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moonlinos · 2 months

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I can hear the siren (Siren part I)

♡ Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin × fem!reader

♡ Genre: Camboy!Hyunjin, neighbors AU, strangers to “lovers”

♡ CW: Explicit sexual content (minors dni!), sex work, voyeurism if you squint, hate sex kind of?, masturbation, thigh riding, oral sex (male receiving), unprotected sex, Hyunjin’s a bit of an asshole but I love him

♡ Word count: 7.9k

♡ Synopsis: To say your new next-door neighbor is loud would be an understatement. Three times a week, at the same time every night, he will laugh and talk loudly for an hour. After that, like clockwork, a cacophony of his groans and moans will fill your room through your shared wall. He’s most certainly entertaining some hookup, or maybe a girlfriend. You frankly don’t care — all you know is you want your peace and quiet back. But you never would’ve guessed what you would find out upon confronting him.

♡ A/N: Once again, I cannot shut up and this ended up being much longer than I had originally wanted. One day, I will write a one-shot that’s less than 5k words, but today is not that day. I listened to Taeyeon’s Siren while writing this, hence the title. Also think the song’s a little fitting to the story.

part II →

Yet another night, yet another two hours of hearing your next-door neighbor moaning like a porn star for anyone to hear. The thin walls of your apartment, coupled with the fact that your room shared a wall with his own bedroom, make it impossible for you not to hear everything that happens inside his bedroom. Earphones have proven futile in muffling his voice, and you can only distract yourself with mindless YouTube videos for so long before you give up and simply wait for him to finish. Quite literally.

You noticed it was his routine: Fridays and weekends — the nights when he would graciously give the entire building a free show.

But that wasn’t all he did. And that’s what stirs up curiosity inside of you.

An hour before the unholy sounds begin, he spends a significant amount of time simply speaking, laughing loudly, and throwing the occasional suggestive comment here and there. But only his voice can be heard, and considering how damn thin the walls are, you can’t help but wonder why that is. Maybe his hookups aren’t into his long, drawn-out conversations, only there to get fucked and dip as fast as possible. Or perhaps it’s a girlfriend, and he enjoys gagging her. Your mind has had plenty of time to run wild with theories, seeing as he moved about a month ago, starting your own personal version of hell on his very first day.

You complained to your landlord three times now. On the first time, you were dismissed as being too sensitive to noise. Maybe invest in some earplugs, she suggested. The second time, after explaining through gritted teeth that perhaps the entire building could also hear him and it would be wise to give him a warning, she assured you that only your apartment had such complaints — after all, it was only the two of you on that floor. And, on your last attempt before you ultimately gave up, your landlord all but berated you for meddling in your neighbor’s business. She argued he was inside his apartment and could do whatever he desired.

And so, you accepted your fate.

As you walk out of the shower, your bliss at the realization that tonight is a Friday dissipates as soon as it dawns on you that you are in for three days in a row of your neighbor and his antics. You groan, reluctantly making your way toward your bedroom, your body aching after sitting at your desk at work all day. So sleeping on the couch was not an option; your limbs only ached even more the day after you did that to try and escape the raucous noise.

Like clockwork, at exactly ten p.m., his loud voice fills the small space of your bedroom.

“I’m actually going out tonight again, so we have to be quick,” he explains. “But you like it when I’m quick, don’t you? Like when I make you cum so fast you barely have time to understand what’s happening.”

You grimace at his words, burying yourself under your blankets. God.

“I’m going clubbing with a couple of friends,” He continues. “Hopefully, I’ll find a nice girl to take home, hm?”

Crossing out the word Girlfriend on your mental notes, you scoff. What a gentleman he is, letting his hook-up know he’ll have to fuck her fast so he can leave to meet another woman to take home.

“Maybe I’ll record a video for you if she lets me. Would you like that, seeing me fuck another woman? I bet you would.”

What the fuck. The word Girlfriend is added back to your list. Maybe the girl is into that shit, and you’re not one to kink shame so long as everything’s consensual. But you surely didn’t consent to knowing that information.

Soon enough, his voice drops to a sultry tone, and incessant hums spill from his lips. And the worst part of your night begins.

You hate to admit it — seeing as the guy makes you lose sleep and disturbs your peace since he’s graced the building with his presence — but his dirty talk, when coupled with his groans, becomes far less unpleasant and much more enticing. Every night, you struggle for an hour with the uncomfortable feeling of arousal between your legs, the way he alternates between praises and vulgar words causing a twinge inside of you. But you never dare to masturbate to the sound of his voice — that would be going too far. Or, at least, that’s what you tell yourself as you follow your rule of waiting for him to finish whatever it is that he’s doing to then finally touch yourself. As you tightly shut your eyes, you focus on your upcoming work assignments, desperately trying to drown out the sound of his voice. Maybe boring yourself to sleep is your only escape.

“Oh, I know how wet you are just watching me — fuck,” he groans, a breathy scoff leaving his lips. “Don’t even gotta tell me. Just touch yourself, it’s okay.”

Your eyes shoot open as it feels as if he’s fucking talking to you. You shake your head, the awful feeling of embarrassment engulfing you in the privacy of your own bedroom.

“I know you want to,” His voice is unrelenting, reverberating through your dark room, punctuated by heavy sighs. “Do it for me, will you? Touch your pretty cunt for me.”

You feel your clit begin to pulse, and a loud groan escapes from your lips. So loud, in fact, you wonder if he heard you through the thin walls as well.

Fuck it, you tell yourself inwardly, it’s not like the guy will ever know what you’re doing.

The sound of his voice was as silky and dark as velvet, covering you wholly and clouding your judgment with each word. You allow your hand to slip underneath your sleep shorts, gasping as you find the fabric of your panties already soaking simply from hearing his words — almost begging, guiding you to let go of your reservations and touch yourself.

“Just like that. D’you like the sound of my voice?” He asked, voice breathless, a deep groan echoing through the walls. “Like hearing me moan for you? Bet you’d like it even more if I was fucking you.”

Your fingers delicately flick back and forth, teasing your clit, your mind now shamelessly imagining his fingertips, his tongue, his cock, anything he was willing to give you. You’re quick to lose yourself in this imagination, despite not knowing what the man looked like — you soon realize that wasn’t at all important, a dark shadowy figure hovering over you proving to be more than enough for you as you felt a rush of wetness pooling between your thighs when your neighbor let out a louder, guttural noise.

“Fuck, I’d love to be stretching that pussy out,” He chokes out, and you bite your bottom lip to keep from making any noise. You’re now hyper-aware that if you can hear him this loudly, he’d be able to hear you with the same amount of clarity.

Your embarrassment only goes so far, though, as you slip a finger into your cunt, your breath hitching and your eyes fluttering closed to better conjure up the fantasy your mind had been creating. You imagine his long fingers inside you in place of your own, the words he spilled almost nonchalantly being whispered directly into your ears. One finger soon turned into two, then three, the heel of your palm rubbing against your clit as you tilt your hips up. You throw away your last drop of inhibition as you indulge in vivid thoughts, imagining the shape and size of his cock and, most importantly, how it would feel as it filled you up. Your neighbor’s words almost faded into white noise, his grunting the only coherent sound in your ears.

Would he take his time with you, like he always did whenever you heard him? Teasing you for hours as he candidly talked about nothing in particular, rendering you unable to do anything but beg for him? Or would he be hasty, like tonight, his cock abruptly stretching you to the brim, making you feel every inch of his thick length? Would he rather finish on your breasts, your stomach, or maybe your face, taking a picture to keep as a souvenir he could show off to whoever he was with during these nights?

“Come with me,” His voice suddenly became clear once more, deep and hoarse as you imagine his lips pressed against the shell of your ear. “Think about how good it’d feel to have me come inside you, stuffing that little cunt while you milk me dry.”

You purse your lips as you feel your release approaching, coaxed purely by his words. The mental image of this stranger painting your insides with his release, all the while his intoxicating voice told you how good you were, how warm and tight you felt enough to have waves of pleasure wash over you, body tensing up as your orgasm surges through you.

As you slowly come down from your high, you feel your consciousness come back to you. Your fingers leave your core as if you were just burned by fire, which is fitting as a feeling of burning embarrassment wraps around you tightly like a vice.

But the worst part is that the shame quickly ebbs away as you hear your neighbor’s chuckle, the laugh of a stranger you had come to almost memorize.

“You know I’m always glad to make you come. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And with that, everything around you falls into a quiet stillness. You faintly hear as he shuts his front door, presumably leaving for that club he had mentioned, and you’re left to lie with your regrets.

This has just crossed a line, and although you couldn’t bring yourself to feel all that guilty, you still knew it was wrong. You had no choice but to confront the cause of your troubles yourself.

Unfortunately, that cause was a person you had just shamelessly fantasized about as you fingered yourself.

The next afternoon, you stand at your neighbor’s door, hesitant to knock. Since he mentioned going clubbing last night, you knew coming by in the morning would be futile, but you also know — sadly, all too well — that Saturday nights are when he’s the loudest, and he only stops well past midnight. You settled for the afternoon, preparing lunch as you rehearsed your words in your head instead of enjoying your weekend.

You knock twice, and that familiar voice soon rings through the door, asking for a moment. A minute later, your neighbor is standing in front of you, holding the door open with sleepy eyes that focus on you. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but surely not a tired-looking tall man with messy black hair wearing a pout on his lips, as if you just rudely disturbed him from his sleep (how ironic). From what you heard during the last month, you were ready to have to face a shirtless fuckboy, a permanent smirk etched onto his lips as he eyed you indifferently. Instead, you’re greeted by soft cheeks and half-closed eyes.

“Yeah?” Your neighbor croaks out, face still heavy with sleep.

You clear your throat, returning to the matter at hand. “I’m your next-door neighbor, I—”

“Nice to meet you, neighbor,” he says before you can even finish your rehearsed opening sentence, his lips curling into a small smile. You fight back the urge to roll your eyes. Somehow, him being so soft is making you hate him even more.

“I wish I could say the same,” you mutter, “Y’know, you’ve been making my life a living hell since you moved in.”

He doesn’t answer, instead running a hand through his hair, the strands falling into place and away from his face. After a small nod, he opens the door all the way.

“Come on in,” he says, promptly walking inside and leaving you standing in the hallway all alone. You have no choice but to follow after him.

He snatches his cup of coffee from the counter, letting out a tired sigh as he collapses onto the couch and takes a big sip. You sit next to him and watch as he swallows slowly, humming contently, and only then speaking again.

“Why is that?”

You hold back another eye roll. “Well, you’re quite noisy at night,” you hesitantly begin, only now grasping just how awkward explaining this situation will be. “On Fridays and on the weekends, you’re… loud.”

And in an instant, you witness a complete shift in his entire demeanor right before your eyes. Like he’s possessed by something, his once sleepy eyes now bore into you with an intense gaze, and his lips curl into the smug grin you were expecting from the start.

“So you can hear me?” He asks as if you hadn’t just told him exactly that. You feel small under the weight of his darkened eyes, but you shrug, doing your best at feigning confidence.

“It’s pretty hard not to hear you,” you answer simply. “We share a wall, in case you didn’t know. I can hear everything you do in your bedroom.”

He raises a brow at your words as if they piqued his interest. But he doesn’t verbalize it; instead, he speaks in that same nonchalant tone you’re used to hearing through your bedroom wall, “You never told me your name. A bit rude, don’t you think?” He offers you his hand. “I’m Hyunjin.”

You scoff but shake his hand regardless, telling him your name with a sigh.

“You know what I think is rude?” You offer him a forced smile. “Keeping your next-door neighbor up all night with how fucking loud you are.”

Hyunjin doesn’t answer. His gaze traces a path from your eyes to your lips before lingering on your thighs. You instinctively cross your legs, fingers smoothing down the fabric of your shorts. Locking his gaze with yours once more after a few seconds, he cocks his head to the side.

“So I’ve been keeping you up all night?” He muses, and you feel a warmth spread across your cheeks at the rough rasp in his voice.

It’s almost as if he knows what you did last night and is teasing you.

Although you know that’s impossible, your words still get choked up. Hyunjin was undeniably attractive — whether it was looking as soft as he did while answering the door or as if he could devour you with his gaze alone as he does now. You couldn’t be blamed for feeling flustered, especially after everything you heard this man saying and doing.

“Well,” you clear your throat, crossing your arms over your chest. Showing your outrage at this entire situation is your best bet, so you allow for the anger you felt during all those sleepless nights to seep through your veins. “It’s kinda hard to sleep when you’re moaning like a porn star.”

But Hyunjin fully chuckles at that. “So I sound like a porn star?” He nods with an amused hum. “I’ll take that as a compliment, thank you.”

You let out a heavy sigh. Never mind anything you had thought upon seeing him open that door; Hyunjin is everything you thought he would be.

“Look, I didn’t come here to stroke your ego. You’re clearly doing just fine in that regard,” you grumble, and he scoffs beside you, leaning back on the couch with a smug expression you want to slap away from his pretty face. “I came here to ask if you could move whatever it is that you do to the living room, or maybe keep it down. I’m sure that’s not too much to ask.”

Hyunjin clicks his tongue almost mockingly. “Oh, but it is too much to ask. I can’t really do any of those things. Sorry,” he shrugs, “The building has thin walls. You’re just gonna have to get used to it, I’m afraid.”

You stagger at his words, his lack of common sense seemingly higher than you initially gave him credit for. You’re unsure whether to laugh in sheer disbelief or cuss him out as anger slowly bubbles up inside your chest. How unfairly attractive he looks at the moment isn’t helping your case — he spreads his legs further as he shifts on the couch, bringing his mug up to his full lips and watching you almost uninterestedly with half-lidded eyes.

Fuck this guy.

“What is it you do that’s so important that you can’t at least keep it down? Can’t your girlfriend get off without your obnoxious dirty talk? Is that it?”

Hyunjin shakes his head dismissively. “Don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Your dates, then. I honestly don’t care.” You roll your eyes, which elicits a small laugh from him. You have never wanted to punch someone so badly, all while also wanting them to rearrange your guts. “Whoever it is, whatever it is that you do, can’t we compromise and you be quiet, at least on Fridays? I get home from work exhausted and have to put up with your shit when all I wanna do is sleep.”

“Ah, but Fridays are the most important nights for me,” Hyunjin tells you with a condescending lilt in his voice. “That’s also not possible, I’m so sorry.”

“I see.” You suck in a deep breath, your eyes narrowing and hands curling into fists on your lap. “Then would it be possible for you to move your… activities to the living room?”

Hyunjin contorts his face, shaking his head while that grin is still etched onto his lips. “Yeah, no, that’s also not possible.”

“You’re extremely inflexible, do you know that?” You blurt out, “I’m not asking that you move out, I’m simply asking that you fuck whoever it is that you fuck every weekend somewhere else.”

His piercing gaze lingers on you briefly, as if he’s carefully considering his next words. Sighing, he sets his mug on the end table and sits up straight.

“Let’s make a deal,” he proposes, carelessly ripping a piece of paper from the open sketchbook that lay on the coffee table and jotting something down. “Tonight, you wait for me to start my activities,” he says with a poorly concealed chuckle. “And then you go on this website. Maybe it’ll clear up some things inside your pretty little head. Can you do that for me?”

He hands you the note, eyes darting down to your lips once more before meeting your gaze. The tone of his voice is the same that echoes through your bedroom during those nights — exactly like the one that coaxed an orgasm out of you just last night, and you absentmindedly squeeze your thighs together.

You need to get out of here.

With a small nod, you swiftly stand back on your feet and walk toward the door of his apartment that was left wide open. You quietly mutter a goodbye as Hyunjin says something about it being a pleasure meeting you, all while amusedly staring at you.

It’s only as you close your front door behind you that you look down at the piece of paper that you subconsciously crumpled up. Scrawled in a messy handwriting is simply a website address:

fivestarcam.com

You furrow your brows, walking toward your bedroom as you rack your brain for how a website could possibly give you answers. It dawns on you, then — all the trouble you went through, and yet, no solution to your problem.

Ultimately, you decide you’ve already wasted too much of your patience on this man today, throwing the piece of paper on your bedside table and going about your day, enjoying the tranquility of your apartment while you can.

Night comes too fast, the sun setting outside unbeknownst to you as you lie on the couch for nearly three hours, your focus solely on the plot of the movie playing on your phone. Soon enough, ten p.m. rolls around, and you drag your tired body toward your bathroom. You take a shower with no rush, knowing full well that by the time you walk into your bedroom, Hyunjin’s activities will already have started.

Sure enough, you’re greeted by a drawled-out groan as soon as you enter your room. With a heavy sigh, you throw yourself onto your bed. Your bedroom had always been comforting, your bed almost like a safe haven from all the stress life threw your way. Yet now it’s simply the place where you lie awake for hours, simultaneously vexed and uncomfortably turned on.

You lie still for a while, Hyunjin’s vulgar chatter like the background music to your spacing out, until you remember the piece of paper he gave you earlier. How would a website clear up any of your confusion? And, more importantly, why should you even care enough to find out? From the little interaction you had with the man, you know for a fact Hyunjin will remain unchanging in his obnoxious ways.

However, you’ve always been too curious for your own good, and the mere prospect of understanding this annoyingly enigmatic man even a tiny bit has you hurriedly picking your laptop off the floor and typing out the website address on your browser. Curiosity killed the cat.

The first thing that greets you is a message asking that you verify being over the age of eighteen. All you have to do is click a button, which seems counterintuitive, but you have little time to worry about that when your screen is filled with preview thumbnails of several live broadcasts.

You’ve heard of camming websites before, of course, but you didn’t know they were still a thing nowadays, what with the rise of Only Fans and other more independent ways to go about making money like this.

Your eyes scan the page with agape lips. Men and women — some in their underwear and some already naked, some showing their faces and some wearing masks. And then, your eyes land on a particular thumbnail. At the Top Cammers of The Month section, on the number one spot, is a fully clothed man with familiar long black hair. Only the bottom of his face can be seen due to his camera angle, but that is more than enough as your gaze fixes on his full lips.

That’s undeniably Hyunjin. Your neighbor, Hyunjin.

Before you can make sense of your actions, your fingers are already hovering above the touchpad as you watch the thumbnail image change into a new one. Curiosity is eating away at you, and you can’t deny that your nosy mind is eager to finally see Hyunjin rather than only hear him.

Ultimately, you decide this is ridiculous.

But your twitching fingers brush against the touchpad just as you move to close your laptop, promptly clicking the live video, your screen now filled with the image of Hyunjin in his bedroom. He’s shirtless now, palming himself through his sweatpants — the same ones he wore this afternoon.

“You wanna know how clubbing went last night?” He says with a grin, and you now understand his incessant talking is merely him answering comments from his viewers. Various different names fly through the right side of your screen, some with tips attached to their comments and some simply drooling over Hyunjin as he essentially sits in front of the camera doing nothing.

A cocky smile is spread on his lips once you shift your attention back to him.

“I guess you’re good at following orders,” he chuckles. You then realize your laptop’s volume is on high, and the speaker’s noise permeates through your wall and into Hyunjin’s bedroom. Your eyes shoot open, and you scramble to find your earphones in your bed.

You’re gnawing on your bottom lip as you plug them in, suddenly too aware of the fact that he can hear you just as well as you can hear him. Hyunjin’s smile shifts into a small laugh, his hand wrapping around his length through his sweatpants, the firm outline of his cock straining against the fabric. You feel a tingling sensation spread through your body, your inner muscles clenching as you watch the way his hand squeezes along the thick outline, the muscles of his stomach contracting as he lets out a broken sigh.

This feels wrong, as if you’re nothing more than a pervert watching Hyunjin for your own pleasure. But then again, it was he who gave you the website address in the first place. Why else would he have done that if not for you to watch him?

“I have a special someone watching tonight,” he murmurs, and you can just imagine his gaze right now — his eyes hooded and piercing, locked onto the camera with the same intensity as when he looked at you earlier today.

Hyunjin’s hand reaches inside his sweatpants, withdrawing his cock from the constraints of the dark fabric before you can make sense of what’s happening. Your gaze remains fixed, unable to look away from the red, swollen head that stands out against his pale skin. With lazy movements, he begins stroking himself, the precum dripping from the tip easing the glide of his hand. You bite the inside of your cheek as more arousal leaks from you, gathering in your panties.

“Hope she likes watching just as much as she liked listening to me last night,” Hyunjin rasps out, and you immediately close your laptop, throwing it to the side before burying your face in your pillow.

He knows you got off to his voice. He has to know.

And, unfortunately, your brain is currently too clouded by lust to function properly, and the only logical solution you can come up with is to go knocking at his door tomorrow.

You stand in front of Hyunjin’s door at the same time as yesterday, a strange blend of anger and curiosity making you knock frantically until he answers with that annoyingly alluring smirk on his lips.

“Did you enjoy the show last night?” Hyunjin asks before you can even utter a word, his voice filled with a goading tone.

You push past him, walking into his apartment with a scowl. “Why did you send me that?”

He only shrugs, closing the door behind him before stretching his arms above his head with a sigh. “Needed you to understand why I can’t just stop doing what I do. It’s my job,” he reasons, “I figured showing you was more effective than telling you.”

A scoff involuntarily falls from your lips, and you fight back the urge to roll your eyes. “So you just sent me to a website full of porn without even asking me if that was okay? I don’t care if that’s your fucking job, I never asked you—”

“Did you stay till the end?” He asks, a lazy grin on his lips as his gaze wanders across your face. Clearly, he’d completely ignored every word that came out of your mouth.

“Hyunjin, are you even listening to me?”

“I was thinking about you, y’know?” He continues, taking a step toward you. “Was really easy to come when I knew you were watching me.” He cages your body against the door with his, both hands resting beside your head. His dark gaze locks onto you, causing your breath to hitch. “All I could think about was how you were secretly listening to me all this time. Such a dirty girl.”

Hyunjin clicks his tongue, shaking his head in feigned disappointment. You want to tell him you weren’t secretly listening to him; you were merely thrown into this situation against your will. But his gaze shifts from your eyes to your lips, lingering before roaming over the swell of your breasts, causing your thoughts to blur and your words to die in your throat.

“Kept thinking about how I never heard you,” he says, almost as if he’s wondering aloud. “When was the last time someone fucked you properly?”

His gaze finally travels back up to yours, and the fog of desire clouding his eyes is unmistakable. The moment you knocked on his door, you knew this would happen. You weren’t naïve, and Hyunjin wasn’t stupid; the moment you pushed past him and into his apartment, you both knew where this was going.

“Don’t have time to go on dates,” you murmur as Hyunjin leans down, humming low on his throat.

“Well,” he whispers, the warmth of his breath tickling your face. “You got to listen to me, got to watch me… Don’t you wanna know what it feels like?”

You can only nod, and Hyunjin immediately presses his lips to yours in a searing kiss. He wedges his knee firmly between your thighs, as if he’s silently demanding that you give in to him. Little does he know you’re already way past that point.

Breaking the kiss, Hyunjin studies your features for a beat, the pad of his thumb gliding across your bottom lip as you look up at him with pleading eyes.

“You really want this?” He asks, and you can’t help but feel he does it simply for the pleasure of hearing you beg.

But you happily comply either way.

“Please,” you breathe out, and Hyunjin chuckles, firmly pressing his thumb into your mouth and watching as you wrap your lips around it with a contented hum. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

Hyunjin pushes his thigh against your core, the seam of your shorts creating a delicious friction against your clit. You can feel the warmth of his body as he presses up against you, and a sigh falls from your lips, your hands gliding up around his shoulders. You have no reservations left in your body; the only thing replaying inside your mind at the moment is the image of Hyunjin’s cock on your laptop. He was right. You were dying to know what it would feel like.

His strong hands firmly gripped onto your hips, guiding you to move against his thigh, each back-and-forth motion increasing the pressure on your aching clit. It felt too much, yet not enough at the same time. But just as you’re about to plead for more, Hyunjin’s pressing his lips to yours again and swallowing down your voice. His tongue slides against yours, the taste of coffee and smoke lingering in your mouth as he grazes your bottom lip with his teeth, pulling gently before letting go.

You feel your mind go fully hazy as Hyunjin lifts his thigh, bringing you up to your tiptoes, his muscles flexing and prompting you to roll your hips faster, harder.

“Who would’ve thought, huh? Just minutes ago you were acting like I was the worst person alive,” He lets out a low chuckle, amused, and your grip on his neck tightens as you feel the familiar vexation he brings out of you bubble up inside your chest. “Now you’re humping my leg like a bitch in heat.”

“Shut up,” you choke out, your brain too lust-hazed to conjure up a better response. You don’t particularly care what he thinks of you so long as he keeps his bruising grip on your skin, guiding you to roll your hips against him.

Hyunjin trails kisses down the skin of your neck, settling at the dip of your collarbone and sucking on the skin while you eagerly quicken your speed. His teeth nip at the sensitive skin, undoubtedly marking you, while his thigh begins to bounce against your cunt, and you can feel the familiar aching warmth of your orgasm beginning to tighten in your stomach. But just as you’re about to be hit by the release you’re so desperate for, Hyunjin’s hands leave your hips and slide down to your ass, any stimulation you had before coming to a halt as he picks you up and makes his way to the living room.

“What the fuck?” You all but yell, earning you a hearty laugh from Hyunjin. “I was close, you asshole.”

He roughly throws you onto the couch, a condescending pout etched onto his lips.

“But that’s no fun for me, is it, baby?” He hovers over you, spreading your thighs apart and slotting himself between them. In stark contrast to his words, he gently lifts your shirt over your head, feather-light touch sending shivers down your spine. “Greedy girls don’t get to come.”

You feel your insides clenching at his words, and although you despise the effect he has on you, you’re already here, laid out before him, so you might as well indulge him. You gently push Hyunjin back until he sinks into the sofa, legs lazily spread apart and half-lidded eyes fixated on you. As soon as you clutch at his shirt, he promptly tugs it over his head in one fluid motion, and you attach your lips to the bare skin of his stomach, trailing kisses down the expanse of his torso.

You waste no time tugging his sweatpants down and out of your way, his cock now hanging heavily before you, just as pretty as it had seemed on that little screen. Hyunjin’s hand soon wraps around himself, stroking lazily while you watch the precum dribble from his tip. Tentatively, you grab the base of his cock, bringing your tongue to the head and tantalizingly lapping at it. Hyunjin lets out a quiet gasp, his own hand leaving his length and tangling in your hair, guiding you forward toward his cock. You part your lips and suck the head into your waiting mouth, hands now stroking his length at a slow pace while you lick up his slit, the salty taste lingering on your tongue. You hold back a chuckle when you feel him twitch under your touch, a soft whimper falling from his throat.

Hyunjin’s hips buck up into your lips, and you promptly open your jaw wider and slide his whole length down your throat slowly. You weren’t lying when you said you had no time for dates, which is why you find yourself struggling a bit. It truly had been a while since you had a proper fuck, but you would never give Hyunjin the pleasure of hearing you admit it. Breathing through your nose, you’re finally able to move up and down his cock, swallowing all of him. Your eyes well up as his fingers tug harshly at your hair, shoving your mouth back down the entirety of his thick length. A choked-out whimper falls from your throat, and you instinctively move your gaze toward his.

“God,” he rasps out, teeth gnawing at his bottom lip and eyebrows knitting together. “You take me so well.”

You promptly remove your lips from him with a loud pop, precum and saliva dribbling down your chin as you struggle to suppress a laugh at the utter indignation on his face.

“I doubt you could fuck me if I let you come,” you shrug, and Hyunjin’s expression softens, a scoff falling from his lips.

Before you can say anything else, he’s already pushed you back onto the couch, easily flipping you over so your face is pressed into the cushion. He snakes a hand under your stomach and lifts your hips, quickly working to rid you of your shorts before pressing his cock against your clothed ass.

He leans down, lips pressed against your ear — much like it was in your fantasy back in your bedroom — and whispers, “You need me that badly? I can feel how soaked you are, and all you did was hump my leg.”

You grumble under your breath, but it goes ignored by Hyunjin as he grips your hips and slides his cock under the fabric of your panties, stroking himself along your soaking slit with a low groan. You can feel your underwear gradually dampen more as his precum mixes with your own arousal, the sheer cloth clinging to his cock with each thrust.

Hyunjin’s hand splayed across your lower back, causing you to arch your body and press your hips back instinctively. He chuckles, hand coming down onto the supper flesh of your ass with no warning, a sharp whimper falling from your lips.

“I told you greedy girls don’t get to come,” He reiterates, clicking his tongue and grabbing a large handful of your ass before tugging your panties down your legs. You quietly hoped the trees outside obscured enough of his window, otherwise you’d be in for some interesting elevator rides with your other neighbors. With a hiss, Hyunjin’s thumb presses against your clit before gliding along your wet folds. “Soaking wet,” he mutters, eyes glazed over while he watches your slick coat his finger.

You simply hum, not wanting to stroke his ego any more than you already had by begging him earlier. But you’re unable to contain the gasp that leaves your lips as he pushes his hips forward, the swollen tip of his cock gliding against your warm core once, twice, all while Hyunjin’s hands travel across your ass and thighs. You’re sure he’ll tease you until you give in and beg, but it seems his facade is quick to crumble. He impatiently wraps a hand around his length, finally guiding himself toward your entrance, seamlessly gliding into you with a heavy sigh.

He stills for a second, gaze transfixed by the way your cunt stretches around his thick cock. Until he suddenly pulls out of you before snapping his hips forward again, then again, until he sets a rhythm of deep, fast strokes that have you rocking back and forth on the couch. Pulling yourself up to rest on your forearms, you choke out a loud moan, Hyunjin’s cock twitching inside you at the sound.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” He groans, strong arms encircling your body once more, this time pulling you close to him until your back presses against his chest. Hyunjin’s thrusts grew more forceful, the sound of skin slapping together echoing through his small living room as he relentlessly pumped himself into you. His hand wraps in your hair, yanking your head back and humming against your ear, “Go on, you can moan for me,” he hisses, “I know how good it feels.”

Fuck. His ego is surely something you would never get used to.

But you let go, freely groaning at the feeling of his cock pistoning into you. You can feel the curve of his grin against your cheek.

“Like that, I know how much you like it,” he rasps out, “Just as much as you liked touching yourself to my voice like a little slut.”

“Fuck off, you—” you huff, your words cut off by a drawn-out mewl as Hyunjin’s fingers firmly pressed down on your clit, flattening the swollen bud. You couldn’t control yourself after that, desperate whimpers and choked-out moans falling from your lips with each harsh thrust of his hips.

Your sounds seem to stir something inside of him, and his movements grow more erratic, his fingers circling your clit hastily. A crescendo of arousal and pleasure envelops you as more curses tumble from Hyunjin’s lips against your ear, his hand gripping your cheek and pulling you into a messy kiss.

You clench around him, body shaking with the force of your climax as you seek Hyunjin’s arm wrapped around your body for purchase. He continues pounding into you, and you feel yourself squirm, your vision going blurry from the stimulation.

“Gonna come,” he hisses against your lips, “Where do you want it?”

And you’re too far gone at this point, whimpering, “Anywhere you want.”

Hyunjin curses under his breath, pulling out while his hand finds your lower back once more, pushing you onto the couch before flipping your pliant body over so you’re facing him. You watch with hazy eyes as he strokes himself feverishly over your body, his cum soon shooting onto your breasts.

His unreadable gaze lingers on you for a beat and a half before he nonchalantly tucks himself back into his sweatpants and heads toward the hallway. You sit up on the couch, limbs aching, and chuckle to yourself. This was not your proudest moment, but you surely didn’t regret it.

You don’t expect aftercare from someone like him, so you resign yourself to searching for your discarded shirt. But Hyunjin’s tall frame appears before you, towel in hand before you can even stand up. His touch is gentle as he cleans your chest, and although the gesture is somewhat sweet, it feels extremely awkward.

“Really liked fucking you,” he tells you with a grin, “But you gotta leave now. I’m going live later, and I also gotta go to the club tonight, so I have to rest. But it was fun.”

And you simply scoff at his words, rising to your feet to dress yourself as quickly as possible. It was a bit baffling how he could fuck you the way he did, then tell you he’s off to pick up more girls at a club immediately after. But what did you expect? Hyunjin’s ego and arrogance were clear to you from day one.

“Why the fuck do you go clubbing so much, anyway?” You question as you head toward the front door, and Hyunjin chuckles behind you. “Is that your hunting ground or something?”

“You could say that,” he simply says.

As you unlock his door and step out into the hallway, Hyunjin’s voice calls out to you. Turning to look at him, you’re met with that familiar smirk adorning his lips.

“We can do this again anytime you want,” he assures, and the mere thought of letting him touch you again makes you roll your eyes in disdain.

“Yeah right.”

If only you knew then just how awfully torturous it would be to listen to him, knowing what he was doing — most importantly, knowing what it felt like to have him.

Lust completely clouds your judgment when it comes to Hyunjin, and you soon find yourself coming back to his apartment until it becomes an annoyingly pleasurable habit.

Every day, when he hears you get home from work, your phone buzzes with a text asking that you come over and help him ‘warm up for his job.’ The nights of suffering in your bedroom have transformed into watching him from the corner of his room, enthralled with the way he can make himself come on camera so eagerly and later fuck you with just as much vigor.

It’s a nice arrangement, but definitely not one you see yourself in for the long run. Hyunjin might kiss you and hold you close as he fucks you, but you’re not foolish enough to anchor your feelings to someone like him. It’s not his job that’s the problem, but mostly his attitude toward life. He belongs to nobody, while you yearn to belong to someone. Routine is the last thing on his mind, while you revel in its comfort. You could never be with someone like him.

But it is a nice arrangement.

So you find yourself back in his bed again today, his heavy cock in your mouth as he tugs harshly on your hair, painting the back of your throat with his cum. Except this time, he doesn’t immediately ask you to leave.

“What?” You ask, “Don’t you have to go clubbing or something?”

“It’s my day off,” he shrugs, his arms wrapping around you as he pulls you close and falls back into bed. You furrow your brows, detangling yourself from him.

“Day off? From what, picking up girls?”

Hyunjin chuckles, eyes sleepy. “I work at the club,” he simply says. “I’m a host, I just act like I go clubbing when I talk about it during my lives ‘cause my viewers can be a bit stalkery.”

“What?”

“Have you heard of The Siren?” He asks, and you hum, recalling a faint memory of some of your co-workers mentioning the club in passing. “That’s where I work.”

You nod slowly, still confused. “What exactly does a host do?”

“Well, basically, I get to make money just by making lonely women feel wanted.”

You can’t help but scoff at his crude description. “And do you fuck them?”

“Well, yeah,” he answers like it’s obvious. “It’s part of the job.”

“Fucking hell,” You let out a hearty laugh, to which Hyunjin shoots you a questioning look. “Your sex drive really should be studied.”

His lips upturn into a smirk, and his arms reach for you again, beckoning you back into his embrace. “No need to be jealous, baby. I only fuck them if they’re willing to pay, and I’m expensive.”

You roll your eyes, allowing him to pull you into his chest. He threads his fingers through your hair, and you can’t help but feel… awkward.

“You’re kind of an asshole, Hyunjin.”

He hums. “Sure, but you still let me fuck you.”

You two stay that way for a while, his fingers massaging your scalp as he presses a kiss to your head now and then. It feels disorienting, like a sudden shift from everything Hyunjin had been until now. He was never caring or sweet, he never kissed you if you weren’t fucking, and he surely never cuddled you. Your face involuntarily contorts into a grimace.

You detach yourself from him, getting up from the bed and telling him you’ll see him later. But Hyunjin is grabbing at your arm with a smile.

“Come on, don’t be sad,” he giggles as you try to free yourself from his grip. “I’m really not the type of guy you should have fallen for, anyway.”

You still at his words, face contorting into pure befuddlement. “Fallen for? Who the fuck says I’ve fallen for you?”

And Hyunjin simply scoffs, letting go of your arm as his smile shifts into his characteristic grin. “Well, there’s a reason I’m number one among the hosts at The Siren.”

“Hyunjin, those girls aren’t exactly after you for your personality,” you deadpan. “You’re really nothing worth falling for.”

His grin slowly fades, and it’s his turn to have confusion take hold in his eyes. “What?”

You can tell he wasn’t expecting this. Almost as if he was expecting you to have truly fallen for him simply because he… is him. And you can’t help but chuckle at the situation.

“Hyunjin,” you call out to him sweetly, and his gaze is back on you immediately. “You’re a nice fuck, but that’s really it. Don’t worry about me falling for you.”

You can swear you see a flicker of hurt in his eyes, but it’s likely only your imagination. He opens his lips to speak but promptly closes them again. He simply stares up at you from where he’s sat on the bed and almost looks sweet. If you didn’t know him, you would undoubtedly be charmed by this convincing facade. You have to give it to him; you do understand why he’s number one at his job.

“But…” He trails off, shaking his head. “But I’ll see you again tomorrow, right?”

“Sure,” you shrug. “We can keep fucking until I find something better.”

You run your fingers through his long hair and make your way to the door, leaving him with an expression frozen in bewilderment.

Hyunjin might kiss you and hold you close as he fucks you, but he’ll never be yours.

But that’s not a problem, as you surely will never be his as well.

♡ taglist: @bloom-ings, @linocz, @farahia, @mirbokk, @jisunglyricist, @jazziwritesthings

#stray kids #hyunjin smut #skz smut #stray kids x reader #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin #hyunjin x you #stray kids smut #skz

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steddieas-shegoes · 2 months

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Steve and Eddie go through the whole adoption process in 1996, despite how difficult it was to find somewhere willing to help them at all and despite their conflicted feelings on adoption.

The way they saw it though, providing a loving home for a child who needed one was better than the alternative. Eddie had enough experience with temporary foster homes to know stability was better than constant moving and questionable foster parents.

They get a foster placement almost immediately, a six year old girl named Amelia. She’s quiet, but not in a way that worries them. She’s very focused, and enjoys going to school more than any regular children’s hobbies. Neither of them know what to do with that other than keep encouraging it.

She stays for months, months turn into a year, and the agency finally gives them the go ahead to complete the adoption process.

But they don’t do anything without talking to Amelia.

She’s happy there, her therapist signs off on it immediately and explains that Amelia has shown more personality development and less signs of trauma with them than she had even living at home. Not to mention they actually brought her to appointments, unlike her previous guardians.

To celebrate, they throw a party with all their friends and family and tell Amelia she can invite anyone from school she wants. She invites everyone.

Turns out their daughter is a social butterfly and is friends with everyone.

At the party, Eddie pulls out his guitar, plays a bunch of popular kid-friendly songs after a very scathing look from Steve as a reminder to behave.

Amelia walks over to him after a few songs, on a sugar high like he’d never seen on her before, and asks to play the guitar.

He’s hesitant, but not because he’s still protective of his guitars, more because he doesn’t want her to embarrass herself in front of her friends. Kids are cruel, even and especially at seven, and the last thing he wants is this to be the thing that kids talk about for the next ten years.

She sits on the couch and holds it, arranging her fingers…correctly. Eddie watches.

Steve is watching from across the room.

She starts strumming, very quietly at first, not as confident as she’d been a moment ago. And then she starts really playing.

It’s one of the songs Eddie wrote. He played it for the last four months nonstop as he perfected it, and she’d apparently been watching.

Eddie’s jaw is on the floor and he quickly looks over to Steve, who has a similar look of surprise on his face.

He doesn’t interrupt her. She makes it through the entire song.

She looks up.

“When did you learn to play guitar?” Eddie asks.

“When I was watching you.”

“But have you played before tonight?”

Amelia shook her head, looking down. “Didn’t wanna touch it without asking.”

Eddie pulls the guitar from her hands and sets it aside, then pulls her into his lap and hugs her. Steve sits down on the couch next to them, hand on her back.

“You can always ask, sweetie. And if you’re this interested and this natural, we can buy you your own guitar if you want. I didn’t think you were interested in playing.”

“I wanna be like you,” Amelia admitted against his shoulder.

Eddie was done for. He looked at Steve, half-panicked, trying not to cry in front of these people, but Steve wasn’t faring any better.

“Then we can go get you a guitar tomorrow. You can get your own picks, too. They might even have purple ones.”

“Can I have red? Like yours?”

“Of course, sweetie.”

It only took them two days after that to realize she could play by ear, just like Eddie.

And then it only took another day after that to realize she had taught herself to read music too.

They spent hours and hours every week playing together while Steve cooked dinner or checked her homework or just watched them.

When Eddie’s band decided to record another album and go on tour when Amelia was 12, Eddie insisted that she get to be on it.

She ended up helping write one of their songs, played on the track on the album, and with a lot of work, convinced Steve to let them homeschool her for the entire 8 months they’d be on tour so she could perform on stage with her dad.

“Can’t believe she’s not even genetically yours. Are you sure you didn’t have an affair?” Steve asked the night before they were leaving for Europe.

“When would I have had an affair? I came back to the tour bus or hotel with you every single night,” Eddie kissed him softly. “She’s amazing, huh?”

“She is. What happens when she wants to be a full blown rockstar like her dad too?”

“Then we make sure she’s protected and has good people around her like I have. She could be a rockstar easily. She’s got the talent and the presence,” Eddie smiled. “And she’s got me to make sure no one takes advantage of her. But she’s only 12. We’ve got time to worry about that later.”

“You’re bringing her onstage every single night all over the world for the next eight months, baby. I think later is now.”

Eddie sighed. “She’s gonna blow them all away. I’m proud of her. Let’s focus on that for now.”

And she did blow everyone away. The fans and the media had nothing but good things to say, and Steve didn’t have to go into overprotective mom mode at all until she was 15 and signing a record deal of her own.

But between Eddie and him, the entire industry knew better than to fuck with her or them.

They made rules, of course. School still came first, she still had required family events to be at, she still had regular friends at home. She wasn’t allowed at any parties, not even the events for award ceremonies.

But she didn’t really need those rules. She had no interest in parties or abandoning her friends or family, and she was a straight A student who still had hopes of getting into Brown for Journalism like her Aunt Nancy. She had a passion for music and wanted to share it, but not at the cost of the rest of her life.

And Eddie and Steve did everything they could to make sure she got to have everything. That’s what they’d promised her from day one.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #headcanon #so adoption is complicated #and I won’t pretend that there are plenty of aspects of the system that are so fucked beyond repair #and this is not the time or place to talk about them #so don’t do that in the comments #you’ll get blocked tbh because we’re here in this specific space to have fun #that is all #steddie dads #also this isn’t how the industry works #this isn’t how the media works #the world is cruel to young performers #but we’re pretending #this is fiction

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missnxthingg · 1 month

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𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄 - 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 - Lando Norris x Actress!Reader (Enemies to Lovers & Fake Dating AU) 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 - Lando Norris really messed up on the first time meeting one of Hollywood's newest and hottest stars, Y/N L/N. But when his reputation gets too bad, she might be the only one who can save his career from being completely doomed. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 - 4.5K | 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 - SMUT & swearing 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 - Four is our lucky number, so let's spice things up! As I wrote this, I could only think about the song Conflicted by Halestorm (pardon the hard rock). Hope you enjoy this one!

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𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 - 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃

Lando woke up a little lost the following morning. His cheek was pressed to the top of Y/N's head and his arms were loosely still around her waist. She was still deep into sleep when he opened his eyes. Too afraid to wake her up and having to face an awkward conversation, he stood very still, taking the first minutes of his day to look at her and think.

Whatever happened between them yesterday was weird, to say the least. People don't simply go from hating each other to being vulnerable and sharing a bed in a matter of hours. He didn't know what had got into them and it scared him how much he enjoyed the moments they shared the previous night. It scared him how good it felt to be vulnerable to her. And the feeling he got on his chest every time he looked at her was the most terrifying of them all.

Feeling a clench on his chest, Lando carefully slipped out of bed and changed into fresh clothes, did his entire morning routine and, in less than 15 minutes later, he was downstairs in the restaurant for some breakfast. Since it was so early, and everyone was still tired from the weekend, he managed to sit alone and think. The last thing he needed was company.

Eventually, the hotel started to get crowded, and a few fans were starting to recognize him among the people at the restaurant. Feeling cranky, he thought it was best for him to go back to his room and get ready for his flight later that day. Zak had already texted him, saying he hoped to have a meeting on the flight. So he needed to rest his mind.

Lando hadn't decided how to behave around Y/N yet. She was woken up by the time he arrived, but was having a shower while he was gone. He packed everything he needed while she kept the bathroom busy. She only came out ten minutes later, dressed in comfortable clothes for the flight.

“Good morning”, she opened a small smile for Lando, who didn't retribute it.

“Morning”, he mumbled, taking his needed things for a shower.

Y/N was surprised with his behaviour, but decided not to comment on it. Who the fuck goes from cuddling to no reaction in only a few hours? Only someone as complicated as Lando Norris.

“At what time we'll be leaving?”, she ignored how he acted and decided to act just as cold.

“We have to be at the airport at one”, he said and Y/N only nodded to his response.

But she just couldn't help herself. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Fine”, he shrugged before locking himself in the bathroom.

The rest of the trip was exactly like that. Y/N only heard Lando's voice when necessary. He only shifted his mood during the meeting he had with Zak on the plane. Not very interested in talking about racing, she chose to put on her earpods and drift away into music.

They only met again a week later, when Y/N was invited to attend the Cannes Film Festival. To not make it seem like their relationship was one-sided, they took advantage that his off weekend was supposed to be during the event. Lando met her in France, where they had booked a suite with two rooms this time, so they would only have to meet in common areas such as the living and dining room.

What surprised Y/N was that Lando was back to his asshole behaviour once again.

“You never, ever shut up, do you?”, he sighed, taking a spot on the living room's couch.

"I'm just saying that we're late for a brunch and you're fucking sitting down, Norris", she folded her arms and puffed her chest, making sure he knew how upset she was.

"I'm not required to be at this brunch. Just need to be with you at the red carpet", Lando put his feet up on the coffee table and turned the TV on, pretending not to care. Y/N promptly removed his feet from the table.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? I literally always go out of my schedule, fly out away from home, just to be at your goddamn work events, and you can't do the same for me?”

"We're not a real couple, Y/N. I don't know if you realized that", Lando squinted his eyes as he spat out the words. Words to which were daggers right across her chest.

She didn't know why it pained her so much to hear those words; to see how aggressive he was behaving. That was not the same Lando that a week ago begged for her to comfort him and pulled her closer before falling asleep. He wasn't the bubbly and happy Lando Norris she saw on track.

Trying to fight back some tears, Y/N turned her back and retreated to her room. “You do you, Norris. I'm gonna finish getting ready because, contrary to you, I care about my career”.

She had to fight really hard to not call his PR team and call this whole thing off. Lando wasn't committing to his part of the agreement, so she didn't feel like it was fair. But she washed her face, took a deep breath and got ready for brunch. By the time she was out the room, Lando was waiting dressed in a linen button up and short's, perfect for a casual spring day.

Y/N didn't say anything and carried on her way out, him right behind her. When they got to the hotel lobby, they put on their little show, with his hand on the small of her back and opening doors for her. Later that day on the internet, people were melting with the pictures of them in line for brunch, with the sweet kisses being shared between them.

But the real commotion came on the next day, when they attended a Martin Scorsese film premiere, looking like the hottest couple in Cannes. Lando dressed up in a beautiful and classic black suit, while Y/N chose a draped baby pink dress that made her feel like a goddess. When she came out of her room after hours with stylists, makeup artists and hairdressers, Lando felt the air being knocked out of his lungs and he did his best at pretending not to care.

Their fans, on the other hand, cared too much. Their names climbed up to worldwide trending topics; their picture on the red was all over Instagram. People loved how amazing they looked together. Lando and VN really could be a breathtaking couple if they were actually together. It was the perfect combo: the rising star and the sunshine athletic boy.

“A match made in hell”, he whispered in her ear as all the cameras blinded them with the flashes.

"I fucking hate you", she whispered back, and Lando felt like those words were a stab right in his chest.

Of course he knew Y/N hated him. He himself has made sure those feelings were known. But this is the first time he's heard it since the night they shared in Miami. Why does he now care that she hates him?

The words flowed so easily out of her mouth. She was angry at him. Absolutely livid by his behaviour on the previous day, or the fact that he simply pretended the last grand prix didn't happen. So if Lando was going to be petty, two can play this game.

The entire night was filled with snarky comments. Lando made sure to show how he wasn't enjoying the premiere, and Y/N had a comment for every comma that came out of his mouth. She could say anything to try pissing him off. What was making Lando angry, on the other hand, was seeing other men looking her up and down, just like a piece of meat. Didn't they have anything else better to do?

After Y/N spent good ten minutes talking to a very hot model, who was flirting with her the whole time, Lando gave up on waiting for him to leave and approached them, letting his hand go around her waist, securing her close to his body.

“Jesus, don't they realize you're taken?”, Lando mumbled, as he frowned at the model, now long gone.

"I thought we weren't a real couple. So there's nothing wrong with other men flirting with me", she provoked, feeling his fingers tighten around her waist.

“There is when, publicly, you're still mine. Or don’t you remember my one and only rule?”, you could see the red creeping up his neck. Was he actually jealous? It can't be.

“You really are a book I can't read”, she sighed, making an exit towards the theatre where the movie would be exhibited.

Thank God for long movies, because they wouldn't have to listen to each other's voices for three hours. But after a standing ovation once the credit's started rolling up, Y/N proceeded to try talking to as many people as she could at the cocktail party after the session. At the end of the day, she had talked to really important directors and producers, who in the future might think of her while doing a new project.

Lando, on the other hand, stood by her side and looked bored. He hated the film, thinking it was too conceptual for his liking, not to mention too long for a fucking boring plot. Y/N was getting angry at his behaviour and was making their deal go through the sky.

“I swear to God, if you keeping doing this, I'll call our team and end this whole fucking thing”, she complained, making him roll his eyes.

“Fuck off, you're still full on flirting with other men in front of me. I'm not the only one fucking this agreement”, by that time, they were alone in a secluded area of the party.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Norris, I'm working, not flirting, for fuck’s sake. This is the same thing as talking to sponsors. I'm not fucking flirting with any of them”, she was visibly angry at his behaviour.

“Well, it doesn't look like it”.

The fight was taken back to their hotel room and they did their best to make their discussion go unnoticed by other people. But once the doors were closed, they fought like they were married with children.

“This is disrespectful”, Lando shot when they brought up the men she talked to through the night.

“It's work, Norris. I don't know why you're so fucking jealous”.

“Because, we're in a goddamn relationship, Y/N. You can't go out all flirting with other men”.

“You said yourself we weren't in a real relationship. So why are you so jealous?”

“I'm not”, he reaffirmed, making her chuckle.

“Prove it”, she crossed her arms and daringly arched her brows.

She made every molecule of his body agitated. Once, Lando thought it was anger, for all the times they fought without having a reason and all the days she behaved like a brat, making his blood boil under his skin. Now, after the crash and the moment they shared in that tiny driver’s room, he wasn’t so sure anymore.

He was furious; absolutely livid, without knowing exactly what he wanted. Normally, Lando is a very decisive man. But when it came to Y/N, things were just a mess in his head. And right now, looking at her with her arched brows and folded arms, almost daring him to explode at her, he knew that there was only one thing he could do to end up with the fire that was consuming him.

The next second, Lando had his lips on Y/N, furiously attacking them in the neediest kiss of all time. She was taken by surprise and actually had to wait a few seconds to reciprocate anything. She had that look on her face, provoking him into the edge, waiting for a shout that would give her a single reason to hate him. Now he’s got her on the hook and there was no way to run. Actually, Y/N didn’t actually want to run anyway.

Lando had pressed her against the wall, a leg right between her thighs, keeping them apart and their bodies close. He had a hand around her neck, and another one on her hips, securing her against the wall. The pressure he put on her throat felt delicious. No one had ever held her like that before. Her panty was soaking wet not even two seconds later.

It only felt better when he moved his kisses down, trailing them to her neck. His lips sucked on her sweet spot, right under her ear, making her moan with the hot sensation over her skin. Also, if she wasn’t turned on at that point, feeling Lando’s hard on her thigh absolutely did the job. And if he was playing a game, she knew how to dance around it as well. Quickly, one of her hands was palming him over his trousers. He moved back to her mouth, kissing her as if his life depended on it, and biting her bottom lip when the pleasure got too much for him.

“Stop it”, he moaned against her lips, making her smile. “You can only touch me when I say you can touch me”.

“Bullshit”, she dared. “Look at you, Lando. You can’t get enough of my touches. I know you want them all”.

“Fucking…”, Lando removed his knee from between her legs and helped her kneel on the ground right in front of him. He leaned forward and softly landed his hand on her chin, making Y/N look up. She tried to put her best innocent look and he was absolutely done for her. “Open your mouth, baby”.

Y/N opened her mouth for just a little bit, and Lando slipped his thumb in so she could suck on it. Then after a while, he replaced it with his middle and index finger, going in deeper and making her almost gag on his hands. Tired of playing games, he kneeled as well, levelling their eyes, before letting his hand travel to the zip on her back.

“Come on, pretty girl. I want to see you”, he left a few soft kisses on her cheek and daringly opened the zip. “Can I take this off?”, she nodded, but Lando wasn’t satisfied. “I need to hear you say the words”.

“Yes, please”, she pleaded and soon her dress was on the floor, exposing her bare tits from the lack of bra and lacy black thong. Lando didn’t waste a second before dipping his head into her nipples, sucking, biting and playing with both of them. Y/N was a moaning mess in second, pulling his head closer to her body as she felt fantastic with just his lips on her nipples. “Lan, oh my God. Please, I wanna feel you”.

“You misbehaved”, he smirked, getting away from her tits to undo his belt. “I told you not to touch me and just wait. Now, if you wanna touch me, you better open up”.

He quickly lowered his trousers along with his underwear and his hard cock came hard, slapping on his stomach. Lando was sure he could die happily at the sight of Y/N’s eyes brightening and her mouth automatically opening wider for him. “Good girl”, he praised, taking her face by the chin and bringing his cock to her lips.

Y/N’s mouth felt so warm and amazing; Lando was losing it. He started trusting his hips into her face, making his dick go deeper in her throat and her gagging sending delicious vibrations up his body. He was surprised when one of her hands grabbed his balls and massaged them, sending him over the edge just quick enough. He had to pull away before coming on her throat. Y/N pouted in the absence of his cock, still being attached to it by a string of spit and pre-cum. Lando used one of his hands to wipe it off before kissing her again.

“Baby girl, I need to last longer, and you’re not helping at all”, he whispered on her lips once again, making Y/N giggle. What she wasn’t expecting, though, was a hand sneaking into her pussy, his middle finger gathering the juices pooling on her panty. She let an audible moan out, making him know how much she was enjoying that. “Do you want my fingers?”

“Yes”, she breathed out and Lando picked her from the floor, quickly taking her to bed, where they could get more comfortable. He slowly removed her underwear and tossed it around the room, the place getting filled with her glorious smell.

“Spread your legs wider, love”, Lando commanded and she immediately responded. “Good, just like that”. Y/N was going feral with the praise, and he got it right away. “You have a praise kink, pretty girl? Oh, that’s so sweet”.

Now that he knew that, Lando was going to put that information to use. He went back to her mouth though, this time slowing down the pace of her kiss, but the intensity was just like before. As much as he wanted to jump right in and just fuck the shit out of her, he would do anything to make this last for as long as he could. “If I am to have her for only one night, I want it to be unforgettable”, he thought.

Y/N was drunk on his kisses; feeling her soaking wet core brushing on his bare thigh and his tongue furiously sliding against hers. She just wanted to feel him, so she guided his hand to her pussy and pleaded with her eyes. Being a good boy, Lando slipped a finger inside her and pumped it inside slowly, making her lose it, throwing her head back in pleasure.

“Yes, right there. Oh my… Lando”, her hands flew to his back, fingers digging on his skin. Y/N started to roll her hips against his hand and he smiled at her attempt to feel even better. “I need more, please. One more”.

“One more finger, baby?”, Lando immediately obeyed, loving the sweet moan that came out of her mouth right after. “Come on, tell me what you want”.

“Kiss me, Lan”, she pulled his head closer to hers and her lips met his midway. Lando could’ve died happily just like that. He was getting addicted to her kisses, specially now that they were wanted and asked for. They weren’t a stunt act. They were behind closed doors. She was doing it willingly.

“Does that feel good?”, he asked between kisses and she nodded, feeling a knot tightening around her stomach.

“I’m gonna cum”, she grunted, making him start circling her clit with his thumb. “Shit, shit. I’m cumming”.

Her pussy clenched around his finger and now he was covered with her juices. Knowing it would make her go crazy, Lando brought his fingers up to his lips and licked them, moaning at the taste of her sweetness. “God, makes me want to get it straight from the source. You taste so good, baby girl”.

Y/N sat on bed and jumped right into his neck, wrapping her arms around his head to kiss him intensely. Lando was surprised by that, but he couldn’t get enough of her kisses. He has been learning to love them for a long time now, but it was so different; so magical.

“You want to eat me out, uhm?”, she asked him, making Lando arch his eyebrow and smile. “I asked you a question”.

“Well, I would not be opposed to it”.

“That’s not an answer, Lando”, she stopped kissing him, throwing her back against the mattress and getting comfortable between the pillows. She was not going to make him say it. He was the dominant; he wasn’t the one to say those kinds of things. But when Y/N spread her legs and started to play with herself, he just couldn’t keep it to himself.

“Fuck yes, I do. I want to eat you out, pretty girl”, he fell down, head right between her thighs, and started to trail kisses up her legs, until his lips were wrapped around her clit. If Y/N was trying to contain herself, she just couldn’t do it with how good it felt to him eating her pussy so deliciously.

But with their history, she just couldn’t help but provoke him. “You can do better than this”, Y/N dared, as if she wasn’t a moaning mess a few seconds before. And Lando wasn’t one to turn down challenges.

He pulled both of her legs over his shoulder, securing his head on her pussy and making her more comfortable. This time, he started sucking on her clit while working two fingers inside of her. He was too busy to say anything, but Y/N had a whole fucking lot to say about his work.

“Fuck, baby, you’re doing so good. Shit, you just know how to find the right spot. Gonna make me cum again, uhm?”, she was almost screaming in pleasure. When Lando started brushing the right spot inside of her, she felt like she was going to explode. It was different than any other orgasm she ever had in her life. She cummed so hard on his mouth, screaming his name in response.

“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen”, Lando had a beautiful smile on his face, that was covered in her juices. “Shit, that was so perfect”.

“You did so good”, she let a hand up to his face, rubbing circles on his cheek with an adorable smile on her face. But then, her hand fell to his cock, pulling him closer to her as she jerked him. “But now it’s time for both of us to feel good”.

Lando kissed her once again, just because the kisses were an addiction by now. Her hands pumping him only made it all feel so much better. Just the thought of having her around his cock made it twitch.

“Eager much?” She smirked on his lips, but Lando didn’t reply. Instead, he pulled her legs to wrap around his torso and guided his cock to her entrance, head brushing her pussy and collecting all the wetness. Y/N moaned and whined just with the contact.

“Eager much?” He joked back before putting just the tip inside. She felt so tight around him, Lando had to take a second to put it all in, needing to push one of her legs over his shoulder, just to give him more access. “Holy fuck, you feel so good around me. Baby, so tight for me. Fuck yes”.

He had closed his eyes, but she gripped on his throat, making him look down again. “Let me see your eyes, Lan”, she asked. His ocean green blue-ish orbs met hers and he quickly wrapped one of his hands on her throat as well.

“Say my name again”, it was his turn to ask, and she moaned with the request. “Say it”.

“Lando”, she whispered, his cock now moving delicately inside of her.

“Louder”, he demanded, picking up the pace.

“Lando!”, she screamed, making him slammer down his cock inside her. “I want you to ruin me”.

“Your wish is my command”. Now it was a matter of honour, and Lando was going to give what she asked. So he found the best pace, keeping the movements firm, yet slow enough to not be too much.

“You’re so big, love”, she praised, brushing her hands on his cheek, making him look her in the eyes. Lando looked so pretty while trying to contain his moans to speak. “I can’t get enough of you. I’m so full”

“You take me so well, my love. Fuck me”, his movements were getting sloppier, and she could feel his cock already twitching inside of her. Y/N also noticed that he was holding back his force, trying not to overstep.

“Don’t hold back, baby. You can use me”, she encouraged, and that was all Lando needed to hear before quickening the pace. And then, it was getting too hard for him to hold back. He wanted to last longer, but it all felt so good. Lucky enough, Y/N started to clench around him. “I’m gonna cum, Lan. Please!”

“Let’s cum together, pretty girl. Come on, we can do this”.

He glued his eyes with her, the hand on her throat not letting them break eye contact as the waves of pleasure crashed over their bodies. Y/N came first, but less than 5 seconds later, he pulled out to come on her stomach. She pumped him outside, getting him dry, while he retributed the favour with his fingers until they were both done.

Y/N had to wait a second to come back to her senses, but Lando promptly took a cloth from the bathroom and cleaned the mess he made over her. Then, too tired to function, he dropped his body over her and pressed a few kisses all over her face. It was like now that he had finally had her, he just wanted to curl up with her and forget about the whole world. And she was willing to let him do just that, because that was exactly what she wanted as well.

He fell asleep just a few seconds into their comfortable silence. Y/N continued to roll her fingers through his curls, lulling him into deep slumber, as she thought about what had just happened. It was still unbelievable in her head, but she kept replaying every moment, already missing his touch. And if her feelings for Lando were already confusing because of that night after his crash, this only made things worse. But having him sleeping on her arms, his digits digging on her skin as he clings tight onto her, made her forget about all her worries.

He woke up for just a few seconds and caught her staring at him. Instead of pretending she wasn’t looking, Y/N cracked him a smile. Lando opened an even wider smile before pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “Let’s go to sleep, angel. Come on”, he got off her to turn off the lamp on the night stand, turning the room dark.

He found a spot for his head on a pillow and missed the warmth of Y/N. So he pulled her closer until she was lying on top of him. The skin to skin contact felt so intimate and comfortable for them. No fabric or cloth between them, just their bodies holding in together. And with his soft hands on her hair, Y/N fell asleep listening to Lando’s heartbeat, who had his own funny pace: quick in adoration for her, and then slow, after she calmed him down.

She would be the death of him someday.

⋘ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 // 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 ⋙

⤳ 𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 - @celestialams @lizaschronicles @kapsylia @igotnorrrizz @hiireadstufff @bishhhitsaurionn @mrsmaybank13 @bborra @sltwins@riccdannyf1 @kapsylia @67-angelofthelordme-67 @ctrlyomomma @lan4cha16 @alltoomaples @ellen3101 @hellyesjaehyun @tastebaldwin @sweate-r-weathe-r @carmenita122 @m0cha-bunny @lqvesoph @itscrzy @fangirlvibez @poppyflower-22 @livelovesports @logischeroktopus @happy-jj @saturnbloom77 @cmleitora @formulaal @secretgal66 @taisferrari-blog @ellen3101 @sunsshinesunny @eclipsedcherry @tems13 @readingbringsjoy @naanibubbletimmispeach @kenzeyeballs @alilcloudy @architect-2015 @tillyt04 @eringaitskill @honeyhatty12 @dreamercrowd @demig0d0fapollo @mxmtewnz @whatamidoingwithmylife-ramdom @beyond-the-ashes @ijustgomessitupx @floraav @laiba26mindflay3r @books0fever @marialovesf1 @sltwins @ourteenagetragedy @katieschry1 @loveofmylife12 @diaa-20 @urfavsgf @chilisandmilk @elleeeee21 @likedbygaslyy

crossed means i can't tag you! dm me and maybe we can get it fixed

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leanchugger420 · 1 year

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₊ ׅ ֹ 𓈒 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐞 | 𝐧𝐦.𝐫 𓈒 ֹ ׅ ₊

pairing – boyfriend!niki x fem!reader

warnings – fluff, heartbreak, established relationship, depressive state, mentions of heart being torn out and bleeding, fluff <3

wc – 0.8k

A/N – i love love love this so much! hope u enjoy <3 please do like and reblog!! it helps me reach more impressions :)

today for the first time ever, niki wasn’t speaking to you. every single question you asked him was shrugged off.

‘hi niki!’ ‘hi’.

‘what’s up?’ ‘nothing’.

‘how are you?’ ‘fine’.

‘is something wrong?’ ‘no’.

niki was always enthusiastic to be with you, to talk to you, or just see you. you wondered why your oh so loving boyfriend who behaved like a little puppy when he saw you, was being cold and ignoring you today.

ever since you and niki had started dating, you’d always be co-dependent with him. if he was happy, you were happy, if he was sad, you were sad, if he was angry, you were angry. you guys were a twin flame.

two months ago, when enhypen’s manager permitted niki to move in with you, you both were more than ecstatic. that entire first week, you were in paradise. pillow fights, movie nights, midnight snacks, playing games together till 4 am. it was everything to you. he was everything to you.

it killed you to feel this way. to feel like you had made him upset. to feel like you made him feel anything less than happiness.

you analyzed every single thing you could’ve possibly done and every single thing you could possibly do to make him feel anything but this way. you were pondering your options while staring off into the distance, but just then, you took a glance at his face. the dead, emotionless expression in his eyes broke your heart in a million pieces.

“niki”.

no response.

“do you want to go get bunggeopp-“

“i think i’m going to move back to the dorms” your face dropped immediately. he’s pushing you away. why is he doing this? he loves you. right?

“w- what? niki, are you joking?” you had to ask even though you knew he was in no place to joke around right now especially about such a serious topic.

“i think we should break up, y/n. my feelings have changed” you felt your heart rip out of your chest and bleed all over the ground. he walked away from you. he doesn’t love you anymore. he’s moving out. niki was no longer your boyfriend.

you lifelessly wandered around seoul city for hours, feeling no reason to want to go home. the one thing that made it your home was gone. it was 2:47 am and you finally stepped into your (ex) shared apartment with niki.

it felt brand new. all of niki’s stuff was gone. it was almost as though he never lived with you in the first place. you dropped to the floor and tears fell out of your eyes. you felt the wetness on your cheeks pouring out and you screamed at the top of your lungs. you didn’t cry, you didn’t speak. you didn’t leave your apartment the next day and you continued to do so for the next two weeks.

it had been two months since niki had moved out and ended things. you were functioning but you lost your spark. you were no longer the person you used to be. yhe y/n that everyone loved. the y/n that niki loved.

for once, you decided to go out for dinner alone. you thought if you were going to be alone, you could at least learn to be happy by yourself. you went to the ramen place a couple of streets away from your flat where you and niki used to go. you sat there for ten minutes after eating your meal to gather yourself. the entire time you had only missed niki and reminisced about your memories in this place.

you wiped your tears from your face while walking into your apartment. you felt your stomach drop when you saw niki sitting on your couch. you were hallucinating, you had to be, but that didn’t stop you from calling out his name.

he looked at you. your flat was completely dark, but you could see stars in his eyes. you had really gone crazy, you thought, as you walked towards him slowly, he got up from the couch and ran towards you. he wrapped his arms around you so tightly and you heard him sob.

this is real. he is real. these words rang in your ears and as soon as you came to your senses you put your arms around him, and the tears poured.

“y/n, i’m so sorry. i miss you so much. i love you so much, i’m so sorry, please forgive me. i lied to you, nothing changed. i love you, i love you. please don’t leave me. you’re all i have left. i wasn’t thinking properly. i miss my mother, i miss my family, i miss japan. i lost everyone. i can’t lose you too.”

you didn’t say anything at all for a while. you stayed still and quiet in his embrace.

“y/n, please say something” he searched your eyes for any sign that you might have moved, that you might say no and turn him away.

“you didn’t lose me. you never will. i love you too, niki. i missed you so much” he held your face and and caressed your cheek and pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

#niki fluff #niki x reader #niki #enhypen niki #enhypen #nishimura riki #enhypen fluff #enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #niki imagines #kpop fanfiction #enhypen fanfiction #enha fluff #enhypen soft hours

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whoreforhorror · 1 year

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So, I literally have no motivation and am just not in a great place right now. I can barely get out of bed for work and showers are exhausting.

Have a repost from my AO3

Movie Intervention (Billy Loomis x Reader x Stu Macher)

Summary: You’ve been working yourself too hard at school and haven’t given the boys the attention they need, so they take things into their own hands.

It was a bad habit to fall into, you knew that. Still, there wasn’t much you could do about it. Between actually having to go to school, the homework you got after, and work, your day was jam-packed. There weren’t enough hours in the day, so you had to free your hours at night. This means that you were here again, gearing up for another late late-night study session. Physics specifically had been kicking your ass and you had to ace this next test or you were certain you’d be doomed to repeat the class. For the sake of your long-term sanity, you couldn’t let that happen.

Several times now, you’d had to cancel on your friends. You still saw them at school, and Randy at work as well, but it wasn’t the same as actually hanging out or partying. You’d had to turn down numerous invitations to sleep over at Tatum’s with Sydney and gossip. You’d had to miss Stu’s parties and miss movie nights with him and Billy. You couldn’t really indulge Randy in his usual rants at work, as well. You missed them all, especially Billy and Stu.

You cared deeply about the both of them, more so than the others in your group. You weren’t sure if they noticed or returned the sentiment, and you weren’t really sure what to call it. Maybe a crush, but it felt more comfortable than that. It would definitely be too early to call it love, too. Every time you had to turn them down, to hear the disappointment over the phone or see the looks of yet another letdown in person, it felt like someone stacked another ten-pound plate on your chest. Sooner or later, if this continued, you just might crack under the pressure.

It was nearly eleven at night now, not too late yet but you could be assured that most of Woodsboro was fast asleep by now. Knowing that was, perhaps, even more isolating than your room which you’d spent the better part of two weeks in. The desk in your room had felt more like a prison as you studied. To avoid distractions, you turned off the lights in your room and used solely the little desk lamp in the corner as you worked. It was less burning the midnight oil and more someone set the entire pot of oil on fire and poked a hole in it so that it was both burning too fast and spilling out the bottom. You were, in this moment and for the past two weeks, a fiery ball of leaking oil.

Time stretched on and your back ached. Your wrist, fingers, neck, and shoulders ached with it. Your… well your everything seemed to hurt. “It’s not even that late…” talking out loud to yourself was the only way your thoughts could be coherent at all. “I’ve stayed up way later than this. I can do this.” You could repeat a similar sentiment to yourself all you wanted, scream it at the top of your lungs and say it with all the passion your heart could hold but it wouldn’t stop the words on the pages from blurring and doubling. Nothing you looked at could stay still and you took another gulp of your half-filled energy drink (the fourth of the night and sixth of the day) which only served to prove just as unhelpful. You could feel your mind start to spiral into nonsensical half-thoughts and abstract concepts you didn’t have the energy to define.

A knock at your front door pulled your brain from its spiral and shot adrenaline through your body, enough to be able to pull yourself from your chair and drag yourself to the door. You opened it to be greeted by Stu, with his fist in the space where the door had just been, and Billy who had popcorn and a tape in hand. They seemed, at first, surprised that you answered at all, then taken aback at your disheveled, sleep-deprived appearance.

“Hey, buddy!” Stu was the first to speak up. “We missed ya’ so we thought we’d drop by. If you can’t come to movie night, we’ll bring it to you!” You weren’t quite sure what to say for a few very long seconds.

“Oh… I’m sorry guys. I can’t- I mean, I’d love to and I wish we could but I’ve got to study. Maybe some other time?” You could hear the exhaustion in your voice, much to your displeasure. You sounded worse than you thought. It hurt to have to turn them away, especially when they had gone out of their way to come to you with everything needed, but you couldn’t. You just couldn’t.

“We’re not taking no for an answer,” Billy spoke up.

“Yeah, no can do, man! I mean, we’re already here and your down here as well! It’d be more work to go allllll the way back upstairs.” He chimed in and pushed past you as he spoke. Billy followed suit.

“Guys…” you sighed out.

“Shut it.” Billy cut you off before you could finish your thought. He grabbed hold of your arm, pulling you fast enough that you could just barely shut the front door before you were much too far away. You were too tired to physically resist.

The two made their way to your living room, dragging you along with them. Billy was first to set on the couch, pulling you to sit in the middle so he was on your left. He opened the pre-made popcorn he had with him and offered you some. You were too tired to chew, if that even made sense. Either way, you shook your head. You were quickly losing any energy you had left and verbally responding to anything took far too much effort that you didn’t have.

Stu grabbed a large, fuzzy blanket from somewhere in your living room, spreading it out to cover both you and Billy, with enough extra to cover himself when he sat down as well. Billy tossed him the tape to get the movie started. You knew from the music as the movie began that they had chosen Halloween. It was a movie you had watched a thousand times, hundreds of those times being with Billy and Stu. You knew the movie like the back of your hand by now, and you were sure they knew that. They’d purposely chosen a movie you’d seen before so you could sleep without worrying about missing anything.

It dawned on you as Stu sat down on the couch right next to you on your right, covering himself with the blanket and putting his arm around your shoulder, that the boys, perhaps, felt the same closeness to you as you did to them. Certainly, they hadn’t done this for anyone else in the group. Not Randy, not Sydney, and not Tatum, even though the girls were dating Billy and Stu, respectively. It was enough to pull a smile on your lips; the first in weeks. You felt Billy put his arm around your waist and rest his hand on your thigh, pulling you into him just slightly but allowing you to stay in Stu’s arm as well. The two passed the popcorn back and forth between each other as they, or really Stu for the most part, rambled on about different cinematic techniques the movie used and the landmarks the movie had made, all while you put your head on Stu’s shoulder. Your eyelids grew heavy and each time you blinked, you found yourself wanting to open them less and less.

You fell asleep like that, with your head on Stu’s shoulder as he rambled on about the movie, in the hold of your two favorite people in Woodsboro. And, as you drifted off, you decided there was nowhere else you’d rather be. Your hearing was the last to go as you faded out.

“Stu, shut the fuck up. You’re going to wake them up.”

“Am not!”

“Stu.”

“Fine, whatever man.” A pause. “G’night sweets.”

“Yeah, sleep well, babe.”

…And you were out.

#poly ghostface x reader #poly ghostface #ghostface x reader #ghostface #scream franchise #scream #scream 1996 #billy loomis x reader #stu macher x reader #hurt/comfort #i guess?#not really sure how to tag this

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cupcakemolotov · 4 months

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Ex's and Oh's

I have finally finished a thing, but honestly, with the 2023 has shaped up, this is a triumph! Happy Holidays, all.

Summary: Caroline's return to New Orleans is a little less triumphant than she'd like. There is a dead body in her trunk and a magical artifact in her passenger seat, and no matter how much she'd like too, the chances of avoiding her ex-husband are astronomically small. What, with the mate bond and all, but a girl's gotta hope.

Warnings: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence; Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known; Minor Character Death; Magical Realism; We Make War Not Love; Post-Divorce; These Two Fools in Love; Klaus and Caroline Being Territorial; for each other; tyler is dead; kind of; Canon-Typical Violence; Violence; Murder

“You aren’t supposed to be here.”

“I know.”

Bonnie rubbed a hand down her face after she handed Caroline a cup of coffee, her expression exasperated. “Do you?”

Caroline bit down on a tired smile. “Bonnie.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” she huffed, her eyes narrowing. “Enzo and I won’t be able to hide this. You know he has my place watched. He knows we talk. He knows I used to visit you, on occasion. He let it slide, because to do anything else would just piss you off more.” She sat and sighed. “This he will not let slide.”

Caroline shrugged, reaching carefully for the cream. Her ribs tugged uncomfortably at the motion, and she was careful to hide it. She needed caffeine too badly to let her friend be distracted. It’d just been her and multiple five hour energies over the past twenty hours, and there were things that needed to be said. “He’ll get over it.”

A choked noise escaped from her oldest friend, her expression pinched. It was still early in New Orleans, dawn not having quite creeped over the edge of the horizon. Her walk from her parked car had been quiet, the city slow and sleepy in the early morning hours, only the most adventurous of tourists staggering home. Bonnie had clearly rolled out of bed when Caroline had woken her, her clothing rumbled and mismatched. She’d have felt bad about just showing up after so long, if the circumstances hadn’t been an emergency.

“Caroline, Klaus does not ‘get over things,’ particularly when they involve you.”

“It's been just over ten years since the divorce, Bon.” Three years, fifty-one days since she had last talked to him. Since she had been in the same state as him. If she thought about it too long, her chest would start to ache with the weight of it. She had just never been able to decide if it was grief or rage that she carried like a cloak.

“Oh, I’m aware,” she said flatly. “The entire bayou is aware, Caroline.”

A pause, as Caroline scrunched her nose. “I didn’t think the divorce would still be hot gossip. A decade is more than long enough for people to stop wagging their tongues.”

Bonnie let out a groan. “If you think the kind of gossip your divorce from Klaus Mikaelson inspired is going to die down this century, you’ve forgotten how insular this place can be.”

“Kol lives here.” Caroline shrugged, winced. “He has a new antic every week. They can’t be bored of things to talk about.”

A peculiar look crossed Bonnie’s face. “Would you like to know what the last bit of nonsense Kol got into?” She didn’t wait for a reply. “He threw a block party.”

Caroline blinked. “That’s… not unusual for Kol. I can think of at least three block parties he threw in the last year that I lived here.”

Bonnie made a noise. “I don’t think you're really appreciating the scale of this party. It spilled across six streets. He brought in margarita trucks. Two live bands. Cops were called, SWAT intervened after the second fireball, dozens of wolves ended up in jail overnight, and it took a week for Elijah to untangle the legal shenanigans.” She arched her brow. “A week. Even the post-Esther shindig didn’t explode through the city quite that way.”

And neither of them had mentioned a word of this to her. She wondered if Enzo had a video. “Where was Klaus?”

“Business trip.” Bonnie said succinctly. “He showed up an hour after the SWAT team had been brought in to deal with the drunk witches. Do you know what Kol was celebrating?”

Caroline shook her head.

“Your divorce.”

The noise that caught in Caroline’s throat was strangled, torn somewhere between a laugh and a shriek. Bonnie’s expression darkened into that of a martyr before a judge.

“There was a banner, Caroline. Kol hung it across the front of the mansion, right above the entrance, and he had someone set up two spotlights to make sure it was visible. I have no idea who made the banner, but it had to be someone out of state, because supposedly no one died. Would you like to guess what it said?”

Caroline opened and closed her mouth, but couldn’t quite find the words. What exactly would Kol have put up to celebrate her divorce?

“No?” Bonnie crossed her arms. “Too bad. It read, “Congratulations to Caroline Forbes, Ten Years and Counting.”

It was a physical strain, not to laugh at Bonnie’s unimpressed look. Her ex-husband had enough pride to keep the Titanic afloat, having their disaster of a marriage waved in his face had to have made him apocalyptic with anger.

Bonnie nodded at her expression. “Elijah had to smuggle Kol to Eastern Europe. He’s still there.”

Struggling with her composure, when she finally spoke, Caroline managed to mostly sound normal. “Kol can occasionally be likable, can’t he?”

“You would find it hilarious.” Bonnie made a face. “Enzo certainly did. But it’s made my life unnecessarily complicated. Rebekah is refusing to talk to Klaus until he brings Kol back, and Klaus threw her last messenger through the front doors. Werewolves can apparently bounce. “

Caroline looked everywhere but Bonnie’s face. She would not appreciate the laughter Caroline was struggling to hide.

“The pack has started referring to the party as The Event, and every time someone is dumb enough to mention it in Klaus’ hearing, he gets that particular look on his face.” Bonnie waved her hand. “You know the look: he’s clearly weighing just how useful you are and if dead would be the better state of your existence.”

Caroline cleared her throat, trying to look contrite. It was difficult, when all she wanted to do was lean forward and ask for more details. Ask just how much Klaus was suffering, if the wound of her leaving matched the one he’d left in her. “That sounds terrible.”

AO3: Link Here

Please remember that my A03 account is unfortunately locked due to AI scrapping. You will need to be logged into an account to see all of my stories.

#klaroline #klaroline fanficion #my fic #story preview

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starcrossedxwriter · 1 year

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Bleeding Through Part 1 (MBJ x Famous Black OC)

Trigger Warnings: Angst, asshole Michael, some mentions for triggers for the OC but nothing graphic - just vague mentions (that will be important plot points in later fics!)

A/N: well… this is way longer than I intended or anticipated lol but here it is… Also if you love these two… don't be mad at me!! lol

“That looks delicious, Charlie. He’ll love it,” Michael’s mom commented as she watched Charlotte put the final touches on her husband’s favorite sweet treat, a chocolate cake.

Her eyes did not leave her cake as she checked the icing meticulously for spots that did not look exactly. She knew her attention to details slightly obsessive. After all, Michael could care less about the look of desserts as long as the taste was just right. And if there was one thing Charlotte could do, it was bake. But still, she desired only perfection for her husband’s first day home from shooting. Her entire spirit beamed at the compliment from her mother-in-law, one of the few people in the world whose opinion mattered to her.

“You think so??”

At Donna’s affirmative nod, the young woman let out a small squeal of excitement before laughing at her own antics.

She moaned, “Ugh… Sorry… I know I’m acting like a complete nut. I just can’t wait for him to be home. This time felt way harder for some reason.”

“I know. It felt longer than three months.”

Charlotte shrugged. “He wasn’t able to call home as much, maybe? Usually we FaceTime every night when he gets home from set but I could barely get him on the phone once a week. And I’ll get to see him at some point but I haven’t seen him since Oscars weekend,” she mused before shrugging. “But I totally get it. Lupita mentioned that the filming and training schedules were just relentless so he probably just didn’t have much time.”

Michael’s schedule for Marvel’s Black Panther had been crazier than most of his projects so Charlotte truly did understand. Most of the film was shot in Atlanta but the cast had flown to several other locations across the world while training to capture different scenes. And she knew that Michael’s character forced him to stay in hair and make-up longer, which meant earlier and later days on set than many of his counterparts.

With all of that in mind and as an actress herself, she gave Michael as much grace and understanding throughout the process. He missed a call, no worries. Forgot to call her back, all good. However, that meant they had seen precious little of each other since he left in February. Three months later, she desperately missed everything about him.

“That boy doesn’t know how to slow down either.”

The pair shared a laugh. “Definitely doesn’t.” She checked her watch and phone, her face falling into a frown.

“What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, forcing her mouth back into a grin and her concern back to the depths of her mind. “N-Nothing, nothing. Just… well he usually texts me when he lands and is on his way but he should’ve landed like an hour ago? Hell, he should be walking through the door any minute.”

“I’m sure he’s fine… you know he’s forgetful.”

Michael could be forgetful, it was true. But generally not with things like this. He knew how much Charlotte worried so he never forgot to text her when he landed somewhere. It was usually the first thing he did even when they spent the whole flight texting back and forth. Which was also unusual. She had not received one text from him his entire flight. She shook her head as if she could shake the thoughts out of it.

He’s fine… he’s fine, she thought to herself. She knew she was just trying to convince herself. To keep her concerns at bay as she worked to clean up their kitchen, she made a mental note to call him in ten minutes if she did not hear from him. However, that ten-minute mental alarm never needed to go off.

“Speak of the devil,” she whispered to herself as she heard a key turn in the door. She wiped off her hands off and raced to the foyer of their home just as Michael crossed over the threshold.

Damn he looks good, she thought to herself as she took in his Killmonger look. She loved him in any iteration. But she could not deny this one was… sexy as fuck. Her eyes almost did not know what to focus on and she was shocked at how, even with only three months on set, his body had changed so much from when he left. His muscles were massive before but now they threatened to break the limits of his hoodie, his beard had grown longer and a bit unruly, giving him a rugged look that made Charlotte go weak in the knees. And she could not deny that the dreads were growing on her. They were neatly braided back to keep them out of his face.

“Hey handsome,” she offered with a bright smile. She immediately wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Her movements almost faltered as she felt his body tense up at her touch, however, he seemed to catch himself and force his body to relax. However, the hug and chaste kiss he placed on her lips were still brief.

“Hey babe,” he offered before quickly breaking free and moving to bestow equally-brief hugs to his parents.

Charlotte felt the balloon in her heart deflate slightly at his less-than-warm welcome. Perhaps she had simply built his return up in her mind but typically when he returned home, even from a weekend, he could not keep his hands off of her. And she would be lying if she claimed she did not enjoy it. And so, in this moment, it felt odd not to receive it, his immediate love and affections.

However, she knew she would not solve any of these conundrums standing in their foyer so she fixed her face back into a smile and followed her husband deeper into the house.

“How was the flight, babe?”

“Fine.”

“You hungry? I may or may not have a freshly made chocolate cake in the fridge for you. A lil welcome home surprise.” She hoped the promise of his favorite sweet treat would bring out some of the excitement to be home that she felt he was missing.

“Nah I’m good. Just gonna go shower.” His eyes barely left his phone as he moved through their house, his answers short and clipped as to not invite additional conversation.

And before Charlotte could even blink or think of a response, he disappeared before her eyes to their master suite upstairs. Charlotte glanced around, unsure of what to do with herself. This was certainly not how she expected his return home to go. She anxiously fiddled with her wedding band as her brain went down a million different rabbit holes at once. She questioned whether he was upset with her. But she had barely spoken to him in the last few weeks, hell the last few months if she were honest about it, so what could she have said or done? She glanced down at her clothes, which did have a light dusting of flour across them due to her mad furry of baking earlier in the day. Perhaps he expected her to look cuter or more put together for his return and he was disappointed?

Whatever the reason, she knew something was off. This man who looked and spoke like her husband was not fully him. She stood at the foot of their staircase for a few moments as she tried to strategize what she should do next. Should she go and talk to him and gauge what was wrong? Or should she give him space? She was not used to not knowing what to do where Michael was concerned. Usually, they moved in perfect step and in sync. This was far from that.

She did not noticed Michael’s mom studying her until she spoke up.

“I’m sure he’s just tired, Charlie.”

Her words knocked her out of her trance.

“Y-yea, yea. Just tired,” her words trailed off as she nodded to herself. She repeated the words underneath her breath a few times as if to convince herself her mother-in-law was correct.

Not everything is a reaction to you, Charlie, Charlotte reminded herself, a refrain her therapist had given her many years ago that she often had to repeat once she stepped her toe back into the dating pond. It was not that Charlotte was self-centered, she preferred when things were not about her. But she had to learn and unlearn a lot where relationships were concerned by the time her rugged path led her to Michael. One of those things being that not every negative emotion or reaction from her partner meant she had done something wrong or would lead to harm. It had been a tough one to unlearn but she was all the better and stronger for it.

While Michael tended to be in good spirits most of the time, she knew he was not immune to a bad day like every human being and those bad days were not an indictment against her. He just came off shooting a character that was so unlike him, a grueling training and filming schedule, and a long flight. He earned some alone time and some space to decompress if he wanted, she decided quickly.

“I’m gonna unpack his stuff. I was going to take him out to dinner but I think we’ll just order in so he can get some rest… cool with you two?”

His mom shook her head. “We actually are going over to Jamila’s house for dinner. Figured you two would want the house to yourselves for a bit.”

Charlotte’s heart warmed at their thoughtfulness. Before she and Bakari got married, she had always questioned whether living with her in-laws would be awkward or uncomfortable. However, they were both so attuned to giving she and Bakari their space as a married couple and never overstepped. Now, Charlotte would fight tooth and nail to keep them around.

“Love you SO much… Thanks!” She squeezed Donna’s hand before treading the same path up their stairs to their master. She made a mental note to stay positive and to focus on getting him whatever he needed so that once he got some rest, they would get back on track later that evening.

However, that proved to be wishful thinking. Charlotte felt like she was a ghost in her own home, barely corporeal and visible to his eye. And when he did speak, part of her wished he hadn’t. There was a sharp edge to his words now, even his clipped responses carried annoyance like he wished he did not have to talk to her.

By the time she was ready to retreat to bed, Charlotte was almost excited for the forced silence of sleep. She was slightly disheartened though as her thoughts drifted to the lace lingerie hanging in her closet that she bought particularly for this moment that would go unused. It was black with gold detailing to match his former character’s Golden Jaguar suit, a detail she had gotten from a spy or two on set. She had strongly considered still putting it on and entice him. However, he did not seem to want any physical affection and she had felt enough rejection from him for the day.

Maybe tomorrow night, she reasoned as they both slid into bed.

When he turned off the light on his side, she offered him an ‘I love you,” and a kiss on the cheek. However, neither were reciprocated nor did he ease back into their usual sleeping position with half of his body draped on top of her. No, instead he slept on the edge of their shared bed with his back to her.

As his light snores filled her ears, Charlotte barely slept as she prayed her husband’s off day was merely a one-time issue and he would be back to his usual jovial self tomorrow. Somehow, despite the warm body next to her, their bed felt cold as ever. And she was no stranger to coldness in a relationship, that dreadful feeling of loneliness when someone was there with you. In fact, in her experience, coldness and indifference were a step up from her ex’s usual behavior. But she was not accustom to such coldness from Bakari. Warmth was she knew with him, all he had ever been. Even on the rare occasions when he was angry, he never acted as if she was a burden or as if he did not wish to be around her. And that was all she felt today: that coldness and the sharp edge of rejection. How else was she supposed to feel when, after three months apart, the love of her life acted as if he did not want to see her? But as she laid there, she still held on tight to her optimism. She vowed not to read too much into it or let it get to her too much.

She sighed before turning over to face the wall away from him and close her eyes.

Tomorrow, he’ll be back to normal, she thought to herself. He has to be.

***

Charlotte shifted in bed, her hand reaching out to find the warmth that was her husband only to be me with the uncomfortable cold of an empty bed.

“This nigga,” she whispered, rolling her eyes. She knew exactly where her husband was, where he had been almost every night and day since he returned home from Atlanta four weeks prior.

She swung her legs out of bed and grabbed her robe, tying it tightly around her waist as she made her way through the darkness to her husband’s ‘man cave,’ which housed all his gadgets and toys. She scratched her head, her reddish-brown curls wild and untamed around her as she had accidentally pushed her scarf off in her restless sleep. She was not surprised to find him playing Call of Duty, the loud gunshots and bangs from the game mixing with the sound from an episode from some anime she did not recognize on the other screen.

“Babe… Babe. Bakari!” She called his name several times, the annoyance in her tone increasing each time she had to repeat herself.

“What?”

Charlotte was slightly taken back by his tone and that his eyes did not leave his stupid video game to even acknowledge her presence. However, it did not deter her as she crossed the room to stand behind him. Her hands went to his rub his shoulders, only stilling when she felt him flinch beneath her touch and shrug her hands off of him. She supposed she should be used to the bite of rejection from him these days, but it still stung. Her arms wrapped tightly around her midsection as if to fight the instinct to touch him again.

“I-I just wanted to see if you were coming to bed soon. It’s like 3 am.”She knew her words sounded needy but she did not care. She missed her husband.

He immediately shook his head, wholly uninterested in retreating to the warmth of his shared bed with his wife. “Nah, not for a while.”

Charlotte’s whole body seemed to sag in disappointment, her shoulders hunching over as sadness spread throughout her. She knew she had been foolish for being so hopeful… hopeful that he would return to bed and hopeful that he would return to the man who left here in February.

It seemed as though, since he wrapped filming Black Panther, he had little time or interest in being with her or his family. He holed up in his cave in the basement for 90% of the day, only exiting when he had no choice. And even then, it was clear to everyone that he was suffering through their company. His behavior was odd for everyone in their household and their family. Michael was typically the conversationalist but everyone was struggling to pull two words out of him lately and those two words felt like an Olympic feat. She could count on two hands the amount of true conversations they had had since he returned home. And it was not just his isolation from her and his family, which she could, at least, make excuses for. She had also never seen him so short and quick to anger. Usually, he was the calm one, the one who could jump in and diffuse a situation. But now, rage seemed to live just beneath the surface and it only took one out-of-place word for it to spring forward.

It only took her a few days to recognize what was truly happening. It was the character bleeding through, the toxicity that was Erik Stevens tainting the waters of Michael B. Jordan. And the more she recalled the small tidbits of information she knew about the character he played, the more his behavior now and while he was shooting made sense. However, that did not make it any less anxiety-inducing and frustrating for her. Especially when it was not 24/7. There were certainly moments were she thought her husband was finally back fully. He was actually initiated conversation with her and laughed and joked around. However, those were always shorted lived as Erik seemed to rear his ugly head every time eventually, causing him to ignore her or retreat to his corner of the house. And she hated it, hated this Jekyll and Hyde rollercoaster she felt forced into enduring day in and day out. This ‘Erik-Michael’ hybrid was not the man she married and pledged her life to. But he seemed to have no desire to go back to who he was.

“Damn… You could’ve just stayed in Atlanta if you were gonna stay holed up in here all day and night,” she mumbled to herself, her own frustration getting the better of her.

“The fuck you just say?” He threw down his controller and stood up, the loud clanging to the ground causing Charlotte to jump slightly. However, his outburst did not deter her.

“I said, ‘you could’ve just stayed in Atlanta if you were gonna act like you don’t have a wife and family here.’ I mean what the fuck is wrong with you, Bakari? Like I know it can be hard to shake a character, trust me, I’ve been there. But this is getting fucking ridiculous.”

He rolled his eyes and took another gulp from his glass of scotch. “Always comin’ in here with some bullshit.”

“See - that right there. Since when do you speak to me like that?? I don’t know what’s going on with you babe but this ain’t ok.”

He shook his head. “I’m good. Don’t worry about it.”

She scoffed, “I’m not an idiot, Michael. This,” she gestured to him, “This isn’t you! You don’t let me touch you,” she started listing all of the grievances that had built up over the last month. “You only let me close to you when you want to have sex. You’re fucking mean a-and aggressive to everyone. You barely speak to me and when you do, you act like you can’t fucking stand it. I’m worried about you! Because this isn’t healthy. And I’m worried about our marriage when you’re treating me like you don’t fucking care about me at all. I need you to tell me what is going on???”

By the time she stopped talking, she was shouting, her chest heaving lightly with her frustration.

“MAYBE I DON’T CARE!” He yelled at her, his anger at her perceived attack boiling over to uncontrollable levels. Part of him knew she was right. However, hearing his behavior repeated back to him only increased his shame at the fact that he could not shake whatever this was. And that only increased his rage at himself, which he felt like could only be directed at one person: his wife. The words flowed from his mouth like vomit. He did not even know what he was saying until it was too late. “Maybe I don’t give a fuck about you or anyone else! This is the real fucking me. I got every right to be fucking angry if I want to be and I don’t give a fuck what you or anyone else thinks about it!”

The retort bubbling to the surface immediately died in her throat as his words hit her. She did not try to hide the tears that immediately sprang to her eyes as she stared at him. The back of her hand hastily wiped the falling tears away. She had never expected words so callous to come out of his mouth of all people. She could not fully even formulate thoughts, let alone a sentence, as his refrain just repeated in her brain over and over.

Michael immediately regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, especially since they were farthest from the truth. For the first time in a long time, he felt the spirit of Killmonger subside, even just for a moment. And he could finally see the damage he had left behind in his wake.

“Babe-“ he immediately raced up to her and touched her arm, immediately stopping when she flinched at his touch and stepped back away from him.

“Don’t…” her voice cracked as a small sob escaped her lips. “D-don’t touch me.”

She turned on her heels and raced out of the room, her eyes blurred in the darkness as she made her way, not to the bed she shared with Michael, but to a guest room on the other side of the house. She locked the door immediately and crumpled down to the floor, her body hunched over from the strength of her sobs.

The sound of her quiet crying as she left the room stayed with Michael, playing a torturous loop in his mind long after he was alone. He had never been so angry or disappointed in himself. He threw the glass in his hand across the room and knocked everything on the coffee table across from his couch to the floor. The shattering sounds did nothing to appease him.

He did not know what the fuck was wrong with him. Killmonger was dead but it seemed as if he was determined to not let Michael go. Every time he tried to lay the character to rest, Killmonger resisted, feeding on his insecurities, his pain, his anger, and every other negative emotion Michael usually had a handle on. Everything that he usually was able to diminish, Killmonger forced to the surface and amplified to new extremes. Nights like tonight there was only Killmonger and his ‘I have no one and nothing but my revenge’ attitude that Michael just could not shake.

But Michael had someone… several someones who loved and cared about him. He did not know why he had routinely pushed them all away over the last few weeks. And now he had done significant harm to the one person he loved more than any other person on Earth.

And he had no idea how to fix it… or if it was even fixable at all.

***

Charlotte hummed quietly along with her music as she packed her suitcase, her song only interrupted by her quietly talking to herself as she went over her checklist.

“Where you goin’”

Charlotte glanced up from her suitcase to find her husband standing in the doorway staring at her. The cold front in the Jordan household had been reduced to Arctic levels since their blowout argument two days prior. Michael had considered apologizing but his shame only pushed him farther into isolation. He could barely look at Charlotte and every time he tried to say something, a voice in his head overpowered his good sense and stopped him. And Charlotte, in turn, refused to speak to him.

So the couple existed in near silence ever since. Unless his parents prompted conversation or the pair had to discuss something important, they simply acted as if the other was not there. Charlotte had even moved out of their bedroom, sleeping in a guest room down the hall to avoid him.

“I’m going to New York.” She continued packing and gathering her things so she could close her bag. She did not even look at him to see the confused expression on his face.

“I thought we were supposed to be going in a few weeks before the Tonys.”

Charlotte nodded. Charlotte had work to attend to in the city and since they both loved NYC so much, they had planned to just go together in about two weeks and stay there until the Tony Awards. Michael had some time off before he had to start training again for Creed II so it would have been the perfect mini vacation for the pair. NYC was at the top of their shortlist of cities they did not visit without the other. And she was knowingly breaking that pact. However, it was, currently, the only city in the country she actually had something to do in and could stay busy while running away from her current problems.

“Yea but I just think I should go now. Gonna help workshop this new musical and get some other shit done. Car’ll be here in like 30 minutes.”

His eyes grew wide at how soon she was leaving. “You weren’t gon’ say shit?”

Still emotionally bruised from their argument two days prior, she could not stop her initial thought from escaping her lips. “Why would I? You don’t care, remember?”

Her eyes clenched shut as she heard the words settle in the space, immediately wishing she could stuff them back down her throat. When she opened her eyes she could see his whole body was tense, his face crestfallen. It was not her intention to make him feel bad. She knew her husband and knew he did not mean those words. But there was a petty part of her who wanted him to hear how deep his words cut.

However, it seemed to have the opposite effect. She could feel his energy shift, his defenses immediately rising as he felt attacked by her words.

“So what? You’re leavin’ me cause of some shit you know I didn’t fuckin’ mean?”

Charlotte rubbed her forehead. She was not interested in fighting with him.

“Nobody’s leaving you. I just… think we both need space. That seems to be what you wanted anyway? Time alone and away from me? Now you’ll have it. And maybe you can use the time to figure your shit out.”

“Figure what out?”

“What it is about this fucking character that you can’t shake? And why you can’t let him go? Because you can tell me you’re fine until you’re blue in the face but it isn’t true. And we both know it.”

Michael knew she was not wrong but slowly his Killmonger facade was slipping. Michael was the one holding the reigns now and Michael needed his wife… here with him.

“I don’t need space. You’re my fucking wife, Charlotte. I need you here.”

Charlotte let out a humorless laugh. “See I know I’m your wife, Bakari. But it isn’t clear to me right now that you know that or that you even know you have family and friends who love you. Cause you aren’t acting like it.” She paused before walking over to stand in front of him. Her hand went to his cheek and wiped away a tear that she did not even think he knew was falling.

“Look, I understand what you are going through… truly I do. I know what it is like to be you and in your skin and in your life but.. you have this other personality gnawing at your soul. It is hard a-and it takes work sometimes to let it go. B-but just because the actress in me understands this and empathizes with it doesn’t mean the wife in me can accept it. I don’t like who you are right now a-and I can’t accept how you’re treating me. I-I have no intention of leaving you, I promise. But I just can’t be here with you like this.”

Hearing that his wife did not want to be around him hurt worse than any physical wound ever could. He immediately wondered if his mood swings and behavior was triggering to her, something he had been far too in his own head to even consider.

“I’m so sorry for the other night. I didn’t mean it and you know I'd nev-”

“I know. Truly, I do,” she assured him. “You aren’t him, you're the farthest person from him I've ever met. A-and I know you didn’t mean what you said. B-but for the last few weeks, babe, I’ve been walking around on eggshells with you. Every day, afraid I’m about to set off a ticking time bomb. And even if all that bomb does is hurl words at me, it,” she choked back sob that caused her voice to crack. “It f-fucking hurts, babe. It hurts to feel lonely with you here. It hurts to not be able to love you or receive that love back. It hurts to feel constantly rejected. And… most of all, it hurts to see you in pain like this. I’m just exhausted, Michael.” Her words sounded as weary as she felt, fresh out of energy and options. If anything, she hoped this time apart would replenish her and him.

A buzzing from her watch pulled her attention from him. Her car was here.

She pulled her suitcase off of the bench at the end of their bed and grabbed her purse. She knew they both needed this but she did not expect it to hurt either of them as much as it did. The broken look on his face made her want to unpack her bag and stay exactly where she was. But she knew she couldn’t.

She dragged her feet toward their door, stopping to envelope him in a hug, the first hug in weeks that he actually returned with earnest. She kissed him on the cheek before pulling away, knowing if she lingered in his touch too long, she would not be able to leave.

“When will you be back?” He asked as she walked toward the door. Part of him was afraid to hear her answer.

She glanced back at him and shrugged. “Don't look so solemn, Bakari. Our marriage isn’t over. I’m with you to the end of the line. But that’s entirely up to you… let me know when my husband is back and Killmonger is dead and buried, and I’ll be on the first red eye back to you. And whatever you need to get him back, you tell me and I'll support you. I love you.”

She offered him one last smile before she met her driver in the hallway and handed him her stuff, leaving Michael alone in their bedroom.

“I love you too.”

Taglist: @certifiedlesbianbaddie @bangtanxmegan @reelwriter19 @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @msniaimani @hi888888sworld

A/N: So… what do you think??? Charlotte has left for NYC, though she promises to come back. How can our favs come back from this? Do you think she should've let at all or stayed to work it out? What do you think Michael needs to do to get his shit together? Let me know your thoughts! Thanks for reading!

#michael b jordan x reader #mbjordanedit #michael b jordan #mbjedit #mbj fanfic #erik kilmonger x reader #Erik killmonger x reader #black writers #creed 3 #adonis creed #black panther #creed iii #michael b jordan fanfic #Michael b Jordan x oc

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bizzybkd · 1 year

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Cornbread (1)

Killmonger x pregnant!reader / part one

Warnings: None, just super fluffy, and in this AU, Erik’s father never left Wakanda but he did pass at the same time as in canon, Erik just grew up surrounded by the rest of his family instead

As you looked amongst your closet, the growing mound on your front told you that most of your clothing wouldn’t properly fit you anymore right now. Carrying your fiancé’s big headed baby boy had given you enough reason to buy larger sized clothing ahead of time. Of course, most of the clothes you wore were Erik’s, seeing as he was almost an entire foot taller than you.

You reached your hand inside and pulled out one of Erik’s Nike tech outfits, the much larger size telling you that as long as you didn’t spill anything on it, and your baby didn’t suddenly decide to come two weeks early and have your water break whilst sitting on the couch, Erik wouldn’t be upset once he saw you in it.

Said man had already taken his leave to go to work, a job you knew very little about but didn’t care to know much. You had your dream Cadillac in the garage and subscriptions to Netflix, Hulu, Amazon Prime, HBO Max, and Disney+ and more than enough good food in the kitchen. Whether it needed to be made or even just removed from the packaging, you couldn’t be happier with the selection. Erik always made sure you had your favorites, which at the time were goldfish crackers, plantain chips, ice cold water from your preferred refillable water bottle, and your soon-to-be Auntie-in-law’s homemade cornbread, which Erik would either take you to get personally from her in Wakanda or he would go get himself.

For a royal family that could have any chef they desired and any food they could ask for at their finger tips, Queen Mother making cornbread always seemed to brighten your mood no matter what.

As you looked in the fridge for your cornbread, you looked at the container the cornbread was in had been gone, and taking a quick glance at the sink, you knew exactly why.

‘You ate the last piece of cornbread?!’ You sent to your fiancé’s phone, fingertips typing ten words a second at how furious you were becoming. How dare he! Taking the last piece of cornbread he knew you loved and knew he wouldn’t have time to get for another few days due to work. How dare he taken something quick to eat in his late morning that you had wanted first!

After five minutes passed of you staring at the message sitting on “delivered”, it finally changed to “read 11:27am”.

‘…’

‘Babygirl, there was only one piece left.’ He replied, having deleted and retyped his message three times as the dots had told on him.

‘That was my last piece! Now there isn’t anymore and I want some! When can we get more?’

‘Maybe Thursday, (Y/n). I don’t know, I shouldn’t be talking right now, okay? I’ll get you your cornbread.’

You glared at the message and simply put a ‘thumbs up’ on it in reply, letting out a long groan of frustration before putting a hand over your belly, in your act of anger, you had forgotten to actually get something to eat. Getting up with a huff, you trudged to the kitchen with much less gumption that you had before. Pulling the box of Lucky Charms cereal from the cabinet and the oat milk from the fridge, you made yourself a quick bowl of cereal, leaving everything out by you as you knew you would want another few bowls.

An hour or so later, still saddened by the lack of cornbread as you munched on the bland tasting plantain chips you had beside you. The mediocre game show on screen made you cringe, it was obvious the contestants were guessing wrong on purpose to the easiest questions just to make the episode hit its target screen time. It annoyed you to no end, but seeing as you binged all your shows and wouldn’t dare taint your mind’s taste buds by risking a new show or movie, you settled.

Out of boredom, you decided to treat yourself, you were cornbread-less, patience-less, and had what the doctors assumed to be a seven to eight pound baby in your belly. Wakanda was only a short ten hour trip by flight, and practically 30 minutes if you could convince your cousin-in-law, Princess Shuri or King T’Challa to send a jet to your house.

You had always known about Erik, well, N’Jadaka, Erik simply being the name he took undercover when he came to America where he met you. You figured out pretty quickly he was the prince, shaving his beard, contacts and a switch from locs to a fade didn’t do as much disguising as he’d hoped, not from you anyway.

You kept his secret while you both attended MIT, as long as he promised to help you pass your physics and trigonometry courses. Aside from numbers and formulas, those weren’t the only things you were happy to take with you once you graduated.

Now having dated four years and being eight months pregnant, with a beautiful 4 carat engagement ring on your finger, and a very strong bond between your fiancé and his family, it wasn’t exactly uncommon for your pregnant self to call the princess and king if you needed something while Erik was at work.

Dialing Shuri’s kimono beads with your own she’s given you, it was almost immediately she answered, a large smile on her holographic face.

“(Y/n)!! It’s great to hear from you!! How are you and my nephew? Sleeping okay? Resting? Eating well?” She cried, the background of the hologram showing she must’ve been at work in her lab.

“Hello, Shuri, I’m doing very well thank you, M’Jabe too. Erik ate the last piece of Queen Mother’s cornbread this morning and I was hoping I’d be able to come get more? It’s really been the only thing keeping me—“

“Right away! I’ll speak with cousin later but for now you come here!!” Shuri interrupted, an interruption you couldn’t care less for as it meant you’d be getting what you wanted. “The jet will be there in ten minutes, shall you pack a bag and stay the night again?” She asked.

You’d stayed the night last month, having had phantom contractions that had easily convinced you that you were in labor. Seeing as it had been another four weeks since then, it was obvious you were wrong. Knowing you still had two weeks before your due date, you deemed yourself perfectly fine not to stay long, especially with how busy the royal family were already.

“No, Shuri, but thank you, I’ll stay again in a week or two since M’Jabe will be due then.” You assured her. She nodded solemnly but smiled. “That’s fine, but the next sleepover I’ll be meeting my nephew so I’ll be looking forward to that!”

You let out a laugh and nodded. You and Shuri continued to talk until the jet arrived, having put on a jacket to combat the nipping mid October weather and a pair of fuzzy slippers you loved. Okoye met you at the top of the stairs into the jet, giving you a smile as you walked in, lending you a hand up the steps as you used the other hand to hold your belly.

“Enkosi, General.” You smiled as she nodded and helped you to a seat.

“Of course, (Y/n), it’s good to see you’re doing well, I’d hoped you would with prince N’Jadaka.” She replied, earning a laugh from you and your son who kicked your kidney in agreement. God he wasn’t even born yet and he was heavy handed like his father.

The ride to Wakanda was short of course, and for good reason, you could only feel your drool escaping your lips as you nearer the great castle, as if smelling the cornbread being made already.

Erik called you after you landed and we’re being escorted inside.

“Why are you in Wakanda?” He asked almost immediately after you answered.

“I wanted my cornbread.” You replied matter-of-factly.

He let out an audible sigh. “You’re a trip..” he let out a soft chuckle before it turned into a light laugh. He loved your attitude, and his ability to tame it. “Don’t worry, Babygirl, I’ll be there soon. Tell Auntie and the other two I said hey.”

You smiled and walked along the long hallways with Okoye, her simply going about her duty alongside you. You couldn’t tell if she was just a master of not showing her opinions through her face, or if she truly tuned out your conversation. It didn’t really matter to you.

“Okay, baby, I’ll see you when you get here. And I forgive you for eating my cornbread.” You smiled, rubbing your belly gently.

He let out yet another laugh, but this one came from his gut, he truly found you amusing and that’s one of the things he truly loved about you. You loved his laugh as well.

“Thank you for forgiving me baby. I won’t touch your cornbread again.” He said in defeat, you could hear the smile in his voice and it made you blush. God, even after four years he could make you giggle like a school girl.

“Get here soon, me and M’Jabe miss you lots..” you admitted. Curse your pregnancy tongue.

Erik noticed the small difference in your tone, how sad you suddenly became at the thought of him being so far away. He hated doing that to you, no matter what his duties were. Of course, him working was to provide for the human you both created that was only days away from coming along. You and your baby were his priorities and everything else came second, so as much as he’d want to spend hours and hours tending to your pregnant form and giving you all the treatment you deserved, being able to stay with his family was the next best thing.

“How about you stay in Wakanda until my son comes along?” He asked you, knowing you had already discussed how you wanted to stay in the comfort in your own home until it was time. But you also knew that he was worried about that plan, what if you went into labor and he wasn’t home or couldn’t make it home, he’ll be damned before you had to take yourself to a rinky dunk hospital that charged almost 100k just for birthing the child and even just holding it afterwards, before the baby was born of course.

You went silent for a bit to think it over, you knew what he was worried about but also knew what you wanted. Being hormonal and pregnant, missing your fiancé who couldn’t be there for what you knew wouldn’t be another two hours, and in a castle you hadn’t spent more than a week at a time in, tears welled in your eyes.

You quickly wiped them away and did your best to hide the sudden spiral in your voice.

“How about we talk about that when you get here, baby, I don’t wanna make any decisions without looking each other in the face.” You said, mustering a smile.

Erik nodded, he knew that would make you feel better.

“Alright, baby, that sounds good. I’ll talk to you then, okay? I love you.” He finally said.

“I love you back..” you replied, hanging up the phone and letting soft tears fall as you made it to the thrown room.

Face to face was how you liked to handle things anyway. That how you got M’Jabe to be two weeks away to being in the world anyway.

Well… maybe not two weeks.

#killmonger fic #king killmonger #erik killmonger #black panther killmonger #killmonger x reader #killmonger fanfiction #erik stevens #erik stevens x reader #erik stevens fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #fluffy

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cinnajun · 2 years

Text

ᵕ̈ ೫˚∗: something new | ljn

summary | in a freak chance, your boss’ top makeup artist falls ill right before new york fashion week, and you’re the only intern who could even begin to take over for her. so, you spend a couple of days as lee jeno’s personal makeup artist.

genre | lee jeno x fem! reader, idolverse/real world, nyfw! jeno x makeup artist! reader, (emotional) fling-ish…i realized i didn't tag this w an actual genre its like angst-ish with a bit of fluff lol

warnings | there’s like one suggestive line, y/n had an embarrassing kpop phase in high school

wc | 4.4k

a/n: i literally need to be sedated. his heels … his heels … HIS HEELS … i need a lobotomy rn fr. shout out to my bff for life rin for getting me through the past two days

ft. people i made up

YOU FELT LIKE PASSING OUT.

Thank god you were relatively close with Stella, because, if you weren’t, you’d probably have been trampled a long time ago. It had taken nearly an hour to even get into the hotel due to the scale of fame most of its residents had, and, even after you’d made it in, making it to the room where you’d be working was even harder. Being an intern makeup artist for a fashion brand was fun, up until you’d actually had to go to an important event.

Quickly, you took out your bottle of water, taking a few sips before you really did throw up. When you’d originally been told about this, about your emergency subbing in, you’d felt over the moon—now, you wanted nothing more than to go to your dingy little apartment in Newark and watch a random reality TV show.

“I want to go home.”

“Oh, come on,” Stella groaned, looking at you. You envied her nonchalance, but her lowballing of your anxiety upset you quite a bit—she’d been doing this for ten years, and you were an intern who’d been doing it for four months. “Bossman said he was going to give you someone easy, yeah? Probably a guy. Someone who only needs light foundation and enhancement. Be glad you aren’t Yuri.”

Yuri, one of your other superiors, was taking over for the best makeup artist in your lineup. Two days ago, she’d produced a shiny, new, positive COVID test, leaving your entire team in shambles—and, given the short amount of time, they had to fall back on the interns. They had to fall back on you.

Finally, you made it to your destination—the front of a line to get into the hotel room. The security guard motioned to see your IDs, which both you and Stella produced with ease. The moment he verified, he stepped out of the way, allowing you to enter a world of absolute, utter chaos. People ran around with safety pins and eyeshadow pallets, and you could’ve sworn you heard yelling.

Luckily, your boss had been waiting for you both, it seemed. “Girls!” he exclaimed, coming up and placing a hand on both of your shoulders. “So glad you’ve arrived. Welcome to your first fashion week, [First]! Play your cards right and you can get a permanent hire, I’ll bet.”

“Yeah,” you said, laughing nervously. Your boss patted your shoulder twice, giving you an almost nostalgic smile.

“Stella, you’re over with the women, as always. Have fun! [First], you speak Korean, right?”

You furrowed your brows, wondering why this was relevant. “Uh, yeah?”

Your boss removed his hand from your shoulder, clapping excitedly. “Lovely! I’m giving you a very, very special job that not even Miss-COVID-Positive could pull off.”

He sidestepped past you, and you paused, blinking a couple times before you spun around and rushed to catch up with him. He walked right out the door you’d just waited nearly twenty minutes to enter, strutting down the hall in red-bottomed heels and the most expensive suit you’d ever seen. You struggled to keep up, suddenly feeling self-conscious about the less-than-fancy clothes you were wearing (black sweats that looked like dress pants and a loose t-shirt); then again, Stella had looked worse for wear than you had.

“Where are we going?”

“Peter Do has a very special guest this year, and we need a Korean speaker to follow him around and make sure he looks perfect during the whole event. There’s worry he might not have the easiest time making it around as most of the models do.”

You wondered what that meant. Jokingly, you asked, “Is an idol coming, or something?”

Your boss didn’t respond, he just kept walking, stopping once you reached the elevator. He swiftly pressed the “up” button, waiting for the elevator to finally appear. You stopped next to him, more nerves rising in your stomach. “Sir, please don’t tell me I’m going to have to follow a k-pop idol around.”

“Why? Is that bad?”

You cringed, remembering your high school days—you’d been obsessed, listening to every group under the sun and spending your free time tweeting about those same groups. As such, you knew more than a little bit about how idol lives were, and what they had to endure.

“People are taking pictures of them for every single second they’re out and about,” you said, beginning to overthink as you stepped into the elevator. Your boss pressed the 15th-floor button, but you barely cared, at that point. “One mistake, one slightly-off line, and it’ll be documented forever. Forever, boss. What do I do then? Sit and cry? I’ll never survive that. And if people see me with them? What if there are, like…weird rumors?”

“You’re overreacting,” your boss said. The elevator doors slid open faster than you could comprehend that you were going up, and, suddenly, your boss was emerging into the hall. You, once again, nearly got left behind, stumbling out of the elevator to try and stay with him. This floor was incredibly quiet, with not a single sound echoing through the halls. It was eerie. You would’ve thought it would make you feel better, but it hadn’t—at all.

He stopped in front of room 1567 and knocked. You stood behind him, almost hiding as the door swung open to reveal a woman in her early 30s if you had to guess. “Come, come!” she exclaimed, stepping out of the way to let you in. You followed your boss, a sense of dread overtaking you.

And then you made eye contact with Lee Jeno.

He was standing in the middle of the room in front of a huge mirror, with three people fussing over his outfit. You stood there in shock, flashbacks of being a 16-year-old girl and fussing over “Chewing Gum” filling your mind, and your very short time as an NCT fan. He was just as gorgeous as you’d remembered him being, with jet black hair and a physique any man would die for. You looked over his outfit, impressed with what Peter Do had done, and—

He was shirtless.

You looked away almost instantly, feeling your cheeks burn at the realization. You decided to tune into your boss’ conversation with who you’d assumed to be Jeno’s manager as they talked vigorously. “[First] is our best intern, and is essentially already part of our team, so I wouldn’t worry. She’s also fluent in Korean, something Stella was not, and will be able to heed anything the client wants or doesn’t want. I wouldn’t worry at all.”

“Lovely,” his manager said, turning to you. “We have a little area for you to get set up if our preliminary setup wasn’t to your liking. We have a few instructions for what the designer is looking for as well. After his appearance tonight, we’d like you to demo tomorrow’s look so that we can accept or deny anything. He’s nearly done with outfitting, so it shouldn’t be long.”

It was standard protocol, stuff you’d heard every time you shadowed Stella or Yuri at similar events, yet you felt like you didn’t understand a thing. Nevertheless, you smiled and nodded, bidding goodbye to your boss and following her to your station.

They’d set it up perfectly, allowing everything to be easily grabbed among a sea of products and tools. There was a sleek, black chair in front of you, and you were easily able to lower it to a better height for you. His manager left, and you sat in the bathroom, alone.

The first thing you did was take out your phone and enter a mostly unused group chat that hailed from your high school days. The last time someone had talked was last year, and it was discussing how an old classmate was already married with two kids—they were not gonna believe this one.

“My client for New York Fashion Week is Lee Jeno from NCT.”

Instantly, texts began flooding in, ones of disbelief and shock.

“No fucking way, you liar!!!”

“Make him fall in love with you!!!”

“Kiss him for me omg.”

You smiled, giggling at your phone. Then, the sound of heels clacking on the ground like mini-earthquakes caused you to practically throw your phone on the counter. You dropped your purse next to it, standing up straight and hoping you didn’t look too much like a deer in headlights. He walked in, wearing the most intense heels you’d ever seen and, once again, not wearing a shirt.

“Hello,” he greeted, and your mind immediately switched over to Korean-mode. You hoped you wouldn’t fail at speaking it, given you hadn’t spoken it much since you’d started working this job.

“Hi!” you exclaimed, hoping you didn’t sound too idiotic. “Um, go ahead and sit down, and we can start.”

He nodded, following your orders to the T. His manager stepped in, leaning against the door while she scrolled on his phone. You picked up a piece of paper, reading over what today’s directions were.

Natural with a slight enhancement of features, exactly like Stella had said. You could do that easy-peasy.

“Is there anything in particular you want me to focus on?” you asked, picking up the sheerest foundation they had. It was certainly a shade too light—you nearly frowned at this, but kept your composure—but you hoped the transparency of it would obscure that.

Jeno thought for a moment before shaking his head, smiling at you. “Do whatever you think is best.”

“All right,” you nodded. “Oh! By the way, I’m [First], and I’m your main makeup artist for this week.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” he replied, relaxing in the chair. “I’m glad I’ll have one familiar face around.”

“Me too.” You began to paint the foundation onto his face, basking in the moment of shock you went through. You were doing Lee Jeno’s makeup—Lee Jeno, who you’d fawned over and loved all throughout your high school years.

“You’re new to this?” he asked, looking at you while not moving his face at all. You swear your heart palpitated at his question, even if it was a meaningless formality more than it was actual curiosity.

“Um, I guess? I’ve been interning for about eight months now. Hoping for an official position once the year-long residency is up,” you said, laughing nervously for the ninetieth time today. “You’ve been doing this for six years now, right?”

Jeno’s eyes widened for a split second, and you wondered if that had been the wrong thing to say. You doubted he wanted to hear that you were an NCT fan way back when, given how awful the sasaeng presence was for his group.

“Wow, you know?” and a smile blossomed on his face, causing your heart to beat even faster. “I didn’t think I’d run into anyone who knew NCT while I was here.”

“Oh, give me a break,” you said, putting your foundation brush down and picking up an eyeshadow palette. “NCT are huge. Up there in terms of international fame. I’ll bet most—if not all—people here know who NCT are or have heard the name. Plus, a bunch of people will come to see you. Promise.”

God, you probably sounded immature and awful as you said that. You finished lightly outlining his natural features with a very light brown, uncomfortably setting down the palette. Suddenly, an idea came to you, and you hoped it didn’t look too stupid.

“I guess you’re right,” Jeno finally said, his smile dropping in the slightest. He must’ve been nervous; you would have been too. In a new country, alone, with none of the seven people you’d spent your whole adolescence with…you’d be horrified too.

You scoured the cart for any sort of brown eyeliner, feeling a bit calmer knowing Jeno didn't think you were an embarrassing idiot. Taking the brown eyeliner, you paused, biting your lip.

“Um, would you mind if I kind of…held your face for a second? It would just be a second, not too long or anything.”

“No, no.” Jeno shook his head. “Go right ahead.”

Softly, you pressed your fingers against his face, trying to keep your hand as steady as possible. You gently pulled his skin, widening the range in which the eyeliner could reach. His skin was impossibly soft, and you could only begin to wonder how long his morning routines must have been. He was perfect.

As cleanly as possible, you pressed the tip of the eyeliner to the beauty mark right under his eye, filling it in as dark as possible. That was his most noticeable and memorable feature, in your opinion, and having it stand out seemed ideal to you.

You pulled away, staring at his face for a second. He almost looked better before you’d started, but you shook off the feeling and smiled. “I’m just gonna put on some tinted lip balm and you’ll be on your way.”

You picked up the small tube, twisting it up so that the slightest bit would protrude from it. You placed your fingers on his face to steady your hands once again, gently brushing on the light pink gel.

If you were insane enough, you would have kissed him.

“You’re all good!” you announced, smiling. “Go out there and wow the world in your 90cm heels.”

He chuckled at your joke, standing and instantly towering over you. You practically had to look straight up to see him comfortably. “I’ll see you soon, [First].”

He and his manager left the room, leaving you alone. You assumed you should just wait until he returned, so you sat down in the makeup chair, basking in the warmth he’d left behind.

—

To no one’s surprise, you’d fallen in love—or, had a really intense crush on—with Lee Jeno over the two days you’d worked for him.

Every time you were left alone with him, taking his makeup off or retouching it before he went back out into the world, he fired questions at you and you fired them back. You felt like you’d known Jeno for years, even if it had only been two days.

When he left, you knew he’d stop thinking about you, too—in a world surrounded by the country’s most beautiful people, you didn’t stand a chance at occupying even a sliver of his mind. Or, maybe you did; maybe your absolute unremarkableness in a sea of greats stood out to him.

You saw him walk in through his reflection in the mirror, alone, manager not in tow. He wasn’t supposed to be here, so you didn’t move from the makeup chair, simply looking up from your phone and staring at him through his reflection. “Did something happen?” you asked, finally looking towards him. A simple sweep of his face showed no flaws in his makeup, so he had no reason to be here. “I don’t see anything wrong.”

“Will you meet with me tonight?” he finally asked, looking at you with a sort of desperation in his eyes. “I want to see you before I leave. I won’t be back in tonight. My manager’s about to come tell you that you’re free to go home, but…please don’t go home.”

You sighed, thinking about how idiotic it would be to ride the train home, alone, to Newark at night. If you were thinking reasonably, you should’ve said no. If you were thinking reasonably, you would’ve considered the chance that all eyes were on Jeno right now, and being caught sneaking into his hotel room past 7pm would have resulted in your face all over the internet.

“What time?”

“If you’re okay waiting, I’m staying at this hotel, so…I could let you into my room after my manager tells you. Room 1911 on the nineteenth floor. Okay?”

You should’ve said no. You really should’ve said no.

Instead, you nodded, mumbling a quiet “okay.” The smile that appeared on his face after that was brighter than you’d ever seen him smile over the past two days, and, with that, he disappeared from the room. You picked your phone up off your lap, wondering what your friend would say to you after hearing all of that.

“Girl, bring a pen,” she joked, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Nothing’s gonna happen. I won’t be signing any NDAs. I’m not going to initiate anything, and I won’t let him initiate anything. We live thousands of miles away from each other, and I don’t want to kill myself with emotion.”

“You say that…” your friend trailed off, giggling. “Well, I guess I should hang up then. Seems like the manager is coming to let you down gently—d’ya think she knows?”

“I hope to god she doesn’t.”

The line went dead, and you slowly lowered your phone from your ear, staring at the wall. If you could sit down in a room with your sixteen-year-old self and tell her, “In six years, you’ll be having an emotional fling with Lee Jeno from NCT,” she’d laugh and call you too lame for that.

Just like it was forewarned, Jeno’s manager came in with a smile on her face and a small, pink gift bag in her hands. “[First],” she began, watching as you stood up from the chair to face her. She handed you the small bag, which had an interesting sort of heft to it—you wondered what it was. “I’m happy to let you know that we’re done for today, and you’re officially relieved of your duties. I’ve let your boss know that you did a wonderful job for us and for Jeno, and to certainly consider upping your position from intern to an official employee.”

“Thank you so much,” you smiled, half-bowing. “I’m thrilled to have the opportunity, and I had a wonderful time working for you.”

“Well then,” she said, wiping her hands together. “You’re off! Have a safe trip home, and treat yourself well!”

“Thank you!”

And you slipped out the door, practically running towards the elevator. You bobbed and weaved through people in the halls and realized it would be a better idea to take the stairs up, so that’s exactly what you did. The sheer adrenaline of sneaking up to a top idol’s room fueled you to keep going up and up, even if it felt like the air had been suffocated from your lungs.

Each new step made you feel more insane. This bond you’d formed with a boy you barely knew—it felt ridiculous. It felt dangerous. Nevertheless, you kept going—up, and up, and up. Up, towards an impending doom you could’ve avoided.

Reaching the door with the big nineteen on it must’ve been what people felt like when they reached an oasis in the desert. You pushed the door open with ragged breaths and a weak physique, trudging down the hall with heavy legs. You counted the numbers on the doors, finding yourself at the one in the middle of a dead-end hall.

1911. You knocked twice, and the door was thrown up—Jeno grabbed your arm and tugged you inside, slamming the door shut behind you. “Not to hold you captive or anything,” he said sheepishly, looking through the peephole of the door. “But you need to stay here until, um, 7ish? You can watch TV or something. The room’s already been swept for bugs, so feel comfortable…okay? I’ll be back.”

Someone knocked on the door, and you wondered whether or not you would’ve been dead meat if you hadn’t been fueled by pure adrenaline as you walked up the stairs.

“Jeno! We need you now!”

Jeno ushered you out of sight from the door, grabbing his keycard off the decorative table that sat near the door. “I’ll see you soon,” he said, half-nodding at you. You both stared at each other for a second, with you still trying to catch your breath from your 7-flight hike up here.

Then, without any warning, Jeno walked up to you, grabbed your shoulders, and pressed a feathery kiss to your lips. It was fast, chaste, too quick for you to understand what was happening before someone was banging on the door again and he was rushing out to meet them.

The door slammed shut behind him, and you stood there, wondering what in the world you’d done to deserve this.

–

It was 7:30 now, and Jeno hadn’t shown up. You were beginning to get antsy, making sure the curtains obscured the whole room every twenty minutes and attempting to focus on the TV show you decided on. Of course, it never worked, and you were constantly picking up your phone and trying to find anything to keep yourself occupied.

So, when the door opened and a boy with 5-and-a-half-inch heels stepped inside, you felt a sudden wave of relief rush through you in waves. You stood up from the bed, letting your phone fall onto the duvet as you watched him walk deeper into the room. Jeno practically ripped the shoes off, sighing in relief now that he was finally free from the heels.

“Sorry,” he said, a bit out of breath. You would be too if you had to walk in those heels.

“For what?”

“Earlier.” You mentally took yourself through those chain of events, remembering the first 30-minutes of alone time in which you had attempted to process it, and then the succeeding 3-and-a-half hours in which you had tried to forget it. “I didn’t ask.”

“Um, it’s okay,” you said, trying not to shrink into yourself. “I didn’t mind that much.”

If you were more honest, you would’ve said, “It haunted me a bit, but then I learned to live with the shock.” Were you angry? Not at all. Was being kissed by a celebrity, an idol with a manicured personality, that you were in love with in high school shocking and hard to process? Yes.

You sat down on the edge of the bed, turning away as Jeno pulled his fancy polo shirt over his head and opted to change into an SM Town concert t-shirt. When the rustling of clothes was over, you looked to see him in complete lounge wear rather than just a new shirt, and now you were thinking about how Lee Jeno changed in the same room as you.

He took a seat next to you on the edge of the bed, and it was silent again. You could practically feel the warmth radiating off of him, or maybe it was your mind making it up simply because you were so close to him. Your heart was beating out of your chest, and you felt like shoving your face into a pillow and screaming like a teenage girl.

“Look,” he started, suddenly turning towards you. You half-mimicked his action, knowing that, if you looked him in the eye, you’d practically melt. “I don’t know why, but I feel like I’ve known you my entire life. I feel like I was always meant to cross paths with you, like—like it was destined, or something. I know it’s only been two days, and I know I’m flying across the world tomorrow, but can we please keep in touch?”

You cleared your throat and, inexplicably, you felt like crying. This felt impossible—no amount of bad sleep schedules and bad planning would keep you two in the know with each other. And, every time he came back to New York, you’d repeat this cycle over and over again. Even then, you couldn’t bring yourself to say no.

“I guess, but…” you felt bad feeling him relax and then immediately tense up again beside you. Mustering up all of your courage, you turned towards him completely, locking eyes. “You have to promise me you won’t forget about me and leave me cold turkey, okay? My life isn’t like yours. It’s slower. It’s easier to build connections. So, if you…if you just promise—”

“I promise,” he cut you off, faster than you could even comprehend it. Once again, he cupped your face in his hands, looking at you with such gorgeous eyes that you could’ve passed out right then and there. He was the son of Aphrodite, the living manifestation of pure and unbridled beauty, the type you can't contest even if you wanted to. He was everything you were not, and, yet, he still seemed so infatuated with you.

“Okay.”

Jeno pressed his forehead against yours, and for a moment, you just stood there. You draped your arms around his neck, and, for a moment, you just sat there. Basking in the presence of each other, something you wouldn’t get for a long time after tonight. If there even was an “after tonight,” that is—there was always the chance that you’d never hear from Lee Jeno again after this, and you’d fade away into nothing but a memory in his mind.

Or, maybe it was the opposite. Maybe you’d talk every day, sending pictures and calling when viable. Maybe you’d look at makeup artist listings at SM Entertainment without telling, applying and destroying the whole world you’d worked so hard to build here in New York. Maybe you’d send him a picture of you on a plane and a time, and you’d fly, and you’d land, and you’d be met with him in his full glory.

Maybe you’d have one of those romance-movie moments, the type of moment you’d see on a Hallmark Christmas movie, where you ran and hugged each other, where he lifted you off the ground and spun you around. Where you kissed amongst a huge crowd of people, trying to get to their final destination and glaring at you stopping in the middle of the walkway.

Or, maybe you were delusional. You didn’t care, because, as Jeno connected his lips with yours for the second time tonight, much slower and more thought out, you couldn’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—this was something new.

thank you for reading!

#cinna.nct #lee jeno x reader #jeno x reader #jeno fluff #jeno angst #nct dream x reader #nct dream angst #nct dream fluff #nct x reader #nct fluff #nct angst #jeno x you #jeno x y/n #ljn x reader #nct dream scenarios #jeno scenarios #nct scenarios

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masterwords · 6 months

Text

high & dry

Summary: Hotch & Jack's arrival in Chicago and the beginning of their WITSEC journey.

Pairings: none (future hotchgan)

Words: 1.6k

Warnings: none

AO3: high & dry

Notes: For Comfortember Day One: Safe. I am going to do as many of the prompts for this month as I can and I plan to set them all within the Chicago Times universe. A whole month of retired softies! I can't promise all fluff, some will be sad (like this one), but it's going to be as much comfort as I can possibly bestow on them. I am going to try and keep each story short and simple, divulging little bits and details in each instead of a huge word dump. Pray for me. LOL

Chicago. He’d been plenty of times, mostly for cases but a few times for pleasure. The city looked different looming on the horizon from the backseat of a vehicle with dark tinted windows. He was nodding off in a Dramamine fog, Jack had been asleep for hours. It was a ten hour drive without stops, and the US Marshals in charge of their trip were making it a point to stop as few times as possible. Once to fuel up at a station that they deemed safe enough to let their appointees out for bathroom breaks and snacks and once at a designated time check in. Hotch didn’t handle riding in the backseat well and they’d drugged him up nicely after the fueling stop, enough that he didn’t feel awake enough to be sick but not tired enough to sleep either.

His mind was racing, even with the drugs dulling his responses. Did he make the right call? (Did he even have a choice?) Were they really safe? He had so little faith in this system anymore. At one point it was all he believed in, and now it had been so eroded that it was barely recognizable.

The city skyline loomed in the distance, glowing under the new dawn. He saw the tendrils of pink and orange and purple light touching skyscrapers and he thought about Jessica – they didn’t get a chance to say goodbye. He’d written her a note, scrawled in his quick angular chicken scratch and smudged through tears. The worst way to say goodbye to a best friend and the only way to keep her safe from his mistakes. Dave promised to get it to her in the same breath that he promised he wouldn’t call Derek Morgan and ask him to return to the FBI, a preposterous suggestion made by out of touch higher ups who were desperately trying to fill a gaping hole the easiest way they could. Hotch knew Derek would come back, at least temporarily, just to not see the team suffer and he couldn’t abide it. Dave promised the answer was no. “Call Emily,” Hotch had said quietly. “She’ll do it for the team.” He hoped he made the right call there, that he wasn’t dooming her to his fate.

“Here we are, fellas. Home.” One of the Marshals was poking away at his phone while the other drove, giving directions to the safe house. Safe apartment. Hotch asked specifically for a small home, two bedrooms, outside entry, not on the ground floor. He wanted a balcony, he wanted a view, he wanted to feel as free as he could while under constant surveillance. If they were going to force him into the program, they were going to bend to his will as much as he could manage. He wouldn’t be a prisoner.

The first week after their arrival was spent within the confines of the apartment almost entirely. The Director wanted them to ensure that Peter Lewis was not following them, worried more about his decision to trust the system than the safety of Hotch and his son. It had already failed Hotch once and he had no faith in it now.

The apartment was bland, flavorless. Depressing neutrals, less personality than a hotel room. “This sucks,” Jack muttered, opening and slamming kitchen cupboards packed with groceries Hotch had given them a list for before even leaving Quantico. Everything was fully stocked and ready for them to spend a week together in these walls. “When can we leave?”

“A week.” Hotch was tired of the constant barrage of questions meant to irritate him into changing his mind. As if it were that easy. “We’ll manage.”

“Did you bring my PlayStation?”

“Jack, we’ve been through this. I didn’t go back to the apartment. Dave is going over there with a crime scene unit and some movers, they’ll box up everything on my list and get it to us when it’s safe.”

“So he’s the serial killer but it’s us in prison. Great.”

“Jack, we’re not in prison. Please stop with the dramatics.”

Jack’s eye rolls were the stuff of legend, and right now he was at the top of his game. Hotch’s headache was legendary. The Dramamine he’d taken just to get through the overnight drive was leaving him feeling dried out and hungover.

“So what is there to do?”

“The Marshals put a box in your bedroom of things they had for kids your age. There has to be something decent in there.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Jack, please. I have a headache. This is a lot for both of us, I’m no happier than you are. We just have to make the best of a bad situation.”

“A bad situation that’s your fault!” Jack shouted, storming down the hallway. Hotch knew better than to try and follow him. He had paperwork stacked up on the kitchen bar to complete, signatures required to get him his new identification, get Jack enrolled in the local school, jobs on a pre-approved list to look through. Their security detail would drop off to a minimum after the first week, after which his small salary would kick in and he’d have to hope that Jess understood the instructions in his note for disbursement of some of his money, including the fact that he was essentially leaving his entire estate in her care until further notice. He’d been doing so much to support she and Roy over the last couple of years that he couldn’t see any other way around it – everything that belonged to him now belonged to her.

She was going to get a call from his lawyer, and she was going to be furious. But he also knew she would do what he needed her to. Everything was in his estate plan, he’d known this was always a possibility and had prepared for it.

Jack hated his bedroom and he made sure Hotch knew it. He hated everything about it, but he still managed to sulk in there for almost the entire first week. Windows closed, curtains drawn, Marshals in the parking lot watching. Jack ate with Hotch on the couch with the television on, neither of them really watching it. Each just lost in their own world, sulking or planning.

“Why’d you bring me here?”

“To be safe.”

“This isn’t safe. This is a prison.”

“This part is temporary. It’s a settling in week, Jack. We have two more days, and then the security detail goes away and we begin our new life. You’re all registered to start school next week and I’ll find a job.”

Jack laughed and it didn’t sound at all happy. It was a horrible sound that made Hotch’s chest ache. “Yeah. Of course. You’ll work all the time and I’ll be trapped here all by myself doing homework.”

“Then I won’t get a job. I don’t need to, not yet. Aunt Jess will make sure we have money.”

“I miss mom. She at least made this part fun.”

He’d seen that coming. Haley would have already had them building forts or playing hide and seek, doing fun little things inside the house that would make it bearable but she got Jack when he was little and easily amused. Jack who was small and sweet and innocent. Of course that was mostly an excuse, he was sure that if he’d spent more time with Jack he’d know how to keep this older version amused too...but regrets were a thing he couldn’t afford. They had only now, and only each other. This could be over in a week or it could take years.

“What would you like to do? I’m sure I can ask Tim to get us a puzzle or a board game, a deck of cards maybe to pass the time until we can go out.”

“Whatever.”

Jack scraped his plate of half-eaten food into the garbage and tossed his dish into the sink like a frisbee. It clattered against a ceramic pot and broke as he stalked back toward his bedroom. He didn’t even turn to look.

Safe, Hotch thought sadly. This is safe.

As he cleaned up the broken dish, slicing his finger on small shards of porcelain, he fought back the burn of tears. It was silent in the apartment, save for the hum of the refrigerator and the purring of cars passing beneath them. In fifteen minutes the place would rattle with the force of a train, a sound that Hotch was already getting used to. It hurt his ears but it made him feel like he was part of something. Maybe next week they’d ride the train, take it wherever, explore. Make the city theirs. He didn’t like being trapped any more than Jack did, it made him feel antsy and anxious. He’d had a migraine all week, the kind that makes living pure hell but there wasn’t anything he could do for it but wait it out. Try to sleep it off, shower it away.

When Tim dropped in for the nightly check-in, before lights out, Hotch handed him a small piece of paper with some provision he’d need to finish out the last couple days.

Milk. Eggs. Oatmeal. 300 piece puzzle. Deck of cards.

Tim looked at him curiously but shrugged, completely uninterested in anything but getting back to his car where it was warm. This cold snap was chilling him to the bone, he hated Chicago and assignments like this. He looked at Hotch and felt a little hopeless for the man, these two weren't going to adjust. They weren't going to settle in and accept things easily, they were going to be trouble. Tim hated being a handler for trouble. “You guys okay for the night?” Customary question.

Customary answer. “Yes, thank you.”

Safe. This is safe.

#aaron hotchner #jack hotchner #criminal minds #fanfiction #comfortember 2023 #day one: safe

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evieismol · 9 months

Text

Big Bend Chapter Twenty - Doubts

A/n: easton pov time again ig

Word count: 1004

Cw: angst, brief mention of giants hurting humans

I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling. I wasn’t totally sure why, really. I considered getting up, then decided against that upon remembering how tired I was.

My sister had said I’d get used to the relatively shorter days and nights on Earth, but that apparently had yet to happen. Nothing like going from 16 hours of sleep to 7 (on a good night) to make you question your decisions.

Not like I didn’t do a lot of that already, I thought. Recently I’d been doing more of it, though. Namely, questioning my decision in job. And decision to come live on Earth overall. I’d liked working as a park ranger back on Aphiria, I really had. It was fun getting to talk to visitors about nature. Getting to see new places whenever I worked a season at a different park.

I’d been excited to come to Earth for both of those reasons (and countless others, to be honest). Earth had long been fascinating to me. Even more so after I’d met Ruby, Kyle, and Larissa. Plus, it’d seemed like a chance to actually help do something important - strengthening relations with another planet we had previously barely communicated with. On paper, it seemed like a great decision.

And I wouldn’t say I didn’t like Earth, or my job, or my coworkers, but things were definitely turning out way more complicated than I’d expected.

Maybe my dad was onto something calling me naive, I thought, frowning.

There was the biggest - no pun intended - issue of how I was comparatively giant to everything and everyone around me here. I had spent time with humans before, but that had been on Aphiria, where they had been the ones that didn’t “fit in”. I hadn’t expected Earth to feel quite so isolating. Or continuously anxiety inducing - I felt like I was constantly on alert to make sure I didn’t end up damaging a building, or a car. Or, god forbid, hurting someone. It really didn’t help matters that a good portion of humans seemed at least partially convinced that aphirials were man-eating giants.

Then there was how I really worked less as an interpretive ranger and more as an entertainer, at this point. Half the visitors didn’t even seem interested in the park - just in taking a picture with me. Which I could understand, given that there weren’t really any other aphirials in even semi-public facing jobs on Earth, and this was probably a lot of human’s chance to meet one of us. It was still a little disappointing, given how many cool features the park had to offer.

And then there was how Dave possibly, probably hated me. That had been plaguing my mind recently almost as much as the first issue, despite being far less important logically. Like, sometimes people didn’t like you, right? I’d known plenty of people who hadn’t in the past. My own father, for one. So I wasn’t entirely sure why I was so caught on Dave disliking me.

All of my doubts with my current situation had only increased ten fold after the man had stopped by with his rant about me and Aphiria a week prior. I had, in true anxious mess fashion, later gone to the internet. I guess I was curious about what he’d been ranting about. I figured maybe I could understand him better. All I really succeeded in doing was crying into my pillow, after reading numerous “theories” about how not only were aphirials killing humans, but also me specifically.

Another fun perk of being pretty much the only aphirial on Earth.

I had, of course, tried to repeatedly tell myself I was being dramatic, and it didn’t really matter what random people on the internet came up with. And then I’d read another post about how I was apparently responsible for multiple missing hikers (that hadn’t even come to Big Bend), and the government was covering it up, and then went back to crying.

The worst part was that I felt like I couldn’t even really be upset that humans felt that way or thought that way, because it wasn’t like their fears were totally unfounded. Not that I would ever try to hurt anyone, of course. But I was taller than some of their buildings. I did have fangs, and claws (before I’d filed them down). I had, at one point in time, even been praised for my hunting skills of small animals on Aphiria. All that to say, I guessed I would have also been wary if the tables were turned.

The one brief highlight recently was when I’d been sitting outside the other night, and met Zoey. I was still a bit confused about that entire encounter, but in a refreshingly good way, at least. She knew what aphirials were, it seemed like, but hadn’t seemed at all concerned to see me. And she’d been surprised to learn I worked at the park, which meant from her perspective, she’d just…stumbled upon a giant in the middle of the night and decided to strike up on a conversation.

I heard my phone buzz, pulling from my admittedly melodramatic thoughts. I rolled over, looking at it. There was a notification from Angie. After she’d asked me if I had snapchat, she’d also asked to add me. I’ll admit I probably felt way more excited than necessary at that - like I said, Earth had felt isolating. Being on a literally different planet from all of your friends was more than a little lonely. I opened the snapchat message.

“Do u want to go stargazing again tonight?”

I also felt way more excited than necessary reading the invite. Excited enough to actually sit up from where I’d been laying for the past hour or so. Maybe I’d actually manage to make friends here yet.

Or maybe you’re being naive and stupid, again. I could practically hear my dad’s voice in my head. I shook my head, trying to push that thought away.

#g/t #giant/tiny #gt #sfw g/t #gt sfw #g/t oc #gt writing

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the-lonelybarricade · 2 years

Text

They Are the Hunters, We Are the Foxes

Part IV: A Garden of Wilted Flowers

Elucien Week Day 4: Parallels, @elucienweek2022

Summary: Nesta had been very firm in her instruction not to stray from the path. The path was safe—sprinkled with iron dust every morning by the mercenaries who protected their villages. But Elain had spied the blackberries, plump and ripe for the taking, if only because no sensible human would have dared. Ordinarily, Elain wouldn’t have. Too terrified of the fae and what she heard they did to young, pretty human girls like herself. But today, Elain was to be married. Even facing the woods was less daunting than that.

CW: Little red riding hood AU. Dubious morality, mildly dubious consent, forced marriages, smut, and gratuitious use of the word "wife". Unhinged from start to finish.

Read on AO3・Elucien Week Masterlist・Series Masterlist

Previous Chapter・Next Chapter

Despite Helion’s urging, Elain did not end up seeing much of Velaris outside their bedroom. They had hired their staff and visited the seamstress in the same day—practically within the same hour, from their shared urgency to find somewhere private to copulate.

If their carriage could be considered private. Or the backroom of the seamstress’s shop. Or the water feature in front of Helion’s manor. Every second not spent breathing the air from his very lungs made Elain feel as though she were suffocating.

He was a sickness and the cure.

She knew he lived on a mountain of secrets, but she would let them bury her alive if it meant she could continue feeling his lips on her neck. On her breasts. Lower.

“Here?” His lips pressed against her hip bone, tongue darting out to taste her salty skin. She felt damp, still slick with sweat from when he had taken her in their bed hardly ten minutes ago.

They had ventured into the bathing room with the intention to get clean. Somehow she’d ended up braced on the edge of the pool, steam curling up from the bubbling water to wind around her wrist, her stomach, her neck. The hot moisture that hung in the air only exacerbated the wet heat of her skin. Collecting at her neck, beneath her breasts… between her thighs.

Perhaps that had more to do with Lucien, water raised to his chest as he perched happily between her legs. It seemed like he got to use the water while she was being subjected to a tongue bath. Which, truthfully, she had no complaints about.

Except— “Lower, please.” She grabbed his hair, warm spring water dripping between her fingers.

He smirked. “What do you sa—”

“Lucien.” She tugged, impatient with his games.

The low, rough chuckle she earned in response splintered across her skin like the droplets that fell back into the pool, rippling the water where they fell. Elain knew what that was like. For a single drop to spiral out of control, until it was something else entirely.

That’s how it felt to have kissed him for the first time.

One small drop, just enough to taste. Enough to become addicted.

And now there was no going back.

Lucien brought his mouth to her center, lips parting in the most sinful kiss. Her head fell back as he tasted her, his tongue lapping just as desperately as she felt. Like he had become addicted, too.

She gasped as his tongue teased at her entrance. He brought his hands over her hips to still her attempts to grind into him. And from where he held her down, the span of his fingers were so wide that he was able to brush his fingers over her clit. Only enough to tease a whine out of her.

Elain tugged at his hair again, intending it to be a punishment. But from his hum of approval, she thought he considered it the opposite. She did it again, feeling so empty she would try anything to get his tongue inside her.

Lucien only swirled his tongue in a slow, lazy circle. His eyes were bright with humor as he tweaked his fingers playfully against that hooded bundle of nerves. He laughed at her attempt to buck her hips.

With a frustrated groan, she yanked on his hair harder. He must have taken pity by the way he plunged his tongue into her center. Elain sighed, some of that ache satiated at feeling Lucien inside of her. It seemed that any part would do, though Lucien certainly seemed to have his preferences. Sometimes it felt like she couldn’t keep his mouth off of her.

It was a perfectly lovely habit, and she was certain it was an oddity among men—though she had known no others who could confirm or deny her suspicion. It became tedious, however, in those moments where a need struck her so severely that nothing but his cock could satisfy it.

Elain felt that need, clawing up her bones, on this very occasion. She tugged at his hair again, this time trying to pull him away.

He pushed closer, hands tightening where they pressed her against the rough stone.

“Lucien,” she complained, pulling him away again.

In response, he growled, fucking his tongue into her faster. That pressure amped up her craving until it was a hot, demanding thing that she was suddenly frantic to be rid of.

“Lucien,” she urged again, pulling until she was certain it would make him sore and still he continued, adding pressure to his fingers at her clit until she was keening, the pleasure so demanding it bordered on pain. Her vision had gone blurred, and maybe the heat was making her light headed because suddenly everything went white.

She screamed, the sound bouncing endlessly back and forth in the large cavern. There was no time to register the way she was being heaved off the rock. One minute she was collapsed on her back atop the wet stone, and the next she was half-submerged in water. Her muscles were still fluttering from orgasm as Lucien sheathed her onto her cock, and the resulting feeling sent her mind spinning.

Elain choked, collapsing into his chest as Lucien thrust into her, stretching her body maddeningly tight around him.

“Fucking perfect,” he grunted. “Like you were made for me.”

She could only nod from where she buried her face into his neck, each moan lost to his smooth, freckled skin.

“Say it,” he growled, punctuating the demand with a thrust that pushed the air out of her lungs. “Please.”

Elain knew what he was asking for. It was no trouble on her part to guide her teeth over his neck, scraping along the column of his throat. She felt him shiver. “You’re mine.”

He moaned, his thrusts becoming erratic. Elain felt herself clench around him and knew they were both moments from being dragged over the edge. Just for revenge, she sunk her teeth into his neck.

Lucien came without warning, growl so loud it shook the cavern. She moaned, fingers digging into his skin as she came at the sensation of her husband spilling inside her. They clung to each other, both gasping. Both sweaty and filthy despite standing in the pool of warm, soapy water. From where she laid her head against his chest, she could hear his rapid heartbeat underneath. An echo of her own.

“Does it ever stop feeling like this?” she asked softly.

“I hope not,” was his reply.

Elain couldn’t help but agree.

They ended up staying a full week at Helion’s manor. Doing little other than fucking.

And despite the fact that they could just as easily achieve the same in their own manor, Elain could tell Lucien was sad to leave.

He kept his head at the window from the moment they departed, watching the passing streets and shops Elain would have loved to explore if she could stand a minute without undressing her husband—which presently seemed very unlikely.

“What if I kept you here?” he murmured, staring longingly out over the city. “We need never return to that horrid place.”

Elain wished she was brave enough to ask what memories haunted him. If she thought their manor looked like a prison from the outside, she could only imagine a childhood inside those cold, unfeeling walls.

“I don’t… I don’t want to leave my sisters,” she whispered, thinking about his promise to have them live on the estate. Was that selfish of her to want?

Lucien looked pained. “They could come here, too.

“That seems an awfully big burden to put on Lord Helion,” she said, frowning to even

consider asking such a thing from the generous Lord. Especially after they had been such disruptive guests.

“We could sell the manor and buy our own place in the city,” he proposed, studying each of the passing houses like potential candidates.

Elain couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped her, surprised that it was mostly a thing of affection. “I’m not opposed,” she admitted, reaching across to take his hand. She squeezed it, which encouraged Lucien to take his eyes off the window long enough to stare over at her. The open adoration on his face made her heart constrict. “But regardless, we need to go back. For now.”

“Promise me we’ll return,” he whispered, looking back out the window.

And how could she say no, when he had such hope in his eyes? The secrets, the marriage arrangement, the unspoken stain it left on their relationship… perhaps they could leave it all behind in that manor. Take her sisters from the village and never look back. The thought filled Elain’s chest with hope, too.

She smiled softly at him. “I promise.”

Elain was picking flowers the second time she saw the fox.

It had been naive of her to stop on the path, especially after she promised Lucien she would not wander. Convincing him to let her visit her sisters alone had been a conquest in itself. And her insistence of traveling on foot, over the long winded path through the wood, had been distressing. But she knew her sisters better than anything, and she knew that his charming smiles and flashy wealth would earn him no favors. They saw him as the man who had stolen her away, and they would trust nothing she said in his presence, nor in the presence of a footman or maid who could report back to him.

So she went on foot, with the promise to be very well behaved and not to stray from the path. But Elain had spied the begonias, so deep a red they reminded her of Lucien’s hair. Though her sisters had never taken to gardening quite the same as Elain, she remembered that Feyre always had an eye for colors and she would love the vibrancy of its petals.

Ordinarily, Elain wouldn’t have. Not after she’d promised Lucien.

But the flowers were so close to the path that she could justify it to herself. It wasn’t nearly so risky as the blackberries she’d fetched all those weeks ago, and nothing had happened on that occasion.

Apart from the fox. Her gentle friend, who she wondered after often. If she was being honest with herself, perhaps she had wandered into the woods in the hope of seeing it.

And truly, it was its fault for indulging her.

Because there it was, as though her recklessness had summoned it.

She knew it was her fox, because it had that same scar over its eye. Elain thought it would be an extraordinary coincidence to run into two foxes with identical scars. Though she could have guessed it was the same fox by the way it was staring at her, like it was extremely disappointed to have caught her straying from the safety of the path on a second occasion.

“Hello again,” she said pleasantly, though she absently wondered how something so small and cute could look so disapproving. “I don’t have any berries with me today.”

The fox turned its head as it listened to her, leaving Elain with the ridiculous impression that it could understand her. Perhaps she was so eager for company that her mind was willing to play all manner of tricks on her to achieve it.

She had last seen the fox hardly a few weeks ago—but what a few weeks it had been. Her husband’s kindness, it seemed, was no mask at all. He continued to be nothing but gentle with her, both in behavior and manner of speaking. Elain was grateful for it, might in another world have been open to courting with him properly.

Except that he kept a hoard of secrets, and she was convinced they were of the darkest variety.

Not that they interfered much with their married life. Elain went back to sleeping in her bedroom when they returned to the manor and Lucien returned to doting on her in every capacity available. Often that meant sleeping in her bedroom and worshiping her with his tongue. When she invited him to join her, that is. Elain would ask him to sleep there permanently if she didn’t enjoy the way his face lit up every time she asked. It was never an expectation, regardless of how often she shared her body with him. She loved him a little bit for that alone, regardless of whatever dark secret he carried.

Elain huffed a sigh, turning her attention back to the fox that was staring at her so intently. Like she held the secrets of the world and might impart her wisdom to its fluffy, perked-up ears.

“You might be pleased to know that my husband is not so cruel as I feared he would be,” she whispered, so it stayed a secret between herself and the fox. The only other creatures around to hear were the begonias and the surrounding wood, and she did not think they would tell.

The fox took a step closer, eyes wide and curious enough that she supplied, “He’s actually very kind. Though I would caution you not to be caught by him.”

Elain shuddered to think of the stuffed fox that had adorned their entryway. It was gone now—buried, she suspected, or thrown out somewhere she had not found it.

Warm rays of sunlight stretched through the leaves to stroke the fox’s fur as it ventured closer still, coat gleaming like a new copper coin. It was close enough now that Elain could reach over to pet it, if she so desired. It was no small impulse by the way her fingers twitched where she still had them poised around a begonia’s stem. Her hands were smudged with dirt and sticky with sap.

It would be a shame, she thought, to get dirt all over the poor, well-groomed fox.

The fox didn’t seem to harbor any such concerns, for it pranced right up to her until she felt its fur brush her ankles. It curled its large, fluffy tail around its body and stretched beside her as though it hadn’t a care in the world.

“Peculiar thing,” she said to it, marveling at its out-turned ears and otherwise relaxed expression. “With that scar, I would have thought you’d be more mistrusting.” Its ears twitched, like it were listening intently to her words, but its expression was fixed intently on the begonia she was still in the process of plucking.

Elain sighed, pulling the flower from the bush to add to the carefully selected bushel in her other hand. She made a big show of wiping her hands against the moss to get the sap off, half-heartedly hoping to scare him off. She didn’t want the fox to become used to coming near people for company, lest Lucien or one of his guards encounter the creature and decide to do something untoward. But the fox hardly reacted to her movements.

It only quietly observed her, measuring every sound in the creaking forest as she rose to her feet.

“I’m visiting my sisters,” she said to it. “So I really must be going.”

Unlike before, the fox did not sit and watch her leave. It bounded immediately to its feet and followed at her side, back towards the iron path.

Elain couldn’t decide if she should be touched or concerned. It felt nice to think it had chosen her in some strange way. That this thing had seen her in the woods and taken such a liking that it decided to follow her on the journey. Wearing her red cape as she walked alongside it, she couldn’t help feeling they were kindred spirits in some way.

Still, Elain laughed. “I have a feeling you’re only following me because you don’t trust I’ll stay on the path.”

The look it sent her was one of such human judgment she would have believed he was something more clever than a fox altogether. But it was trotting alongside her, over the iron dusted pathway that no fae could cross.

Just a fox, she assured herself. Just an exceptionally clever fox.

“I wish you could speak,” she said to it thoughtfully, finding the walking helped her mind wander. “I feel as though you would have many insightful things to say.”

It cocked his head, as if to say, Oh really?

“I would ask how you got your scar,” she continued. “My husband has one too. Right in the same spot, oddly enough.” She frowned. “I’ve never asked him how he got his scar, either. I think a part of me is afraid to ask.”

The fox, of course, said nothing. But somehow its silence felt expectant, like it were begging her to continue.

And who else could she admit it to? Not her sisters, who would encourage her to run and never look back. Not her husband, who would deny every wrongdoing just as he’d lied to her face. This little creature, though, would listen.

“He is hiding something from me,” she said. “Something awful, I just know it.”

The fox ducked its ears behind its head and made a soft whimpering noise. Pity? An apology? It was so difficult to tell, but it tugged at her heart all the same.

They came to a fork in the road. There was the plain path, which led to the village, and a small dirt path to the left that had clearly been made in foot traffic alone—and not a large amount of it, given the wildlife that invaded each side. It was so ill-maintained that brambles clung to her dress and cape as she pushed through, the fox slinking quietly at her feet.

She sped up at the sight of a thatched roof in the distance, smoke puffing out of the chimney to signal that someone was home. It did not take her long to fly down the familiar path and fling her fist against the worn wooden door.

It opened to wide blue eyes and a soft mouth that fell open with surprise. “Elain?”

“Hi,” she gushed, seconds before she was pulled into a tight embrace.

“We missed you,” Feyre whispered. The fingers fisted in her cape said as much. “Did you come here all by yourself?”

Elain found herself glancing over her shoulder, prepared to tell her sister about the strange friend she had made in the woods. But the fox was nowhere to be seen. “Yes,” Elain breathed. “I wanted to come alone.”

Those blue eyes were so discerning as they swept Elain over from head to toe, searching for any sign of injury. “And how is Graysen?”

Her heart went still. That name. She knew that name. “Graysen?”

“Yes, Graysen,” Feyre said, brows bunching with concern. “Is he treating you well?”

Cold, icy water slithered through her veins. Lord Graysen, she remembered. That had been the name in the letter, which Nesta had read aloud while Elain sobbed hysterically into a pillow. Her heaving gasps had drowned out so much, but the name felt unmistakable now.

Graysen.

“Of course,” Elain said stiffly, forcing a smile she knew Feyre did not believe. “He is treating me very well.”

“I’m surprised he let you visit.” Her voice was low. Even with no one but the trees to overhear, it was wise to use caution when speaking poorly of a Lord. “The tales of how his mother was treated are…” Feyre blinked, studying Elain’s expression and thinking better of it.

“They were rumors, anyhow. It’s easy to spread word about someone who never left the house to deny them.”

It was charitable of Feyre to say, though the words were laced with a question Elain could not answer. She tried to, anyway. “Graysen speaks very fondly of his mother.”

Feyre nodded. “I’m sure he loved her dearly.” Then, an awkward pause where neither knew exactly what to say.

It was not the reunion Elain wanted with her sister. Feyre was clever, and she could sense Elain’s energy was off. But what could she say? Let Feyre believe she was lying and that her husband treated her unkindly. It was better than the truth.

“Nesta is tutoring the baker’s son. She should be home soon.”

Tutoring, for a loaf of bread. Sometimes giving dance lessons to the butcher's daughter, in exchange for cuts of meat he likely would have thrown out regardless. Elain used to tend gardens on the condition she could salvage some of their vegetables. All to supplement whatever food Feyre could scavenge as deep into the woods as she would dare. It was a hard life, but suddenly she longed for its simplicity.

Feyre opened the door wider. “Why don’t you come inside? You must be tired after your walk.”

I’ve had enough killing to last a century.

What had Lucien done? Why? And more importantly, if she stayed with her sisters, or fled, would he turn his wrath on them next?

Elain took a step back. “Actually I should… I should really be going. The walk took longer than I anticipated and Lu—Lord Graysen wants me home for dinner.”

“I…” Feyre looked around, then said quietly, “Elain, you’re safe here. You can speak freely. Whatever you need, we’ll figure it out.”

“I know.” And she did. She knew that her sisters would follow her to the ends of the world. That if she asked them to run, they would flee with her before the sun touched the horizon. For a moment, she entertained the idea. How far would Lucien chase her? What lengths could he possibly go to, when their marriage had been a farce to begin with?

“I know,” she said again, blinking back tears. If she spilled them, Feyre would not let her go back. And Elain needed to get her answers. “But I assure you I’m fine. Truly, I just mistimed my arrival. I will come back, perhaps tomorrow?”

A different younger sister might have taken the outburst personally. Been upset or angry. Feyre only pressed her lips together, eyes glistening.

“Of course,” she said softly. “You are welcome home any time.”

Elain gave her sister a tight hug in farewell. She wavered longer than she should have, trying to draw from the courage of clever, tenacious Feyre. She had always quietly endured, always stepped up to do what was necessary to survive. Elain needed to borrow some of that spirit to face the man parading as her husband.

It took ten steps from the cottage door before the door shut. Elain didn’t dare look back, though she knew Feyre watched her warily. Perhaps weighing the cost of forcing Elain to stay, or insisting on coming with.

It took another five before the fox reappeared.

“Shy?” She asked it, the words gritted. Sweet as the fox was, she did not have the patience for entertaining such folly.

The foxes ears fell, and she immediately felt guilty.

“Sorry,” she whispered, feeling tears brim her eyes now that she was away from Feyre. “It’s just… my husband—” she choked on a bitter laugh— “Actually, he’s not even my husband. He’s just a liar. And likely a murderer.”

Those soft auburn feet paused in their step, and Elain found herself stopping too. The fox stared at her through wide russet eyes, tail tucked low and ears pressed flat against its head.

“I don’t speak fox,” she snapped, frustrated. Why was she humoring this? It was a fox. It didn’t even understand what she was saying; it was likely just picking up on her change in tone and behavior.

Still, it stared at her like it understood. Eyes expectant, slightly sad. And there was something about being pitied by a fox of all things that finally made the tears break through.

“He lied to me.” Elain sunk to her knees. Her cape and dress dragged over the dirt, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. “I knew he was lying, but…” Not about this. She had believed he was her husband. Had started to…

The fox crept forward with such caution that she felt like the wild animal, the thing that might snap at any second. But it came closer until it could press its fluffy head against her hand. It was an urging motion, moving its body beneath her in a way that caused her hand to stroke down its back. Its fur was softer than she expected, warm from the sun and fluffier than any blanket they had in their home.

Perhaps it was simply an animal that wanted attention, but it was able to stun Elain out of her sadness. At least temporarily. “You want me to… pet you?”

In answer, it rolled onto its side and stretched, exposing the white fur on its stomach. Elain warily reached forward and pressed her hand against its soft chest. She released a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding in, her lips parting open as the creature practically preened at her touch, arching closer in encouragement. Its snout parted to show sharp teeth and a long, pink tongue as it began making the strangest chittering noise.

Happy, she thought. It sounded happy that she was petting it. And she found herself… feeling that way, too. Found herself laughing at how sweet this little woodland creature was and how odd the circumstance.

She felt touched that this thing had seen her in the woods and taken such a liking that it followed her all the way here. That despite her fake husband and the pretend roles they’d played, she had still found something that was uniquely hers. A friend that was honest, if only because it could not speak enough words to lie.

“Sweet fox,” she cooed, affection flooding her chest as she watched its eyes sink shut in pleasure. “Will you come home with me? I’m afraid to go alone.”

The fox opened its eyes, some of that joy dissolving to sadness. Or perhaps that was her own joy fleeing as reality pressed back in.

She lifted herself to her feet. The fox quickly did the same, ears lowering once more as it watched her lift her cape to wipe the tears from her eyes. The smell of her sister's perfumes still lingered on the fabric, lending just a little more courage. Elain resolved that she would not let Lucien see any of her sorrow, only her anger.

Elain took a deep breath and put one foot in front of the other—found that it became an easier thing to accomplish when she saw the fox was walking beside her. She was not alone. She had her sisters and her fox, lending her the strength she needed to take on the world.

Or in this case, her husband.

When the large, towering walls came into view, Elain had to coax the fox into her arms to hide beneath her cape. The guards hardly blinked as she passed, and she was certain there were fewer of them than she remembered.

It caused her head to swim with questions. How many people had Lucien killed? Lord Nolan and Graysen and all their staff? How else would he dismiss them, when they would have known he was not their master? And the guards… how had he gotten past them? She glanced over to the tall, impenetrable walls. Climbing them would have been impossible.

I have never killed a faerie.

Human lords do tend to be useless.

I’ve had my fill of it for a few centuries.

Elain was so close to the cottage now, she could see the details of the iron door. Iron. He couldn’t be a faerie. She had watched him open the door, touch his bare hand to the iron frame. Perhaps he’d been a servant, she thought. Already inside the manner, and treated cruelly until the day he snapped. That did not explain Lord Helion. A servant would not have that sort of relationship with a Velaris Lord.

She thinks I’m some spoiled Lord’s son who had no concern for her willingness in our marriage.

Isn’t that exactly what you are?

A Lord’s son. Of who? Helion’s face flickered behind her eyes, his charming smile that was so like Lucien’s. The way they expressed affection toward each other more readily than she had ever seen from two men before. But they looked practically the same age, it would have been impossible.

Unless they were fae.

It would explain so much of Lucien’s behavior, how he could be so animalistic at times. It would explain why he would want Lord Nolan and his son dead.

It would not explain why he had stayed to pretend to be her husband.

Elain was trembling as she opened the heavy iron door. The fox, bundled tightly against her chest, laid its head against her neck in what she convinced herself was an extension of comfort. It did make her feel steadier, and she hugged the creature closer in an effort to soothe her racing pulse.

“Lucien?” she called, listening to her voice bounce against the empty entryway. All the weapons and hunting trophies were long gone, which she was grateful for. She couldn’t imagine it would be a welcoming sight to the fox she had smuggled inside.

One of the servants from Velaris ducked her head and offered Elain a pleasant smile. “I’m afraid he stepped out, lady. Not long after you left.”

“That’s alright,” she said, forcing a smile in return. It at least gave her time to think. To plan.

This was a house of people whose lives were dedicated to killing the fae. There must be weapons stashed somewhere, designed for that very purpose. For now, she headed to the kitchen and slipped a knife beneath her cape when the cooks weren’t looking.

She felt the fox whimper quietly against her chest, earning her an odd look from the nearest cook. He said nothing, and Elain quickly fled the kitchen before he could realize she was carrying an animal beneath her cape. Though, as the Lady of the house, she was perfectly entitled to do so.

“It’s not for you,” she assured the fox, certain it was startled by the knife she now carried carefully in one of her hands. “It’s just… for protection."

Elain carried them up to her room before she set the knife on her bed stand and carefully released the fox onto her bed. It watched her, so intently, as she locked her door and pushed her vanity in front of it. When faced with the famed, inhuman strength of a faerie, it was probably a pathetic deterrent. But it set her heart at ease, just as the knife she slid beneath her pillow, and the fox that curled up beside her as she laid on the bed.

She pulled the fox close, pressing her face into its neck. It still smelled like the forest, which unnotched some of the tightness in her chest. Just enough that she felt she could breathe again. Perhaps it was selfish of her to bring this creature into her home and expose it to Lucien’s mercy. She could not imagine it could do much to defend itself against a faerie.

But the fox made her feel she was not entirely alone. The way it curled its tail around her waist and tucked its face into her breasts made her feel cared for. Safe, despite their mutual defenselessness.

Elain stroked her fingers absently through its soft fur until the motion lulled her to sleep. She dreamt of Lucien, his hard body enveloping hers as his fingers stroked through her hair, telling her over and over again that he was sorry. That he loved her and he was sorry.

When she woke at dawn, sunlight breaking through the window, it was the fox that laid beside her. The windows were still shut, the vanity still pushed in front of the door.

Her stomach grumbled as she sat up, and the fox raised its head. It was staring at her in that same disapproving way as before, saying sternly with its eyes, you need to eat. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast the day before, but going downstairs ran the risk of seeing Lucien.

She could imagine him, ever doting, coming immediately to her door when he came home. He had probably been hurt to find it locked, concerned when she didn’t come down for dinner. It was odd he hadn’t knocked or called for her, but he did not know she had discovered the truth. Perhaps he decided she must have eaten dinner with her sisters.

Still, he would be filled with questions the second she opened the door to him. Insisting she tell him how her day went while he plied her with food and affection. Her heart ached at the thought. She wanted that, wanted it to be true and not built on this filthy, gruesome lie.

Regardless, she could not hide in her room without Lucien getting suspicious. Carefully, she slid the knife out from beneath her pillow and tucked her hand discreetly into the cape she had fallen asleep in.

“Stay here,” she murmured to the fox. “I’ll bring back some food.”

It ignored her, leaping from the bed to follow behind as she pushed the vanity away and unlocked the door.

The hall was quiet. They had not hired much staff, considering there was only two of them, and Elain considered it was still fairly early. The door to Lucien’s room was shut. If she was lucky, he was still sleeping. The fae had extraordinary senses, she’d heard, and he would likely be able to hear her sneaking past if he was awake.

When she was able to pass the door without it opening, she breathed a sigh of relief. And then immediately shrieked, when she nearly collided with a poor servant carrying fresh linens.

“Lady,” the servant breathed, placing a hand to her own chest. “I apologize for startling you.”

“It is I who must apologize,” Elain said, shifting her eyes back towards Lucien’s door. If he hadn’t heard her footsteps, then he’d certainly heard her shriek.

The servant followed her gaze and frowned. “The Lord didn’t return to the manor yesterday, lady.”

“He didn’t?”

Elain ignored the way the servant’s eyes drifted to the floor. Her brows furrowed at the sight of the fox, but she made no comment.

“No, lady. Not that any of us were made aware.”

How odd. Where could he have gone? Did he know she discovered the truth, perhaps guessed that her sisters would reveal it?

“Thank you,” Elain said, nodding her dismissal. The servant hurried on her way, glancing over her shoulder at the fox as she went. Elain understood it was a strange sight. And if she were being honest with herself, she didn’t know why she had decided to take the creature with her. It was just that she needed to not be alone, and there was something about the creature’s presence that comforted her. Smoothed over every crease in her heart.

It reminded her of the way she felt when she was around…

She glanced down at the fox.

The fox stared up at her.

Somewhere in the distance, a clock struck the hour. Each methodical ring notched a new piece into place.

One.

I’m getting married today.

Two.

I’ve never even seen his face before.

Three.

He lives at the end of the road.

Four.

I would ask how you got your scar. My husband has one too. Right in the same spot.

Five.

Elain ran.

Her footsteps thundered against the wooden floorboards, likely waking anyone who was still asleep. She didn’t care, not as the fox gave chase. He was obviously faster than her, and Elain tried to think quickly. She couldn’t outrun Lucien, there would be no use trying to flee. She had been made a fool more times than she could count. And now her very survival relied on outwitting the fox.

She half-tripped down the stairs in her urgency, and she knew that Lucien had slowed down. Like this was all just a game to him. Elain dashed blindly down the corridor. Where did he store the weapons? Did he burn them?

The front door stung her fingers as she slammed her hand into it, desperately grappling for the handle as Lucien came to a stop and sat down in the entryway. His patience spoke volumes to her about the futility of her situation. What could she even do against a faerie?

Outside, the sun had not fully parted from the horizon. The woods would still be dark at this hour, but could they be anymore dangerous than the creature lazily following behind her? If she made it as far as the guards, could they do anything to stop him?

Lucien stayed where he sat in the entryway, russet eyes curious as he waited to see what she would do next. There was a small garden shed, but Elain had been inside of it and there was certainly no weaponry to be found there. A trowel would be just as useless as the knife she still held in her hands.

But—there. A hatch to the cellar. A place that had felt so ominous she hadn’t dared satisfied her curiosity to look inside. She sprinted towards it. Judging by the panic she registered in Lucien’s expression, how he immediately leapt out the door to dart after her, she thought she must have made the correct decision.

The hatch rattled as she fell over it, jamming the lock open with more force than was necessary. There was a high pitched, screaming noise that came from Lucien. A sound that she thought had been a threat.

As the doors pushed open with such force that they smacked into her face and immediately threw her onto her back, Elain realized the sound had been a warning. A man with a shock of filthy brown hair and dirt-smudged clothes fell on top of her and immediately seized Elain by the throat.

His spare hand was dripping with blood as he clutched a glass shard so sharply it cut into his skin. And he poised the tip to her breasts.

Lucien skidded to a halt. She glanced towards him to see his lips were curled into a snarl, showing off his sharp teeth. His hair stood up as he hunched his body like he were preparing to leap onto the man.

“Move, fox, and I’ll put this right through her chest,” the man warned, pressing the tip deeper to make his point. Elain gasped from the sting, and Lucien immediately went still.

He had bright blue eyes—they were the most pleasant thing about him, considering his tattered clothes and reeking scent. She wondered how long he had been locked in that cellar. Likely as long as she had been parading as Lady of the manor.

“Elain Archeron,” the man said. His grip on his neck lightened at the realization of who she was. She had thought it was a good sign. Until his upper lip curled into a sneer, and he said dryly, “How nice to finally meet my wife.”

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#They Are the Hunters We Are the Foxes #Elucienweek2022 #Elucien #Elucien fic #Elucien fanfiction #Elucien fanfic #Elain x Lucien #Lucien x Elain

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licncourt · 2 years

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thoughts on “its hour come at last” at the end of prince lestat? louis’ character development is kind of sudden since we don’t actually see much of him before this point but i like how quiet and private the change in him sounds. i also like how he purposefully dressed in his favorite outfit to go sit in the garden. he is on a date with himself like they tell you to do in cosmo. i wonder if he picked up yoga next.

That chapter is fucking everything to me. I waited ten entire books and most of an eleventh for ANY kind of real update on my sweet, sweet baby boy and I cling to those seven pages with my heart and soul.

As always, I'm very disappointed that there was no dedicated Louis POV book around this point in canon to give some insight into how he managed to get from a suicide attempt in Merrick (his last appearance before PL iirc) to a place where he's not only fully open to Lestat romantically but also so incredibly content. Of course, it sucks that we didn't get much of an in-depth look at how Lestat got to where he is either, stable and honest and ready to be a good partner, but Louis is where it all started. His grief and misery are the root of VC, and I wish so much we would've gotten the catharsis of healing rather than skipping straight to rushed closure.

Still, I really love those few little pages. Like you said, his happiness is very quiet, very introspective, very Louis. His version of happiness isn't loud and obvious, it's just peace, the thing he's wanted since the first book. It's learning compassion for himself instead of trying to alleviate the guilt he's clinging to with martyrdom. At the very least, I'm so happy Anne Rice got that right. More than anything, Louis has been at war with himself for over 200 years. It's actually very healing and beautiful to see him finally let go of that, to become a friend to himself rather than his own punishment.

Even if it's not shown, that has to be the biggest reason he's able to be so open about his love for Lestat at this point, has been able to make peace with his nature as a vampire, has moved forward from the rut of religious trauma, can accept love and care from his friends. So many of his struggles were tied to his inability to stop fighting himself. It's a shame we didn't see that happen, but in the end Anne got it right.

Additionally:

By the PL era, Louis is without a doubt a wellness and self care king, and I think it probably started in the 90s with self-help culture and increasing mental health awareness. Louis is so obsessed with Being Normal that the idea that what was wrong with him had a name and Normalness was something potentially achievable for him must have been huge.

There were concrete steps to take, an societal uptick in empathy for people with mental health issues, then later on a rapidly growing acceptance of gay people and support for those who need it instead of a culture of shame. Finding ways to shed that Catholic need to self-flagellate and start investing in his own well-being sounds like exactly what Louis needs, and just existing in a less hostile world would probably make a big difference, especially one that celebrates self-love. So yeah, he get into that shit big time, first because he wants to be Normal, but then because he's Louis.

Unfortunately for everyone around him, he is also full of himself and has quite the addictive personality, so I'm positive he'd be really annoying about it. He does yoga (moon salutations instead of sun). He goes on cleanses where he only drinks from vegan Crossfitters. He makes everyone use "I" statements during disagreements. He meditates. He has marriage workbooks. He recites self love mantras in the mirror. He has incredibly long and complicated self care rituals for certain days of the week. He does his guided journaling religiously and never shuts up about it. He's a menace to society but no one can really complain that much because look how genuinely happy he is.

#answered #vc #louis de pointe du lac

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sleptwithinthesun · 1 year

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are you still take tgm requests? I’d love to see hangman w/ allergies 🥺❤️

holy fuck, this got so very out of hand. i honestly wasn't planning on writing anything over 1.5K and well. the plot grabbed me by the neck and held me hostage for a good three hours and here we are; i offer 4.1K words written in a single day that i didn't proofread at all. enjoy!!

(also i. do not celebrate the holidays at all so forgive me for any possible inaccuracies. i have no idea how any of this works ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

In Jake's defense, he didn't know he was allergic.

His family was never all that into the holidays. It never seemed like a big deal to him, or his brothers, or his parents; every year, when Christmas rolled around, they'd get a couple of small gifts and a handful of ten dollar bills, and that was it. No tree, no lights, nothing. Jake didn't mind, because that's just how it was.

But then he'd hear other kids in school excitedly talking about finding their tree over the weekend, or stringing up lights around the house, or snooping through presents, and something twinged in his chest. The wanting, when he realized what it was, felt awful. He had plenty. There was no need for him to ask for more.

And yet, he still wanted. The feeling never went away.

It starts like this:

His phone rings two days before his leave begins, and the caller I.D. reveals it as none other than Maverick. So, of course, Jake picks up, says, "Seresin," and waits for tragedy.

Instead, Maverick invites him—along with the rest of the Daggers, apparently—back to North Island to spend their leaves with him, which just so happen to be over the week of Christmas and coincidentally line up with Maverick's declaration of his retirement, which is at least four months overdue.

(Afterwards, Bradley calls him, lets out a shaky sigh before he asks, "Is it bad that I'm relieved? About his retirement?"

"Naw," Jake says, willfully ignoring the tugging in his chest when he realizes it was him that Bradley chose to reach out to. "Mav has a special talent for getting himself in trouble. I can't imagine that's easy for you to watch every time."

"Yeah, it fucking sucks," Bradley says with a wet laugh. They both pretend not to notice as he sniffles, chokes back his tears on the other end of the receiver.

They've grown... closer, ever since the mission. The thing that Jake has realized about saving a person's life is that afterwards, there's no going back to how things were. Bradley is entirely unavoidable, and he watches from the eye of the storm as their relationship begins to settle around them. It doesn't feel right to label it something as simple as friendship, but Jake really doesn't have a better word for what they are to each other.)

Obviously, he accepts Maverick's invitation without question. Texas is miserable in the winter, and he's even less eager to go back home with the predicted weather for the next week. He's seen how bad his state's drivers are normally; putting them on the road with no more than an inch of snow is a nightmare he's really not eager to deal with.

He accepts Maverick's invitation without question, of course. Texas is miserable in the winter, and he's even less eager to go back with the arctic snap making its way across the United States. He's seen how bad Texas drivers are normally; putting a bunch of them on the road with no more than an inch of snow will be an absolute nightmare that he does not want to deal with.

"Are you sure?" Maverick still asks, only a minute into their conversation and already trying to argue his way out of any company because he's Maverick and clearly doesn't think he's deserving of the Daggers. "I don't want to take away from your time with your family."

"Pops, do not tell me you're relinquishing your invitation already," Jake says, poking him right in the nerve, and Maverick splutters indignantly.

"What, no! Of course not, Jake, I just—"

"—don't want to be alone," Jake finishes for him. "Don't worry, Bradley'll be there no matter what, and the more company you have, the better. Can't let you handle too much by yourself, especially not in your old age."

You don't know what to do now that Ice is gone, remains unspoken.

Maverick sighs, and the sound is a hurricane in his ears. "Sure, kiddo. Whatever you say."

"I'm thirty-four," he points out, and Maverick only laughs before hanging up all too soon.

And that's how he finds himself on a plane heading to North Island, far more unsettled than he's ever been in the cockpit of his own jet. Similar to many other Naval aviators, he hates flying like a civilian, even though he knows the commercial pilots are more than capable. Jake just prefers to have control. To be in charge. It's part of what makes him such a terrible leader; if he doesn't know exactly what's going on at every moment, he'll fall to pieces.

(Nevertheless, he persists, as if he's not threatening to do just that already.)

Maverick, for some reason, has absolutely lost his mind.

Jake's pretty sure there isn't an inch of the house that doesn't have some sort of decoration, and to be honest, it's making him a bit dizzy just to try and navigate it all. He's only the third to arrive, after Bradley, who doesn't exactly count, considering that Mav's practically his father, and Natasha, who greets him with a warning that doesn't do nearly enough to prepare him for the absolute chaos of Maverick's house.

"How the hell...?" He starts, stops, tries again. "How did he—?"

"Don't ask," Natasha advises, urging him with a hand to toe of his shoes at the doorway before waving him inside. "Bradley's making hot chocolate. Take advantage of his kindness while he's offering."

(It's Carole's recipe.)

Glancing around the house once again, Jake absently scrubs at the side of his nose, and laughs when he notices there's even mistletoe in the doorway to the living room. "Holy shit, Mav really didn't leave anything out, does he?"

"I did not!" the man himself calls, walking into the room and casually dropping a kiss onto Bradley's forehead as the younger aviator leans into him for a moment, continuing to stir the pot on the stove. "I tried to take into account your different holidays, so there's a tree in the corner of the living room and a menorah on the console by the window for Bob and Reuben." He smiles at Jake, and it's so eager he can't help but smile back. How an adult man manages to look just like a puppy, he doesn't know, but it's clearly a skill well-practiced.

"Hey, Mav," he greets. "Thanks for inviting me."

He waves it off with little more than a shrug and nonchalant flap of his hand. "Thanks for coming down, kid."

"Don't worry, this is so much better than going home this year would've been," Jake assures. "It's supposed to snow, and believe me when I say Texans do not know how to handle their snow."

"I'm surprised you managed to get all of us," Natasha chimes in, accepting her mug from Bradley and passing another one to Maverick. The third makes its way to Jake, notably lacking in cinnamon like Natasha's, and he glances up at Bradley in confusion as Maverick continues his conversation with Natasha.

It takes Bradley a moment to notice Jake's stare, but eventually, he catches on. "What?" he asks, cocking his head slightly to the side the way he always did back in flight school.

"Was I supposed to get cinnamon, or...?"

He brightens. "Oh! Yeah, I wasn't sure if you wanted it or not. Or if you were allergic, because that happened with one of Mav's flight buddies from Top Gun back in eighty-nine, and it was not pretty. Mom was really upset about it, too."

"Huh," Jake says, blinking. "That's... not what I expected."

"I remember that!" Maverick calls, no longer in the kitchen and instead standing in front of the tree in the living room with Natasha. "Wood freaked the fuck out the entire time, and Wolf had the nerve to laugh at him, as if his life wasn't in danger." He shakes his head to himself, muttering something they're too far away to hear. Natasha, standing next to him, muffles a snort behind her hand.

Jake widens his eyes for just a moment at the snippet of an anecdote, but Bradley's already approaching with the cinnamon in hand and tapping it out over Jake's mug. "That alright?" he asks.

"It's perfect," Jake says, curling a hand around it, leaching the warmth from the ceramic. "Thank you."

Bradley nods and smiles at him. "Don't tell Payback and Fanboy when they get here," he says conspiratorially. "They'll be here in an hour, so make sure you're done before them." He winks at Jake, and he can swear that his heart stops for a moment as he stares right into the other aviator's eyes, the two of them frozen around each other.

The moment's ruined when Jake ducks into his elbow with a sneeze, his body jerking with the sudden force of it. "hDT'TZSHH!" His mug, still clutched in one hand, skates over the counter for a second and hot chocolate splashes over the edges.

"Oh, shit!" Bradley exclaims, immediately whirling around and ripping paper towel off the roll. "Did you burn yourself?"

"Don't think so," Jake murmurs. "Sorry."

Similar to Maverick earlier, Bradley waves it off. "Don't worry about it. It's just a bit of hot chocolate, and besides, I can always make more."

He smiles again, and Jake feels himself relax unconsciously, accepting the paper towel from him. "If you say so."

Jake wakes up the next morning feeling like shit.

Really, he should have expected this. He'd started feeling off around dinner last night, after Mickey and Reuben arrived, three hours later than they'd originally planned for, grinning and citing traffic as they placed a jug of homemade eggnog in the fridge. It hadn't been much at first, just a couple of coughs and the occasional sneeze, but congestion is pressing against his sinuses when he wakes up and the tickle in his throat is a full-blown itch. A handful of barking coughs do nothing to dislodge it, and a glance at the clock tells him it's still only seven in the morning. The rest of the Daggers are more than likely sleeping in, taking full advantage of their time off.

He sighs, sliding out of bed and not even attempting to breathe through his nose. Maybe Maverick'll have tea, and even if he doesn't, Jake could probably pester Bradley into making more hot chocolate when the younger aviator wakes up.

Jake passes by Mickey and Reuben's shared room on silent feet, smiling slightly as he hears Reuben snoring through the walls, evidently dead to the world and a content, half-asleep sigh from Mickey. He doesn't know them as well as he does Bradley and Natasha, not yet, but they seem sweet, which isn't usually a word he'd use to describe Naval aviators. Still, it fits them, far better than stubborn or intimidating or arrogant would.

Maverick and Bob are both awake when he steps into the kitchen, and the former glances up from his phone at Jake's entrance while the latter puts a kettle on the stove before glancing over to him. "Morning," Maverick says, his hair still sleep-mussed and far more casual than Jake's ever seen him. "You sleep alright?"

"Fine," Jake says, but it comes out as little more than a breath of air. He clears his throat, and tries again, but it doesn't go much better.

Maverick frowns, already standing from his chair and walking toward Jake. "Woah, kid, are you getting sick?"

"I don't think so?" he rasps, pausing to cough into his shoulder. "Honestly, Mav, I feel fine. Throat's a bit sore and I'm congested, but it's not like I've got the flu, or anything."

"A bit?" Bob questions, taking out a second mug from a cabinet without another word.

Maverick's still got a hand to Jake's forehead, and he can't even blame him for being skeptical. Their kind really doesn't have the best track record with admitting to injury, but Jake's being completely honest. He's not sick, he just feels terrible, for some arbitrary reason he can't quite pin down.

"There should be honey in the tea drawer, Bob," Maverick says, and the WSO spins on his heel to pull out the bottle. "Huh."

"What?" Jake asks.

"You're right, no fever. And nothing other than the sore throat and congestion?" he asks, clearly in full dad mode. Jake supposes that Bradley's childhood has given him more than enough practice.

He shakes his head. "Not really, no. And Bob, when'd you get here?"

"Last night," he says, scrutinizing Maverick's collection of tea. "Around eleven, I think? The snow delayed my flight. How do you feel about chamomile?"

Jake shrugs, sitting down next to Maverick. "I don't know. Not really a tea person, so just give me whatever."

"Alright," Bob says, grabbing a packet and tearing it open before dropping the bag into the mug. They're silent, only interrupted by a coughing jag from Jake that lasts half a minute too long and leaves him winded as Maverick rubs his back, wincing sympathetically.

"Easy, kid, just breathe," he says quietly, and Bob passes him a mug, honey drizzled into the bottom and not quite fully mixed in. "Are you sure you're not sick?"

"I don't feel sick, but..." He trails off, puts a finger up, and sneezes harshly into his elbow. "hh'DTZZH'uh!"

"Bless you," Maverick says, frowning again. "I'm going to see if I have DayQuil, or something; the snow's too bad for us to get anywhere today. Hopefully, that'll head off the worst of this before tomorrow."

"We can hope," Jake says, still not quite convinced he's actually sick. Maybe it's because he hasn't been sick in more than six years, or because Christmas is tomorrow, or because he really, really doesn't want to be sick. Either way, it really doesn't make a difference in the long run, does it?

"Okay, that's definitely not normal," Bradley says, pointing an accusatory finger straight at Jake, effectively drawing everyone's collective attention straight to him.

"What?" he asks, utterly clueless.

"Mav," Bradley calls, ignoring Jake and the others entirely. "His eyes are starting to swell, I think he's allergic to something."

He catches Maverick's mumbled, "Do not let this turn into another Leo Wolfe situation," as he walks into the living room to stare at Jake, then says, "Oh my God, this is another fucking Leo Wolfe situation!" and throws his hands up before rushing off.

Natasha, of course, laughs at him. Their whole group is seated in the living room, playing Uno to absolutely disastrous results. Bob's cursed more than Jake thought him capable of in only three rounds, and he's honestly not eager to continue with the game if this is how it's going to go. "You're killing him," she teases.

Less than ten seconds later, Maverick's chucking a pack of Zyrtec at him from the doorway and Mickey's joining Natasha in her laughter. "Take two," he demands, leaving no room for argument.

Well, at least the whole thing makes sense now.

"You know what this means, right?" Natasha asks. "We have to figure out what it is that you're actually allergic to."

"Is that really necessary?" Jake asks, popping two of the tablets out from the blister pack and throwing them back without any water, which proves to be a mistake as he almost immediately gags on them. Reuben is nice enough to shoot up from his spot on the floor and fill up a glass of water in the sink while Natasha rolls her eyes and Bradley thumps him on the back, grinning.

"Absolutely," he proclaims, without a hint of sympathy. "Don't worry, Jake, we'll make it fast. After all, we only have thirty minutes before the medication kicks in."

Jake groans into his hands, then whines, his voice slightly muffled, "Mav, they're being mean to me."

"Oh, are they?" Maverick asks, moving around Payback as he returns with a glass of water. "Bradley, are you guys being mean to Jake?"

"No!"

"Yes, you are!"

"Hey, you haven't fallen to the floor gasping and choking, so clearly it's not that bad. I think we should get to bully you a little bit," Bradley says, and do their reactions to this whole situation really go back to Mav's friend from eighty-nine? If that's the kind of baseline Maverick has for an allergic reaction, Jake's probably going to wind up getting an EpiPen stabbed in his thigh if he breathes wrong, now.

"That's fair, actually," Maverick concedes. "Have away at him."

"Mav!"

He grins. "You're on your own, kid."

Natasha cheers in victory and starts scrutinizing the room, Bradley at her side, for anything that might be triggering Jake's reaction. Bob and Mickey, thankfully, stay on the ground and just stare at the elder two aviators while Reuben raises an eyebrow at Jake, as if to say, you're really going to let them do this?

Jake shrugs. You really think I could stop them?

Fair point, Reuben concedes with a nod, then stands up to join them.

Traitor.

"Try this," Bradley says, dropping down on the couch next to him. There's a pinecone in his hand, and Jake furrows his brows.

"Where the fuck did you get this?"

"They have them outside some of the stores," Natasha explains. "They're, like, spiced pinecones or something."

Mickey finally speaks up, starting at Bradley and Natasha with abject concern painted on his features. "Guys, this seems like a bad idea."

"What do you mean, this is brilliant," Bradley says, and shoves the pinecone up to Jake's face. Jake bats it away a second later, but not before getting a strong whiff of the scent on it. It's strangely cinnamon-y, and if he focuses, he's pretty sure he can pick out nutmeg, or something like that. Regardless, it doesn't do anything.

"Try the cleaner," Natasha suggests.

"I'm not your fucking guinea pig!" Jake protests, or, at least, attempts to protest. If any of them thought Maverick was stubborn, he's got nothing on Bradley. Jake idly wonders if that's something Bradley learned from him, or if that's just how Maverick's kids are, even if Bradley's not his biologically.

(He fails to realize that in accepting this invitation, the rest of the Daggers have effectively become Maverick's kids as well.)

Natasha shoots him a dangerous smile. "Of course not," she says sweetly. "Just our friend, and you're about to learn that might be even worse."

"Maybe try the candle?"

The suggestion comes from Bob, who's completely given up on trying to stop the rest of them from torturing Jake. The only one still holding out is Mickey, and even then, he's mostly just ignoring them now, opting instead to help Maverick with the dinner preparation. He's been oscillating between the living room and the kitchen for the past handful of minutes, just to check up on them and to make sure Jake isn't actively dying, if only for Maverick's sake.

"It's not even lit, how the hell could it be doing anything to me?" Jake tries to fight back, but by this point, nearly twenty minutes into the Daggers searching the room and shoving random things in his face, he knows any argument on his part will be completely futile. Sighing, he leans in and sniffs the candle when Natasha holds it out to him.

It only takes a second before he wrenches to the side with a sneeze, but he can tell that the candle isn't what's causing the reaction. "TZZSH! Nope, that's not it."

"Bless you," Reuben says, petting his back sympathetically. It's telling of his exhaustion that he's actually letting the elder aviator, instead of putting up a tough front as he normally does. With three of them actively seeking out his suffering, no matter how well-intentioned they think it is, it's hard to hide how awful he feels.

"That's it, though," Natasha says as Jake sniffles tiredly. "There's nothing else that could be it."

"Should we go through them again?"

"Don't you fucking dare," Jake warns, thought it probably doesn't come off as much of a threat, what with his red and itchy his eyes are. They started tearing up about halfway through the whole ordeal, even though they're yet to identify exactly what's setting him off. The medication doesn't seem to be dong much, either, considering that he doesn't feel any better than he did this morning.

To his left, Mickey rips part of the tree from its branch, then holds it out to Natasha, who raises an eyebrow at him. "You know it's usually the other type of pine that people are allergic to, right?" she asks.

Mickey nods, still offering it to her. "Yeah, but there's nothing else that it could be. It's worth a shot."

"Alright," Natasha says, and holds the section in front of Jake's face, the same as she did with everything else. There's barely a second between the moment it's put in front of him and when he twists away to sneeze into his elbow.

"HD'TZSHH! TDSH'UU!"

"It's the fucking tree!" Bradley yells, right as Mickey whoops in victory for having been the one to figure it out. "Jake, move to the kitchen."

He doesn't waste a second in obliging, grabbing the box of tissues on his way out. Maverick's head whips around the second he enters, and his face tenses with concern. "Christ, Seresin, what happened?"

"I told you to stop them," Jake says, turning away to sneeze again. "DT'ZZSHu!"

"Bless you," Maverick says.

"HD'ZSHH!"

"And again." He scrutinizes Jake more closely for a moment, and then asks, "No hives, right? Or anything else?"

"Nothing," Jake confirms. "Just fucking itchy."

Maverick sighs. "At least you're not dying on my floor."

"Seriously, what the hell happened with your friend that one time?" he starts to ask, but he's interrupted by a resounding crash from the living room that causes him, Maverick, and Mickey, the latter of whom is peeling an apple over the compost bin, all to jump.

"We're fine!" Natasha yells.

"What did you do?" Mickey calls back, peeler still in hand as he walks into the loving room. "Oh my fucking God."

Reuben's under the tree, holding it inches above the ground while Bradley and Natasha do their best to wrestle it back to a standing position and Bob takes pictures of the three of them, giggling slightly to himself.

"What are you doing?" Maverick asks, utterly confused.

"Okay, well, you see," Bradley hedges, just as Reuben shoves the tree upwards and back to standing. He ends up with a faceful of needles, and yelps appropriately as Bob takes another picture.

"We were trying to move the tree," Natasha explains. "Jake's allergic to it, so we wanted to move it farther away from the couches so that he can still hang out in the living room with the rest of us."

Maverick only sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose tiredly. "Why the hell didn't you ask me to do it?"

"Because you're short!" Bradley says. "And Nat's as tall as you are!"

"That doesn't mean I can't help!"

"We already have a Natasha," Bradley explains patiently, sounds like he's said this to Maverick a thousand times before. "We don't need another height-equivalent. You'd just get in the way."

Maverick splutters at that, and Bradley smirks like he's won, turning back to help Natasha and Reuben continue scooting the tree across the floor and farther away from the couches so that Jake can come back and sit with them when his allergies calm down.

It causes his chest to ache, but in a good way. Jake's not really used to people going out of their way to include him, especially not when they go so far as to move an entire goddamn Christmas tree just so that they can all still gather in the living room with him. It's so stupidly sweet of them, and he finds himself tearing up a little bit at the gesture. It goes unnoticed by everyone but Mickey, who pats him gently on the back as Maverick stands next to Natasha, presumably comparing their heights to prove a point.

"Merry Christmas, Jake," Mickey says, shooting him a small smile. The arguing from the living room is loud enough for the both of them to hear the entire thing, and it's oddly endearing to watch Bradley defend himself against Maverick's short-person anger while the rest of them—Reuben, especially—flaunt their six-foot-and-change heights over him. It should be annoying, but Jake's heart just twinges again and he feels a smile of his own cross his face.

Merry Christmas, indeed.

#askbox #promptfic #t/op g/un: m/averick snzfic #snzfic #t/op g/un: m/averick #d/agger s/quad #h/angman #r/ooster #m/averick #swts fic

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tellthemeerkatsitsfine · 2 years

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So much from the Nish Kumar show last night. It was amazing. I didn’t write about it right after (aside from this post that I made before getting in the car because holy fucking hell) as it was a bit more than a two-hour drive home. I got home at 3 AM, passed out, woke up this morning and now I still feel so overwhelmed by how cool it was. Here’s the best I can do with writing about it.

There were about ten weeks between when I first saw this show, in New York City, and when I saw it last night in Montreal. I’d expected the main difference to be that he’d have to rewrite the Boris-based parts of the show he did in New York, since, you know, that situation has changed in the last ten weeks. But he actually cut that bit entirely, barely mentioned Boris or UK politics at all. I can understand why. I saw him do a livestreamed thing a couple of weeks ago, and that showed me the jokes he’s written to reflect the current mess of a political climate. They involved saying he hates Rishi Sunak for being the highly successful Asian man that his own parents wanted him to be, and saying we can’t let Rishi Sunak be prime minister because he killed everyone’s grandma via mismanagement of the pandemic. My guess is that while he expected the North Americans at his New York show to know who Boris Johnson was, he was less sure that North Americans would know about Rishi Sunak, so decided to just skip all that rather taking his “Rishi Sunak killed everyone’s grandma” material to people who might have no idea what the hell he’s talking about.

So the specific political material got cut, as did a few other things; I think he was more pressed for time at the Montreal show. There were enough jokes that were in the New York show and not in the Montreal show for me to now be sure it was worth going to New York for it, even though I could see him much closer to home ten weeks later. That 17-hour round trip to a city that I did not like was worth it just for the few jokes he put in the New York show and cut from Montreal.

He also added some stuff in Montreal that wasn’t there in New York. There were some Canada-specific jokes. Said Boris Johnson was on the verge of joining our trucker protest, which got a cheer because fuck those people. Asked how the hell that trucker thing happened and if Canada “caught” stupidity from America, which… yes. I mean that was funny but it also barely worked as a joke because it’s pretty much a literal description of what happened. Yes, Nish, we had a lot of people who were influenced by American media and specific American figures who targeted them with an onslaught of messaging and American money that funded their efforts, and that is how this happened. I could draw you a diagram if you like. People who got arrested at the trucker protests were shouting about Miranda rights and the first amendment. They think everything American applies to us. This is why it’s important to properly fund and support Canadian media like the CBC to educate Canadians on our culture instead of having everything washed away in a sea of Americanism. But I digress.

Another bit that was not in the New York show was a few minutes spent talking shit about Ed Gamble and James Acaster, which was hilarious. Earlier in the day, those two had recorded a live episode of Off Menu at that same festival (I did consider getting tickets to that, but they were quite expensive and I’ve only ever heard about three episodes of Off Menu so I figured it wouldn’t be worth it). Nish correctly surmised (I say it was correct, based on the strong audience reaction to him bringing it up) that most people in his audience had been to see the Off Menu recording earlier in the day. He complained that as a brown guy he’s out here telling us how he got PTSD from racist death threats, while his very white friends were discussing what food they like. Called them “a couple of crackers talking about crackers”, which was quite funny. Informed us that they pronounce “papadum” wrong; he was it was supposed to sound more like this, and I guess James does something of a white bastardization of it. Then he added that if anyone chooses bread over papadums they’re racist.

Now, I hope this will go without saying, but because someone reading this post doesn’t see or hear the tone that was present in the room, I’d like to clarify that it was very obvious all along that he was 100% joking. At no point did anyone think he really does resent them for that; sometimes James talks about mental breakdowns and sometimes Nish talks about watching sex scenes in movies with his dad, so just because right now James is talking about food and Nish is talking about racism doesn’t mean that defines their whole lives. The difference in levels of heaviness of their material at that specific comedy festival was just a funny juxtaposition to point out at that moment. I mean, James and Ed probably do say “papadum” wrong. But I’m sure Nish forgives them.

In case anyone in the audience did not fully understand this, Nish ended this by saying, “Of course, those two are my friends, I don’t mean it, I love those guys. I did mean the stuff about Ricky Gervais and Jimmy Carr, though.” And that brings me to a particularly interesting thing that was in this show but not the New York one. To explain, I’m going to quote something I wrote about nine weeks ago, talking about the show I saw Nish do in New York. The initial post was about the bit in Nish Kumar’s 2019 show, when he did a whole rant about how Ricky Gervais is an asshole for doing transphobia and calling it comedy. Here is something I added on to that post after seeing Nish in New York this year:

“I just saw him do his newest live show last week, and he again dedicated a couple of minutes to complaining about comedians who run out of new funny things to say so they just go on Netflix to talk shit about minorities instead. Those minutes ended with the words “Fuck you Dave Chappelle, fuck you Ricky Gervais!” (For a split second I thought Jimmy Carr’s name was going to come out of his mouth next, it’s probably for the best that it didn’t.)”

That’s what I said nine weeks ago, and that’s how I felt at the time. I sat in that theatre in New York, heard Nish say he does comedy way better than those “edgy” people who think shitting on minorities counts as comedy, saw him get really riled up and on a roll and flow right into angrily shouting, “Fuck you Dave Chapelle, fuck you Ricky Gervais!” and for a moment my brain was sure he was going to add “fuck you Jimmy Carr”. This was a little while ago, closer to when Jimmy Carr’s joke about Romani Holocaust victims was in the media (if you don’t know what I’m talking about, you can Google it, or better yet, don’t – if you’ve ever seen the whole “asshole makes a racist joke, tabloids make clickbait articles about it, asshole complains about cancel culture” storm play out, then it’s exactly what you’re picturing), so his name came into my mind when Nish described that type of comedian. I thought he might say it, but he didn’t, and on reflection, I did think “for the best” was a good way to describe the omission. No need to feed the media storm further with “Nish Kumar VISCIOUSLY SLAMS Jimmy Carr in Latest Special” tabloid headlines or whatever.

I don’t know what changed in those ten weeks. Jimmy Carr has not said any new and notably offensive stuff since then. But at some point in ten weeks, Nish Kumar decided to amend that joke. Last night, his bit about how he hates “edgy” comedians who shit on minorities on stage ended with “Fuck you Dave Chapelle, fuck you Ricky Gervais, fuck you Jimmy Carr!” He then said something about Gervis and Carr specifically, since they’re both British. He called them something like “a giggling ghost and his ventriloquist dummy friend” who are making British comedians look bad by doing this kind of shit. And he brought it up again later in the show, saying he was just kidding about his friends James and Ed, but he did mean the shit he said about Ricky Gervais and Jimmy Carr.

I would say that’s kind of a big deal. I’ve given Nish Kumar credit before for going after Ricky Gervais, since that 2019 show also has an explanation of how much he loved The Office, how he had all the episodes basically memorized, how he looked up to its creator. It’s a rule for life generally that it’s easy to call out people from the “other side”, people you didn’t like anyway, but it’s much harder to call out people who are in some way on “your side”. So I think it’s a sign of good character when someone can recognize bad things in a person they liked, and are willing to say so instead of defending or excusing it.

Jimmy Carr is another level of that. I mean, Nish Kumar was a fan of The Office, and Ricky Gervais is a fellow British comedian, but I’m pretty sure Gervais has been in America for as long as Nish has had a showbusiness career. So on a practical level, Gervais may as well be an American comedian just like Chappelle; they’re not exactly in Nish Kumar’s orbit.

Nish Kumar is much more likely to cross paths, professionally and personally, with Jimmy Carr than with Dave Chapelle or Ricky Gervais. They’re both on the British stand-up (not at comedy clubs or whatever, but they both tour the UK with stand-up shows) circuit and the British panel show circuit. Nish has done 8 Out of 10 Cats and Catsdown. Nish was hanging out with Jimmy in Katherine Ryan’s living room as of whenever they filmed the end of that Backstage show, which was not that long ago. Jimmy Carr was at this same festival in Montreal, performing his own show. That’s definitely a new level of calling out one of his own.

Obviously, the caveat I add every time I give someone credit for something like this is that there are a lot of harder jobs in the world than being a comedian, and there are a lot of braver things to do than talk shit about someone you know on stage. I’m also not pretending it helps anything on a practical level; I’m quite sure Nish Kumar would acknowledge that him saying “Fuck you Jimmy Carr” on stage does not make life better for Romani people that have their genocide trivialized. But still, it took guts to say that. I bet a bunch of people felt that way, but didn’t say so publicly because Jimmy Carr is all over the Britcom world and they didn’t want to cause problems. I’m thinking of that Last Leg episode when Hannah Gadsby was a guest and said Jimmy Carr is terrible to minorities, and Adam Hills and Alex Brooker and Josh Widdicombe all looked very uncomfortable and like they desperately wanted her to stop talking even though I’m sure they knew she was right. It’s fucking awkward to call someone an asshole if you know you work and socialize in the same area. So honestly, credit to Nish Kumar here. That took some guts to say.

Okay, bullet points for some other, quicker, fun observations about the show:

- For anyone who doesn’t know, the main show is about the time that someone threw a bread roll at him because they were mad that he was making jokes about Brexit and colonialism. Then he learned that this incident had somehow made the news, then it really blew up from there, racist death threats occurred, PTSD due to those death threats occurred, stigma about mental health issues stopped him from getting help, but then he finally sought therapy and is now doing better and wrote a show about it. It is a genuinely insightful and hard-hitting show in addition to being amazingly funny and bright and honest, and it’s one of the best pieces of comedy I’ve ever seen.

- I’d remembered the story of how after the show, his friends who were there with him, including Tim Key and Miles Jupp, took him to the pub and they got drunk. I’d forgotten how he said Tim Key made the hilarious joke of apologizing for having thrown the bread roll, pretending the whole incident was a result of Tim Key thinking it would be funny to mess with him by throwing bread. That is such an on-brand joke for Tim Key to make and was a very funny line.

- Nish Kumar telling us his job is 1) to make jokes about the news, and 2) to be a spare in case anyone loses Jason Mantzoukas – also very funny.

- In New York, he said he knows his audience consists of people who read The Guardian and people who’ve recently canceled their subscription to The Guardian because it’s insufficiently left wing. In Montreal, he did the same joke but with The New York Times instead. I can’t tell if he thinks Canadians are less likely than Americans to know about The Guardian (which doesn’t seem likely, as Americans are more stereotyped than we are as being unaware of the outside world), if he thought the joke didn’t go well enough in America and it would be better if he started changing it when he went overseas (also seems a bit weird since the joke got a big laugh when I heard it in New York). It’s okay, Nish, you can talk about The Guardian in North America. We know about The Guardian. It’s a very famous media outlet.

- I have to give Nish credit again for how passionate he was about this, how high his energy was the entire time, how much he clearly cared about the words he wrote and wanted to share them with us. A few days ago, I saw James Acaster force himself to get through a show, then look at his watch and clearly be relieved to realize he’d already done an hour and that meant he was allowed to leave the stage. He left immediately, the crowd pretty much forced him to come back for an encore, he was not happy about it and did a few more minutes before leaving.

Last night, Nish Kumar shouted at us with vigour for an hour and twenty minutes before looking at the clock, and saying oh shit, this was not supposed to go for this long. Then he continued talking for another ten minutes or so, talking faster and faster like he was worried about not having enough time to say everything he wanted to say. For the entire time he was up there, he spoke at a million words a minute, barely took a breath. You could see how much he cared about this, how much he loved what he’d written and the opportunity to say it. He was exactly the same way in New York. I loved that, it made the show so enjoyable.

I don’t mean to denigrate James Acaster there – I made that comparison to show a contrast and make the point that not every show is like Nish Kumar’s. Obviously, the contrast I’ve just described does not automatically make Nish’s show objectively better than James’. A longer show is definitely not always a better show; in fact there’s a lot to be said for tightly written efficient material (“tightly written efficient material” doesn’t really describe the shows that James Acaster or Nish Kumar brought to this festival, but the principle is still true). But in this case, the length of the show reflected Nish’s passion for the material, the way he was so dedicated to it that he didn’t want to stop talking, and that energy really enhanced the experience.

- Okay, here’s the story of what I wrote last night. I dragged my best friend to Montreal for this show. My friend is not generally into comedy, and he specifically describes himself as not liking British comedy, even though that opinion is pretty much based on how he thought Monty Python’s Holy Grail was silly and has not seen other Britcom besides a few things I’ve made him sit through at times. I convinced him to go with me, for the road trip and the day in Montreal. He did end up enjoying the Nish Kumar… mostly. I think.

Anyway, as I said, the venue was amazingly small and we were sitting in the front row. At one point, Nish talked about how everyone in the public eye gets hate, but they’ll get more if they’re more degrees away from the “default”. He then defined the “default” as white, straight, cisgender, heterosexual, able-bodied men. He said something like “And if any of those are here tonight…” Without thinking, I tapped my best friend’s shoulder, because I had in fact brought a white, straight, cisgender, heterosexual, able-bodied man to a Nish Kumar show. To be honest, he was out of place. He was a jock among nerds. As a nerd at heart who spends most of my life among jocks (due to the sports team that this friend and I have been coaching together for many years, where he is a lovely person who cares deeply for our athletes and his friends, but if you see him on the street he does look a lot like a jock), I figured he could live with that for a night.

Nish saw me tap my friend’s shoulder, and he stopped talking. He lowered his hand that had the microphone, put his other hand on his forehead and laughed. And good people of www.tumblr.com, I do not know enough words to describe what it is like to make Nish Kumar laugh. It’s like making an angel fly. That excitable laugh that comes out generously and too loudly on panel shows and podcasts when anyone on stage says something that gets to him – that got direct at me, and if I die tomorrow I want that on my tombstone. If I die in 100 years I want that on my tombstone. I’m like 30% joking.

Nish asked me if I knew the guy next to me, and I said yes. Nish said oh good, he was worried I might have just tapped a random guy next to me who appeared to fit the description of straight white cisgender able-bodied man. Eye contact occurred. Actually, eye contact occurred a bunch of times throughout the show, sometimes to an extent that was quite awkward, because like I said the venue was really weirdly small.

And at first, I did not want that to happen! At one point he asked the crowd if we knew what that 1965 audience called Bob Dylan when he plugged in his guitar, and I was sitting there thinking “Judas!” Of course I know they called him Judas, that is a famous moment in the history of the intersection of folk and rock music, a famous moment that gets pointed to when fans of folk and to a lesser extent country music argue about what’s a reasonable level of saying “this is a terrible populist bastardization of the genre” versus what is being too gatekeep-y like the 1965 people who got mad at Bob Dylan, and arguments like that are where I live. But I didn’t yell it out, because I could not bring myself to yell out words that would be heard by Nish Kumar. I did not want Nish Kumar’s attention drawn to my existence, even for a moment. But later in the show, when I tapped my friend’s shoulder without thinking and drew his attention anyway, I realized how foolish I had been to resist the opportunity. It was the coolest fucking thing. Holy hell.

Nish Kumar definitely knows I exist. Crops watered skin clear ailments cured angels in flight.

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