#i made the damn duo name this is so unreal | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

joannasteez · 3 years

Note

Hey sis, if you're taking requests imma need some knife!kink or gun!kink with Ez pleaseeeeeee🥵🥵🥵🥵

I just imagine he's getting ready to head out and putting his gun in his waistband and his knife in the sheath and you're on the bed all but drooling over him wearing that godforsaken muscle tee looking like a damn snack. You purr his name, crawl to the end of the bed all dramatically giving him bedroom eyes. You take his knife or gun from behind him while he's kissing you, lay back down and drag it all over your body, bonus points if he takes the knife and cuts your lingerie off 😫😫😫😫

Ya girl is thirsty as hell, and we both know if I start writing this it's gonna be a WIP forever lol

Anyways, this gif has me screaming for days on end, it's my favorite episode because of the brother duo, but also baby boy in that fit🤰🏾🤰🏾🤰🏾

Pairing: EZ Reyes x Black Reader (anyone can still read of course) || Warning⚠️: DNI if you are a minor please, this work of fiction is 18+. Please use discretion upon reading. Rope/Blindfold/Knife use is present and talked about in detail as well as spanking and choking. Once again for your own safety and to avoid the possibility of triggers please use discretion!!!

A/N: I just wanna say that I hate you with all my heart for sending this request, but also…. ily very much, terribly mixed feelings on how crazy this drove me I must say. This became more collaborative the more we spoke about it so a couple of things changed from the initial ask you all see above but me and my co-conspirator spoke about them extensively as I just stated so she knows what’s what.

Word Count: 8.5k

Also…. THANKS FOR 700 Followers!!!💋

Taglist: @my-rosegold-soul @appropriate-writers-name @est1887 @xladymacbethx @blessedboo @brownsugarcoffy @elektriknachosss @queenbeered @sesamepancakes @superhoeva @witching-hour @noz4a2 @rae-gar-targaryen @rose-bliss @youlovetkay

𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘

He loved your eyes, loves your eyes. Bound to such unapologetic expressions always. They sparkled in times of elation, twinkling like heaven made stars, slitting low to give way for the gladdened aching rise of your cheeks, but even in their sadness, gleamed a perfect sorrow. Rounding soft and vulnerable, a captivating grief, having stared into their depths on numerous occasions and seeing all of you so clearly, and if he dared hard enough, could see the whole of himself too. You were unreal. But what made his heart race, what really got him going was the slow flutter your lashes took, the gentle way they curved in their shape to kiss faint over the peak of your cheeks. In your neediness, in your mischief, you'd bat them, fanning like feathers ethereal and patient, entrancing him something silly before you got your way. But that hadn't worked tonight.

Not one bit.

No tonight, you had a smoldering fire lit, burning the tender brown to deliver something much more unforgiving. You'd asked him to stay and he was leaving anyways, he deserved every fiery look he got.

"Stop pouting, I won't be gone long".

It was shitty, the whole 'I won't be gone long' routine, but at least it wasn't full of shit anymore. He'd learned a while ago to stop saying 'I promise' because he for damn sure couldn't keep them all. No one could. But what assurance he did give, despite the intended sincerity, was hollow. A beautifully wrapped box decorated with gold trimmings, diamonds and pearls, containing nothing but the air and energy it took to form that damned sentence. It stained your memory, bitter taste rolling smooth on your tongue every time he kissed you with those words. The pitchy clink of his wallet chain and the ruffling of that God forsaken muscle shirt just seemed to make everything worse, solidified his dust covered, skin bruised, sunrise arrival and the steady brew of your attitude. Was it too much to ask?, for him to just stay?

The bed dipped with the weight of him, fingers warm and hard-worked, but soothing still in the way they slipped up your thighs. A typical attempt at easing your annoyance away. "You ignoring me now?" Lips a sweet cupid's bow shape, twitching slightly. He found it amusing, the mildly formed 'tantrum' fermenting inside you.

You'd show him just how funny you could be.

It was minuscule, the dilation of your earthy eyes, black edging slow to burn up and smolder that endearing brown, but he saw it clear as day. Something shifting, sudden, like the grinding twist of a gear long forgotten, the rumbling of earth trembling beneath his toes, dormancy, of some wild volcano, no more. He saw it all in your eyes, in the sudden way you stepped smooth over to the closet, phone abandoned now on the bed, idle and of no use, your fingers working to comb through the crowded hanging of clothes with a rising determination. Pieces of him faltered, unsure, 'what the hell were you up to?'

"I'm going out with Xavier and a couple of other friends"

His chuckle was dry, mirthless. You could be exacting at times, so unbelievably precise with your pettiness. It wasn't enough to sink the metaphorical knife into him, you loved the twisting feel of it too much, the sharp, ripping tear and doing away with of his placid resolve, his patience. He was vocal about how he felt about him, about Xavier, that handsome bitch. And it was a shame really, because the potential to like him was there, it really was, but Ezekiel couldn't get over how confident the guy was concerning the obvious infatuation he had for you. It wasn't obsessive, nothing that caused concern, but Ezekiel's irritation lived and breathed well regardless.

The more he thought on it the hotter, faster, wilder his blood rushed. The way Xavier looked at you, with such high regard, hearts in his damn eyes, an endeared stare. Intimate, similar to his own. And he was delicate, not because you were fragile, but because he just thought of you enough to show you that type of gentleness. Thoughtful words and sweet touches, you were oblivious to it all, to their heartfelt meanings, but you knew how it all made him feel and you'd made it a point to specify who you'd be with anyways. Low blow baby, low freakin' blow.

"Your car is still in the shop, so how are you getting there, where ever you going?"

don't say it, don't say it, don't you dare-

"He's coming to pick me up".

You're real nonchalant about all of this, moving about the room like what you're doing doesn't irritate him. Like it doesn't sting the strongest parts of his ego.

And then you're dressed, faster than he's ever seen. If you were looking to rile him up, set his blood ablaze, you'd done it, and you'd done it damn well.

His eyes are hard, a glaring pool of expanding black. Jaw set tight. "You wearing that?"

You give him nothing, not even the smallest glance. "I got it on right?"

For a moment, a few seconds that feel too much like eternity, he doesn't know what to do with himself, doesn't know how to maneuver about the shifting dynamic. Maybe he's gotten too comfortable?, eyes furrowing as deep as your own had been just minutes before, the slip of your foot into a high heel jumpstarting the beginnings of some fizzling sensation, a frenzy of some sort but he's not sure what. 'But yeah', he thinks, that's it, too comfortable, too heavily situated in the ways you accepted everything. You'd rolled with the punches, gave into his wants with resignation, a myriad of "yes", "fines" and "ok's" whispering disappointed off your mouth because it was just easier to agree than to argue with him. Because club shit was club shit, and you couldn't fight with that, fight against that. Right? He'd wandered in the light of your accepting ways, dazed himself silly with the way you picked up after him, all the broken, dusted, bloody, mangled pieces and now he was feeling stunned and a bit stupid. That's it, the frenzy roaming about him. Stunned.

He sheathes his knife to the low end of his back, the slim tells of his stunned expression turning over slow, twisting into something more fixed. "Change into something else".

"Not happening".

Vexation falls on his shoulders heavy, weighing him down, tears through him like an anchor drowning in water. "It's a good thing I wasn't asking". It's the circumstance that's got him wound up tight, it has to be. It's the dress, his favorite freakin' thing you've ever bought, it's that damn Xavier, and it's the look dancing sneakily in your eyes. Ezekiel's never been one to fall easy to goading, but you've got a way about you, a force that drives him fast to a possessiveness that isn't at all inherent. At least he doesn't think it's inherent. He could be wrong though, terribly wrong.

The other heel glides onto your shoeless foot, a laugh mixing menacing with the air. "Fuck you".

It's measured, the way be moves over toward you, curious but intimidating, cold eyed and calculating like a starved wolf. The steady swelter of tension thickening to a sure palpability. You feel it well, an exhilarating sensation, like the tease of fingertips playing dangerous along the flickering licks of a growing flame. He is the fire, and if you aren't careful, he will consume you. This is a promise your better judgement whispers, rushing out in a chilled cautious hurry for your own sake, but it gets lost, flows in and filters out. You can't hear anything, nothing sensible at least, not while he's advancing toward you, steps sedated, and your own reversing till you're a hairs breadth away from the wall. You're not sure what you're waiting for, but the gentleness is surprising. The soft pull he gives the thin strap of your dress, the light touch against your skin, the tenderness gracefully rounding his eyes, a lonely thumb caressing your jaw.

"You know how much I love this dress". Sincerity pours over his features like torrential rain, till a cloud rolls over, the booming strength of thunder bold in his hand, grip becoming solid on your jaw, and then like a whip, lightening cracks loud, emboldens his shoulders to square. Surrounds you like some inescapable fortress. He's everywhere. "Don't fuck with me like this. Change into something else or you stay your ass here".

The rush you feel is cold and waking, defiant, like an unstoppable winter wind. It takes you, tethers to your resolve, chills your nerve and makes it steadfast. Immovable. Lips closer now, a smirk peaking, resistance never felt so good. "Fuck you Ezekiel".

It's all been up in the air till this moment, and the daring, dangerous moments that follow. He's too enraptured in the terseness of your tone, how it juxtaposes the alluring faint touch of your lips. Ezekiel is confused, a little conflicted. This is all new, uncharted territory. He's at the end of his road, the map is finished and he's directionless, standing on the edge of a rather unreliable cliff. The waters are deep below him, waves crashing rough, and he's unsure. Should he take the leap? Fall for your bait? Should he jump? Decisions, decisions... sometimes you don't make them, sometimes they're made for you. And that's what you do, you un-sheath the knife from the leather hold, not because you're in danger, but because it feels good. With this, the shifting dynamic favors you again, power favors you again, and so you press the tip into his exposed chest. You make the decision for him.

'So that's it', he thinks. 'I jump'.

"Do it". Voice raw, husky, and it's your turn to be stunned. The stronger, more resilient pieces of you faltering. 'Is he serious?'. The question sending you in an endless wonder, till amusement appears again. Swirls friendly with the pool of black in his glare. He thinks you're bluffing. "Go ahead baby. Cut me".

Waters are tested, that unstable rock under your foot more ungrounded than you realize, but it's a good type of instability. The tip of the blade piercing him, slim run of blood a shimmering red against his tan skin. It's more tantalizing than you could ever imagine, the wet thick drip of blood, so sweet and assured in the way it rolls down his chest. The ragged rhythm of his breathing, realization of things never felt looming like a ghost, snatching him whole. Thunder laughing loud in his chest, fire raging in his fingers. But it's all too hot, too present to ignore, something deep in him lives, is alive, the prick of the knife a friendly hand that's pulled it to some ascended place. Out of the shadows, to the surface. But still, he's not sure what this is, why the earth's not moving, why despite the rolling waves beneath him he's not drowning, not until he feels your tongue licking wet at his skin. Sucking gentle at his slyly torn flesh. He can hardly breathe and when you kiss him, when you wash that wet metal taste on his tongue the groan escaping hard up his throat is raw and animalistic.

When he kisses back, it's a nasty unrefined lust. It's wild tongue and sharp teeth. It's the manifestation of some intangible war being fought between the two of you, having waded in a frigid depths for far too long, but now living tangibly has made itself unstoppable. The bruising kiss of his lips, the swirling slip of his tongue, the rough hold he gives your legs, the groan breaking, rumbling tough out between shallow breaths, it's all unstoppable. And the wall is hard against your back, too even of a surface, but the solid mass of him is harder, muscles defined under the run of your nails. It makes you moan, makes you shudder deep till your gut is trembling and a pulse begins at the juncture between your legs. You need him. Need to feel him, have that blazing fire singe you up, consume you whole.

But the damn button on his jeans won't cooperate, and it's pissing you off. Making you huff and whine so he does it for. Throws the knife toward the bed and unfastens those tough ass jeans. "On your knees", he commands. He doesn't even look at you but damn does it sound good, a dark minor chord melody, and your knees are weak anyways. So you just let them give, falling to the carpeted floor.

The sudden affinity for leisured pacing makes you groan inwardly, eyes nearly slipping into a roll till you realize he's watching you.

You lift up a little, reaching forward to relieve him the rest of the way, till he smacks your hands down, wrenching your jaw up as he leans down. He's not a starved wolf anymore, he's a damn beast. "It's fuck me right?", he clips. Harsh and unforgiving. "This dirty fucking mouth, I should ruin you tonight". You nearly beg him to but he's got your jaw in that stocky hand. "Open". If you look close enough there's a red living wild in those black eyes, your mouth opening up just for him.

He spits on your tongue, huffing at the delight you take in it. The way your teeth bites that full bottom lip.

His thumb untucks it, skims it slow, in a moment of admiration. "Go ahead baby, be a good girl". Stance wide, length hanging low before you. "Keep your word. Fuck me".

You don't assail him, you don't give him what he thinks he wants, which, because of the coarse sensuality stifling is better judgement, is very different from what he needs. It's a tenderness he feels first, soft kisses and kitten licks lavishing the stretched veins along his length, hard pulse of them flushing his tip a blushed red. And Ezekiel's all about the preamble, a little bit of this and that, kisses and touches here, long velvety licks there, but for once his impatience wears him thin, shreds him whole, forces his hand to grab hold near and dear to your scalp. "C'mon girl, take it". The way he can't wait, the desperation sweating from his skin, it draws a moan from the furthest reaches of you. Has you guiding the heaviness of him on your tongue, thickness hot and just a little ways from intimidating.

He's a groaning mess when your tongue catches the underside of him, that warm constricted wetness melting his bones, a grunt and the quick jerk of his hips telling you just how needy he really is. Your head meets the length of him with a steady bobbing motion, the push and pull, catch and release of his dick rolling your eyes, his fresh veined skin a delightful friction along the pathway of your tongue. And when your lips grow tight, plump flesh wrapping him up all the more, a hard break of breath fights out his chest, grip in your hair forming soft, his fingers rubbing gentle into the soared area of your scalp. "That's it... that's it, fuck baby... that's it", a drunk chant. Swimming helpless in the water of your pleasure.

His hips work a measured grind, the coil in his belly building momentum, but his knees feel a little weak, hand reaching to stabilize himself some against the wall.

If he doesn't stop you, he'll come.

But you feel too good, the firm grip your hand takes to work him in tandem with your mouth, fervent and fluid.

He doesn't want to just yet, want's to hold onto that excitement, the anticipation of his release.

Your wrist twist well for him, squeeze and pull. Lips suckling persistent at the crown of his shaft.

"Wait". It's far too low for you to hear, rushes out too quick off his lips, resonates into a lewd moan.

He nearly breaks, nearly folds under the pressure and friction you give him just at the sensitive underside of his crown.

But you know Ezekiel too well, know the gratification that possesses him, awakening wild at the thought of self-control, the delay of bliss to receive later something much more pleasing. So you stop, ease off him slow, silhouetting the wet pop of your mouth with a rasped purr, reveling in the rain of heavy, jagged breaths that fall from his red, teeth bitten lips. Nailed fingers skimming, tensing graciously atop the stout build of his thighs, nipping and mouthing his defined v-line. It's a quiet little task, one he likes, allows till his fingers pull light at your cheek, eyes swarming dark still with an unrefined desire as they meet your own. His shoulders are wide from where you are, squared, something akin to an ancient statue. Herculean. Sculpted perfect, seeming tailor made just for you.

"On the bed for me".

You do as told, thumb wiping at the swell of your lips, seeing not with your eyes but sensing with the nerves under your skin the reduction of his desperation. The way he reins in his composure, it makes pride trek quick up your spin, shivers it till your head swims with a boastful wave. He can regulate himself well, better, when you're not right in front of him, mouth hanging open wide and ready. Seconds tick, ringing in his ear, till the hammering of his pulse wanes, his feet stepping across the carpeted floor to your dresser. Calculated steps, vision tunneled, but his ears ever mindful of your movements. Picking up the shuffle of your beautiful body along the bed but never daring to look, for the sake of his own sanity.

You're not something he can so easily ignore, even on a regular day, so it does him good, in times where restraint is key, to remember the end goal of all this. Stain his impulsivity with it, wash away the steady bloom of his appetite with the promise to ruin you. "Give me an arch princess".

Words melodious, mellow and tinged a pastel warmth that blurs amongst the translucent shade of black forming free about him, ghosting, an undeniable energy unseen but felt completely, seeming to pour without end. But your reaction is automatic all the same, spine dipping to create the perfect slope, that low pitched tone prickling fine at your waiting, un-satiated body. Burning, like a summer's day heat at the soles of your feet, surging north and spreading beyond till it births a balmy sensation at the tips of your ears. God you love his voice.

And he knows this, that's why he tilts his tone when he utters 'princess', fine tunes the pronunciations with the faintest bit of a purr. It makes you feel royal and dreamy, adored, and then when the time comes for him to reign down on you that delicious ecstasy, you feel all of it. Every pleasurable, painful, overstimulating inch.

But you're not always something to be adored, revered and dotted over with sweet pearlescent tenderness. Sometimes you deserve a bit of harshness, stern words and curt direction to straighten the narrowed path of your attitude. Sometimes no punishment is not an option, sometimes it's necessary. But then again, you take your hard licks and soft touches just the same. No matter what he did, you enjoyed yourself to the fullest. Which is why he could run his stocky fingers over the taut earthy rope and feel no guilt, no hesitation about the events to come. He could slip his fingers over the fine silk cloth and know that you'd enjoy this, live well in the grayed light of his "punishments". He wasn't really sure if he could ever call them that though come to think of it.

A whimper catches his ear, steers his line of vision to change from tawny rope and silk to the reflection living in the mirror, the most picturesque view. A lazy, seemingly inadequate middle and ring finger circling the pretty pink of your clit.

It's funny, the way you try. "You having fun over there?"

You grunt in frustration. Aching. "No. I need you".

It was a psychological thing of sorts your pleasure. Without him, his presence looming and often times dictating every course of action your body took, you could manage fairly well on your own, sate the trembling ache in your core just enough to ward off the frustration, but with him? With him, it was impossible to do well enough on your own. Every slip of the finger and twisting grip felt futile, incomparable to the taut, strong, overwhelming sensation born from his hands, spreading deep under the hot neediness of your skin. So when he swaggers over to you, drops the things in his hand along the bed and presses that long middle finger into your heat you shiver. Hiss and moan, elongating the slope of your arched back to further the reach of it inside you.

"How's that?" Feigning quizzicality, like he doesn't know the hold he has on you.

"I love your fingers". A bit breathless you are.

Muscular fingers left unoccupied journey smooth over the curve of your hip, bunching the fabric there to feel the softness of you till a spark of possessiveness overtakes them. Sends them upward, traveling ways beneath your dress to meet another one of his favorite things. Lace. It pleases him for a moment, coaxes him into fastening the measured stroke of his middle finger against your slick walls, till he remembers where you were attempting to storm off to tonight. Who you were attempting to storm off with.

“Lift up princesa". There's no allotted time for your response or reaction, he's already guiding you. Your back against his front, head mounted on his shoulder, whimpering still at the curve his finger takes. Nudging faint at the sweet spot deep in your pussy. Dotting the exposed space of your neck with lingering kisses only adds to the build of your arousal, so that's what he does. Romancing you before the inevitable break of pain. "Your answer to what I have to say determines whether I let you come or not ok?" There's no true awareness in your nod but you do it anyways. Anything to keep him from stopping. "Were you really gonna wear this for him?"

The words take one, two, three seconds more than usual to register but when they do you laugh. You laugh hard, because damn he's having an existential crisis of some sort over this dress.

It's his favorite dress ok, can you blame him? And it's the principle of the matter anyways, fuck the dress.

Cruelty isn't your speciality but exceptions are made sometimes.

"I was even thinking of letting him fuck me in it".

You're left empty, pulsing and gripping at nothing, the slicing of fabric ripping the air as he tears your dress straight down the middle with his bare hands.

Seeing the rigid definition of his abs is just as wondrous as feeling them, the hard shift of muscle a nice scene to distract you from the wrenching forward of your wrist. His brute-ness letting you know that the vexation over this matter will be sustained for a while, the tight wrapping of rope looping around your smooth skin saying more than those rosy pink lips ever could. 'Letting him wallow in his anger is good sometimes', you think, watching him fasten the other end of the rope to the head board. Shit, you weren't going anywhere.

Ezekiel's response is delayed, but whose wouldn't be? "Whose to say you haven't done it already".

A frown forms your mouth, staggered by the believability of hurt wrapped up in his words, till he's just inches from your face, the smallest twitch of a smirk telling you other wise. What you say is reticent.

"You never know".

The blindfold is next, a soft silk in front the eyes. Total darkness.

It's like you'd thought some moments ago, a little romance before the inevitable breaking in of pain. Saccharine kisses driving up the slope of your arched back, strong, bone melting hands kneading the round flesh of your ass as the kisses follow. The delving in of that sacred middle finger, the one you love to feel, slipping back into your warmth oh so agonizingly slow, meeting him with a throb that's desperate. The pulse reverberating through him enough that he groans in an octave you've heard before, one that's amazingly familiar to you. One that roughly sings his desire to taste you, catch the drip of your wetness with his wide tongue, but restraint overrules him. Reminds him of the end goal, empowers his hand to lay hard against your ass instead.

It's considerably mild in its intensity, presents a shock to your awaiting senses but nothing more. The second however, is harder, stings brighter, but you lean into it all the same, wanting the curving touch of his finger to nestle the spot in you once more.

At the harsh placement of the third you whimper, fingers digging one into the other. Intensity building by the second.

The fourth and fifth lay on the other side of your bottom together, one after the other. Milder than the third. Almost as a reprieve.

The filling sensation of his finger and the gentle remedy of his palm stroking the wild flare of heat proves to sate nothing much before he reigns down with the sixth. Your exhalations, torn and feathery, surge his growing possessive streak, chest swelling with satisfaction at the way you take what he gives. But still, it's unforgiving, the way his palm lands, a grunt following as he eyes the ripple of your ass. Loving the ocean reminiscent movement.

When the seventh falls, it cracks like lightening, causes a breath to break up off your chest. Toughens out as if it were made against its will to do so. But when he slips his finger from you to circle lazy at your clit, you moan through the prickling pain of the eighth. The knotting in your gut aching so good.

There's a moment of nothing, his touch gone, and you feel it in the arch of your back, a shiver. A sort of bodily knowing that the ninth and tenth will be devilish, are devilish. A bit spiteful and condemning as he grips your flesh once his palms meets it. Prolongs the sting with the dig of his fingers. 'If this is him playing at anger, you're intrigued enough to see what the sincerity of that brings', the thought passing through you with the grind of your waist. In search of some friction from the lax rub against your slit. The eleventh feels ill suited to the occasion, extremely mild for his taste, stingless at your thigh.

But he makes up for it good, ready's you with light taps and soft twisting pinches at your swollen bundle of nerves. Leaving you moaning, purring and ruffling your head into the bed sheets, just before the twelfth comes and stifles your movements, and damn does it feel like punishment. A little too close to hatred, mighty retribution for messing with his heavily fortified ego. The juxtaposition of his touch is powerful enough to produce tears, falling like drizzled rain to dampen the sheets. It leaves you trembling, body overwhelmed as it juggles the presence of pain and the seemingly never-ending pulse laden deep in your pussy. A small string of curses, too similar to a sob, straining from your throat stops him, his finger pulling you back to rest against his chest like before. He's mouthing the side of your throat, skimming till he's reached your ear, the energy roaming his demeanor drained of its edge. It's punishing nature.

"Stop?" He asks.

"I'm ok". Your voice raspy in its whisper. "Keep going please".

His transition back into form is quick. Seamless.

"My pretty baby's got tears in her eyes, what happened to the tough shit you were talkin'?"

The thirteenth is the twelfth. Unbelievably hard and powerful. Your head dropping to his shoulders despite the stretch your arms endure from pulling the rope to its limit.

"Mmm? What happened?" He taunts. The fourteenth just the same.

The last resonates a tremor through you, forsakes you to a bout of quivering that resembles leaves in frigid wind. Overwhelming isn't the word, it undermines the level of intensity too much, abandons the true nature of how stimulated your senses are. You can't see him, and God you can't touch him, but you can hear him. "Breathe baby", giving the heated tips of your ears wet loving kisses, his own reddened palms doing their best to sooth your stinging skin. Such a caring sweetheart in the midst of his carnality.

Delicate, coarse, nasty, thrilling, rapturous. Sex with Ezekiel was an unpredictable incline of an event. An at times slow descension of passion lasting for hours. Filled with rose petaled tender, lingering touches. The smooth melting of lips to skin, the conjoining of hearts to become one. Other times, the ascension was just as painstaking. Driven by bouts of wicked, menacing words. Taunting, shadowy eyes and salacious rolling tongues, too enraptured in the velvet wetness of the other to catch needed, life sustaining breaths. That's what it was now, an ascension into carnality of the highest order with no clear, fixed determination to stop or come back down.

Twinges settling into your wrist at the loosening of the rope just enough to maneuver you onto your back before it's tightened again, body molding to the cushioned form of the bed. Mouths twisting and sweeping lax once more. But your bottom, still carrying an easily felt soreness, takes time to settle into the fluff of the bed. A chuckle tumbling between the separation of your lips. It's an 'after the fact' sort of amusement, short blades of clarity running through hazy lust.

"What's funny?" He's nipping at your neck, teeth grazing gracious at your pulse.

"My ass is sore".

He lifts the silk from your eyes, searching beyond that amorous look for signs of hesitance. "You wanna stop?"

You smirk."Quitting on me already?"

Passion, pleasure, pain. The dwelling of all these make for an intense affair, the ascension of such things can be too high sometimes. Too unreachable. One wrong touch, miss read look, or error of words spoken can result in something horrible. Intractable. He didn't want that, not with you. "Not at all. Just making sure you're okay".

Pulling down the silk, he brings the darkness back to you with fingers too gentle to belong to the same brutishly impassioned man from moments ago, the cloth a refined caress against the eyes. And the kiss he gives you, sweet, a summer rain golden honeyed tangle of his tongue. Ardently endeared to yours. It resembles a lowly lit flame, dipping and waving small by will of the wind, flickering bold nonetheless in a blue bled dusk. Bursting with autumn oranges and sun made yellows, the center burning pure, untamable, an all consuming white. His groan stands the hairs on your skin, a melody that makes them sway, unearths the roots of your nerves.

It travels far, claims the plains, the hills and valleys, treks up the hardened peaks of your breast and swirls wet. The lush gesture is ceremonious, a sharp teasing graze of teeth, the rushing in of hard suckles. A show of reverence for your beauty, your body, pardons made for the delicious inflictions bought on by his brute-ness, his pain. It rubs and flicks careful down your skin, births a steady pant from your parted lips, hips canting for him, for friction, for something, anything. His breath a comforting warmth at your navel.

Those big hands pull at your thighs, lift and spread them to a bent position. All of you open to him. "What does my pretty girl want". Smirking mouth skimming close to where you throb for him wildly. "Tell me hermosa, what do you need".

It flashes in the darkness, all over the nothingness you see. Metal. The sharp edge of lightning colored steel. The beading of blood against taut tan skin.

That's what you want. That's what you need.

Hesitation impedes the surety of your desires, makes your request a small whimper. "Hurt me baby, make me bleed".

The slicing sound un-sheathing makes is uncompromising, a promise of blistering ecstasy. The cool of it melts the mild swelter of your body, but the flat cheek of the blade does nothing to fizzle the reemerging simmer. Goosebumps rising, dull shake tingling your fingers, anticipation swaddling you whole with an intensity purer than ever, born from the loss of sight. Your existence suspends high from his unpredictability, knowing nothing of when or how he'd pierce into you, only that the sting would maraud the remnants of your resolve.

...and you were right. So right.

Consciousness amusing itself with a graceless sway as the pricking tip of the knife opens you gently, cuts skin and awareness alike, forces your heart to thunder loud in your chest, pounding a deafening tune till it trembles you. Shakes the foundations of reason, an unsophisticated annihilation, before he reforms it, molding it anew with the sweep of his tongue, till it's crimson colored and shapeless. Temporary darkness leaves you a panting mess, tortures the evenness of your breaths till your groans grow tired and weak in bizarre delight. He decorates your torso red, burdens your skin with pleasurable pain, brings forth that savory metallic substance time and time again till tears well up in your eyes. The grind in your hips accenting the neediness silhouetting the whimpers in your throat.

"Mark me EZ, make me yours".

Thin and feathery, your request seduces his skin to shudder, ripples the course of his veins till it throbs hard and heavy in his dick. Before it blossoms again, deep to the furthest reaches of him till he's set on nothing else but claiming you. Marking you as his.

Determination rages his fingers, work's him to single mindedness till he's at the underside of your thighs, kissing harsh at the untouched skin. Pink dewy lips smacking wet.

You feel the ascension on this incline of dangerous lust, thrill taking hold as the dig of the knife works into the underside of your left thigh, slipping pass thick skin to formulate perfect intersecting lines till he's formed it. A perfectly sized E etched into your skin. The red is bright as it seeps over the curving plain of your ass, gives the white sheets a bloody kiss before it wears thin from the shallow depth of the cut and lick of his mouth. Repeating the process on your right thigh proves to drive you crazy, a heaving hissing moan greeting the air, steel tip of the blade talking dirty into your flesh, singing vicious, a sharp pitchy wickedness that makes you wetter till you're etched with a Z. Walls gripping with an ache at nothing but the hope and anticipation of being filled.

"I wish you could see how wet you are". Abandoning the knife to pull your lower lips apart with firm thumbs, the swell and pulse of your clit meeting hungry eyes. "How pretty this pussy is".

Vulnerability excites you, restrained by tawny rope and the weight of his build as the greedy lap of his tongue covers your slit, makes you shiver and shake at the idea of him being inescapable. And he knows it too, knows you love the friction of his tongue, the sweet sucking kiss of his lips atop your clit. Knows how it melts you into the sheets, forces that fluid whining motion in your waist. Touch and sight evading you, neglecting you to a plane of darkness ruled by every swirl and lick he decides to give you. Every soft flick and flat wide run of his tongue.

"Licking me so good daddy". He loves how hard you throb, how sobbed and whiny your voice gets. A somewhat amusing but arousing delirium, the uncontrollable cant of your hips telling him just how much you need him.

"Please, please, please", a begging chant. A crying plead for more of whatever he has to give. He knows what you want, what his good girl needs, the delve of his tongue into your opening working a moan through him. The constriction quaking his bones, thumb passing firm, slipping wet over your pussy. For that small simple duration of a second, the rumble resonating from his chest flows through you, transforms the wild pulse to a tight knot forming in your gut. The ache is an unbearably sweet sensation, worthy of breathlessness and the rolling cross of slit eyes. He's killing you with the unceasing suck of his tongue, widening the spread of your legs till he's as deep as can be, moaning in delight at the way you drip and soak the sheets, drown his mouth.

The wild tremble approaches without introduction, washes the whole of you till you're nothing but shaking blissed limbs and broken faltered curses. Dizzy from the chaos of a storming orgasm.

His kiss is an electric relaxation against your lips, a sparking light to your silk house of darkness, a gesture that slowly halts frantic nerves, reigns in the shake holding hard to your limbs. He's patient as ever, as he's always been, hushing you with swollen, arousal dressed lips and firm caressing hands. A combination that lifts you free into the air, plants your feet to some higher grounded place. "Turn us over", you moan. Loving his mouth at your neck, the heated breath at your raging pulse. The rope loosens from your twinged wrist, blindfold from your eyes, both becoming forgotten as you become situated atop his waist. A small chuckle reaching his red tipped ears. "You still have on your jeans".

"Take care of 'em for me". Rasp rumbling low, floating to the barely stilled ache in your core.

You pull at the tough fabric, strip his steel hard legs of the coarse denim before throwing them absentmindedly. But stripping off his underwear is a little more ceremonious, less of a hassle than the jeans, takes more of a delicate touch, more mindfulness. But he's too mesmerized by the shape of your form to notice the way you do that, they way you feel at the sheets, looking, searching, mischief wading in the waters of your stare. Too indulged in the seep of your wetness at his bulge to recognize the wooden handle of his knife resting friendly in your palm. As if the two of you have been more than acquainted for years. He'd had a feeling this would happen, a reciprocal of prior events, and God did it excite something wild in him. Something raw. Primal.

It feels different being on the receiving end, an urgency born that shifts him from predator to prey, suffocates him in a nebulous cloud of submission, but he likes it. Welcomes it even, the sultry form your small show of dominance takes, the reverence it commands. He wants everything you have to give, thinks he'll fall ill if he doesn't get it. And when he does, oh fuck, when he does its ascension to seventh heaven, the sharp dig in his chest flushing his blood straight to the core of him. Heavy throb drumming a simple, steady pounding sensation to his dick.

His hands fly to your waist, holding you down to him. "Mark me your's baby. Give it to me".

Your hips hitch at the longing in his voice, slit brushing a vein pronounced along his length. The transference of possessiveness, living and breathing so madly in him, and now unfurling in you. The will to keep him close, just for you, to yourself, for no one else, seats itself at the throne of your heart. Your lust. Proclaims itself the sovereign for eternity and a day. It influences the way you shift the knife so dearly into his skin, because claiming him takes patience, a single mindedness to get the job done. It titillates your senses, forces the grind in your waist again, waters your mouth, drives the drag of your tongue at the sight of rich crimson blood. Possession is powerful, all consuming, so very dangerous. You want it with him till you can't think, breathe.

It's not so simple anymore, this lovely knife in your hand, it's essential, the tool by which you claim possession. Like a paintbrush, sharp, deadly bristles dragging through a tough skinned canvas. A beautiful dazzling red that savors well in your mouth, screams with its color power, a lusty sort of love. Your initials red and etched into his chest, just over the thundered beat of his heart.

You're his. He's yours.

He's rough, completely exhausted of patience, wild and undone like an animal in heat. He snatches the knife, throws it away and out of view, sits up properly to rest against the headboard, before snatching you by the waist, pulling you forward till you're in his arms. His kiss assails you, bruises your tongue with a need unyielding, but yours washes his mouth with the savory metallic taste of his own blood. He feels crazed, acres of his body standing in the heart of some mountain tall flame. His left arm tethers you to him, secures you, unable to leave his embrace even if you wanted to, but the right grabs hold of his aching length. Jerks and squeezes till he sets it at your opening. Pushes against that lush resistance, growling loud in your ear at the way you suffocate his dick. Leaving him to sit in nothing but the warm, tight sheath of your pussy.

And you feel delirious, at least you think that's what it is, till he reaches below, catches your slick with the pad of his middle and ring finger and slips it easy into your mouth, urges you to savor yourself, and then you realize. Now I'm delirious. Cross eyed, toe curled and delirious.

Your thighs burn, bottom tight in his grip, working his arms to bounce you along the thick heat of him, giving you no other option but to take, feel, submit to every last pulsing inch. The stroke of him is filling, the way it clings, presses well to that spot nestled deep in you, as if he's staking his claim again. Making you his over and over and over. Helpless in his hold, atop his body, it feels so good, feels right, natural, like it was always supposed to happen.

"You're so tight for daddy baby". He roughs you closer, impossibly closer. Your clit catching a grind against the sweat slick skin of his lower abdomen. "Just for me". Slapping at your thigh mildly, enough to wake the sting at its underside. "All for me".

A kiss is shared, lips lingering in the sweetness of it before your heads tucked in his shoulder, light and dizzy.

Beginnings are endings, endings are beginnings, it's all just one big transition. That's what you realize, that's what cements, stains permanent like wine against the fabric of your mind as your walls spasm around him, shudder and gasping in his hold. Seventh heaven isn't high at all, doesn't reach far enough on this ascension into paradise for him. He's looking for something elysian inside you, wants to find it with you, the melodious voices of angels, songs singing sweet of some love, lust everlasting, a clouded palace existing in an eternal white.

You can't help the way they fall, whimpers broken, filled with ecstasy. You can't help it in his lap and you for damn sure can't help it laid out amongst the sheets.

Precision, the bane of his existence, the reason he lives. It shapes the strength of his endurance, purges his blood of that lethal poison people call failure. He has no other way of being but perfect. He can't help himself at all, whatsoever, never placing the fault where it doesn't belong. His passion is flawless, towards love, towards care, towards lust. And oh his lust, a swirling opaque red, without even the simplest blemish. And maybe that's why he works up such a relishing heat in your bones. A defined ache that you wish to never leave you. Because he's perfect, rutting hips, rough finger tips and all.

"Tell it's mine". Fingers pushing hard into the raised calf of your leg. Wetting sloppy kisses into them. "Tell me".

It's your fault really, no one else to blame. You'd wanted him to expand his horizons. Listen to music for a change, calm the storm in his mind. Who knew he'd like Miguel?

.........'tell me that that pussy is mine', he'd sang once in your ear. You were a goner then, still are now......fuck him, Miguel, and that stupid sexy ass song.

..... or maybe not...."It's yours baby". Your hand palming at the base of your belly where you feel him. "It's yours".

But it isn't there for long your hand, pressing, although barely perceptible, at the meeting place of his v-line. A small effective trick of deception you picked up a while ago. Resistance driving persistence. Something about your overwhelmed state, needing a reprieve from him, and yet theres still the mindless swivel of your tired waist. Going going going. The fervid draw of sultry moans, lewd purrs, bringing chills to his spine. It excites him, till he's digging digging digging, filling you to the brim. But what the hell is he looking for? Any further and he'll be in your womb, swelling your belly and feet. Some angelic voice with doe eyes calling you mommy.

You don't need him getting any bright ideas, not now anyways, not while you're delirious. So far gone. Liable to say and agree with anything that comes out that beautiful pink mouth.

You press further, a little more till he feels you squirming away from him. "Oh no no no", he tuts. Raising your fingers to kiss, holding them at your lower abdomen, over the mound he makes inside you. "You don't get to run away from me. You gotta take it pretty girl. You gotta take all of me".

He's a mountain of a man, surrounds you as such. Imposes himself upon you, cages you in with sturdy arms till he's all you can make of the room. A disorienting huskiness tingling your ear. It gives encouragement, directs you, grounds you and the incredible hold you have around him. "That's it mama". Left arm an anchor that supports his weight, the thumb of the hand of his right strumming the pulse at your throat. "Squeeze me tight. Hold on to me".

Pliant atop the bed, your head sinking back into. A hand of your own keeping the spread of your thighs, giving him room to take you the way he wants. "You're gonna make me come again".

"I know baby". Nipping at your pulse. "That's what I want. Give it to me".

Sun-kissed, a summer breeze at your neck, unfurling from fervent lips. The fascination with your body, plains of skin radiating an ethereal glow. Smooth and rich, unbreakable but pliant. Willingly susceptible to his every vice. He adores you, a little ways away from obsessed. Your neck, a curved canvas, waiting idle always for his masterpiece of kisses, teething licks and marking sweet suckles that display the true form of his artistry. But nothing screams master of the medium quite like his hands. The slow burdening wrap of them. The mighty build of pressure on your throat.

Ezekiel's all power. Hips snapping brutishly. Succumbing you to him, his will, your life in the palm of his hand.

"Harder please". Gasping. Air leaving, arousal mounting. Colors waning everywhere you can see them. Becoming less sharp. Vividness tainted. Your vision blurry. "Please".

He could break you, break you good. Give his wrist a curt twist and then snap! But he doesn't, he keeps you with him, tumbles into the depths of your autumn brown eyes instead. And there it is. Taut muscles, shivered skin, heavy breaths and the unstoppable drag of blissed moans. Pulse uncontrollable. An ocean wave casting you both off into the sea. Ascension passed the seventh heaven, to live, breathe. Walk amongst the angels.

A cry off your swollen kissed lips, and the reaching of your arms. You need him close, feeling too far away, too dazed, just a little too good.

He's there. "Shhh. I got you. I'm here".

Touching earth after flying so long. It's daunting. Surreal.

Drifting, drifting, drifting. That's all there is now.

"Don't go to sleep, not yet".

The pads of his feet, sounding like heavy ritual drums. Thunder rocking the earth. Your senses raw. Numb. Both all at once. Seconds turn into, one two......seven eight minutes.

He's returned. "Drink this baby".

There's no slap of the thigh or bruising kiss that meets your whine of opposition. Just a gentle hand guiding you to replenish whats been lost while in the throes of passion. An iron pill for lust spilled blood, and water to quench bodily thirst.

He remedies your cuts the same as he'd done his own. Soothes them with a healing gel before bandaging them. His touch a revitalized tenderness. Slow and measured. Loving.

You can hear the wonders of night in the silence. The rustle of trees dancing with calming breezes. Dipping and bending as they please, in whatever fashion that suits them.

His heart pumps in the stillness too, a low pitched orchestra of just percussion and riveting bass.

You giggle. Small and mischievous.

"What?", he asks. Stroking lazy at your hairline.

Clearing your voice seems appropriate, so that's what you do. "I may or may not have lied about something". He's shifts, situating himself, gearing up to hear whatever it is you have to say. "I haven't spoken to Xavier in a while. Three weeks to be exact. Not since you told me you didn't like me being around him".

He can't help the chuckle of disbelief. "All that just to get your way". A pinch at your side he gives. "Such a brat".

"You enjoyed it though".

"I did".

The affirmation settles something in you, calms the doubt formulating. But by the way his brow furrows, jaw setting tight, you know he isn't finished.

"But you know I'd never hurt you against your will right? I'd never do anything unless you wanted it".

"EZ you don't have to say-"

"No I do". His stare holds you, refuses to let go. "And I need to hear you say you understand. That you know".

"I know that you'd never hurt me Ezekiel". But now it's your turn, to hold him hostage, stare him down into his soul, because its two fold. There's no one without the other. "And the same goes for you".

When it finally comes, after a myriad of small subduing touches, sleep is the best it's ever been. It's perfect.

#mayans mc #ez reyes #ezekiel reyes #ez reyes x reader #ezekiel reyes x reader #ez reyes x black!reader #ezekiel reyes x black!reader #its her fault yall #she put a gun to my head and made me write this #no but forreal #the process for this was funny asf because its just me and sheem drooling over EZ and knives #joannasteez #its a long one #this is by far the filthiest thing ive written and idk what to do with myself #actually very nervous about this #small #kinda funny? miguel reference #the singer of course

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mismerccray · 5 years

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Met His Match

DAMIAN FIC IS HERE!!! So, I aged him up a bit and didn’t include a lot of dialogue. Hope you guys like it!

y/n= your name

y/s/n= your superhero name

word count (1626)

Damian Wayne was a lot of things at age 16. He was strong, fast, and just as talented as his elder brothers. He was beginning his last growth spurt, finally catching up to his brother Dick. He had a mind like his father and a mouth like his mother. For these reasons, he never quite met anyone he deemed to be on his level.

Then he met her.

(Y/S/N) was the protege of Selina Kyle before she branched out at age 15. She had all the acrobatic prowess of both Selina and Dick, but the ruthlessness of Jason and the detective mind of Tim and Babs. He never even saw her coming.

They first met while he was out on patrol with his father and brothers. He was still new to the rank of Robin at age 10, but he was making progress in controlling his venomous mouth and easily triggered temper. Bruce said they were waiting for someone to show up, at the top of the Wayne Enterprises building. Damian quickly got distracted by what he considers to be his fools of brothers playing with a NERF foam football. Suddenly there was a tap on his shoulder. He looked back and no one was there. He looked down and the ball was gone. He looked around confused for a while as his brothers laughed.

A shadow passed him suddenly and he leaped into action with a punch, only for his fist to be caught in the softest gloved hands he’d ever experienced. He finally caught sight of her, and he brow furrowed in annoyance. But his heart skipped a beat when he got a really good look at her standing beside Selina and his father. Skin like rich cherrywood, curls that managed to escape from under her hood in almost unreal spirals, and the fullest lips he’d ever seen. Lips that were pulled into a cocky smirk.

That was the first time he’d seen that smirk, but not the last.

She quickly became a damn near permanent part of his life. She transferred schools, was in his homeroom class, would waltz around the manor like she owned it, and bothered him during patrol. He saw her more than he saw his own father. Then she had the audacity to sleep in his bed. There are over 30 bedrooms in the manor and she picked his. Well, he refused to be put out of his own room. So at age 11, they shared a room whenever she was around.

At first, it was pure venom in his words when he spoke to her. He could admit to himself that she was beautiful, but he refused to see her as his equal in any way. Not after she embarrassed him in front of his family, not when she kept up with him on patrol (When she wasn’t thieving with Selina), not when she was his equal academically, and not when she was able to return his jabs with the calmest, damn near amused demeanor.

Damian Wayne had never met a girl like her. He’d never met anyone like her. As the years went by, they stayed by each others sides. His words only softening with her. His sarcasm not having it’s usual punch with her. Hell, his insults and jabs felt almost like something else when said to her. And she just rolled with the punches. And just like he grew, so did she, and he found her more beautiful every day.

He couldn’t keep his eyes off her curves. No matter how much training and fighting she did, her hips and thighs truly completed the hourglass figured she’d been developing all along. She had what he considered an “acceptable” amount of softness to her skin. It complimented her sweet yet fierce nature perfectly. If there were ever any gaps between situations in Gotham, he almost forgot about it. Almost.

Last night, they were on patrol with just Batman and Nightwing. Somehow when investigating an abandoned warehouse on the docks, they were separated and surrounded by Two-Face’s goons. They were supposed to be fighting back to back, like they always would. Today, Damian went rogue. He began fighting every goon in sight, not caring that he had just abandoned his partner. Moments after kicking one of them in the face, he heard a scream that made his blood run cold. He turned his head and saw a mountain of men manhandling (Y/S/N). When he tried to run over to help, he was caught and hauled away.

It was a bad situation. Thankfully Batman and Nightwing came to their rescue after taking out Two-Face. The original dynamic duo brought the kids back to the cave to be looked at by Alfred. It was the quietest ride Damian could remember. He could tell without looking at anyone that not only was his father and brother mad at him, but she was furious.

As he expected, when back in the cave, he got a real lecture on having your partner’s back from Batman and Nightwing. They ripped him a new one while Alfred stitched up a gash on his arm. Jason and Tim had gone out to take over patrol for the Robin and (Y/S/N). Alfred sat in silence, diligently caring for the boy, with a look of disappointment evident on his stoic face. Damian came out of the situation with a few scrapes, bruises, and a nasty gash on his forearm where one man had pulled a knife on him. (Y/S/N) wasn’t as lucky.

She came away from the encounter with a broken wrist, black eye, some broken ribs, and a broken arm. She was beaten like a grown man by a group of grown men. And her partner didn’t have her back. She was silently fuming while Dr. Thompkins reset her broken limbs and treated her. Her nails gripped the side of the table as much as she could to prevent her screaming. Both in pain, and at the person she once considered her friend.

After Batman and Nightwing returned to patrol, Babs took over the computer so Alfred could take the injured teens upstairs. On the way up the stairs in the manor, (Y/N) refused to speak a word. Not a glance was spare in his direction. Before they could get to the floor Damian’s room was located on, she made a sharp turn into an empty bedroom and shut the door. Damian turned and stared at the door as he felt the guilt truly begin to suffocate him.

He later found out that she had asked Alfred to prepare the room for her.

It took Damian a month of his apologising and her silence before she even reacted to his existence. That reaction truly reminded him of her ferocity, but he’d never been on the receiving end of it. Until now. As soon as he approached her in the kitchen, she put her head down and began to count her breathing. Bruce was sitting next to her and watched this from over the Wall Street Journal and his cup of coffee. It seemed that Damian was so desperate for forgiveness, that he completely overlooked her apparent rage.

Until she threw her bowl of cereal at his head. Bruce’s eyes widened, but he knew better than to stop her. When that girl got mad, she became damn near godly. Instead, he shifted himself in between the two teens to make sure she didn’t aggravate her injuries... and to make sure she didn’t kill his son.

Damian easily dodged the bowl and watched in shock as she commenced a full screaming rage rant at him.

“You were my best friend, you self absorbed, sheltered, rich, asshole! You were supposed to have my back! I have had enough of this shit, I am done with people who won’t look out for me! I fucking ditched Selina’s “You’re a better hero miserable” ass for it. I refuse to give your bratty self entitled ass any special treatment! I.... I just fucking can’t with you.” She walked around Bruce and Damian. Marching her way to her room to pack her things. She already had a key to Jason’s safe house in Downtown Gotham. Now to figure out how to get there.

As she’s planning her exodus from the manor, a knock came at her door. She stopped moving and watched as her door slowly creaked open. Damian slowly walked in as if he were entering a lion’s cage. And he was. He had a look on his face that she couldn’t quite understand. But he finally understood.

He finally understood the feelings he had for her since they’d met all those years ago. He finally understood why he had been watching her the way he had for years. Finally understood why he kept her close to him. Finally understood why he had acted the way he did one month ago. Now might be his last opportunity to tell her. For the first time in his life, he can put his pride aside. Only with her.

She heard him out. They talked, they cried, and they came together in fully realized feelings.... But only after she slapped him across the face. Her exact words were that she wanted to “Slap the last bit of stupid boy” out of him. It was then that Damian knew, he Met his match.

“This has been a story read by Stephanie Brown and dictated by Dick.” Stephanie smiled as she ended the story she had been telling her Titan team mates. Wally looked at her with a somewhat amused and confused expression.

“Steph, we asked what time it was, not how the Demon Spawn got a girlfriend.”

#Damian Wayne #Damian Wayne x Black!Reader #black!reader #batfam #bruce wayne

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raisinghellonstarbug · 4 years

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Comfort Films Challenge

Thank you to the wonderful @omnishambolichologram for tagging me as always in these fun activites :3 ^^ Also - sorry it’s taken me weeks to FINALLY post this!

Film are definitely my number one enjoyment in life along with watching television series (aside from the obvious of spending time with family and friends) and there are quite a few comfort films for me, so it’s going to be difficult to narrow down to only seven! I might have to be cheeky and add in a couple of special mentions hehe

And FYI some of these films might not be necessarily comforting, but they are in that they’re easy to watch so many times because I love them that much. This list probably won’t have all of my absolute favourites, but we shall see what my brain comes up with this time because it sometimes changes.

(I won’t be able to rate one more than the other as they’ll all be different kinds of films so I wouldn’t be able to necessarily say one is better than the other)

I’ve chosen these films based on not only how rewatchable they are, but also on their sheer brilliance as a whole in terms of cinematography, dialogue, cleverness and the acting... (and probably on how long I’ve known them and grown to love them everytime I watch them)

Note: I don’t own some of the gifs included in this post. Credit would go to them if I knew who they were but I’m making sure that I don’t take credit for the ones which aren’t mine.

Good Will Hunting (1997)

This film is quirky, intelligent, funny and teaches you a lot about the choices you make in life. I think what I love about this film is how simple the ending is. “I gotta see about a girl...” - sums up how love can end up being the most important thing to grab hold of when you realise you have it and never had it before. I personally believe that this is probably Matt Damon’s best performance out of all his acting roles even to this day. Ben Affleck and Robin Williams were pretty damn great in it too.

Midnight Run (1988)

(This gif is mine).

This film has it all. A damn well cleverly written script with uncanny and hilarious dialogue, brilliant dynamic between the two main characters, fabulous music score, wonderful sets of shots (the cinematography of the beginning scene is great) and basically a simple story that is not only entertaining and easy to follow, but is acted out fabulously by everyone. The whole wild goose chase for these two men played by Robert De Niro and Charles Grodin across the country is just ridiculous, but ridiculously funny. I have to say that it’s definitely one of my top favourites of all time. If you want a laugh, I would recommend this one!

Special mention (another Martin Brest film): Beverly Hills Cop is on point also.

The Breakfast Club (1985)

It was tough for me to just decide on one John Hughes film as he’s one of my favourite directors of all time, but I chose Breakfast Club because it’s the ultimate classic coming-of-age story, and it’s all set in just one location. It’s clever in that there doesn’t have to be lots of action to make it good, all it does is introduce a bunch of teenage stereotypes and take away the shields that they have put on and learn to no longer be prejudice of one another. Eighties is also my favourite era of films and this is just a perfect mixture of comedy and drama. The acting is great and I give applause to especially Judd Nelson and Anthony Michael-Hall for their delivery and their facial expressions.

Special mentions of other John Hughes films he has written/directed that I ADORE: Pretty in Pink (Andrew McCarthy and James Spader yum), Sixteen Candles (hilarious), Uncle Buck (the best family film ever), Planes, Trains and Automobiles and Some Kind of Wonderful <3

Heathers (1988)

Christian Slater and Winona Ryder are the best duo in this film and it is another eighties classic. I related to both these characters and I can never get enough of this film. I have probably seen it twenty times or more and still not fed up with watching it. The dark comedy and the gritty and foul dialogue are iconic in this flick, and I take my hat off to the brilliant Heathers (Kim Walker - may she RIP, Shannen Doherty, Lisanne Falk) for playing such clever and awful characters. I was obsessed at one point with Slater because of his role as J.D and honestly his death at the end of the film is a powerful as fuck ending. The cinematography of the ending makes the film for sure, the angle, the chosen shots I just Ugh. Fabulous.

The Help (2011)

This film. I don’t know it’s just brilliantly done and the acting is perfection. Emma Stone, Viola Davis, Octavia Spencer, Jessica Chastain and Dallas Bryce-Howard are fantastic in their roles and this film explores such a crucial time period that I think is illustrated well. These women while fictional, feel so real and the struggle of black maids (black people in general really but this is specific to the women) is real. I cannot help but cry everytime at the ending, and the way that Aibilene stands up for herself, I never get tired of. It is easy to watch as it’s not painful like 12 Years A Slave, but it still epitomises the segregation that was so prominent in the sixties in southern US very well. I find comfort in how delightful the characters are and still manages to be funny despite the story being focused on such a sensitive subject.

The Shawshank Redemption (1994)

Shawshank, well we all know this film. It has been parodied and quoted so many bloody times, but yet I am cliche in love with it and I cannot fault a single thing about it. Tim Robbins is an underrated as fuck actor and he should be appreciated so much more for his stellar performance as Andy Dufrense. He is the epitome of the straight and narrow man who, really, is not a bad guy at all. In fact, he’s always tried to be the opposite. You symphathise with him throughout and you really feel his struggle, but also his perfect ability to be so human. He makes Red realise he is not as bad as he made himself believe and of course we know how good Morgan Freeman is. Again, this film like Heathers I could watch a million times and never get bored with it. Whether it’s on TV or I find it available online, I always will make time to watch it.

Call Me By Your Name (2017)

I have only recently come across this film about 8 months ago and it’s the kind of film which I can’t help but wonder where it’s been my whole life. I have already watched it probably like 10 times since I found it and I am so happy I did. However, it has led me to form an unhealthy obsession with Timothee Chalamet where he has come up in conversation in real life and I figured the only things I was still an avid fan of was of Supernatural and Red Dwarf, but no this film is just pure delightful dynamite. The cinematography is so elegant and perfect (especially during the dream like sequence when Elio is alone or in the gif above when Elio is watching Oliver). The screenplay brilliantly illustrates how wonderfully amazing but also torturous love can be, and well it is set in the eighties. What more can you love? Timmy and Armie have such good chemistry it’s unreal, and they make their characters so believable. Another film I cannot fault and could watch anytime, even though the ending is heartbreaking af.

Bonus: Bridget Jones’s Diary (2001)

Notting Hill (1999)

About TIme (2013)

There are plenty of other comfort films I adore but it probably depends on my mood. I’m definitely a sucker for romantic comedies and these three are on here as bonuses because they’ve also been very comforting to me over the years. What can I say? Richard Curtis writes some brilliant screenplays and directs some of them too.

#comfort films #comfort films challenge #heathers #good will hunting #the shawshank redemption #call me by your name #the breakfast club #the help #midnight run #notting hill #bridget jones's diary #about time #cinema lover

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browneyedmissy · 4 years

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PS I Love You (Chapter II: Alma)

Pairing: Thomas Mendez x Tara Day

Summary: After losing three years of memories from a car crash, Tara returns to a life she does not remember.

Catch up here .

Playlist: Wings by Birdy, Take Me Home by Us the Duo, Meet Me Halfway by Black Eyed Peas, Story of a Girl by Nine Days

Tara had never felt so detached to her surroundings before.

She felt like she was walking into someone else's life. The Tara of three years prior would not have imagined that her life would be the way it was with a beautiful house, handsome, successful lawyer husband and a loyal stepdaughter, a best friend from her daughter.

Walking around Thomas'- their house was like navigating a maze. It was a little overwhelming for her to open the door that she thought was a bathroom but was actually another room. The most frustrating part about it, however, was that she kept forgetting which were which.

The doctor had warned her that while her brain was healing, her memory might not be as sharp but the feeling of helplessness was frustrating.

The weekend passed with her following the routine of her family: they stopped at a local bakery for breakfast before taking Luz to soccer practice and Zoey to science camp. She followed Thomas around as they picked up supplies for the house. As a family, they cooked dinner together and had breakfast together the next morning before going to the farmer's market and going on a hike.

Every moment of it was beautiful but she felt like she was living someone else's life.

She fidgeted with her wedding ring often. It felt heavy on her finger: for her, not long ago she had been married to a man who made her feel like she was not good enough.

Thomas looked at her with the warmest of smiles and she couldn't help the heat rising in her cheeks. He was handsome and her heart skipped a beat when he glanced her way. She knew he was her husband but even though she had developed a crush, the idea of being a wife again was hard for her to grasp. It had been her and Zoey for so long and for her, all at once it had changed.

Thomas had subconsciously reached for her hand during their hike and she let him take it, wondering if it would let her feel closer to the Tara that fit in this life.

There were so many moments in the life that Tara and Thomas had built together. Zoey looked at her stepfather and stepsister with the brightest of smiles. It overwhelmed her heart with joy seeing her daughter like that, but not being able to remember how it all developed made her feel as if she were an outsider on a joke.

"Alright girls, do you have your backpacks and money for lunch? Sofia will be picking you up today." Thomas asked as they dropped their daughters off at school.

"We have everything Papa." Zoey replied.

"Alright, have a good day, then. Love you both very much." He said with a grin.

Zoey and Luz hopped out of the car and walked up the steps to the school. Tara followed them with her eyes until they disappeared behind the door.

"You know, the first time I met you was getting school supplies. I knew your daughter was going to go here and I hoped I'd see you again soon." He laughed at the memory. "Didn't think it would be in the principal's office."

Tara nodded, her eyes still glued on the entrance of the school. She could only remember being there when Zoey and her had interviewed with the principal and she remembered agonizing over moving them there, wondering how she would fit in with her classmates.

"She likes her school, right?" Tara turned to him. "And she's happy? I was worried she wouldn't fit in because I was a single mother and she was on scholarship."

"It was hard at the beginning." Thomas said truthfully. "But Zoey is kind and bright and the other kids took to her."

She nodded, looking back out the window. Thomas reached over, squeezing her hand.

They drove in silence the rest of the way and he dropped her off at the bakery, pressing a quick kiss on her cheek before heading to work. Waiting outside was a smartly dressed woman in a wheelchair.

"Hey Tara, I'm Alma." She smiled, sticking out her hand. "When you first moved here, me and Levi were your neighbors and I watch your daughters for you every over in a while."

"Nice to meet you, Alma. Or see you again? I never know what to say." Tara laughed nervously. She still hadn't figured out what to say in these situations, remeeting the people from her future? From the present but from the memories she didn't have anymore?

Alma gave Tara a sympathetic smile.

"I'm also your business partner. You and I worked together at a boutique for a while. I quit when the business started getting busy and you hired me to help you manage the day-to-day of the store."

Alma pushed the button that allowed the door to swing open on its own.

"One of the requirements when you were looking for a storefront." She grinned at Tara. "I told you it just had to meet ADA regulations but you were insistent."

"We did this?" Tara said in wonder as she stepped into the bakery. She turned to look at Alma. "You and me?"

"Yup. When you got your settlement, you started finishing up your bachelor's degree and baking in the meantime out of your house. People started taking orders but it really got successful when Faye became your social media manager."

Tara frowned at the name, trying to place it in her brain. "Who's Faye?"

"Your ex-husband's ex-girlfriend. Her testimony was good for your court case. She dumped him when he spoke down to her, it was amazing." Alma chuckled at the memory. "You were getting a lot of orders and you would sell at the farmer's market on the weekends. She promoted your baked goods on her Instagram and it gave you enough revenue to open this up."

"That's incredible." She murmured as she stepped into the kitchen, spotting her mother's recipe box on the counter. She felt her heart ache at the sight of her mother's handwriting on the cards. That was something else she had to adjust to too, she supposed. Her mother had been gone longer than she remembered.

"We talked about having cooking classes. We just started to host nights once a week on Thursdays. Sometimes it's trivia. Once a month, Levi makes sure to come play. He always brings in a crowd. Big shot musician now." Alma chuckled. "He almost gave up on that dream, if it wasn't for you."

"Whose is this?" She asked as she came across a recipe she didn't recognize. It was written in her own handwriting but knew all of her mother's recipes by heart. "It doesn't look like a recipe I know."

Alma took a glance at it and smiled.

"Rugelach. Speaking of Levi, that's his grandmother's recipe. I think he gave it to you after your first bake sale at Zoey's school. You, Zoey and Levi made them for the grand opening and they went fast."

After her tour of the bakery, Alma went to open up shop. She had gone in early to prep the baked goods- she had put the easiest recipes on rotation while Tara had been in the hospital. Alma joked that she was decent- she didn't burn down the bakery, but she was no Tara.

So Tara spent the morning in the kitchen, picking out recipes to make. She pulled out her mother's favorite chocolate chip cookie recipe, remembering standing on the stepstool helping her crack the eggs into the bowl. She pulled out the recipe for blueberry hand pie recipe, Zoey's favorite, associated with the days where they woke up before the crowds and went to pick them fresh.

Her eyes then stopped on the rugelach recipe. Her fingers twitched as she picked it up. She stared at it, concentrating hard, hoping it would bring back the memories.

She would have taken any memory, however small of her daughter.

When they didn't come, she sighed and placed the card back in the box.

Closing time came sooner than she expected as she finished prepping the hand pies for the next day. When they discussed logistics, Alma explained, Tara had wanted the option of being able to pick up her daughters from school so they closed at 2:30 with time for prep if necessary.

After everything had been wiped down for that day, Alma and Tara sat at a table together, pastries and coffee on the table.

"You know, I didn't think I would ever have something like this." Tara admitted as she looked around. "It still feels a little unreal to me. A successful business, a loving husband, two beautiful kids… I feel like I'm playing pretend."

"You deserve this." Alma rebutted quickly. "The whole damn world spit on you and you were still the most nonjudgmental and empathetic and kind person I have ever met. This business was built literally from an internet presence and you worked hard to learn the logistics so that we could succeed."

She nodded absently, staring down at her coffee mug.

"Tara." Alma reached over and reached for her hand, squeezing it tight. "Hey. Penny for your thoughts?"

"What if I don't remember any of it?" Tara asked quietly, feeling a lump in her throat. "I keep hearing about these amazing things I did but honestly, the last memories I really have is moving my daughter- who was nine, to Goldcliff. And this bakery! Alma, it's beautiful and I keep pinching myself to remember that it's real and mine. I barely had enough savings to move here in the first place and I feel so incompetent compared to the woman everyone seems to think I am."

"You're afraid this is all going to get taken away from you." She said softly in return. Tara nodded as she blinked back tears.

"I'm afraid I won't live up to the person you all remember me as and you'll resent me for it."

Alma pursed her lips. "I forgot how close your ex-husband troubles must be to you. And how hard it must be to feel like you missed out on so much of your daughter's life. When you first moved here, I remember you were so afraid of Guy coming back and claiming custody. I can't tell you whether or not you'll get your memories back. But I can tell you we will all be by your side to help you with whatever you need. You helped so many people with your support. Eiko got her heart monitor working which is doing wonders for the health community. Levi started legitimately booking venues and got a recording deal. Zoey and Luz are so adored and driven. And Thomas with you is the happiest I have ever seen him."

Tara let herself wipe at the tears that had begun streaming down her face as she chuckled. "Can I pay to have you follow me around?"

"You have done so many amazing things, Tara. It's a testament to your character. You deserve to be happy."

@heauxplesslydevoted @hatescapsicum @cora-nova @princess-geek @flyawayboo @sunnyxdazed @loveellamae @my-remedy-is-euphoria @narrytheworld @drakewalker04

#missywrites #mother of the year #MOTY #playchoices #thomas mendez #thomas x MC

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ncvaleereign-ar · 4 years

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hi you beautiful people so ive been lacking muse for this beautiful human that is nova reign that i basically revamped her, gave her a new secret and changed her whole background. i basically wanted to start fresh with her and just try to do something new but also add in a sort of old muse ive had and combine her with my pop princess. so below is a new and improved nova. if you’d like to plot heart this and i’ll come message you <3

new york’s very own nova reign was spotted on broadway street in stuart weitzman heeled boots. your resemblance to perrie edwards is unreal . according to tmz , you just had your twenty fifth birthday bash . while living in nyc , you’ve been labeled as being hot headed , but also tender hearted. i guess being a cancer explains that . 3 things that would paint a better picture of you would be pastels, diamonds, sunflowers . & ( cisfemale & she/her ) + ( anna , 25 , she/her , est . )

trigger warnings include: drugs & death

༄ ʙᴀsɪᴄs

ɴᴀᴍᴇ → Nova Lee Reign

ᴀɢᴇ → 25

ʜᴏᴍᴇᴛᴏᴡɴ → New York City

ᴏᴄᴄᴜᴘᴀᴛɪᴏɴ → Musician

sᴇxᴜᴀʟɪᴛʏᴏʀɪᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ → bisexual

ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴsʜIᴘ sᴛᴀᴛᴜs → single

༄ ᴘʜʏsɪǫᴜᴇ

ғᴀᴄᴇᴄʟᴀɪᴍ → perrie edwards

ʜᴇɪɢʜᴛ → 5ft 3in

ʜᴀɪʀ → blond

eᴇʏᴇs → bright blue

sᴄᴀʀs → a scar on her stomach from getting a surgery removing her gallbladder, one across her forearm from not listening as a child and not paying attention to where things were causing her to accidentally gash her arm

༄ ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ

ᴛʀᴀɪᴛs → + very warm welcoming, caring, will legit put your needs in front of her own, - hurt her or her friends vile, manipulative at times, can be snarky

ғᴇᴀʀs → being alone and spiders

༄ ʙᴀᴄᴋɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅ

*nova lee reign never wanted the life she was give but being born into a family of one of the most fearful and powerful businessmen/women in new york she had no choice but to follow in her family’s lifestyle. From a young age she had dreams, dreams that didn’t involve business deals, business meeting or being a feared person.

*nova always wanted to go into music, whether it be starting a record company or sign a record deal one day, make a name that wasn’t her family’s but had to keep that a secret from her family but only made it her misson to make her dream a reality once she learned what her parents actually did soon making her actually having to live a double life because she told them her dreams and they laughed

* her parents say they own a company by the name Reign Enterprise but in reality that company is just a front of what really is going on behind closed doors. Reign Entireprise is just a codename for her family to hide behind the fact that they are a powerful mob family that instead of selling stock, they sell drugs and when they don’t get their way, they kill anyone that gets in their way.

*nova does everything she can to come out on top whether it be overworking herself or using her family ties to try to take down whatever competition which was how she got to be apart of her band. she hates using the name she was given but once she found out it worked out in her favor she went with the flow. well until she met a boy.

*when nova met alex she felt on top of the world. she didn’t follow her parents rules, she felt reckless and happy. she was in love. when she was with the male she forgot who she really was and that wasn’t okay with her family. which is where her secret comes in. two years into their relationship the two were just about to engaged, when her parents found out that nova was going to leave her family’s lifestyle they ordered a hit on her boyfriend and just before he got down on one knee the male was shot and killed by the hand of nova’s father and nova was the one to cover up the death.

she keeps a double lifestyle, working for what she what she loves doing and trying to reach her goal but also trying to show her parents the fact that she could one day take over for them. personality wise, she’s a bit sassy will try to get you to cause trouble with her but that’s because she’s always looking for a good time. she’s also generally really sweet but that’s because she uses that as an advantage to get people to join in on all her plans and fun.she’s really loyal to her friends but to her enemies she’s a snake, she will do anything to ruin their life try to find their deepest secret and expose them only because that’s the kind of person she is.

༄ PLOTS

Everything that is right here! is very wanted!!!

roommate plots- please give this girl a normal life and give her some roommates who don’t know about her family and just loves her for her and dont think anything other than she’s a actual nice person (0/2)

ride or die/squad – all the types of best friends, male best friends, ride or die best friend a partner in crime this girl needs all the friends that she hides who she really is from of course but she still gets along with these people and maybe theyre the first person she calls when she needs to talk or get away (0/2)

childhood best friend- grew up together, always stuck together, and saw each other through the good and bad times. knows every secret and is that person she calls when she knows she’s going to have a mental breakdown (0/2)

guy best friend - plain and simple. her male bff that she goes to all the time to cheer her up, be her hype man and just talk about any and all things (0/1)

music friends - give this girl all the music friends pleaseeee (0/??)

Stay- “Tell me that it’s all okay I’ve been waitin’ on this all damn day call me in the mornin’, tell me how last night went I’m here, but don’t count on me to stay” || basically a very toxic relationship its a complete back and forth between the two. they either are together or they’re not until nova can’t take it anymore. yes she’ll still come when they call at three a.m. drunk off their ass but she won’t stay. she’ll help take care of them but that’s all. (0/1)

Motivate- “When he moves in, I cave in want him to dive in my ocean we take off our labels on the coffee table 2AM and we just begun” || a relationship that purely works on sexual attraction, but also one of nova’s biggest motivators in life. it’s either really toxic or pretty serious. this person would be the biggest influence for her writing her song ‘motivate’ (0/1)

Happier- “And the image of you being with someone else well, it’s eating me up inside but we ran our course, we pretended we’re okay now if we jump together at least we can swim far away from the wreck we made” || basically this is a relationship (romantic or friendship wise im sure we can make it work) where no one wants them together. her friends tell her they’re a bad duo and their friends tell them they’re a bad duo. nova makes the decision to just be friendly during group appearances but knows they’ll never work out because the world is against them but she wants the other to be happier in life. (0/2)

Bad At Love- “I’m bad at love but you can’t blame me for tryin’ you know I’d be lyin’ sayin’ you were the one that could finally fix me lookin’ at my history” || nova doesn’t believe in love, she had it and it went away and then she tried again but she was never good at it because she makes herself believe that she doesn’t deserve love. this is basically a past relationship where she left, she ran when things got good because she was scared so she left without a word and now she’s running into them again and everything hits her at once. its a pretty angsty plot. (0/1)

Sweet but Psycho- “You’re just like me, you’re out your mind I know it’s strange, we’re both the crazy kind you’re tellin’ me that I’m insane boy, don’t pretend that you don’t love the pain” || this is like a ride or die plot, basically they’re like two pea’s in a pod. they get in trouble together, they have fun together, they might experiment things together but in the end they’re like the same person. nothing sexual comes from this. (0/2)

#wealthyhq:intro #tw death #tw drugs #tw gun mention

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gwentoryfics · 5 years

Text

Hot for Teacher, Part 1.

REPOSTED FROM MY ORIGINAL BLOG, GWENTORY.

Genre | College Student x College Professor Smut AU

Pairing | Hongseok x Reader x Hyunggu (Kino)

Words | 9.5k

Summary | You never realized how much one drunken night could color the rest of your college experience until you discover that the handsome stranger from your cousin’s wedding is also the new professor at your university.

Warnings | Alcohol and underage drinking. Swearing. Dangerous levels of lust.

Parts | 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • More Coming Soon AO3 | 1 • 2

Playlist | Spotify • Youtube

Note | Due to excessive references to American music, I’ve decided to set this fic in America instead of South Korea. Names will follow the American standard of (First Name) (Last Name), instead of the Korean (Family Name) (Given Name). I’ve also linked a playlist (above) that includes any referenced songs, artists, or other music that helps set the vibe, so please check it out!

This can’t be happening. This absolutely, cannot be happening to you right now.

You stare at your professor in shock from the safety of the back of the classroom, hoping to all that is holy that he will not look up to find you sitting there. How could he of all people be your professor? How could you possibly be so unlucky?

Your heart races as your mind clouds over with the memory of that night, of the press of his lips and the fervid insistence of his hands as they explored your body. In a night of slightly drunken passion, you had unknowingly slept with the man who was apparently fated to be your professor. You feel like you could cry from embarrassment, and you bury your head in your notebook as he begins roll call.

“Are you okay? You look like you’re going to be sick.” Your friend Shinhye leans over, voice thick with worry.

You nod, not exactly wanting to fill her in on quite possibly the biggest blunder of your life. Maybe you’d share the story of your sexual escapades with her at some point, but sitting in the same room as your partner in crime is not the time or place to do so. “I’m fine. Just having second thoughts about the class.”

“Shinhye Nam?” He calls flatly from the front of the class.

“Here!” She pipes up and then whispers to you, “What? You’ve been looking forward to this class for months!”

“Yeah, but-”

“_____?” The sound of his voice wrapping around the syllables of your name sends a delicious shiver down your spine. You remember that sound, remember exactly the song of your name as it poured from his lungs that night.

“Here,” you respond meekly, lifting your notebook a fraction higher to give you more cover. Does he remember your name? Does he recognize your voice? Does he remember you at all? Surely he hadn’t been drunk enough to completely forget your tryst.

He moves on to the next name without pause, without even sparing a glance your way. Maybe he had forgotten after all. Maybe you’ve been completely wiped from his memory of that night. Or, conversely, maybe he had only forgotten your name, just as you’ve forgotten his. That doesn’t necessarily mean that your night together was insignificant to him.

It should have been insignificant, though. That’s how hookups work. You bite down on your lip and curse yourself for all of the stupid feelings that flood you, curse the way your heart pounds harder just being in the same room as him. It was just one night, and even though it rocked you to your core it was nothing more than a one-and-done rendezvous.

It was maybe a month and a half ago, but your memory of it is much clearer than it should be, especially given the alcohol consumption that colored most of your evening in a rosy haze. Maybe you had worked overtime to engrain every little detail into your memory because you knew you would never want to forget.

Your cousin’s wedding was a gorgeous affair. Lavish floral arrangements adorned the walls and pews, and sanctuary of the church, each bundle of white roses bound together with violet ribbons and lace. Music floated out from grand piano and violin duo, and oh what you would have done to get your hands on that Steinway. Its tone was pure as snow and you bet it played like a dream. And with the reverberating acoustics of the tall church ceiling, its sound was nothing short of angelic.

The priest led the groom in from the side. You had not yet met Hwitaek, but he was handsome and bore a kind, nervous smile. He looked like exactly the kind of guy Jiyoo would fall for, and it made you happy to see the apparent anxious excitement he had for the event.

The music changed and the processional began. The bridesmaids and groomsmen made their way down the aisle two at a time, arm in arm, and you were captivated by the elegant dresses the bridal party wore. The purple of their gowns exactly matched the accents of the flowers in their bouquets, and the bodices were intricately decorated with the finest crystals. The girls absolutely sparkled. But, of course, they could never outshine the bride.

All of the attendants stood as the music changed once more, signaling the entrance of the bride. Jiyoo appeared at the end of the aisle, clinging to her father’s arm as they slowly moved forward. The skirt of her ballgown dress nearly filled the whole aisle, and the sweetheart neckline hid behind a sheer lace boat neck top with cap sleeves. It was so stunningly her. And her bouquet was dripping with crystals, her veil and train similarly doused in glitz. But above all, she looked so, so happy.

She joined Hwitaek, passing off her bouquet and taking his hand, and you realized that he had tears in his eyes. Yes, he was definitely the sweetheart for Jiyoo.

The priest opened the ceremony with a prayer, and you obediently bowed your head, although you were admittedly on the fence about your religious beliefs. Still, you sent out some hopeful well-wishes for the soon-to-be newlyweds, because it couldn’t hurt to put some good energy out into the universe.

The ceremony proceeded, and although beautiful, it certainly lacked entertainment value. Not that weddings are meant to be entertaining, per se, but the more religious ceremonies could really drudge on, in your opinion. This one was certainly no exception. There were plenty of scripture readings and hymns, most of which you knew by heart due to spending your childhood in a very similar church. But right as you were starting to feel boredom blur your focus, you noticed him.

He was a groomsman, two down the line from Hwitaek. His tux looked as though it had been made for him, crisp and clean and sitting just right on his broad shoulders. He could have been a model, or a celebrity even, for all you knew. He was certainly far too gorgeous to just be an ordinary person. His dark hair hung soft on his forehead, his eyes were sharp, his lips were plush. How had it taken you so long to notice him?

For the rest of the ceremony you found yourself to be quite preoccupied, as one would imagine. The borderline salacious thoughts that filtered through your mind almost made you feel uncomfortable to be sitting in the house of God, so you did your best to train your eyes on Jiyoo and Hwitaek instead of the unfortunate, unreal beauty of the groomsman.

Finally, after far too long of a ceremony, the couple shared their first kiss as husband and wife, and the whole party recessed down the aisle. You thought you were in the clear, since The World’s Biggest Distraction was finally leaving, but then the damn boy looked squarely at you as he walked by.

You swear your panties literally (not literally) disintegrated.

Back in the classroom, Shinhye kicks your chair, startling you back to the present. “Girl, snap out of it. Why are you so spacey?”

You sit up a little straighter, dropping your notebook onto the desk and blurting, “Yeah, no, it’s fine.”

Your nonsense earns you a weird look, which you make right back at her before glancing to the front of the room, where The Hottest Professor is staring right at you.

Well, you couldn’t have avoided it forever.

His gaze lingers just long enough for you to know that he recognizes you, that he’s having the same mild freakout as you. So he does remember.

Clearing his throat, he breaks eye contact and casually looks around the room as he introduces himself. “Good morning everyone, and welcome to the first day of classes. I am Professor Yang. It is very nice to meet all of you.” He picks up a stack of papers from his desk and starts passing the packets down each row, working his way to the back of the room. “This is a two-part class. For the first seven weeks we will meet here in the classroom and learn the basics of physics as they pertain to musical instruments. The following eight weeks will be spent in the workshop across the hall, where you will each build your own instrument with my guidance.”

You intentionally keep your eyes glued to the blank page of your notebook, and you curse yourself for having chosen the seat at the beginning of the row. He holds the last of his packets out to you, standing close enough that you can smell the sweet cardamom and bergamot of his cologne. Damn, you love that smell.

“You’ll notice my office hours listed here on the syllabus. My office is right down at the end of the hall. Please feel free to stop in if there are ever any questions or concerns about the course material.”

It feels as though his words are directed specifically at you instead of the entirety of the class, and you can’t help but wonder if you’re only imagining it. You begrudgingly peek up at him and he nods encouragingly, still waiting for you to take the papers. When you finally grab the meager stack, he immediately heads back to the front of the class without so much as a smile. But what else should you expect? He’s probably not happy about this situation either.

The syllabus states his office location and hours as well as a phone number, which you assume is for an office phone. He would be insane to give out his personal phone number, especially being as attractive as he is. Students would certainly take advantage of that, yourself not included. You know better. You want absolutely nothing to do with this man if he’s your teacher.

Professor Hongseok Yang. You groan and slump down in your chair.

What have you done?

The reception was held in the banquet hall of a hotel not too far from the church. It was an elegant setting, with pretty white tables and chairs and more of the same extravagant floral arrangements for centerpieces. The lavender lighting cast a soft glow on the sheer white curtains billowing softly by the open windows, a pleasant summer breeze filling the room with fresh air. The calming color and soothing evening air did nothing to relax your nerves, though, your leg jiggling up and down to release the nervous energy within you.

You anxiously awaited the arrival of the wedding party, sipping at the champagne meant for a toast and convincing yourself that you were getting worked up over nothing. It’s not like anything would happen. You would never in a million years work up the courage necessary to speak to the groomsman. He was way out of your league; you’d just clam up and look like an idiot if you tried to start a conversation. It would definitely be much safer to keep to yourself.

Really, the whole thing was stupid. You were there to support your cousin, not to fawn over some guy. It was absurd for you to be so bothered by your sudden love interest to the point of meticulously planning out the rest of the night in order to avoid being around him. Yet there you were, completely intent on spending the night at your table, having a night of simple conversation and safe, good fun. And eventually you’d get out of your seat to congratulate the happy couple, but that’s it. Your mom would be so proud.

Your cousin had been kind enough to seat you at a table with your other cousins instead of your parents. You wouldn’t have minded sitting with your parents, but if you had the choice you’d much rather be around people your own age. Your parents could be a little uptight (well, more than a little, especially when going to family events), and even if you were going to have a low-key night, you’d have a much better time gossiping with your cousins instead of constantly having to reassure your mother that she looks just as beautiful as your aunts without looking overdone.

All you wanted was a relaxed, stress free night. But when had things ever gone the way you planned?

You had tried not to stare at him. You really had. But some things just can’t be helped. The wedding party made their entrance, and you were drawn to him like a moth to a flame. He glowed when he smiled, burning brighter than the sun, but you were unable to look away and save yourself, completely trapped in the warmth of his light.

You realized that at least a fraction of your attraction to him was likely due to the personality you were projecting onto him - he seemed clever, funny, stubborn - but he might not have been any of those things. Maybe he was bookish, or a sports fanatic. Maybe he loved puppies and children, or cigarettes and motorcycles. You only had one way to find out for sure, but you would certainly not be learning those things about him tonight or any other night.

When the meal was finished and the dancing had begun, you just couldn’t keep your eyes off of him. He and the other groomsmen partied hard, tearing up the dance floor and taking full advantage of the open bar. The particular man that had caught your eye left his jacket at the table, rolling up his sleeves to reveal his veiny forearms - dangerous, as you were far too easily affected by impressive vasculature. He had to be covered in muscles, you just knew it.

Minseo, who had been sitting next to you all night, returned from the bar with a round of beverages for the both of you. “Bless Jiyoo for asking a friend to bartend. He’s not carding and honestly he’s super cute.”

“What I’m hearing is that we need to down these drinks as fast as possible so you can get back up there and talk to him again.” You gratefully accepted the wine glass, immediately pulling it to your lips and taking a deep sip of the dry, fruity beverage.

“Not a bad idea. And next time I’ll get a more complicated drink.” She smiled mischievously, taking a long sip of her own wine, which was already half finished. “What about you? When are you gonna go out there and dance? He’ll never notice you sitting over here.”

Wine dribbled down your chin when you pulled away from your glass too soon, and you sloppily wiped it off with the back of your hand before it could drip onto your dress. “What? Who? What are you talking about?” You blubbered, face growing warm, realizing that she had caught you. Your staring must have been too obvious.

“Come on. The groomsman. You can’t keep your eyes off of him. I’m telling you to go make a move.” She plopped into her seat. “Seriously. Go get it.”

Vehemently shaking your head, you refuse to take her up on any of her ludicrous suggestions. “Are you kidding me? I can’t just walk up to him and… and…”

“No, you’re right, you’re right. We’ll go together.” Minseo downed the rest of her drink and waited for you to do the same.

You continued your head-shaking routine, adding a finger wag for emphasis. “No way. I’m staying right here where it’s safe. The DJ isn’t that great anyway. Do you hear this music? I can’t dance to this.”

Just as soon as you mentioned it, the music cut out, drawing your attention to the DJ’s stand. Shinhye twisted in her seat to look over. “What’s he doing? The song isn’t even over.”

“See? I told you-”

“Alright, single ladies!” The DJ shouted way too loudly into the microphone. “Let’s get all of you out here and toss that bouquet!”

Minseo’s head whipped around like something out of a horror movie. Before she could say a single word, you took to shaking your head once more. “No, no, no. I am not going up there.”

You knew she wouldn’t listen to your futile attempts at refusal. Minseo stood, forcefully grabbing your wrists and yanking you out of your chair. “Come on, it’s for Jiyoo. Just stand there and look involved.”

Begrudgingly, you let her drag you to the center of the room, where you joined at least fifteen other bachelorettes. You tucked yourself amongst them, wishing you could just be invisible. Jiyoo smiled brightly at her flock of targets before turning her back, and when the DJ counted down from three, she flung her beautiful bouquet into the air.

And wouldn’t you know it, the damn thing flew right for you.

It arced high in the air, but it didn’t take a genius to see where it was going to land. You lifted your hands and it fell right into your grasp; you didn’t even have to reach for it. The room was all cheers and applause as you very suddenly became the center of attention, Jiyoo closing in to congratulate you.

“Ahhh, my baby cousin!” She squealed as she wrapped her arms around you in a big hug, her poofy dress swallowing your legs. “You know that means you’re next, right?”

“Next to get married?” You question with a quiet laugh. “That seems unlikely. I don’t know if you’ve noticed how very much single I am.”

“But the flowers have commanded that you’ll fall in love.” Jiyoo winked playfully, and you couldn’t help but smile, even if you didn’t believe in such superstitions.

The wedding photographer snapped a few photos of the two of you, and for a moment you forgot all about the beautiful distraction that was currently seated at the head table. You squeezed your cousin tightly, congratulating her on this big step into womanhood. “I’m so happy for you, Jiyoo! Your new husband is super cute, too.”

“He is, isn’t he.” She smiled wide and then gasped. “You haven’t met him yet, have you?”

“Not yet, actually.”

Nodding her head towards the front of the room, she took your hand sweetly. “That needs to change. You’ll love him.”

“I’m sure I will.” You laughed and eagerly followed her to their table before you could realize who else waited there. And by the time you saw the groomsman seated there, it was already too late.

“Hwitaek!” Jiyoo called as you both approached. “Come here, sweetie.”

Hwitaek, who was mid-conversation with the cause of your demise, patted said instigator on the back and looped around the table to come meet you. You fixated on him to keep your eyes from straying over to the man with the perfect face, and it seemed to work out okay.

“Hwitaek, this is my cousin, _____.” Jiyoo introduced you. “She caught the bouquet!”

“It’s so nice to meet you!” Hwitaek enthusiastically drew you into a hug, and you wondered if the extremely friendly gesture was at all fueled by alcohol. Maybe he was just a friendly guy. “Congratulations on the bouquet catch!”

“Thank you,” you laughed as he released you. “And congratulations to you on the marriage! That’s certainly a bigger deal than the flowers.”

He smiled sweetly, tucking Jiyoo under his arm. “Thank you. I’m a very lucky man. She’s my best friend.”

Jiyoo beamed, and your heart warmed. They were absolutely precious together, the love between them practically tangible. Maybe one day you could find a love like that.

Just then, the DJ came in with some shitty, generic pop song, and Jiyoo perked up. “Oh my gosh, I love this song! Let’s dance!” She started to pull both you and Hwitaek back towards the dance floor, but you returned to your default mode.

“I’m actually really thirsty, so I’m going to get some more to drink. But you two have fun!” It was much easier to slip out of Jiyoo’s grip than it was when Minseo held your wrist, and Jiyoo and Hwitaek carried on just fine without you.

And then you made the mistake of turning directly towards the hot groomsman.

You met his eyes and froze. Everything stopped. Your tongue dried up, nothing more than a hardened sponge in your mouth, and your pulse slowed to a halt. You were dead. Absolutely, unequivocally dead. Taken by the unmatched lethal power of a perfectly executed seductive gaze.

Jesus Christ, you were drowning in lust.

He raised an eyebrow at you, looking amused by the goldfish expression you bore. “Hi.”

Oh, dear Lord, even his voice was beautiful. You needed to get out of there fast. With a nod and awkward sort of salute, you took off, finding solace in the safety of your table. You plopped into your chair and practically inhaled the rest of your wine, dropping the bouquet onto the table and wondering how much longer you would have to suffer through this reception.

It would have been nice to have some relief. To get a moment to compose yourself and let your heart rate return to normal. But Minseo, the everloving bane of your existence, could not let that happen.

You spotted her on the dance floor. She looked over her shoulder back at you, a devilish expression on her face, and you realized that she was definitely up to no good.

Minseo had always been a troublemaker and bad influence over you. She was your closest cousin for sure, and had been a good friend of yours all your life. You loved her to death, but Jesus Christ she really knew how to push your buttons.

Born without a single shy bone in her body, she practically shimmied right up to the groomsmen, targeting the one with the sharp eyes and plush lips and dark, soft hair. The one with his sleeves rolled up, the one that you’re convinced is the most attractive man to ever exist. She zeroed in on him, leaning in far too close as she spoke into his ear. And then she pulled back only to point at you, and suddenly his eyes were locked on yours once more.

And this time, he smiled. Oh Lord in Heaven, he smiled. At you. And your heart went up in flames. Total destruction. There were no survivors.

You ripped your eyes from his, suddenly sweating profusely and somehow out of breath. Your trembling hands lifted the remainder of Minseo’s wine to your mouth and you sucked it all down, realizing that you were far too sober to make it through the night alive. And much to your terror, you set the empty glass onto the table and looked up to see him headed straight for you.

Panicked, you rose to your feet and took off in the opposite direction, hurtling yourself towards the bathroom so you could hide.

Once you burst through the door, you flicked cold water onto the back of your neck, wishing you could douse your whole face in it without messing up your makeup. Instead you just took a few deep breaths, trying to calm yourself because you were clearly overreacting in every sense of the word.

Why were you so terrified? He was just a guy, albeit a drop dead gorgeous one. That kind of beauty was frankly quite intimidating, though, and you just knew you’d look like an idiot if you had to say a single word to him.

You considered a plethora of escape routes, including begging your parents to drive you home early and climbing out of the small frosted-glass window right there in the corner of the bathroom. But were you really that much of a chicken? Were you really going to let one attractive guy scare you off?

Then you remembered the way he smiled, remembered the way you trembled at the sight of him. He intrigued you, piqued your interest. You were curious what he might be like as a person, a kisser, a lover. You nursed your lower lip between teeth, absolutely giddy at the thought of getting him alone. Sex with him would be incredible, no doubt about it.

Since when were you so shameless, imagining all sorts of lewd scenarios centering around a complete stranger, though gorgeous he may be? You didn’t do hookups. You didn’t do one night stands. Sleeping around was not your thing. But with him… you felt inclined to completely abandon your sense of morality. He sparked something within you that you hadn’t felt, well, probably ever.

That was likely why you were terrified enough to run and hide the second he turned his attention your way - because you had the vague feeling that you would let him do anything he wanted to you, and it’s both thrilling and frightening to know someone could have that kind of power. Especially when you don’t even know the man. Sure, you have a history of being unable to function properly around attractive males in your usual sober circumstances. But this was definitely more than just a fear of looking a fool. It was you avoiding the dangerous call of forbidden pleasures and the path to losing your morality. But most of all, it was the distress over the unsettling feeling that you might actually be okay with stepping out of your comfort zone if it meant you could experience him.

You just weren’t sure how to deal with any of that.

As class wraps up, you pack up your things and wonder if you should say something to him. Should you acknowledge what happened between you? Or would it be best to just ignore it, pretend like it never happened? Maybe you should just let him take the lead on this one.

Before you can really decide one way or the other, Shinhye starts making a scene. “You know, ______, maybe you’re right to be second guessing this class. I’m not sure an eight AM is good for you. Did you pay attention at all?”

“It’s not a big deal, Shinhye, honest.” You speak quietly but harshly, your words carrying more bite than you intend. You glance up at Professor Yang, who is also gathering his things. If he’s eavesdropping on the conversation, he certainly gives no sign of it.

“Really? I’ve never seen you so distracted. Maybe bring a coffee next week. He said he’ll allow drinks in the classroom.”

You sling your backpack over your shoulder, muttering under your breath. “Come on, let’s get going.”

“Alright, now she’s awake!” Shinhye grabs her bag and leads the way.

As you follow her to the door, you peek over at Professor Yang again. He’s busying himself with unplugging his laptop from the projector, and he doesn’t even spare a glance your way as you exit the room. You hate the way your chest tightens, almost as if you’re disappointed.

You catch up to Shinhye and follow her to the dining hall to grab some brunch. Class was scheduled until noon but he dismissed early, stating that the four hour classes were only really necessary during the workshop half of the semester and you’ll likely be free to go around eleven until then.

You don’t exactly feel hungry, though, your stomach too full of nerves to desire any food. So you sit at the table with only a coffee, per Shinhye’s recommendation. You probably do need it, honestly.

“How old do you think Professor Yang is? He looks awfully young to be teaching at a university.” Shinhye tears into her omelette.

Well, he’s friends with Hwitaek, who you believe to be in his mid-twenties, so maybe he’s around there too? But you can’t bring any of that up without divulging exactly what had occurred between the two of you. “He does look pretty young.”

“He said he studied and worked as a luthier for the last ten years… I feel like he has to be in his late twenties at least, but he certainly doesn’t look it. Or maybe he just started his apprenticeship pretty young. I wonder if there’s an age requirement for that sort of thing?”

“A luthier?” You question, not familiar with the term.

Shinhye cocks her head. “Yeah, ______. A luthier. Professor Yang talked all about it. You really weren’t paying attention, were you?”

“I guess not.” You chew your bottom lip. Your head really was somewhere else all morning.

Thankfully Shinhye fills you in without dragging you too much. “A luthier is someone who makes string instruments. Professor Yang explained all about how he did this luthier apprenticeship and how he specializes in making guitars when he’s not teaching.”

“That’s actually really cool,” you murmur. You imagine what he must look like playing guitar, or working with tools in the workshop, and you can’t help but feel impressed just picturing about it. A thought occurs to you, and you accidentally verbalize, “Oh that makes so much sense!”

“What does?”

You clamp your mouth shut. You can’t tell Shinhye that you understand now why his hands felt so rough when they slid under your dress, how you know exactly where each callous resides on his fingers. Somehow you manage to rescue yourself with, “It makes sense that he’s teaching something like this, you know, because obviously someone who has so much experience should be the one to teach the class. It’s just obvious. So like, it makes sense.”

Shinhye shakes her head slowly. “I just don’t get you.”

Maybe you’ll tell her one day. But it just seems unnecessary, especially because it’s bad news that you’ve ever been involved with a professor. The fewer people that know, the better.

After camping out in the restroom of the hotel for an appropriate amount of time, you finally gathered your wits about you and headed out into the wild once more. You had reasoned with yourself, finally coming to the conclusion that you were a grown(ish) woman who did not need to hide from boys. Instead, you would handle yourself like a true grown(ish) woman and boost your morale with a little (albeit illegal) liquid courage.

You headed straight for the bar, posting up there and chugging a glass of wine before immediately ordering another. Ah, to be a lady.

As you accepted your second glass, a voice next to you asked for a bourbon. You were thankful you did not have any wine in your mouth as you looked up to find none other than the most beautiful man in the world standing next to you - you definitely would have spit it out all over him. He smiled warmly at you, and if it didn’t feel like your knees were about to give out, you definitely would have sprinted back to the restroom, grown(ish) woman morale be damned.

He must have sensed your self-consciousness because he said with a laugh, “Please don’t run away from me again. I promise I don’t bite.”

You immediately squashed the thought of oh I wish you would, refusing to let that little gem slip past your lips. Instead you just took a long drink, completely unsure of what to say.

He wasn’t dissuaded by your silence, though, and you weren’t positive if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Leaning against the counter, he turned his body to face you, calm confidence pouring out from him in waves. “Your cousin said you wanted to dance with me, but that you might need some convincing. I’m not so persistent that I won’t take no for an answer, so if you say no I’ll leave you alone. But I thought I should at least try for a yes.”

The way his lips formed his words absolutely hypnotized you. How could a person be so stunning?

“I thought if nothing else, I might be able to at least have a conversation with you. I didn’t expect it to be quite so challenging, though. Usually it’s easy to get girls to talk to me.”

You snapped out of your dazed state with a laugh, your jaw dropping at his bold assertion. “That’s incredibly cocky of you to say, don’t you think?”

He shrugged casually. “It got you to talk, didn’t it?”

You took another sip, eyebrow raised. Touché.

“So what’s it going to take to get you to dance with me?” He smiled that beautiful, breathtaking smile of his, and it intoxicated you. Or maybe it was just the wine finally kicking in. Either way, you were hopeless. Looking away from you briefly, he accepted the short glass of amber liquid the bartender handed him, and you admired the strong line of his jaw and neck as he nodded his thanks.

Holding tightly onto your glass, you ripped your gaze from him before he could turn back to you and mulled over his inquiry. If you drank any more wine, it would probably be fairly easy for him to get you to dance, but you knew better than to spill those beans. So you respond to his question with a much safer answer: “Maybe a different DJ.”

He laughed warmly, and the sound of it turned your world upside down. “Yeah, he’s not great. Any wedding DJ that’s got ‘Y.M.C.A.’ on their playlist should not be a wedding DJ.”

You lifted your glass in agreement, intrigued. “I’ll drink to that. If you’re going to play something from the seventies, at least make it good. Give me some Marvin Gaye, or Donna Summer. Maybe a little Rufus with Chaka Khan for extra brownie points.”

His eyes tracked over your face as he clinked his glass against yours. “Some Earth, Wind and Fire, perhaps?”

Sucking air through your teeth, you squinted disapprovingly. “They can get a little campy.”

“Excuse you, ‘Boogie Wonderland’ is a classic.”

“About as classic as ‘Y.M.C.A.’” You snarked back at him, surprised by how at ease you were beginning to feel. The wine had definitely kicked in. Your brain felt warm and fuzzy, your limbs pleasantly tingly. “You know what’s cool?”

“Hm?” The glass in his hand met his lips and somewhere in the back of your mind you registered a touch of jealousy. Over a damn glass. What the literal shit.

You shook your head as quickly and minutely as possible to clear your thoughts and get back on track with what you wanted to say. “Um… Ah, wedding bands. Why don’t people hire bands anymore? Get some live music going. That’s awesome. That’s what’s good.”

“You’re really passionate about music, aren’t you?” Soft endearment coated his voice like honey, his sweet eyes scanning your face and making your heart flutter.

You nodded, shyness creeping up on you once again. He was miles out of your league, and it was honestly unreal that he’d even give you the time of day. Yet there he was, talking to you like you actually had a chance. Well… maybe you actually did.

An effortlessly sexy grin tugged at his lips. “So I know there’s not a wedding band tonight, and we’ve already established that this DJ kind of sucks… but is there any chance I could get you to dance with me despite all of that?”

And there it was - your chance. He could have very easily dropped the idea of dancing altogether after chatting with you and forming a more educated opinion of you. But the conversation must have gone okay because he still wanted to dance. And there he was, smiling all pretty and waiting for a response and you knew that you didn’t exactly have a choice when he looked at you that way.

“Let me finish this first.” Your voice sounded a lot more steady and confident than you expected, which left you pleasantly surprised with yourself.

“That’s fair.” He nodded and took a sip of his drink, finally looking away and giving you a chance to breathe. Changing the subject, he asked, “You here for the bride or groom? My guess is bride, since I haven’t seen you before.”

“Bride. She’s my cousin. And I’m guessing you’re with the groom, for obvious reasons.” You gestured to his tux, the symbol of his relationship to the groom.

“Perceptive,” he teased. “Yeah, he’s a long time friend of mine.”

With a big gulp of wine, you nodded. Almost done. You were really doing this. “They seem like a good pair. I hadn’t met Hwitaek until today - maybe thirty minutes ago, actually. But he seems like a good guy and she’s definitely happy.”

“Ah, right, I think I saw you meeting him.”

You froze up, remembering the awkward staring contest that followed your introduction to Hwitaek. With an uncomfortable chuckle, you spit out, “Right, I think you did.”

Now there was something more mischievous in his grin, and you knew he brought that up on purpose to see how you’d react. Pleased, he took another drink, and you were bewitched by the way his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “I see them together a lot, and they’re a perfect match. Hwitaek is very good to Jiyoo, don’t worry. And she’s great, she fits right in with the whole lot of us.”

“That’s good to hear.” You were relieved that he didn’t linger on the subject - your life wasn’t over yet. So you smiled, finally on your last sip. You throw it back, and the warm buzz at the corners of your mind gave you the confidence you needed to place your empty glass on the bar counter and face him. “What’s your name?”

“Hongseok. Yours?” He smirked, effectively chipping away at your newfound courage, and finished off his own drink.

“_____.”

“_____,” he repeated your name, testing it out on his tongue, and it sounded absolutely wonderful. You needed to hear it once more, and you made it your personal goal to make him say it again before the end of the night. He held out his arm for you to take, stirring up the tipsy butterflies in your stomach. “Shall we?”

With a shaky inhale, you hooked your hand in the crook of his elbow, noting the way his bicep bulged. You were signing your life away for the night and you had absolutely no idea what you were getting yourself into.

Hongseok.

Professor Hongseok Yang.

You throw yourself back onto your bed, tossing your Physics of Musical Instruments syllabus to the floor. It’s been two days and you still haven’t come to terms with the pickle you’re in. The secret is eating you alive from the inside out, and you’re dying to talk about it.

Briefly, you even consider emailing Hong- no, Professor Yang, but you know you can’t just send incriminating emails over the school’s server. That would be about as bad of an idea as sleeping with your professor in the first place.

You’re trying not to chastise yourself too much about it. At the time, you had no idea he taught at your university. If you had, you definitely would have refused to visit his hotel room. You wouldn’t have even danced with him. You know how to behave responsibly, but you let yourself live a bit more freely that night and now you’re paying the price.

Maybe you needed to tell Shinhye after all. You just needed someone to know what you were dealing with, because it felt too burdensome for you to hold on your own. If just one person could know and understand-

Minseo.

Jumping to your feet, you scramble out to the living room and tear up your desk in search of your cell phone. When you finally found the device, you immediately video call your beloved cousin.

She answers after a few rings. “What’s up, boo?”

You almost start crying, already feeling relieved just by having her on the line. “Minseoooo! Are you alone right now?”

“Yeah, I’m at my apartment. You okay?” She frowns, peering closely at her screen.

You push your hair back with a sigh. How do you say this? “I’ve made a mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake.”

“What is it?”

“Remember the groomsman from Jiyoo’s wedding?”

As soon as you mention him, her eyes grow wide. She covers her mouth, but not enough to muffle her words. “Oh my God, don’t tell me you’re pregnant.”

“What? No!” You shake your head emphatically. “No, I swear I’m not pregnant.”

“Oh thank God, because that would be just the worst.”

She’s right, though; that would be the actual worst case scenario. Your current situation might be bad, but at least there’s no fetus involved. With that bit of perspective, you proceed a bit more calmly. “So… it turns out that the groomsman teaches at my university. And I’m taking his class.”

Minseo stares at her phone for a moment, and then suddenly bursts into laughter. “You’ve got to be kidding me. For real?”

“For real.”

More laughter. “What are the odds of that? Jesus. You finally get laid for the first time since high school and it’s with your fucking teacher…”

Her lighthearted response actually makes you feel better, and you let yourself laugh about it too. “It’s crazy, right?”

“Insane!” Her black cat poked her head into the frame, and Minseo scratched her between her ears. “So wait, what happened? How did class go? Has he said anything about it?”

“He didn’t say a word, and neither did I. He basically ignored me all through class. And I think it’s a good thing? But also I kind of want to just talk about it? Because I feel like it’s going to be incredibly awkward if we have to go through the whole semester without even addressing it.”

“You should say something to him, then. Just tell him that you’re not going to say anything about what happened, and tell him that you want him to treat you normally. I mean, that’s what you want, right?”

You nod. “Right. I should probably do that, as uncomfortable as it may be.”

Minseo tilts her head, looking at you endearingly. “You can handle it. You’re a strong little lady. You just have to believe it.”

Finally, a relieved exhale leaves you. “Minseo, I feel so much better now that you know. I haven’t told anyone here about what happened and it was killing me.”

“I’m glad I could help. You should probably keep it a secret at school, though. Word can really spread fast across a campus.” Her cat meows quietly in agreement.

“Good plan. This stays between you and me.” You hold up your little finger as if to make a pinky promise, and she follows suit.

“Our little secret.”

The first days of the rest of your classes all pale in comparison to that eventful Tuesday morning. Physics of Musical Instruments is your only class in the science building, so thankfully you don’t have to worry about accidentally passing him every other day of the week. That should also be your most difficult class this semester, with a required writing class and second levels of aural skills and music theory making up the rest of your schedule. Add in your weekly piano lessons and R&B Ensemble practices, and you’ve got a lot on your hands. But you’re generally looking forward to your sophomore year, regardless of the whole mess with Professor Yang.

And it really doesn’t need to be a mess, anyway. You’ll have your chat with him, you can both move on, and it’ll all be moot in the end. At least, that’s what you tell yourself as you head into the weekend, knowing full well you’ll have to face him again in a matter of days and it won’t be easy.

Saturday afternoon is the music department’s convocation for the start of the semester. You take a seat in the auditorium of the music building, the ensemble on stage providing the entertainment as students file in. It’s the pride of the otherwise average music department, the upperclassman Jazz Ensemble, which you hope you’ll be accepted into next school year. If you do well with your own ensemble this year, you could definitely stand a chance. Besides, the current keyboardist will be graduating at the end of the school year, so there will definitely be an open spot waiting for you.

A familiar looking boy approaches you, all cheekbones and bright eyes. “Hi, can I sit there?” He gestures to the seat next to you, and you nod, standing to let him squeeze past you. When you’re both seated, he says, “I think I saw you in theory and aural skills, right?”

That’s why he looks so familiar! “Oh, yes! I remember you. Hi.” You greet him warmly, glad to have a fellow classmate to keep you company.

“I’m Kino.” He extends his hand to you. “Sophomore, studying voice and dance.”

“______, piano.” You shake his hand, and he smiles sweetly. “Also a sophomore.”

“Nice to meet you, officially.” Kino drops his backpack onto the floor between his legs and looks up at the stage. “Wow, Jazz Ensemble never disappoints.”

“You’ve got that right. You should have heard the Thelonious Monk tune they played before this one. They killed it.”

“I can believe that.” He looks over at you. Does he ever stop smiling? “Are you in any ensembles this semester?”

“Yeah, R&B.”

“No way! Me, too!” He laughs, and the sound of it is warm and pure. “I hardly convinced them to let me join, though. Being a double major keeps me really busy, but I was desperate to get into an ensemble this year.”

You laugh too, enjoying the way he makes you feel at ease. “I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other, then.”

“Sounds like it.”

The auditorium doors close as the last of the students scramble into seats, and you clap as the ensemble finishes their last song, a Miles Davis classic. One day it’ll be you on that stage. One day you’ll get to really make your mark.

The meeting itself isn’t really anything special. It’s mostly just to welcome everyone to a new school year and explain the basic requirements of a music major. Each semester you must attend no less than five student performances, but that’s nothing intimidating to you. You love going to student performances, so you’ll likely have all five knocked out before you reach the second half of the semester.

Toward the end of the meeting, the head of the department announces that he would like to introduce the new staff for the year. Three new professors file out from the wing, and you bite down on your lip to prevent your jaw from dropping, shocked to see Professor Yang among them. Why is he here? He’s in the science department, not music.

He is the first to step up to the microphone to introduce his class, and your heart just about jumps out of your chest at the sound of his voice. “Hello everyone, I’m Professor Yang. Although I’m not technically a part of the music department, I have a feeling you may all find an interest in my course, Physics of Musical Instruments. It will help fulfill half of your required science credits while still allowing you to explore music. In my course you will not only learn the science of scales, tonality, and sound waves, but you will also be given the opportunity to build your own instrument. I’m very grateful to be able to share my knowledge of instruments and sound with you. My class for this semester filled up very quickly, so please keep an eye out for it when you’re preparing your schedules for next semester. Thank you, and I look forward to seeing you in class.”

He is so professional, and you’re taken aback by how different he is in a professional setting. At the wedding he was so carefree, although he certainly carried the same amount of confidence. Regardless, your pulse is getting out of control the longer you watch him, and you’re so thankful for the cloak of darkness in the auditorium.

Kino leans over toward you, whispering lowly, “That class sounds awesome!”

You just nod, fixated on Professor Yang. He’s dressed a bit more casually today, wearing a pair of snug fitting jeans with his partially unbuttoned button-down, a v-neck shirt peeking out from the space where the button-down separates at his collar bone. His sleeves are rolled up, just like they were at the wedding. It would feel so good to rip off those clothes, to hear the buttons of his shirt break off and fall to the floor as you strip him. The thought sends searing heat through you, and you nonchalantly cross your legs. Yes, this semester is definitely going to be a tough one for you.

Kino takes off as soon as the assembly ends, blurting that he has to get to his dance department’s convocation. And as you eventually make your way out of the auditorium, you’re thankful that you’re on your own.

Professor Yang is in the lobby, chatting with another faculty member as students filter past. And for absolutely no reason at all, he happens to look in your direction just as you notice him. He looks at you long and hard with a completely unreadable expression, and you gaze back, trying to keep your face similarly neutral. Trying not to let him see how badly affected you are just to be in the same room as him. Trying to pretend that you don’t wish you could get him naked again, feel his body on yours again.

You may never know if you are successful in controlling your features. You pull your eyes from him long before you can pick up on any clues and bolt for the door, simultaneously relieved and saddened to know he will not follow you.

Hongseok led you to the dance floor and pulled you around to face him. The DJ was still doing a terrible job, but with his hand on your waist and alcohol buzzing through your veins, you managed to find it within you to dance. You swayed your hips, bopping to the beat, your hands eventually coming to rest on his broad shoulders.

His hands grew more and more adventurous in their placement with each song that passed. You didn’t mind one bit, enjoying the way he casually explored your back, thighs, and neck. Your own hands slid down over his muscled chest and abdomen, which you could clearly feel even through his layers of clothing. If only you could touch his skin…

You were completely taken by him, heart pounding pleasantly in your chest as warmth spread throughout your body. Why had you been so afraid before? Everything had turned out to be nothing short of wonderful. Even if it stopped at dancing and went no further (which was exactly what you expected to happen), you still could leave knowing you had a great time with an incredibly hot guy that you could fantasize about later to your heart’s content.

You still couldn’t believe that he would even give you the time of day, yet there he was, dancing far too close for your feeble heart to handle - not that you were complaining. His features were even more striking up close; you could easily memorize the straight line of his nose, the exact shape of his lips, the curve of his chin. You didn’t know what you had done in a previous life to deserve his attention, but you were endlessly thankful.

As elated as you were to be there with him, though, you couldn’t help but wonder how he really felt, what exactly he thought about you. After all, it’s not like he had just walked up to you of his own accord. Surely it was all your cousin’s doing and no true luck of your own. “Hongseok?”

“_____?”

You nearly shiver at the sound of your name. “Are you only dancing with me because my cousin asked you to?”

He narrowed his eyes at you, as if trying to decipher the true meaning behind your questioning. “Yes and no.”

“Okay?”

The DJ played a slower song next, and Hongseok took the opportunity to pull you up against him, wrapping his arm around your waist and taking your hand in his. His fingers were rough and calloused, but gentle as they wrapped around your hand. “You didn’t really seem too eager to talk to me after you met Hwitaek, so I wasn’t going to bother you.”

You swallowed hard, mouth suddenly dry from nerves. You had almost ruined this for yourself, and you had no idea.

He continued his explanation. “So technically yes, it was your cousin’s idea that convinced me to say something to you. But if I hadn’t wanted to dance with you, I would have told her no. I wouldn’t have even asked you if I wasn’t interested.”

Thoughts manifested into words before you could stop them, and you cursed your intoxicated tongue. “Interested… in me? Like, you think I’m cute, or something?”

“You could say that.” His laugh brought a smile to your face. “What about you? Do you think I’m cute, or something?”

You should have cut yourself off after the second glass of wine. You didn’t drink often, and you didn’t have much of a tolerance, as made evident by the shameless, bold compliment that spilled from your lips. “Cute? You’re beautiful and I am very attracted to you.”

You only caught a hint of his charming smile before he pulled you in even tighter and lowered his mouth until it brushed the cusp of your ear. Gravelly undertones lined the edges of his voice as he murmured, “I don’t want to cause a scene - this is a family affair, after all - so I’m going to have to let you do your own thing for the rest of the night. But I want you to know that I am incredibly attracted to you, and I need you to find your way upstairs to room 417 after we send off the happy couple. Can you do that for me?”

You nodded without hesitation, speechless at his incredibly forward instructions, your alcohol-dulled mind still able to piece together the implications of his invitation. Damn all of your fears and concerns; Hongseok was a dream and you’d never forgive yourself if you passed on the chance that had been afforded you. Come hell or high water, you would get to room 417. How could you say no? Surely your sober self would thank your tipsy self for it later.

“Great.” His low, sensual voice filled you, his breath tickling your ear as he straightened up and released you. With a wink, he disappeared into the throng of partygoers, and you nibbled at your bottom lip as you wobbled towards your table. You needed to collapse into your chair, unable to hold yourself up after the assault of his charms.

Before you could reach the table, though, you spotted Minseo, and steered yourself in her direction instead. You grabbed onto her arm, ripping her from the rest of your cousins.

“Please don’t kill me, I swear I was only trying to do you a favor.” She misinterpreted your excitement as aggression, flinching when you leaned in.

“No, I love you, you’re the best, I’m sorry I ever doubted you. I think I’m gonna get laid tonight.” You giggled to yourself, feeling warm and airy. “He told me to go up to his room later.”

“There you go, girl!” She whacked your arm playfully, looking you up and down. “Go get it and then give me all the details tomorrow because honestly he’s gorgeous and I just have to know what’s going on under those clothes.”

“Ohmygod me tooooo…” you drawled. You were losing your mind just thinking about it. “Oh, um, hey, can you cover for me? I’m gonna tell my parents I’m spending the night at your place.”

She nodded, and then her face lit up. “Better idea! Let’s get our own room upstairs. Then you can come to our room after.”

You blinked owlishly. “Right.”

Minseo caught onto your hesitation. “Unless you plan on actually staying the night?”

“...No? Because… sleeping over… would that be weird?”

“Probably. I’m guessing he’ll just want to hook up and be done with it. So we should go see if there are any rooms available. Yeah?”

Minseo had a good point; it could get weird if you tried to overstay your welcome, so having another room to retreat to would be the best course of action. You came to the wedding with your parents, so you wouldn’t be able to get yourself home if you stayed at the hotel longer than everyone else. And you wouldn’t expect Minseo to leave her apartment and drive all the way back to pick you up after... You nodded and squeezed her hand. “Okay, that’s a good plan. Did I tell you you’re the best?”

“You might have mentioned it.” She started leading you by the hand towards the lobby. “Let’s go get that room and then head back to the bar before you chicken out.”

Post Script | Thank you for reading! Part 2 will be posted Friday at 8pm.

Update | Read Part 2 here!

THIS FIC IS REPOSTED FROM MY ORIGINAL BLOG, GWENTORY. All future content (including HFT Part 4 and onward) will only be posted on GWENTORYFICS. Thank you!

#hongseok #yang hongseok #hongseok smut #yang hongseok smut #hongseok scenario #pentagon smut #pentagon scenario #hyunggu scenario #hyunggu #kino #kino scenario #kang hyunggu #kang hyunggu scenario #yang hongseok scenario #hot for teacher #hft

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enkelimagnus · 6 years

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THOS2 day 1 (& my first ever convention)

I attended (still am) today the first of the Hunters of Shadow 2 con and this is what happened to me today

i’m seated quite far in the back (far enough that any pics zoomed on my phone came out very blurry and meh), but slightly high, which means that the view is still nice.

The con starts a bit late (around an hour), but the atmosphere is still fun, and the lateness is easily explainable.

The con people had a small video planned, and damn, it was amazing.

The cast comes in around 10.30/45. They look amazing. Kat is beautiful and sweet (with a hoarse voice because of last week’s australian con). Alberto looks great, Emeraude looks perfect, Jade is, as always, dressed to the nines. Harry is wearing a simple white shirt, and it’s enough to make me swoon. Did I tear up? Maybe? Idon’t remember.

Will looks great and Matthew has his usual signature coffee and backwards cap. Everything is normal.

The con people are managing okay, despite the fact that the latness screwed up the planned schedule completely. Panels start as other extras start as well.

The first panel is Kat and Jade.

I wasn’t allowed to ask questions concerning only one of them, so I came up with one question for each and was refused again. It was okay. I understand why they wouldn’t let me. Kat is adorable, and her answers are on point and great, professional yet personal. Jade is a bit goofy as he is, but a beautiful soul for sure.

Second panel comes up, as i’m waiting for my first extras of the day (Photoshoots with Harry, Emeraude and Matt). It’s Jade and Alberto.

Jade tells us we can ask questions only to Alberto, since he was here before. I have a long question about Simon practicing his Jewish faith still now that he is a vampire, and if the relationship between him and his faith has changed. As I tried to grab the mic, they seem to avoid me. (maybe unintentional though).

I’m called for the shoots. Harry is... Harry. Perfect, smiling, with the sweetest of eyes. We exchange a few words. Emeraude is picture perfect in a way that is almost unreal.

Matt has a lot of people waiting for him, the queue takes hours, and there are a lot of restrictions when it comes to hugging him or poses, but we know our Matthew and his liking for privacy. We exchange a few words, he asks for my name, and I tell him to enjoy Paris.

Jade is adorable and very adventurous when it comes to poses, and a sweetheart. He spoke to me in French and my brain forgot I was actually French and knew how to speak the language.

Something I love about this cast is how genuine and approachable they are. Matt with his open arms (but no hug), and goofy smile, Harry being warm and kind, Jade being witty and fun, and even Em being incredibly sweet. Not once did I feel like I was bothering them, and not once did I feel uncomfortable about them being close physically to me.

They had a group panel which was super fun and fast and witty? There wasn’t really much more in the afternoon for me, as it was group pics, duo/trio pics, and private meetings, things that I couldn’t afford.

It gave me occasion to browse more through the stands of the fanartists there @noksindra and @phildrawsfanart especially.

I made a friend, a guy who ended up GIVING me a harry pic for tomorrow because a last minute family event made him unable to attend tomorrow.

The organization for the signings was... messy to say the least, with very little intel trailing back to us the fans. After waiting an hour, I just decided to go and see for myself.

I got my Harry autograph in 10 minutes.

Day 1 was amazing.

I have met people, people I would usually disagree with normally, and we had civil conversations.

I end the day with a bunch of amazing fanarts, some cute pics, happiness too.

I met my icons, and that was amazing. They still don’t feel real to me though, almost as if, sitting in the panel room, i’m just actually sitting on my couch watching a panel on youtube. It’s a very strange sensation.

Tomorrow will be great. Photos with Harry (2), Kat, Jade and signings with Matthew, Jade and Alberto.

I can’t wait.

#thos2 #thoscon #shadowhunters #kat mcnamara #will tudor #alberto rosende #emeraude toubia #jade hassouné #matthew daddario #matt daddario #harry shum jr

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shadesmaclean · 7 years

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Tradewinds 21 CH 01

“UNREAL ESTATE” “Good morning!” Moira Stilton, the innkeeper, hailed. Middle aged, world weary, and seemingly always wiping something down at her counter. “What’s so good about it?” Roger Wilco, pilot of one currently grounded Albatross, muttered as he stumbled down the stairs and into the lobby of Pines Lodge, which also doubled as bar and dining lounge. Along with a mild hangover, his injured leg was still giving him grief, even a week after their crash landing at Camp Stilton. Though a tad stout and barrel-chested, his companions noted that he looked to have lost a little weight of late, and figured that days of staring out at those creepy Woods (and the Woods glaring back) would be enough to kill anyone’s appetite. His khaki shirt fitting loose and rumpled, his pilot cap stuffed down over his bed hair, and he still hadn’t gotten around to shaving. “Well, you could start with the fact that you’re still alive to enjoy it,” Max pointed out from a nearby table, where the young adventurer and his friend, Justin Black, were finishing their breakfast. “And Shelby did tow your plane all the way back here.” Tall and broad-shouldered, with dark blond hair, the pilot considered him a classic duo contrast to Justin, who as short and wiry, with a mop of black hair. “And I’m grateful for that,” Roger sighed, “don’t get me wrong. It’s just that now we have to get ’er up the coast to find anyone who can possibly fix my poor bird…” “Who’s this we?” Justin intoned. “You landed us safe and sound, and we came back for you. I’m pretty sure that makes us even.” “I’m sorely tempted to say you just came back for your damn cat…” he retorted. “I think you just did,” the put-upon publican chided him as she scrubbed the bar counter. The big cat was still sleeping up in Max’s room, from both his crash injuries, and six restless nights at Camp Stilton, with the Woods looming over them. “And I think that little nightcap has got you up on the wrong side of the bed.” Even making it back to Pickford by nightfall left Roger’s nerves jangled, after those harrowing days and nights out there. A couple on the house, out of sympathy for anyone having to stare down the Woods for nearly a week, but even he had to admit he may have overdone it. “Shelby’s willing to tow you upshore for only the cost of fuel. You’re lucky he’s willing to do that, after springing that tow job on him out there, of all places…” In the meantime, Sheriff Duhan assured him that his plane would be left alone for the time being. Though that still didn’t stop random townsfolk from passing through the docks just to gawk at the poor bird. Apparently even shooed some kids away earlier this morning, telling them to go play somewhere else for now. “Still no sign of Roxy or Erix?” the pilot groaned as he took a seat at the table. “Nothin’,” Justin told him. “Roxy would probably present herself, if she saw no harm in it,” Max extrapolated the bounty hunter’s most likely choices, based on their short, but rather eventful, acquaintance. “She’d probably ask around about us, too. Erix…” Would most likely be a thief in the night, leaving as little trace as possible, especially if Roxy still hunted him. All the same, they had warned Sheriff Duhan to keep an eye out for any missing stuff. As well as any breaks in the palisade walls around the edge of town, given the infamous outlaw’s energy blades, and general aversion to knocking, unless it happened to suit him. Much as Max was inclined to regard either of them as too stubborn to die, they did both chase each other in the direction of the doomed town of Rannigan’s Wharf, from which no one ever returned. Though they did find evidence of someone using energy blades around that abandoned logging mill up the river on their way… “I hope the damn trees ate him!” Roger grumbled. Then, recalling what they told him about a certain missing girl whose remains they recovered, whose grieving father still came to their aid, he mumbled, “Would serve him right, unlike that poor little girl… So, uh, where’s Shades at this hour of the day?” “Went for a walk,” Justin replied. What the third member of their crew had called a vigorous constitutional. What to him, at least, sounded like a euphemism for taking a really big crap. “We trudge for days through those goddamn Woods, and the first thing he wants to do after making it back to civilization? Go take a walk…” “It’s safe enough, here in town,” Moira reminded them. “Sister Clarice still maintains the old wardings around the outskirts.” “So, who is this Clarice?” Max asked her. He had heard the name dropped a few times since they first arrived in Pickford, but nothing much by way of explanation. She had yet to make an appearance, though they were told she wasn’t feeling well at this time. “Oh, I forget, you wouldn’t know…” Moira looked around, noting their conversation wasn’t being too closely scrutinized by any of the few patrons taking breakfast at the Pines this morning, though she doubted anyone would make any real objections by this point. “It’s a little awkward to explain to those who didn’t go through all the things we did, but things kept getting worse that first year after the Woods went bad. Until the Wall was finished, people kept goin’ missing. People, animals, things… The outskirts of town were already abandoned by that point, folks what hadn’t vanished movin’ up the coast, as many as could get away with it…” After all they’d seen in the past week, Max could picture it more easily than he cared to. A looming, lurking menace, and a frustrating limit to any search party’s range before having to cut their losses and write folks off. The more he pondered it, the more amazed he was there was even still a town left to speak of anymore. “It was about then that the Sisters first arrived,” Moira continued. “The Order of St Lucy, come down the coast from where they were staying when they heard about what happened here.” Max perked up at the mention of that name, and Justin raised an eyebrow. “You’ve heard of them?” “Sort of,” Max replied. “Just the name, though. Of an island, actually.” “Odd. I may have to ask her about that some time… Oh, where was I? Ah yes, the Order. I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised you’ve heard of them, they rarely put down roots, though they tried to here. Pity it ended the way it did. “At first, they were a glimmer of hope in troubled times. Their wardings helped hold back the Evil, even before the Wall was fully completed. Things were going better than they had in a long time, but then they had to go and challenge the Castle.” “The Castle?” Roger piped up. “Shelby mentioned something like that.” “Vineholdt.” Moira nodded. “The Rigby mansion. No one knows what went on that awful night. Anyone who was in there at the time was never heard from again. Even when the police searched the place, they found nothing. Even lost the sheriff in there, never seen again. Old Willard Duhan’s done the best he can ever since.” “And I’m guessing there was no search for him, either?” Justin intoned. “No, and I can’t say I blame them. Not even Tully, who lost his wife. The ones who came back from that house all had the same haunted looks on their faces, as if they’d each seen things they’d rather not talk about. And they don’t, even to this day. The neighborhood around there started emptying out almost as fast the outskirts. Talk of bad dreams, queer lights, and nobody wanting their children anywhere near that place.” “Can’t say I blame them, either,” Roger commented. “That’s for sure,” Moira remarked. “That was also about when the Sisters decided to push back against it, seeing the place, and whatever happened in there, as the root of the problem. After all, they already made a name for themselves holding back the Woods.” “I’m guessing that didn’t end well?” Justin leaned back in his seat. “Elder Sister Leta believed, as many of us still do, that the spirit of Veronica Rigby still haunts that place. Even Clarice believes that the house wants something, and after what happened to them, she thinks it’s safer not to give it anything more. They tried to banish the evil power from the Castle, but it was too much for them. For all their spells and prayers, it still killed Sister Leta.” And so Pickford’s faith in the Mother Goddess would indeed be short-lived, as Moira related: “The others buried her in a local graveyard, took the next train up the coast. We never heard from any of them again. Only Sister Clarice stayed behind, and she does what she can. Wardings and talismans and such, but one lone Sister, against the Woods, I fear she overworks herself, even with Jarvis helping out. No wonder she took ill lately…” “And no one’s been in there since?” Max asked. “Not many,” Moira warned them. “Because of that, the place was never cleared out. Even though the Commonwealth at large was having a bad time— lumber was down, the shipyards in Hawthorne were out of clients, even the project to expand the railroad between Mountain and Mesa Districts fell apart. Talk of some stupid border dispute out in the desert, been years since the last time we had any word from the other side of the mountains… “Anywise, what was I saying? Oh, right, the economy was in a rut, but even so, while some of the other Founders were losin’ money left an’ right, ol’ Rigby seemed to hold on. No shortage of luxury in that house, at least according to Ethan…” She sighed, then resumed: “Oh sure, a few people tried, ramblin’ about treasures still hidden away inside that most won’t dare go after, just drunken bets and would-be treasure hunters. Occasionally, some bold soul might try— mostly outlanders, or rubes from upshore— but most are never seen again. The few what escape hightailed it up the coast, saying no treasure was worth the horrors they faced in there. After what happened to the Sisters, the whole estate was condemned, no one in their right mind will go anywhere near it.” “So I guess you do have an idea just how maddening it is,” Roger sighed. “To have the solution to your problems dangling just out of reach…” “We barely survived the Woods,” Max cautioned him. “I know you want your plane to fly again, but please don’t try anything crazy. There has to be a better way to get the money…” “Hold up lads, your friend’s got the right of it.” Even Moira jumped in spite of herself as Jarvis Tully materialized behind their table. “Whatever’s in that house keeps to itself,” the grim groundskeeper continued, “but woe be to anyone who goes muckin’ about in there.” “Even you’ve never cased the joint?” Roger gave him a wry smile. “As the caretaker, you must know your way around. Maybe you’d have a better chance than the others.” “And where would you get a damn fool idea like that?” “Well,” Justin piped up, “we heard they were rich, and nobody claimed any of their stuff…” “Now don’t be gettin’ any bright ideas.” From the look in his eye, one would almost think Justin spoke of looting his own home. “You’d have to be totally daft to risk it.” “I’m with him,” Max added. “Let’s go hit the marketplace, see what we can find. Shades said he’d catch up with us there.” With that, they thanked Moira for a hearty breakfast as Roger ordered his, and headed out.

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