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writefasttalkevenfaster · 4 years

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Aaron Hotchner / Tell Me to Stop

Request: "The heater broke and I’m freezing get over here" + "The Classic™: The hotel only has a king sized bed, I guess we’re sharing."

Word Count: 5,188

Warnings: Fluff, angst, some violence (its criminal minds, what do you expect), me having way too much fun with one of my fav tropes

“Sorry you got stuck with the short end of the stick,” Hotch intones, the two of you carrying your go-bags into the small motel you were now stranded in. The team had flown down to this small town in the middle of nowhere – with one hotel in the nearby vicinity. Unfortunately, being the only hotel did not mean superior technology - they had double booked two rooms. Which meant, two members had to be put up at a nearby motel – and lucky you, you both had drawn the short straws.

“Short end?” you smile up at Hotch, who looks as unruffled as ever, “Did you see the first hotel?” He snorts in reply, “Pretty sure I saw fifteen health code violations walking past the threshold.”

“And this is any better?” you shrug, looking around – it was a small motel: rundown, not well lit (you wondered if that for the more discreet clientele or because they couldn’t be bothered to change the lightbulbs out), and even the bell Hotch dinged at the counter was all but rusted over completely.

“Well, it’s not the outdoors in the middle of winter. So, I’ll take it,” his lips quirked upwards, and you couldn’t help but stare a moment – his smiles were few and far between these days, especially after Haley. Any smile you could pry from him was something you cherished, even though you would never admit it.

“Room for two?” you jumped, not noticing the woman who appeared at the counter now. Her sleeves of her flannel shirt were rolled up, despite the cold, and her straw like hair framed her face, grinning too widely at the two of you.

Hotch seemed unfazed, “Two rooms actually. We were sent over here by the Creswell Hotel in town. They said you would accommodate us.”

“Yes, yes,” she flipped through some charts, “Unfortunately one of the rooms we had for you was just taken.”

“You booked the room you were holding for us?” you repeated, and she looked up from her list, tilting her head.

“Did you expect me to hold it forever, my dear?”

You stared, voice rising with every word, “It’s only been twenty minutes since we left-”

“We’ll take the one room, thank you,” Hotch interjected, taking the key from the woman, and steering you away from the counter, “Sorry, I just didn’t want our other room to magically get booked.”

“Yeah, no, you’re right,” you shook your head, “sorry. I just can’t believe her. This is ridiculous.”

“Better than sleeping outside right?” you rolled your eyes at that, as the woman waved you over to your room. And that’s when it dawned on you.

You were going to be sharing a room with Hotch. She unlocked the room for you, handing Hotch the key, before flicking on the light.

Both your eyes fell on the bed. Bed. Singular.

There was one bed.

~~~

The conversation with the manager went as well as the first one did. There was nothing she could do. Of course, you thought, staring into your go-bag, of course you would end up sharing a hotel room with your boss.

“Do you mind if I shower first?” your head snapped up, and you shook your head, “Look, I know this is…uncomfortable, but it’s just a few nights. Obviously I’ll take the floor-”

“Hotch, I can take the floor-”

He shook his head, a wry smile pulling at his lips, “You take the bed,” and he adds, “that’s an order.”

“Also,” you call after him, “can we not tell the team about our…living arrangement?”

He quirks a brow, throwing his towel over his shoulder, “Morgan and Garcia don’t need to know about this.”

“Thank you,” he closes the door behind him, and after a minute or two, you hear the shower start to run. You didn’t know what to do with yourself. Your teeth bared down on your lip, remembering how much Garcia had teased you as you waited for the cab to take you to the motel.

“Come on, Y/N, we all know that you and Hotch-”

“Are co-workers, nothing more,” you hissed, pulling her aside, “There’s nothing between us. We’re just friends-”

“Friends who spend late nights at the office? Friends who stare at each other far too often? Come on, Y/N, you have worked here less time than most of the team and you have spent more weekends with him and Jack then the rest of us.”

“I-“ You sighed, holding your head, “I don’t want to push him into something he’s not ready for Penelope,”

She put her hands on her hips, “How is he supposed to know what he’s ready for when he doesn’t even know you’re an option?”

Her words continued to ring in your ears. You walked the length of the room – which was about 6 strides before you had to turn back around again. Your boss was currently showering, one door separating the two of you. Heat burned a trail down your cheeks, warming your neck.

Screw showering. You needed to go to sleep. You had to do something other than think about the words burning on your chest, ready to spring from your lips. The windows rattled, and you shivered, rubbing your sides as you knelt besides the radiator. Your fingers grazed the metal – it was barely warm. You turned the knobs, trying to get the heat going, until –

“What are you doing?” You jumped, the knob coming off in your hand.

Shit.

Your shower lasted far too long – but it was needed to wash away the sense of dread you felt. Unfortunately, as you turned the water off and stepped out, it was immediately replaced by nerves. You pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. You had opted not to wash your hair, knowing your odds of drying your hair would be slim to none, and you would rather not add a hospital trip to top off this wonderful night. You paused before the door, heaving a heavy sigh, before opening it.

You found Hotch not sleeping, but toying with the radiator, “You didn’t tell me you went to radiator repair school in between law school and the FBI.”

He shook his head, sighing, “I didn’t, but I’m starting to wonder if that would have more useful than my law degree.”

You shivered again, and it wasn’t just the shower – it had gotten colder in here and it would only get colder throughout the night. You glanced at the barebones set up that Hotch was going to calling a bed tonight, and back at him.

You caught his eye and he cut you off, “You’re not sleeping on the floor, Y/N,”

“Hotch-”

“It’s just one night, I can-”

“I wasn’t going to suggest that I sleep on the floor,” your cheeks burned, swallowing the lump in your throat, “I was going to say we both sleep on the bed.” He opened and closed his mouth, jaw set as he seemed to consider it, “We’re both adults. We’re friends.”

You sat on the bed, arms crossed, and he tilted his head, “And you’re fine with this?”

You gave a soft chuckle, “I suggested it, so yes.”

He sighed, “But-“

“Hotch,” you pulled yourself under the covers, “Get over here, it’s freezing.”

You tried to pay no mind as he slid into bed beside you, ever so careful – like everything he did. You noticed his hair was still damp from his shower, the smell of his shampoo strong – was it mint?

You shook yourself from these thoughts, turning from him to face the edge of the bed, “Good night.”

“Good night.”

You thought the end of it, but it wasn’t.

You couldn’t fall asleep, no matter how much you intimidated the act. Eyes closed, breaths even, snuggled in the corner of the bed, and yet…the Sandman denied you. You needed to sleep, at least for a few hours for tomorrow. A lack of sleep led to mistakes which could led to a life lost. And yet, you knew every second that passed as you thought about this was another second you weren’t sleeping. And finally, you narrowed the problem down to two things – one, your boss sleeping next to you and the fact you fell asleep sleeping the other way, which would entail facing him.

You couldn’t tell if Hotch was sleeping. He hadn’t moved much since he settled in. Was he pretending like you? The windows rattled again and a cold breeze made its way through the thin glass, and through your thin blanket.

Fuck it. It was cold and you were tired. You turned around, eyes still very much shut, but curiosity pulled at your eyelids to just peek.

But you didn’t have to.

“Still awake?” your eyes opened to find a pair of brown ones staring back at you.

“Yeah,” you sighed, “despite my best efforts.”

“Is something on your mind?”

“Not really,” besides not being able to sleep with you lying beside me, “How about you?”

“You know, I’ve spent a lot of time with you, and I still can’t figure out if you’re lying or not,” his brow raised, you bit back a smile, “You can’t always brush aside your own thoughts.”

“I can try,” you relent when he frowns, “Hotch, I can’t.”

“Why can’t you? I’ve told you things I haven’t told anyone,” he admits, “things about Jack, about Haley. I want to be that for you too.” You stay silent, eyes staring at his pillow rather than him, “Unless you don’t trust me?”

“I do,” you sit up, allowing the blanket to bunch by your legs, and he follows suit, leaning on one hand. “Too much. That’s the problem.”

You lift your eyes to his, and you find him staring, his gaze heavy with the same emotions – fear, hesitance, and something else – something warmer.

Would it be so bad? You thought, would it be so bad to give yourself the one thing, the one person would’ve wanted so long, and allow yourself to have it? He dared closer, his breath against your lips, eyes flickering from your eyes to your lips.

“Tell me to stop. Tell me to stop, and I’ll sleep on the floor, and I’ll never try this again,” he whispers, so quietly, and it breaks your heart. It exudes of the hesitance, the desire, the brushes neither of you spoke of, the lingering looks, the simple domestic routine the two you adopted without a second glance, and the fear – the fear you would both lose it all.

“Don’t,” you whisper, pressing your lips to his again. And you are enamored – in how he feels so soft against your lips, in the warmth of his hand cupping your face, and the quiet whisper of your name on his lips when you part for a breath, “Hotch- Aaron, I-”

He draws away to look at you, and you shake your hand, fingers at the back of his head, carding through his hair, “I’ve just wanted this for so long,”

“I have too,” he admits, teeth brushing against his bottom lip, “I just never-”

“Wanted to hurt you,” you finish with a small laugh, “Garcia was right, we are both idiots.”

He presses a soft kiss to your lips, and then to your forehead, “At least we learned,” you lean up to catch his lips in another kiss, and he returns it – his hands daring lower now, as you lean back into the plush of the bed. His lips leave yours, trailing open mouthed kisses down the side of your neck, “and I’ll never make the same mistake again.”

Your eyes open at the sound of your phone ringing, and you almost believe your in your own bed, until you feel someone shift beside you, and you hear his voice, “Hotchner,”

So, it wasn’t your phone. You blink sleep away from your eyes, and see him sitting in the bed beside you, “We’ll be right there.”

His forehead furrowed, and eyes dark, though his gaze softens when he sees you staring, “We have to go. They found another body.”

You sit up, pressing a small kiss to his lips, rolling your thumb to smooth his creased brow, “Let’s go.”

But he stops you, “About last night,” and your heart tightens at his expression, was it over that quickly? “I don’t know how I’m going to get anything done around you, so I’m going to have you work with Reid and help him nail down the geographic profile.”

Your worry dissipates, and your frown quickly grows into a grin, “Think I’ll be a distraction?” You sit up on your knees, attempting your best doe-eyed expression, and he smiles.

“You already were,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair, “it’s just for now. While we both get used to it.”

You drape your hands around his shoulders, pressing your foreheads together, “I know, and you better get used to it. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

~~~

You were working with Reid to put together a geographic profile, staring at the map pinned to the board in front of you. Reid had placed markers on the various places that the bodies had been discovered, along with abduction sites, looking for some sort of comfortable radius. Your brow scrunched in thought, you didn’t notice Garcia until she tapped your shoulder.

“Penelope, did you find something to help-”

“No, no, but they had to reset the internet in this place for the fiftieth time because this place doesn’t know Google Fiber from the fiber they eat at breakfast,” she waved you off, her painted lips curled in a mischievous grin as she pulled you aside not so subtly, asking much too loud, “How did it go last night?”

You were luckily expecting to be grilled by her, either sometime during this trip or on the plane ride back, “Nothing happened last night because we’re professionals on a case,” you rolled your eyes, “and because we’re just friends.” You added.

“Come on, I know something must have happened – Hotch always works with you in the field on these types of cases, and suddenly, you’re with Reid?” Reid looks up from the board, slightly affronted, “No offense baby boy.”

“Garcia, please,” you sighed, checking your phone, “The Wi-Fi’s back on, you should get back to work.” She protests, but you shake your head, “Unless you want me to tell the boss?”

She pouts, but relents, “I will get you to tell me what happened last night. Mark my words.”

You sigh, shutting the door behind her, turning back to the board, when you feel Reid look, “Got something to say?”

“It’s just interesting,”

You look over, and he bites his lip, “What is?”

“That you said you were professionals and then added you were friends,” Reid says, flipping through a case file, “almost like being friends was an afterthought, or that you’re something more. I just figured something out about the case.”

Your mouth hangs open as he puts the phone on speaker, and you hear Hotch’s voice ring out, “What did you find?”

Your head snaps up as you look from Reid to the phone, “He’s stalking the women in a pattern – it seems random, but when you-”

“Spence,” you cut him off gently, “I trust you, but where is he going to hit next?”

Reid’s eyes fly over the map, “The north end, the area that his second victim was taken.”

You hear Hotch give orders out to the local police and agents, “Both of you stay at the precinct and help Rossi deliver the profile.”

Rossi arrived shortly after, “We are looking for a man in his late 30s to early 40s,”

“A veteran, a man who’s seen the horrors of war and has remained untreated for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder,” Reid continued to the on-looking officers, who stood with either their brows furrowed or furiously scribbling notes, “This may be because of lack of access to resources from the V.A. or a refusal of treatment.”

“He is suffering from a psychotic break,” you intoned, pointing to the map and the scattered points concentrated in a southern part of the map, “he’s seeking his victims out in these areas that he is familiar with. We believed at first it was because he grew up in the area, but we no longer think that’s the case—”

“Why?” a man you recognized as a lieutenant pipe up, his stern face looking thoroughly unimpressed, his arms crossed, and eyebrows raised. He was just looking for an opportunity to undermine you, wasn’t he?

“Because,” you kept your tone carefully even, the last thing you needed to garner animosity amongst all these officers – the team was only there by there by their good graces, “someone who grew up in the area wouldn’t have ventured into this territory-“ you pointed to a section of woods to the west, “where bears often hibernate.”

He said nothing, and Rossi then continued, finishing up the profile, “We advise being cautious around this man, he is overwhelmed by his delusions and is extremely dangerous.”

“Unless it’s one of you?” the Lieutenant scoffed, muttering under his breath, “you just want the credit—”

“It isn’t about credit,” you snapped, “we are trying to stop a man from hurting more innocent people. The exact reason why we are all here, Lieutenant. Or did you forget?”

His face turned several shades of both red and purple, lips twisted in an ugly scowl that made his eyes bug out, and he stomped away towards his captain’s office. The sergeant cleared his throat, “Dismissed, get to work,” he crossed the bullpen as the chatter resumed, flashing you an apologetic look.

“You didn’t need to add the ‘did you forget?’” Rossi sighed, shaking his head.

“It was a reasonable question,” Reid started, before Rossi cut him off with a look.

“You’re going to have to talk to Hotch about this,” Rossi glanced at the lieutenant and captain barely visible through the captain’s parted blinds, “Or they will.”

“You what?” It had been a few hours, and still, the team had come up with nothing. Every time they got close, the unsub seemed to slip away – and now he knew the police were closing in on him. And now, he had resorted to guerilla tactics to hide out. The team’s only chance to catch him is when he will resurface for another target.

But that wasn’t your most pressing concern at the moment.

Instead it was your boss, standing on the other side of the bed, arms crossed, and brow thoroughly furrowed – though now you appreciated how much the suit did for the intimidation factor, because Hotch glaring at you in a t-shirt and boxers as opposed to his suit? Very much not the same thing. Although…difficult in other ways.

“I snapped at the lieutenant during the profile,” you keep eye contact with him, despite the growing need to look away from the mix of both anger and disappointment in his gaze, “we’re here to catch a murderer, and he was acting like it was-“

“A turf war? That’s because it is,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his brow, “You know we are only allowed to come to these places—”

“Yes, on good graces of these cops-” You scoff.

“They are officers,” he corrected you, his voice tight, “This is their community. I understand it’s frustrating to be undermined, but—”

“No, you wouldn’t understand,” you said quietly, a quiet chuckle lodged in the back of your throat.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

You turn away, holding your head, the ghost of a pressing headache on the horizon, “I’m a woman, I’m periodically underestimated just by my very existence – just by how I choose to define my gender and how society deems to view me. You, on the other hand, are an older white man – you can only fail up,” his lips were a tight frown, “So yes, I told that man the focus of our job is to catch bad guys because it was the truth.”

“It is,” Hotch said slowly, rounding the bed, hands raised, “But it’s not for us. Our job is to help them do their job, and we can’t do that if they stop calling us.”

“I know,” you cross your arms, “I know, I just—”

“Just what?” his arm slowly wraps around you, “what’s bothering you?”

Your fingers brush against his cheek, tracing his jaw, “This,” your fingers run across his lips, and he presses a kiss to the pads of them, “This will just be another reason for other people to underestimate me. Another reason to pass me over for a promotion. Another reason to—"

“I understand if you don’t want to do this,” he swallows, “I always did. I never want to hurt you or your career.”

“I know,” your lips press against his, “and that’s what makes it harder. Even though we shouldn’t,” another kiss, this time against his pulse point, “even though it’s probably wrong,” your lips grow more insistent now, his hands snaking lower and lower, “even though this is risking both our careers.”

And you pause, pressing your forehead to his, “But we shouldn’t,” his hands fell away, and you shook your head, the absence of his warmth making you shiver.

“We shouldn’t.”

He slept on the floor. It was somehow harder to sleep without him than it was with him. Probably because you knew what it felt like to sleep beside him. You hoped he hadn’t noticed you staring at his back as he quietly slept, wondering how you had come so close and gone so far in such a short amount of time.

It made your head spin. How could things change so quickly?

But anything could change – even in a single moment.

And it did.

~~~~

“We should pull her out,” Hotch watched your cam, as you hiked up the trail that yoy, Garcia, and Reid had pinpointed as one of two trails he could be hunting at, “she’s gone too far.”

“She can handle herself, Hotch,” Morgan intoned, arms crossed, “she’s got this.”

He kept his face in a careful mask, his mind was caught in a carefully concocted storm, and he could barely keep the walls up, “Ten more minutes,” he finally said. And it wasn’t a question – but an order.

But ten more minutes was all he needed.

Out of nowhere, he had you on the ground, knocked over the head – dragging you to where he kept his victims – including the one he still had. He kept each of his victims for shorter and shorter amounts of times. But he always got rid of them in the same way – he would grab another before he disposed of the other.

“Go, now,” Hotch said, before grabbing a vest, “And I’m coming too.”

~~~

You groaned; a soft noise pulled from the back of your throat. Damn bastard got the jump on you – although that was the point. Were you dead? But the ringing of your ears and the distinct screaming ache in your head told you that you most assuredly were not – death wouldn’t hurt this much.

“Are you okay?” a small voice asked, and you blinked, eyelids feeling heavier than the sky carried by Atlas, a titan with the weight of the world on his back – how wholly ironic, that’s how you always felt. And your shoulders ached just like his must have, but – the chains clanged above you – his pain wasn’t from being chained to a wall. “Hey, are you okay?”

Finally, your vision relented a few degrees of blurriness, allowing you to lift and turn your head – a woman chained the same way you were presumably – arms strung up high, joined by two cuffs looped around a chain that was hammered into a rocky wall of a cave.

“Yeah,” your head disagreed, screeching with every thought you had, “well not great,” your eyes squint in the darkness, looking for dancing shadows in the pitch black, “he isn’t…here is he?”

“No, you’ll know when he’s here – the smallest noise makes an echo,” she says, and she’s right – you can hear the tiniest of waterdrops plink against the stalagmites, “I think he’s going to kill me when he comes back.”

Her voice is raw, the terror quavering in her words, and you wonder – what he had done to her? Each victim had been tortured in different ways from the military – somewhere waterboarded, others were cut and bleed, others were beaten. Whatever it was – she spent the majority of the time screaming.

“It’s going to be okay,” you grit your teeth, trying to strain against the restraints, “my team is on their way, I’m an FBI agent.”

There’s a growl that emanates from the darkness, and then a roar, “WHO SENT YOU?”

The unsub charges forward, wild eyed and bleary, holding a shotgun to your neck, as the victim sobbed, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. He made me-“

“SHUT UP,” he ripped apart your clothes until he found the camera and your GPS tracker, crushing it under his boot, “Now,” he pressed the barrel to your chin, “Who. Sent. You?”

~~~~

I took you for granted. That’s the first and only thought he has when he hears a gunshot ring out in the bowels of the cave, echoing with the hideous squelch of blood. A scream rings out, along with the sound of sobbing, following the shot with disturbing synchrony – a symphony of his worst nightmares.

He doesn’t remember much. He remembers running, the sounds of Morgan and JJ yelling for him, and small whimpers that sounded against the rocky crags. And he found you – covered in blood, the scarlet dripping running down your arms and a splash across your face. The unsub was on the ground, unconscious, in a pool of his own blood, as the woman beside you cried.

Morgan and JJ undid her restraints, while Hotch checked you over, his hands patting the length of your body for injuries, “Are you okay? What—” Your clothes were ripped up, the blood dripping across your chest. He pulls off his windbreaker and drapes it over your shoulders.

“He found out I was an agent, but he thought I was a Russian agent,” you shook your head, “he thinks he’s a soldier in the cold war. He had us chained to the wall. He was going to shoot me, but I managed to convince him that I was part of the same covert unit he believed he was in. He undid my chain and that’s when I went for his gun. He fired it and it caught him by the shoulder. He fell over from the recoil and knocked himself out.”

He frowned at the blood, that covered your body, “Then what—”

“Pig’s blood,” you wrinkled your nose, “He was going to cover me in it and then—” you cut yourself off, “either way, I’m okay.”

“I—” he cuts off, when Morgan and JJ call you guys out, “we’ll talk after.”

He watches you as the paramedic does a basic check-up, “Have you told her how you feel?”

He blinks, looking over to see Dave with a raised brow, “Yes, I have,”

Dave breaks out in a grin, “It’s about time—”

“We decided we shouldn’t be together, Dave,” he shakes his head.

“Aaron—”

“What will people say?” Hotch cuts him off, “about her? What will happen to her career—”

“You can’t control everything, Aaron. Neither of you will know what will happen if you date, but both of you know what will happen if you don’t—” Hotch tilts his head, as Dave sighs, holding forehead, “You’ll both be miserable. You make each other happy. She makes Jack happy. You don’t get that very often in life, Aaron. Take it when you get it.”

Dave nods, before walking towards the car, and Hotch takes one last look at you, wrapping up with the paramedic, before following him.

He knew what he had to do.

~~~

As you step off the plane and make your way into the office, you shake the events of the day off, “Get some rest, sweetheart,” Morgan squeezes you in a one armed hug, before Garcia crushes you in a full one, “whoa, whoa baby girl, easy, she just got patched up and now you’re already trying to break her in two.”

“I was just so worried,” Garcia stepped back, “are you sure you’re gonna be okay getting home?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine, don’t worry,” She squeezes your hand one last time.

“Call me if you need anything,” she says, walking towards the elevator door with Morgan, Reid, and JJ.

“You know it’s actually possible to split someone in two with just human sheer force?” you hear Reid say before the doors close.

“Reid, I didn’t need you to tell me that,”

You finish grabbing your stuff, heading towards the elevators, when Hotch calls your name, “Can I see you in my office for a second?”

You nod, following him to his office, heart in your throat.

He shuts the door behind you, and he just stares.

You tilt your head, shifting in place, unsure whether to sit or not, “Are you okay?”

He shakes himself from his stupor, “I should be asking you that,” he takes careful steps towards you, “I almost lost you today, I—”

“Aaron, you didn’t lose me,” you hold yourself back, from finding his hand, from cradling his cheek against your palm, instead keeping your arms crossed against your chest, “you could never lose me.”

“I already did,” he breathes, and instead his hand found your cheek, and his hand found your fingers, pulling them from your chest, “when I didn’t fight for us.”

“Aaron—”

“Tell me to stop,” Hotch tells you, fingers brushing gently over the curve of your face, “tell me to stop loving you, but I can’t. I’ve tried. I don’t think I ever will.”

“Our jobs—”

“We can talk to Strauss, together, we can figure this out. After almost losing you – something happened to you and we never—” he cuts himself off, clearing his throat, “You are taking a bigger risk than I am I know, I know you are,” his voice is strangled, “and I never want to pressure you into something you don’t want, but I’m telling you where I stand.”

“Aaron,”

“You don’t have to respond,” and you smile, fingers intertwined with his.

“Oh, but I have to,” and you press your lips to his, “because I love you, and I never want to lose you.”

He kisses you then, arms wrapping around your waist, as one of yours found purchase on his shoulder, the other fisted in his hair. His chuckle rumbles against your lips, “Sorry you got stuck with the short end of the stick,”

You laugh, shaking your head, “It’s never the short end if I’m with you.”

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yungidreamer · 3 years

Text

Day One

I’m not really back but I needed a distraction today so I wrote a little oneshot something. I’m posting this unedited so sorry for any typos or mistakes.

Summary: Yunho has fallen in love with his best friend and a Valentine’s Day together goes from angst to passion with a single heartfelt question.

Wordcount: 5.7k

Content warnings: angsty miscommunications, a little bit of strong language, communication that borders on consent porn (lol), making out, dry humping, protected penetrative sex (M,F). Happy ending.

“Oh hey,” Yunho greeted as he poked his head out through his front door. “You made it! Come on inside. I’m just finishing a few things up.”

“Am I too early?” Her eyes flicked to her watch to check how early she was. “I can always go buy some snacks and come back or something?”

“No, no, no, no,” he rushed to assure her, putting his large hand on her shoulder. “I’ve got all that covered. Come in, come in.” With a nod she stepped in through the door and into the apartment. Slipping off her shoes in the small well near the doorway, she made her way into the very familiar apartment. Two years of friendship meant she had spent hours and hours here studying, eating, and just hanging out. It was familiar and comfortable, almost a second home. He came to her place too, of course, it just depended on the day. It didn’t really matter, neither of them cared. It was all about whatever worked for both of them.

Today it was his place and almost an ordinary day. Almost.

“Why don’t you take a seat,” Yunho gestured at the old fluffy couch that sat across from the television in the living room. “You want a drink?”

“Uh maybe some tea?” She said as she flopped onto the couch. “It’s really cold out there.”

“Yeah, the weather has really been something, hasn’t it?” He chuckled as he walked into the kitchen, raising his voice as he walked to make sure she could still hear him. “I probably should have been a gentleman and come to you, especially given the day.”

“Since when has that been a thing between us?” She laughed.

“Hey,” he protested as he flipped the switch on the kettle. “I’m always a gentleman.”

“You’re a good guy and you’re a friend,” she admitted. “But it's never been like that between us.” Even if I wanted it to be, she finished in her head.

“Well no,” he shifted uncomfortably on his feet in the doorway. “But what kind of friend makes you trudge across town in the snow just for a movie and to hang out.”

“What, did you want to cancel it?” She questioned, a twinge of pain tweaking in her chest.

“And leave you with nothing to do on valentines day?” Yunho scoffed. “No, I should have come to you.”

“How is that better?” She rolled her eyes and looked away towards the TV to start flipping through Netflix to find the movie they were going to watch.

“Then I’d be the one out there trudging through the snow getting cold,” he pouted slightly at her before heading to the freshly boiled kettle. “It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she shrugged, speaking loudly enough for him to hear her over the slosh of the water into the mug. “I’m just as capable of making the trip as you are.”

“Can’t you ever just let me do the nice thing for you just because?” He huffed tiredly as he strode out with the steaming mug in hand.

“I mean yeah,” she shrugged and took it from him, not meeting his eyes. “But we aren’t like that. I can come to you just as easily as you can come to me. You don’t have to coddle me or something.”

“Sometimes it's just nice to be nice, bub,” he said over his shoulder as he went back to the kitchen to finish throwing the snacks into something. With a sigh he pulled out the two large bowls they always used for snacks and grabbed the large bag of chips from the counter. Why does she always have to make it so hard for me to do nice things for her, he asked himself. Every single time he tried to do something sweet, to show her that maybe he could be something more than just a friend, she did this. She became as prickly as a hedgehog and half the time wouldn’t even look at him. It was maddening.

This is probably it, he told himself, you’re friends and that’s it, just accept it. He sighed and gathered the snacks into his hands and headed back to the living room. There she was, sitting there, feet curled cutely under her as she held the warm mug with both hands, alternating between blowing on it and taking loud sips of the still hot drink. She was so...cute, it gave him a little flutter of butterflies in his gut that he had to mentally brush away as he set the bowls and platter down on the coffee table.

“So is this still what you want to watch?” She asked, the classic romcom pulled up on the screen.

“Well, seems right, what with what day it is and all,” he shrugged.

“Valentines Day,” she nodded. “As long as you’re sure.”

“What, you don’t?” He turned to face her, trying to read her reaction. “We don’t have to.”

“No it should be fun,” she put up a hand and waved away his offer. “You just aren’t a romance sort of guy. I don’t want you to watch something you don’t want to just because...I don’t know, because you think I want to or because of TrAdItIoN.”

She gave the last word a dramatic tone to emphasize it properly in the context.

“You say tradition like it’s a bad thing.” Yunho scoffed.

“Yeah, I mean usually it's why people do things they don’t really want to do, but they feel like they are supposed to,” she leaned her head back against the cushions behind her as she looked over at the tall boy beside her.

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “But sometimes things become traditions because they are nice to do.”

“And romcoms on Valentine's Day is nice to do,” she smiled up at him with an understanding laugh.

“Yeah it is,” Yunho grinned back. “So let’s get on with tradition.” She gave him a nod and let him start the movie as she grabbed a couple of chips and settled her head lightly on his shoulder, where it often sat as they watched movies together. Yunho set the remote on the arm of the couch and lifted the arm she was leaning against, moving it to wrap around her shoulder and pull her against him and guiding her head to rest on his chest. She relaxed against him and let out a little sigh as the movie started. Yunho fixed his eyes on the TV, purposefully concentrating on the movie rather than the warm, soft curves of the woman tucked into his side.

She jerked awake, her head having lost it’s careful perch on his chest when she went slightly limp in her sleep. Cracking open her eyes, she lifted her head and started to straighten up, pushing the heel of her palm down to push herself back up. Yunho made a grunt beside her and it was in that moment that she noticed just where her hand had landed and what it was pressed against. That warm, thick lump under her palm was a very happy Yunho separated from her touch by a mere layer of jean fabric.

“Shit,” she cursed, jerking back as if it had suddenly grown as hot as a cast iron pan that had been sitting on a stove at full heat. Yunho’s hand that had not been resting on her waist as she rested against him, clenched against his thigh and he turned his eyes to the kitchen as he felt her pull away.

“Sorry… sorry… I didn’t… sorry…” she kept muttering as she scurried to stand up.

“It’s okay,” Yunho rushed to assure her. “You didn’t… you just fell asleep.”

“I think… maybe I should just go home for today,” she turned towards the door, rubbing her hot, pink cheeks. “I’m clearly really tired today. Maybe I’m getting sick or something…”

“Do you feel sick?” He stepped forward and reached out to try and test her forehead.

“I am feeling a little nauseous right now,” she admitted, dodging his touch.

Pausing, he looked at her as she knelt down and reached for her shoes. “Am I that gross?” He asked quietly, unable to keep the small pang of hurt from coloring his tone.

“What?” She froze, turning to blink up at him with owlish eyes.

“You accidentally touched me for two seconds and it makes you feel sick,” he rubbed the back of his neck and clenched his jaw in frustration. “How am I supposed to take that?”

“I didn’t-- it’s not that,” she sighed, letting herself fall into a slump and dropping the shoe she had been about to put on. “I’m embarrassed, okay?”

“You didn’t do anything you need to be embarrassed about,” he objected. “I like that you do that sometimes.”

“Do… do what?” She froze looking up at him.

“Fall asleep on me,” Yunho dug his socked toes into the carpet as he muttered his reply, barely loud enough to be heard. “I like that you feel comfortable with me; that you relax.”

“You didn’t invite me over for a nap,” she shook her head and grimaced at the memory of the part she wasn’t even willing to acknowledge out loud.

“I invited you over to spend some time with you,” he shrugged, hiding his hands in his pockets. “If you spend a little of that time napping next to me… I don’t mind. You’re still here with me.”

“That’s sweet,” she offered, reaching for her shoe again. “I just think… maybe another day would be better.”

“Please don’t go,” Yunho managed to squeeze out. “I’ve been looking forward to this all week. I’ve missed hanging out.”

“What if…” She sighed. “How about we meet for coffee or something tomorrow?” Something out of both of their places seemed safe enough, she silently settled on. They needed a reset in general. Things had been awkward lately and she was sure that if she wasn’t careful, she was one step away from doing something stupid that would really ruin everything between them.

“If you want,” he gave a little shrug, heart sinking in his chest.

“Or we can just take a little break instead,” she offered, finally managing to sink her heel into her boot. “I know things have been weird lately, so maybe that would just be for the best.”

“What did I do wrong,” he finally forced himself to ask. A big part of him didn’t want to ask; didn’t want to know. But she was slipping away already. If she went through the door today, he was almost positive it would be awhile before he saw her again.

“Nothing,” she shook her head, determinedly stuffing her other foot into her second shoe. “You didn’t do anything.” She grumbled, double knotting the lace of her shoe. “But you know that things have been a little weird as well as I do and I would rather take a few weeks apart than have things get to the point where we… aren’t friends at all.”

“Weeks?” He breathed in disbelief. “No, that’s it. Just stop.” Reaching down, he pulled her to stand facing him. “Talk to me. Tell me what I did. It must have been something. Please just give me a chance to fix it.”

“You didn’t do anything,” she shook her head, lowering her gaze.

“Please tell me,” he implored, a tightness in his chest holding his breath captive. Bringing his hands to her face, he held it facing his own, his eyes searching for some clue as to why she was slipping away. “Let me fix it.”

“You…” she started, feeling the prickle of tears filling her eyes. He looked so sad, but what was she supposed to say? She loved him so much, the very last thing she wanted to do was hurt him, but wasn’t a little pain now better than a goodbye? They were friends. Just friends. It had to be enough because she couldn’t imagine things without him. It was more important than that aching want he caused in her whenever she saw him and more important than whatever might have been.

“Let me…” He breathed, letting his gaze fall to her lips. For both of them, the moment froze, time stopped and stretched like an ocean of possibilities, a thousand chances with a thousand rewards and consequences down each path.

“Yunho,” his name fell from her lips, breaking the spell like it had been as inconsequential as the filament of a spider’s web.

“Can’t you just love me back?” He whispered, holding her cheeks, running the pads of his thumbs over her cheekbones.

“I love you so much more than you know,” she admitted, bringing her hands to cover the backs of his.

“Then don’t go,” he drew closer. “Stay with me.”

“For the movie?” She ventured, half joking, half wanting to pull away again, back to the comfortable pretending space where she didn’t really have to risk her heart or their friendship.

“Forget the movie,” he gave a watery chuckle. “Stay for me.”

“Okay,” she nodded after a second, no longer able to keep herself from leaning towards his tempting cupid's bow lips. Meeting in the middle, their lips touched and exhilaration and relief flooded both of them at the contact. He started moving backwards, wanting to take both of them away from the threat the door represented just behind her.

“Wait,” she panted, pulling back just a shade to get it out.

“What?” He asked, barely giving her space, moving his lips over to the corner of her mouth.

“Shoes,” she breathed, her fingers tightening on his wrists.

“Oh,” he nodded, dropping to his knees in front of her and immediately moving to pull them off without even bothering to untie them. He finally managed to pull them off, throwing them behind her before pulling her into his arms to take her back to the couch where all this had started, this time kissing her like a drowning man sucking in breath as he breaks the surface of water. Months of want and need flowed forth like a flood finally having broken through the last levy that had held it back.

When the front of the couch finally brushed the back of his thighs, he let himself fall backwards into the soft cushions, bringing her with him, her knees hooked around his hips. His hands moved to grip her hips, coaxing her to grind against his wanting body. She moaned against his lips, her hands moving to brush along his shoulders and neck. He filled her senses completely, from the salty sweetness of his lips, to the scent of his warm skin, to the huff and moan of his breath tickling her ears. He was heaven. He was that thing her whole being had been itching for, for months.

“Mmm,” he moaned, letting his tongue flick over her bottom lip. “Tell me that you want this, too. I need to know it's not just me.”

“It’s not just you,” she assured him, returning the motion and brushing the tip of her nose against his. “I’ve wanted this so long.”

“Why… why didn’t you say something?” He queried, letting his fingers move into the waistband of her pants. “We could have… we could have done this so long ago.”

“I thought it was just me,” she explained. “I didn’t want to ruin things between us. I’d rather have friend Yunho than nothing at all.”

“You won’t get rid of me that easily,” he laughed. “Even if I hadn’t spent the better part of the last year thinking of you every time I…” he couldn’t bring himself to finish the admission, a pink blush blooming on the tips of his ears and his cheeks. “I wouldn’t have let it come between us.”

“Why didn’t you say something then?” She turned the question around on him.

“Because everytime I tried to get a little closer to you, you bristled and ran away from me,” he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “How was I supposed to read that?”

“I’m sorry,” she leaned into him pressing a line of kisses along the side of his neck.

“Apology accepted,” he cleared his throat, leaning back to allow her better access. With one hand between her shoulder blades and the other tucked into the waistband of her jeans, he pressed her against him. “Just don’t stop.”

She let out an eager hmmm and gave the flesh just below his ear a gentle suck. Goosebumps prickled over his arms and he felt himself pulse with want. It was euphoric, his every fantasy coming true and everything was moving both too fast and too slow for his taste.

“There are too many clothes,” he grumbled, feeling her lips tease along the line of his collar. “I want to touch you.”

“I guess we could…” she paused, leaning her temple against his shoulder. “Do you want to move into your room?”

“Really?” He asked, pulling her up so he could look into her eyes.

“I mean the couch is okay too,” she was quick to nod.

“No I mean,” he pursed his lips and shifted a little under her. “We can just do this. I don’t want to rush anything.”

“I’m not promising that we’ll do everything tonight,” she began carefully. “But, if you want to, I think I’d like to see where this goes somewhere a little more comfortable.”

“Give me, like, five minutes,” he told her, sliding her off his lap and into the cushion beside him. “I just want to clean up a little.”

“Sure,” she nodded. “Maybe I can just go to the bathroom and wash my face and stuff while you pick up.”

“Yeah, sure,” he agreed happily, taking her by the hand as he stood up. Dropping her off in front of the bathroom door he walked over to the linen closet and pulled out a new set of sheets, then headed for his bedroom. If this was going to happen, he told himself, it was going to happen in clean sheets. Quickly stripping the bed, he threw the new sheets on the bed and picked up the few socks and little bits of whatever that happened to have been left on the floor over the past couple of days. Throwing away the trash, he gathered the old sheets and the laundry, taking it out to the washer, deciding he could start it later, but certainly had better things to do at the moment.

Since the bathroom door was still closed, he decided he had enough time to do just a few little things to set the mood. Candles, where did I leave those things, he wondered in his head as he poked his head into the living room and then into the hall closet. Ah-ha, he thought victoriously as he laid eyes on the little box of candles and glass holders. Grabbing them, he made his way back to his bedroom and put the little votives on every surface far enough away from something flammable he had.

Just as he lit the last candle, he heard the click of the bathroom door opening. He tossed the lighter into the nearest drawer and nervously tried to brush the wrinkles out of the front of his shirt. The gesture was more soothing than it was effective, but was cute to see nonetheless when she poked her head around the frame of the door to see him.

“Hi,” she said nervously. “Are you done?”

“Yeah,” Yunho nodded, straightening up. “Do you… do you still want to move in here?”

“Yeah,” she replied with a smile. “It looks nice.”

“Thanks,” he replied automatically more than anything else. “So… ummm…”

“Let’s start by getting a little more comfortable,” she suggested, taking a few steps into the room.

“Right, yes,” he nodded vigorously, coming to meet her. When they were standing just a few inches apart, she reached out, putting her hands on his forearms comfortingly.

“Do you mind if I help you out of these?” She asked as her fingers moved to the button on his jeans.

“Please,” Yunho had been feeling the pressure of the tight fabric against his erection for what felt like forever and would be glad to be free of it. His hands moved to help guide the jeans off his hips as she undid the button and slid the zipper down. He leaned down to kiss her as he stepped out of the stiff fabric as it slumped around his ankles. Her hands went to the fastenings of her own jeans, kicking them off as he nuzzled and licked at her lips.

“What about this next?” She suggested, tugging at his shirt gently. Without answering he pulled back and pulled it off over his head as quickly as he could manage, leaving him in his socks and boxers.

“What about yours?” He asked, a hopeful look in his eyes as his hand brushed over her sleeve.

“Yeah,” she brought her hands over her head, allowing him to pull it off and toss it on top of her jeans off to the side.

“Bed?” He asked, wrapping his arms around her hips and lifting her against his chest. She nodded and brought her lips to his as he took the couple of steps to the mattress. Letting her down gently, he let her crawl backwards to the head of the bed and stretch out with her head on the pillows before crawling after her. As he drew near, looming over her with his much larger body, she opened her thighs to allow him to lay in the cradle they created.

“Hey,” she chuckled, bringing her arms to wrap around his neck as he laid himself over her.

“Hi,” he replied with a shy laugh. “We still good?”

“Uh-huh,” she nodded, brushing his bangs off his forehead. “Can I ask you something?”

“Hmmm?” His puppyish eyes looked into hers intently.

“Did you change the sheets?” she giggled, looking up into his overly serious expression.

“Yes,” he admitted.

“Mmm, I thought so,” she nodded. “They don’t smell like you.”

“Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?” He questioned, holding himself up on his forearms to keep most of his weight off her.

“Both… neither?” She said indecisively. “Just come a little closer to me.” He leaned closer, bringing his lips to her as he allowed more of his weight to press into her. Letting out a contented sigh, she deepened the kiss as she let her hands wander over the broad expanse of his bare back.

Yunho let himself get lost in the soft sensations of her lips and her hands as he pressed himself close. She felt as good and as comforting as he had dreamed she would on all those lonely nights. His tongue slipped in past her lips and past her teeth to tangle with her own, dancing together in a mutual sweep of pleasurable sensation.

Time passed unobserved as they lazily explored each other, mouth to mouth, hands gently flitting over the skin they could find. When he finally pulled back, he rolled slightly off her, laying his head on the pillow beside hers. He nuzzled into her cheek, his eyes closing as he just took in her scent mixed with the freshness of the clean sheets.

“Do you want to stop for tonight?” She asked, running her hand over his arm where it curved around her waist.

“We can if you’d like,” he offered. “I just wanted to hold you for a while.”

“I actually,” she started to speak and he could actually feel the heat of her blush rise against his lips as he kissed her cheek. “I’m feeling a little needy. We don’t have to go all the way but I kind of want a little something more.”

“Okay,” he nodded, pulling himself up onto one elbow. “What do you need?”

“I kind of… I just need a little friction,” she explained, her face aflame as she did. “Maybe you can just lay back and I’ll take care of it… with you, if that’s okay?”

“Yeah, show me what you like,” he nodded, eagerly shifting to lay on his back. Sitting up, she moved to straddle his hips, putting a knee to either side. Leaning forward, she propped herself up with a hand just above each of his shoulders. Unable to bring herself to look into his eyes at the moment, she closed her eyes and let her head droop slightly forward as she shifted her hips, looking for the right angle to get the friction she sought. Drawing in a deep breath through her nose, she tentatively slid herself along the ridge of his erection.

Yunho watched her face as she started to move, tantalized by the blissfully seeking expression on her face combined with the sensation of her grinding against him. He watched as her movements became more fluid and more sure, listening as her breathing became faster then hitched now and again as she hit something more pleasurable on her body. She was beautiful and tempting as she used his body to find some relief to the tension that knitted her brow.

“Does it feel good?” He asked, his hands helping her hips to press more harshly against him.

“Yeah,” she panted. “So good.”

“Is it better with me?” He questioned, wanting to know he was playing some part in that look on her face.

“So much better,” she agreed. “You make me feel so good.”

“Are you going to come all over me?” He prompted, bringing one hand up to her stomach to feel the muscles clench and quiver.

“Oh god, yes I think so,” she nodded, speeding up her grinding.

“Can you look in my eyes when you do, love,” he pressed, hearing that uneven puff that said she was getting close. Her movements faltered slightly, but she swallowed and managed to finally meet his gaze. Her eyes were hooded and hazy, and her pupils wide from a mix of the dim light of the candles and the pleasure coursing in her veins.

“So pretty,” he praised huskily. “Come for me, yeah?”

“Uh- uh-huh,” she nodded, her arms quivering and threatening to give out. With just a few more moves, she came apart over him. Her jaw went slack and her eyes squeezed shut as her body went rigid for a few seconds before a shiver worked its way through her body starting at her shoulders and reverberating down to her toes.

Weakness suffused her and her arms finally gave out. Collapsed against his chest, she huddled against him as she caught her breath. He murmured sweet nothings to her, soothing her with his voice as his hands stroked against her slightly tacky back. Want made his skin hurt but he savored this moment knowing it was a sort of first he would never have again. It was a fulfilment of a fantasy that had haunted him for months and part of him was afraid to poke at it, afraid it would burst like a bubble.

“Thank you,” she sighed, taking a deep breath that turned into a yawn.

“Are you up for a little more?” He tested, rubbing his chin gently against the top of her head. “I can take a few minutes to myself if you aren’t.”

“I can take a little more,” she nodded against his chest. “But I’m not feeling terribly coordinated at the moment.”

“It’s okay,” he chuffed, rolling them both over so that he was once again on top of her. “I think I can do the work this time.” Depositing her gently on the bed, he pulled back to look down at her nestled comfortably in his bed. She looked just right there, like she belonged there beside him. “Do you mind if I take the rest of the clothes off?”

“That’s fine,” she nodded. With a sigh, she propped herself up and reached behind her back to unhook her bra so he could remove it as he slid his boxers off and tossed them somewhere off the bed. Doing the same with her bra, he sat up on his heels and hooked his fingers in the band of her panties, pulling them gently down her legs and off. He knelt between her legs and looked down at her as she relaxed into the pile of pillows again. Her eyes skimmed over his face and down his body in that moment, taking in his strong, lean body.

“Oh my,” she breathed when her eyes finally lowered to his erection.

“What?” He asked as he moved to cover himself, slightly self conscious at the reaction.

“You’re just… big,” she replied after a second’s pause.

“I guess,” he admitted, blushing. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, reaching out in her desire to reassure him.

“Just one second,” he held up a finger then leaned over to open the drawer in his bedside table. After a little digging, he pulled out a small foil wrapper and tore it open.

“I’m on birth control,” she mentioned. “But better safe than sorry, right.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, rolling the latex down his length before reaching back into the drawer, this time pulling out a tube of clear lube. Taking a little on his fingers, he spread it between her already slick nether lips, just to be sure, before getting a little that he used on his latex covered length. Wiping his hand clean on a tissue, he finally lay down between her thighs, lining himself up with her core.

“You still want me?” He asked, running his hand up her side as he smiled down at her.

“Yes,” she nodded, wrapping her arms around his ribs as she relaxed beneath him.

“You’ve…” He paused, hips poised to thrust when it occurred to him to ask.

“Yeah, I’ve done this before,” she assured him, hugging his hips with her thighs, coaxing him to enter her.

“If it’s not good,” he said, slowly working himself into her body. “Just say something, promise?”

“I will,” she agreed. With each gentle thrust he went a little deeper, sinking himself into her moist heat inch by inch. Her body stretched satisfyingly around him, hugging his length with a sweet tension.

“Mmm, oh god,” he breathed as he reached the end of her body. “You’re okay?”

“Yeah, keep going,” she urged, her fingers gripping his shoulders as she moved impatiently. “You feel so good.”

He nodded and buried his head in the pillows near her head, letting his eyes close as he enjoyed the sensation of sliding in and out of her tight body. His body arched and curved against her as he found a slow and steady rhythm that had pleasure thrumming through him. It was even better than every late night fantasy that had flitted through his mind as he had imagined being with her. The only thing that would scratch that tickle of sexual frustration that had haunted him for months.

“Yunho,” she breathed his name against his collarbone, her lips ghosting over his skin as she spoke his name. He whispered hers back over and over, like a quiet mantra in the quiet of the room, otherwise filled with the creak of the bed and the rustle of the sheets amid the rhythmic pants of their breathing.

“Tell me I make you feel good,” he groaned, leaning close to feel her nipples abrade his chest as he moved against her.

“You feel like heaven,” she swore breathlessly.

“Mmmm,” he shuttered and his hips stuttered against her. “I’m not gonna last long. Can you come again? I want to feel you come around me.”

“Yeah,” she nodded, moving one hand to touch herself between them.

“Okay,” he closed his eyes and tried to think about something else, even as he felt himself getting close to that precipice. He couldn’t help but get drawn in by the feel of her hand moving against herself between them and he prayed she was as close as he was.

“Can you tell me I’m beautiful?” She asked shyly, her breath coming faster again.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against her temple. “So fucking beautiful I can barely breath when I look at you.” She let out a muffled little groan and he felt the first flutter of her body around him. He let out a long string of praise for her as he thrust into her, her hand trembling as she chased that pleasure again. He moaned out praise for every inch of her and every feature, exhaustively listing every freckle, dimple, and curve he loved about her until he felt her body burst with pleasure, pulsingly gripping his length and driving him over the edge and robbed him of speech as he spilled himself inside her.

In the moments that followed they both slowly fell back to earth, coming back to themselves, limbs entwined in the dim, quiet room. With a quick apology he rolled his weight off her, pulling her along with him so that she was curled against his side as they caught their breath.

Slipping the condom off, he cleaned himself up with a tissue and tossed both into the nearby trash before turning to give the woman beside him an assessing look.

“Do you want to go clean up a little before we go to sleep?” He asked, running a finger gently over her arm.

“In another minute,” she gave a single, tired nod.

“Okay,” he agreed, rubbing her skin to warm in as the sweat they had developed cooled it. After a few beats he broke the silence with another question, “Ummm, does this count as our day one?”

“Yeah,” she laughed. “Valentine’s Day, huh? I guess that will make it easy to remember, won’t it?”

“I’m not sure I’d say that was the memorable part,” he teased back. “Thank you for being mine.”

“Thank you for loving me back,” she said, craning up to press a kiss to his lips. “Happy day one.”

“I can’t wait to spend the rest of my days with you,” he grinned, wrapping her tightly in his arms and breathing her in as he held her close.

Masterlist

#jeong yunho #Yunho #yunho scenarios #yunho smut #ateez smut #ateez #ateez fluff #kpop smut #kpop scenarios #kpop angst #kpop fluff #ateez angst #friends to lovers #one shot

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cake-writes · 4 years

Text

No Vacancy (3/5)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Story Warnings: Both Bucky and Reader are gonna get kind of dark in this, so… Dark Fic (I guess?), Very Dubious Consent, Somnophilia (sex with a sleeping partner – and it’s gonna be more than once), Breeding Kink, Rough Sex, Angry Sex, Hair-Pulling, Visible Marks, Breathplay, Throatfucking, Restraints, Subspace, Choking, Spanking, Degradation, Masturbation, Angst, Anxiety, Feels, Mutual Pining, VERY OBVIOUSLY 18+

Summary: You and Bucky have been on so many missions together, you’ve lost count. How is it that you’ve never shared a bed until now?

A/N: NEW WARNINGS so have a look just in case there’s something you don’t want to read. i also made a moodboard. other than that... heh. enjoy, my fellow harlots. 🙈

Part Two / Master List

The devil on your shoulder tries to frame it as a confession.

The angel tries to claim it’s a sign of a guilty conscience.

I pressured you into sleeping with me, didn’t I?

Maybe it’s neither. Maybe it’s both.

Pressure. You should have said force. You encouraged him – took advantage of him – spurred him on with pleasured gasps and desperate pleas and god, you feel so full. He’ll be dripping out of you for days after.

It’s wrong.

You should have stopped him. He couldn’t consent – but the memory turns you on.

What the hell is wrong with you?

Just knowing how easily he can overpower you even while he’s asleep leaves your body burning with a certain kind of heat you’ve never felt before. Not to this degree. You’ve always known that he’s enhanced, of course, but until last night, you’ve never seen his strength so up close and personal – never experienced it firsthand like that, and now, it’s all you can think about. He’s all you can think about, and he doesn’t even know what he’s done.

It’s debauchery. It’s delirium.

His hand pressing your face into the pillow – you couldn’t breathe.

His cock stretching you out so perfectly – you couldn’t think.

His cum filling you to the brim – you couldn’t stop him. Or at least that’s what you try to tell yourself, but it’s a lie. You didn’t even try.

You shouldn’t think about him like this. You shouldn’t want him like this.

But you do.

The morning is spent tiptoeing around him, like he’s a grenade ready to explode at any given moment. It’s evident that Bucky doesn’t remember a thing about the night before by the way he interacts with you: careful, guarded, like maybe you’re the grenade.

You know you should tell him, but you don’t.

The secret you keep is the grenade, and when the pin is pulled, you don’t know what will remain. You’re scared that he’ll hate you, but you’re not ready to consider that he won’t.

So you confess in a bout of anxiety, instead, because your conscience is muddled and things are weird and you can’t even act right around him anymore.

You’re suffocating.

You shouldn’t think about him like this. You shouldn’t want him like this.

But you do.

He wanted to sleep with you. That’s what he said, but in that moment, it’s crystal clear that you’re not on the same page. The sleeping with you mean is vastly different to the sleeping with he means.

There’s tension. There’s never been tension before. It feels like you’re walking on eggshells, and you hate it. You hate the way he puts you on a pedestal half the time and treats you like a friend for the rest. You hate that the only time he’s serious with you is when you’re joking around. You hate it.

Why can’t he just be honest?

Why can’t you?

It’s overcast outside – downright miserable, really, with rain every ten minutes and you with no wet-weather gear. Washington State is dreary at the best of times, but now it’s even worse. It reflects your state of mind; the storm clouds are your inner conflict, and every clap of thunder signifies a punishment for yourself for wanting this, wanting him, wanting more.

You have to tell him.

As Bucky pulls the beater into the parking lot at the drugstore, the rain finally lifts for the umpteenth time. It feels like a blessing, or maybe it’s a sign.

You slide your hand into his as the two of you walk inside, something you’ve done too many times to count whilst undercover: a fact further proven when his fingers lace with yours so easily, so comfortably, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And it is.

When the bomb drops, it won’t be anymore.

“Cold meds are over here,” Bucky says as he leads you in that direction – but you don’t follow, and he stops to glance down at your hands like he’s only just realized what you’ve done. Then his eyes turn back up to your face, and in those pretty baby blues you watch as the confusion turns to suspicion, and your stomach turns to knots. “What are you doing?”

“I—I have to tell you something,” you stammer, hesitant, unsure. Your voice wavers and there’s a lump in your throat that makes it difficult to swallow.

You’re nervous. Of course you are. You’re not ready to pull the pin.

“We’re not together on this mission,” Bucky informs you, plainly, like you don’t already know that. You know what he means by together; you’re not a couple. You know that, too. It’s painfully obvious that you aren’t, now.

You shouldn’t think about him like this. You shouldn’t want him like this.

But you do.

“We could be,” you suggest, to which he sighs in annoyance and pulls his hand free.

“Get your meds,” he says, tone clipped. “You can tell me in the car.”

And then he’s gone, and you’re left feeling even more uneasy than before.

By the time you get back outside, it’s raining again. Thankfully, the car’s unlocked, and you jump inside to find that Bucky has his seat reclined and his hands are tucked behind his head like a makeshift pillow. The radio’s tuned to some station you don’t recognize, but you’re in the boonies, now, so that’s really no surprise. A bit of static distorts the song that’s trying to play – something classic rock, but you can’t really place it through the low volume.

As you pull the door shut, he greets you with a sharp, “Took you long enough.”

He’s pissed off, and the way he eases his seat back up is further testament to that – slow, but precise. Calculated. Vibranium fingers tap the steering wheel, like he’s waiting for an apology.

Great.

The pharmacist just had to grill you about your sexual history, because this really is the boonies and you’re a single, unmarried woman looking for contraception. It took a lot longer than it should have, so much that you’re in a mood now, too.

“Sorry,” you mutter, locking the seatbelt into place. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, or,” you gesture to Bucky’s general vicinity, “whatever the hell this is.”

You’re already so tired and it’s only eleven o’clock.

That’s when you finally meet his eyes – just long enough to see that sassing him was probably a bad idea, and predictably it pokes the bear.

“If anyone’s acting off,” he begins, voice sharp, turning the engine back on, “It’s you. Don’t know what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, but figure your shit out. We’re on a mission.”

You and Bucky have argued before, but not like this. This is personal. The fact that he used your words from your earlier spell of anxiety is proof of that.

As if you need him to tell you what your priorities should be. You already know.

“Roger that, Sarge,” you bite out sarcastically, rummaging around in the plastic bag to rip open the pill package. “I’ll get right on that.”

Then you shove the pill into your mouth and take a swig of water from your water bottle, before you slam it back down into the cup holder a little harder than necessary. Bucky lets out a long, slow breath as he shifts the car into gear, and you don’t even have to look at him to know you’re trying his patience.

Good. He’s trying yours, too.

Crumpling up the bag and its contents, you toss it haphazardly into the back seat and pop your feet up onto the dash in a fit of irritation. That’s when Bucky turns up the radio, and you finally hear the lyrics over the static:

We are all just prisoners here of our own device—

Of course it’s Hotel California. As if you can feel any more trapped than you already do.

You’re suffocating.

It’s clear you won’t be having any more conversation until you arrive at your next destination.

It’s clear that Bucky doesn’t care what you wanted to say, or maybe he’s forgotten. Not that it matters.

Up until now, the confession burned hot on the tip of your tongue – a desperation to tell him about what happened last night, or maybe even an apology, but not anymore.

He was the one who woke you up.

He was the one who held you down.

As far as you’re concerned, you’re the victim here. Not him.

So you don’t say a thing. Instead you shut your eyes and hope to god he didn’t get you pregnant.

You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave—

The rest of the day unfolds with even less camaraderie between the two of you.

There’s friction, so much that you’re about ready to scream by the time you make it back to the motel. Maybe a little friendly fire would be sufficient, because you’ve had enough.

Steve would understand. He knows what a pain in the ass his best friend can be.

Bucky doesn’t get the door for you this time, not like he usually does; instead he walks right into your shared room and leaves you standing out in the rain. That pisses you off even more, and you slam the door shut behind you so hard that the window next to it clatters in its pane: old, decrepit fibreglass.

You’re lucky that the whole thing didn’t shatter. It’s only hanging on by a literal thread.

That observation sobers you up a little. You can’t keep on like this.

“What are you, a bratty teenager?” Bucky barks at you, and the way he rounds on you so suddenly sends a jolt of excitement straight to your core. “Do you want the rain getting in, princess?”

The last word is spat at you with such vitriol, it makes your jaw drop.

He’s angry. He’s pissed off. He’s had it with you, and it turns you on.

What the hell is wrong with you?

You’ve felt like this all day – just blamed it on your anger because it’s easier to focus your energy into that than on the fact that you want him. That you always have. That you always would, now that you know what he’s capable of.

It’s wrong.

“No,” is what you finally answer; timid, almost, and your shoulders slump in defeat. You can’t keep on like this. It’s only seven o’clock – less than half a day of fighting with him and you’re already over it.

You’re exhausted. And so is he, by the looks of it.

He’s drenched from the rain. The carpet where he’s standing is damp with water, and his clothes haven’t fared much better. You’re sure you’re in a similar state – t-shirt and jacket soaked through, not to mention your jeans, and you’re dripping water into a matching puddle on the floor.

There’s a pause while Bucky runs a hand through his wet hair, before he mutters under his breath, “Christ.”

The rainwater only adds to the atmosphere, of course, and although that certain musty, damp smell isn’t quite as bad as the guest services office, it’s still very present. It tickles your nostrils, makes you sneeze, and then you can’t help but shiver because of the bitter cold.

Bucky’s hand on your shoulder is all the warning you get before he shoves you toward the bathroom – not gently, but not too roughly, either. Just enough to make you stumble.

You open your mouth to rip him a new one for it, because you’re feeling defensive over how much you like it, being pushed around so easily, being put in your place – but he beats you to the punch.

“Go have a hot shower.” The way he says it makes it sound like an order, and you shiver again when your thoughts go where they shouldn’t. “Your cold’s gonna get worse if you don’t warm up.”

That’s right. Your excuse from this morning.

“Fine,” you snap, “but I’m not going because you told me to. It makes sense.”

He sighs in frustration and picks up his towel from this morning off the back of a chair – uses it to dry his hair. “Fine. Just go. I don’t want you getting sick.”

He doesn’t have to say how much of a pain he thinks it’ll be if you do. The implication is enough.

So you shoot him another dirty look and stomp into the bathroom, feeling pissed off and turned on and fed up with this stupid fucking mission and awful fucking town and this shitty fucking motel. The old shower creaks and shudders when you turn the handle, and it takes a couple of minutes to heat up, but soon the hot water is a balm and you’re sighing in relief.

That feels much better.

When you take a little extra time to relieve yourself of the day’s frustrations, too, those happy sighs turn to breathy moans, and you can only assume they’re being drowned out by the water – but they’re not.

The walls are paper thin.

Not that it matters.

The shower leaves you feeling a lot more refreshed.

As you exit the bathroom, towelling dry your hair, you feel so much better. Clearer. Even if it’s wrong to use last night as a fantasy, it still takes the edge off – lets you concentrate more on the mission than Bucky, which is the entire reason the two of you are here.

Problem is, he’s staring at you like that.

Her mind is tiffany-twisted—

Hotel California immediately dies in your throat; you hadn’t even realized you were singing it to yourself until the look on his face made you stop.

“What?” you ask, feeling awkward all of a sudden. Bare. You’ve got a towel around yourself, but it’s not enough. There’s something about the look in his eyes that’s dark, hungry, and it makes your throat go dry. Makes you feel like you’re on display.

Bucky clears his throat and pulls himself to his feet; he’d been sitting at the foot of the bed, leaning more like, probably waiting for you to finish your shower so he can have one himself. “Nothing.”

And then he pushes past you into the bathroom – leaves you alone with your thoughts.

By the time he’s done, you’re already asleep. Or maybe that’s just what you want him to think.

It’s cold.

You must have fallen asleep at some point; you don’t know when, but the digital clock on your bedside table glows bright red in the darkness – 01:12 – and you stifle a yawn. You’re still exhausted, not to mention sore from being put through the ringer over the last day and a half. Your body’s still aching from last night, never mind the soreness between your legs.

The blankets shift beside you, just a little, and you freeze – but Bucky doesn’t do more than roll onto his back. Judging by the steady rise and fall of his chest, he’s fast asleep.

It’s like last night was a dream. Like it never even happened.

He’s a light sleeper, usually, but he doesn’t wake even when you go to get a drink of water, nor does he stir when you climb back into bed, half-scrambling to get back under the sheets and away from the autumn chill in the air.

It’s freezing, but you can feel the warmth radiating off of him even from your side of the bed.

“Bucky,” you whisper.

No response.

So you reach out hesitantly, nervously, like he’ll lash out at you for even trying – but of course he doesn’t. He doesn’t know. Your hand splays across his shoulder in a gentle caress, and it’s only when you finally have his too-hot skin beneath your fingertips that you realize how cold you really are. Your fingers are like ice.

Or maybe it’s just an excuse for you to get closer.

Carefully, you lift his arm just enough to slide underneath. Your fingers curl in the fabric of his shirt and your cheek rests just beside; he’s warm, so warm, and your eyelids instinctively flutter shut because god, he smells good. Sandalwood and musk and everything him, just like last night, only stronger, more concentrated, right from the source.

That’s when the fire between your legs starts to burn. You almost wish it didn’t. You shouldn’t think about him like this. You shouldn’t want him like this, but you can’t escape it.

Last night did happen, and it’s something you’ll never, ever forget.

You shift to peer up at him in the darkness, but his breathing stays just as even – just as steady.

“Bucky.”

It’s not a whisper anymore, but it’s not so loud, either. Your voice is rough from sleep. That’s all.

His brows knit together, and for a moment you think you’ve woken him – but then his face relaxes again. He’s still asleep.

Your hand smooths along the planes of his chest, slowly, as if to savour the feel of his muscles under your fingertips; and then it slides lower, to his abdomen, and your heart starts to race.

What the hell is wrong with you?

He’s so strong, so ripped, so fucking attractive and you just can’t help yourself because you’ve never touched him like this. You shouldn’t be touching him like this.

It’s wrong.

Your hand dips lower still, to the waistband of his sweatpants, and you swallow thickly.

Another glance up at his face – he’s still asleep.

You should stop. You shouldn’t do this.

But you do.

Your palm brushes against him through the thick cotton and fleece of his sweats, and your heart skips a beat because he’s hard. It spurs you on, gives you the courage to wrap your fingers around him, pump him once, twice—

And then you’re on your back, with him on top of you and cold vibranium fingers digging into the flesh of your neck.

You can’t breathe.

There it is again, that expression that makes your heart sink in realization and your core throb in muscle memory. He’s not here. Not really. Those pretty baby blues of his are blank, emotionless, and a cold sweat breaks out over your skin when you gather that he might actually hurt you this time.

“Buck—” You choke out, but you can’t breathe. “Bucky—”

He’s too strong, too powerful, too good at what he does. He has your arms pinned down with the way he’s straddling your upper body, and he’s far too heavy for you to push him off.

You’re trapped.

Only when your vision starts to go a little spotty does he finally let go, and you gasp and cough for air – at least until you feel the vibranium trail up your neck and along your cheek, and suddenly you’re staring up at him with baited breath as he drags his thumb against your lips. When he dips it inside to feel the wetness of your tongue, you shiver.

You like this.

What the hell is wrong with you?

He says something in Russian, then, but you don’t know what it means. Probably should have taken Natasha up on her offer to teach you way back when. Not that it matters.

At your lack of response, he grips your chin to the point that it’s almost painful. Almost.

It turns you on.

Then he repeats himself, a little more firmly this time.

“Da,” is all you can manage, a breathy whisper, because ‘yes’ is the only Russian you know. Problem is, you have no idea what you’ve just agreed to.

You soon find out when he lets go of your chin in favour of burying his hand in your hair, to pull your head forward; and with his free one, he pulls down his sweats just enough to free himself, let you come face to face with his cock. All eight inches of him, thick and hard and leaking precum.

The breath leaves your lungs with a whoosh.

He says a single word, and you don’t have to understand the language to know what he means.

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, first, and then you glance up at his face, like maybe this is the dream and he’ll snap right out of it. Then again, you’re not really sure that you want him to. The desire coursing through your veins feels like a bushfire, turning any rational thought in your mind to ash.

It’s not a dream. He’s not awake.

It’s wrong, and you don’t care.

You lean forward slightly to take the head into your mouth, and then you give it a tentative little suck. He’s thick, so much that you know your jaw will be aching by the end, but the salty taste of him is intoxicating, it’s addicting, and you can’t get enough. Your tongue swirls around the head, as if to collect every drop of precum he’s offered you – and then you take him further.

About halfway down is what triggers your gag reflex, and you quickly pull away to cough.

A mistake.

He uses his tight grip on your hair to shove your mouth right back onto him – and then he pushes past your tonsils, and your nose is buried in his curls.

Sandalwood. Sweat. Bucky.

You gag once, twice, feel your throat constrict around him, but he doesn’t let up – just makes you take every inch of him until you feel like you’re about to pass out for a second time. Survival instinct has struggling to push him away, has your fingernails digging into the backs of his thighs, has you drawing blood but you don’t even notice – the lack of oxygen’s already gone to your head.

It’s debauchery. It’s delirium.

You like this. You like it so much that your panties are soaked through.

By the time he pulls away, you feel a little dizzy, but you have half a mind to beg for more.

What the hell is wrong with you?

Each gulp of air feels like a blessing, one that he’s given you, that he’s allowed you to have and you look up at him again through half-lidded eyes as if to say thank you.

Then his cock’s all the way down your throat again, and your vision blurs with tears: a physiological reaction from gagging and coughing, nothing more. You’re not scared, no – you’re turned on. So turned on that you can’t think straight anymore.

You’re losing it.

When he finally relents, you rasp, “Fuck me.”

It’s in English, but he seems to understand just fine.

He lets go of your hair and moves off of you so that you can catch your breath. Your cheeks are wet, and radiating heat – but you don’t notice the latter until cold metal fingertips come back up to brush away your tears.

You feel dazed. High. Floating, and you never want to come down.

Clarity slowly comes as your breathing returns to normal, but everything still feels like a fever dream.

“Clothes.”

Another one-word order, in English this time, and you comply like you’re on autopilot because he’s him and your body’s buzzing with endorphins. Your t-shirt hits the ground first, followed by your pajama bottoms – but when you reach for your underwear, you notice that your hands are trembling. That’s how excited you are.

It’s wrong.

Not that it matters, because you discard your panties quickly, too.

“Spread your legs.”

After leaning back on your elbows, you do so – and when he finally touches you there, your head lulls back. Two warm fingers spread you open like he’s checking to make sure you can handle what he’s going to give you. You’re not sure that you can, now, but hell if you don’t want to try.

When he removes them, a glistening string of wetness follows – and then it breaks. Some part of you does, too.

His arms hook around your thighs before he pulls you forward, just enough to line you up where he wants you. You yelp in surprise at the suddenness of the action, but it doesn’t faze him; he just sluices the head of his cock through your folds, and then he pushes in.

No warning. No preparation.

You don’t need it anyway.

The first thing you notice is that you’re sore, an observation soon forgotten the further he slides inside. The stretch of him feels different, now – better, because you’re already so soaked and the saliva only adds to the slickness. The position he takes you in bears a resemblance to missionary, with him on his knees, and you have to bite your lip to keep from moaning because it’s so good.

That doesn’t last long. The last couple of inches sink into you all at once with a snap of his hips.

“Fuck,” you whine, holding onto the pillow above your head like it’ll ground you, maybe keep you from losing yourself.

It won’t.

With his fingers digging into your hips, you’re not sure how long you’ll last. It’s a grip that ensures full control of your body, something only further proven when he uses it to pull you off of his cock. Then he shoves you right back down onto him, forces you to take every inch of him inside of you, and for a moment you forget how to breathe.

It feels too good. He feels too good.

You’re losing it.

The pace he sets isn’t gentle, but you don’t want that anyway. Not now. Not anymore.

Skin audibly slaps against skin as he fucks you – and that’s exactly what it is. He’s fucking you. He’s fucking the life out of you, rough, brutal, and there’s nothing admirable about it. It’s not the kind of sex that they show in the movies; it’s the kind that warps your mind, distorts your senses, makes you feel like you have only one purpose: this.

It’s carnal. It’s instinct.

You need to feel him blow.

It’s addicting, watching the sweat roll down his muscular chest. It’s exhilarating, seeing the furrow of his brow as he concentrates. It’s shameless, the way your breasts bounce with every punishing thrust, and you know he notices when his fingertips tweak a nipple.

Every part of you is exposed to him like this. Raw. Debased.

His.

It only sends you higher when you see the bruises on your hips.

You’re losing it.

And then he leans forward onto his forearms, caging you in – and it’s intimate. His forehead touches yours, his nose brushes yours, and you shudder because it’s not real.

Every part of you is exposed to him except for that.

So you pull him closer, giving him no choice but to bury his face in your neck, and it’s there he sucks a bruise; he leaves a mark, a claim, a scarlet letter on your skin.

It’s wrong, but it almost feels right. Almost – but it’s off.

The suddenness of him slamming into your g-spot draws you out of your head and back into the present. Even if it’s not real, he still knows how to play your body like an instrument, and he soon has you dangling over the edge, whimpering, begging, ready to implode. His fingers are in your mouth to stifle your moans, and he’s saying things – things in Russian – things you can’t understand, but it doesn’t matter.

None of it matters.

None of it is real.

When the pace changes, your ankles lock around his waist. He’s close.

“Come inside me,” you gasp, or maybe it’s a plea.

His hips stutter, then, and when he shoves it in as far as he can go, you fall.

It’s debauchery. It’s delirium.

His cock throbs, and that’s when you can feel it, the warmth, the heat – you feel each pulse as he spills inside of you, every hot rope of cum as he fills you to the brim. You’re clenching down so tightly around him, it’s impossible not to feel it. It’s impossible not to lose yourself. It’s impossible not to break.

When he bites into the tender junction of your neck and shoulder, you see stars. It’s a mark, a bruise, a delicate mixture of pleasure and pain, and his teeth leave your skin a reminder for the morning—

You’re his, inside and out.

If only.

Part Four

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes

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youwontlikethisblog · 3 years

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Betty's New Look

Previously I talked about Armando's rivalry with Nicolas and how that also motivates him to continue the affair with Betty. I've also talked about how Armando displays signs of s. addiction. I felt it was important to break that down to really understand this post in particular.

By understanding what motivates Armando in his quest to have affairs and understand why the man is so obsessed with the beauty standards of women we can now understand his behavior towards Betty.

I mentioned in that post that I have an OC that is portrayed to have s. addiction and how much research I had to make so I could write it correctly. However I didn't mention or explain as much something vital that I see in Armando as well.

Seggs can many times not only be a form of escapism or control but many times for reasons of self-esteem/worth. If the person believes that the only way they can ever feel wanted or loved is by acts of s. than they will often participate in said behavior to feel that way.

With Armando he doesn't only do it to escape the chains of a pre-planned destiny by his parents and fiancé but because he also doesn't really feel loved and he uses these models as a from for him to feel that way or at least wanted,(I mean the only thing he has that keeps his relationship with Marcela together is their seggsual relationship.) he doesn't only do it to feel like he has control over that part of his life.

I mentioned in another post that women enter Armando through the eyes. He is a very physical man. He is superficial when it comes to the women he sleeps with. He grew up in the fashion world where the standard is tall and thin. The beauty of women can only be found in those types.

What does this have to do with Betty's new look?

Though we've established that Armando is attracted to her personality, he isn't of her physical appearance. Does that make him a bad person? No. Sometimes it happens. Sometimes we find someone's personality so much more attractive than their outer appearance but we still dare to date them. Women are often told "you're too pretty for that man" because of this.

Armando isn't a bad person for that and he accepts to a certain degree that he is attracted to her personality but because he is such a superficial and perfectionist with the body of a woman he denies this. He denies any and all attraction to her for this exact reason.

He finds it so hard to understand why he would still be attracted to Betty and why he likes her kisses when he doesn't look at her as a seggsual object like he does to all the women he has had affairs with and that's because unlike those women Betty isn't a seggsual object and that throws him off.

Lets considered the fact that when he repeated what Bertha told him about Nicolas, that he didn't even think of her with a bad thought(one could assume she meant a perversive thought.) as he tells this new piece of information to Mario he said so surprised and when Mario said that it made sense to not think of her in that way he agreed. In an instant he contradicted himself. In his tone he seemed surprised that a man wouldn't think of Betty so much even with a bad thought but that he understood that no one would? To some degree, to some far end distance, Armando does view Betty as a woman but not enough to actively desire her as one like he has in the past with the models.

(I'll talk more about this when we get to the B-Day episodes 😏)

In the past when Marcela got a new look he commented on it. It was the first thing he mentioned as he said she looked great(Betty was a witness to this). However when he see's Betty's new look he doesn't even comment on it. For one because he doesn't want to hurt her feelings and two because he doesn't want to lie so she keeps looking like that.

I think, in my very personal and humble opinion, that Betty looks fine. What ruins the fit is her hair but it is very 70's office chic. Like lets be honest if they took off the bangs, did a middle part, defined those curls, and didn't apply that much blush and lined her lips, she'd look so cute. Unibrow and braces with the glasses, Betty would slay. She'd look like a cute dorky person.

She IS very gorgeous to me!

I will fight anyone who disagrees with this and I will set up a time and date for it!

Now that we have established Armando's hesitation to accept Betty's physical appearance and why he doesn't want to comment on it lets begin.

In this episode Betty had just arrived to Eco Moda, her friends went to see her new look in her office as if she were the main attraction at the zoo and when leaving her office Armando over heard their commentary on it, once again being witness to the critique of Betty behind her back as none of them wanted to tell her how awful they thought she looked and they were her supposed close friends.

Marcela then enters his office and they talk about how Patty thought Marcela had caused those bruises on Armando, who tells her that the cuartel thinks the same and they start to flirt and then make out.

Just as they start to Betty exits her office.

Armando's reaction is a pissed off one. We see him roll his eyes and clench his teeth while he has his lips tight, even Marcela comments on it.

"My love you don't have to get so upset."

"No it's just embarrassing for all of us." He says and walks behind his desk and sits.

Betty struggles to speak for a second before grounding herself and saying that she just wanted to excuse herself to go to Marcela's office so she could sign the paper work for the loan they were giving Sofia.

Marcela only stared at her for a bit before she couldn't look at her without bursting into laughter right there and then.

Betty doesn't make eye contact with Armando he however stares at her with a concern look on his face, which is very different than his first reaction to Betty being in the room.

Now he watches Marcela sign the paper, he's got a crease between his brows that are furrowed, his eyes are saddened and his mouth slightly parted but still slightly tense.

This is a look of worry.

Betty excuses herself and Armando watches her leave while Marcela starts to laugh(Natalia really nailed the mean girl laugh).

As Marcela starts to make fun of her Armando asks her not to make fun of her and she tells him that whoever did her hair didn't curl it but stuck her into the electricity socket. Armando stares at her as she says these things with his lips pursed while squinting his eyes at her as she laughs.

He disapproves of what she's saying and it angers him that she is HOWEVER in a very classic manor he doesn't tell her any of this. Unlike the previous night that he literally started to hit the guys who were saying these awful things to her, saying that they had to respect her, here he stays silent. He doesn't even yell at her. Instead he turns around and goes to his computer.

I'm not saying that Armando should have hit Marcela lmbo! That would be bad and inexcusable! What I'm saying is that again we're shown the contrast and contradictions of Armando. While with complete strangers he demands for Betty to be respected and treated well he can't to that with Mario or Marcela. Not only because Marcela would get jealous and throw a fit about him telling her to be respectful but because he'd also give her cuerda(rope) to suspect and continue being controlling and with Mario because Mario would make him miserable if he shared even a fraction of his confusion or talked through his feelings about it all because he's tried it in the past but each time Mario makes a joke about it and he just shuts down. He's a coward to face the people in his life that really matter because he doesn't want to face the consequences of liking a woman like Betty.

The girls asked Betty if anything is wrong and she tells them no. Betty expressed her guilt and how she feels terrible whenever she sees Marcela and how she has walked in on them kissing and Armando making it obvious that he was angry that she interrupted them(It also explains his worried expression in the latter of said scene).

I've noticed many people just lump Betty as the insecure girl because of romance and that's really where her depth ends but Betty is a very complex individual here too(and I really want to make a more detailed post about it!).

She navigates a world that overall treats her poorly only because she's "ugly" but inside Eco Moda she navigates a world that actively prays for her downfall and who humiliate her in front of many only for the reward of laughing at her expense be their personal satisfaction. Yes she's dealt with bullying and people excluding her because they think she's ugly all her life but the cruelty that she faces in Eco Moda goes beyond and above.

These people are supposed to all be people of class, people she views as superior to her in all aspects. It isn't just humiliation that she faces for her physical appearance but she faces an over all humiliation for simply being a human existing and even then, even as she feels so terrible of herself, as she hates the way that they humiliate her, she still thinks of them superior to her and their opinion matters to her and because of this, despite their disgusting behavior, Betty still has some respect for them on the professional side. She still respects their authority inside Eco Moda and their vitality to the well being of the company.

Betty is such a sweet person at this stage of the novela that she still respect these people but it's so hurtful to see because she also does this because she thinks she deserves this.

Trauma affects a person in more than one way. Her life experience has been painful, isolated, grim, cruel, and lonely; add the traumatic relationship she had with Miguel to this, Betty doesn't have a self-esteem. She doesn't have a sense of self-worth. Betty, in such a terrible an awful way, believes that she isn't deserving of respect for simply existing, much less of voicing how it makes her feel when they treat her the way they do.

She doesn't understand why her father takes so much care of her. She doesn't understand why anyone would ever be nice to her. She's shy, timid, reserved, afraid. This is exactly why she was so impacted by Armando's behavior towards her. It wasn't just because she has no self-esteem. It's that someone treated her as a human being worthy of respect for simply doing her job and existing.

In the following scene, which is a parallel of a scene I previously talked about(post You Betrayed Me!) Armando's behavior is vastly different.

While in the past when he heard them making these crude jokes at the expense of her[Betty] boyfriend Armando seemed scared, angry, worried, and humiliated to a certain degree but this time his demeanor is different. This time he squints his eyes at Patty. He looks at Marcela with disapproval without hiding it. He visibly looks pissed.

"Did you see her clothes? No one would undress her with that!" Patty and Marcela laugh.

"Who would want to undress her?" Marcela says and they cackle, seriously, they cackle a lot. "I think Beatriz goes to the gyno and he tells her not to get undressed, that he'll examine her over her clothes."

"Obviously! She'd tell him "Doctor could I get undressed?" she mocks Betty's voice. " and the Doctor would tell her "No please, please! Don't do it! I beg of you!" she clasp her hands in front of her, pretending to be the Doctor begging. Armando had passed by her, squinting his eyes and now he's behind Marcela, far away, still hearing their conversation staring at them in disbelief and anger.

"Could you imagine what it must be with the boyfriend?" Patty says while Marcela laughs.

"No! See, she's so ugly that he doesn't kiss her, he hits her." they laugh. Armando stares at Marcela with disdain.

"Again with the jokes against Betty?" Marcela turns to him laughing.

"No. No they're not about Betty. They're about Betty's boyfriend." this time, unlike before, he doesn't change his emotions. He squints his eyes at Marcela once more. "and what he has to face tonight once he sees her." She covers her face laughing.

"Maybe he already saw her." to Marcela this line holds no meaning but to the audience it does and it isn't only for comical effects. Armando is now saying that her[Betty] boyfriend already saw her i.e. him. He is now out loud in his own way confronting the fact that he is her boyfriend to himself, while before he wasn't even able to say it to Betty or himself this time he's confronting himself about it.

Betty walks past Armando and he watches her as she walks towards Marcela and Patty who are still laughing, she bumps into Hugo who laughs at her, and they don't hold back at making it obvious that they are laughing at her and making jokes behind her back.

"Who is that creep?" Hugo voices loudly. Armando turns to glare at him. "Betty's cousin?"

"No Hugito that's the very same Betty but like a new version." Patty says.

"She went with the enemy so they could dress her and style her hair." Marcela says.

"What hairdresser? Because he didn't do highlights, he did lightning bolts." Hugo jokes.

The model and the rest laugh while Armando visibly controls his anger, but doesn't hide it or pretend to be unbothered as he shakes his head at Marcela and Patty and marches away from them.

Compare this to his previous reaction, while Marcela knew that Armando didn't like that she was making fun of Betty the other time he didn't actually voice his disapproval, he even laughed at one of the jokes that Patty made until he heard Marcela call him[Nic] a Multi-Millionaire. This time he finds no humor, he doesn't even feel offended that their making fun of Betty's boyfriend or hurt, he feels furious that they are.

However in the following scene all of that good behavior is squashed like a bug. He sits with Calderon talking bad about Betty's new look.

While Calderon tries to make him be a good boyfriend Armando scoffs and questions "praise her new look?"

"You haven't praised her new look?" Calderon whispers alarmed. "What are you? A beast? An animal? An ignorant!" he hisses. "Look there's nothing worse, nothing that humiliates a woman more, that tramples her ego, that ends her love for a man than you not praising her new look."

"What? Do I give her four hallelujahs for the hairdo? What?"

"No but Betty isn't the only woman that goes through that, my god. Almost all women are a disaster when they change their look but you still praise her new look! It's that simple." Armando sighs. "Look when a woman changes her look she changes it for A: her husband. B: the lover. In this case we have one true god." Armando purses his lips and rolls his eyes. "So then my dear god, praise the new look."

"She won't believe me. She won't believe me. The entire world has made fun of her for it. She'll think I feel pity for her, consoling her, or or worse that I'm making fun of her like the rest.

"Then the time for you to demonstrate to her that you're really serious[about this], that your love goes beyond the physical(goes on to list all of her physical flaws)" Armando looks pained to be the poor fool to have to "Accept" this. "well the list is long but if I were you I'd make love to her just as she is." Armando slowly, repeatedly blinking, turns to look at Mario. "well it's the only way for you to show her that you love her, that you desire her."

"Be very careful, Calderon, because with the simple fact that I already kiss her, with that fact alone, I'm paying in life what I should be paying in death." He whispers. "And besides I'mma tell something for me... to do that to her, never. Just thinking about it gives me goosebumps." He stands up.

"Well you better start to prepare yourself. Where do you have Adrianita's picture?"

Yes I've talked about how women enter Armando through the eyes but that doesn't justify his behavior, it merely explains it. The objectification he has on women as seggsual beings clouds his judgement and blinds him to see past that. While he doesn't like that people make fun of Betty, he does worse. He doesn't make fun of her, he verbally humiliates her by the mere fact that he compares kissing her to a punishment, that he finds her affection to be a torment only for the fact that she's "ugly".

Armando continuedly flip flops from caring about Betty and her best interest to only caring about his. We're barely starting to see him take notice of Betty's interest but he still focuses mostly on what he wants and what he feels comfortable with. He doesn't once wonder if Betty does.

He finds her kisses a punishment because she isn't pretty. He finds her affection a torment because she isn't pretty. If she had the body and face of AA and the personality of Betty mans would proclaim it to the four winds and the seven seas. He would dump Marcela on the spot for her.

People are allowed to have types, we all have them. When do we draw the line between types and actively dehumanizing a certain group of people? When it no longer is based on preference but hatred and fear of said group.

Armando to this point hates that Betty isn't society's beauty standard. He hates that she isn't his idea of woman perfection but he lives tormented by the fact that he still cares about her. That he doesn't like it when people treat her poorly or make fun of her. That he hates it when they dehumanize her, (except he's a hypocrite because he does the exact same thing and he allows his best friend to do that exact thing.) and that he secretly enjoys her kisses and her affection. He hates all of this which is what truthfully makes him a miserable piece of ish.

These episode however are meant to help Armando accept Betty's physical appearance to a certain degree(lol I'm saying that a lot). He is forced to accept that he can't control the way a woman looks and that he can't change it either(I'll talk about this in the next post) Here he is faced with Betty's new look and he's forced to think about her feelings first than his own. He's confronted within himself that he is Betty's boyfriend. He is forced to find a way to tell her that her new look isn't it without tearing her confidence to shreds.

In other words Armando is forced to accept that Betty isn't a seggsual object but just because of that it doesn't mean she should get treated horribly. That the respect she deserves isn't only because of how good she is at her job but because she's a human, a person with feelings and with struggles of her own and that he doesn't like it that people don't see that.

But it foreshadows as well that he also has to accept Betty's physical appearance as it is and be okay with the attraction he has towards her, or at least prepare himself to accept that attraction.

Now as Armando and Calderon talk about how hot AA is Betty interrupts and leaves the office but overhears Armando call AA a mamasita and say that if she ever showed up that he'd throw everything away and marry her on the spot.

She seems annoyed by that as she shakes her head and walks away from the double doors.

Obviously our girl is hurt because not once has Armando mentioned her new look, not once has he made the effort to say anything about her physical appearance but there he is talking about how he'd end all his relationships without care of consequence if AA showed up and he'd marry her for the simple fact that she's hot.

Men really only have the audacity!

Here Betty is trying to escape her comfort zone(though she didn't get far from it) for the sake of Armando's ego. She's willing to face humiliation and ridicule if Armando likes her new look, even if she feels uncomfortable and knows how people are insulting her behind her back, and he hasn't said a single thing, instead he comments about how hot AA is.

I do want to note that Armando is behaving more like a boyfriend now. While in the past whenever the subject of his crushes or infatuation on Models was brought up he didn't reserve himself to express how hot they were or how he wanted to look presentable for them except now he pretends to show no interest in them when she's in the room. Better yet he pretends to be offended that(when the two models went to ask for their paycheck and tickled him) they'd flirt with him or try to play with him. Except this time he pretends like he isn't even aware of how hot she is and only is interested in her in a professional matter but as soon as she leaves the office she over hears how he truthfully feels.

She knows him well and because of this it does hurt her.

#armando mendoza #don armando #armando ysblf #analysis of ysblf #beatriz pinzon solano #beatriz pinzón solano #betty pinzón solano #betty #betty ysblf #betty la fea #yo soy betty la fea #marcela ysblf #marcela valencia #mario calderon #morch #hugo

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moondustis · 4 years

Text

songs for you (m)

pairing: nakamoto yuta + reader genre: smut, angst, fluff / friends to lovers, 70s, band!au word count: 10k summary: A story about dreams, music, groupies and falling in love with your best friend. It’s the 70s, baby, live a little. song rec: miss you - the rolling stones / woman - harry styles / grow up - paramore

You don’t remember much of your childhood, just flashes and weird memories that pop in every now and then. That’s what happens as you get older, you guess. But here’s something you remember:

Nakamoto Yuta, three years older than you, walking inside your house with his mother holding his hand. You had seen the woman before, a very good friend of your mom from a long time ago, but the scrawny kid by her side was something new. And in your young age, nothing seemed more intimidating than a boy older and taller than you.

It didn’t go very well, let’s just put it like that.

But still, for some reason, after that day the boy sticked to your side like glue. A friend you could say, even with the age difference and the intimidating stares. It was like Yuta got himself a permanent place on your life, always teasing you, but also always making sure you were okay.

As a teenager, you remember daydreaming of travelling the world. Finally getting away from the too small town you lived in and away from all the stupid closed minded people that wanted to know about everybody's business. You remember Yuta showing you songs that you never heard before, Bowie, Fleetwood Mac, Hendrix, the list would go on and on. It was like music became a little world you had built for yourselves, where you could be who you truly wanted to be.

The both of you had always dreamed of something more, something exciting and that made your blood rush with adrenaline. You wanted to live, experience the things you only heard about in the records Yuta played for you and what you saw on the telly at late night at his house.

That’s something you had been thinking about a lot these days, while you watched roads pass by through the windows of the barely comfortable tour bus. Because, somehow, you had made it, your dreams had come true and at the age of 20 you got to go on tour with your band and finally see the world you had only fantasized about, even if it was only a few cities not that far from yours.

The band, put together by none other than you and your best friend, consisted of four people: you on the guitar, something you had learned by watching Jimi Hendrix too much, Taeyong on the bass, Doyoung singing, Johnny on the keyboard and last but not least, Yuta as the drummer. Oh, and you couldn’t forget about Taeil, your self proclaimed manager that didn’t gain anything with this job but the opportunity to travel with you all.

And with punk and classic rock influences all over your songs, you were not half bad, had gotten the opportunity to tour for a reason and could even make the small crowds that gathered to see you sing along, achieving an even smaller amount of fans that proclaimed their adoration for you.

It was literally the start of a dream come true, but for some reason you had been feeling weird the past days. Like your mind just started wondering out of nowhere, like it is now, and you started to think about things that made a lump form in your throat. Because see, it was great, the music and all the perfoming, the parties and the small magazines, but you didn’t feel happy all the time. You wondered if 16 year old you would be proud.

A loud clash spurs you out of your trance and brings you back to the studio you’re all in, trying to record a new song. Yuta looks at you with an annoyed expression as the plate on the drums still stirs.

“Wake the fuck up, you’re daydreaming again.” He says, without real bite to the words, but still mean enough to make you snap back. “We only have one hour left and the song is not even halfway finished.”

“Sorry.” You murmur, guitar feeling heavy but comfortable as you reposition it. Taeyong starts counting and then the melody of the familiar song you had all finished writing yesterday starts. Your fingers find the guitar strings with ease and you let yourself go with the music.

❀

There were few things better than making music with your best friends. Travelling to different places, standing in front of a crowd no matter how small and performing, the money you managed to split among yourselves, they were all great but nothing came close to being in a studio with the people that became your family while you did the thing you all loved the most.

It’s a small studio this time but the atmosphere is good, with velvet walls, tiled floor and low lights. The smell of weed is intoxicating and you feel high after not even that many hits. Maybe it’s just the joy of being in the moment.

The small sketchbook you take around with you everywhere stays placed on your lap with possible lyrics written all over it in a messy way, because when inspiration hits it’s impossible to keep an organized mind. Your head stays tilted back, eyes closed as the melody Taeyong is playing and your own thoughts fill your head. They come and go with no rush, something that is rare because usually you’re all over the place, overthinking until you get a headache.

Taeyong hums something to go along with the bass and a smile forms in your lips at how good it sounds already, good enough to have your eyes opening as you write down the things your mind provides. These days it’s mostly about the same things, finding yourself and the overwhelming feeling that came with it, even more when you did it while discovering the world and you recent acquainted opportunities. But they are also about something that you like to ignore. You knew very well it was there, would be too obvious if you didn't, but pretending you didn’t was better. Safer.

Johnny plops down next to you on the leather couch, a silly smile on his lips as he tries to take a peek at your writing. “What is it you got there? Another love song?” He asks just the tiniest bit teasingly, making you blush because that’s the exact subject you would like to avoid.

Love, what a weird thing isn’t it? Both in concept and in practice.

You had once thought you would never fall in love, too independent and doing well on your own. But that’s the thing about it, you don’t really get to choose when or if it’s going to happen. Love strips you down of your free will and there’s nothing you can do but succumb to it.

Were you in love, though? That’s a good question, really. You weren’t one to think you knew everything about it and had it all figured out, because in reality the mere thought of it scared you. But there’s this feeling on your chest that you can quite find another word for.

“Maybe.” It’s your answer to Johnny’s question. “But it’s none of your business.”

He laughs when you poke out your tongue at him, nudging your shoulder playfully. “It is when I’ll be also playing it live.”

He’s right but you won’t give out the privilege of letting him know that. Not that you would have time, because Taeyong is calling him to go over the melody together and soon you’re on the couch by yourself again.

You ponder getting up as well to play a little, on hopes to find the right notes to fit the raw lyrics you had, but your body feels lethargic enough from being high and you decide against it.

Closing your eyes again you only open them when the couch tips again, this time Yuta sits down close to you. Closer than Johnny had and you can smell his cologne amidst the strong smell of weed that's in the entire room.

“What you up to?” He asks, arm resting behind you on the couch and the gesture makes you feel small. He smiles, glancing down at your notebook and flipping through the pages gently.

“Just… writing and stuff.” You feel higher now than you did before for some reason.

He hums, looking straight ahead now, but you continue looking at him. “You’ve been really quiet lately.” He points out, no beating around or questioning. It must’ve took a lot of thinking from his part to finally say that to you, because talking about anything that could become too personal was far from his strength.

“Yeah, I think I’m probably just homesick. Or something like that.” It’s not a full lie so he falls for it, nodding as if indicating he feels the same.

“Missing your mom’s cooking, huh? Can’t say I’m not either.” He jokes and it makes you crack a smile. “But I get that. But most times when I start to get homesick I remember I got you.”

He says it still looking at Taeyong and Johnny as they play. His voice is calm, slightly slurred when he adds. “And you’re practically home to me.”

His eyes move to you then, a smile on his lips as his arm pushes you closer in an almost hug. He acts as if he just didn’t say something that makes your heart somersault in your chest.

Like he didn’t just say something that made you think you were in fact, in love.

❀

The adrenaline that came with performing in front of more than twenty people was something unmatched. You jump around the stage, playing like it could be your last time with fingers a little red from the guitar strings but you couldn’t care less, not with the music playing so loud and your heart beating so fast.

Yuta smiles wickedly when you stand in front of him, hands moving as fast as yours as the drum and guitar mix together. You smile back, thrilled and beyond excited that you get to do this with your best friend every night.

The best friend which you had been nurturing feeling you didn’t know how to deal with for. What a messy situation, because for one there was an unsaid rule that you shouldn’t have any sort of romantic relationship with your bandmates. And secondly, Yuta just wasn’t interested in you like that, he had his groupies to keep him busy.

Groupies that don’t take long after the end of the show to gather around him as you walk outside the venue. And you would really like to say that it doesn't bother you, that you couldn't care less, but you can’t. Because you hate it and think it’s a little pathetic how Yuta whispers something to a girl wearing barely anything and how it makes her giggle.

But even more pathetic is the fact that you seem to be bothered by it only because it’s him. All your other bandmates had girls all around them too, Doyoung especially with a different girl under both of his arms. Hell, even you had a small share of men and women that tried their luck approaching you and no one seemed to pay no mind.

When it came to Yuta’s groupies though, it made you almost livid. With how obnoxious they were and how he gave then smiles and flirted like a man with a very defined goal.

You manage to play it cool, though, had mastered the art of pretending by now.

❀

You're sitting on the hotel bed, the only light coming from the outside lamps and the moon shining bright, but it’s enough for you to be able to write the words down on your sketchbook. Inspiration always striked at late nights for some reason, probably because of the loneliness of it all.

You’re playing the guitar mindless, trying to find the perfect melody to fit the lyrics you had just gotten out, when there’s knock in the door. And it would be weird if you weren’t already used to it.

Putting the guitar aside you get up from the bed and tiptoe to the door, peeking on the fish eye to confirm your suspicious. Yuta stands there, hair falling to his face and wearing a shirt that has too many buttons open. He smiles when you open the door, charming and familiar. “Hello there, sweet cheeks.”

Rolling your eyes, you move out of the way to let him get inside your hotel room. “That’s the worst pet name you could ever come up with.”

He makes himself comfortable, plopping down on your bed and taking a lot of space with his spreading. “Don’t lie, I know you like it.” His voice is convinced and you won’t bother trying to change his mind.

“Can’t sleep?” You ask, changing the subject as you move to sit on your previous spot. Now, closer to him, you can smell the faint smell of his cigarettes lingering underneath the cologne he probably applied so you wouldn’t notice. Smoking was the way he found to deal with the annoying thoughts that filled his mind at night, resulting in an awful case of insomnia. Not that he would admit that.

“Sleep is for the weak.” He says nonchalantly and you scoff.

“Yeah, yeah. Real artists live on coke and music, is that it?”

He laughs now, amused while he scratches the exposed tattooed skin of his stomach. “That’s the spirit. We’re already halfway there, might as well, huh?” He jokes and you just roll your eyes, kicking him lightly on the shoulder.

“We can't have that stuff around us. One line and Taeyong will be climbing up walls.”

“Taeyong? Please, we both know the one climbing walls would be you.”

You laugh out loud this time and he follows, shaking his head. Times like these, where it was just the two of you, felt too much like when you would stay in his room to listen to records and talk about things that didn’t really make sense.

When your laughter settles down Yuta moves around until his eyes land on your sketchbook and he takes it to read what you’ve been working on. You don’t protest because there’s no reason to, he knows your thoughts almost as well as you do.

He hums, eyes roaming around the page and lips turning a little. “This is good.” His voice is genuine and it makes you blush, praise was something weird to take.

“I’m still working on it, though.”

“Hmm, let me know when you finish it then, we can work the melody together.”

“Of course, can’t make a song without my favorite drummer.” You say it in a funny voice as if you’re joking but he knows it’s nothing but the truth. The first song you had made with him was at 17 and now every time inspiration struck he was always either by your side or on your mind. He called it a connection, a deep one that many artists could only dream of happening. Musical soulmates he had called it once and you agreed, it was like you were just in tune with each other.

You play a little of what you had so far to him, the clock blinking red when it hits 1AM but neither of you bother.

When you get tired of playing you decide to press on the matter. “What were you thinking about?” You start, voice low as if to not scare him off. “That made you lose sleep.”

He must be feeling calm because he lets the words fall out. “Taeil suggested that we make a song with pop influence.” He says and you grimace. “To reach a wider audience.”

“That’s fucking stupid.” Is all you say because it’s what it is. Pop had nothing to do with your style, never had and never would. Not that you hated it, but it wasn’t what you were passionate about.

Yuta chuckles lightly. “That’s what I told him.”

“That’s good.” You say and a minute of silence follows, someone outside drives away, a wheels on concrete sound filling the room. There’s something unspoken in the air, a promise you had made to each other when this tour started.

Music was the thing the two of you loved the most, and nothing, not even money, would change how you did it. The deal was to always stay loyal to that thought.

“We got each other’s back, right?” He asks sudden, but it’s a rhetorical question because he’s soon adding. “That’s all we got in this world, our music and ourselves.”

You look down at him but his eyes stay glued to the wall. A lump forms in your throat at the heaviness of his words and you have to swallow around it to reply. “It’s always gonna be us.” You say in a broken but sure voice. “No matter what.”

“Fuck yeah.” He says quietly and you both laugh.

❀

One thing that you learned with your recently discovered success was that parties became boring quite fast. Loud music and people getting way more drunk or high than they should near a pool was a dangerous mistake. Still, you always followed down the same road.

Your bandmates liked them, a way to interact more with people and an opportunity to get high for free. Music came from experiences, it’s what Johnny always said and you agreed partly because there was indeed something inspiring about being among people that were having fun, that felt carefree.

You take a sip from your beer with that though on your head, leaning against a wall as you watch last mentioned man swing his hips in a messy way in the middle of the living room as two girls laugh and dance with him. You can’t help but laugh alongside with them, even if you’re standing on the opposite side of the room.

It’s a small house, from someone you never met before, but being in a small city always meant crashing a house party with too many college kids that usually screamed when they recognized mostly Doyoung from the posters spread across town.

The slightly buzz of alcohol made you feel like you were floating, head just slightly spinning and you lean against a wall to keep yourself steady. There’s not much going on inside your brain, just the numbness of being just a bit drunk and you enjoyed it, made you feel content.

You clean your wet palm from the beer’s perspiration on your jeans, eyes roaming around the room until you find him. Yuta stands on a wall opposite from the one you are, the bandana on his head keeping the hair out of his face and making you see his features more clearly. He looks good tonight, as he does always, but the post concert glow really did wonders to him and the way his exposed tattooed arms flexed a little when he moved made your head spin again.

It had become a habit, one that you wanted to desperately get rid off. Watching Yuta, almost as if you were analyzing every little detail about him, left you with a weird feeling in your stomach. There he was, the person you felt the closest to in the entire world, the person whom you already knew everything about, but when it was like this, with you staring without him knowing, you felt like he was still a mysterious person. Someone you would be lucky to dive deep into.

He raises his eyebrows and smirks at something the girl besides him whispers in his ear, probably something raunchy by the way he tries to bring her closer. You look away.

Taeyong finds you like that, beer going warm in your hand and your eyes dazed staring at nothing as you overthink every single thing. He smiles when he sees you, probably a little tipsy himself as he leans against the wall so close to you that your hips touch. “What are you doing here alone?” He asks, bumping against your side playfully and it gets a smile from you.

After Yuta, Taeyong was the closest to you in the band, for the simple fact that he cared. Not that the others didn’t, but Taeyong always made sure everyone was doing ok and that had made you feel safe, helped shape the friendship you have today of sharing your secrets and supporting each other.

“Just don't feel like socializing.” Is your reply, because it’s true. People at these parties were usually terrible at small talk or so pretentious they made you feel stupid for even thinking.

He hums, following your vision line as it goes back to Yuta again. His arm is now wrapped around the girl so you look away immediately.

You don’t see the way Taeyong looks at you emphatically. “Have you ever thought about telling him?” It’s obvious what the question is about because as much as you’d like to think you’re good at hiding it, you wouldn’t be good enough to hide it from him.

Still, you try to lie. “What? There's nothing to tell.” The awkward laugh and roll of your eyes are a dead giveaway, too forced to even come close to being genuine.

He laughs in disbelief of your attempts. “Yeah, alright. Just remember you’ll never know the things you don’t try.”

It makes you scoff. How poetic, probably a great thing to say to a drunk girl who’s already having risky thoughts. “Wow, we should definitely write a song about that.” You joke, trying to shift the subject to something else.

“Ha-ha.” He fake laughs but there’s still amusement on his face. “I’m being serious.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” How serious could he be after too many beers, you think to yourself. Maybe you were a fan of being in denial, so you shrug and just do your best to think about something else.

Something pops up on your head, a bad idea most definitely, so you act on lazy impulse. Walking just far enough to throw the still almost full beer bottle and then you come back to stand in front of Taeyong. You must have really be going crazy.

He rolls his eyes even before you talk or put your hands on his shoulders, but still moves to hold your hips. “Yongie…” It’s a sickeningly cute voice, one you use as a joke when you want something. It makes him crack a smile, already knowing what is coming. “I think we should kiss.”

He chuckles, squeezing your hips and smiling. “I’ll have to agree just because you look cute tonight.” You laugh right back at him.

And then you’re kissing, like you had done before in the past for reasons that were the same as the one right now. Boredom, loneliness, horniness or just because. It was a friendly kiss, shared between two people that knew it would never go further than that. And it was good, his tongue sliding against yours in slow motions that are just the tiniest bit sensual because that’s just how Taeyong liked to kiss. It was so good that you forget for a second about other things, such as Yuta.

Yuta who happens to be watching, or better yet glaring, from the other side of the room as you kiss your friend. Yuta who tells the girl he’s with that he’s not in the mood anymore and leaves the party.

In some cases, ignorance truly is bliss.

❀

The dressing room was always a mess before a show, no matter how sketchy, dirty or small it was. Trust a group of musicians that had no basic decency to behave like this to calm their nerves before performing.

Johnny is pressing random notes on the keyboard, making sounds that would be unpleasant to anyone else, but you and Taeyong dance to it in weird moves that get you laughing as Doyoung sings extremely off key. The only one not taking part in your shenanigans is Yuta, who stays on the old couch writing on his notebook, and even if you wanted to call him over, you know better than to bother him.

You don’t even notice when Taeil walks into the room, holding what looks like a folder in his hand and barely helping the excited grin that wants to settle on his face. “Hey!” He tries once to get everyone to pay attention but without success. “HEY!”

His shout has all of you turning to look at him, Johnny’s fingers stopping on the keyboard and the sounds that filled the room before give way to Taeil’s rushed voice.

“I have some really good fucking news.” He announces, shaking the papers around in the air as if any of you could ever guess what’s in those papers.

“What is it?”

“Spit it out, cutie.” Comes Johnny voice and you all laugh. Making Taeil flustrated is easy but he pays it no mind right now, whatever it is he wants to say clearly more important than stupid jokes.

“A Neo Records scout was at the concert last night.” He says with edge on his voice earning confused and shocked reactions from all of you

“What the fuck?” Doyoung groans, dropping his face on his hands. “How did we not know that?”

“How could we even know? These people are sneaky as hell.”

After that the room just becomes a mess of you all talking over each other, putting yourselves down for not having performed better, for not playing better songs.

Taeil has enough of it very fast, yelling over all of you to regain your attention. “None of that matters, because he liked the performance. And,” He breaths out, a pause that has you walking forward to urge him on, “he wants to sign you guys.”

A shriek leaves your lips as someone mutters a curse. It’s unbelievable, not even Taeyong’s hand gripping your arm in excitement manages to spur you out of your trance. “Oh my god. Do they really?” He exclaims and you feel tears forming at your eyes.

“Yes. He said you guys have a lot of potential and after the tour is over they’re going to fly you all out to L.A to record an EP.” Taeil explains in calmness but just enough giddiness to his voice.

There’s no words to describe how much this means. No one in their right mind would ever sign a contract with a band that had a girl playing guitar in it. Women in rock and roll were there to be pretty, you were very much aware of how much hate The Runaways were getting constantly, how much sexist shit you yourself had to hear.

But this, this right here was an opportunity to take your dream to the next level, do something that actually stood a chance of getting recognized.

Your eyes look for Yuta’s, to share the excitement of getting this far but when they meet he holds your gaze in an expression you can't quite pinpoint. His voice raises suddenly, making everyone in the room look at him. “What’s the catch?” He uncrosses his legs, widening them as he looks at Taeil with his pierced eyebrow raised.

“What do you mean?”

He chuckles. “I mean, a big record like them wanting to sign with us, there must be something they want out of this.” You furrow your eyebrows because as much sense he makes, it sounds like he’s looking for conflict.

Taeil gapes, as if looking for the right words and you realize there is in fact a catch. “I — Well, they just… They just think it would be nice to have some songs that are more public friendly, but it can be discuss-“

Yuta’s laugh cuts Taeil short. He’s an intimidating person, even more when he looks pissed off and right now as he gets up from the couch you feel like the air is tense enough to cut. “We’re not making shitty manufactured pop songs, man.”

Usually a comment like that would be taken as a joke between all of you, but he says it in a sharp voice and you know it’s because he has had this same conversation with your manager not that many days ago. But still, you feel like there’s something more, even if Yuta wasn't keen on letting his feelings show, you knew something was going on with how distant he had become the last days.

“Come on,Yuta.” The voice comes from Taeyong, moving away from your side to face Yuta properly. There’s not an ounce of bitterness in his voice, only sympathy because you all share the same passions. “This is a crazy opportunity, we can’t let it pass.”

And then you’re sure there’s something going on that goes way over this, because Yuta is pushing Taeyong and mutetting words that you wish he doesn’t mean.”What do you even fucking know? Y’all will just take any validation you can get like little bitches.” It’s simple but it has venom to it. Venom that makes Taeyong’s face contort because he despises confrontation and at that you come forward, pushing Yuta the same way he did.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You sound way too emotional and it makes you hate yourself. Yuta just looks at you like he’s annoyed, his shoulders knocking against yours as he walks out of the room.

You look down, shaking your head in disbelief and feeling tired from the quick rise and fall of emotions. Feeling someone hover over you, you look up to find Johnny’s eyes staring down with what looks like sorrow. “Don’t stress over it, he’ll come around to it eventually.”

And you really hope that’s true.

❀

After that, things go back to the same routine of being in a bus for hours, performing in a sketchy bar, getting shitfaced drunk and then doing it all over again. The only difference is that now there’s a tension in the air that comes from both Yuta’s outburst and the prospect of all of this becoming something bigger than it is.

The higher executives at Neo Records or whoever made the decision to sign the band, had given you until your last performance to make a decision. There’s only three shows left until that, but that’s the last thing on your mind as your play a riff that makes the bigger than normal crowd that gathered today scream.

There’s blinding lights on the stage that make you feel like you’re dreaming, the sound of Doyoung half singing half screaming just slightly muted. You turn to where Yuta is, giving his all because he would never do anything but that and when the drumstick hits a plate in a sharp noise he looks right back at you.

Something had changed, you’re not dumb to not know that. But what it was exactly seemed to escape you, because Yuta was just too good at keeping things to himself, too mysterious for your sake. So he keeps giving you this look, a look that wants to be more than that but it’s not that easy to decypher. A look that you ignore to continue playing.

A look that you ignore when you all come out of the stage, sweaty and with adrenaline filling your hearts. That you ignore when everyone gathers around the hotel pool to have a beer and joke around, Johnny jumping on it and splashing everyone on the way.

A look that you can’t ignore any longer as you stand outside of Yuta’s room after everyone has retreated for the night, knocking softly until he opens the door.

This is still the same, he makes way for you to get inside and the scent of him that fills the room make your mind spin. He’s shirtless, probably ready to get to bed, and you can see all of his tattoos and the piercing on his navel on display.

Clearing your throat, you watch as he takes a seat on the bed, legs spread open and looking at you like he’s waiting for you to talk. “Something is going on.” Is what you decided on, not too keen on beating around the bush.

“A lot of things are going on.” He points out and you have to roll your eyes.

“You know what I mean.”

“Maybe I don’t, so why don’t you make it clear for me?” He’s being defensive, you expected this, but it still makes your blood boil.

“See? There’s no reason for you to give me attitude right now but here we are, so there’s clearly something going on.” You cross your arms on your chest, still standing in the middle of the room like a fool as he chuckles.

“You keep saying that but I think you know very well what’s going on.” He sounds annoyed now, staring directly at you. “You just expect me to accept this shit? For money or whatever it is that you all are looking for?”

His words sound empty so you squint your eyes at him in defiance. “You’re being an asshole, this is not your dream exclusively. You’re not our fucking frontman.”

That makes him scoff. “Please, there wouldn’t be a fucking band to be signed if it weren’t for me.”

Now you really get mad, laughing in disbelief. “Are you kidding me right now? We started this shit together.” You want to punch him in the face, get the annoyed look right out of his face and remind him.

He looks down, shaking his head in what you think is disbelief. “So why does it feel like you’re not by my side?” His choice of words make your eyebrows furrow. When had you not been loyal to him? You have been by his side since you were 7, nothing had changed. “Seems to me that you’re always taking your little boyfriend’s side now.”

“What?” There’s nothing but confusion in your features as you let your arms fall to your sides. “What boyfriend? Are you fucking out of your-“

He interrupts you with a groan.“Come on, I saw the two of you kissing.”

You blink slowly and then when you realize what he’s talking about, you’re completely outraged. “Taeyong? I’m not dating Taeyong.” Your voice is going higher by the minute and he seems to be getting just as heated.

“Why were you kissing him then?” He asks, getting up from the bed and moving closer to you.

You can’t help the incredulous high laughter that leaves your lips. “Because I wanted to. Is this why you have been acting like this? Why does it even matter to you?”

His tongue curls on the roof of his mouth, looking at you with angry eyes. “Because it does.”

You squint your eyes again, not believing this is really going on right now. Yuta, who hooked up with a different girl every night, patronizing you for kissing someone. It makes something boil inside of you that you find incredibly awful. “Why does it matter?” You demand, pushing him when he doesn’t answer. “Why?”

His face contorts in something you think is guilty, eyes roaming around your own and lips parting. For a second you think he’s going to say something, then you think he’s going to do something else. But none of that happens.

You push him again, no strength to it but he still falls down on the bed in defeat. A lump forms in your throat as he avoids your eyes.

You leave the room before he can see the tears.

❀

The day it happened is still fresh in your memory.

Your bedroom is the classic teenager one, filled with posters of all kind of things, from movies to bands and just quotes that inspired something within. But the one you like the most, of Joan Jett being a complete badass, stares right back at you from where you’re staring at the ceiling. You still remember dreaming about becoming like her one day.

There’s a song playing, something from the Rolling Stones that Yuta had wanted to show you and had practically stormed inside of your house with a vinyl on his hands to do so.

Said man looks at you from your bedroom floor, his now black hair long enough to tie into a small ponytail. There’s a piercing on various parts of his body and that’s enough reason for every girl in the city to want a piece of him, his aura just helped the whole thing. You remember that at 16 you thought it was amazing too. How he just carried himself with so much confidence, how he was always unapologetic. Yuta was someone you looked up to.

“We could do it, you know?” He says out of nowhere, getting you to finally stare back at him with furrowed eyebrows.

“Do what?”

“Start a band.”

You laugh because he was like that. Talked about things that he wanted to do with ease, not matter how crazy or unordinary they were. “Sure.” Is what you reply with, giving him a smile.

“I’m being serious.” He urges on. “We can do it, me and you. Just make the music we want to and have fun.”

You think about it for a second but there’s not really a reason to. You would do anything with Yuta. “Ok.” That makes him smile. “Yeah, ok. Let’s start a band.”

Back to the present, your tears stain the stark white fabric of the pillow case. You wonder in the back of your head if 16 year old you would be happy right now and that only makes you cry harder.

❀

Pride, isn’t that a stupid thing to have over trivial matters?

You don’t speak to Yuta at all for the following weeks, confusion and anger still filling your mind and tainting your every thought. And he does the same.

It’s comfortable not having to confront him and hear the harsh words you are sure he has stored, but it also makes your skin itch thinking that this stupid fight is going on for too long.

There’s only one show left and then it’s back to reality for a couple of days. The thought of having to go back home and leaving things unsettled with him makes you sick, and it was obvious if someone were to say something it was going to have to be you. Yuta’s pride was too big, even when it didn’t have to be.

So you go after him, because someone had to. Try to get him alone but it’s like there’s always someone around, or he’s too busy composing and it all hurts. It hurts but not enough to make you give up because you know this is merely a pointless fight.

“Where’s Yuta?” You ask Doyoung, who’s sitting by the hotel pool on one of those cheap looking chairs and with a cigarette lit between his lips. The hotel this time was not as nice as the others, the pool looks unkempt like no one had even touched it in at least a month.

Doyoung blows out smoke, looking at you with a tired face that you probably share from all the performances that are just now weighing down on your shoulders. “I think he went out to some party with Johnny.” He says absently and you huff in defeat, slumping down on the chair next to him.

“Asshole.” You mumble out, shutting your eyes for a moment and then it’s silent. The only noises filling your ears are from the ice machine and from the tall lamps.

Then there’s some rustling going around before Doyoung speaks. “Listen, I know that’s not any of my business, and believe me I would much rather stay out of it.” It’s what he starts with and you almost already know what he’s going to say. “But you two need to figure your shit out.”

Trust your lead singer to just lay down the obvious to you because sometimes that's all you need to hear. You scoff. “That’s what I wanted to do.” In the back of your mind you try not to think about what figuring your shit out would entail.

“He can be a dickhead sometimes, but he’s with us.” He says as if that wasn't something you knew already. “And he said he’ll sign the deal, you know? Had a whole theatrical chat with Taeil and all.”

That’s new information, that makes you squeeze your eyes shut in both excitement and frustration at the same time, because if that was already dealt with then the reason why he was acting like this with you was for something else like you had imagined.

You think of something to say, settling on what you felt deep down the moment you got inside that tour bus. “I… I just don’t want things to change.”

That makes Doyong laugh, his voice hoarse when he says. “They already have, love. You just gotta move forward with it.”

❀

You barely remember the last show, exhaustion finally catching up with your body. You remember the trashy alternative bar, remember some people singing along which was absolutely surreal and you remember the groupies crying about how they would miss the band while you took a little break. Anything other than that is a blur and forgotten as you sleep through the entirety of the trip back home, not bothering with the bumps in the roads or how awful the tour bus smelled after weeks.

You don’t notice until later that Yuta hadn’t even gotten on the bus with everyone else. Instead, as Johnny had said, he went on a small trip and would be back in town by the end of the week. You try not to worry about it too much.

Being back home feels weird and you start thinking about what Doyoung had said that day near the pool. Everything has changed, yes, and now your bedroom feels too small. The band posters don’t inspire you anymore as much as they ignite a fire inside that’s too big to extinguish. Your mother’s hug feels comforting but it doesn’t hold you back.

You were still scared, of course, but being back home made you realize that you craved it too much to let fear hold you back. Because how does one go back to reality like when they had a taste of their dreams? How do they live without wanting a bigger taste, to eat it whole?

The only thought in your head as you lay leisurely in your bed for the next days is that you can’t wait to make more music with your friends.

With Yuta. (Thinking of him makes you want to cry.)

The phone rings on saturday, just as your mother is leaving for her job at a diner and she yells for you to pick it up quickly. You get up from the bed with a groan, leisurely walking to the phone and greeting whoever is in the other side of the line with a simple “Hello.” It was probably one of your mother’s friends wanting to gossip or someone trying to sell you items for gymnastics at home.

It takes a while for anything to be said but when it does, the voice even if static is a familiar one. “Hey, it’s me.” Yuta says and the effect it has on the butterflies on your stomach is maddening. It had been too long in your opinion, relief immediately settling in your mind.

“I know.” You breath out and he chuckles. “Thought you were out there on a self discovering trip.”

The comment makes him snort, a smile of your own making its way into your lips as you twirl the phone line with a finger.

“I just got back.” He clarifies and then there’s pause that lasts for seconds before he’s speaking again. “Listen, I — Fuck, I don’t wanna do this over the phone. Can I come over?”

Your lips feel dry. “Oh. Yes. Yes, of course you can.” And then he’s hanging up after a promise of not taking too long.

The anxiety that bubbles in your stomach is unpleasant but the thought of finally seeing him overshadows it. Because see, there’s a few ways this could go and in the back of your head you’re sure, one hundred percent sure, that your friendship with him would never be the same. Because again, how does one go back to normal when everything had changed?

Your breath hitches when there’s a knock on the door, your heart race going worryingly up and when you finally open it, Yuta stands there with a grin on his lips and looking like he always did, with an old band t-shirt tucked inside his bell bottom jeans. There’s just one thing. “You got a haircut.” Is the first thing you say, dumbly.

“Yeah.” He says, running a hand through his now blonde, almost white, hair that has the sides shaved. It’s very bold looking but it suits him.

There’s no chit chatting then, he just steps inside and hugs you like you haven’t seen each other in years. You let yourself drown in it, shoulders slumping as you arms circle his back and he hums pleased. “I miss you.” He mumbles against your hair before breaking the hug and looking at you with eyes that say a lot more than his words. “I’m a fucking asshole, right? I’m sorry.”

You shrug. “Yeah, you are.”

That makes him laugh. A laugh that’s comfortable and familiar as the way he walks inside your house, asking for you mother and pouting when he finds out she’s not there. Familiar as the way he walks into your teen bedroom and looks like he fits there just as much as you do when he plops down on your bed. There’s a feeling of nostalgia to it that he must feel too by the way his eyes roam to the poster covered walls.

You sit down on the bed next to him when he pats the empty spot, his hand disappearing inside his pocket and then he’s getting something out of it. “Got you a gift.” He says jiggling around what you now see is a keychain.

“Wow, how considerate of you.” You tease, getting it with your hands and examining the object. “Thank you, Yuta.”

“No biggie.” He shrugs but the way he watches as you swirl it around your hand tells you that he hopes you like it.

It’s one of those ‘I love NY’ keychains, and in your mind you know very well he didn’t go that far so he must’ve bought it in a random store, the fact alone bringing a grin to your lips. But where there was supposed to be a ‘N’, there’s a very badly done scratch so that it reads ‘I love Y” instead. You can’t help the giggle that forms in your throat. “I love Yuta?”

His smile is as wide as possible. “That’s right.” He doesn’t even try to play it cool. “Make sure you put it somewhere visible so everyone can see it.”

You shake your head laughing, but you still promise “I will.”

There’s a silence that follows, one that is filled with his eyes not leaving yours. This is it, you think to yourself, because you both already know it, would be impossible if you didn’t. Still you ask with a quiet voice. “Do you know why I keep writing all these love songs?”

“Yes.” He breathes out without missing a beat. A simple reply was all you expected.

“How long did you know?”

“For a while.”

And then. “Why did it bother you? That I kissed Taeyong?” You play with the hem of your skirt, pulling at a single line of fabric that was hanging from it.

There’s a small smile forming on his lips as he raises his pierced eyebrow at you.“You really don’t know why?” You do now, you both know that. And you wish you had known sooner, but right now you want to hear what he has to say. “Because I’m selfish and a fucking coward.”

His confessions carries all the meaning you need and there’s a few things you could say. But this is about you and it’s about Yuta, your best friend and the one that had been by your side all this time. The two of you didn’t need big gestures, words that would make someone tear up or any theatricals. It was simply how it was meant to be, just the two of you.

“I’m not.” Is what you say and his lips part.

“What?” He asks just to be sure.

“I’m not a coward.”

And then you kiss him, with a press of your lips to his that could as well just be saying how much you had wanted this, how you think you would go crazy if you never got to taste him like this. Because intimacy with Yuta was something you rarely gave yourself the luxury of thinking about, too scared that you would dig a hole deeper than it already was. But now, as his hands hold your cheeks and he pushes you closer, kissing you with just a hint of desperation, you let yourself drown it it.

He does it with expertise that you can’t possibly match and in the back of your head you feel slightly shy for it. Still, there’s no time to think about that when he deepens the kiss, moving your head a little so he can do as he pleases, sucking on your bottom lip and earning a soft noise that comes from your chest.

You don’t know what’s better, the hand he moves to your neck, the one that holds your thigh, almost dipping inside your skirt or how he looks at you when he breaks the kiss a little breathless. His eyes don’t leave your face as he massages the area where his hand is and you think you could melt completely. “Wanted to do this for so long.” He breathes out and your eyes never leave his now heart shaped pink lips.

Nodding in agreement, you mutter teasingly. “Took you long enough.”

He chuckles, pressing another quick peck. “Then I better not waste any more time.”

He kisses you first this time and it’s with purpose, his tongue licking at your lips until you finally give him what he wants. He draws every little noise you make with the way his tongue slides against yours and how he nips at your lips, kissing you deeper with every second he gets.

You feel overwhelmed, because for one this is new and something you never thought you would be doing, in your teen bedroom of all places. The fact that Yuta starts kissing down your neck only helps, his tongue tickling your sensitive skin before he closes his lips around it, sucking enough that it could leave a bruise. For everyone to see, you think, as he presses a small kiss to it afterwards and then moves to the next spot.

He treats you with as much delicacy as his desperation allow him, manhandling you so that you’re laying more comfortably in your bed and he can hover over you as he kisses you again.

You hate feeling small, but like this, with Yuta on top of you, it makes arousal bubble in your body. And when his hand moves to dip inside of your skirt, gripping at your thigh you let that arousal be known in the form of a surprised moan let out against his lips.

He smirks at you, clearly pleased with himself as your glossy eyes stare up at him. “You’re so cute, baby.” You feel your cheeks warming up and you hate, as much as he seems to love it, that you’re acting like this in front of your best friend. “I could just eat you up.”

His words are followed by your lips forming a small ‘o’ and then by him kissing you again, this time not waiting to let his tongue move against yours in messy motions that make you crave more of anything he has to give you.

You don’t notice at first that he hands start to move again, but when he plays with the hem of your cotton panties you know that he’s not going to settle for that. It’s embarrassing how quickly you react when he presses his fingers to your covered clit, applying pressure to it and then giving a tentative roll. You cry as quietly as you manage and he watches as your eyes squeeze when he moves his fingers again.

You always had wondered how someone else's fingers would feel compared to your own and when Yuta finally, finally, dips his inside your panties, you are sure no fantasies could compare. He drags two of his fingers down to your entrance, feeling the embarrassing wetness that had gathered and bringing it up to your clit so the circling of his fingers is more pleasant.

He continues to watch you, eyes glued to your face as you let out all kind of noises and move your body as the hint of an orgasm makes your entire body tingle. You feel so close already that you wonder if he can tell.

His movements are slow, almost teasing, and when he kisses you again his tongue moves in the exact speed as his fingers, in a way that makes you clench around nothing. As if sensing that he shifts his hand, your body almost arching from the bed when he dips one long finger inside of you. If he didn’t know about the extents of your inexperience, he knows now with how your walls hug tightly just one of his fingers. The groan he lets out at the feeling is one of the prettiest sounds you had ever heard.

He moves his finger slowly, as if testing the waters and when he curls it just right you gasp at the new feeling. “There?” He asks with a grin and you just nod dumbly, biting on your lips enough to bruise.

Somewhere in the back of your mind you wonder if the other girls he had, had came this fast, because when he combines the thrusting of his curled finger to his thumb circling your clit, you feel enough to explode. Doesn’t help that he says his next proposition.

“Let me have a taste, hmm?” His words are muffled from where his lips are pressed on your neck and there’s a very clear mix of feelings that happen inside of your head. You cry out, clearly affected by the proposition and the mere thought of his wet lips against your warmth makes you clench around his fingers. He feels it, of course he does, because he lets out a small moan and grinds down on you a little, his hardness very much there. “Yeah?” He sounds breathless.

“I—I’m.” You gasp when he moves his fingers faster as if to entice you. But this is the extent of your inexperience, the mere thought of him eating you out makes you so overwhelmed that you can’t give in just yet. “I don’t… I-I’m not ready.”

Your voice sounds small but he doesn’t even blink at your denial, instead he kisses you deeply in reassurement. “It’s ok, sweet girl.” He presses down on your clit, giving you exactly the friction you need. “I’ll eat your pretty pussy another day.”

And then his fingers are moving faster, enough that it takes you no time to come with a loud moan that sounds a lot like his name and your hands gripping tightly at the bed sheets. You shake, body trembling as you try to ground yourself but the orgasm is too shattering.

When he removes his fingers from inside you, he licks then clean before moving your shirt upwards so your stomach is exposed. He moves to kneels between your open legs and you’re left confused until he starts unzipping his pants, asking a soft. “Okay?” To which you nod excitedly.

He doesn't ask you to do anything, instead he dips a hand inside his underwear, barely pushing the rest of his pants down as he pulls his cock free. It’s a sight that leaves you breathless, the way he thumbs at the head and smears pre cum around and when that’s not enough, his fingers move inside the mess of your panties, gathering your arousal and bringing it to his hardness in what is the most erotic view you had ever seen.

The first stroke is slow and he bites his lips, looking at you with a fucked out expression. “See what you do to me?” He asks in a groan and you nod in your little haze, eyes not knowing where to look at.

His strokes get quickly faster, with swirls of his wrist and it doesn’t take long for him to let out a strangled moan as he comes with thick spurts in your stomach. You watch it all in awe, the way he twitches in his palm and his eyes fight to stay open. It’s like suddenly you know why there are so many songs about sex.

Afterwards when you’re cleaned and laying on the bed lazily, Yuta plays an unknown melody on your old acoustic guitar with a little inexpertise, humming what you think is the start of a song still in the works.

The sun is about to set and you feel a weird sensation of contentment, a spark blossoming in your chest. You had kissed your best friend, done things with him that reached a level of intimacy you were still learning to navigate, but everything still felt the same.

“Doyoung told me you’re going to sign the contract.” You say, breaking the comfortable silence.

His eyes don’t leave the guitar strings. “Of course, can’t leave my own band.” He deadpans jokingly and you scoff, nudging him with your feet.

“What if they make us do songs we don’t want to?

“I’m sure you’ll scare them off with your attitude.” He laughs when you gasp, lurching at him but stopping because you couldn’t attack him properly with the guitar on his lap.

Noticing that, he smiles, one eyebrow raising at you as he lets the guitar down and opens his arms almost in a challenge for you to hit him. Which you do, playfully before you’re letting yourself fall putty into his chest. “I don’t have an attitude.” You whine.

He huffs. “Yes you do. But it’s very charming.”

Rolling your eyes you hug him closer, basking in the feeling of having him here with you and the comforting knowledge that he feels the same way you do. “Do you think we’ll be able to handle it? Fame and whatever else comes with it?”

“We were born for it, baby.” He says with a cocky grin, always overwhelmingly confident. “I told you, you and me, we can do anything we want together.”

And that’s all you need to hear.

❀

“Back to earth, pretty girl.” Yuta’s voice snaps you out of another daydream, some ideas for a new album and whatever else filed your mind these days. He sounds slightly demanding but you don’t mind at all.

“Sorry.” You mumble and he gives you a grin that you can’t help but match.

There’s the start of a melody playing in the big studio that was rented for the new album. Johnny says something and you adjust the guitar strap, feeling the familiar and comfortable weight of it as your fingers find the strings with ease.

You glance at Yuta another time and he’s still looking at you, mouthing something you can’t quite understand but by the silly smile on his face you know exactly what it is. “Love you too.” You mouth right back at him, shaking your head at his silliness.

And then the song starts.

❀❀❀❀❀

tag list: @jupitersmark @euphoricdreamies @peachybun-01

#yuta smut #yuta scenarios #nct smut #nct scenarios #i reread this last night and realized its not at all how i wanted it to be #it could be so much better :(#but i hope you guys still enjoy it

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romaxnogersav · 4 years

Text

Broken Pieces

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: angst, heartbreak, comfort, mentions of anxiety, low self-esteem, insecurity

Word count: 3265

Summary: Steve comfort you after yet another heartbreak and you realize you've loved him all along.

Tags: @funfickgirl22 @patzammit

Request by anon: Hey!! Could I have a one shot where the reader just got rejected by her crush and it breaks her heart and Steve comforts her (yknow the leaning against the door with the gentle “hey” thing he does? That’d be cool) and when he’s giving her one of his classic best hugs and she’s crying on his shoulder she realizes the one she loved all along was Steve?

Challenge prompt: Roommate Au + “Who did this to you?”

A/N: This piece was written for @jbbuckybarnes ‘ Writing Challenge! I wanted to work on this challenge entry and a request I had and I ended up combining the two because they gravitated towards each other so much, and I hope that’s okay! I had a bit of a hard time finishing this, some mixed feelings about it, but now I honestly love it. Thank you to Rebecca for allowing me to participate, and to the anon that sent in the request. I hope you both like this!

Enjoy!

You stopped the engine, swiped at your eyes, and brushed the wetness from your cheeks. You took a deep breath, hoping to keep the tears at bay long enough to make it to your room before you finally let it all out.

You had left with a beaming smile, confidence like no other. You had the intention of finally telling him, the man you have been crushing on for some time, how you felt.

You had dressed well, with what makeup you wore on point, and left the apartment. You were finally ready to say what had weighted heavily on both your mind and heart for the past couple of months. How much you liked him, how you were hoping he might feel something as well.

It was too unfortunate though, that he didn't feel the same. He had no problem with breaking your heart though as if your feelings didn't matter one bit.

He said he wasn't looking for anything serious. He wasn't looking for a relationship, to settle down with a girl. Neither were you. But you wanted to start somewhere, try and build something with someone. Was it that bad to want that?

It seemed like it was. He told you, he didn’t want to be held back. Falling into bed with a woman the moment the opportunity presented itself was enough for him. In his words, you had been the perfect one, just a tad desperate, a little bit too naïve.

Maybe you were if you had been foolish enough to fall for such a person. The reality was finally catching up to you. It was too bad that you hadn't seen it earlier.

But he had been nice at first. Wanting to know about you, what you did, where you came from, what you liked. You had thought he was genuine, that he might have wanted for things to work out. Turns out, he only wanted you in his bed. Anything you might have wanted to be wasn't in the cards for him.

Hoping you could get something more out of life, might have been what clouded your judgment.

Whatever it was, it didn’t stop the pain.

You took a deep breath and walked out of your car. You looked up towards your apartment, the lights in the living room were off, which meant Steve, your roommate and best friend had yet to come home. Good, you didn’t need him to see you like this.

You locked the car and made your way towards the building's entrance. Your heels clicked with every step you took, the concrete underneath illuminated by the shadows the sunset cast.

Soon enough, you were unlocking the door to your apartment, and stepping in. You didn't even flicker the light in the entryway on. You placed your keys in the small table next to the door, toed off your shoes, hang your coat, and made your way to your room.

When you closed the door softly behind you, you all but collapsed on the bed and curled yourself in a fetal position, one of your hands hugging your middle.

You felt the tears prick at your eyes, and you tried to swallow past the lump in your throat, tried to keep it together for a few more moments. It was to no avail. Your eyes filled with tears, clouding your sight. The hand that wrapped around your middle shook, and you closed it into a fist to try and prevent that.

A loud sob escaped you, and then one more, and one more. Soon, your whole body shook, the sounds coming from you filling the room, and spreading the sound around the whole apartment.

What had you done to deserve such a fate? Why did it ever end up like this for you? It was like you weren’t enough, as if there was something wrong with you.

You weren’t perfect, because perfect hardly ever existed. You weren’t perfect on the outside, you had your imperfections. Things, big and small that you didn’t like about yourself. A scar here, a mole there. You even hated your hair sometimes.

You weren’t perfect on the inside either. There were things you didn’t like about yourself and your demeanor. You didn’t always say the right thing, you didn’t always do the right thing, either. You had a hard time expressing yourself sometimes. Your self-esteem wasn’t high, you weren’t as outspoken as many others were.

You weren’t perfect in many forms. And you thought that was okay, but maybe it wasn’t. Maybe not being perfect wasn’t enough.

All you wanted was to be happy. As a complex of a person as you were, you deserved that at the very least. You wanted to have something to ground you when the hard times hit because you had those days sometimes.

Weren’t you worthy of happiness? Of being someone’s constant, someone’s ray of sunshine, the way you wanted that someone to be yours?

It wasn't like you had many relationships, one or two maybe. Every time though, it looked like you just weren't it. You couldn't remember the last time a guy told you, you were beautiful, and meant it. A guy, other than Steve and your other male friends like Bucky or Tony. You couldn't remember the last time a man was with you, because they wanted to be, not because of some hidden agendas. You couldn’t remember the last time someone appreciated you, told you they loved you.

It was like you were never it. Like there was something about that was never enough to keep, enough to like or even love. And what if it was true? Maybe you weren’t one to be loved.

You were still crying, sob after sob escaping past your lips when you heard the front door open. The sound of Steve’s keys jingling stopped you, silencing your cries. You clasped a hand over your mouth, trying to keep it together, calm yourself down.

You sniffled a little and wiped at your eyes.

“Y/N, are you here? I'm home!" He raised his voice, hoping you were able to hear him. He was surprised to know you were home this early, it was just past nine-thirty in the evening. He knew you went on a date less than two hours ago, so why you were home at this hour, was a mystery to him.

You heard his feet pat against the wooden floor in the hallway, the sound getting louder the closer he got to your room. You jumped out of your bed, wiping at your eyes and cheeks even more. You moved towards the closet, and pulled a pair of jeans, making it look like you were doing something.

There was a soft knock, and then then the door was being pushed open to reveal your roommate, and longtime friend, Steve.

“I thought you had a date tonight. You look lovely, by the way,” He complimented you, leaning against the doorframe, and you had to swallow down a sob that wanted to leave you. Of course he would say that he always did. No one else ever said that to you, not even the guy that broke your heart. It made you wonder if he only did say it for your sake.

You forced your cries down and shook your head a little. You cleared your throat, trying to mask that you had been crying just now.

“I had, and thank you,” you answered softly, praying, that he couldn’t pick on the difference in your voice. You put the jeans back in place and pulled a not so neatly folded blouse, so you could keep your hands occupied.

“And how did it go?” He was able to sense that something wasn’t okay, that there was something that was bothering you. How could he not really? You've been friends since high school, lived together since college. He could read you like the back of his hand.

You did your best to sound natural.

"Good, it was g-good," Your voice quivered, and you clasped a hand over your mouth to stop the sob that threatened to escape.

He tilted his head to the side, studying you. He saw you fisting the blouse in your hand, your shoulders shaking. His arms, that had been crossed over his chest until now, fell to his sides and he spoke softly.

“Hey,” he pushed himself off of the doorframe, “What’s going on?” he questioned gently and slowly walked towards you.

“Nothing,” you chocked out instantly. He laid his hand on your shoulder, prompting you to turn around. You shook your head, holding onto the piece of clothing for dear life. He reached for the dark material and cautiously pried it off of your hands.

Your head was down, staring at the movement of your hands leaving the soft cloth. Even with your sight blurry because of the fresh wave of tears that wanted to be set free, you were able to see Steve’s big hand grabbing onto your smaller one. He pulled you a bit so you were facing him, even though you still kept your head down.

“Hey, look at me, babe,” He murmured, and one of his hands moved up and under your chin. He lifted your face and looked into your eyes, searching. “Who did this to you?” he questioned in a light tone, keeping his voice level. On the inside though, he was boiling. The hand that wasn't holding your chin closed into a fist.

He secretly knew, that it happened again. You, this bright, constantly selfless person, had gotten her heartbroken, and it was once again, he, as someone that loved you, going to help you and show you how much more you deserved.

You shook your head again, trying to avert your gaze so you wouldn’t have to see his eyes. See the pity you knew was there. Every time, he was left to put back the broken pieces, just because you weren’t strong enough. He must be sick of you by now.

"No-no one," he looked down for a moment and exhaled before his gaze flickered back to you.

“Talk to me," he pleaded with you, one hand moving behind your head and the other settling on your back.

Was there a point in lying? He already knew what happened, the tears staining your cheeks showed as much.

“I did Stevie, it was me. I’m just not enough, I’m never enough,” You sobbed, and he pulled you into him. Your arms wrapped around his middle, your face hiding in his collarbone. He ran his hand along your back, the other cradling your head, and moving through your hair.

He was warm, making you feel secure, even though you felt like you didn’t deserve it.

“That’s not true, doll.” He whispered, his voice barely audible with your cries. You were sobbing in his arms, your tears wetting the shirt he wore, he hardly even cared though. All he cared about was calming you down, making you see that you were more than enough, loved.

You shook your head against his skin, not even believing him. You were too far gone into your head. Your self-esteem was lowering itself, your anxiety was taking over. It was happening time and time again, bringing you down more than it had the last time. Your mind had its' own thoughts on the matter, ones that did nothing other than to pick at your wounds even more.

“But it is,” you mumbled, tightening your arms around his middle, “I’m not good enough. No one ever wants me Steve. They play their game for a while, and then I get thrown away, broken. Am I that unsatisfying to be with?” you shook against him, your whole body giving up on you. He pulled you towards the bed, where he sat at the edge and pulled you into his lap, cradling you against him. He shushed you before he pulled away and looked into your eyes. His gaze leveled with yours, blue eyes meeting your shining ones. Eyes full of concern, full of love and appreciation.

“Listen to me, hey,” he swept his thumb against one of your cheeks and then the other, wiping the tears that had stained them. “You are beautiful, top to bottom, both inside and out. You are intelligent, and the absolute best at what you do. You are sharp-minded, funny, and witty. You don’t take bullshit to heart. You are a compassionate, kindhearted person. You are the best friend anyone could ask for. You love, respect, and appreciate, like no other woman I've ever seen. Most importantly, you are unique, because you are you. And you are special,” he brushed some hair that had fallen around your face, and then wiped your tears away, tears that couldn’t seem to stop.

"It's a shame, that there are people in this world that can't see that. At the end of the day though, it's their loss. They allowed something magnificent like you to walk away. You are enough Y/N, more than enough even. Any man will be lucky to be with you, it just takes a special kind of person to see that. So, don't think about yourself in that light again, because what you said about yourself, that's not true. It's never going to be true," He finished off with a gentle, light smile on his face, still wiping at your tears, even though more and more were coming.

He always did that. He was always there for you, no matter what. He was there, after a rough day, with a bad joke and your favorite food, ready to cheer you up.

He was there, after every heartbreak you had. He would pull you against him, give you one of his bear hugs. He’d shush your sobs, run his hands over your back. He’d wipe at your tears and give you a little smile. He’d remind you how remarkable you were, how those assholes were missing out. He was there every time, to pick and put your broken pieces back together. He would run from the other side of the world if he had to, just so he could make sure that you were okay, be there for you.

That was the kind of man Steve was. Selfless, appreciative, supportive. You could go on and on about what a guy he was. One in a million. He was a special one.

He had done so much for you over the years. Combine all the times he stood by your side when you weren’t at your brightest, with all the times he was there for you at your happiest. Steve was a great friend, the greatest in history.

You loved how every time you looked into his eyes, all you saw was fondness, affection. Never has Steve looked at you with anything else but warmth and love.

Any woman would be lucky to be with him, too bad that woman wouldn’t be you.

Your breath hitched. What? No, you did not just say that. What the hell was that even? You and Steve were friends. You were his closest friend after Bucky, you could not possibly think like that.

Sure, yes, he was handsome, but he was so much more to you. You weren’t sure you’d ever be able to fully explain how much he meant to you, how much you loved him. You loved his personality, how caring and passionate he was. You loved how sassy he got, oh boy, sassy Steve was something else. You loved his humor, his creativity. You adored how driven he was, how he never gave up. He never gave up on the things he believed in, the people he loved. He never gave up on you, and you would never give up on him.

Looking back at everything he had done for you the last few years, you could only come to one conclusion, you loved him. You loved Steve, your best friend, the one person you could rely on, no matter the circumstance.

It was too bad though, you would probably never tell him. Too bad, he’d probably never feel the same. He might just end up being like all the others, breaking your heart, if you ever opened your mouth. And then, there won’t be anyone to help put the pieces back together.

The thought, the possibility, made you shake, even more, your breath shuddering and your eyes watering even more. Your hands tightened around Steve, even more, palms digging into his back. You sobbed again, feeling his hand smoothing over your back.

“Shh, it’s okay, doll. It’s okay,” he shushed you once more, voice a soft murmur next to your ear. You clutched to him for dear life, before your next words left your mouth.

“I love you,” you sobbed. There was no point in lying, not to yourself, not to him. Your heart was already broken, you didn’t know if it could take any more. But there was no point in suffering anymore.

Steve’s movements didn’t cease, nothing about his demeanor changed.

“I love you too, you know I do,” he ran his hand through your hair, massaging your scalp in the process.

You shook your head against his collarbone, a hiccup leaving you. “No,” you mumbled, sniffling. “I know you do Stevie, but I-“ you stopped yourself and took a deep breath, swallowing past the dryness in your throat.

“You what?” his brows furrowed

“I’m in love with you,” you whispered, everting your gaze to the side. It was as if time wasn’t moving. Your heart was thrumming in your chest, tears, from what, you didn’t know, running down your face. Heartbreak? Pain? Uncertainty? Fear? You had no idea.

Your form trembled in anticipation, waiting to hear what Steve had to say. He adjusted his hold on you, and his face fell in the crook of your neck. You sat like that for a few moments, before you heard his soft voice again.

“Good, ‘cause now you can finally stop getting your heartbroken," you pulled away and searched his face. His eyes gleamed in the low light, and the corners of his lips were pulling upward. He must be kidding, or you hadn't heard him right. He was probably able to see the confusion in your eyes because he opened his mouth and spoke again.

"You've gotten your heart broken far too many times now, baby. You didn't deserve that, and I'm only hoping to be able to prevent you from ever feeling that pain ever again. All I want for you is to be happy, to make you happy if you'd let me do that for you. No more broken pieces scattered around, waiting to be put back together. No more crying over assholes that didn't know what they were missing out on. The only thing I want to see you do from now on, his smile. You are loved, Y/N, and you are enough," it was like something out of a book, a fairy tale. You thought it was unreal until Steve pulled you in, and his lips touched yours. Slow and gentle, yet a pretty short kiss was placed upon your lips.

Sure, heartbreak brought pain, and a million broken pieces, just waiting to be put back together. Steve was always the one to do that because as a friend, he couldn't let you suffer. But both of you had enough, it was time for you to feel what was to be loved, and it was time for him to show you just how much.

#jbbuckybarnesbirthdaychallenge #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers au #steve rogers roommate au #steve rogers angst #steve rogers comfort #steve rogers one shot #marvel au #marvel angst #marvel comfort #marvel one shot #challenge entry #tina writes

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weirdochick56 · 4 years

Text

Trapped- Campbell Eliot Imagine

Campbell Eliot x Reader

Warnings: Explicit language. Dark!Campbell (obviously)

Disclaimers: This isn’t a light character and this isn’t a light relationship or situation. This is dark and violent so please read with care if abusive situations aren’t your jam!

Word Count: 3,914 words

Summary: Campbell Eliot is your bestfriend’s, Sam, brother. He’s a disturbed individual who doesn’t feel emotions like the rest of you do. His gaze and heart are dark and sadistic and yet- you’re drawn to him. So when he comes looking for Elle and no one gives her up, he offers another aleternative; he’ll take you instead. But he’ll only keep you for a limited amount of time. If by the end of that time you still want to leave him, he’ll let you and Elle go-- definitively. If not, you’re his. Should be easy right?

***

(Gif is not mine!)

You lick your lips, flipping through another page of the book, eyes intensely seeking out every word, soaking every syllable in your head.

This was you third time reading Jane Eyre, but each time it just got better.

You’re so immersed in the fictional world of the young woman, in fact, that you don’t notice when someone comes in until he speaks- voice gruff and bemused.

“Good book?”

You jolt off the couch, heart instantly clenching in shock as your gaze flickers to person which has spoken.

“Campbell,” his names leaves your mouth in a barely-registered, unintentionally breathless mumble.

He grins at you. “Did I scare you, doll?”

You swallow, avoiding eye contact. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Shrugging, he steps closer to you. “As happy as I am to see you, I’m here for Allie and Will. They’ve got something that belongs to me.” He motions loosely around you. “You wouldn’t happen to know where they are would you?”

You shake your head. “And even if I did why the hell do you think I’d tell you?”

He pauses suddenly, face falling and the move is so startling, your heart does too.

He stares you down as he steps closer. You refuse to move or maybe you just can’t- his gaze paralyzing you entirely.

It isn’t until he’s a mere foot away from you, scanning you from head to toe pensively, that he finally speaks.

“You’re too fuckin pretty and smart to be aiming this low, Y/n. Always were.”

You scoff at him. “And according to you what the hell is so low that I’m aiming at?”

“This. This house, these people. You don’t belong here.”

You laugh wryly, shaking your head. “And what the hell would you know about belonging Campbell? All your life, all you’ve done is not fit in. You try- you hang out with the cool kids but even you can’t make yourself believe that you actually feel good with them. That you actually fit in.”

He clenches his jaw, clearly on the verge of snapping, before a small ominous smirk grows on his face. “Yeah. You’re right, dollface. But at least I’m actually going for the people that matter. Allie and her pathetic little crew won’t stay in power of this town for much longer and then you’ll be on the losing side.”

You smirk. “We’ll see about that.”

At the smugness in your face, something suddenly snaps in him and he laughs.

“You’re so fucking lost. I’m willing to show you the way though, Y/n.” He tilts his head mocking, eyes scanning you from head to toe with a malicious glint in those mysterious eyes.

You swallow your fear. “Yeah? And how’s that?”

“If you open those long legs of yours for me, I’d be more than willing, dollface.” He licks his lip mockingly.

You’re sure he doesn’t actually mean it; Campbell is always playing games and this is another one of his sick manipulations to get you riled up.

And it’s working.

You first your hand, raising your arm in a flash, ready to punch the living daylights out of him, but he catches his arm just before your fist connects with his annoyingly sharp jaw.

He yanks your closer to him, clicking his tongue with pretend disapproval. “Now, Y/n, that’s not a very nice thing to do to a guest, is it?”

“Listen, I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but I’m not your fucking toy, Campbell,” you hiss at him, despretely trying to tug your arm from his painfully tight grasp, fighting the panic rising in you at your vital mistake.

No one else was at home and they wouldn’t be for a while. It was just you and him— no one was here to save you if he decided to do something.

Truth be told, he terrified you. But that didn’t mean you’d let him know that. You knew the sick motherfucker got off on that shit, and you weren’t going to become just another helpless victim trapped beneath his sharp claws.

Not you.

At your venomous response, Campbell simply raises a dark brow at you, scanning you from head to toe with decisive carelessness and a cold indifference that made you feel like a minuscule bug beneath his shoe.

That was one of the things with Campbell- he had a way of making people feel like worthless little things. Especially in comparison to him. It was this effect that made you detest him even more than usual. He wasn’t just a jerk, he was manipulative in the worst way possible because he didn’t only manipulate you for his own benefit, but against your own. He made you hate yourself so much you’d have no choice but to comply with him.

And you weren’t immune to it, no matter how much you tried to deny it.

And yeah, sure- physically speaking, Campbell Eliot could more than easily overpower you. No doubt.

He was taller, towering over you like a damn mountain. And he was clearly stronger- the lean muscles that flexed beneath his shirt anytime he took a menacing step toward you were enough evidence.

But somehow you knew it was stripping your mind of its power that he really enjoyed. Being able to trap you in your own fucking body- that’s the real power trip he craved.

He raises his hand, fingertips softly brushing a few strands of hair away from your face as you stubbornly stare him down.

The touch is shocking in its contrast to the death grip he has on your arm and it nearly makes you whimper.

He curls his hand over your jaw, placing his thumb under your chin, fingertips softly brushing against your neck.

You watch him so closely that your heart nearly drops when he suddenly twitches- it’s very small, but seeing as you’re quite literally holding your breath for his next move, you catch it- and it’s as his hand sweeps lightly over your neck...over your throat.

You watch his face closely. His lips part, his breath hitches and his eyes darken even more beneath the dim light of your living room.

He catches himself quickly, though. So quickly in fact, you’re sure if it weren’t for the fact that he were so close and you were so fucking scared of him, you wouldn’t have even noticed.

But you did. And a chill runs up your spine when you think about what he must’ve been thinking in that messed up head of his.

This fear grows when he uses his thumb to force you to look up at him, leaving your jugular totally exposed and vulnerable to those big hands.

“Oh, dollface, but you are,” he responds with sardonic sympathy. “You all are. Now, tell me where they are.”

Your breath hitches when he abruptly digs his fingers into the skin of your arm, sinking his claws into you.

Tears prickle your eyes at the sudden and sharp pain. You try to blink them away and hold back the tiny sobs threatening to exit your slightly dry lips, but a few of both escape anyway and you hate yourself for being so damn weak in front of him.

That is why, to reserve your dignity (or what’s left of it anyway), you don’t dare back down, looking at him dead in the eye and gritting your teeth as you lean in.

You wait for him to expect something of you and then you talk.

“Fuck. You,” you grit out with biting anger.

He smiles in a sickengly smug way, dark eyes practically drinking in the sight of you twisting in pain beneath his touch, of the humiliation embedded deep beneath that fake bravado of yours.

And as much as you hated admitting it, despite it all, there was such beauty in that gaze, such intriguing depth.

God, if it weren’t for the fact that you could see the sadistic joy -far darker than you had initially thought- clearly swimming in them as well, you could’ve confused him for handsome. If for a mere second.

If for a mere second, you could make out a striking resemblance between him and Dorian Gray in the infamous painting- the version before he turned into a monster that is.

His face was structured in that same classical beauty kind of way- high cheekbones, sharp jaw, bold brows, delicate pink lips, and a thick set of long lashes encasing a pair of piercing blue eyes.

But seconds go by and that mere second sure as hell did.

And all it gives way to is the pain you’re currently feeling and the perpetrator behind it. His beauty is dangerous. It’s deceiving to what truly hides beneath it. The ugliness simmering beneath, just waiting for something to snap from within to explode and take with it everything in its path.

He leans into you all of a sudden, making your heart jump all the way to you throat at the abruptness of the movement.

Not go mention; you’re fucking trapped between him and the wall now.

You catch a whiff of his cologne- a subtle but manly scent and the musk of his sweat and it makes your head spin. That along with the bitterness of the situation you’re in, nearly makes you faint with fucking desperation.

A trapped animal. That’s what he was minimizing you to. A fucking animal.

You swallow past the lump in your throat, hard. Licking your dry lips, you anticipate with almost overwhelming anxiety his next move.

His gaze flickers down to your lips as he laughs softly.

The warmth of his breath as it brushes against your face sends another chill down your spine and you can’t quite decipher if it’s because you’re shitting your pants or because he’s abandoned his indifference and is now looking at you like you’re his next prey and he can’t wait to chase you down and devour you.

His thumb softly caresses your chin, fingers moving into your hair. Your lips part at the delicious sensation and despite yourself, you lean into his touch.

“Careful what you go wishing for there, Y/n. Might just come true,” he warns mockingly, his whispers hoarse. His gaze sweeps over you- shameless as ever.

He made you feel invaded in your own body, the way he looked at you. His gaze and the liberties he took with them as he roamed your body and face made you feel like you were mistaken and actually his to look at. Like you were his to undress with his eyes.

It was a strange feeling to have him close after watching him from afar for years. Even as Sam’s best friend, you’d only ever talked to him twice before in the past.

Both were calling him out on treating Sam like trash.

To which he’d only laughed and walked away as if you were but a pesky little thing. After that, you had made it a point to stay away from Campbell. He was intimidating even in his nonchalant disregard.

But now, after what has happened, after almost everyone in your town had disappeared- he was making you question everything you believe in. And he seemed to be targeting you rather than just shake you off.

The fucker.

You suddenly can’t breathe, your heart beating so fast, you feel feel fucking dizzy with all the adrenaline it’s pumping through your veins.

You inhale shakily, trying to keep your fitting in this slippery slope of a situation you’d gotten yourself into.

“Let me fucking go, Campbell. I already told you I don’t know where they are,” you say- tone far too soft to be anything even remotely close to imposing.

He clicks his tongue at you mockingly and when you feel him tangle his fingers into your hair, wrapping the strands around his hand, you know something bad was going to happen.

Suddenly, he yanks your head back. The searing, burning pain coming from your scalp was unexpected and lethal and you cant help but let a loud yelp escape your lips.

“I’ll let you go when I fucking feel like it, you got me? I still don’t think any of you fucking understand, so let me make it crystal clear,” he snarls, forcing you to look him in the eye.

They’re stone cold, emotionless, the only emotion he had -sadistic joy- is gone and in its place there’s only searing, voidful, palpable anger.

“Everyone in this fucking town is scared of me.” He briskly releases you, knocking you back into the wall as he takes a few steps away from you. “And it’s for good reason.”

With a tiny grunt, you glare up at him. “Asshole,” you mutter.

He ignores your petty little insult, scoffing down at you like you’re a worthless piece of shit.

“Even you.”

You scowl. “Well I don’t know about everyone else but I, for one, am not afraid of you, Campbell.”

His lips curl upwards as he stares at you with a bemused look on his infuriatingly attractive face. “Sure you fucking aren’t. You know,” he clicks his tongue. “I always found it strange that even when you and Sam were attached at the hip, you never tried to get even remotely close to me. I mean aside to give me shit about the way I chose to treat Sam.”

He suddenly grows serious, a predatory look instantly growing on his face. Then he clenches his fists so tight, his knuckles turn paper white.

“Oh, the things I could do to you,” he mumbles, eyes zeroing in on your chest and then your neck. He drags his tongue over his thin upper lip, eyes flickering back up to you.

If that asshole knew how bothered his eyes on you made you feel, he ignored it. Or perhaps he enjoyed watching you squirm. Probably the latter.

They’re so dark now, that under this lighting- they almost look black. Far from his natural pools of blue and strikingly menacing.

His silver earring glimmers dangerously under the light and then you catch a glimpse of something else in his hand as he holds it up to the light.

Your blood runs cold when you realize it’s a blade.

He casually plays around with it, twirling around his hand with ease.

“You wouldn’t just be afraid...” he closes his eyes for a second, as if imagining it in his mind. A sick, perverted smirk instantly curls his lips and his cold gaze pins yours down once more when he releases a tiny hum.

“You’d be begging me to hurt you some more. Hell you’d get on your fucking knees and ask me to like the nice little girl you make everyone think you are.”

Your chest rises but doesn’t fall as you hold your breath. You’re trembling at this point, but you hope to god he doesn’t fucking notice.

“You’re sick,” you whisper roughly, eyeing him cautiously.

He shrugs nonchalantly, fingers running the knife some fucking idiot had left lying around.

“Maybe. But at least I’m not weak.” He looks at you pointedly. “At least I know how to take care of the things that belong to me.”

You huff, swallowing down your fear and letting your mouth run. “See, that’s the fucking problem with you Campbell. You think you’re entitled to owning people. But I’m not going to let you manipulate me.”

He raises a brow. “Oh, trust me, Y/n. Right now, with you- this is as real as I get. If I was manipulating you, you wouldn’t know it.”

Despite how much his words chill you to the bone, and your strangely strong urge to ask a whole bunch of questions, you merely chuckle sarcastically at him, putting on a brave face.

“Fortunately, that’s never going to happen.” You smile before quickly letting it drop. “Now if you’re done, get the fuck out.”

He sighs with fake defeat, putting the knife down casually.

“Fine. I’ll go.” You don’t budge, refusing to drop your guard at his words.

He smiles and even though you know that it’s not real- for a split-second you forget who he is because of how damn charming it is.

“Tell your friends I was here, will you doll?”

You almost let out a sigh of relief when he spins on his heels and begins to walk away but that gets trapped in your windpipe when suddenly pauses near the doorway, glancing at you over his shoulder.

“You know, it’s a shame.”

“What is?” You snap.

“That we hadn’t talked like this earlier.” He grins darkly. “I actually kinda enjoyed this little convo of ours.”

And with that he walks out, slamming the door shut.

Once you’re sure he’s gone, you release a huge breath, falling against the wall.

Your arm was throbbing aggressively and so was your scalp, your chest aches with pent-up anxiety.

And yet....

And yet all you can really think about is those eyes. That smirk.

The darkness inside of him wasn’t entirely empty, you conclude the more you thought about the genuine joy he had as he saw you in pain.

It was fucked up for obvious reasons, but you couldn’t help but think that what he held in that gaze was far more than that emotionless exterior he showed everyone. It was darkness nonetheless, but it wasn’t entirely devoid of all emotion.

Everyone said he didn’t feel like the rest of you did. But he felt something didn’t he?

There was something almost mesmerizing about figuring out what he was thinking. What he was feeling. About what made him tick.

It was crazy, but he’d always seemed like a sad person to you. Even underneath all that hard skin he’d built over the years, underneath that emotionless existence he’d been living, he seemed sad.

He scared you so much, it was practically impossible for you to comprehend why he also intrigued you just as much- if not more.

His darkness was as terrifying and unpredictable as it was alluring to you.

You sigh a little, glancing the already-forming bruises marring the skin of your arm. They were dark imprints of where he’d sunk his fingers into you.

You shiver just thinking about his hands on your skin.

You can never forget how dangerous he is.

Because if you do, you could find yourself trapped under his claws.

You tug on your long-sleeve subconciously, looking at Allie with furrowed brows.

“He said he was looking for you guys.”

Will shares a look with the blonde girl before looking back at you. “Did he specify why?”

You shrug. “No. Just said he needed to talk with you because you had something that belonged to him.”

Pursing her lips, Allie sighs. “We’re sorry for leaving you alone, Y/n. We should’ve had someone from the guard here. But he didn’t like-” she hesitates, watching you closely. “He didn’t hurt you or anything, did he?”

You look down, tugging even more at the sleeves and shake your head. “No.”

Allie had enough on her plate as is, you didn’t want to add another thing to it and be a bother.

She nods and sends you a look, fairly enough not looking convinced at all by your meek firmness.

“Well-” just as she begins to speak, a loud knock at the door abruptly cuts her off.

All three of you share a look this time, and you swallow harshly, heart racing. “Campbell?” you mumble with dread.

Allie motions to Grizz to check who it is. He nods, prying the front door open only slightly.

“What do you want Campbell?” He spits.

The small, indifferent, mocking, cold laugh he gives as a response floats in from the other side of the door and sends a shiver down your spine.

“I need to talk to Allie,” he says simply.

Grizz goes to protest coldly, but Allie shakes her head at him, motioning for Campbell to come in. Grizz clenches his jaw, but complies, stepping aside for him to step in.

Campbell smirks sumgly, leering down at Grizz -who looks just about ready to explode- as he passes by him.

Then his gaze shifts to you as you stare at him and he grins brightly. You instantly look away, scrutinizing your hands.

Your spine goes rod straight as his footsteps near the kitchen, where you currently sat on a stool by the counter.

“What the hell do you want Campbell?” Allie raises a brow at him.

He slightly glances at you before smirking up at her.

“Elle. Where is she?”

Allie shakes her head. “She’s not your property Campbell. And you can’t just barge in here like that.”

His smirk drops and he glowers at her. “Give her to me or I swear to God-”

“Or what?” Will interrupts. “What will you do?”

Campbell refuses to back down. “Or I will come over to your house every fucking night and make your life miserable until you do.”

Allie heaves a heavy sigh. “Campbell-”

“Unless...” he softly sing-songs.

Everyone pauses, staring at him.

And when his gaze gently glides over to you, you know what he wants before he even says it.

“Unless?” Will murmurs.

Campbell bites his lip delightfully, gaze never leaving you. “Unless you give me her instead.”

All at once, everyone around you protests.

“What are you crazy?!”

Campbell shrugs, mumbling beneath his breath . “A little.”

The outrage continues. “No fucking way we’re doing that.”

“Listen,” Campbell shushes them. “The way I see it is; this town is fucking sick and tired of you Allie. So I really doubt they’ll have a problem helping me make all your lives a living hell. Now, I can take Elle and keep her because she’s mine. Or I can take sweet little Y/n here and return her after I’m done with her. That is; if she even wants to come back after I’m done with her.”

None of them even consider his offer. They start protesting again against him.

You just sit there, staring off blankly. And when you finally speak up. moments later, everyone falls silent.

“I’ll go with you,” you whisper.

“W-what?” Allies sputters. “Y/n, no.”

You look at her. “Allie, this is my choice, okay?”

She purses her lips in a silent reprimand.

Campbell snorts at your words as you look up at him. “But you have to give me back after a month.”

“Two.”

“One and a half.”

“Deal.” He smirks with satisfaction.

He looks at Allie pointedly. “Deal?”

The blonde glances at Will, Grizz and finally you. It’s clear she hates this; they all do.

You take a deep breath, getting off the stool. You walk towards her, taking her hands in yours.

“Allie please,” you murmur. “Elle has been beaten down enough by him. He’s broken her.”

“And that’s exactly why I won’t let him take you too,” she insists freverently, squeezing your palms tightly.

You deadpan, lowering your voice to a whisper only you two can hear. “Allie, Elle is a badass, but I’m stronger than her, we both know it. I’ve known Campbell my whole life, I know his startegies. I know I can hold out for a month and half. I know that I’ll come back to you and he won’t be running a damn campaign agaisnt you then. It’s a win-win.”

“But-”

“This town needs you, Allie. Even if they don’t see it now. Don’t let us down.” You smile reassuringly for her sake more than yours. “I need you to trust me on this.”

She blinks back tears, nodding lightly.

You nod at her, fighting back your own tears and you step away. You turn to Campbell; your fucking nightmare incarnate.

“Let’s go,” you say softly.

What the hell have you gotten yourself into?

***

Why is there such a shortage of fics on Campbell? He’s such an interesting character and let’s be honest; fine as hell.

(with that earing bruh?)

I definitely have a thing for hot psychos and it concerns me a lil bit.

A special thanks to:

My forevers

@jessikared97

@ladyofletters67

@sammykb1994

@lilypalmer1987

@mogaruke

#campbell eliot #Campbell x reader #Campbell eliot imagine #campbell eliot x reader #the society

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deans-mind-palace · 4 years

Text

Suspirium (Pt.9)

Pairing: Prof!Sam x Reader

Summary: You’re in your last year of your Classics and Mordern Languages studies and you’re majoring in Latin and English. Then you get assigned to a different Latin teacher. And damn, he loves his subject. Too bad that he’s also hot. What is just a childish crush soon develops into something way more complicated.

Word Count: 1,466

Warnings: Tears

Author’s Note: Next chap. We’re about halftime, I think...? Dunno. Doesn’t matter. Have fun. Isn’t Brooks a cutie? :)

Like always, my tag lists for Sam (thereby also for this story) are OPEN

Or you catch up here: Suspirium - Masterlist

"So? Aren't they a great couple?" Francois asked you as you stumbled blindly into the kitchen in tears. You nodded silently, turned to the side and wiped over your eyes once. When you turned around, Francois was already looking at you closely. "What happened, mon cherrie?" he asked and looked worried. You shook your head wordlessly, for your throat was too tight to make a single intelligible sound. "Did one of the guests say something, ma colombe? I will have him thrown out. Sans hésitation." You smiled a little about Francois' care, despite the lump in your throat. Then you took a deep breath. "No, I'm fine. I'm just a bit on edge. I had a busy weekend, that's all." you tried to talk your way out of it. François nodded sympathetically. "Take a break. I'll have this girl stand in for a while. What's her name again?" His French accent came out strongly between words. "Victoria," you helped him. He sighed dramatically. "Exactly. This girl. Victoria." Victoria had been working here for nearly seven months, but Francois had not taken the trouble to remember her name. He called her, a talentless girl and a disgrace to the restaurant trade, after that one incident a few months ago. "I hope she doesn't drop all her plates again. This girl has two left hands. It was a disgrace last time, je vous le dit." Gratefully, you went into the break while Francois, once again in his element, roared Victoria's name through the kitchen, his moustache moving upwards like in a comic strip.

Unfortunately you had to cross the dining room for that and Sam's table was also close to the exit. Eyes closed and through. You almost made it. You had just met the look of Sam's date. She smiled at you with love and you felt sick. You had never asked yourself until today if Sam was in a relationship. You wouldn't have believed he was cheating on a woman, but here you were. And his girlfriend was wonderful. She seemed warm, open, friendly with wit. At once, self-doubt caught up with you. What did he want with you? Why you? You were nothing compared to her. You hadn't even slept with each other and besides, there was a wonderful woman sitting at his table. Wasn't she enough for him? Was he just bored? Was he just looking for distraction? God, how many students had there been before you? It was too beautiful to be true. The best men were always taken. Why wouldn't Sam be in a relationship at that age?

Angry at your own stupidity, you'd bite your lips as you walked by the table. Don't look. Don't look at them. Like a mantra, that sentence swirled through your mind. You were just thinking you'd made it when you heard a chair being pushed back across the floor. "Cassie? Would you excuse me a second? I'll be right back." his deep voice came to your ear. Just a few hours ago he was whispering sensual things in your ear in that deep voice, and now... Now he had a girlfriend. Or even fiancée?! The thought made your stomach turn. You never would have wanted to betray anyone if you knew that... Of course you didn't do any better with Adam, but there was more to it than that.

Heavy footsteps echoed behind you down the hall. You quickened your pace. "Y/N? Y/N, wait, please. I can explain all this. Just wait a moment." You were almost jogging, and you just dodged a dishwasher. "I don't want to hear it, Sam. Leave me alone and go back to your girlfriend. Do what you want with her. I don't care what you do with her. I don't care about you, Sam." Suddenly he grabbed you by the wrist, it was a sure grip, but he didn't hurt you or anything. He pushed you against the wall, and you cursed yourself for a moment because your breathing was faster. "Let me go, Sam." Your eyes glared at him angrily. "But I care about you," he replied calmly. You hated him for being so calm. "I don't want to hear it. Let go of me. I mean it, Sam." you growled.

"Me too," he whispered. Then he filled the distance between you so suddenly that you didn't know what was happening to you. His lips laid down on yours with a sudden fire and passion that you almost felt like you couldn't breathe. You almost got carried away and returned the kiss. Then anger came over you, making you think clearly again. His girlfriend was sitting in the next room and he kissed you in the hallway.

You pushed him away and before Sam knew what was happening to him, your hand landed on his cheek, leaving a crimson print on his skin. He was surprised and didn't say a word, so stunned he was. "How dare you, Sam Winchester? Stay away from me."

You ripped your purse out of your locker and disappeared. If Francois did fire you, you wouldn't last a second in that place with Sam. You were proud of yourself when you managed to walk out the door without looking for him again.

The next morning you thought about skipping Sam's lecture. But you didn't want the exposure and bad grades weren't worth it. You would just go to the office and register for another course. Of course you didn't like that. Sam was one of the best Latin professors ever and many students would do anything to get the place you gave up now. But the thought of sitting in his lecture and pretending that nothing happened seemed unbearable to you. You would change the course and send him an email right afterwards that you unfortunately had to resign your post as teaching assistant for personal reasons.

Again and again you opened a new email on your laptop, but you just couldn't bring yourself to type the words that would seal everything. As often as you opened the laptop, you closed it again without having finished a sentence. You had skipped all your lectures, but at least you had written an email to Sam by the evening.

Good evening Professor Winchester, For personal reasons, I unfortunately have to ask you to pause our meetings indefinitely for the time being. Thank you for your understanding. With regards Y/N L/N

Your lower lip trembled a little and your nose tickled while you suppressed a sob as you sent it. Then you did what you always do when you're not feeling well. You called Brooks. "Is everything all right? I didn't see you at all today. You've been acting weird lately," said Brooks. You sniffed at his words, and he picked up right away. "Can you come over?" you asked and everything felt a little numb. Brooks didn't ask any questions. "I'll be right over."

It only took 15 minutes before your doorbell rang and Brooks walked in the door with a huge pizza from your favorite Italian restaurant and a six-pack of beer. He immediately put everything on the table in your little kitchen and pulled you into his arms without saying anything. Silently the tears ran down your cheeks and stained the fabric of his blue shirt dark. For a while he just held you close to him, then he lowered his chin slowly onto your head. "Whose car do I have to hit with the baseball bat? I still got a pretty good swing from high school." he whispered softly. Even with the tears, you had to laugh. Brooks smiled at you and led you to the couch.

And then you started talking. The dam broke. You told Brooks everything. From the moment you first met, when he spilled his coffee all over you, to the moment you sat together in the café, to the moment you kissed for the first time and he invited you to his place. Finally you finished with your latest encounter in the restaurant.

Brooks remained silent for some time, even after your last words had long faded into silence. Eventually you started eating pizza and drinking beer, but Brooks still didn't say anything about Sam. You watched Birdcage together because the movie just always made you smile and happy because you loved the characters and their quirks so much. Even after that he didn't say anything about Sam. Only very late in the evening, just before you fell asleep on his shoulder, he finally told you what he thought about it.

"You love this man. And you should at least give him a chance to explain himself, or this "maybe" will haunt you for the rest of your life."

When did your friend get so fucking wise?

Wanna get tagged for recent updates on this story? Head to my bio and add yourself to my Sam taglist or drop an ask in.

Sam Tags: @ashthefirefox @rintheemolion @fortheentries @vexhye @traceyaudette @zeppette @thewintersoldierswife @outofnowhere82 @mimzy1994 @myopiamystical

#sam x reader #sam winchester #sam x you #sam x y/n #professor!sam #professor!au #spn #suspirium #supernatural #supernatural reader insert #supernatural fic #spn fanfic series #spnfamily #spn fandom #spn fanfiction #supernatural fandom #supernatural cast

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inexorableblob · 4 years

Text

Little Magical Creeper

For @flashfictionfridayofficial (and yes, I forgot the tag the first time. )

Not quite sure where I was going to go with this one, not when I started, but I ended up where I did, even if it’s a bit subtle what form the magic is.

The light was bright when I woke up. A sign. Reading "You're Special" in white and pink. It was glowing next to the bed, shining in my eyes. The rest of the room was dark, curtains covering the windows, and no clock in sight. No idea what the time was. No idea where I was. No idea who I was.

A flash of lightning followed by a peal of thunder echoed outside and the sign went off and on again.

I took a second to think. Counted my fingers and toes. All ten, wait, twenty.

Exactly the right number. Working fine.

I got out of bed, I know I probably should have stayed safe in bed, but I had somewhere to go.

I just didn't know how to get there. Still, I knew I had to go through the door. It would lead somewhere.

The hallway was empty. Except for a strange white lump that stirred as I opened the door. Stirred and came over to me. With a wet nose and even wetter tongue that went right for my face.

"Hey now, good puppy, good puppy." I told the dog. It knew my scent, my voice, I didn't know its name. I put out a hand and rubbed its furry head. Soft, curly. A poodle, maybe.

I kept moving, walking quietly down the hall, the dog following at my side. I still didn't know where to go. I couldn't ask.

The bathroom had a light on, but it was empty. Not that I was looking to find anybody there.

That would be awkward. More awkward.

I looked in some other doors. More bedrooms, with sleeping children inside. I thought about waking the older one, but decided against it.

Maybe if I couldn't find anyone else.

I took some stairs up, it was possible that was the wrong decision, but how bad could it be?

The dog came with me.

A pair of double-doors opened to a master suite with a large bed in it. An empty one. The sheets were in their proper place, flat and tucked in, I couldn't tell if anybody had slept there. And the clock radio was blinking, red lights showing the classic sign of a power loss.

That was bothersome.

There wasn't a television in the room either.

Maybe I should have gone downstairs. It'd be safer.

Wait, a noise. Somebody moving. Further down the hall. The dog set off towards it. I followed.

I could tell what kind of room it was, a utility area, with a tile floor, a washer and dryer, and a woman, a woman looking at me as she folded clothes at a table. The dog had wiggled underneath, nuzzling at her feet.

"Hey Sweetie, did the storm wake up my little baby girl?" she said with a smile. A smile I knew too well, a smile I couldn't stand to ruin. But I knew it'd be better to do it. And quickly.

"Um, maybe." The storm was the reason I got up, but it wasn't what really mattered. "Mommy, I need, I'm here because…"

I stopped. I didn't want to just blurt it out. I wasn't that cruel. I wasn't that brave. "Do you want your Mommy to make you some breakfast?"

I would have. I would have liked that very much. Except my mother had died thirty years ago. Before I sold my soul. For this one chance.

And now, now, I was going to have to skip breakfast.

"Mommy, I think we should go somewhere safe. Get everybody and hide. I think this storm is going to be dangerous."

#fff63 #creeping magic #flash fiction

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teacherunicorn · 3 years

Text

Rewrite

Chapter Six

dying

The snowy forest was dense, but felt empty, like walking through a graveyard. You could tell something was waiting to jump out and attack you. hurt trying to survive

Rook had had Shadow in her life for just over six years now. Appearing at what was perhaps her lowest low, the entity had been harsh with her at first, it's words faint and migraine inducing.

The one thing that had come through clearly was the lullaby it sang when Rook was crying herself to sleep. The song was clearly old -- it wasn't your standard nursery rhyme and no one she'd mentioned the lyrics to had known what she was talking about. But her strange follower knew them by heart; never once missing a step or loosing the melody.

Perhaps it was her dependence on that song that allowed other things to come in clearly, not that they were as helpful. It was mostly gruesome threats to people she got angry at and a desire to take supplies from others at food banks and homeless shelters.

While tempting at times, such actions were simply not who Rook was. She continually frustrated Shadow with her goodwill and giving nature, and arguing with them led to further migraines.

The two weren't....friends, not really. They just happened to be stuck with each other -- literally. It didn't matter if Rook knew she could trust Shadow's instincts when it came to dangerous situations, or if Shadow's malice seemed to ebb away anytime they sang their lullaby to a crying Rook.

It wasn't until that good karma came back around; a woman she had shared her food with and given up her bunk at the homeless shelter for supplying her with pain medicine and teaching her how pads worked; as she had been unfortunate enough to experience puberty on her own, that Shadow finally gave pause.

"Sometimes kindness is enough." She'd told the spirit.

This gave way to a new form of communication between the two; an open one that involved proper conversation instead of trading insults. Shadow seemed very good at being aware of their -- and by extension Rook's -- surroundings at all times. They'd offer tips, warn of danger, and catch details that would normally go unnoticed.

Rook still wouldn't say the two were friends....part of her was still convinced that Shadow was just some trauma induced hallucination.

Until today at least.

"So lemme see if I've got this right." She said, piling up the driest twigs she could find for a fire. "You're an actual, proper ghost. You're dead."

More or less, yeah.

"Then how come you keep following me around?"

I'm stuck in limbo unless I find a soul to match to....a cracked one.

Rook paused. "So when...." a forced swallow past the lump in her throat. "when he died, you're saying it cracked my soul?"

Yeah.

She huffed. "Can't say I'm surprised. Okay, you're here, I'm here, now what?"

Well.... The spirit sighed. You already know by now that I'm not an optimistic person. But when I was alive I was....less pessimistic. I had hope for something; this place.

"This place?" Rook echoed in surprise.

Yeah. It was less broken in my time, but yeah.

"....What happened?"

Thought I could be the hero. The barrier keeps the monsters in, they're trapped. I thought I could be their angel. the air seemed to scoff Course that was before being down here got me killed.

"What does that have to do with me?"

Shadow had no physical form, and therefore no face, but somehow Rook could still feel the puppy dog stare being aimed at her.

How far do you think your kindness can really go?

*****

Rook didn't bother trying to track down the skeleton brothers. Snowdin was clearly not the sort of place to just go wandering around, and she had no doubt one or both of them would eventually find her.

So, gathering the driest twigs she could find, she sparked a small fire and went about making herself something to eat.

Filling her collapsible pot with snow, she set it over the flame to boil, making sure to keep the smoke as small as possible so as not to alert anything unsavory.

Crossing her legs as she sat down, she held her hands out to warm them. Pausing a moment, she pulled her left one back.

The cut she had received from the strange glowing artifact in the ruins hadn't been deep by any means, but it really ought to have left at least a scratch. But looking at her palm now Rook couldn't even tell she'd been injured.

Sighing to herself, she dug into her backpack for some oatmeal, taking out the teal colored shard as she did. She studied it as her food cooked. It didn't seem all that peculiar; it wasn't even glowing any more. It was just a stupid shard of glass.

So why had she felt so drawn to it in the ruins?

"HUMAN!" the sudden sound jolted Rook from her thoughts. She looked up to see the taller of the skeleton brothers standing a few paces away from her. (measured in his giant steps anyways) "SO SANS WAS TELLING THE TRUTH. DID YOU REALLY THINK YOU COULD ESCAPE ME?"

"No, I was pretty sure you or your brother would turn up." She shrugged. "You hungry? Oatmeal should be ready by now."

The bravado of the skeleton seemed to seep away. "....Food?"

"Yeah. I mean, it's just oatmeal -- I've figured out a lot of ways to mix it up over the years though!" pulling her backpack onto her lap Rook began to dig through her stash. "I've got cinnamon, ketchup, honey...."

For as loud as he had once been, the tall skeleton's voice seemed quiet now, despite it being a normal speaking volume as he inched closer to her. "There Was A Time When I Enjoyed Oatmeal That Hatched Creatures In It."

Rook blinked and stared at him a moment before looking back to her bag. Pushing a few things this way and that, she produced a small box with a cartoon dinosaur on it.

"These?" She questioned, holding them out to him.

Perhaps she imagined it, but at that moment Rook could've sworn that the small pecks of light in his sunken eye sockets turned into miniature stars. He crossed the space between them in three large strides, but stopped short of taking the box from her hand.

He looked between her and the box a moment, prompting Rook to push it closer to his outstretched hand.

"Go ahead, it's all yours."

He finally took it from her like she was handing him the holy grail. "...Why?"

"Why not?" Rook shrugged and went back to her own oatmeal. "If people didn't share with me, I wouldn't be alive." She looked up at the tall skeleton. "My name's Rook, by the way. You're Papyrus right?"

The sound of his name seemed to snap him out of whatever daze he was in. "YES! I AM THE GREAT PAPYRUS! I HAVE DEVISED SEVERAL PUZZLES AND TRAPS TO CAPTURE YOU HUMAN ROOK!"

Rook smiled at him. "I like puzzles, that sounds fun."

*****

There was something laughably insane about watching the two skeleton brothers interact. They explained the puzzle well enough, but then got sidetracked as they started arguing about frisbees.

In a strange way, it comforted Rook to observe the classic siblings dynamic.

Looking away from the still arguing pair, she turned her eyes to the orb she'd been given. It looked like a regular nick-nack, but supposedly it would guide her through the skeleton brother's first puzzle.

Watch yourself. Shadow muttered in her ear. I don't like this.

For the record, neither did she. The expanse of snow between her and the monsters looked far too innocent and unassuming.

Hang on. Was that...?

Something Rook had taken notice of in this strange underground forest was that the snow didn't shine. Not that there was any sunlight to reflect off of the frozen crystals, but whatever was lighting this place didn't do it either. The slush was matte and blank, like dust rather than water.

But was there? There was! Just about two feet in front of her something was sparkling under the snow. Only noticable if you had been looking for it, and clearly not meant to be there.

The sparkling looked odd, and not just because it was out of place. She wondered....

SNAP!

Rook gasped and jumped backwards, falling flat on her butt as her feet slipped from under her. Tossing the orb in the sparkle's direction had indeed yield result; a huge bear trap had popped out from the snow and clamped shut. It's razor teeth were rusty, but certainly effective enough to chop her in half.

The noise had caught the skeleton's attention, both turning to stare at her in shock.

"WOWIE!" Papyrus finally broke the silence. "SHE SOLVED THAT PUZZLE ON THE FIRST TRY! FINALLY, A HUMAN WORTHY OF BEONF MY PRISONER!"

"Wait...how did she know...."

"GASP!" the taller skeleton said, putting his gloved hands on his cheeks. Cheekbones? "ONLY FOUR PUZZLES LEFT! AND STILL WITH THREE FREEBIES! HURRY SANS! WE MUST PREPARE THR NEXT CHALLENGE!" Papyrus took off, dragging his brother behind him by the hood of his jacket.

Rook laughed in spite of everything. Take away the fear for her life, and that was kinda cool.

How did you do that?

"By getting extremely lucky." Rook muttered, rubbing at her neck subconsciously. Kindness or no, Papyrus hadn't seen it to make his 'puzzles' any less deadly.

Not that she blamed him, logically. One act of kindness certainly didn't make up for whatever these two had been through. Statistics didn't follow an outlier after all.

Sha had been like that once, but it hadn't stopped the people she met from being kind to her.

Least she could do was pay it forward while she tried to stay alive.

#undertale imagines #undertale au #undertale #horrortale #horror papyrus #horror sans #horror story

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nerdy-bookworm-1998 · 4 years

Text

Steven’s Secret

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader; Platonic!Bucky Barnes x Reader Summary: Y/N has been very busy lately with juggling her job, studies and spending time with Steve Rogers, her boyfriend of two years, causing Steve to distance himself from her. What will happen when she hears him talking to Sharon about telling his girlfriend where he's been for the last three weeks? Words: 1785 Warnings: Angst, fluff, angst with a happy ending. A/N: If you liked this please leave feedback/reblogs and consider donating to my Ko-Fi and/or Patreon, links are in my bio. If you want to be tagged in future works please send me an ask. Also, a very big thank you to my bestie, @bookscoffeeandracoons for allowing me to bounce fic ideas off of each other.

Y/N and Steve have been dating for almost two years and for most of those years, the pair have been sickeningly happy, but lately, that seems to have changed. Steve has been avoiding her for the past three weeks, avoiding her calls and messages, getting up long before her and coming to bed long after she had fallen asleep, blowing her off with flimsy excuses of hanging out with Sam and Bucky when both of them claimed not to have seen him all day, and just the other day he had come home smelling like another woman's perfume.

Sure Y/N hadn't been at home as much lately since she was working on a big project that would help cement her career as a writer while also attending classes, working on papers, and studying for her finals to get her doctorate in English Literature, but she always made sure that she spent time with Steve so that he didn't feel neglected. She pondered all of this, looking for an explanation, or maybe a solution, as she slowly made her way to the kitchen for breakfast on Saturday morning.

She was just passing by the door to Steve's office when she heard loud voices coming from inside, sounding like Steve and Sharon. She hesitantly crept closer to the closed door and tilted her head to try and hear what they were saying.

"You need to tell her Steve!" Sharon was saying, "She deserves to know what's been happening these last few weeks, who you've been going to see and why!"

"I know that Sharon! I'm just waiting for the right moment," Steve sighs deeply and she can just picture him pinching the bridge of his nose, or maybe running his hands through his hair, "I'll tell her tonight, I'll order in her favorite food, light a few of those scented candles she likes, and I'll come clean about everything. I just hope that she can forgive me for keeping secrets from her when I know how important honesty is to her..." he trails off and y/n can no longer bear to stand there listening to how Steve is planning on telling her about how he's been seeing someone else.

Clapping a hand over her mouth so that she doesn't make a sound, she creeps past the door before sprinting down the hall. She slides into the kitchen just as the first tears fall and a heartbroken sob wrenches its way from her throat. Bucky, who had been busy making pancakes in a t-shirt and sweatpants with his hair tied back in a bun, spins around with the spatula in hand to see one of his best friends crumple to the floor. He quickly tosses the spatula aside and turns the burner off, moving the pan before hurrying to her side, wrapping both arms securely around her waist as she cries into his chest.

"Doll, what's wrong? What happened?" he asks gently once most of her crying had subsided as he slowly rubs comforting circles into her back.

"I-it's Steve, he's seeing someone else," she hiccoughs as she tries to get her breathing under control.

"Are you sure?" Bucky asks, unable to believe that anyone could be unfaithful to the woman in his arms, she was quite literally the closest he's ever gotten to meeting an angel.

"I heard him and Sharon in his office. She was telling him that he had to tell me what's been going on these last few weeks, and he said that he would do it tonight. I know that I've been very busy these last few weeks, but I've always made time for him, no matter what. Did I drive him into someone else's arms?" she asks as she pulls away from her friend's hold.

"No, doll, you've been the best girlfriend anyone could ask for, and if that punk can't see how hard you're trying to make everything work, then that's his loss, not yours," he replies hotly, "I'll tell you what, give me five minutes to put the batter in the fridge and get changed then meet me in the garage and I'll take you to my favorite diner in all of Brooklyn before we spend the day getting lost in the crowds of New York."

"Okay," she agrees with another soft sniffle before getting up from the floor with Bucky's help. She goes back to her room to clean up her face, change into jeans, a t-shirt and converse, brush her hair, and grab her purse before heading down to the garage to wait for Bucky.

He's already there, twirling the keys to his Audi around his finger. "Your carriage awaits, m'lady," he says in a posh voice while offering his arm which draws out the first real laugh she's had in weeks.

"Why thank you m'lord," she responds in an equally posh voice, wrapping her arm around his as they walk to the car.

Bucky drives her to a small, hole-in-the-wall diner in Brooklyn where they both get coffee, mushroom omelets, and apple pie for breakfast and desert. Once they've paid the check they spend the day getting lost in the stores of New York, trying on ridiculous outfits and taking pictures of each other. They decide on pizza for lunch before wandering down Central Park. All in all, it's a good day, since Bucky does everything in his power to distract her thoughts from Steve, even if he really wanted to slap some sense into his childhood friend.

Once the sun has set the pair make their way back to the tower, parting in the common room with a warm hug and a promise to do a friend's day again soon. Y/N slowly makes her way back to her and Steve's apartment, every step filling her stomach with dread. She pushes the door open and cautiously steps inside. The only available light comes from the hundreds of candles that line every available surface along with delicate red rose petals while soft classical music drifts from the speakers. The coffee table and couches had been pushed out of the way to make room for the picnic spread out in the middle of the floor with Steve standing next to it looking freshly showered and incredibly soft in a grey henley and black sweatpants, his hair still damp yet fluffy.

"Welcome home, sweetheart," he says with a soft smile as he approaches her to kiss her sweetly. "I hope you're hungry because I ordered all your favorites. Did you have a good day?" he asks, taking her coat before leading her over to the picnic.

She couldn't answer around the lump forming in her throat so she merely nodded, forcing a smile.

"I have something to confess," Steve sighs once they're seated.

However before she interrupts him before he can continue, "I know where this is going, and before you say anything I want you to know that I understand completely why you did it, I've been very busy lately and I haven't been able to spend as much time with you as I should have. I'm sure that I can find a new apartment, I might just need a few days, in the meantime, I can move my stuff to one of the empty apartments so that we don't have to see each other-"

Before she can continue rambling Steve cuts her off, "What are you talking about? Why would you move? What's going on?" he asks, confused as to what she's talking about.

"I heard you and Sharon talking this morning Steve, I know that you're seeing someone else and this whole dinner is your way of telling me that we're over," she says, her tone not betraying the turmoil she feels inside.

"What?! No! That's not what this is! That's not what's going on at all!" Steve exclaims, rushing to reassure his best girl that she's the only girl for him. "I've been taking massage classes for the last three weeks because I noticed how stressed you've been with everything that's going on and I wanted to do something nice for you by giving you a massage. The reason why Sharon knows is she walked in when I was going through the course options and gave me the name of a contact who could help me. I finished the course on Wednesday and she's been bugging me to tell you ever since, but I've been stalling because I wanted it to be as perfect as you are. Sweetheart, you mean absolutely everything to me and I could never, ever cheat on you, the very idea of that makes me sick to my stomach in a way that I haven't been since the New Year's Eve party when Thor brought his friends with him!" Steve exclaims, kneeling onto his knees and cupping her face gently in his hands, kissing away the tears that had started to fall during his confession.

"Please, believe me, sweetheart," he whispers, his lips hovering above her own.

"I believe you," she nods before pushing up to meet him in a soft kiss that says more than words ever could. They spend the next few moments just basking in each other's presence before they pull away. They spend the entire dinner hand-feeding each other small bites of food and trading soft kisses.

Once all the food was gone she went into their bedroom and stripped down to her pink lace boyshorts and laid down on the bed on her stomach with her arms at her sides. Steve walked in with a small holder on different scented aromatherapy oils. He uncorked a few of them, the scent of lavender, rose and jasmine perfuming the air as he mixed them with the carrier oil before pouring some into his palms and rubbing them together to warm them up.

"Just lay back and relax, sweetheart, I promise that I'll take good care of you," he whispers in her ear before kissing the back of her neck. He started at her shoulders, his fingers digging into her soft skin to work out the knots in her muscles as she let out an appreciative groan. He slowly worked his way down her back, arms and legs before coming back up.

By the time he had finished, she was completely boneless as she lay on the bed, snoring softly. Steve let out a soft chuckle as he went to wash his hands and grab a t-shirt for her. He dressed her in the soft grey cotton before tucking her under the covers, sliding in beside her, drawing her into his arms and kissing her forehead softly. "Goodnight, sweetheart," he whispered before letting sleep overtake him.

Tags:

@mcdesij @spiderrrling @arrow-guy @interestedbystanderwrites @murdocksmartinis @gwendelerynan @here2have-fun @bookscoffeeandracoons @bambamwolf87 @loricameback @rockrchick51 @love-nakamura @baebeepeach @timelordy-fangirl2 @jewelofwinter @caramell0w @jewels2876 @ladysergeantbarnes @notawritergettingtherethough @patzammit @fanfictionjunkie1112 @lumar014 @kirstie-evans-writes @robertdowneyhiddleston @lil-lex1 @dragonrosegardens @bookgirlunicorn @shadymidge @kaithezaftig @that-place-called-middle-earth

#marvel #avengers #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes #platonic!bucky barnes x reader #fluff #angst #angst with a happy ending

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unsettlingshortstories · 3 years

Text

Harlequin Valentine

Neil Gaiman (1999)

It is February the Fourteenth, at that hour of the morning when all the children have been taken to school, and the husbands have driven themselves to work, or have been dropped, steambreathing and greatcoated, at the rail station at the edge of the town for the Great Commute, when I pin my heart to Missy’s front door.

The heart is a deep dark red that is almost a brown, the colour of liver. Then I knock on the door, sharply, rat-a-tat-tat!

And I grasp my wand, my stick, my oh-so-thrustable and beribonned lance, and I vanish like cooling steam into the chilly air…

Missy opens the door. She looks tired.

“My Columbine,” I breathe, but she hears not a word. She turns her head, so she takes in the view from one side of the street to the other, but nothing moves.

A truck rumbles in the distance.

She walks back into the kitchen and I dance, silent as a breeze, as a mouse, as a dream, into the kitchen beside her.

Missy takes a plastic sandwich bag from a paper box in the kitchen drawer. She takes a bottle of cleaning spray from under the sink.

She pulls off two sections of kitchen towel from the roll on the kitchen counter. The she walks back to the front door.

She pulls the pin from the painted wood – it was my hat pin, which I had stumbled across… where? I turn the matter over in my head; in Gascony, perhaps? Or Twickenham? Or Prague?

The face on the end of the hat pin is that of a pale Pierrot. She removes the pin from the heart, and puts the heart into the plastic sandwich bag.

She wipes the blood from the door with a squirt of cleaning spray and a rub of paper towel, and she inserts the pin into her lapel, where the little white-faced August face stares out at the cold world with his blind silver eyes and his grave silver lips.

Naples. Now it comes back to me.

I purchased the hat pin in Naples, from an old woman with one eye. She smoked a clay pipe.

This was a long time ago.

Missy puts the cleaning utensils down on the kitchen table, then she thrusts her arms through the sleeves of her old blue coat – which was once her mother’s – then she places the sandwich bag with the heart in it determinedly into her pocket, does up the buttons - one, two, three – and sets off down the street.

Secret, secret, quiet as a mouse I follow her, sometimes creeping, sometimes dancing, and she never sees me, not for a moment, just pulls her blue coat more tightly around her, and she walks through the town, and down the old road that leads past the cemetery.

The wind tugs at my hat, and I regret, for a moment, the loss of my hat pin. But I am in love, and this is Valentine’s Day. Sacrifices must be made.

Missy is remembering in her head the other times she has walked into the cemetery, through the tall iron cemetery gates: when her father died; and when they came here as kids at All Hallows’, the whole school mob and caboodle of them, partying and searing each other; and when a secret lover was killed in a three-car pile-up on the interstate, and she walked until the end of the funeral, when the day was all over and done with, and she came in the evening, just before sunset, and laid a white lily on the fresh grave.

Oh, Missy, shall I sing the body and the blood of you, the lips and the eyes? A thousand hearts I would give you as your valentine.

Proudly I wave my staff in the air and dance, singing silently into the gloriousness of me, as we skip together down Cemetery road.

A low grey building, and Missy pushes open the door.

She says Hi and How’s it going to the girl at the desk, who makes no intelligible reply, fresh out of school, and filling in a crossword from a periodical filled with nothing but crosswords page after page of them…

The girl would be making private phone calls on company time if only she had somebody to call, which she doesn’t, and, I see, plain as elephants, she never will. Her face is a mass of blotchy acne pustules and acne scars and she thinks it matters, and talks to nobody.

I see her life spread out before me: She will die, unmarried, and unmolested, of breast cancer in fifteen years’ time, and will be planted under a stone with her name on it in the meadow by Cemetery Road, and the first hands to have touched her breasts will have been those of the pathologist as he cuts out the cauliflower-like stinking growth and mutters, “Jesus, look at the size of this thing. Why didn’t she tell anyone?” which rather misses the point.

Gently, I kiss her on her spotty cheek, and whisper to her that she is beautiful. Then I tap her once, twice, thrice, on the head with my staff, and wrap her with a ribbon.

She stirs and smiles.

Perhaps tonight she will get drunk and dance and offer up her virginity upon Hymen’s altar, meet a young man who cares more for her breasts than for her face, and will one day, stroking those breasts and sucking and rubbing them, say, “Honey, you seen anybody about that lump?” and by then her spots will be long gone, rubbed and kissed and frottaged into oblivion.

But now I have mislaid Missy…

The stench is unbearable, heavy and rancid and wreathed on the air. The fat man in the stained lab coat wears disposable rubber gloves. A dead man is on the table in front of him.

The fat man has not noticed Missy yet. He has made an incision, and now he peels back the skin with a wet, sucking sound, and how dark the brown of it is on the outside, and how pink, pretty the pink of it is on the inside.

Classical music plays from a portable radio, very loudly. Missy turns the radio off. “Hello,Vernon.”

“Hello, Missy. You come for your old job back?”

This is The Doctor, I decide, for he is too big, too round, too magnificently well-fed to be Pierrot, too unselfconscious to be Pantaloon.

His face creases with delight to see Missy, and she smiles to see him, and I am jealous; I feel a stab of pain shoot through my heart (currently in a plastic sandwich bag in Missy’s coat pocket), sharper than when I stabbed it with my hat pin and stuck it to her door.

And speaking of my own heart…

Missy holds out the plastic bag, “Do you know what this is?”

Vernon peers at it closely. “Heart,” he replied. “Kidneys don’t have the ventricles, and brains are bigger and squishier. Where’d you get it?”

“I was hoping that you could tell me. Doesn’t it come from here? Is it your idea of a valentine’s card, Vernon? A human heart stuck to my front door?”

“Don’t come from here. You want I should call the police?”

Missy shook her head. “I guess not. With my luck, they’ll decide I’m a serial killer and send me to the chair.”

Vernon: “Let’s see… adult, in pretty good shape, took care of his heart, cut out by an expert.”

I smile proudly at this, and bend down to talk to the dead black man on the table, with his chest all open and his calloused string-bass-plucking fingers.

“Go ‘way, Harlequin,” he mutters, quietly, not to offend Missy and his doctor. “Don’t you go causing trouble here.”

“Hush yourself. I will cause trouble wherever I wish,” I tell him. “It is my function. But, for a moment, I feel a void about me; I am wistful, almost Pierrotish , which is a poor thing for a harlequin to be.

Oh, Missy, I saw you yesterday in the street, and followed you into Al’s Super-Valufoods and More, elation and joy rising within me. In you, I recognized someone who could transport me, take me from myself.

In you I recognized my valentine. My Columbine.

I did not sleep last night, and instead I turned the town topsy and turvy, befuddling the unfuddled . I caused three sober bankers to make fools of themselves with drag queens from Madame Zora’s Revue and Bar.

I slid into the bedrooms of the sleeping, unseen and unimagined, slipping the evidence of mysterious and exotic trysts into the pockets and under pillows and into crevices, able only to imagine the fun that would ignite the following days as soiled and spilt-crotch fantasy panties would be found poorly hidden under sofa, cushions and in the inner pockets of respectable suits.

But my heart was not in it, and the only face I could see was Missy’s. Oh, Harlequin in love is a sorry creature.

I wonder what she will do with my gift. Some girls spurn my heart, others touch it, kiss it, caress it, punish it will all manner of endearments before they return it to my keeping. Some never even see it.

Missy: “Shall I incinerate it?”

“Might as well. You know where the incinerator is, and I meant what I said about your old job. I need a good lab assistant.”

I imagine my heart trickling up to the sky as ashes and smoke, covering the world. I do not know what I think of this, but, her jaw set, Missy shakes her head and she bids goodbye to Vernon the pathologist.

She has thrust my heart into her pocket and she is walking out of the building and up Cemetery Road and back into town.

I caper ahead of her. Interaction would be a fine thing, I decide.

Fitting word to deed I disguise myself as a bent old woman on her way to the market, covering the red spangles of my costume with a tattered cloak, hiding my masked face with a voluminous hood, and at the top of Cemetery Road I step out and block her way.

Marvelous, marvelous, marvelous me, and I say to her, in the voice of the oldest of women, “Spare a copper for a bent old woman, dearie, and I’ll tell you a fortune that will make your eyes spin with joy.”

“Here.”

And I have it in my head to tell her all about the mysterious man she will meet, all dressed in red and yellow, with his domino mask, who will thrill her and love her and never, never leave her (for it is not a good thing to tell your Columbine the entire truth), but instead I find myself saying, in a cracked old voice, “Have you ever heard of Harlequin?”

“Yes,” she answers, “character in the Commedia dell’arte . Costume covered in little diamond shapes. Wore a mask. I think he was a clown of some sort, wasn’t he?”

I shake my head, beneath my hood. “No clown,” I tell her. “He was…”

And I find that I am about to tell her the truth, so I choke back the words and pretend that I am having the kind of coughing attack, to which elderly women are particularly susceptible.

I wonder if this could be the power of love.

I do not remember it troubling me with other women I thought I had loved, other Columbines I have encountered over centuries now long gone.

I squint through old woman eyes at Missy; she is in her early twenties, and she has lips like a mermaid’s, full and well-defined and certain, and grey eyes, and a certain intensity to her gaze.

“Are you all right?”

I cough and sputter and cough some more and gasp, “Fine, my dearie-duck. I’m just fine, thank you kindly.”

“So. I thought you were going to tell me my fortune.”

“Harlequin has given you his heart. You must discover its beat yourself.” I hear myself saying these words, angry at my trickster tongue for betraying me.

She stares at me, puzzled. I cannot change or vanish while her eyes are upon me, and I feel frozen.

“Look! A rabbit!”

And she turns, follows my pointing finger, and as she takes her eyes off me I disappear – pop! – like a rabbit down a hole.

When she looks back, there’s not a trace of the old fortune-teller lady, which is to say me.

Missy walks on, and I caper after her, but there is not the spring in my step there was earlier in the morning.

Midday, and Missy has walked to Al’s Super-ValuFoods and More, where she buys a small block of cheese, a carton of unconcentrated orange juice, two avocados, and on to the County One Bank, where she withdraws two hundred and seventy-nine dollars and twenty-two cents, which is the total amount of money in her savings account, and I creep after her sweet as sugar and quiet as the grave.

“’Morning, Missy…” says the owner of the Salt Shaker Café, when Missy enters.

My heart would have skipped a beat if it were not in the sandwich bag in Missy’s pocket, for this man obviously lusts after her, and my confidence, which is legendary, droops and wilts.

I am Harlequin, I tell myself, in my diamond-covered garments, and the world is my harlequinade. I am Harlequin, who rose from the dead to play his pranks upon the living. I am Harlequin, in my mask, with my wand.

I whistle to myself, and my confidence rises, hard and full once more.

Missy was saying: “Hey, Harve. Give me a plate of hash browns, and a bottle of ketchup.” “That all?”

“Yes. That’ll be perfect, and a glass of water.”

I tell myself that the man Harve is Pantaloon, the foolish merchant that I must bamboozle, baffle, confusticate, and confuse.

Perhaps there is a string of sausages in the kitchen.

I resolve to bring delightful, disarray to the world, and to bed luscious Missy before midnight: my Valentine’s present to myself.

I imagine myself kissing her lips.

There are a handful of other diners. I amuse myself by swapping their plates while they are not looking, but I have difficulty finding the fun in it.

The waitress ignores Missy, whom she obviously considers entirely Harve’s preserve.

Missy sits at the table, and pulls the sandwich bag from her pocket. She places it on the table in front of her.

Harve-the-pantaloon struts over to Missy’s table, gives her a glass of water, a plate of hash-browned potatoes, and a bottle of Heinz 57 Varieties Tomato Ketchup.

“And a steak knife,” Missy said. As Harve turned, I stuck out my stick.

He stumbles. He curses, and I feel better, more like the former me.

I goose the waitress as she passes the table of an old man who is reading USA Today while toying with his salad.

She gives the old man a filthy look. I chuckle, and then I find I am feeling most peculiar. I sit down on the floor, suddenly.

“What’s that, honey?” the waitress asks.

“Health food, Charlene,” Missy replies, “Builds up iron.” I peep over the tabletop.

She is slicing up small slices of liver-coloured meat on her plate, liberally doused in tomato sauce, and piling her fork high with hash browns.

Then she chews.

I watch my heart disappearing into her rosebud mouth. My valentine’s jest somehow seems less funny.

She pops another scrap of raw gristle cut small into her mouth, and chews it hard, before swallowing.

Charlene, the waitress, goes past once more, with a pot of steaming coffee. “So what’s with the raw meat? You anemic?”

Missy replies, “Not anymore.”

And as she finishes eating my heart, Missy looks down and sees me sprawled upon the floor.

She nods. “Outside. Now.”

Then she gets up, and leaves ten dollars beside her plate.

She is sitting on a bench on the sidewalk, waiting for me. It is cold, and the street is almost deserted.

I would caper around her, but if feels so foolish now I know someone is watching. “You ate my heart.” I can hear the petulance in my voice, and it irritates me.

“Yes. Is that why I can see you?”

“I guess.” I answered. “Nobody’s ever done it before.” “Take off that domino mask. You look stupid.”

I did.

“Not much improvement,” she says. “Now, give me the hat. And the stick.” “I would prefer not to.”

Missy reaches out and plucks my hat from my head, takes my stick from my hand.

She toys with the hat, her long fingers brushing and bending it. Her nails are painted crimson. Then she stretches and smiles, expansively. The poetry has gone from my soul, and the cold February wind makes me shiver.

“It’s cold,” I say.

“No.” Missy replied. “It’s perfect, magnificent, marvelous, and magical. It’s Valentine’s Day, isn’t it? Who could be cold upon Valentine’s Day? What a fine and fabulous time of the year.”

The diamonds are fading from my suit, which is turning ghost-white, Pierrot -white.

“What do I do now?” I ask.

“I don’t know. Fade away, perhaps. Or find another role… a lovelorn swain, perchance, mooning and pining under the pale moon. All you need is a Columbine.”

“You are my Columbine.”

“Not anymore. That’s the joy of the harlequinade, after all, isn’t it? We change our costumes. We change our roles.”

She flashes me such a smile, now.

Then she puts my hat, my own hat, my harlequin-hat, up onto her head. “And you?” I ask.

She tosses the wand into the air: it tumbles and twists in a high arc, red and yellow ribbons twisting and swirling about it, and then it lands neatly, almost silently, back into her hand.

She pushes the tip down to the sidewalk, pushes herself up from the bench in one smooth movement.

She says to me: “I have things to do. Tickets to take. People to dream.” Then she leans over, and kisses me, full, and hard upon the lips.

Somewhere, a car backfired. I turned, startled, and when I looked back, I was alone on the street. I sat there for several moments, on my own.

“Hey, Pete,” Charlene calls from the doorway, “Have you finished out there yet?” “Finished? Finished what, Charlene?”

“C’mon. Harve says your ciggie break is over. And you’ll freeze. Back into the kitchen.” I stared at her. She tossed her pretty hair, and, momentarily, smiled at me.

I adjusted my white clothes, the uniform of the kitchen help, and followed her inside.

It’s Valentine’s Day, I thought.Tell her how you feel. Tell her what you think . But I said nothing, I dared not. I simply followed her inside, a creature of mute longing.

Back in the kitchen, a pile of plates was waiting for me: I began to scrape the leftovers into the pig-bin.

There was a scrap of dark meat on one of the plates, beside some half-finished ketchup-covered hash browns.

It looked almost raw… but I dipped it into the congealing ketchup and, when Harve’s back was turned, I picked it off the plate and chewed it down. It tasted metallic and gristly, but I swallowed it anyhow, and could not have told you why.

A blob of red ketchup dripped from the plate onto the sleeve of my white uniform, forming one perfect diamond.

I called across the kitchen. “Hey, Charlene, happy Valentine’s Day. And then I started to whistle.

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divineluce · 4 years

Text

Grounded || Ulfric & Luce

Location: Al’s diner

Timing: May 26th, 2020

Tagging: @big-bad-ulf and @divineluce

Description: Luce and Ulfric have a less than successful heart-to-heart. More of a guard-to-guard.

With a tired smile at the waitress who led them to their booth, Luce took a seat on one side, the material of her jeans sliding against the vinyl. “Thanks for lunch,” She said with an attempt at her typical grin and a flick of her hair over her shoulder. “Consider us working towards getting even.” As they sat there for a moment, Luce stared at her hands, at the small triangles tattooed onto her middle fingers. The alchemical symbol for fire. Her fire. She hadn’t really sat down to think about what had happened in the woods with the blue flames that had erupted from her hands. But, ever since that morning, she’d been unable to conjure up any other kind of flame. Her power hadn’t been diminished-- if anything, it was a stronger, hotter flame. But, the blue remained, no matter how she tried to channel the energy. Realizing that she’d just been staring at her hands for a while, Luce cleared her throat and looked across the table at her boss. “I hope those wards haven’t had to be put to use yet.”

It had been awhile since Ulfric had been to Al’s, not since before he’d found out Celeste worked there. But he missed his old haunt, and he’d grown accustomed enough to the former hunter’s presence that it wouldn’t be enough to stop him from enjoying his favourite lunch spot anymore. “You’re welcome, I know we’ve got a long way to go.” He replied, sinking into the familiar worn leather booth across from Luce. “Not yet fortunately, purposely or accidentally.” He assured her, the map she’d drawn out had made sure of the latter. He wanted to say something about her drawn out pause, and even more about her disappearance. It wasn’t like her, she’d always had a wildness to her that he appreciated, but she’d never just blown things off like that. He fiddled with the napkin dispenser absentmindedly, unsure how to bring it up, they usually stuck to banter not earnest heart-to-hearts. “The jewellery your sisters set us up with has come in handy, though.” He continued after a moment, thinking that was a logical, neutral topic to follow the one she’d brought up, and one that might provide some insight into if there was something going on with her at home. “I still need to think of a way to properly thank them.”

“Damn right we do.” Luce responded, though the words lacked her usual warmth or joking tone. She was just… going through the motions. It was all she could do to try and maintain the cocky bravado that usually came so easily to her. Now, in the wake of… Bea’s death? Her emotions were raw. She was exhausted, physically, mentally, emotionally. Weariness had settled into her bones, into the very core of who she was. But, she had to stay strong. Strong for Nell, for her only sister. “I’m glad to hear that.” She said with a nod. Running her hands over the laminated tabletop, she traced shapes onto the surface with her fingertip. Geometric patterns, wards, meant to call forth an inferno of flame and heat and death. But, without her pouring power into it, she was just drawing invisible designs onto the table. At the word “sisters,” her finger came to an abrupt halt, her blood running cold. Doing her best to recover, she wiped a nonexistent crumb off the table before nodding. “Yeah. I’m glad they could help. Don’t-- don’t worry about it. You don’t need to thank them.” She said, hoping her voice didn’t catch on the word “them.” There was no them. There was only her and Nell.

“Sure, I don’t have to, but I’d like to,” Ulfric countered, noticing her stammer. He probably could have picked up on an increased heart rate too if he’d been listening, but it would be rude to invade her privacy that way, when he considered her a friend. “Occasionally I do feel like being nice to someone just because I want to, it isn’t alway about being professional or… whatever else.” He vaguely alluded to the deep sense of pack loyalty he figured she was now at least a little aware of. “I just thought you might be able to give me intel on what kind of things they like, so I don’t send them something embarrassingly cliche like a crystal ball, or something.” Perhaps he was pushing the topic a little, but he did genuinely plan on sending them a proper thank you gift soon. A waitress carrying a pot of coffee strode past and he waved her down, to refill both of their cups. “You look like you could use some,” He suggested, hiding concern behind the light ribbing. “You never told me what you were drinking that night, anyway? Seemed like strong stuff.”

Luce’s lips pressed together in a tight lipped line as she glanced from her boss out the window of the diner. Outside, she could see people walking down the street. The sun was shining, there were birds flying from roof to roof of the various buildings, the flowers were in bloom. Further down the road, she could see a mother and her daughter walking down the road, hand in hand. A lump formed in her throat. She and Nell had decided not to tell their mother what had happened-- how could they? How could they tell her that kind of news, over the phone, when she was half a world away? Ulfric’s words filtered in through her thoughts and she let out a surprised chuckle. “Yeah… Maybe no crystal balls.” Swallowing, Luce nodded as she looked at the tabletop again. “Nell likes plants, she keeps a greenhouse. Something for that would be nice. Bea… candles. Candles are always good.” She said, forcing the words out as quickly as she could manage, as though the less time she spent thinking about them, the easier it would be to say. “Coffee sounds good.” She said with a polite nod and quiet thank you at the waitress who poured her a mug. “Uh… whiskey. Just whiskey.” Just lots of whiskey.

Ulfric smiled at Luce’s chuckle, glad that whatever was going on that she didn’t want to show, he’d still brought her a little amusement. “That’s much better than anything I would’ve come up with on my own,” he thanked her sincerely for her suggestions, making a note to pick out stop by the market on the weekend to pick something out for them both. Ulfric muttered thanks to the Waitress as well, and reclined further back into his seat, staring into his coffee and making every effort to sound casual as he asked, “And what was the occasion? Did your mime self ask you for a second date?” He joked, thinking maybe she’d let slip a bit more if he leant into keeping things light and humorous. “You know, the last woman I went out with actually ran away from me. Not that our outing counted as a date,” He clarified, taking a long sip of black coffee. “But, clearly I could benefit from some pointers from an expert.”

“Yeah. Yeah, no problem.” Luce managed with a nod as she poured creamer into her coffee and watched as blooms of light brown appeared in the mug of dark coffee. Stirring it with her finger, she didn’t even feel the way the heat burned against her skin. Instead, she just lifted the mug to her lips and took a drink. This was… normal. This was fine. She could hold it together for lunch with Ulf. She could do this. The coffee was scalding, but the bite of pain was a welcome relief to the numbness that had consumed her over the past four days. “No, nothing that fun and exciting. Just the… usual.” She said with a weak grin. Ulf had thought she’d just… cut loose for the weekend. She couldn’t blame him. She didn’t usually text him that she wouldn’t be in for work, not unless she was absolutely trashed after a night of debauchery and excess. The mention of Ulf’s own “not a date” situation felt like a buoy in the midst of a sea and she latched onto it as enthusiastically as she could. “Oh really? How’d you manage that one, huh? You didn’t try and convince her to try some pickled herring or something, did you?” She asked, doing her best to play up the teasing nature of her words. She could do this, she could make it through lunch.

“Hmm,” Ulfric hummed skeptically at her non-explanation, eyes narrowing slightly over the coffee cup at the contradictory state of her. Luce was clean, and dressed in her usual style, but the clothes were decidedly more rumpled than usual. The dark hollows under her eyes spoke of little sleep, and if he looked carefully he could make out various small bruises and scrapes that were reminiscent of someone who’d run through a dense thicket of woodland without wearing protective clothing or having the benefit of supernatural healing. He felt a little skeevy, assessing her in a way he normally reserved for hunters when he was trying to learn their weaknesses. But if he was doing it out of concern, and planned to use the information gathered to make things easier for her than surely a little clue collecting was okay? “It tastes better than you think. There are even sweet versions some people consider a treat,” he defended his national delicacy. “But no, she gave the classic, ‘It’s not you, it’s the smoke monster’. It’s… a long story,” he told her, enjoying the warm response he was getting, even if it was only because he’d given her ammunition to make fun of him with. It seemed like she needed it, since she wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders. “You had to be there.”

“I highly doubt that making it sweeter would make it any better.” Luce said, wrinkling her nose, “And this is coming from a girl who grew up eating korkorec, I feel like I really gave it the old college try. There’s just something off about the after taste that I can’t handle.” She said, thinking back to some of the traditional dishes that her mother had fed their family growing up. Which only brought a fresh wave of pain-- Bea had cooked like their mother. She’d cooked with more variety to her dishes, but there had been nights when Luce would come back from a shift and smell her sister’s iskembe corbasi wafting through the house, a bowl of hearty soup waiting for her in the microwave. “Uh huh? The smoke monster? You sure now how to show a girl a good time, don’t you.” She said with a shake of her head and another long sip from her coffee mug. “Maybe, but if you’re out there pulling moves on a lady, I’d really rather not.”

Ulfric shrugged, he would just have to bring another flavor to the Ink Inc. Yule Party this year, then she would change her mind. “There weren’t any moves,” he protested, beginning to regret creating this conversational trap for himself. “But fair enough. Look, I think we’re getting a little off track…” he started hesitantly, downing most of the remaining coffee in one gulp. “I asked you here because I got the sense that you might not be entirely… alright. And that’s alright, if they’re not, I just wanted to know if there was anything I could do?” He sighed, he’d never been any good at these kinds of speeches, it was much easier for him to leap into action than any discussion of feelings. “I know you’ll handle… whatever it is, but if I can do something to make it easier along the way, let me know? I need to work off my debt of favors somehow.” He thought it might make it simpler for Luce to accept or refuse his help if he said it was for that reason, though as he’d mentioned earlier it wasn’t always about obligation, there was care behind it too.

“Well, there’s your problem. No moves means no game.” Luce joked but the attempt at easy bravado faded when Ulfric changed the subject. Hands clasping the coffee mug tightly, her shoulders tensed as she waited for the shoe to drop. What was he going to ask? What was she going to say? What could she say? That… that Bea was dead? No. No, she couldn’t… Not here. Not now. But, as he began to talk, his voice soft and compassionate as he tried to offer her as much support as he could, Luce couldn’t help but wonder. If not here, where? If not now… when? And if not with Ulf, one of the people she trusted the most, one of the people she held in such high regard… who? The coffee in her cup began to boil and froth, the sound jolting her from her thoughts. Releasing the burning ceramic cup from her hands, Luce stared at the table for a moment before speaking, “No, things aren’t alright. And I don’t know if they’re ever going to be alright again. But,” Luce took a deep breath before looking at her boss from behind sad, tired eyes, “Thank you. For asking. There’s nothing you can do, but, thank you.”

Ulfric flinched back quickly, dodging boiling coffee as it spilled over onto the table, but otherwise didn’t call Luce out on it. “Okay, I understand,” he said simply instead, swallowing any disappointment that he wasn’t able to be of more service after she’d been so helpful dealing with the Bennett situation. Whatever was affecting her it wasn’t about him. The waitress passed again eyeing the mess. “Sorry, I get clumsy,” he took the blame, slipping an extra tip in with the bill before starting to wipe it up with a fistful of napkins. “No harm in asking, right? See you back in the shop as usual tomorrow?”

Watchng the way he flinched back, Luce mentally kicked herself for losing control like that. She shouldn’t have lost her cool like that. Grabbing some napkins, she also began to sop up the boiling liquid, not at all bothered by the heat. “Thank you. Really,” Luce said quietly as she cleaned. “It means a lot to me, that you’d offer to help. Means a lot to… my family. But, this is something I have to handle myself.” She said before shutting her mouth as the waitress came by. Typical Ulf, taking the fall for her. What a guy… He deserved to have someone better working for him. As Luce gathered up the coffee soaked napkins into a pile, she glanced over at him. “Yeah. I’ll be there.” She’d be there for Ulfric. She couldn’t let him down. She’d already let down so many others, she couldn’t drop the ball here too. “Bright and early.”

#p: ulfric haakonsson #p: g #wickedswriting

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mskinkyafro · 5 years

Text

In This Together (Ethan x MC)

A/N: So don’t get me wrong I loved chapter 16, however I do not agree with MC working with Landry at all. Anyway I’m essentially rewriting parts of this chapter on how I preferred/imagined it with MC going to Ethan when they figured out what’s been slowly killing Naveen. I’ll be using most dialogue and scenes from the chapter, but adding my own dialogue and moments as well. So this is a canon divergence fic.

SideNote: In my play-through, Naveen was kept at the hospital. Also PB still hasn’t introduced Jenner, but I have in a previous fic. Anyway my HC for the dog will be present again in this fic.

Summary: After realizing what’s killing Dr. Banerji, Katrina goes to enlist Ethan’s help to immediately begin his treatment.

Rating: PG-13/T. Slight cursing, a F bomb is in this fic and also some suggestive sexual situations/heavy petting.

“Holy shit! Landry...your a genius!” Katrina exclaims as she scrambles to her feet. She paces back and forth in the living room muttering to herself as she stops in front of the large window pane. She leaves Landry, Nikita the chinchilla, and Gigi the Fennec fox looking at her curiously. All the while Pistachio the tortoise glares at Katrina with his small beady eyes because she woke him from his slumber.

The grumpy reptile squeals at young woman drawing her away from her thoughts to look at the small creature. Katrina picks up the tortoise and places a small kiss on its head.

“Aww did I interrupt your nap, Pistachio? I’m sorry. You go back to sleep. I promise I’ll be more quiet.”

Katrina places the tortoise back down and he grumpily lets out another squeal before settling into his shell to sleep. Katrina then quietly cheers as she spins in a circle.

Landry still confused stands from the floor and walks over to Katrina and taps her on the shoulder.

“Umm you care to enlighten me, Katrina?”

She stops moving abruptly and turns to him.

“What?”

“You said I was a genius. I mean, I like to think so, but...why?”

“Oh I didn’t really mean that. That was just the after effects of the light bulb turning on in my head. I think you’re a dumbass.”

Landry’s expression turns sours as he sarcastically speaks

“Wow Katrina. Tell me how you really feel about me.”

Katrina runs her hands through her afro frantically as she thinks. She grabs her cell phone as she looks around the room one final time.

“Oooh I’d love to. Trust me I really would, but I have something important to do right now. I just figured out what’s killing Dr. Banerji so I’ll take a raincheck.

“What?”

“Yeah I know. Makes you think maybe I actually deserved those rankings that I earned.”

“Katrina--” Landry begins to talk but she cuts him off with her hand and calmly but sternly raises her voice.

“Look, you made your choice! Just like I made the choice to give Mrs. Martinez a chance to live her life, you made the choice to throw me to the wolves. Over what? A competition? No it’s more than that. Just another classic case of jealousy.

Landry face grows dark and he angrily says

“I told you already.! What you did was unethical and poor Mrs. Martinez’s family-”

Katrina’s voice cuts him off again.

“If that was true, then you would’ve came to me from the moment you decided to tell her family. Given me the courtesy instead of blindsiding me. If you were truly concerned you would’ve asked Chief Emery to organize a meeting with herself and the family to discuss your concerns. However, you acted in such a sly way. So, stop lying to me and yourself and admit that you only spoke up because you’re concern was getting rid of me indefinitely from the competition, not Mrs. Martinez family.”

Katrina’s hands are balled up and she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath before continuing.

“But it’s like you said, it doesn’t even matter now. So tell me...was it worth it?

“And so only you had to make hard choices!? You think this is I wanted things to turn out?! Look what happened Katrina! I got forced out from my apartment and everyone treats me like some villain! I’m alone! All because they were foolish of...”

“Don’t you get it?! All that’s happened to you is the consequences of your actions! Just like I have my own. Awaiting my hearing, potentially losing my medical license, I accept what’s to come. Why can’t you accept yours?

Landry’s angry slowly fades from his face and regret morphs into his expression as his eyes cast down to the ground as Katrina’s word sink in.

“When are you going to realize that the only person responsible for what has happened to you, is yourself? You’re negligence and incompetence is something I refuse to take the blame for.

She shoots him a glare then turns on her heal and heads towards the front door.

Landry speaks softly causing her to pause in her place.

“This isn’t what I expected to happen. I didn’t want it to end this way, but maybe this was inevitable...however, for what it’s worth I’m--”

“No. I don’t want to hear it and I don’t want your apology. What’s done...is done.” she whispers loud enough for Landry to hear as she inches to the door.

As she leaves, always being a clumsy person she almost falls face first from tripping on Landry’s stuff, knocking it’s contents back on the ground. She looks down on it and continues to door.

Landry calls out to Katrina in irritation as she opens the door to leave.

“Hey! Really?!”

“I would say sorry...but I really don’t give a fuck.” she yells as she exits her apartment.

“Damn. I was so close for the perfect dramatic exit.my clumsy ass ruined it.” she mumbles to herself.

As she walks out her complex she looks down at her phone and dials Ethan’s number. Placing it to her ear she listens as it rings once before it automatically sends her to his voicemail. She curses but waits to hear the beep to leave a message.

“Ethan! Call me back as soon as you get this message! It’s urgent!”

She ends the call and checks the time before she races to the trains to ride to the library to research her theory pick up some medical textbooks as evidence and then head to Ethan’s.

Two hours passe before Katrina finds herself in front Ethan’s door. She ferociously knocks on the door.

“Ethan! Dr. Ethan Ramsey, it’s Katrina, let me in!”

She stands there waiting to here the man shuffle to the door besides the excessive barking of Jenner. After five minutes she becomes antsy and reaches for the door knob and discovers that the door is unlocked. Katrina lets herself in and is greeted by a hyper Australian Shepherd.

The force of Jenner makes her drop the books she’s carrying.

“Woah! Hello again, Jenner. Where’s Daddy?” she asks between giggles as she pets the dog.

Jenner barks loudly and jumps down from Katrina tugs at her shirt to lead her through the apartment. She lets the dog lead her toward the back of Ethan’s home towards his bedroom. He barks one last time as he pushes the door to his owner’s room wider.

She sees a lump in the bed move and grunt out slurred words.

“Hush boy...I’m trying to sleep.”

Katrina shakes her head disbelievingly. She bends down to scratch the blue merle furred animal under his chin.

“Such a good boy. Thank you sweet baby.”

The dog rubs his head lovingly into her touch before retreating back to another room in the apartment leaving Katrina to wake up Ethan. She walks up to the his side of the bed and pulls the covers back to find him sleeping and smelling of scotch. Katrina watched him for a few seconds, hesitating to disrupt him. She noticed how calm he looked, almost all his worry lines seem to be invisible as he slept. Hearing a snore escape his lips, draws her away from her thoughts and reminds Katrina why she needs to get him up.

“Ethan! Get your ass up! It’s the middle of the day!”

He doesn’t stir, seemingly unbothered by Katrina’s voice. Rolling her eyes at him she takes a hands on approach to waking him by climbing onto the bed and straddling him over the sheets. Her hand traces his cheek which cause Ethan to open his eyes slowly, confused yet pleased to see her as he registers that she’s really there in front of him. Katrina melts as she feels his strong arms instinctively wrap around her waist.

“Kat? What are you…”

“It’s not everyday you wake up to an angel is it?” she grins at him.

“No it’s not. But I wouldn’t mind making it routine. Especially if I can…”

His words trail off as his eyes pierce into Katrina’s putting them into a familiar trance. His hands slowly roam down from her waist to gently squeeze her ass to circle back up to run over her smooth coffee hue skin. Next his hands slide to wrap around to the front of her chest to massage her ample breasts from under her bra, his eyes never breaking contact with hers.

Distracted by his touch, Katrina lets her eyelids shut and moans softly

“Ethan…”

Unexpectedly she feels the shift as he pushes her back with him towering over her. Placing her pressed between the top of his sheets and half of his naked body. He leans over to press a small kiss on her lips, then turns to pepper her neck with light lovebites before reaching her ear lobe. He pauses and whispers

“...Get you right where I want you, To have you all to myself.”

She watches him with desire, momentarily forgetting why she rushed over here, anxiously waiting for him to continue his assault on her body. Ethan swiftly moves his head down further, but pauses as he winces in pain. His hangover making its presence known.

He sits up and retracts himself from Katrina, leaving her to calming her breathing as she perches herself using her elbows.

“Wait? Are you hungover right now?”

Through the pain he manages to look towards her and smirks slightly.

“Perhaps a little. You kept me up very late last night, Kat. And my tolerance isn’t what it was in med school.”

She sits herself up and crawls on the bed to wrap her arms around Ethan, her curls tickling his face as she leans over his shoulder.

“Aww! Is someone getting old?” she teases.

“I’m only six years older than you. Plus, I didn’t hear any complaints about me being old last night. If I remember correctly, it seemed you could hardly keep up, you kept falling asleep.” he retorts back.

“That’s because I’ve never orgasmed so many times in one night. I’m surprised my legs are functioning still.”

“Well I’m one to do things to perfection. The goal was to leave you crawling out of here not walking.”

Despite the pounding in his head he unravels Katrina’s arms and moves to pin her back on the bed, but she stops him.

“As tempting as that is...you need to get dressed and sobered up. I already wasted enough time. ”

She moves off the bed to stand up and inches her way to the door.

“Dr. Banerji needs us.”

She places her hand on the wall near the door but turns around to see him pause after he pulls his boxers and pants on.

“Naveen? I can’t face him again, Katrina. I failed him. I told you, it’s over--”

Katrina walked back over to him, standing in between his legs and places her finger to his lip to stop his speech.

“I solved it.”

She begins to explain her theory and all that she read up on, and the solution to treat him. She watches as his eyes grow in realization as she finishes talking.

“My god...You’re right!” Ethan exclaims as he bolts from his sitting position to grip her shoulders. Unexpecting his next move, Ethan picks her up from the waist and swings her around in a small circle before placing her back down.

He rubs his hands through his hair, his eyes glistening slightly.

“I’m sorry. But it’s truly extraordinary! You’re brilliant...I just…”

“I know. But we can’t celebrate for long if I can’t find a way into Naveen’s room. I need to test my theory and if right, you’re the only you can perform the phage therapy.”

“Alright. Let me get dressed.” he says seriously. He turns to grab his signature gray sweater and plaid shirt, but winces again and touches his temple and sits back down on the edge of his bed, tossing his shirts to the side.

“You don’t look so good.

“I’ll admit I’ve felt better. I’ll be fine just...give me a moment.”

“We need to get rid of your hangover. You need to be at your best.”

“I don’t need you to take care of me, Kat.”

She steps closer to Ethan.

“No? Because it damn sure looks like you do?”

He smiles despite the pain.

“Well...if it’s doctor’s orders.” he says as he surrenders.

Katrina runs one of her hands through his thick wavy hair, toying with the few loose strands. He lets his eyes close as he leans into her touch.

“I’ve always been by your side. We’re in this together, so get used to having a partner in crime. Ethan, let me take care of you.” she says softly.

“If...if you insist.” he looks up at Katrina, his eyes showing all the pain and stress he tries to hide.

Katrina smiles at him and places a soft kiss to his forehead before gently grabbing his hand and leading him into his kitchen.

Once they enter she leads him to a stool then turns to rummage through his cabinets.

“I just need fluids. We could drive across town to the hospital and grab some banana bags for the I.V.”

“That sounds nice and all but I have something even better. Dr. Michaels’ Miracle Hangover Cure. I invented for my friends in college and although it tastes horrific, it works like magic! ”

“Now I’m scared. On second thought, I rather have the hangover.” he ribs as he leans onto the counter as she continues to rifle through his kitchen.

She laughs aloud and responds to his teasing.

“You’re such an ass. Didn’t anyone tell you not to mess with the people who handle your food and drinks?”

“That’s not the first time someone’s called me that. And I supposed I’ve heard that piece of advice here and there.

“Hmmm, well you’re lucky you’re handsome and I’m such an saint. Oh perfect! You have everything I need!”

“Dare I ask what’s in it?”

“I’m glad you did!”

Katrina launches into details of what’s in her cure as Ethan watches with a mixture of fascination, skepticism, and disgust. After blending the items up she pours it in a tall clear glass and slides it to him.

“It’s amazing what black coffee, cactus, and some cayenne pepper does to heal the body.” she says

“Or possibly slowly kill the body. You sure this will help, it looks horrific.” as he holds the glass, looking over the drink.

“Don’t you trust me? Absolutely! Stop stalling and drink already.”

“Not so fast.” he grabs another glass and pours some of the drink into the other for Katrina.

“You’re going on this journey with me. You said we’re in this together, that includes monstrosities like this. Bottoms up.”

“Well I meant along the lines, oh I don’t know...being your first mate, the Bonnie to your Clyde, or the Cher to your Sonny, but if this gets you to drink already…” she rolls her eyes but a smile creeps it’s way onto her lips as she grabs the glass.

The two take a sip at the same time and it takes all of Katrina’s strength to not contort her face in horror. Ethan isn’t as trained and immediately moves the drink from his lips.

“My lord, Rookie. That’s an abomination!”

“I know. I know it takes nasty but you have to finish it.”

Ethan grimaces at the drink before shutting his eyes and gulping the entire glass down in seconds.

“Well?”

“Well, what? It’s not like my hangover is going to evaporate right aw-- Oh my god, it worked. I...can’t believe it. What the hell?” he says in shock and disbelief.

Katrina walks around the counter near his seat and leans back and crosses her arms over her chest with a smug grin climbing her face.

“I told you it’s magic. My work here is done. Now let’s get ourselves to Dr. Banerji to tell him the good news.”

She stands straight and heads to pick up the books she dropped earlier but notices Ethan isn’t moving, he stands next to a wall gazing at a hanging photo of him and Naveen receiving an award. She walks back over to him.

“You can do this. We have an answer.”

He doesn’t tear his focus from the photo.

“I know I can do it. I know. That’s not what I’m afraid of. I don’t know...I don’t know if I can face him again after I betrayed his only wish. How can I ever forgive myself for that.”

She steps so that her hand rests on his bare arm. He turns to face Katrina.

“Ethan, you did what you thought was right. It’s what you thought you had to do.”

“And I was wrong.”

“Maybe you were. You’re human. I know it doesn’t seem like it but even you can make a mistake. You’re allowed to be wrong. But now...there’s another choice. Forgive yourself...or don’t. At least at this moment. Because your mentor, friend, and...father figure needs you. Forgiveness can wait.”

“...Forgiveness can wait.” he repeats quietly as he reaches out to gently stroke her cheek, subconsciously drawing her closer to him.

Closing the distance between the two, Katrina presses her plump lips delicately to Ethan’s. His arms immediately slide around her waist, pulling her closer and meshing her body into his. She feels him kiss back urgently, eagerly, and passionately. Katrina never knew one could pour such emotion into a single kiss.

He pulls away and Katrina sees the adoration in his eyes as he looks down at her in his arms.

“What was that for?” h asks breathlessly.

“For luck. I thought it beat a four leaf clover or a silly rabbit’s foot.”

“I see. Though I appreciate the sentiment, I don’t need luck....”

He pulls Katrina into his arms so that she’s pressed against his bare lean chest. He let’s one hand tangle in her wild hair and roughly grip her head back to reveal her neck while one finger from his other hand trails up til it reaches her chin. Katrina shivers from his touch.

“...because I have you.”

“Have you always been so smooth?”

“I like to think so.”

“Sure...it’s annoying how charming you can be. I hate it.”

“You love it.”

“Look who’s ego is big now.” Katrina smirks.

Ethan finds her lips with his and the two continue to do so over and over again until they become lost in heady kisses. Soon Katrina finds herself once again drunk from his taste and his scent. In between kisses she manages to whisper his name

“Ethan…”

Their lips find one another once more tongues battling for dominance but ultimately Katrina’s succumbs to Ethan’s as she feels his hand gently squeeze the side of her neck causing her arousal to grow. Finally, she pulled away to catch her breath and Ethan presses his forehead to hers, smirking.

“I would say sorry, but I’m not one bit.

“Good, because I’m not either. But we really need to go, tell Naveen, and get the supplies. In this situation it’s literally life or death.”

“That was in poor taste.”

“Was it? I thought it was clever and witty.”

Ethan shakes his head bemused.

“You’re a nerd...Oh by the way, don’t say anything about us to Naveen, okay?”

“Are you embarrassed of me?”

“Nothing of the sort. I just don’t want to give the man the satisfaction of knowing he was right about us. He never let me hear the end of it.”

Katrina laughs and pushes Ethan back to his room.

“Another thing Ethan Ramsey loves to protect, his pride. Now go put your shirt on and let’s go.”

He goes into his room and throws on the rest of his clothes and together him and Katrina drive to Edenbrook to see Dr. Banerji.

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