyriclight @exyvey @ashwinmeird @breealtair @eviltwistedpixie @adelicioustragedy @theoncelee @bubblegum192 @aceflavouredyougurt @pluto-pepsi @occasionallyifailtoart @didntwant2come @catboybadankrivervalleynearyou
#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddie drabble#steddie ficlet#ficlet#my ficlet#stranger things#drabble#alternative 'first' meeting#multipost fic#long post#back by popular demand#this wasn't going to be a two parter but people wanted it#now I'm tempted to write a part three#hopefully I got everyone how asked to be tagged#I did my best#angst and fluff#Metalhoops writes
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The Cat and Dog Game [Chapter 26]
Genre: Romance, Fluff, Comedy
Pairing: Yunho x Reader (y/n)
Characters: Chef!Reader, RestaurantOwner!Yunho, MaitreD!Hongjoong, Waiter!Yeosang, Waiter!San, Waiter!Mingi, SousChef!Seonghwa, SousChef!Wooyoung, PrepChef!Jongho
Summary: Yunho's dream was to open and run his own restaurant. But he doesn't know anything when it comes to cooking. Until you came along and accepted the job, bringing with you a small crew. How will the black cat tame the energetic golden retriever?
Word count: 3.3K
"Wait, wait, wait. Hwa hyung! Look at this!" Wooyoung yelled. You yelped, clawing at Wooyoung to lower his volume and return you your phone. But the cheeky boy held the phone far away from you, preventing you from reaching it.
"What is it?" Seonghwa walked over as he was drying his hands. You yelled out protests at Wooyoung.
"It's nothing!" You denied. Wooyoung smirked and handed your phone over to Seonghwa. Seeing the commotion, Jongho curiously came over to see too.
"You're lucky there are no customers now with the way you two are yelling." Jongho clicked his tongue and shook his head.
"Just give me my phone back." You growled.
"Look at the wallpaper, hyung. It's not you anymore. Little sneak thought she could change her home wallpaper and we won't see it." Wooyoung giggled.
"The lockscreen is still Hwa! You know what, I don't even know why I bother to explain myself." You rolled your eyes.
Your home screen wallpaper was the picture of you and Yunho looking at each other, the candid photo that the aquarium staff took at the underwater tunnel. It was a cute photo and you really liked it so you set it as your home wallpaper to have more privacy since you weren't officially dating yet.
"It's a cute photo. But I got to admit, it hurts." Seonghwa feigned hurt, holding his heart. You snatched your phone back, tucking it into your pocket.
"Well, live with it. You're tempting me to change my lockscreen photo too." You glared at them.
"I didn't do anything. You can set me." Jongho smiled.
"You spectated and did nothing to stop them. So that's just as bad in my book." You shot at him. You marched over to your station to continue your work.
"All you guys do is bully and tease me now." You pouted. Internally, you didn't mind it, you were used to their antics.
"Oh, come on, jagiya. You know we do it because we love you. We're happy for you and Yunho, really." Wooyoung said, wrapping his arms around you and rubbing his cheek against yours. You had a flat look on your face.
"I told you to stop calling her that. She's not your jagi and all the more, you shouldn't call her that when Yunho is around." Seonghwa scolded the younger.
"But you and Yunho aren't official yet, right? He hasn't asked you to be his girlfriend." Jongho asked.
"Yeah. We've been out on dates but we're taking it slow. We don't want to rush into anything too quickly." You said.
"And that's okay." Wooyoung squeezed your hand with a soft smile, leaning in to kiss your cheek. You made a face but appreciated the understanding and patience all the boys had for you.
"Alright, back to work." You said, patting Wooyoung's back.
"Don't think you guys are off the hook. I'll get my revenge." You squinted your eyes, turning back to your batter.
"Good morning, everyone." Yunho came in with a smile. The others boys greeted him in return but you back was to him. As usual, he flocked over to you, standing by your side with the biggest grin on his face. But to his dismay you just ignored him. You didn't greet him back like you always do.
"(y/n). Are you alright?" He pouted. All you did was side eye him, giving him a look. Straightening back up, he blinked in confusion, wondering why you gave him a stink eye.
"Relax, Yunho. It's not your fault." Seonghwa voiced out while Wooyoung and Jongho snickered.
"Yes, how could you ever be mean to this cute face?" Wooyoung came, squishing Yunho's cheeks, making the taller stunned.
"The fact that you have to tip toe to reach his face." You raised an eyebrow. Wooyoung's jaw dropped and Yunho couldn't help but laugh, gently removing Wooyoung's hands.
"Ooh, she got you there, hyung." Jongho chimed.
"Shut up!" Wooyoung scolded. You sighed and went to move your sheets of cake into the oven.
"So, what did they do that got you angry?" Yunho asked worriedly, cornering you by the walk in fridge. You raised an eyebrow at him. He looked so pitiful your heart couldn't help but melt at him.
"It's nothing, Yunho. Really. They're just messing around like always." You replied, a soft smile on your face as you squeezed his hand. Yunho nodded with a smile, leaning down to give you a brief hug. The height gave you a chance to pat his head.
"Hey, hey. No fraternising in here." Seonghwa called. You rolled your eyes and pulled away.
"By the way, did you tell him about next Friday yet?" Your best friend reminded. You facepalmed and shook your head.
"Tell me what?"
"I completely forgot. So, I know Friday is busy but Hwa and I have some... thing... to attend. Can't really get out of it. But we have two friends that will come in and take over for the day." You informed.
"Oh. So you won't be in at all?" Yunho clarified. You turned to Seonghwa, who nodded his head.
"I'm sorry, Yunho. Trust me, if we could get out of it, we would." You sighed. Seeing you so frustrated, Yunho didn't push it further.
"Don't worry about it, I know it's not your fault. We'll manage, it's just one day." He smiled, showing you his understanding. You nodded with a hum and went back to the kitchen.
"Anyway Wooyoung and Jongho will still be here to guide the chefs. They'll be the ones to plan the menu and everything so you can liaise with them if you'd like." You told him. Yunho nodded and patted your back reassuringly. Maybe he'll ask you about it later, when it is just the two of you alone.
"Hello." San, Yeosang, Hongjoong and Mingi came in, reporting for work. You all greeted them back.
"Oh, Mingi. Hang on." You stopped the taller male. Mingi froze in his tracks, turning to you in confusion. You went to the locker room and came out with a tray.
"This is Swiss braided bread called Butterzopf. But I changed the recipe to use brown sugar instead. I remember you said you liked brown sugar bread." You said, handing it to him.
"Wow, it smells so good. And it's still warm." Mingi nearly drooled all over the bread.
"Yeah, it came out of the oven just this morning before I came to work. I hope you like it, something new." You informed.
"I know I will like it. I love bread. Thank you, (y/n)." Mingi grinned and wrapped an arm around you to give you a side hug. Honestly, he was just excited to eat the bread.
"What about me? I like bread too." Yunho voiced out.
"I'll make it for you again. Or you could take some from Mingi's loaf?" You tilted your head.
"Yeah, no way. I'm not sharing my bread." Mingi scoffed, hugging the tray to his body to show his possessiveness. You laughed at the two of them and went back to help your team. Yunho frowned, why did you make bread for Mingi and not him?
"Work time." Mingi declared and went out to help San set up the barista counter for the morning. Yunho also went to get the store front ready for opening, keeping his eye on Mingi the whole time.
"What did you do to him?" San nudged Mingi, asking in a soft voice.
"Nothing. I only got bread from (y/n)." Mingi stated. San's eyebrows raised, hearing Mingi's words.
"Oh, so that's why he's all uptight." San chuckled.
"What do you mean? It's just bread. If he wants, he can just (y/n) to make him a loaf too." The taller scoffed, totally not understanding why Yunho was moody.
"Mingi ah, it's more than just bread. He's jealous." San laid it out for him.
"Jealous of my bread?" Mingi tilted his head.
"What? No... I- He's jealous that (y/n) did something nice for you and you only. You know he likes her and they aren't officially boyfriend and girlfriend yet. So he sees you as potential competition for (y/n)'s attention and in this case, affection." San sighed as he tried to explain it to Mingi.
"Oh... But I don't like (y/n), not in that way, at least. I just like that she makes delicious food and bread." Mingi shrugged.
"Doesn't matter to him. You still stole (y/n)'s attention away from him." San nodded over to Yunho, who was now counting the money with such fervour and a frown on his face.
"His possessive puppy side is really showing." Yeosang leaned against the counter, having overheard the two.
"True." Hongjoong joined in with a chuckle.
"What?" Yunho's head shot up. The 4 shook theirs heads, returning back to their tasks. As usual, you came out with a tray of the treats going out today and gave it to the boys to have for breakfast.
"Thank you, I was starving!" Yeosang exclaimed, taking a bite of the pastry and melting at the taste.
"Don't choke." You laughed, giving a small wave and heading back to the kitchen.
"Oh, by the way, we're ready for service. Could we get some hands to bring out the stuff?" You poked your head back out. Hongjoong and Yeosang went to help while Yunho slipped to the back. He avoided everyone, going out the backdoor. But you weren't there.
"BOO!"
"AH!" Yunho screamed and jumped, holding his heart, fearing for a heart attack. You couldn't help but laugh, having to support yourself by holding onto your knees.
"You should have seen your face! That was the highlight of my day!" You said in between your laughs, trying to catch your breath.
"Not funny." Yunho mumbled with a pout. Hongjoong came out to see what all the screaming was.
"We're fine, hyung. (y/n) just jump scared me." Yunho complained. Hongjoong nodded and retreated back, not wanting to be involved in whatever was going on between you and Yunho.
"I'm glad I made you laugh." Yunho rolled his eyes.
"You sure did." You smiled. Yunho sighed and took a seat on the step while you took the space beside him.
"(y/n), will you tell me what's happening next Friday that got you so upset?" Yunho suddenly asked. You didn't reply, trying to process his question and think of an answer to give him. Of course, Yunho could sense that you were upset. He was just that observant, especially when it came to you.
"It's really nothing, Yunho. Just some cushy family event thing. That's why Seonghwa's going. His family will be there too." You sighed, leaning against him arm.
"Oh..." Was all he could say.
"I just don't like events like that. It's unnecessarily... stuffy. To say the least." You groaned.
Yunho remembered during your first date, how you indirectly told him your relationship with your stepmother and stepbrother wasn't all that good too. No wonder you didn't want to go.
"Well, do you... need a date?" He almost winced as he asked. He didn't think it would come out sounding so... direct?
"Oh, Yunho, I-"
"It's nothing serious. I know we're still just going on dates. I offered... in case it can help in some way? I don't know. Maybe having a date would take the heat off you...?" He blabbered as he tried to explain to you why he asked.
"You're too sweet, Yunho. Thank you. But I'll save you the torture of meeting my family and that crowd for now." You smiled gratefully, squeezing his hand.
"Okay. If you change your mind, you can always ask me. You know I'll help you with whatever you need." He rest his head against yours.
"I know." You giggled and pecked his cheek before standing up and just leaving him there, stunned.
"H-Hey!" Yunho burst into the kitchen, causing all eyes to fall on him curiously. He saw you silently snickering in your corner by the mixer while he gre embarrassed.
"Sorry, carry on." He cleared his throat and went out to the front.
"You're having too much fun bullying him. He's so nice and you're being a meanie." Wooyoung scolded.
"Can't help it. He's too adorable not to." You shrugged. Then you stopped, eyes widening as you realised how you just admitted that out loud to the others in the room. Seonghwa stifled a laugh, hiding behind his hand. You facepalmed, turning away so you wouldn't have to face any of them.
"I need a nap." You massaged your temples. All four of you finished up your bakes for the day, you and Jongho started on the prep for dinner while Seonghwa and Wooyoung did the clearing up.
"Oh, I need to check we have enough rock salt for the salt baked chicken tonight." Jongho said.
"We'll pick some up if we need." You told him.
"There's too much mirepoix to chop. Use the food processor." Seonghwa advised. Jongho helped you set the machine up and you cut the vegetables into sections.
"Mirepoix is only for the chowder tonight, right?" You confirmed as you fed the celery, carrot and onions through the machine.
"Yeah. Tomorrow, we'll need the holy trinity (celery, onions, green bell peppers) for the gumbo." Wooyoung said.
"That reminds me, we haven't got any andouille sausage for the gumbo. We need to go pick some up. And only that butcher across town brings it in. We should make time to drive down today or tomorrow afternoon." Jongho suggested.
"I still have some in my freezer. It should be enough for what we need." You raised your hand.
"I want you guys to rest during the afternoons. There's no need to drive across town for it. Just take the ones in my freezer first, I don't have a plan for them anyway." You added.
"Okay, when we come for dinner service tonight, we'll bring it to keep it here so you don't have to carry them." Wooyoung nodded.
"How are we doing the chickens?" Jongho asked.
"We should bake them whole then give half per dish. Minimzie contact between the meat and the salt. Only carve them when we're serving." Seonghwa said.
"Yeah, let's go that. I want to do haricot vert, tossed in a pan with garlic chips." You informed.
"What greens are we doing with the stuffed pork tenderloin? We are stuffing it with spinach, gruyere and walnuts." Wooyoung asked.
"I think we should do a side salad instead of cooked greens since there is already spinach in the pork. Let's do watercress salad, we'll toss it lightly in a balsamic vingerette. Use a more aged balsamic because the watercress can be quite sharp. I want the natural sweetness to cut that." You said.
"Sounds good." Wooyoung wrote down your words in his phone to remember it for later. You all began to brainstorm on the Korean dish that you will be cooking.
"We have Korean red snapper. Wrap that fillets with the soy pickled perilla leaves and steam it?" You thought out loud.
"Dot small cubes of sesame tofu around that?" Seonghwa added. You nodded, liking his suggestion.
"We need texture though. Snapper is meaty but fish and tofu is soft. I suggest cucumber kimchi. Crunch with spice." Jongho added. You gave him a thumbs up.
"Are we still doing lasagna?" You checked.
"Yes. Plus, we can prep the lasagna components and just construct it before throwing it into the oven later." Seonghwa said.
"Alright. Let's do that and head home to rest. Get the pasta sauce we did yesterday." You clapped your hands. Seonghwa and you did the lasagna while Wooyoung and Jongho did the other prep that needed to be done for tonight.
"Two trays should be enough for now." Seonghwa said. You nodded and moved the trays to the walk in.
"We're done here." Wooyoung threw his hands up in relief. You all grabbed your things, you dropped by the front to say goodbye to the other boys.
"I'll see you all tonight." You waved to them. They all waved back with smiles. Yunho followed you back to the kitchen.
"Rest well." He smiled, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. You nodded and he hugged you tightly.
"You rest well too." You said. Yunho hummed and even kissed the top of your head. He let you go and you went to Wooyoung's car so he could drop you back at home.
"Wow, a kiss on the head. I see progression~" Wooyoung whistled as you climbed into the passenger seat.
"Shut up." You cleared your throat and looked away.
"Nothing to be embarrassed about, jagiya. You're both shy in your own, different way, it's rather cute to see you two together." He chuckled as he drove. You let out a soft sigh, staring out the window. Seonghwa drove to drop Jongho home before returning to his own place. Wooyoung would stay with you.
After he parked, you both went upstairs and you showered in your own bathroom while Wooyoung used the guest bathroom. You used a hairdryer to dry your hair quickly.
"You're so cute with your plushies, jagi." Wooyoung chuckled, standing at the other side of the bed.
"Just get in. I want to sleep." You yawned.
"Shall I call Yunho to come cuddle you?" He grinned. You looked up at him, squinting your eyes to shoot him a glare.
"You know what? Maybe you should. And while you're at it, sleep in the guest bedroom. I don't even want you sleeping in my bed." You turned around so you faced away from him.
"I'm sorry, jagi. You know I'm teasing." He wrapped his arms around you to pull you to his side.
"Seonghwa hyung told us that next Friday is that gala ball thing." Wooyoung said.
"Mhmm, we always try to get out of it but it's tough. Plus, my stepbrother isn't around so all the more, I am expected to be there. I'm sorry to leave you and Jongho on one of our busiest days. We have two chefs coming in to take over though." You sighed.
"Nothing for you to apologise for, jagi. We know you don't want to be there. And, we've worked with other chefs before, nothing out of the ordinary." He chuckled.
"You and Jongho will be in charge though. Deciding the menu items and being the point of contact." You added.
"Don't worry about us, we'll handle it." He stroked your cheek.
"Worrying about you guys keeps my mind off the impending doom. It keeps me distracted rather than overthinking about what is to come." You giggled in response.
"Well, you still have a week so keep your mind off it for now. But right in this instance, sleep." He told you.
"Yunho... offered to go with me... But... he doesn't know what my family is like and I didn't want to subject him to that." You said.
"Maybe it's for the best. It'll be less stressful on you as well. You already have a lot on your plate. Yunho's intentions are good and you guys have a good thing going. Don't let your dad and stepmom ruin it for you." Wooyoung agreed with your decision. You hummed, Wooyoung was right.
"I wish it was my mom there. I'd have no hesitation in introducing her to Yunho, even if we aren't official yet. She'd love him and his large appetite." You smiled.
"You can still introduce him to her. When you're ready, bring him to visit her and pay respects." He suggested.
"Yeah. Maybe I'll do that soon." You closed your eyes and let out a long exhale as you leaned against Wooyoung and let sleep consume you.
~
Series masterlist
#kpop#kpop scenarios#kpop series#ateez#ateez scenarios#ateez series#ateez x reader#ateez imagines#ateez yunho#yunho ateez#yunho#yunho scenarios#yunho series#yunho x reader#yunho x you#yunho x y/n#jeong yunho#jeong yunho scenarios#jeong yunho series#jeong yunho x reader
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Bob Mitchell Designs, Wallpaper, (screen printed and flocked on Mylar), Culver City, CA, 1969 [Cooper Hewitt, Smithsonian Design Museum, New York, NY. © Bob Mitchell Designs]
#design#interior design#wallpaper#pattern#bob mitchell designs#cooper hewitt#smithsonian design museum#1960s
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An Enjoyable Slide to Oblivion
AN: Hi, remember me? Yeah, it's been a tough few weeks, but I'm back on track now and free from soul crushing work, so my brain is free to wander.
The usual warnings apply.
Previous chapter
Chapter 9- Open Your Eyes
Chancy woke up in yet another hotel room. This one had striped wallpaper and heavy flocked curtains. She blinked and smoothed her hair, trying to remember what day it was. With no obvious days and nights, time turned shimmery and difficult to grasp. There were the shows, of course, but sometimes there was one and others there could be two in a day, it was an unreliable unit of measurement.
After a couple of minutes she decided that didn’t matter. Then she tried to remember where she was. Texas? Washington? Ohio? That probably didn’t matter either.
The bed was otherwise empty, which was unusual. She was used to waking before Elvis, having that moment of grace where she could breathe and marvel at him close up. One of the highlights of every day was curling beside him as he slept, her head on his pillow, stroking the back of her fingers down the side of his face and smiling as his lip twitched into the faintest curl.
While he was asleep, he was safe, he was calm, he was predictable. All was well.
Sighing, she threw back the covers and padded across to the bathroom to make herself presentable. As she passed the door that had been left ajar, she heard voices coming from the living area beyond, and she paused to make them out. Elvis’ was unmistakable, of course, but there was also Jerry’s near monotone, Lamar’s nasal twang, and Ricky’s uneven pitch. She also glimpsed Sonny’s broad shoulders through the crack in the door.
“I don’t know, man, I’m just saying you got your work cut out for you,” Lamar was saying somewhere off to the right. “She’s real sharp, you know. Plus she knows you so well, she’s got you bang to rights, son.”
“Well,” Elvis replied, his voice soft and slurred. “We’ll see, I guess. Maybe- maybe that’s what I need.”
“It’s what I’ve been saying for years,” Jerry intoned. “You always need a challenge, man. When you’re working, you rise to the occasion, so why not in love too, you know?”
“You worried about me being able to ‘rise to the occasion’, Jerry?”
There was a chorus of guffaws. Chancy rolled her eyes and smiled at them talking about relationships like they always teased the girls for doing. She didn’t want to think about who they might be talking about. There was no good answer to that.
The list of things she was refusing to think about was getting long enough to warrant a scroll rather than a page of a notebook. The tour would be coming to a close soon and they had not talked about what would happen next. Chancy would be going home to her job and her family and he would presumably be getting ready for his latest stint in Las Vegas.
Standing in the shower, she told herself that she had only signed up for the tour, and that she was only equipped to be there for the tour. No doubt he already had someone lined up for Vegas, and probably someone else for the rehearsals in LA beforehand too. And that was for the best.
“I tell ya, no need for windows when I got a view like that!”
Chancy whipped round and had to throw out her hands to stop herself from skidding on the slippery tiles, peering through the shampoo suds trickling into her eye.
“You scared me!” she replied. He had opened the shower door slightly and was peeking in with a sneaky, boyish smile.
“You don’t ever need to be scared, baby, not with me around.”
‘Most of the time you’re the one who scares me!’ she wanted to say but didn’t. Instead, she tilted her head up to catch the spray and rinse off her hair. The waft of cooler air hitting the steam made her glance back over as he pulled open the door, shrugged off his robe and stepped into the cubicle in his pyjamas.
“I don’t think you understand how showers wor-” His lips swallowed her words as he ducked down and kissed her, pulling her against him.
“See, I got ya,” he mumbled, his hands sliding down her slick skin as the shower soaked his hair to his face. “I’ll always protect you.”
“You’re crazy,” she murmured, clumsily unfastening the buttons on his pyjama jacket as her mouth chased his. He leant down to allow to her peel off the sopping top, grimacing in discomfort, but grabbed hold of her again as soon as she flung it over the screen.
“A real man’s gotta be ready to protect his woman any time, any place,” he informed her with childlike earnestness.
“And who or what are you protecting me from right now?” she asked, playfully inching down the waistband of his pants.
“Honey,” he mumbled into her mouth, “you never know.”
As soon as she got his pants down past his hips, he surged forward, pressing into her, and the sudden pressure almost took her off her feet. Trying to help, he grabbed her in a bear hug and almost went with her.
“Shit, this was a much better idea in my head,” he murmured wryly, biting on his luscious bottom lip as he pushed his hair from his eyes.
“It was an amazing idea,” she assured him, fruitlessly trying to swipe away drops of water from his brow to stop them trickling into his eyes. “But I think the only thing I need protecting from right now is gravity and these darn tiles. Can’t fight science.”
“Aw, faith beats science every time, you know that,” he replied, resting his head on her shoulder and turning his face into the crook of her neck. The pattering of the spray against her skin, combined with the soft touches of his lips and the scrape of his stubble and teeth at her throat, was almost too much.
“And common-sense beats all,” she told him, carefully stepping backwards. “Come with me?”
She reached down to grab his waterlogged pants and toss them out of their way and when she looked back his gaze was heavy but loving as his eyes slowly travelled down from her face. She withstood this as long as she could, legs trembling, and then she turned and stepped out of the shower.
“Damn, I’d follow that ass anywhere,” he murmured, catching her when she paused to grab a towel, and pulling her into him. She could feel his excitement against the curve of her ass as he practically lifted her, nibbling her neck like a hungry vampire. When she tried to turn to hand him a towel, he just squeezed her tighter and they half-walked, half-stumbled back into the bedroom.
Something felt different, there was an urgency about his actions that hadn’t been there before, and she wondered if he was thinking about the end of the tour as well. Without preamble, he manoeuvred her onto the edge of the bed, flipping her at the last second so that she was looking up at him. When he swooped down, fitting himself against her like they were made that way, she slid her fingertips up his arms where they twitched against the ripple of muscle as he held himself up over her on his elbows.
“Are you okay?” he asked directly against the shell of her ear, his damp cheek pressed against the side of her face. She went to nod but shivered instead, digging her nails into his shoulders. “I can’t- I…” He pulled back, but couldn’t meet her eye, his cheeks pink. “I want-”
She nodded this time, gritting her back teeth as pulses of tension radiated out through her body. He pulled away from her with a grunt, leaving his hand splayed out across her chest to hold her in place and she clasped her own hands over it. As he looked down, the fingers of his other hand slipped and slid into her, testing her readiness. She writhed slightly against them and his frown of concentration faded into his boyish smirk, his eyes glittering in that irresistible way that made all the girls swoon, Chancy included.
Having learnt her lesson, she didn’t push or urge him on, but scraped her nails up his soft sides, making him twitch his whole body and glare at her with playful ire.
“Don’t play with me, baby, you don’t wanna know what I’ll do to win,” he warned in a silly, deep voice that had her giggling. Her laughter cut short as he plunged a finger inside her, biting his lip against a smile as she inhaled sharply.
After a minute or so of this, he nodded absently and took hold of himself, his other hand moving down to her stomach as he positioned himself at the right angle. When he thrust up, she gasped and he sank down and scooped her up with his forearms. His forehead pressed against hers as he drew back and then pushed deeper, filling her with an aching heaviness.
“You’re okay, baby.”
All of her senses were in overdrive, she could feel the droplets of water from the shower still on the middle of his back as she wrapped her arms around him, trying to tug him in tighter, closer. His chest hair scraped against her skin, the weight of him crushed her ribs and hips, and she wanted more. It was never enough.
“Wait, wait a minute!” he exhaled, pulling up and releasing her onto the mattress. She was hanging half off the bed, and the beaded edge of the mattress felt scored into the skin above her tail bone.
Wordlessly, mindlessly, she watched him rise to his feet and view her pensively, his hands hooked just below his hips. He seemed unaware of her eyes as he thought, his erect cock glistening with her and his soft, round belly rising and falling with his breathing. She marvelled at how intimate and safe they had come to feel around each other in such a short period of time.
“Are you okay?” she asked finally, curling upwards towards him. He started slightly, like he had forgotten she was real, and smiled.
“Uh, yeah, let’s get you more comfortable, baby.”
He scooped her up into his arms like he was a groom about to carry her over the threshold (She shook her head at her stupid brain making that comparison.) and placed her in the centre of the bed. Face intense, he climbed on after her and slid his hands underneath her head, drawing out her hair and fanning it around her face.
Beginning to feel the chill and aching inside, she lifted an eyebrow and asked, “Are you done? Maybe once you finish dressing the set you could give me a script?” His eyebrow twitched as he considered the thought with faraway eyes. “You are so bad!” She tossed a pillow at him, hitting him right in the middle.
“Hey, watch it!” he retorted, grabbing her wrists and pinning them on either side of her head. He wriggled his hips so that he was lined up perfectly against her and rolled them slowly as he pressed her hands into the pillows. She craned her neck to kiss him, but he moved back slowly, a slow grin spreading across his face. Almost effortlessly, he slid into her, and her breathing hitched as he finally lowered his head, devouring her mouth.
Once he had picked up where he had left off, his pace was relentless and his hunger undeniable. His mouth rarely left her, pulling away only to gasp a breath before he was kissing and biting and just pressed against her again.
The pressure rose as the ripples of pleasure glided out from her centre, her muscles contracting and aching and tingling all at once. She shivered and shuddered beneath him and reached up to cup his face with her hands.
“Baby,” she whispered, “open your eyes.” He did, blinking a little at first like he had trouble focussing on her, before a filter of complete adoration came over his face. And she came in such a rush that it was almost painful, her clenching and moaning sending him sinking into her with a groan.
They lay catching their breath, plastered together, the silence loud and thick.
“Well, damn.” His voice was muffled deep in the pillows and she laughed, wiping her hair out of her face from over his shoulder.
“Now I’m gonna need another shower,” she remarked, as he peeled himself away from her with a wince.
“Let’s have breakfast first,” he murmured, dropping onto his back and resting his arm across his face. “Need to regain my strength. You’re relentless, woman.”
“What can I say, I just can’t control myself,” she returned, giving him a nudge in the side. She caught him smiling underneath his arm.
It was pancakes for breakfast again. At this rate, Chancy reflected that she might be able to write a book on the range, variety and edibility of pancakes served by hotels across America. These ones were good. Not Grandma level good, obviously, but soft and fluffy and just absorbent enough to take in the syrup without sucking it away never to be seen again.
“I didn’t realise there were so many factors to consider,” Elvis remarked after her review. He picked up a strip of charred bacon between his fingers and chewed on it, holding back his smile.
“Of course there are. Pancakes are a work of art.”
“Well, you’d know.” She watched him dip his next strip of bacon into the jug of syrup and shook her head with affectionate disbelief.
“What? C’mere a minute. It tastes good! Here, try it.” She shook her head and he leant over, rubbing the bacon on her lips and coaxing her in baby talk to just try an ‘iddle widdle bit’. When she didn’t crack, he ate it himself, shaking his head at her refusal. She stuck out her tongue and let it flick over her bottom lip, tasting the salty grease and sweet syrup together, but she refused to admit it was good because he didn’t need the encouragement.
“Gotta make the most of it,” he shrugged, munching through the bacon. “Gotta go on a diet as soon as we get home.”
The look on his face was positively mournful and she stopped herself from pointing out that if he ate less bacon dipped in syrup now then he wouldn’t have to spend so long on a diet later. He wasn’t stupid, but there were areas in his mind where logic failed to stick and eating was one of them.
“You know what would finish this off perfect?” he commented suddenly, brightening. “Something cold and sweet. Baby, can you call down and order me some ice cream?”
“For breakfast?!” Her laughter was caught between amusement and disbelief.
“It’s six in the evening,” he pointed out with that mischievous boyish smile.
“Are you serious?” She thought back to times when she had witnessed someone question his eating habits and how promptly they had been torn down and tossed out. It made her tense before she gently added:
“Sweetie, you can’t still be hungry.”
“Pwease, Cha-Cha?” He stuck out his bottom lip and she knew that she would give in, as much as she didn’t want to. She was inwardly cursing her weakness as she picked up the receiver, keeping her back to him so that he couldn’t mouth any more requests while she was ordering.
By the time the ice cream arrived, Jerry and Joe had appeared to check in and talk about arrangements for the show. They side-eyed Elvis’s breakfast without comment, knowing better, while Chancy shifted uncomfortably. She knew should have tried harder to talk him out of it, though it was likely she still would have been unsuccessful at doing anything but putting him in a bad mood.
Gradually, as the evening wore on, more people arrived at the suite, the usual faces, but also some locals. There were the beautiful young girls, as always, some local police officers that Elvis had got talking to in the hallway while they were moonlighting as security, (She hoped they were not as zealous as that one cop that had strong armed her in the elevator.) and more of the guys.
Elvis was evidently in a very social mood since he seemed to be making it his mission to talk to every single person as though he was their best friend, leaving her doing her best to not look awkward. She was usually better at this, better at striking up random conversations, but after her first attempt when she had made a joke about Sonny’s shirt and Charlie had come rushing over to laugh hysterically while also giving her a panicked shake of the head, she had retreated to an armchair.
“Hey CC, you okay?” Chancy blinked and stared up into Jerry’s concerned face.
“Sure!” she trilled. His expression didn’t change and he didn’t move away.
“Can I get you anything? You want a drink?”
“No, I’m fine, thank y- You know, actually, a drink would be great.” She looked over to where Elvis was joking around with Joe and Red, shoving at Joe’s shoulder as he burst out with his deep belly laugh. “And, you know, if you wanted to pour a drop of vodka in the Pepsi, I would not be averse.” Jerry winked and nodded.
A few minutes later, she discovered that he did not know how to quantify ‘a drop’. She almost spat out her mouthful, but forced herself to swallow it down, burning all the way.
“Wow, look at you!” Sandi remarked, giving a low whistle as she glanced over at Charlie and the rest of the guys with Elvis. “You’re really looking the part.”
Chancy peered down at the white silk sheath halter dress that Elvis had asked her to wear, wiping her fingers, wet with condensation from her glass, on the geometric sequined shapes that cut into the sides in different shades of blue.
“My arms are cold,” she replied numbly. Sandi nodded, her eyes narrowing.
“It’s a little chilly in here. Are you okay?”
Chancy looked up into her wide, blue eyes and remembered the teenager with a headband and little hair flips like Lesley Gore standing giddily by the gatepost of Elvis’ LA house every time a car drove past her. She reminded herself that she was living Sandi’s teenage dream.
“I’m fine, honey,” she replied, forcing a wide smile. ”You know, you look beautiful, that outfit looks so good on you.”
“Thanks, it’s from Bullocks,” Sandi replied, swishing the skirt slightly. “Cost more than my rent.”
Chancy studied her face, unsure whether that was intended to be a dig at her sitting there in her Elvis-bought dress with her Elvis-bought underwear and her Elvis-bought jewellery. Intended or not, it smarted. She smiled politely the way her mother had taught her to do through awkward situations and glanced down at her half-finished drink.
“Hey, baby, you gotta look up now and again. I’ve been trying to get your damn attention for the past ten minutes.” Elvis squatted at her feet, leaning on the arms of her chair and caging her in. “I needed you to come rescue me from Sonny telling us the story of how he almost made it with that chick Sylvia from last night.”
“Almost?” she asked, recalling the way that the girl in question had practically shoved her silver hot pants in Elvis’ face as he sat talking to some karate instructors he had met the last time he had played there.
“Hell, no, don’t make me retell it, baby. It was boring enough first time round.”
“Does it end with her telling him that she’s holding out for you?” she teased. He grinned, biting on his bottom lip.
“Naw, she said she had a boyfriend.” He rubbed his nose ruefully and reached for her glass. She only remembered why that wasn’t a good idea a second before he took a big gulp and choked on it.
Grimacing, she waited for him to stop coughing and wondered how much trouble she was going to be in. She had a flashback to the time that Elvis’ cousin Junior had given her a glass of some spiked punch at a party and Elvis had yelled at her in front of his family.
His face like stone, Elvis grabbed hold of her by the wrist and marched her into the bathroom away from any nosey onlookers. Slamming the door shut, he emptied the glass down the sink and tossed it onto the counter. She was surprised to see it bounce rather than break.
“Baby, what’s going on?” She had been expecting anger, so his sigh and soft question threw her, leaving her clutching for a response amongst all the defensive, appeasing replies she had already prepared.
“Nothing, I’m fine,” she said finally, slightly defensively. He nodded, lowering his head as he stepped closer, sliding his fingers down her palm until they entwined with hers.
“You know, people are sending out messages all the time, sending and receiving, without ever even realising it. Their souls are communicating on a higher level that they are usually not even aware of.” He squinted slightly as he gazed down at their feet. “It’s like waves, you know, o-o-or television or radio signals. And some people, I’m talking heavy, spiritual types, gurus and holy men, heavy mothers, they train for decades to learn how to master the skill of- of communicating soul to soul.”
His eyes flickered up to hers and he had a mischievous, wry look on his face. “Now, don’t go panicking, honey, I’m not saying that I have that power, not completely. I know everyone thinks I’m crazy, but I’m not that crazy, yet. All this to say, you might have a fan-fuckin’-tastic poker face, baby, but I receive more than you think I do a-a-and if you try and lie to me it’ll only make me fuckin’ paranoid.”
“You just made a whole meal out of calling me a liar,” she observed. He laughed, rocking on the balls of his feet so that his chest nudged into her.
“Well, one thing I do know is how to turn everything into a performance, right?” Giggling, she swivelled one of his pendants that had gotten twisted in the opening of his shirt.
“I’m okay, honey, really. I’m just a little tired.”
He brushed the back of his fingers against her cheek, his mouth lifting into a small smile, before stepping around her and reaching for his black case. She rolled her eyes at the wall and turned to follow him more slowly.
“I know what you’re gonna say,” he said gently once he had drawn out the pill bottle he was looking for, “so can we just pretend that we already went through the whole damn script already, and you can take one of these?”
“What is it?” she asked warily.
“Just a little boost of energy.” He stroked her side like she was a skittish horse. “Just an itty bitty one for my itty bitty girl.”
“I don’t know…”
“I know you don’t, that’s why you got me. I know, so be a good girl and do what you’re told.”
Gingerly, she took the pill from him, thinking about ways she could dispose of it without him noticing, but he rinsed out her glass and refilled it with water, watching her intently.
Hesitating all the way, she slipped it onto her tongue and took a sip from the glass. As soon as she did, he emptied out several more into his own palm and threw them back. He winked at her as she stared and he pretended to think twice before taking the water from her.
“Nearly killed me last time,” he muttered. “No more drinking, honey, okay? You know I don’t like tasting it on ya, a-a-and it ain’t good for you anyhow.”
He threw the pill bottle back into the case and then pulled open another drawer. When he turned back he had a little smile on his face and something shiny in his hands. He took her wrist and pulled it up, leaning over so that she couldn’t make out what he was doing until he had clasped the bracelet. It was one of his, the rolled gold thick and heavy against her bones, with his initials spelt out in diamonds and one sapphire in each letter.
“There, just a reminder for anyone who forgets.”
“Who you are?” she asked, confused.
“Whose you are,” he replied, gritting his teeth as he clasped her jaw and brought her in for a tender kiss.
It was hard to make the right face after those words, but she gave it the old college try.
“Oh my, this is too much, baby! It’s beautiful, but- but- but it’s yours.”
“Was mine,” he corrected, grinning down at it. “Looks prettier on you.” She threw her arms around him and leant in, finding it much easier to focus on infusing her voice with joy when she didn’t have to concentrate on making the right face as well.
“You are the sweetest man,” she whispered into the shell of his ear, twitching her nose as the sideburn tickled. “I love it, thank you!”
When they walked out of the bathroom, Elvis had a self-satisfied smile on his face and Chancy could tell from the way some of the guys were eyeing each other and exchanging smirks that they thought he had just gotten lucky. She was too unsettled to play along.
The pill began to kick in as Elvis dressed for the show. She was gradually aware of her heart pattering at the inside of her rib cage and her scalp prickling. Her arms and legs felt incredibly restless like they might run off without her if she didn’t get up and move. Her fatigue, which she had felt for days now, melted as lightning, sharp and cold, filled her veins.
She cast her eyes about for someone to talk to, feeling in desperate need of being part of a conversation, as if she might sink between the atoms of the room if she didn’t keep moving and talking, reminding her body that she was a living human being. She spotted Jerry standing by the window talking to a couple of men she didn’t recognise. They were all wearing sunglasses at night like a gang of blind vampires.
“I just want to let you know that you are a lousy bartender,” she murmured, touching his elbow to get his attention.
He glanced over his shoulder and she was gratified to see him smile when he registered her. It was funny how quickly things could change when you were forced to interact with someone at close quarters at all hours of the day and night.
“It’s not a career path I was looking to pursue,” he shrugged. “Seems to have brightened you up though.”
She worked to maintain her smile as she didn’t correct him. She was ashamed to admit that she had taken what Elvis had offered, though she knew that she was by far not the only one to do so.
“Didn’t realise I was so dim before,” she countered, lifting an eyebrow. Like a gentleman, he introduced her to the two men he was talking with, but she found it hard to follow the conversation. Something about a deal, maybe a movie or a concert, percentages, the Colonel, promotion… She moved on again.
Her eyes lit upon Sandi and Charlie standing by the stereo system that had to be unpacked in every hotel room when they arrived. He was switching records now as Sandi gazed over at Elvis while she sipped her drink.
“What’cha putting on, Charlie?” Chancy asked, leaning against the shelving unit.
“Why, you got a request?” he countered with a grin.
“No, I trust you. Just as long as you don’t put on something and then play it over and over and over.”
“Hey, you know I don’t have no control over that,” he replied pointedly, gesturing over his shoulder with his chin to where Elvis was entertaining the masses.
“Then put on something he’s not hung up on.”
“And you know I can’t do that neither.”
Red and Sonny were chatting with a small group of girls. Chancy could have called them women, but she would have needed to do an ID check first. She recognised the guys’ smiles, the boisterous way they were nudging each other with their shoulders and puffing out their chests. She had seen it all countless times over the years. The only things that changed were the girls’ faces and names. Even the hair colours stayed the same.
Joe was standing by the door, walking himself round in a little circle, folding his arms and then unfolding them to check his watch before folding them again. He didn’t look so cool, calm and collected at the moment, no quick smile and charming quip ready to deliver. He glanced up and caught her eye, raising his eyebrows in irritation. There was a message there, a challenge. She found herself nodding like an obedient soldier and moved across the room to where Elvis was talking to a man with a hairstyle that belonged back in the 50s.
“Well, that’s kind of you,” Elvis was saying. “I appreciate it, really. When I first started out, none of them big-time promoters and radio stations wanted anything to do with me, really. It was always the smaller- the ones who actually went to the shows and knew what the kids were into- they were the ones playing my records and getting us out there and everything. Without ‘em I’d still be playing small towns in Texas, or driving a truck most probably.”
Chancy tried to imagine it, but the picture dissolved in her mind each time. He was too big, too stark, too loud to fit into the scenarios she created. When she thought of the truck, she put in an excitable, strange-looking boy, quick to smile and always fussing and fiddling with something, eager to be on his way to the far-off future that awaited him. This man didn’t belong there, wouldn’t have existed there.
With this stark realisation clanging about her brain, she hooked her pinky around his, wincing slightly as he tightened his finger and his ring pinched her.
“Are you coming to the show?” she asked the man standing before her. He hadn’t looked at her once and still didn’t now as he answered in the affirmative. She was impressed since most of the guys had raked their gaze across her cleavage at least once that evening. “Do you know a short-cut, because I think we’re all gonna need it at this rate!”
“Don’t worry about it,” Elvis murmured to the man. “You won’t miss it. Ain’t no show until I get there.” Chancy felt Elvis release her finger very deliberately and let her hand drop and she knew that she had made a misstep.
Minutes later that was confirmed when he snapped at her in front of everyone:
“You don’t have no right, no right, to tell me when I’m done talking. These people, they put me where I am, gave us all we got, and all they want in return is to shake my hand and get a fucking autograph. It ain’t your job to tell ‘em to move along, or me for that matter. You understand?”
The simmering heat in his gaze somehow made her feel icy cold as she stared up at him, knowing better than to try and defend herself or explain.
“Yes.”
“Because if you can’t handle that, then I will send your ass back home so fast you’ll be half buried in that fucking town before you know what’s happening, you get me?”
“Would-” She hesitated as his eyebrows rose, but squared her shoulders and pushed on through. “Should I go and apologise?” He searched her face like he could sense her defiance hiding somewhere, but she had been raised by a gambler and his mistreated wife, she knew how to bury her thoughts and feelings and sharpen them like weapons for later.
“Ain’t no time. We gotta go.”
The rest of the evening, Chancy got a helpful reminder of why people went out of their way not to annoy Elvis. When you upset them, most people might stew in it for a while and then you got past it. Elvis was no different, but when you lived in his world that meant you had dozens of people giving you the same treatment. It could sometimes feel like you had ticked off the whole world.
“Don’t worry about it, I’m sure it will blow over,” Sandi said as they took their seats, the lights immediately going down since the intermission had already run ten minutes over.
“I’m not worried,” she replied, inwardly cringing at how defensive she sounded.
“Good for you,” Sandi murmured, patting her on the knee.
After the first song, Elvis made a barbed comment about being late because of “complications, yeah, that’s about right.” He shot JD and the rest of the backing singers a sideways look, and apologised to the audience, assuring them that he was happy to be there and he would do his best to entertain them.
Chancy began to seethe, knowing that she didn’t deserve this level of punishment for trying to help. If it wasn’t for her they might still be back at the hotel, Joe pulling at his receding hairline, and the promoters considering having to refund tickets.
After that, the show continued as normal. Needless to say there were no song dedications that night, but the worst part was the looks that Sandi kept throwing her and the supportive, condescending pout on her face as she tilted her head and rubbed her arm.
Elvis didn’t speak to her in the limo, even when she handed him his sunglasses and joined in with the chorus on what a good show it had been.
Back at the hotel, Joe caught her arm as she trailed back to their room.
“Hey Chancy,” he began, and her stomach dropped. She knew that tone, that fake pally smile and easy amiability. “You know, the girls were saying that they haven’t had the chance to have a real catch-up with you yet. They were wondering if you’d come down and visit with them.”
To stop them from betraying her with a wobble, Chancy’s lips twisted into a knowing smile as she reflected that at least she was important enough to warrant the big guns and that Ricky hadn’t been tasked with telling her to get lost for a while. She glanced down, rubbing at her goosebumps as the chemical energy fizzed endlessly inside of her.
“Can I at least get my coat?”
“Oh, you won’t need it. They’re just downstairs and I think they’re planning on coming back up here later.” Oh, they had it all figured out.
“In that case, uh, could you take this and put it somewhere safe in the room?” She unclasped the heavy bracelet around her wrist. “I don’t want to be walking around flashing this about. It might as well spell out ‘Rob me’.”
The way Joe’s smile dropped from self-satisfaction into disquiet was truly delicious to Chancy. In fact, she had to shove down the laughter that bubbled in her belly as she imagined him plodding into the suite with the bracelet in his outstretched hand. She wiggled her fingers in a cheerful goodbye and turned towards the elevators.
The Sweet Inspirations, the female soul group that provided backing for Elvis, were staying a few floors down with the rest of the stage crew. When Chancy arrived at their open door, they were riffing on how they should probably be grateful that Colonel Parker hadn’t put them in a motel by an off-ramp. Estelle nudged Myrna who was making the crack as Chancy wandered in.
“What? Everybody knows what I’m talkin’ about,” Myrna retorted. “He’s the kind of man who’d invite his mama to stay and then charge her rent.”
“No, he’s not,” Chancy said. “He’d never invite his mama to stay. And she wouldn’t wanna come if he did.”
“Come on in, girl, you’re our kind of people!” Myrna called, beckoning her over to the sofa.
Soon, the music was turned up and the drinks were flowing and Chancy almost forgot about the mess she had left behind. She almost forgot that Elvis was mad at her, that Joe was probably mad with her now, and she relaxed. Kathy the soprano joined them with the rhythm guitarist, and some of the Stamps were wandering the corridor and stuck their heads in to say hi. It was almost like being back home again.
“So, you see Jerry tonight, Estelle?” Sylvia said with a mischievous grin. “He was looking fine in those tight little jeans, wasn’t he?”
Chancy grinned, watching Myrna shooting them all murderous looks before she started to giggle.
“You shut your mouth about them jeans,” Myrna retorted. “Don’t you be looking!”
It was fun spending time with the women of the crew. Chancy always had fun with the Inspirations, who never ran out of things to say and knew how to have a good time. They had a few drinks, put on some records and gossiped about people they knew. They tried to interrogate her about what was going on between her and Elvis, but she shrugged it off, pointing out that if she was his girlfriend, she would have been up in his suite and not there with them.
An hour or so later, someone must have called down, because people started making their way upstairs. Chancy considered staying where she was just to make a point. She was sure that she could find herself a spare bed for the night after hearing about what some of the crew were getting up to. But she was also weak. Part of her just wanted to be back with him, in spite of how mad she was about the way he had spoken to her. It didn’t feel right being away with him, knowing he was mad at her.
Sonny opened the door to the suite when Myrna knocked, turning back to make a joke to them. Myrna didn’t spot the look of panic on Sonny’s face as he took them in, but Chancy did and a wriggling sick feeling filled her stomach.
It was almost like the crowd parted as she walked through the door. She vaguely felt someone knock into her with their shoulder and was rubbing the throbbing part of her arm as she focussed on the girl in Elvis’ lap. Having strode across the room, Sonny tapped Elvis on the shoulder and then turned away smoothly like he probably had a dozen times before, fading into the background so that he didn’t get caught up in the mess.
The vague impression that Chancy got of the girl was blonde and tall like a model from a Coppertone ad, her legs gleamed golden from the hem of her tiny skirt to her strappy wooden heeled platforms. She glanced up at Sonny as he whispered to Elvis and a perfectly straight curtain of white-blond hair obscured her face. Chancy inhaled as Elvis raised his head, and though the tinted lenses of his glasses hid his eyes, she knew he was looking right at her. There was a self-satisfied curve to his mouth.
If Sandi had even tried to pout and pat her arm in sympathy right then she would have punched her. As it was, the girls shot each other looks and said something about going to get a drink. Chancy forced a smile and joined them, almost counting the seconds as she watched her glass get poured and she sipped it down in big gulps. She refused to give him the reaction he was looking for, refused to titillate all the onlookers waiting for a scene.
Eventually, when it seemed like a good amount of time had passed, though it had probably been only ten minutes, she slowly and calmly made her way across to the bedroom. It took all she had not to slam the door of the bedroom behind her, but she held it together, trying not to think about everyone whispering on the other side.
Even if she hadn’t felt the weight of his gaze the entire time, it was obvious that he had been watching her when he immediately followed.
“What are you doing?” he asked as she pulled clothes from drawers and from hangers in the closet. It annoyed her that someone kept unpacking all her things like irritating little elves every time they arrived at a new hotel.
“I don’t really need to answer that, do I?” she asked, trying to fold a silk shirt that kept slipping and sliding in her shaking fingers until she balled it up and rammed into her case. He put a hand up to his forehead and winced like thinking of a response hurt his head.
“You sore ‘cause of what happened earlier?” he mumbled finally.
Chancy paused and studied him, noting the way his head was hanging and the way he seemed to be listing to the left.
“Yes,” she replied curtly. “You didn’t have to yell at me in front of everyone.”
“You were out of line,” he replied, his tone light and teasing even as the words slurred together. “Being all pushy, like a little bossy baby.” He knelt on the edge of the mattress and bit on his bottom lip as he gazed at her through the dark pink lenses of his sunglasses.
“I’m not playing right now, Elvis,” she returned coolly, turning away from the bed and snatching more clothes from hangers.
Echoing her in that high pitched cartoon voice he knew she hated, he carried on crawling across the mattress and he grabbed the dresses she had just put in her case and slung them behind him.
“Cut that out.”
“Nope.” He waited until she returned to jam more things into the case and then reached out and grabbed her by the waist, pulling her towards him. “You gotta stop being a widdle bossy girl, trying to tell your man what to do.”
“Elvis, I mean it, I’m not- Just leave me alone!” She wrenched herself free more out of luck than anything else. He almost fell backward onto the bed and grabbed the headboard to keep himself steady. His eyes lit up with an icy glow.
“Who in the hell d’you think you’re yelling at, huh?” He jabbed out his foot and kicked her case off the bed, where it overturned and emptied all of her things on the floor. “Waltzing in here all worked up like you didn’t start all of this with your fuckin’- your little show out there earlier.”
“My what? I was- We were running late and everyone was getting antsy and I was just trying-”
“You don’t need to be tryin’ to do nothin’. What d’you think I pay all those motherfuckers out there for, huh? No, I don’t need no more managers and lackeys thinking they can tell me what I can and can’t do, ain’t your job.”
“My job,” she scoffed. “Do I have a job? What is it?” Bed warmer? Human teddy bear? Placeholder until you get someone better?
“Well, it ain’t to be a bitch, that’s for sure!” he spat back. “I- I don’t know what the hell’s gotten into you, I really don’t.”
Chancy raised her eyebrows in disbelief and dropped to her knees, righting the case and trying to shove everything back in. She scrambled round the bed to retrieve the dresses he had tossed.
“Uh huh, the silent treatment. Right on goddamn cue.” He stumbled off the side of the bed and slid the case under the bed out of her reach. When he clumsily stood back up straight, his face was aglow with a weird cruel, playful energy and his eyes were opaque, he was so high. She looked away as he took hold of her biceps, steering her onto the bed.
“Just sit down for a minute,” he murmured, like he was the reasonable one. “We’re getting ourselves all worked up over nothing. It’s silly, honey. I know you were trying to help, you always help.” He knelt between her legs and pressed a soft, gentle kiss against her collar bone.
As if he had hypnotised her, she felt the anger and tension drain in an almost painful wave down her body, her brain instead filling with calm and anticipation. She took a deep breath and let her head sink against the side of his as he kissed his way up to her neck, but as soon as she closed her eyes, she saw the leggy blonde being nuzzled in almost the exact same way. Something inside her crumbled.
“You should let me go,” she said, looking past him and focussing on tiny details in the room to clear her head. “I’m sure that girl is great at helping too.”
“What girl?” he murmured after a long pause, nibbling on her earlobe.
“The girl you were kissing when I came in. She was real pretty: tall, blond, probably had gorgeous blue eyes like you like.”
“No, I don’t think so, weren’t me,” he replied, shaking his head slightly as he continued pressing breathy kisses across her cheek. “I like teeny tiny brunettes with big brown eyes.”
Chancy sighed, put a steadying hand on his shoulder, and scrambled backwards up onto the mattress. She dropped off the other side and leant down to retrieve her case.
“You know what you’re doing?” he asked, his voice gritty and deep like he was playing a role. “You better not be playing games, woman, because you walk out that door, I ain’t chasing after you.” He rose to his feet and glared at her across the bed. “You know I hate this kind of dramatic bullshit!”
“Ha, yeah, that’s why you always set it up this way!” she returned, angrily scraping the tears from her eyes with the top of her wrist. “All of that was on purpose, I’m not an idiot and your tactics never change!”
“Just go on, get out!” he sneered, waving his hand. “You’ve had your foot half out the door since the beginning anyhow, don’t even try and deny it!”
“I haven’t!” She was suddenly furious at how breathless and weak she sounded, pathetic. “How can you say that?!”
“Maybe because I got fucking eyes!” He lobbed something in her direction that hit the doorframe with a metallic clink and dropped onto the shag carpeting. She looked down and saw a glint of gold.
“Because I won’t wear a ton of gold on my wrist when I’m all alone in a strange hotel?”
“That ain’t why you threw it back in my face,” he retorted scornfully. “Don’t give me that bullshit! I know when pushy women don’t get their way they get spiteful.”
She snorted mirthlessly and nodded, letting her case hit her against her calf.
“Yeah, just women.”
“Goddamn your smart fuckin’ mouth!” he stormed towards her and grabbed her wrist, yanking her out the bedroom so fast she almost lost a shoe. He was yelling for Joe, who suddenly popped up from out of nowhere like he had been waiting. He probably had. The rest of the suite was empty as if it had been raided.
“Get this bitch a ticket and make sure the fuckin’ plane leaves tonight!” he dragged her forward and released her hand, sending her into the back of the couch with the force of the momentum.
“Don’t worry about it, Joe!” she yelled, even though he was standing feet away. “I’ve got my own damn ticket!”
The bedroom door slammed shut and she heard it repeating over and over in her head. Her eyes were throbbing with the pressure of the tears behind them, but she refused to give in.
“You, er, want me to call down and see if I can get you a room?” Joe asked smoothly. “He’ll probably cool down in a couple of hours and want to see you. You know what he’s like.” She laughed, a couple of loose tears spilling over the edge of her lower lids.
“Yeah, I know what he’s like,” she returned, choking on the sobs and bitter laughter in her throat. “That’s what makes this so pathetic. I’m going to head to the airport, but thanks.” She looked down over the back of the sofa, hating the heavy feeling in her stomach, glaring at the cushion where Elvis and the girl had been sitting.
“Has he got her stashed somewhere?” She looked at Joe sideways, her mouth tilted in a wry smile. “Am I gonna get on the elevator and find myself face to face with a giant pair of legs?”
Joe didn’t say anything, but Chancy laughed at her own joke, before wiping her eyes with the heel of her palms. She walked out of the suite without looking back.
@thatbanditqueen, @ellie-24, @be-my-ally, @vintageshanny, @missmaywemeetagain, @from-memphis-with-love, @richardslady121, @dkayfixates, @c-rosenn, @fallinlovewithurlove, @notstefaniepresley, @heartbrake-hotel, @freudianslumber, @bbrtt777, @18lkpeters, @prompted-wordsmith. @literally-just-elvis-fics, @eliseinmemphis. @lookingforrainbows, @stylespresleyhearted, @amydarcimarie, @returntopresley, @savedrebelcreation
#elvis presley#elvis fanfic#elvis x oc#elvis fanfiction#elvis presley fan fic#70s elvis#whositmcwhatsit#an enjoyable slide to oblivion
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Heartfelt gratitude to the attendees of last night’s Lobotomy Room cinema club presentation of Butterfield 8 (1960) at Fontaine’s! Some musings based on my introduction: Butterfield 8 is the story of the doomed love affair between a Manhattan call girl and a rich married man. (Seriously – who among us can’t relate?). Sure, the film has a terrible reputation but that’s what this film club is for - reappraising “bad” movies. I’d argue Butterfield 8 is juicy, irresistible good fun. If it’s trash, Butterfield 8 is the acme of trash. Rewatching it, I was struck by the persistent strain of melancholy throughout the film. You just know it’s all going to end tragically. The opening moments of Elizabeth Taylor waking up alone, hungover and naked in bed, donning a white slip, sparking the first cigarette of the day and prowling around silently feels like something out of a European art movie. It boasts snappy, biting quotable dialogue. Considering it was made during the Hays Code, it’s a genuine attempt by a Hollywood film to tackle adult content like adultery, premarital sex, promiscuity and prostitution. (It does what it could get away with at the time). As discussed, Taylor hated the script and only took this role begrudgingly (it was her final contractual obligation with MGM, liberating her to make Cleopatra with 20th Century Fox), but you’d never guess from the raw emotion, glamour and sensuality of her performance. Butterfield 8 captures Elizabeth Taylor at her most “Elizabeth Taylor”. She deserved that Oscar, damn it! It also gloriously captures the fashions and décor of 1960: pink marble bathrooms. Powder blue telephones. Swanky cocktail lounges with red flocked wallpaper, gilt-framed mirrors and chandeliers. Bouffant hairstyles. Cocktail dresses with plunging necklines. Full-length mink coats. (Boy, does that mink coat cause a lot of trouble!). Squint your eyes, and Laurence Harvey and Dina Merrill anticipate Don and Betty Draper of Mad Men. There’s no April film club (I’ll be attending the Viva Las Vegas Rockabilly Weekender) but see you again in May. Now go brush your teeth with scotch and scrawl a message on a mirror with pink frosted lipstick!
#lobotomy room#elizabeth taylor#liz taylor#butterfield 8#melodrama#lurid#sordid#vintage smut#vintage sleaze#bad movies for bad people#bad movies we love#kitsch
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Birds of a Feather | Pt. 2
A/n | at this point I shouldn't even be surprised with myself for taking so long to get this second part done. For some reason I struggled so hard getting from point a to point b.
Pairing | (ex)Midoriya x Reader | Bakugo x Reader
Warnings | Lots of cursing.
Summary | In which Midoriya is the love of your life, but you’re not his. In this, you navigate the stormy waters of heartbreak, and at the eye of the storm, you find Bakugo… But you know what they say: birds of a feather flock together.
Masterlist
| Part 1 |✨Part 2 ✨| Part 3: In progress
You’re running. There’s something biting at your heels; cold, looming, crushing. Your legs ache, and each step you take feels like you're wading through rushing water. A straight hallway with ugly grey wallpaper and water staining stretches out endlessly before you. Uneven floorboards that creak with each step and groan with the swaying walls. Old wooden doors are evenly spaced along the walls. You tried a few but found them all locked. The feeling of the icy water against your legs is rising higher, almost to your waist; yet there’s no water in sight.
God, you want to scream, but you can hardly bring in enough air to keep yourself upright. Pressure in your chest and tears clouding your eyes, you struggle to keep your footing against the swaying floorboards. There’s a pinch in your ankle, and suddenly you’re blinking at the deep grooves in the floorboards. What are you running from?
Doesn’t matter. You need to go. You try and push yourself up, legs scrambling to right yourself. Your body goes stiff as you’re consumed by a biting coldness, and slammed against the ground.
You can’t breathe. A single gasp for air, and you can feel your lungs filling with that same iciness. You’ve felt this before. Pulled under the waves at the beach on a family vacation; this horror, the burn… It’s the same. You’re drowning in the middle of a hallway with no water in sight.
Your fingers scratch against the floorboards, and you strain to look up, your gaze becoming fuzzy. Surrounded by light, you see a black figure… A person? Someone, running to you. Your mouth snaps shut. If you could just get the words out, maybe they’ll be able to save you…
Save you from what?
Your vision grows fuzzy, then dark, and your head falls with a harsh thunk on the floor.
You grunt as your fingers run over the cool wood floor. You feel the soft touch of a fuzzy rug and crack your eyes open as the sound of a door creaking open reaches your ears. The white ceiling above you has squares of pink and orange light cast across it from the window, and your sight is blocked by a familiar face craning over you.
“You okay?” You blink at him, ruby eyes steadily keeping your own confused gaze. “Did you hit your head?” He kneels down and waves his hand over your face, “Anyone home in there?” Swatting his hand away, you push yourself up and cradle your head as it begins throbbing.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“What do you mean?” He scoffs and then offers a cup of water; it’s in your favorite mug, one of the two that were hanging next to the coffee machine. There’s only one hanging there now. You turn your eyes away and mumble no thanks. “You invited me to stay, dumbass.” Turning your eyes over the room, the suffocating memory of crying yourself to sleep – strangling your sobs with your pillow so Bakugo could sleep properly – rushes back to you. You can only manage to hum back to him in response. You play with the sleeve of your shirt before mumbling the first thing that came to your mind to direct his attention from your dulling gaze.
“Did you sleep okay?”
“Once you finally shut up, yeah.”
“I thought you were already asleep!” You squeak. “You were snoring when I left.”
“Just cause I was snoring doesn’t mean I wouldn’t wake back up to you wailing in here…” Shoving the cup of water in your hand, he moves himself to the doorway and gazes down at you. “How’re you feeling?” Your nose scrunches and your eyes narrow.
“Who are you?” He frowns at you.
“Don’t.” The word comes out softly as he crosses his arms.
“What have you done with Bakugo?”
“Y/n, don’t.” His mouth lifts a little and the corners of his lips bury in his cheek. His eyes soften and almost take on a warm glimmer. “Let’s be adults for like ten seconds; are you okay?”
“I’m okay.” You quietly say, tapping your fingers against the glass and staring at the ripples. “You?” It’s quiet.
“I’m hungry.”
“How?” Your stomach rolls and you swallow thickly.
“I didn’t get shit faced. Get dressed. Let’s go to the store, I’ll make breakfast.”
“Why do I have to go?” You whine.
“Cause I’m wearing fuckin’ Garfield pajama pants!” He gestures to his pants; you hadn’t noticed. You blink and then scoff.
“You went to the bar in them last night! What’s so different now?” You quip back. He grunts and turns on his heel, shoves his hands into his pockets, and stiffly walks down the hallway mumbling profanities under his breath.
Heaving out a sigh, you pull on a sweatshirt over your t-shirt, and straighten out your sweatpants. You couldn’t let him go alone, especially if the only thing he escaped last night with was a pair of pajama pants… Can’t he just starve like everyone else who’s going through a hard breakup? You don’t even feel like being awake, let alone going to the damn grocery.
“I’ll go.” He finishes tying his shoes and grabs his keys before meeting your eye.
“Thanks.”
You leave the house with a small piece of paper scribbled with Bakugo’s sharp writing tight in your hand; the list is small… It’s easy enough.
Hand closing on the carton of eggs, you cast your eye to the two women on your left. You examine the eggs in your hand for cracks, but also consider the sneer placed on that ladies lips, amplified by the bubblegum pink lipstick painted on them. Usually, you don’t mind what other people have to say about you, but you expect them to not make it obvious they’re gawking at you… These ladies are definitely not considering the assortment of cheeses displayed in front of them. One with curly, short brown hair and deep lines under her eyes looks you up and down while her friend scrolls on her phone and casts piercing glances at you. You meet their eyes evenly before you take notice of the man across you shooting daggers. Heat spreads through your gut. You try and iron out your expression but bite the inside of your cheek.
Do you have something on your face? You lightly run your fingers over the corners of your mouth, push your hair from your face, and pat it down. It leaves your stomach a little heavier than before, and you’re grateful that you only have one thing left on the list. Some people don’t look at you while you pick out bread, but a young couple down the aisle point and whisper. You can’t make out anything they’re saying. You start toward them, set to keep moving past them, but then you meet their eye, and the words are suddenly pouring from your mouth:
“It’s so sad to see adults acting like children.” You look to the keys clenched in her hand, adorned with a keychain that says ‘#MomLife’; it actually makes your eye twitch. “I’m nervous for your kids.” You march away to the check-out.
You’re not sure why so many people in the store shot you looks like you were their high school best friend that stabbed them in the back, but you’re grateful that the clerk didn’t. All you have to do is pay and then you're out of here; no more weird glances, no more grannies mumbling to their son in the checkout lane about you. Your chest tightens and throat constricts. You can’t make out all of the words, but as you collect your bags, you hear her whisper:
“They’re dispicable.”
You flinch at the words and hurry from the store. What does she mean? Why would she say that? How the hell does she even know you? You grab for the car door and smack your lips when you find it locked. Bakugo spares you a glance from his phone and unlocks the door.
“Got it all?” He asks as he looks back to his phone, finishing a very long text with his lips pulled down into a thin frown. You nod, run your hands over your sweats, and turn your gaze back to the grocery store doors, flooded with people going in and out. You think of every eye that was on you, and wonder what would happen if you walked back in. Would they all stare at you like that again? Maybe you have something on your clothes? You pat yourself down, but – aside from a badly coordinated outfit – nothing is amiss. You flip down the mirror to double check your face for awkwardly placed drool.
Just paled skin and your sad eyes staring back. You freeze up as your stomach rolls. Sucking in a deep breath, you push the mirror back up and turn your eyes away again. Bakugo watches you with pinched brows.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.” You answer, running your hands over your pants again.
“I don’t like liars.”
“Who does?” You scoff back, keeping your eyes on anything except his eyes that you feel drilling into you from the driver’s seat. Of all the things you find wonderful about Bakugo, his intense gaze has never been it. It’s like he has laser vision, peering right into you to read your mind like a children’s book.
“So don’t lie to me.”
“’Kay.” He doesn’t move to start driving. “What does it matter?” You snap, sending him a glare, but it quickly fizzles out as you meet his eye. Your eyes fall to your hands. “Can we go home?”
“Fine.” Bakugo grumbles at you under his breath for a minute. Your eyes flutter shut, and you rub your eyes.
“Did he message you?” He asks through the silence that's fallen between the two of you.
“No.”
“Look, can ya just tell me?”
“When you go out in public, do people look at you like you’re less than shit?”
“What? No! Did-“ Bakugo glances between you and the road, “Did someone do something to you in the store?”
“Nothing happened-“
“You can’t say nothing happened! Look at you! What the fuck happened?”
“Nothing, Bakugo. Everyone in there… They were just giving me weird looks.” You shake your head. “Maybe I was being crazy.” But that doesn’t explain the whispering. “When I was in line… The women behind me was whispering with her son and said ‘They’re dispicable’. And she was looking directly at me… Could I have heard them wrong? I don’t even know who they are!” He’s silent for a beat.
“What a bitch!” He blurts randomly. “Who just fuckin says that about someone they don’t know?” His hands grip the steering wheel tightly and he speeds up.
“Is my outfit that bad?” You wonder with a dry chuckle.
“No worse than mine.” His gray pajama pants with Garfield eating lasagna and a plain red t-shirt puts a small smile on your lips.
“I can understand why she said it if that’s the case.”
The rest of your drive passes in silence. He stops his car near the building instead of parking; you send him a confused look.
“Whatcha doin?”
“Dropping you off. I have to make a phone call really quick. Head on in and clean yourself up. I’ll be up in a few.” You watch him and nod. Taking up the few bags of groceries, you wave him off. When did he get so nice? Maybe he’s always been this nice, just not to you. He must've bagged it all up and gave it to Uraraka this whole time.
What a waste. It puts a bad taste in your mouth, so you swallow it and put the groceries away. You’re a little grateful for the silence in your apartment – even if it’s short lived – and decide a hot shower should put you right. You grab your comfiest clothes and head to the bathroom. You avoid looking at the mirror, light a candle, and flick the light off; the stupid vent turns on with the light, and you don’t feel like hearing all of that right now. You want a nice, hot, quiet shower.
You stand in the shower, still as a statue, watching your skin become irritated under the water. Emotions pile up on you like dirt and sweat, and you’ve not given much thought to how disgusting you’ve felt. The feeling of the water stream pelting on the back of your head, almost blocking every sound from the outside world, lulls you into a mindless state. You forget yourself as you stand swaying in the shower with shut eyes. Before you know it, it’s been ten minutes and the front door of your apartment is slamming shut. You almost felt the floor shake from how hard the door was slammed, and it makes your stomach tumble right back down into hell.
You scrub up quickly, dry and dress, then head out to the kitchen to see what the deal is. Bakugo is fast at work. His broad shoulders are visibly tense, and the longer you watch him, the more you notice how stiffly he’s moving, how hard he’s slamming the knife down onto the cutting board, and his uneven, heavy breaths.
“You okay?” You’re tired of hearing that sentence; it’s been less than twenty-four hours, but you’ve heard it enough. Bakugo’s hands slow before he continues working away, switching between checking the food cooking on the stove and dicing vegetables. At his silence, you shrug and brew some coffee. “I feel better after the shower. You should take one, I’ll clean up after we eat.” He grunts back at you. “I have some big shirts I can let you borrow… I might be able to find a pair of sweats that’ll fit you somewhere…” You fill the silence with idle chatter, pouring yourself a cup of coffee, and offer to pour him some.
“More of a juice guy.”
“Interesting.” You say. You snatch up the orange juice and pour him a glass.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Your chest lightens as he seems to come back into himself a little bit, and you shrug.
“Dunno… Figured you for a bitter drink man. You know, macho man, no one can see you eating anything sweet.” You set the table as he lays out the collection of small dishes he’s put together. “It’s amazing that you managed to put this together from the random assortment of shit in my fridge.”
“Yeah, just don’t go telling everybody I made ya breakfast.”
“Why not?”
“Doesn’t fit the image.”
“And drinking juice does?” He sits in the seat across from you with a hard look but a lift in his lip. “Anyways, what’s image got to do with being able to cook? Is it a bad thing that you can put together a great meal? Does it make you less of a man? Less of a hero?”
“No.” He curtly responds. “I just don’t want the entire world to know me.”
“Well, that doesn’t make much sense considering your life’s dream.”
“Being number one hero is… Not being a celebrity with tabloid articles being written about every little fucking thing that I do. The littlest shit is fucking gold to those leeches. An accountant goes out to get drinks with his buddies, he just went out to get drinks with his buddies… But me? I go out to get drinks with my buddies and then suddenly I’m a fucking drunk, an alcoholic who went out on a rager and pissed on some grannies lawn ornaments.” You watch him somehow eat his food angrily. Blinking at him, you sit your utensils down, and try to meet his eye.
“Bakugo… What is it?” He stops when you finally catch his eye. “Something is bothering you. You can tell me.” Bakugo tears his ruby eyes away, blinking quickly.
“When you said that people were giving you weird looks in the store… Saying shit like that… I thought, there’s no reason anyone would know who you are.” He pauses, then adds, “No offense.”
“None taken. It’s true.” People – as far as they know – know you’re in a relationship with Midoriya, but you’ve never been one to attend the galas or walking the carpet; the events scared you. Paparazzi never paid you much mind.
“Midoriya tried to keep you from that. So… I had my secretary do a little digging…” Your heart flips in your chest like a fish out of water; you know where this is going, but you’re hoping to whatever god is listening that you’re wrong. Maybe, by some dumb luck, that you’re completely wrong. Bakugo unlocks his phone and drops it on the table, spinning it toward you. Pointing at the screen, he continues, “Published last night. The prick must've been up all night drooling over his laptop.”
“Dynamite enjoys late night fling?” The words almost taste like poison in your mouth. It’s a weak article of four, single sentence paragraphs accompanied by one dark and grainy photo. But anyone who knew Bakugo could recognize the spikey blond hair. Anyone who knows you would see your drunken face or recognize your apartment building. Your breath shutters from you, and you swallow. “Bakugo.” His name is the only thing you can squeeze out. This is bad. This is really bad.
Not just for you, but for him. Especially for him. He has an image to maintain, but if the world thinks he’s the type of man to have a fling with his best friend’s partner… He could lose everything. His lips somehow pull themselves farther down, and his brows fall slack.
“Bakugo, this… This…” He nods slowly.
“I know.”
“This is bad.” Now everyone is going to think you cheated. That it’s your fault things are like this. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” Tears bubble into your eyes - what can you say, you're a crybaby for the week - while you try and force out a coherent sentence. The more you try, though, the more muddied your words become. Your heart clenches in your chest, “That’s not true. What do we do?” You heave in a breath, trying to keep your eyes on Bakugo’s worrying expression, but you look back to the photo, “It’s published on Super Gossip.”
Bakugo nods, “Yeah, we’re trying to find who took the picture.”
“It’s midafternoon, Bakugo.” Your lip quivers, “Half the fucking world has seen this already.” You watch his eyes shut as he lets out a heavy breath, and he worries his lip with his teeth.
“I know.” He sighs and roughly rubs his hand over his face, “Best we can do is damage control.” Super Gossip is only the most useless, brain-dead, flaming piece of crap hero gossip magazine in the world. A lot of people read this magazine like the damn bible. You know for a fact that Midoriya has seen this article. Which means he knows that Bakugo went home with you last night. What does he think you did last night? Is he thinking what everyone else is? That you had a late-night fling with him just to get back at Midoriya? Where does Uraraka stand on this?
Your insides are on fire, and somehow, you feel small. You want to cover up all your windows and check outside for some creep camped among the bushes; you didn’t even see anyone in the parking lot when you both got home last night… Violated. You feel violated. Your arms wrap around your quaking body, and you glance to the open kitchen window.
How long were they camped outside of your apartment? Waiting and watching your window for the slightest movement? You heave in a breath and snap your gaze over to Bakugo; you're grateful that at least you had Dynamite sleeping on your couch, it gives you some sort of comfort.
“What do we do?” You repeat. “My reputation doesn’t matter much, I’m just a florist and no one really knows my name unless they dig. But you-“
“They’ll dig.” Bakugo is watching you carefully. A look in his eye, just below his furrowed brow, that tells you he doesn’t want to scare you, but he can’t lie. “They will dig up things you don’t want them to know, and before you know it, you’ll be on the front pages until we make it clear what’s going on.”
“Oh, yeah. Easy enough.” You push your food away; your appetite slunk out the door as soon as you read the article. “I’ll just let them know that the number one hero who I’ve spent four years worshipping the ground he walked on left me for the girl he had a crush on in high school – who happened to be your fiancé – and in my drunk rantings I asked you to stay with me. It’s all just one big misunderstanding… Yeah, let’s just throw this pile of steaming shit on Uraraka and Midoriya’s reputation.” You spit out in a panic. If you just went out there and told the media the truth the fingers would start pointing at Midoriya. That’s if they even believe you – a nobody who grows flowers for a living – over their golden boy Deku.
“It’s the truth.” Bakugo reasons. “I’m not gonna just let these little ants sit there and spread lies like this.”
“They’ll eat Midoriya alive.”
“What do you care?” He snaps at you, stands from his place at the table, and snatches his phone up. “That asshole is the reason we’re all here.”
“Uraraka had a hand in it too, Bakugo. They’ll dig into her too.” Your voice is low as you stand from your seat and put yourself in the doorway of the kitchen; he’s started to clean up the barely touched breakfast.
“And they’ll get what they deserve. They did this. I’m not just gonna sit around and let my career suffer for them.” You open your mouth to reason, “If they cared about their reputation, they wouldn’t have gone behind our backs like that.”
“So, what? You’re gonna call the author up and ask him to coffee?” Bakugo stares at you blankly before nodding.
“Yeah. I am.” You stand in silence, watching Bakugo until you near him and start to help pack the leftovers away.
“Super Gossip will take everything you say and twist it into something you never said. Maybe you should talk to your manager first?” He shakes his head while putting the last of the food in the fridge. He takes up his phone.
“No. I’m telling this asshole he’s an idiot and he’s pointing his finger at the wrong people.” His gaze is sharp as he stares at you – you know that anger is not for you, but it makes your heart flip to see it in his eyes – before he begins dialing a phone number.
“Okay, okay… Look, maybe we need to call Midoriya and Uraraka before we do this?” You reason, pulling his phone from his ear.
“You’re asking me to ask him for permission?” Under his suffocating crimson gaze, you feel your shoulders sag, just a little bit, but you keep your eyes locked on his. “To tell the truth?”
“Not permission, Bakugo. Just because Midoriya acted like a piece of shit, doesn’t mean we should too.”
“How is this,” He sends a glance to his ringing phone, “shitty?” His eyes narrow at you.
“If we’re going to the press, we need to consider what we say and do. We don’t need to ruin their reputation like this.”
“Ruining their reputation is shitty? Y/n, you’re kidding me!” He rounds the table to near you, bending slightly to match your height, “You have to be kidding me! They cheated. They fucking cheated on us and now we have a gossip article written about us?” His raised voice falls, “You think we’re the shitty ones?” You tap the screen to end the call.
“We’re not shitty. But what will pointing our fingers back do?” He shakes his head and continues.
“This is not shitty.” He waves the phone between the two of you. “You know what is shitty, Y/n? Sleeping with your best friends fiancé.” His voice begins raising, “Showing up to my house in the middle of the night with a few boxes and crying ‘Oh, Y/n left me. Let me stay best friend,’ is shitty. Smiling in my face, eating at my table, sleeping in one of my beds, and then fucking my fiancé while I’m trying to sleep?” His eyes have become irritated with tears, and they bunch up on his bottom lid. You’ve drawn back, gawking at him with your mouth opening and closing. "That's shitty, Y/n. Not this. Not me."
“Is that how you found out, Bakugo?” You whisper. His chest is rising and falling with heavy, frantic breaths, and you can see his hands shaking as he tries to keep control of himself.
“I wanted a glass of water.” His voice was so quiet compared to what it just was. A bitter smile pushes over his lips as he turns away from you and walks into the dark living room. “It’s all just a fucking joke.” Bakugo throws his phone onto the coffee table and his hands find purchase in his sandy blond locks. “It’s just a sick joke, Y/n.” You swallow, your lips quivering and stomach twisting. You saw Bakugo like this last night, and you don’t find it any easier to see now. With a deep breath, you sit on the opposite side of the couch.
You’d like to comfort Bakugo, but you're reeling in a storm of new emotions and thoughts you didn’t have last night. Finding out how Bakugo discovered all of this out; he probably didn’t even see it coming. Your heart is caving in for him. Also learning that even though Midoriya swore he was telling you the truth; he was still lying to your face. You’re considering every time that he pulled away from your touch, seemed to be so uncomfortable with even the slightest display of affection. It feels like your chest may burst if you don’t ask Bakugo the question bouncing around your head; how long had their relationship been physical?
“I’m sorry.” Is all you can manage. You’ve not got much in your cup. Hell, your cup is dry as a desert right now.
“So let me make the call.” He pleads, head rolling to look at you. “Look,” Bakugo breaks the silence again, leaning forward with his elbows rested on his knees, “It’s not like I am happy to throw them both under the wheel like this… But I won’t lose my job for this.” His eyes are set, and his lips in a thin line. When this look crosses Bakugo’s eye, you know better than to try and change his mind. You sigh.
“Even if you do call them, why would they believe you?” He draws back. “Anyone accused of being a cheat would have a story lined up just like this. You do this and it’ll just look like you’re pointing a finger away from you.” He’s quiet, for once. You’re a little surprised. “If we call up Midoriya and Uraraka, explain the situation, and ask them to set things straight, we might be able to settle this issue without any problems.”
“You think they’re gonna want to admit what they did to the world?” You shrug.
“I don’t know.” Bakugo rolls his head and rubs the back of his neck. You can tell he’s not too happy with the situation, but you can’t think of a better solution. “But on the off chance that Midoriya will do it, I think we should at least try.”
“Alright, but you call him. And if he refuses the first thing I’m going to do after I kick his ass is call this magazine up and air all of his dirty underwear.” He levels you with a stern look, “All of it.”
“At that point, Bakugo, I wouldn’t stop you.” A ghost of a smile pushes onto your lips. “I’ll get my phone.” It’s great that he is listening to you right now and all… But you never thought that you’d be the one calling those two; it just didn’t cross your mind. It makes your legs heavy as lead as you trudge back to your room. It’s the last thing you want to do. Staring at your phone on your bed like you’re superman and it’s kryptonite, you start to wonder if it really would be so bad to just let Bakugo make that call. Midoriya is the piece of shit that, after taking up five years of your life, fucked the woman that he said was just his friend and lied to you about it twice.
You take up your phone and head out to the living room anyways. Your skin has paled, and you give Bakugo a sideways glance; he’s onto you like white on rice.
“If you don’t want to make that call I can just-“ You raise your hand to him and click your tongue.
“Ah, ah!” You level him with a strong, yet watery-eyed look, and say, “A good friend wouldn’t tempt an alcoholic with a bottle; don’t give me an out.” He surrenders his hands.
“Suit yourself. Personally, I’d let those two rot.”
“I’m not doing this because I care about what happens to them,” That’s a lie and you both know it; Bakugo gives you a flat expression, “It’s because I’m a reasonable adult who wants to handle this so we can all make it out unscathed.” Your voice and fingers are trembling as you type in his phone number. Your throat tightens up when his contact pulls up… You haven’t changed his contact name yet, so it still has that stupid heart and the nickname you gave him long ago; and that stupid picture of him too. It has your lungs burning and tightening for more air.
Are you ready to hear his voice? Your body feels like it’s being torn apart; one end being pulled by excitement, longing to see him and hear him again, and the other being pulled to hell with rage, betrayal, and disgust. What will you even say? What if you stumble over your words? You know you will as soon as you hear him say hello; everything you have scripted out will fly from your head just like it did last night. Your heart is racing, and it feels like there’s syrup running through your veins instead of blood. It hurts. And it won’t stop until you just call him.
You clench your jaw; you just have to call him.
“Y/n? You okay?” Bakugo’s voice butts in like he’s calling you from the end of a tunnel. Your eyes are wide and unblinking on the phone screen as you nod and hum back to him. No, you’re not okay… Why are you saying you’re okay? You feel like your about to throw up your heart and the world might break in half.
Midoriya can’t know that though, so you take a few deep breaths and repeat over and over, “I’m okay.” You say it until your voice doesn’t crack, doesn’t waver, and isn’t thick with tears. You dial his number and bring the phone to your ear. Fingers tap your knees as you wait, and you can feel Bakugo’s eyes burning holes into the side of your head. Maybe he won’t answer – the thought makes you feel a little giddy – and you’ll be able to say you tried calling him when he's the one with an article written about him.
“Y/n?” You almost black out when you hear his voice come through the phone. So soft, shaking, like he thinks he could kill you with just one word. You’re sure he could do just that, and it scares you a little. “Hello? Y/n?”
“Yeah... Midoriya…” You’re quiet, and you look down as you begin to play with the hem of the shirt you’re wearing. “Listen… You’ve…” You let out a heavy sigh. “You’ve seen the article?” The line is quiet, and you're left standing on pins and needles waiting for him to respond.
“We saw it.” You nod; you knew that… God, what must he think of you? Why are you even worried about that? He cheated on you for fucks sake, you shouldn’t care what he thinks of you! Your hands are quaking all the same. “Is it true? That he went home with you?”
“Yeah, he crashed here tonight.” You clear your throat.
“And did you-“ He stops short, and sighs. You wait for him to finish his sentence, and you know exactly what he’s trying to ask. You clench your jaw and narrow your eyes.
“Did I what, Midoriya?” Your words are sharp and aggressive. He thinks you’d do that? After five years with you, Midoriya thinks that you’re that shallow…
“Did you, you know…” It’s like he doesn’t want to say it, so you say it for him with a raised voice.
“For fucks sake Midoriya grow up and just say what you’re thinking.” You snap. You didn’t know you had it in you to be so harsh to Midoriya, but your sharp tone continues on as you do, “Did I sleep with him? Is that what you want to know, Midoriya? Did I fuck Bakugo to get back at you?”
“Jesus Y/n I didn’t mean it like that!” His words are wet with emotions.
“Why would you even need to know? Hmm? What would it have to do with you?”
“It has to do with me because you’re my ex and he’s my best friend-“
“Let me be clear, Midoriya, you have no right to ever ask me that again.” Your words are stone cold. You can hear his heavy sigh over the phone.
“You’re right. I guess it doesn’t matter.” You cast a glance to Bakugo, and he’s simply staring at you with wide eyes, watching you like some tv show that has him on the edge of his seat. “What did you need, then?”
“The article… What are you and Uraraka going to do about it?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“You need to come forward Midoriya. Both you and Uraraka need to come clean with the press. It’s not right that Bakugo gets slandered like this.”
“I know. I just don’t know what to say so that it doesn’t reflect badly on us.” His voice is high pitched.
“You should’ve thought of that before you started fucking her.” Your words are dripping venom.
“We never had sex, Y/n.”
“Give it up. Bakugo told me everything.” He falls silent again.
“It would be best if we can meet somewhere so we can talk this out.”
“Why should Bakugo and I have to do that? This is your problem, so fix it.”
“Y/n, please! The publicity will be bad for Uraraka-“
“What about Bakugo? The world thinks that he’s going behind your back with me. They’re making him the bad guy. He doesn’t deserve this. Uraraka should’ve also thought of the repercussion before snaking into your pants.”
“Come on.” Bakugo hisses. You send him a sharp look.
“Can we all just meet so we can figure out the best way to handle this?” You burry your lips into your cheeks and look to Bakugo.
“He wants to meet… To talk about it.”
“Why the fuck should we have to do that?” You shrug at the blonde.
“Not sure. Guess he doesn’t want to admit he cheated.”
“Y/n…” Midoriya whines through the phone; he must be crying again.
“We’ll meet you for dinner tonight.” You promptly hang up the phone and let out a heavy breath.
“What the hell do you mean we will meet them for dinner?” Bakugo throws his hands out, “I’m not going!”
“Okay, whatever. Hide in the bathroom and cry about it, I have princess bandaids in the medicine cabinet if your ouchies get a little too painful.” You snap at him.
“It’s got nothing to do with that. I just don’t want to see either of their fucking faces right now.”
“And I do?” You snap back. “I’m just trying to get this over with.”
“Alright. Whatever.” Bakugo stands and collects his car keys. You almost ask him where he’s going but realize you don’t really need to know. It’s not like you’re dating or anything. “I’m gonna go get some clothes. I’ll be back in an hour.”
“’kay.” With the slamming of your front door, you lay down on the couch and close your eyes.
You wonder, as you drift off to sleep, if maybe you’ll die while you sleep. Then, you wouldn't have to suffer sitting across the table from them.
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Taglist: @eijiandkatspebble, @rykerluvsyou, @sagejin, @rinriii
#bakugo x reader#katsuki x reader#midoriya x reader angst#bakugo katsuki x reader#bnha fanfic#mha fanfic#bakugo x reader angst#mha imagine#bnha imagine#mha x reader#izuku x reader#reader insert#fanfiction#mha fanfiction#bakugo x gn reader#midoriya x gn reader#katsuki x gn reader#izuku x gn reader#katsuku bakugo x gn reader#izuku midoriya x gn reader#tags suck i'm over this
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Brandy
Epilogue
Summary: A port on a western bay serves a hundred ships a day, and the lonely sailors flock to the Caravel Cantina, run by the Kiszka brothers (minus one). But when their brother returns with a handsome sailor in tow, the youngest Kiszka brother finds his perspective about his family and himself turned upside down.
Tags: SMUT PLEASE LOOK AWAY IF YOU ARE A CHILD OH MY GOD
Words: 2.9k
A/N: You know I had to give a lil something something for the nasties. ;)))) Bon appetit
~~~
Daniel and Sam had a normal (if not a little jittery) walk to the inn after a long night of reunion and resolution at the bar, but once they had broken free of a conversation with the rambling innkeeper, Daniel had scooped up Sam and insisted on carrying him bridal style into his room.
Sam had protested and attempted to wiggle free from Daniel’s grip, but he knew it was a futile task and let Daniel lift him as he turned a lamp on with one hand. The ground floor room was bigger than Daniel’s room a year ago, and Sam looked appreciatively around before Daniel deposited him noisily on the bed with a bounce that made Sam yelp. Sam kicked off his shoes and started to think of a snappy comment about the creak of the springs or the drab wallpaper, but Daniel descended on him with a manic look in his eye and a grin that Sam only saw for a second before he kissed Sam so hard he immediately landed flat on his back. Sam had honestly expected Daniel to be as gentle and patient as he had been the last time they’d been tangled together on an old inn mattress, but he was happily surprised to see that a year at sea must’ve really worn down his courtesy.
“God,” Sam breathed when Daniel grabbed his hips and pulled him so their groins were flush, dragging his lips down Sam’s neck at the same time.
“Missed you so much,” Daniel murmured against Sam’s skin, sucking and lapping at his throat in an animalistic fashion that made Sam choke back a whine.
“You’ve been waiting for this, huh?” Sam joked quietly, crying out when Daniel sunk his teeth into his neck and subsequently started babying the tender spot that he knew would bloom into a bruise. Daniel laughed darkly and Sam felt an excited chill pass through him.
“You have no idea,” Daniel admitted, his voice barely audible.
“Tell me,” Sam pleaded. Daniel propped himself up so their noses were touching, and Sam snaked a hand between their heaving chests to wipe a dot of spit from Daniel’s chin as Daniel’s eyes danced all over Sam’s face.
“You wouldn’t think me very respectful if I told you,” Daniel smiled, his grin dripping with flirtation and his gaze heavy and lustful. “I mean, of course I fantasized about you, but you might find me a little desperate if you knew the extent of it.”
“Daniel, tell me,” Sam begged, pulling a last resort by jutting his bottom lip out ever so slightly and knitting his eyebrows together. Daniel sighed and pushed Sam’s lip back in while he shook his head ever so slightly.
“Needy,” Daniel accused, dipping down to kiss along Sam’s jaw as he spoke. “But who am I to resist your sweet siren song?”
“You’re stalling.”
“You’re bossy.”
“Daniel.”
“A lot of it was replaying that perfect afternoon last summer,” Daniel finally obliged, pulling away and staring down hungrily at Sam splayed on the bed. “I had you like this, didn’t I? All rosy and wide eyed and such a fast learner, hm? You were so nervous but you were so eager and made all the right noises to haunt my dreams for a full year after. Are you still nervous?”
“Yes,” Sam answered honestly, his fingers already undoing the buttons of his shirt as he sat up on his elbows and patiently gawked at the gorgeous man straddling him.
“Don’t be,” Daniel whispered, doing the honors of pushing Sam’s shirt down his shoulders and smiling at his chest, bare save for the locket. “You were perfect, baby. Perfect. Still are. Here, give me the locket.”
Immediately, Sam’s shaking fingers went to the nape of his neck as he struggled to undo the clasp. He tried to calm his eager adrenaline, but found it very difficult when Daniel splayed a hand across his torso and slowly dragged his fingers over Sam’s skin. Finally, Sam freed himself from the necklace and obediently held it out to Daniel, who accepted it with a quiet “thank you” and set it on the nightstand before turning his smile back on Sam.
“Just wanted to see if you’re still such a good little listener,” Daniel chuckled. Sam’s face burned and he felt himself slipping into a fuzzy, compliant headspace that filled his head with cotton and blurred everything that wasn’t Daniel.
“Wanna see you,” Sam mumbled, his fingers playing with the thick yarn of Daniel’s sweater. Daniel’s eyes fluttered for a minute and a weird sort of satisfaction flickered across his features before he nodded and put a hand over Sam’s on the hem of his shirt.
“I’ve got some surprises for you,” Daniel said with an air of mystery. Sam frowned in confusion before Daniel’s hand guided Sam’s to push his sweater up, and Sam breathed in sharply when he realized what Daniel had been talking about.
Daniel’s broad chest, still broad and tan and dizzying, was now scored with an array of nautical tattoos. A compass rose, a flurry of swimming fish, and a scattering of stars danced across his chest and left Sam’s jaw swinging open as he immediately pressed his hand to them. Daniel laughed and ran his fingers through Sam’s hair as Sam marveled.
“That’s not it,” Daniel hummed, pulling the sweater fully over his head and sliding it down his arms, slowly revealing an anchor, swords, swallows, skulls and playing cards all in the suit of hearts that swayed over his muscles.
“Holy shit,” Sam laughed, blinking in hot shock as he unabashedly grabbed at Daniel’s arms and turned them to look at every stroke of ink. “What do they all mean?”
“They mean that the sting of a tattoo gun was a nice distraction,” Daniel explained as his eyes grazed over his body. “And it was only half as painful as being away from you.”
“You’re so hot,” Sam blurted and Daniel laughed in surprise at Sam’s straight to the point outburst. “Are you gonna get one for me?”
“What? I got all of these to impress you!”
“I’m impressed,” Sam grinned, his body buzzing with anticipation as he started to run his hands up and down Daniel’s toned arms with slow pressure. “I might’ve been a little faster to warm up to you last year if you’d had these.”
“Ugh,” Daniel groaned, rolling his eyes and pushing Sam back onto the pillow with a fond little smile. “You’re the worst.”
“That’s why you spent a year dreaming about fucking me, right?”
Daniel arched a surprised eyebrow at Sam’s boldness and Sam nestled a little further into the pillow, his hands settling on Daniel’s sides and giving him a small squeeze.
“Was there anything you dreamed about, babydoll?” Daniel asked, his voice suddenly low and dangerous as his own hand came down and lightly circled the base of Sam’s throat, keeping a gentle pressure but not squeezing. Sam’s breath came out as a desperate rattle almost instantly and Daniel made a faux sympathetic noise in response, grinning wickedly as his thumb pressed against Sam’s throat.
“Nothing?” Daniel joked. He might’ve been a little less cocky if he wasn’t so spurred on by the feeling of Sam’s erection underneath him. “I forgot how quiet you can be. I thought maybe I’d made that up but I guess not. Don’t be too quiet, though, okay?”
Daniel snaked his hand from Sam’s throat to his hair and held his head steady as he leaned down and kissed him, breathily laughing against Sam’s mouth when Sam’s entire body responded and he began to claw at Daniel’s bare torso. They stayed wrapped up in a series of kisses and sighing until Daniel pulled away and Sam immediately groaned at his absence, combing back Daniel’s wild curls that swung loose and tickled his cheeks.
“You want it like last time?” Daniel asked, hurried and hushed.
Sam nodded eagerly and Daniel grinned, giving him another kiss before getting to work maneuvering off both of their pants. In Daniel’s grip, Sam couldn’t help but go as limp as the doll that Daniel told him he was, barely putting in any effort when Daniel undressed him. He was happy to just watch, trying to keep his eyes sharp and remembering as he watched Daniel finally free his length from the coarse fabric of his pants. Sam let out a little exhale and Daniel caught his eye, smiling smugly as he spat in his palm and gave himself a few languid strokes.
“Hi, baby,” Daniel hummed. “Do you even know how much I missed you?”
Sam whimpered a sad little sound and Daniel shot back with his own pitying little sound, his hand never stopping its lazy movements over himself.
“I missed you so, so much,” Daniel murmured, almost as if he was talking to himself. “My cock missed you, too. It cried for you every night I was gone.”
Sam let out a shuddering sigh, already dizzy from Daniel’s words. He couldn’t believe he had forgotten how much it affected him. Daniel reached for Sam and tapped two fingers against his lips, smiling in approval when they parted and Sam’s tongue wrapped around his digits. He stared up at Daniel with low lidded eyes as he sucked gently, knowing Daniel wanted them slick with spit to start stretching him out.
“That feels good, honey,” Daniel whispered, pulling his fingers out of Sam’s mouth and bringing them down, lightly pressing against Sam’s entrance. “I’m gonna make you feel good, too. But I want to hear you say you want it, okay? Can you do that?”
“Please,” Sam choked out, his head already swimming. “Danny. Please.”
“Good,” Daniel praised, slowly pressing his middle finger inside and making Sam let out a cry from the delicious pressure, his hips already arching to take more. “So good, Sammy, you look so pretty. You want more?”
Sam let out a strangled noise and Daniel laughed, taking it as a yes and adding another finger, gently and lovingly working Sam. As much as he was aching to get his own pleasure, Daniel had been dreaming of moments like this for months. He wanted to wait a little longer to tell Sam, but so much of the fantasizing he’d teased had been centered purely around Sam and doing anything it took to make him shiver and whine and cry out Daniel’s name in a way he’d only heard once and had been dying for ever since. Daniel gave it a few more pumps before he pulled his fingers out and spat in his palm again, sighing when his hand returned to his cock as he moved to line himself up with Sam. Sam was already pink in the face and panting, looking wildly at Daniel and pouting at the lack of touch. Daniel leaned over him and gave him a quick kiss, abandoning his task for a moment to give Sam’s own member a few gentle pulls that had Sam practically sobbing into his mouth.
“Poor little siren,” Danny murmured, pressing his cock against Sam as he gave him a few more soft kisses. “Do you need a little break? Is it too much?”
“No!” Sam burst petulantly, smacking Daniel’s hand away from him and raking his nails down his back as Daniel watched his tantrum with dry mouthed glee. “I need it, come on. I’ve been so patient, Danny, come on, baby, I-”
“I know, I know, I know,” Daniel babbled in response, cutting Sam off by finally guiding himself inside, breaching no more than an inch before the both of them were curling against each other and letting out unconscious noises of relief at the feeling. Slowly, Daniel began to move and work himself deeper, and he was a little worried that Sam was going to finish fast.
Sam, who one year ago spent an entire night begging for Daniel to leave him alone, was now begging through a raw throat for Daniel to fuck him harder. Daniel could hardly believe his luck. It was completely true that Daniel genuinely really cared for and adored Sam, and first and foremost he was happy that Sam was someone he could call his friend, if not his best friend. But it was also true that since the second he had laid eyes on Sam, frenzied and laughing with a ribbon in his hair, he had known that he wanted to see him just like he had him now. With his eyes fluttering and his pretty cock grinding into the air while Daniel used his sweet body so he could baby him later. Because another truth was that at the end of the day, Daniel wanted to treat Sam with all the comfort and care he deserved, and he found his climax fast approaching at the thought of Sam’s blissed out smile against his chest.
“Can’t go harder than this, baby,” Daniel said between gasps, his core burning as Sam clenched around him and begged for more. “Don’t wanna hurt you, wanna make you feel so good.”
“Hurt me,” Sam whined, blearily blinking up at Daniel as a few stray tears rolled down his cheeks and onto the pillow. “I don’t care, I want more of you.”
“No, no, this is all I’m giving you,” Daniel asserted, fighting to keep up his pace as he palmed Sam’s straining cock and taking note of Sam’s sigh at the contact. “You want this, too? Is this more? Hey, talk to me, pretty.”
“Yes, yes, that’s, yes,” Sam chattered absently, his eyes closing again as Daniel matched the pace of his wrist with his hips. “I, I, I’m-”
“You gonna cum for me, sweetheart? My poor baby, so easy for me,” Daniel cooed, starting to feel a familiar clench in his abdomen as Sam’s cries began to stutter. “Right there with you, honey, love it, you feel so good on me, so tight, fuck, Brandy, I-”
They crested in harmony, Sam singing soprano while Daniel groaned into Sam’s shoulder and fucked them both through it. When Daniel finally lifted his head from Sam’s skin, leaving behind the indent of his teeth, he searched Sam’s face and judged from his heavy lids and slow breaths that he was already halfway to sleep.
“Sammy,” Daniel whispered, using his clean hand to tap Sam’s nose. “I’m gonna clean you up, okay? Do you wanna rest your eyes for a second?”
Sam nodded sleepily and Daniel smiled adoringly at him, kissing his red hot cheek and getting up to wipe them both down. While he was up, he pulled on a pair of soft sleep pants and set a cup of water on the nightstand for Sam, yanking the covers out from under Sam and pulling them over the both of them as he laid down next to him. Sam instantly flipped over and face planted against Daniel’s shoulder, letting out a tired exhale as Daniel chuckled and began to run his fingers through Sam’s tangled locks.
“What do you need?” Daniel gently asked, kissing Sam’s hair and breathing in his sweet scent that he’d missed so desperately, searching perfumeries in every port that never carried anything close.
“Nothin’,” Sam muttered, nuzzling his nose against Daniel and sighing contentedly. His arm wrapped around Daniel and he kicked his leg over him, clinging onto him and making Daniel’s heart flutter.
“You were divine,” Daniel whispered, lightly dragging his fingers up and down Sam’s back. “Insatiable, but divine.”
“I’ll take it,” Sam smiled, working hard to open his eyes and look up at Daniel. “You wanna know what did it for me?”
“Of course.”
Sam giggled before he spoke, raising an eyebrow at Daniel.
“You called me Brandy.”
Daniel sputtered for a second, going to deny it but realizing that he had called him that in the moments before falling over the edge.
“I…honestly didn’t mean to.”
“It was kind of hot. Got my attention, for sure.”
“Don’t you hate that nickname?”
“Not when it’s coming from you, I guess. I’m whatever you want me to be.”
“Hot.”
They both chuckled for a second before settling into a comfortable silence, Sam pressing his ear and cheek to Daniel’s heart and listening to its still frenetic beat.
“You know, we’ve never slept in a bed together,” Sam piped up again, never one to let things get too quiet. “I just realized that.”
“That’s…actually so weird.”
“The weirdest.”
“That’s you.”
“Shut up. Also, give me my locket back. It feels wrong to sleep without it.”
Daniel reached over and plucked it from the nightstand, swinging it over Sam’s face like a pendulum as Sam laughed and caught it between his cupped palms, laboriously straightening to sit up and put it on. Daniel quickly stopped him and took the clasp between his fingers, securing it behind Sam’s neck with a kiss to the skin just below it.
“You’re a sap for actually wearing this old thing the whole time,” Daniel teased as Sam happily messed with it and tossed him a look of scrunched nose annoyance.
“Well, if you tell me to do something, I’m gonna do it,” Sam mumbled, unable to look at Daniel when he said it. Daniel flushed and wrapped his arm around him, kissing the side of his head.
“Go to sleep, Brandy,” Daniel told him quietly. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
Sam hesitated, shifting slightly before looking Daniel in the eye with a pleading softness that made his heart clench.
“Promise?” Sam asked, barely audible. Daniel gave him a little nod before planting a reassuring kiss on Sam’s perfect lips.
“I promise.”
~~~
#its brief but i tried#kiss kiss heart heart enjoy#gvf#greta van fleet#danny wagner#sam kiszka#myart#karoufiction#greta van fleet fanfiction
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