#and then five days before the deadline i had a very real ‘oh shit’ moment | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dameronology · 3 years

Text

tea & whiskey {jack daniels x reader} - 3

3 - an examination of agent tequila and why he takes rejection so damn hard

summary: after tequila is on the receiving end of your stress, jack decides to help you de-stress in the only way he knows how: alcohol. what could go wrong? (series masterlist)

warnings: language

honestly this might be my fave chapter yet

- jazz

song for this chapter: oil on water by bastille

Within a few weeks of being in New York City, you’d fallen into a routine.

You missed London, truly and deeply, but it was almost as if you didn’t have time to think about it. Between being dragged into more undercover missions with Whiskey, keeping up with Merlin’s demanding schedule and trying to tail Calahan and his contacts, you were lucky if you had time to sit down and have a cup of coffee. Being a Statesman was much more fast-paced than working at Kingsman; you didn’t dislike it by any means, but you had a pool-sized bathtub waiting in your shiny, new apartment that you never got to use. You were pulling five or six late nights a week, usually not leaving the office till 10PM.

Working with Jack Daniels was...an experience. He was nice, in some ways -- he always brought you coffee when he went to get some for himself, and he drove you home on those late nights so that you didn’t have to take the subways. He had a few annoying habits - namely the fact he never seemed to shut up or ever use your real name, instead opting for a thousand different nicknames - but he was more than tolerable. He worked hard and played hard, and you respected that. He helped you stay hot on Calahan’s tail and that was the most important thing.

On your third week in New York, Merlin flew out to see you. You’d been keeping him up to date with weekly briefings, but he’d wanted to come out and have a proper look at the actual work you and Jack had been doing. The evening before he arrived, you’d pulled an all-nighter to try and organise the files. Whiskey seemingly had no organisational skills, instead opting for a stack of folders that had no meaningful order. The paperwork was endless, not unlike Jack’s energy the following morning.

‘Anyways, so I tell the guy to go fuck his moth-’

‘- Jack.’ You held your hand out to him, motioning him to shut the hell up as you rubbed your temples. ‘I appreciate all your funny stories of when you were a fratboy in Yeehaw Land but I have to get this done.’

‘What’s with you this morning, tea?’ Jack looked up from his laptop, brow furrowing. ‘You haven’t insulted me once since you walked through that damn door two hours ago and I’m starting to become concerned.’

‘I just have a lot of work to do.’ You replied. ‘Merlin is landing any minute now and I...how did you put it last week? I’m as busy as a cat covering crap on a marble floor.’

‘Southern sayings don’t quite right with your accent.’ He offered you a smile. ‘So what if Baldilocks is on his way? You’ve been doing your job real good these last few weeks.’

‘Merlin is...particular.’ You let your eyes trail away from your screen and out towards the view of the city beside your desk. ‘Everything has to be perfect or I might as well have spent the last three weeks shitting in my hands and clapping.’

‘They didn’t praise you much at Kingsman, huh?’ Jack quirked an eyebrow.

‘I never gave it much thought but I guess you’re right.’ You shrugged. ‘Why would they praise us for meeting expectations? A slap on the back for doing the bare minimum is pointless.’

It was true: praise at Kingsman was far and few - and you only got for achieving superhuman standards. If you were bad at your job, they would fire you. If they were good, they kept you. That’s how it worked. That’s how it had always worked. You’d never had so much as a well done! or a you’re doing great! from Merlin, nor Harry or Arthur. It had been odd at first but you’d become used to it.

‘What you do is not the bare minimum.’ Whiskey shook his head. ‘You do you know you’re a good agent, right?’

Jack had been impressed with you over the last few weeks. You seemed to embody the very energy of getting shit done. You worked through your lunch breaks and arrived to the office earlier than everyone -- and then you left later than everyone. He was surprised you didn’t hold a more senior position, if anything.

‘I mean, I guess?’ You averted your glance back towards him. ‘I work hard. I’m just hoping it pays off some day.’

‘Just-’ Jack sighed, pausing for a moment. ‘Don’t worry about the paperwork, okay? I can vouch for the fact you’ve worked your pretty little-

‘- watch it, Jack-’

‘- that you’ve worked hard.’ He quickly back tracked on his words.

‘That’s a dollar in the arse comment jar.’

‘I didn’t even get to finish it though!’ He held his hands up in surrender. ‘And it’s not even worth taking those dollars home with you, not with this exchange rate.’

Before the conversation could go any further, Tequila stuck his head around your office door. He’d been out in the field for the last week so you hadn’t seem him that much. Having been in South America, he’d caught a slight tan. That lead your mind back to your previous missions with him -- he’d had terrible Spanish. Truly awful.

‘Merlin is here, Percy.’ He announced. ‘He’s in with Champ now. Come whenever. You too, Whiskey.’

‘Have you ever heard of knocking?’ Jack raised his eyebrows at him.

‘The door was open.’

‘Still, it’s etiquette-’

‘- hey, Patrick! Spongebob!’ You slammed your fist on the table. ‘There’s more important things to worry about.’

Half an hour later, you were waiting outside of a meeting room on the top floor of the Statesman building. Jack, Merlin and Champ were all on the other side of the door, checking over your work. You had no reason to be nervous -- you’d done your job and you’d done it well. Besides, you knew that Whiskey would fight your corner if Merlin became finnicky. He’d said it himself earlier. You appreciated that.

‘I’ve been in Chile the last few weeks.’ Tequila leant against the wall beside you, adjusting his hat as he peered down at you.

‘I know. Your new hat is a Chilean brand and you have a tan.’ You replied, attention still clearly on the door in front of you.

‘Damn. I never pegged you to be so observant.’

‘I’m literally a secret agent.’ You shot back. ‘It’s kind of an entry requirement.’

‘Or maybe...’ He adjusted his stance. ‘It’s because you fancy me.’

‘Fancy you?!’ You turned your head to look at him in disbelief. ‘How old are you? Twelve?’

‘I just mean that you’re single and hot. I’m single and hot.’ He continued, barely faltering. ‘You’ve been working your ass off these last few weeks. If you need help relaxing, you know where-’

Tequila barely had a chance to blink before you’d moved from beside him, pinning him to the wall with an elbow over his throat. He blinked in surprise; both at your speed and strength, especially considering that he was much beefier than you. It wasn’t exactly hard. You’d taken on men twice his size and strength.

‘Try and come onto me again and I will make you eat your hat.’ You threatened.

‘It was just a suggestion-’

‘- did I stutter?’

‘No, ma’am.’ Tequila muttered. ‘Sorry, ma’am.’

‘What in the holy hell is going on here?!’

You hadn’t heard Champ leave the meeting room - or Jack and Merlin for that matter. The three were stood with wide eyes and gaped mouths at the sight of you holding one of their best agents to the wall. You quickly took a step back, letting Tequila fall onto his ass with a sweet thump.

You dusted yourself off. ‘I was simply teaching Agent Tequila the value of workplace boundaries.’

Turning away, you strode off and down the corridor, the sound of your heels clicking against the ground ringing behind you. Tequila might have just been trying to shoot his shot but damn, you were sick of it happening. You’d had it during your training, from some of the guys at Kingsman and especially on missions. The amount of men that assumed you needed a ring on your finger or a proposition from them to have a good time was beyond you. Could you not just do your job? It was one thing to have a flurry of nicknames but you drew the line at being constantly hit on and asked out.

Stalking to your office, you slammed the door behind you and took a seat at your desk. An oh for fuck’s sake! escaped your mouth upon realising that you’d left all of your files with Merlin. That meant no work to do - which meant that the tiredness and consequences of your late night were about to hit you like a ton of bricks.

You made your way over to Jack’s desk, taking a glass and decanting some of the whiskey that was inside it. Drinking on the job wasn’t usually your style, but you were stressed. Calahan was still on the loose. Both of your bosses had just seen you drop kick another agent. It felt like you had been in the States for nearly a month and had no work to show for it.

‘Is it okay if I come in?’

‘It’s your office, Whiskey.’ You didn’t bother turning to face him.

‘Well, that can’t be good - you only ever call me Whiskey when you’re mad.’

Jack was right -- and it was something he’d noticed not long after you’d met. You’d started calling him by his first name not long after you’d pulled your first all-nighter together. He’d given you a ride home and it had started with a thanks, Jack. He’d come to discover that he liked how it sounded when you said it. It was so rare that anyone called him that, that it almost felt like it meant something.

‘Sorry.’ You took the glass, returning to your desk.’ You said. ‘I’m stressed and Tequila didn’t help. There’s paperwork and deadlines and I have done nothing worthwhile since I landed nearly four weeks ago.’

‘That’s not entirely true.’ He replied. ‘You’ve arrested six of Calahan’s spies, found information that lead to a raid on one of his bases and you just hit Tequila harder than a semi to a fox on the highway.’

‘I should probably apologise to him.’ You groaned.

‘I wouldn’t bother, sugar’ Jack shook his head. ‘You’re being too hard on yourself.’

‘Yeah.’ You stared off into the distance, sipping some of your drink. ‘Maybe.’

‘What are you doing tonight?’

You faltered, turning to look at the cowboy in disbelief. ‘Are you serious, Jack?! You just saw me deck Tequila for trying to make a move. You think I won’t slap that moustache right off of your-’

‘- hold your fucking horses!’ He cut you off. ‘If you’d let me finish my goddamn sentence! I was going to offer to show you a bar that I go to when I’m stressed. The alcohol is cheap and the music is good.’

‘You mean as....colleagues?’

‘I was going to say friends.’

---

It was beyond you how Jack had convinced you to come to a cowboy bar in the middle of Manhattan on a Tuesday night. He’d made a few comments about having a stick up your ass, then with a promise to reschedule your meeting the following morning and pay for your drinks, you’d finally said yes. It can’t have hurt to take a night off - in fact, you’d barely had one since you’d got to the city. A few drinks and the company of the most tolerable man at Statesman could do good for you, you figured.

Having changed your heels and dress out for boots, jeans and a leather jacket, you already felt a little more relaxed. The Statesman weren’t even as strict as the Kingsman about what their agents wore, but you had the latter’s emphasis on looking formal so ingrained into your brain that it was practically second nature. The pain of wearing high heels every day was long gone.

The bar itself was as you’d expected. Dimly lit, and filled with people in cowboy hats and boots. There was a country song playing from a jukebox in the corner and the air was stuffy; a mix of tobacco, stale beer and crisps chips.It wasn’t that different from the dodgy pubs you and Eggsy had frequented in your late teens.

Jack was dressed a little more casual too, wearing a button down and leather jacket instead of his usual blazer and tie. What were you here as again...friends or colleagues? Actually, it had been a compromise. Friendly colleagues.

‘Alright, sweetheart, we’ll go here.’ He pulled you over to two empty stalls at the bar. ‘What’s your poison?’

‘Rum.’ You replied.

Jack’s nicknames didn’t bother you anymore. You’d come to accept the fact that they were simply part of his dialect rather than a place of affection. It was the same with Champ, and even Ginger. It was no different to you calling your own colleagues mate or pal.

‘Damn.’ Jack murmured. ‘Off to a strong start.’

You took the glass from his hand, clinking it against his. Naturally, he’d gotten Jack Daniels whiskey. Then again, if you were named after an alcohol, you probably would have drunk it constantly too. But then again again, you drank it constantly anyways.

The evening was a little awkward at first -- what were you supposed to talk about aside from work? That’s what all your previous conversations had been about, even during all your late nights. They usually consisted of Jack reciting stories of wild missions during his younger days as an agent. You had a few crazy ones, but they seemed to pale in comparison. There wasn’t as much crazy shit in Britain.

You didn’t know whether you should have been asking him questions about his personal life. Wasn’t he your boss, formally speaking? Jack was a higher rank than you. He ran the whole damn Manhattan office when Champ was out. That thought was what lead you to realise that you’d hardly given his life outside of the agency much pondering. You knew he didn’t exist solely to be an agent, but he spent as much time working as you did and you existed solely to be an agent.

Did he have a wife? Kids? Based on how long he spent working, you figured it was unlikely. Being an agent didn’t really offer a healthy work-life balance. You knew that he lived in an apartment near Hudson Yards, so that meant he was probably rich too. He did have shares in the company that fronted Statesman, and it was one of the best selling bourbons on the market.

You spent the better part of two hours trying to deduce him through conversation before you realised that you could have just asked. Jack had called you his friend. That counted for something. Plus, you had two hours worth of alcohol and a fair few shots of rum floating around your system. It was liquid courage, after all.

‘So what’s your deal?’ You slapped your fist on the bar.

‘My deal?’ Jack raised an eyebrow at you. ‘The hell d’you mean, sugar?’

‘Like...what’s your life outside of Statesman?’

‘Statesman is my life.’ He quipped. ‘In the same way Kingsman is yours.

‘Damn.’ You murmured. ‘But Kingsman isn’t my whole life.’

‘Oh yeah?’ He smiled at you. ‘What else do you do then?’

‘I have an orchid at home!’ You exclaimed. ‘Although I did ask Eggsy to look after while I’m here so it’s probably dead.’

‘You miss him, don’t you?’

‘The orchid?’

‘No. Eggsy.’

‘Oh, right!’ You let out a tipsy giggle. ‘I mean...yeah. He’s my best mate. This is the longest I’ve gone without seeing him ever. I FaceTimed him the other night but he’s with Tilde.’

‘Girlfriend?’

‘Yeah.’ You solemnly nodded. ‘And do not mistake my sad face for jealousy! I love Tilde. And I love Eggsy. It’s just hard not seeing him, or having someone to bully everyday.’

‘Hey, I’m right here if you need someone!’ Jack nudged you with his elbow. ‘Just...no comments on my accent. Or my hat. Or my moustache.’

‘Okay, I’ll just rip into your personality then, shall I?’

‘Please. As if you could find anything bad about my personality. I’m fan-fucking-tastic.’

The rest of the night went quickly.

Once you and Jack had veered away from talking about work, the conversation felt natural. He was easy to banter with and it made talking to him easy. The fact he was paying for drinks too was proving to be a slippery slope - for him and for you. The more you ordered, the more he tried to outdrink you. That was when the evening had taken a bit of a turn.

You hadn’t mean for it to happen, but your temper tended to slip up when you were drunk. It was easy to describe you as trigger happy at the best of times, let alone when you had a few shots in your system. And, you were by no means wankered beyond repair, or so drunk that you couldn’t walk, but you had proven yourself to be drunk beyond normal rationale.

It was all a blur, really.

You’d seen a man try to follow a girl into the toilets and in true sisterhood style, you’d flown after him in an attempt to save her. There had been punches thrown - in both your direction and his - and it had resulted in the two of you both being kicked out. Jack had followed suit, rushing out after you with your jacket and bag. A true Southern gentleman indeed.

‘It was his wife.’ Jack had been muttering the same words over and over. He was knelt in front of you, dabbing at your bloody nose with some cotton balls. ‘He was following her into the toilet because they were married-’

‘- how the hell was I supposed to know that?!’ You snapped, wincing in pain. You made a mental note not to raise your voice too much. ‘I’ve had things like that happen to me before. I just wanted to make sure she was safe.

‘You could have gotten me to check it out.’ He reasoned. ‘I might have had to have gone into the ladies’ toilets but you can be damn sure I wouldn’t have punched the guy.’

Jack’s hands were steady as he worked to clean up your nose. Somehow, you’d ended up in his living room -- he’d refused to let you go back to your own apartment in a bloody state. On the bright side, his place was a thousand times nicer than yours. And, given your jacuzzi bath tub and flat screen TV, that was truly saying something. His felt a little more homely, and a little more lived in. He had random knick-knacks lying around; there was magazines on the table and piles of shoes by the doors. You, meanwhile, had been living out of a suitcase.

Once he was done, Jack stood up and dropped onto the couch next to you. He stared at you for a moment, pondering what to say. You didn’t look too tired; your eyes were slightly hooded and hazy from the drinks, but the sock to your face had sobered you both up to the point where you might as well have only had one or two shots.

‘God, what must you think of me?’ You finally spoke, flopping back against the cushion behind you.

Jack frowned. ‘What on Earth do you mean?’

‘You saw me deck Tequila this morning and then attack a guy in the bar.’ You snorted. ‘I’m not a violent person. I promise.’

‘I don’t think you are.’ He replied. ‘I definitely think you could knock a man into the middle of next week looking both ways for Sunday but I think it’s admirable.’

You couldn’t help but cackle. ‘Admirable?!’

‘A lot of people run their mouths but very few would actually square up when things came down to it.’ Jack shrugged. ‘I know y’all believe in manners maketh man but I think fury maketh woman.’

‘Fury maketh woman.’ You repeated the words back to him, turning your head to face him.

A moment of silence fell over you after that. Not an awkward one, but rather a comfortable one. Things weren’t so hazy anymore - if anything, that guy punching you had been rather sobering. Meanwhile, Jack definitely looked like he’d been around the block a little bit; he’d long ditched the hat, leaving his dark hair in a ruffled mess. You were holding his gaze, looking intently at his eyes.

They were brown - but no shit, Sherlock. You knew that. What you hadn’t noticed was the way they creased when he laughed, or the fact they had little gold flecks in them. And they looked a little more caramel under the bright white lights of his living room. The man had a chandelier. An actual fucking chandelier. In 2020.

If you could just lean a little closer to get a better look.

Just a tiny bit.

Just edge a little bit closer, not too much and -

- Shit.

His lips caught yours halfway, and you suddenly realised that you hadn’t been trying to look at his eyes at all. No, absolutely not. Had you wanted to kiss him this whole time? Or had the urge just suddenly over come you this split second?

Either way, it didn’t matter because Jack Daniels was a fucking good kisser. He was giving and soft, but there was a hint of something deeper too. Desire? Lust? You didn’t really possess the brain capacity to figure it out, not when he was biting at your bottom lip and gently holding one hand against the back of your head. His large, calloused hands were clutching loosely at your, pulling you into him It was so good that you let out a moan in your head.

Except, it wasn’t in your head. It was very much out loud, and right into his mouth. Your immediate reaction was to consider pulling back, to apologise straight away and swear never to talk about it - but he liked it. You felt Jack smile against you. He placed his hands on your hips and gently manoeuvred you into his lap, being careful to avoid putting too much pressure on your sore nose.

It didn’t take an idiot to work out where this was going, and you were both pretty smart people. Smart enough to know that it was going to make things awkward in the morning, and then everyday after that. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the fact that his kisses were more intoxicating than any spirit you could possibly have consumed. You didn’t know.

And frankly, you didn’t care.

#agent whiskey #jack daniels #agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey imagine #jack daniels imagine #agent whiskey x you #jack daniels x you #kingsman imagines #kingsman x you #eggsy unwin x reader #eggsy unwin imagine

163 notes · View notes

ineloqueent · 3 years

Text

dreaming of you

Brian May x Reader

synopsis: a storm results in a power cut, after you get locked out of your flat. luckily, your neighbour is home.

warnings: swearing, drinking

word count: 2.7k

a/n: i hope you don’t mind that i took a few creative liberties with the prompts, m’dear <3

see the moodboard here!

⭒

London, 1973

It was one of those days that simply went from bad to worse. And then fell down the stairs. And into a frying pan. And then leapt out of the frying pan and into the fire. Except the fire was not simply a fire, but a flaming pit, that was somehow also freezing cold and pitch black.

In short, you’d had a terrible day. And as life would have it, your day was about to get a hell of a lot worse.

It had started that morning, when you’d got out on the wrong side of the bed, quite literally. You had fallen face-first over your office chair, which stood mere millimetres from the left side of your bed, because you lived in a tiny flat on Camden High Street, above a shoe shop, where, in the winter there was rarely hot water in the pipes, and you were forced to scrape ice off of the bathroom mirror with a razor in order to see your reflection.

So, you’d fallen out of bed and bruised— your forehead— instantly, only to realise that you’d slept through your alarm, and forgotten to lay out clothes for the day the night before. This was then followed by a rushed— cold— shower, and jumping in front of the iced-over mirror to glimpse the large bump already forming on your forehead.

You’d made it to the kitchen, and found that you’d run out of both coffee and tea, forcing you to decide between going without caffeine, or being late to work in the process of getting a takeaway beverage. You opted for the latter, and sprinted out the front door with your scarf only half-slung around your neck.

You’d shouted a hasty good morning to your shop keeper neighbour from the lower floor, before running straight into your other neighbour, the one who lived right next door to you, and shared your rice paper-thin walls.

He’d narrowly avoided spilling his cup of scalding coffee down your front, but in avoiding spilling it on you, the poor bloke had instead dropped the mug at his feet, and watched it shatter to pieces, coffee spattering his white shoes.

Still, he was the first to apologise.

He was like that, Brian May. Very polite. Well-mannered. Ever the friendly neighbour.

And very beautiful. You’d noticed.

Off to work you’d rushed, once you’d helped him to clean up the mess, because you weren’t about to leave him standing in a pile of shattered porcelain, the existence of which was quite honestly your fault.

You’d been not five, not ten, not twenty, but thirty minutes late to work, and your boss had been none too pleased.

“Deadlines,” he’d told you. “We have deadlines!”

Deadlines your arse. You’d watched that man leisurely read his morning paper, with his feet on an ottoman, whilst you scrambled to get your affairs in order.

It’d then been a drab day, working at the newspaper, because it seemed that nothing was happening in the world, outside of your own little corner, where everything seemed to be happening all at once, and thus, there was no story for you to write. You’d been reduced to running fax and photocopies for various people, and— ironically— doing a coffee run, because everyone else was too busy for such a frivolous thing as a coffee run. Funny, though; for all they shunned the coffee run, they could not do without their precious caffeine to fuel their productivity.

The day seemed to drag on, and when it finally let up, the rain came down with the night, and you, with no umbrella and a good walk on either side of your tube ride, stared miserably through the window at the depressing weather.

But at home, pasta and television and your lovely, soft bed awaited you, and so, you were desperate to get home as quickly as possible.

With a sigh, you stepped outside, and let the rain soak you as you went on your way, having once read in a scientific study in the newspaper which had concluded from a series of experiments that one got more wet from running through rain than from walking through it.

The tube was crowded, as usual, and like a good citizen, you offered your seat to an elderly lady, only to realise upon second glance that she was not elderly at all, and you had just morally offended a rather prim-looking business woman. And lost your seat to the smirking man who’d watched the exchange occur.

You tracked mud all the way up to your flat, nearly breaking your foot at least twice when you nearly slipped on the rain-slick wood of the stairs.

The final nail— or so you thought— in the coffin of your terrible day came when you fumbled in your jacket pockets for your key.

The sinking feeling in your stomach was perhaps the heaviest you’d ever felt.

In your rush that morning, you’d forgotten your key.

Brian May walked up the stairs just in time to see you kick your shoe off in frustration, and let out a laugh at the sight of you.

You looked up from your abused shoe to find Brian paused at his door, one eyebrow slightly raised in concern.

“Alright?” he asked, dubiously.

You took a deep breath, in an attempt to remain calm and appear normal at the height of your despair. “I’ve had a shitty day, since before you saw me this morning, and now I’ve locked myself out of my flat. Alright, you think?”

“No,” he conceded, “but it seemed polite to ask.”

“Do you always just do what’s polite?” you sighed.

“Now that,” said Brian, inclining his head, “wasn’t very polite.”

You shook your head quickly. “That’s not what I meant. I meant it in a much more flattering way, like, you never fail to be polite, even when it’s hard to be, or when I’m sure you’d much rather say something sarcastic, or even just plain rude. You know,” you rambled, “you’re good at that—” you waved a hand, and amusement flitted across his eyes— “filter thing. You have a filter, I mean.”

“And you don’t,” he observed.

“Exactly.”

“Well, to tell you the truth, for once,” said Brian, “you look an absolute wreck, but—”

At that moment was when the real final nail of the coffin fell into place.

Because at that moment, accompanied by an ear-splitting peal of thunder, lightning struck, and eradicated the power supply of approximately one-third of the London metropolitan area.

“Bloody hell,” Brian remarked, as the rumble of thunder receded. The two of you stood in darkness on the landing, and while before, there had only been one bare lightbulb to light your surroundings, it was greatly different to be standing in total darkness when the city outside had become equally as dark.

“The power—”

You thought Brian nodded across from you where he stood, in the blackness of the hall.

“So…” you muttered. “What now?”

“Well, given our presently rather strange circumstances, I’ll offer to let you sleep on my sofa, and we can talk to Clarisse in the morning.”

Clarisse owned the shoe shop beneath your flats, and therefore your flats as well. She was yours and Brian’s landlady, but, as with her shop, she was only ever in from nine to five. Given that it was now six in the evening, she was most certainly long gone.

You considered Brian’s offer.

The two of you had shared a landing for four, almost five years now, since you’d each come to London, and yet, though you were friendly, you’d never got past having coffee together. You knew that Brian was studying astrophysics at Imperial College, which was very impressive indeed, and that he was the guitarist in a talented, but relatively unknown band. You’d encountered the other members of the band a few times here and there, every year, given that they sometimes practiced, or held meetings, at Brian’s residence. Clarisse didn’t mind the band playing, and as the next door building always had loud music pounding, there was no danger of annoying the neighbours to the point of the police being phoned, so Brian and his band were free to hold their rehearsals. You knew they were talented because you could hear them playing through said rice paper-thin walls.

And having had coffee with the man in question at least three times, you felt safe enough in taking up his offer. You only regretted that in all your years living next door to him, you’d never invited him over. Then again, he’d never invited you over either. But here he was now, in your hour of need, and that had to count for something.

You nodded gratefully, then remembered that he probably couldn’t see you all too well, and said,

“I think I’ll take up your offer. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Nonsense,” said Brian. “I’m just polite.”

You thought he might have winked, but of course, in the dark, you couldn’t be sure.

He unlocked his front door, and you followed him inside.

“Watch out for the—”

You stumbled over what felt and sounded to be a guitar case.

“Oh shit, fuck, I’m sorry,” you apologised profusely.

He chuckled. “It’s fine. It’s empty.”

“Oh, thank god,” you muttered. “Thought I’d just destroyed something, again.”

“Yeah, it was bad enough that you ruined my coffee cup this morning.”

Reflexively, you covered your blush with your hand. “Please don’t remind me,” you groaned.

“I won’t miss it,” Brian assured you, tossing his keys onto a little table. “It was a hideous thing. Something Fred got me once from Kensington Market, where he works. Pretty sure the thing was second-hand too.”

Fred. Freddie, lead singer of the band you’d only heard through walls. Funny, charming, friendly though shy.

You wrinkled your nose. “Second-hand…”

“Yeah. He’s got no taste, silly bugger.” Though Brian’s remarks sounded harsh, he spoke with a fondness that could only have been reserved for the highest regard of friendships, and you thought that he and his bandmates must be quite good friends.

“Hungry?” Brian asked. “I’ve only got some left-over lasagna, unfortunately, since I wasn’t expecting company, and it’s vegetarian, but we can heat it up in the oven, and there’s enough for the both of us.”

“Honestly, Brian, that sounds delicious.”

Your eyes had begun to adjust to the dark, and so you saw his smile in response to your comment.

“Well, great. I’ll heat that up, then. Make yourself at home. If you can find the living room,” he added with a laugh. “There’s some candles in the chest of drawers by the window, so if you get those out, I’ll find some matches too, and we can have some light.”

“Will do.”

You set about your task, managing to only stub your toe once after removing your shoes, and set up candles about the living room, where you assumed Brian intended to set up dinner.

He brought you matches, and brought with him a glass bottle.

“Wine?” he offered you, having poured himself a glass, and you accepted, because it was Friday night and what the hell.

You lit the candles as Brian went back to his cooking, and before long, he returned with the lasagna dished up.

As your host sat down across from you, you couldn’t help but laugh to yourself.

With the candles providing a rather romantic glow, catching on Brian’s pretty ringlet curls and dancing in his eyes, plus the wine, and now, the static-y music coming in over a battery-powered radio, this atmosphere was a lot cosier than you had expected.

Brian furrowed his brow at your noise of amusement. “What..?”

“Are we on a date right now?”

With a glance about the room, with its overstuffed cushions and stitched drapes, the two of you eating a meal by candlelight, Brian laughed too.

“It would seem that way.”

He raised his glass to you, and you would have been lying if you’d said that the gesture and his words hadn’t made your heart skip a beat.

You ate in silence for a few moments, until Brian spoke again.

“Would you mind awfully if we were?

The question startled you a little, and you swallowed your wine carefully.

“No,” you said honestly.

A small smile graced his mouth, before his eyes dropped to his lap. “Good,” he said softly. “Because I always meant to ask you out.”

You blurted, “Did you really?”

He smiled fully now. “Yeah. But I’ve always been so damn shy.”

You were the one to raise your glass this time. “Well, here we are now. And you’re not getting rid of me. At least until tomorrow.”

He laughed gently in response, and you thought of how lovely and warm the sound was.

If only you were as warm as that laugh. The rain that had soaked your clothes was beginning to take its toll on you.

You finished dinner in silence, and Brian cleared the plates in silence too.

He came back after washing the dishes, just in time to see you shiver.

“Oh, yes,” he said thoughtfully. “Extra blankets.”

He fetched them, but then looked down at the bundle in dismay. It was very little; you could both see that.

You watched him close his eyes briefly in the wash of candlelight, saw him grit his teeth. You waited with bated breath for what he was going to say.

“It gets really cold here at night.”

This you already knew, from your experiences at your own flat.

“Yeah.”

“And it’ll get even colder now that we’ve lost all form of central heating… Forgive me if this is entirely over the line...” he sighed, and opened his eyes, watching you with a cautiousness that betrayed nerves. “But it might be best if I sleep here, near you. Body heat, and all that.”

“Oh,” you said, blushing slightly. Stupid blush. “Yes, that’s probably a— uh— good idea.”

“Right. Um. Bathroom’s down the hall, if you wanted to chan— oh. Well. Hang on. I’ll get you a jumper or something to change into.”

Your blush only deepened, knowing that you would be wearing his clothes.

You couldn’t look at him when you took the dry, clean clothes he handed you, and hurried to change in the bathroom, before returning to the makeshift bed now established on the floor of Brian’s living room.

He brushed past you to use the bathroom himself.

You slid under the duvet laid out, and shifted the pillow beneath your head, making yourself comfortable.

Brian returned, and began extinguishing the candles around the room.

Finally, a soft shuffling sound announced that he had laid down beside you, and you released a breath of relief, knowing you could soon go to sleep and forget the awkwardness you were so adept at in your conscious state.

But then you noticed that Brian, in his flannel pyjama trousers and t-shirt, was going to sleep with only a single blanket pulled over him; he’d let you have the duvet without a word.

You weren’t about to let him freeze to death on his own living room floor.

With a courage you knew not from where, you rolled over to face Brian. Or rather, Brian’s back. He was turned away from you. He probably thought you’d already gone to sleep.

You laid your hand gently on his shoulder, and he turned slowly.

“Hey,” you murmured, as his eyes met yours. “Sleepover?” You offered the duvet, a gift of peaceable intentions.

He smiled softly, and accepted with grace. But it was a stretch, with how far he lay from you.

“Oh, come here,” you said, and draped your arm over his lithe waist, drawing him closer to you. A little wine-tipsy and a little tired, a little cold, a little lonely, you nestled your cheek against his chest, your hands against warm skin beneath thin fabric.

Slowly, his arms wrapped around you too, and you breathed a soft sigh against his skin.

“Is this alright?” he asked carefully.

In silent response, you lifted your head, and kissed his pretty lips.

He reciprocated almost immediately, his kiss sleepy but tender, and you pecked his mouth gently once more. Then you nuzzled into the crook of his neck, and touched the skin there with another caress of your lips.

“Tomorrow,” you whispered, and he ghosted a kiss upon your temple.

“I can wait for tomorrow,” he said.

And soon you both drifted off, you in warmth and contentment, and Brian dreaming of you.

#s&t celebrate #tina's writing #brian may x reader #fic

94 notes · View notes

remywrites5 · 4 years

Text

Remus looked at himself in the mirror as he brushed his teeth. He really needed to get more sleep, the bags under his eyes had taken up permanent residence there, and his roots were starting to come in. He spat into the sink and then rinsed his toothbrush off. When he glanced back up at himself, there was the same harrowing reflection staring back. He needed to at least re-dye his hair pink or else pick a different colour.

He’d dyed it pink on a whim after his last breakup. He thought maybe going from his usual tawny curls to something else would make him more exciting, more cheerful, more something. “Why are you never smiling?” Benjy had asked Remus all the time. As if Remus should just constantly be smiling like some kind of insane person.

Remus walked over to his desk and flopped into his rolling chair. He sat with one leg bent up towards his chest and hunched over his tablet. The thing was so old it was practically a dinosaur. The program he used to draw on was always crashing – causing Remus to do almost constant saving. Drawing web comics wasn’t exactly the most lucrative use of his art degree, but it paid the bills.

There was some sort of ungodly sound outside and then the distinct clatter of something breaking. Remus jumped to his feet in surprise, wondering if someone had climbed up to his flat to murder him. Two shadows appeared at his door and then one of them knocked. Well, if they were murderers, they were of the polite variety.

Remus walked over tentatively, his pen for his tablet still in his hand as his only means of defense. He figured at the least maybe he could poke a few eyes.

“I don’t think anyone is home.”

“He has to be home. I haven’t seen him leave the house in days.”

“Hmm, paying close attention, are we?”

“Shut up, Jamie.”

“Ow!”

Confused, Remus opened the door to find two guys standing on the other side. The dark-skinned one with glasses immediately smiled, while the pale one with long dark hair kept his face neutral.

“Hiya! I’m James and this is Sirius,” James said, moving what was in his hand so that he could wave. “We run the bakery downstairs. We just came to introduce ourselves and bring you these!”

Remus took the container when James offered it, still a little bit stunned by the whole thing, and opened it up. Inside was an assortment of baked goods. “Oh. Thank you,” Remus said, a little bit at a loss for words. “This is really nice.”

Remus was suddenly struck by the fact that two very attractive men were on his doorstep and Remus was wearing the same hoodie he’d worn for three days. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d put on deodorant. Embarrassed beyond belief, Remus felt his cheeks flush.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” James prompted his friend, shoving at Sirius’ shoulder.

“Hi,” Sirius said, running his fingers through his shoulder-length hair.

Remus swallowed thickly and quickly put the container of goodies down. He didn’t trust his shaking hands not to drop them. “Nice to meet you.”

“Whoa, are you an artist?” James asked, noticing the pen in Remus’ hand. “Do you think you could design something for us?”

“James, don’t impose,” Sirius said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I’m not imposing!” James insisted, turning and shooting Sirius a look. “We’ll pay for the work. It’s just right now our menus are so bland! They don’t really say ‘Padfoot and Prongs’ Patisserie.”

“That’s a fancy name,” Remus said, tucking the pen behind his ear so that he could shove his hands in his pockets. Suddenly they’d gotten all sweaty.

“Yeah well, this wanker is half French, so he wouldn’t let me call it a pastry shop,” James said teasingly. “By the way, you haven’t told us your name.”

“Oh,” Remus said, realizing that James was right. He shuffled his feet slightly and kind of wished James and Sirius would leave. He hadn’t had such a long social interaction in months. This was getting to be a bit much, and James’ enthusiasm was draining. “Remus. Remus Lupin.”

“So do you think you can design something for our menus?” James asked excitedly, his hazel eyes big behind his glasses.

“Um, sure, I’ll take a stab at it,” Remus offered, even though he kind of didn’t want to. He had deadlines to meet and he was already a little behind. But then James and Sirius had brought him baked goods without having even met Remus before. Besides, how hard could designing a menu be?

“Great!” James said, slapping Sirius on the back. “Isn’t that great, Padfoot?”

Sirius sighed. “Sure is.”

Remus pulled out his wallet and handed James one of his business cards. It had been Benjy’s idea that Remus get them. This was only the second Remus had even given out. The first one had been given the Benjy. What a waste of money.

“My email is at the bottom,” Remus explained, pointing to it on the card. “Just send me the details of what you want and I’ll work something up.”

Sirius tilted his head to the side. “What are your rates?”

“Um…” Fuck, Remus hadn’t exactly thought about it. He knew what he charged per page on his web comic but this was completely different. “How about you just, um, let me get a free baked good from time to time and we’ll call it even?”

“Of course!” James said, nodding emphatically.

“Hold on,” Sirius interjected, putting his hand up to stop James. “For the rest of time you want free shit from us? Just for a doodle?”

“Sirius –“ James cut in, his face slightly aghast at his friend’s harsh tone.

“I – I won’t abuse it or anything,” Remus said, feeling his face heat. Christ, the way Sirius was looking at him made him nervous. “It won’t be every day or anything like that.”

Sirius huffed and turned his face away. “Fine. But I reserve the right to cut you off.”

“Okay.”

“Perfect,” James said, tugging on Sirius’ arm. “We should get back downstairs. We’ve still got a lot to do before we open. I’ll email you later, Remus!”

“Sounds good,” Remus said, waving after them as they started down the fire escape. The moment he closed the door, he felt like he could breathe a little easier. He didn’t know what Sirius’ problem was, but the fewer interactions Remus had with him the better.

***

Remus finished up the latest update for his comic and sat back with a groan. It was already 10:30 at night and Remus hadn’t had any dinner. For once he had been in a good flow and hadn’t wanted to stop. Now his stomach was so empty it hurt. He couldn’t remember eating breakfast either.

He walked over to where he had left the baked good James had dropped off and carried the container into bed. He sat munching on them as he scrolled through his phone. He had eaten about half of them when he remembered James was supposed to contact him. He pulled up his email and sure enough there was a message from James Potter.

Apparently they wanted something kind of classy involving a buck and a black dog. Remus was intrigued, and popped a custard crème into his mouth. Their stuff really was mouth-wateringly good. Remus was glad he had asked for pastries instead of cash. While he could use the money, he tended to live on instant noodles and bacon sandwiches. Having something from the bakery from time to time would be a real treat.

***

Remus’ flat was on the top floor of the building and it meant he had almost exclusive rooftop access. He hadn’t done much with it except put out a table and two chairs. He really only went out there to smoke anyway. He stood by the side of the roof with his elbows on the ledge, watching the street below, his cigarette resting between his lips.

Sirius exited the bakery and walked down the side alley of the building. He seemed to be having a heated discussion with someone on the phone. Remus felt himself tracking Sirius with his eyes, even though he didn’t mean to.

“Damn it, Reg, I already told you –“ Sirius seemed to be cut off by the other person on the phone. “I don’t care if they cut me off. I’m not going on a blind date that my mum set up with a woman! I haven’t lived in that house for five years and she still thinks she can control me. Now she’s even roping you into it.”

Remus felt a bit bad for eavesdropping, but the street was relatively quiet at that time of day, so it was difficult not to hear. Remus wondered why Sirius had said woman like that, as if he were offended by being set up with someone female. Remus didn’t want to get his hopes up that Sirius might also be gay. Thinking that was a dangerous route to go down. He tried to finish up his cigarette and go back inside before he was spotted, but it seemed Sirius was done with his conversation. He dropped his phone by his side and looked up at the sky. His eyes seemed to immediately land on Remus and Remus felt his cheeks heat up in response. He took a slow drag of his ciggy and let it out, letting his eyes drift away as if he hadn’t just been staring.

He wasn’t wholly surprised when he heard footsteps making their way up the fire escape. He finished his cigarette and lit another one. He usually didn’t chain smoke like this, considering all the nicotine often made him dizzy, due to how little he ate most days. He turned when Sirius made it onto the roof and somehow managed to meet Sirius’ accusing stare.

“How much of that did you hear?” Sirius asked, slipping his phone into his pocket.

Remus scratched his cheek with his free hand. “Uh, the whole thing?”

Sirius sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Can I bum one of those?”

Remus opened the pack and shook one out towards Sirius. Sirius slid it between his lips and leaned in when Remus flicked the lighter to light it. Remus hadn’t noticed it the first time they met, but Sirius had grey eyes. Remus had never seen someone with eyes like that before.

Remus had no idea what to say, so he just continued smoking, watching Sirius out of his peripheral vision. It was a little awkward, but not unbearably so, and it seemed Sirius was happy to smoke in silence. Sirius’ apron was covered in flour, and what Remus hoped was jam of some kind. not something more nefarious based on its red colour. The last thing he needed was a Sweeney Todd situation in his building.

Remus and Sirius finished their cigarettes at the same time and both killed them in the ashtray. They were standing so close, should to shoulder, and Remus had no idea why that made his heart race. He turned towards Sirius in order to say his goodbyes, and suddenly Sirius was even closer.

“Well, I should –“

Remus didn’t finish that sentence as Sirius was leaning in. He was moving with intent and his lips just barely brushed against Remus’. Remus gasped, the sound getting swallowed up as Sirius’ lips pressed more firmly against Remus’. Remus let himself enjoy it for a moment, Christ, it had been so long since he’d kissed someone, before he brought himself back to his sense.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, pushing Sirius away.

Sirius’ eyes searched Remus’ for a moment and then he took another step back. “Fuck, I – I’m sorry. I don’t even have an excuse.”

Remus grinned as he watched Sirius flounder for a moment. He decided to let Sirius off the hook. It was just a little kiss after all. “Hey, I’m almost done with the menu design. Do you want to see it?”

The tension in Sirius’ shoulders ebbed at Remus’ offer. “Yeah, sure.”

Remus told Sirius to sit down at the little table while Remus went inside to get his tablet. He brought it out and sat down across from Sirius. He opened up the menu design and placed it in front of Sirus. He was actually a little nervous as Sirius looked it over. It was a buck and a dog running through a forest surrounded by berry bushes. James had explained in the email that their homemade jam was a huge selling point for them and they wanted the menu to emphasize that.

“It’s not too dark, is it?” Remus asked, chewing his bottom lip.

“No, I think it’s perfect.” Sirius glanced up, and for the first time Remus had seen, Sirius smiled. “We’re doing a soft opening in two days. You should come.”

“Will I have to pay?” Remus teased, resting his chin in his hand and looking at Sirius.

Sirius laughed. “Fine, you don’t have to pay. What kind of pastry do you like best? I’ll make it for you.”

Remus considered it for a moment. “Jammy dodgers.”

Sirius’ grin widened. “You got it.”

***

Remus went to the soft opening, even though he hadn’t been around that many people in a while, and it put his social anxiety through the roof. He met James’ wife, Lily, and their son, Harry. He also met quite a few of James and Sirius’ closest friends. Even though everyone was very nice, Remus couldn’t help feeling a bit like an outsider.

However, Remus didn’t miss the way that his jammy dodgers seemed to be the only ones with little hearts in the middle. That knowledge alone was enough to make him stick around.

***

Remus was in trouble. His web comic was about a werewolf and a vampire that fell in love with each other. The werewolf character struck a striking resemblance to Remus, although the character had Remus’ original hair colour. The idea had come to him based on his name. The vampire character, however, had short dark hair and red eyes. Yet, whenever Remus found himself drawing him, his hair seemed to be getting progressively longer for no discernable reason and his eyes seemed to be grey.

It didn’t help that Remus saw Sirius pretty much every day. During his lunch break, Sirius would bring up something from the bakery, and they would sit together at the little table and eat and smoke. Remus had gotten to know Sirius, little by little, cracking away at Sirius’ shell to the gooey center underneath. Despite his first impression of Sirius, and his original cold exterior, Remus found the man himself was mushy and romantic and sweet.

Remus told Sirius about the fact that he’d always meant to make a little rooftop garden, but as of yet hadn’t really gotten around to buying any plants. Sirius showed up the next day with a little tree.

“It’s called Dogwood,” he’d said with a knowing grin. He had continued to buy Remus several flowers and plants since then. He’d even brought some herbs for cooking, even though Remus insisted he didn’t really cook. Every time Sirius and Remus found a place for the new plant, Sirius would get that same smile. A smile that had started to cause butterflies in Remus’ stomach.

There was no talk about the conversation Remus had overheard or of the kiss they’d shared. Remus figured both topics were off limits.

Maybe that’s why he couldn’t get Sirius out of his head.

***

Remus dropped his head back and groaned. “I told you if you didn’t stop me I would eat all six éclairs.”

“An impressive feat,” Sirius said, grinning behind his wine glass as he took a sip.

“I hate you,” Remus said, scrubbing his hand over his face. He was starting to sweat a bit from overeating. “I’m going to put on so much weight.”

“You could use some more meat on your bones,” Sirius responded with a shrug. “You barely eat as it is.”

“I was right, this is a Sweeney Todd situation, you’re fattening me up to put me in a pie,” Remus bemoaned, clutching his stomach. That last éclair had really done him in.

“We don’t even serve meat pies at the bakery,” Sirius said in amusement. “I think you’re safe.”

“I’m not buying it,” Remus said, staring at Sirius accusingly. “Why else would you bring me all these sweets?”

Sirius glanced away, twirling his wine glass between his fingers. “For an excuse to come see you.”

“Oh,” Remus said, a blush rising to his cheeks. “Really?”

Sirius stood up and walked over to Remus, placing his hand on the back of Remus’ chair, and leaning into him. “So, I made a mess of our first kiss. Think you might let me try again?”

“Um.” Remus stared up at Sirius and let out a shaky breath. “Yes. W-we can do that.”

Sirius slid his fingers through Remus’ curls until his hand came to rest at the back of Remus’ head. Then he guided their lips together into a soft kiss. Remus opened his mouth first, and Sirius was quick to follow suit, their tongues meeting in a mixture of chocolate, wine and cigarettes. Remus eagerly chased the taste from Sirius’ mouth.

Sirius pulled back after a few life-altering moments. Remus felt his eyes flutter open to find that Sirius was smiling at him. God, Remus loved it when Sirius smiled. “I could eat you up, I really could,” Sirius sang softly.

Remus busted out laughing. “Do not sing Sweeney Todd at me when you’re trying to be romantic.”

Sirius chuckled and pulled Remus up into a hug. “Noted. Should I just tell you I love you then?”

Remus hugged Sirius back, burying his face in Sirius’ neck, ignoring the deep blush currently on his face. “I-I think that would work.”

“Well?” Sirius asked expectantly, turning his face and pressing a kiss to Remus’ forehead.

Remus hugged Sirius tighter. “I love you too.”

Remus stood there, in a moment so like a fairy tale that he didn’t want it to end, wishing he could freeze time. He stood in the moonlight, embracing the man he had come to adore, surrounded by all the plants Sirius had bought just for him. It felt like more than Remus deserved, but he wasn’t about to let it go. He could only hope the next moment would be just as sweet.

#wolfstar #I write things #fluff #bakery au #can you tell I just read The Baker On the First Floor?#sirius black x remus lupin #I don't know why there's so many sweeney todd references in this #they just kind of happened #long post #background jily #pink haired Remus inspired by Fel #artist Remus #baker Sirius #smoking

206 notes · View notes

yet-another-fan-girl9 · 4 years

Text

Inhuman (1)

Summary: All beings in the universe have a soulmate except for Midgardians. People can hear their soulmate in their heads. For almost five hundred and fifty years, Loki believed that he had no soulmate until 1513 when a Midgardian princess was born. Will fate be kind to them or will the universe tear them apart?

Warnings: violence, language, hella historical inaccuracies (I tried to do research but then got lazy), maybe some AOS season 2 spoilers(?)

Word Count: ~3400

A/N: Yay! The re-write is here! I changed it so now there are flashbacks and stuff and the chapters are longer! I’m also posting this chapter a day early because of reasons. Anyways, enjoy!

[New York, New York, March 2024]

‘Soulmates?’ You had never heard of the concept.

‘We are destined to be together. The universe made it so.’

You shot up in bed, a light sheen of sweat covered your body. Loki’s words replayed over and over in your head. You hadn’t heard his actual voice in so long but it was still as clear as if he was speaking to you now. It had been twelve years since you had seen him in Germany and he had tried to take over.

‘We are destined to be together.’

The words echoed in your mind. ‘Destined’ huh? Well, if you’d learned anything from the past four hundred and eighty-six years that you were not with Loki, it’s that the universe does a shit job at keeping you together. You ran your fingers through your hair, easily smoothing out the tangled mess. It was too early to think about Loki.

You slipped out of the silk sheets that covered your king-sized bed in your two-level, top floor Upper East Side penthouse. You were very proud of how far you had come. The view was amazing. You could see some of Central Park from one side and the stereotypical New York skyline from another.

As you walked out of your room, you caught your reflection in one of your full-sized mirrors. And that was definitely a nice view. When you came out of Terrigenesis almost five hundred years ago, you quickly discovered that you were now the blueprint for a perfect person. Straight, white teeth, surprisingly tameable hair, and clear, unblemished skin were some of the visually obvious changes. In addition to your perfected looks, you had increased senses, healing, strength, endurance, and your favorite, pain tolerance. Oh, and don’t forget you basically look twenty-five forever.

You checked your phone while you made breakfast in the kitchen downstairs. There were a couple of emails from your employees on their latest jobs. You opened one from Max, your right-hand man. You were reading over some job offers he had handpicked for you when you got a text from the man himself.

Bringing up some donuts!

Max was the only person from work to have access to your penthouse. He was your best friend. The two of you had met when you were at Afterlife nearly fifteen years ago. He was an Inhuman as well. All of your employees were Inhumans, using their specialties to carry out their jobs. Max had the power to change surfaces. It was a strange power, but he had learned to make it very useful. He could cause his pursuers to slip on the suddenly ice-like ground or climb up a glass skyscraper.

“Hello, bitch! I brought donuts!” Max called from the elevator.

“I’m in the kitchen!”

Max walked in holding the goods. He always wore eccentric color-coordinated outfits. Even the times you saw him in stealth mode, he had to have some lace or frill somewhere. Today he wore a mixture of neon green and pink with matching eyeliner.

“Are Cosmo and Wanda disguising themselves as your clothes?” you asked.

“Haha,” he deadpanned. “I knew you were going to say something like that. You’re so fucking funny. Soo…” He plopped the three large donut boxes onto your kitchen counter. “Have you heard of the Avenger’s new quote-unquote recruit?”

“Um, I think it’s your job to keep tabs on heroes.” You opened the nearest box and happily pulled out your favorite donut.

“Okay. Number one: I’m not speaking to you as your right-hand, right now, but as your friend.” He held up his finger. “Number two: it’s not really a job if I do it in my free time anyways. You’re paying me to do something that I do on an hourly basis.”

“You stalk the Avengers on an hourly basis?”

“No? Anyways, number three: it’s Thor’s brother. It’s your Loki.”

“What the fuck?” you choke on your donut. Max was the only person who knew you that you and Loki had a history. And that’s all he knew. Nothing about soulmates or all that shit. “What the fuck, Max? Did you try to use donuts to soften the blow? Stop laughing.”

“I-I wish I had caught that reaction on camera,” he said in between fits of giggles.

“Haha,” it was your turn to deadpan. “Fuck, man. I guess we just have to double our efforts to keep ourselves off of their radar.”

“Do you think they’ve forgiven him for New York?” Max composed himself.

“I mean, they must have if they’re letting him join the team.” You chanced another bite of your donut.

“But lots of people haven’t.”

“Lots of people still haven’t forgiven Barnes,” you pointed out. You didn’t know when or why Loki had attacked New York. That Loki was nothing like the man who you had grown to love back in the 1500s. But you were nothing like that girl either.

“Have you chosen a new job from the list I sent you?” he changed the subject.

“No, not yet, and you have a little…” you motioned to the corner of your mouth.

Max got the hint and wiped some powder off of his mouth. You noticed the sprinkling of grey that was mixed into his curly black hair. He displayed the last fifteen years proudly while you remained unchanged. Max was the closest you’ve been to someone in a long time, and just like everyone before him, you would outlive him. But you would remember him. You remembered everyone. You remembered everything.

Right now, you thought of Agnes, your first real friend. She was your handmaiden and you had met right before everything went to shit. She had helped you cope after you underwent Terrigenesis, although you hadn’t known what it was back then. She had helped you run away and even died for you. You had only known her for nine years, but you compared everyone to her. Max held second place, right after Agnes.

“I think we should take the Senator’s offer,” Max said, jolting you out of your memories. He pulled up the offer on his iPad. “One million to off his upcoming competition.”

“Damn,” you whistled. “He’s desperate, isn’t he? Is there a deadline?”

“No, but I assume we should get it done quickly.”

“Send over the info.”

🌹

You shoved the flower into Jake Morano’s mouth. Blood from the bullet wound in his forehead trickled down until it turned the perfect, white rose red. You snapped a quick photo on your burner phone to send to the Senator as confirmation. With a huff, you looked around the apartment. Mr. Anderson had put up a fight, although it didn’t do anything to deter you and Max. A few glass awards were in pieces on the hardwood floor, family pictures were shattered, and the wall behind you held a couple of bullets from Anderson’s gun.

“All good?” Max asked from his location by the computer. He was deleting all footage of you being there. And everything else, just to be safe.

“Yep.” You walked over to him, your boots making a satisfying clicking on the ground, and proudly displayed the picture of the dead body. “Got the confirmation picture for the Senator. How’s it coming?”

“Almost… there. We’re good to go.”

The two of you left in your favorite black Lamborghini. Unfortunately, you actually had to drive places now that Gordon was dead. You followed his advice, though, and bought a plane along with four other sports cars, a helicopter, and a couple of motorcycles. You knew how to operate every single one of them. What else were you supposed to do except for establishing your contract killing empire?

🌹

Loki stood in the middle of his assigned room with his hands on his hips. It certainly was much nicer than the last prison the Avengers had kept him in. They may say it wasn’t a prison but the twenty-four-hour surveillance from Stark’s new AI said otherwise. Even though it was nicer than the shitty glass cylinder from twelve years ago, it was empty. Thor had shown Loki the few things in his room: books, photographs, and his own goddamned merchandise.

Would Loki have his own merchandise one day? Everyone was redeemable as shown by Romanoff and Barnes. Maybe there would be plastic replicas of his helmet? No, Loki thought that was stupid. Only heroes got merchandise and heroes had to show up to events and sponsor health drinks or whatever the fuck they do. Heroes had to be nice.

Nothing good ever came from being on Midgard. Most recently, there was his father dying, although what followed was worse. Before that was the attack he had been forced to make on the city. And the first time he had ever come to Midgard had ended with disappointment and heartbreak.

Loki sighed and waved his hand to conjure green and gold accents, sheets, and blankets. At least there was color in the room now. No doubt the AI had reported that he had used his magic. He hoped it had also told them that all he did was improve the room, he didn’t need anyone talking to him at the moment.

“Good afternoon, Reindeer Games,” the AI echoed through the room. Loki glowered at the sound of Stark’s nickname. “There is a meeting in Conference Room Five that the entire team is required to attend.”

Loki hadn’t the faintest fucking idea where the conference rooms were. He left his room and caught sight of his brother and the Valkyrie. The God of Mischief followed the pair down to where the meeting was taking place. Did he really want to go? If he wanted to be part of the team he would have to. He preferred the Revengers, though. While it had lasted. It was smaller.

Everyone was sitting around the long table. Of course, Loki would be the last to arrive. Stark and Barton both glared at him when he entered. Understandable. Romanoff remained impassive, but Loki knew she would bash his head in the first chance she got. Rogers had to remain positive that Loki could be redeemed because if the Norse God could redeem himself, then so could Barnes. Bruce had warmed up to Loki on the journey to Midgard. None of the newer members of the team outright hated him, but they were still cautious around him.

Loki found himself sitting in between his brother and Bruce. Stark went up to the screen at the front and everyone fell silent.

“This is Jake Morano.” The screen turned on to show a dead man with a rose stuffed in his mouth. “He was going to run for Senator against this guy.” The screen changed. “This guy is William Anderson, a very corrupt Senator. In the last month, Morano began to gain a lot of support including a sponsor from us. Well, a sponsor from me in the name of the Avengers.”

“Are you implying that Anderson killed Morano?” Rogers asked.

“I’m saying that Anderson hired someone to kill Morano.” The screen changed again to display multiple bodies left with a rose in their mouths. “I had F.R.I.D.A.Y. do a quick search of bodies with roses found in their mouths and we found a shocking amount of similar deaths. The first ones dating back to the nineteen twenties. More recently, some of the deaths have happened at the same time on opposite sides of the globe. Deaths include, but are not limited to, shooting, stabbing, poisoning, drowning, burning, missing organs, being found stuck in a wall, and looking like a suicide. They all have a white rose soaked in blood in their mouths.”

“Are you sure it isn’t a serial killer?” Wilson questioned.

“Yeah, it’s probably not the same guy,” Romanoff pointed out. “Especially if it goes back to before Steve looked like that.”

“It’s gotta be an organization,” Barnes guessed. “Been around for a while, a couple of deaths happening at the same time, and one constant MO.”

“Loki?” Everyone looked at the God of Mischief when Stark said his name. “You’re technically a part of this team now. What’s your opinion?”

“Barnes is probably right,” Loki said after a moment’s hesitation. “The locations are all over the place and there are many different ways the victims met their demise.”

They nodded and Loki returned to silence.

“Alright, game plan.” Stark clapped his hands. “We have to get Anderson into an interrogation room. Round one is the good cops: Steve and Sam. When he doesn’t crack, and he won’t, we up the intensity. Nat and the Manchurian Candidate will do some intimidation. If he still doesn’t crack we can send in Wanda, or even Reindeer Games if she’s not comfortable, to search his mind.”

“Are all Midgardian politics like that?” Loki heard the Valkyrie ask Thor after the meeting. Thor only shrugged so she turned to Bruce.

“I mean, I haven't been here in a while but it’s always kinda been fucked up.”

Only an hour after the meeting, Anderson took out one million dollars in cash. Stark tracked him to a small cafe where he was going to, no doubt, pay the assassin. The team rallied, but of course, Loki wasn’t going. Apparently, he wasn’t ‘cleared’ yet. The only other people staying behind were the Valkyrie, Thor, and Barton due to a recent injury.

Loki went to his room to sulk, although he told everyone he was thinking. He didn’t want to be here. Maybe he wanted to go somewhere that reminded him of home with tall buildings that reached the sky…

🌹

"Hello, (Y/N)." Loki’s voice was as smooth as it was in your head, but it was different. The only way you could describe it was that it was solid. It felt less intimate. Like he could bless others with his words, but it was more special because he was here.

"Loki," you breathed.

"You look more beautiful than I ever could imagine." He stepped closer.

You touched your hair self-consciously. There were multiple knots, and it probably looked like one of those bird nests the dogs always knocked out of trees. You had woken up in a hurry and your hair being trapped in the hood of your cloak probably didn't help.

Then it occurred to you that you were wearing only your nightgown, and you tightly wrapped your cloak around yourself. Loki wouldn’t hurt you, but no man has seen you in an outfit so revealing. Still, you took another step closer.

"I do not know what to say." Fortunately, your voice didn’t shake or waver as you had feared, but Loki could probably feel your nervousness.

You both took a final step closer. You reached up and cupped Loki's face in your hand which tingled slightly when you made contact. You admired his sharp features and bright blue-green eyes. Then you shivered in the cold winter air. Loki noticed and pulled you into a hug. You leaned into him and felt a shiver, a different, better shiver, shoot through your body.

“You’re real.” Your soft voice was almost lost in the biting wind. “I was so scared that I was dreaming.”

Another goddamned dream about Loki? You groaned into your pillow and pushed a few damp strands of hair away from your face. Why now, all of a sudden? Was it because he was so close? Just a few hours upstate in the Avenger’s compound.

Pushing the dream aside, you stretched and got ready for the day. You had sent the photo to the Senator, who you had learned was very fucking corrupted, and he replied with a location. That changed your plans a bit, you hadn't physically met a client in decades, but it was for the better for multiple reasons.

The first reason was that the cafe he had chosen was next to a flower shop where you got your supply of roses. The second reason was that it meant his apartment would be empty. While you went to get the money, and eventually kill Senator Anderson, Max was going to rob his house. It wasn’t something you’d usually do, but honestly, the shitty asshole deserved it.

Your lips were painted red and you wore your usual boots and a leather jacket. Your regular hair was hidden behind a pink and green wig, courtesy of Max. A baseball cap and large sunglasses further hid your appearance. Though if somebody knew your face, the hat and glasses did nothing. There were multiple knives hidden on your body as well as a handgun tucked into your waistband and a pocket pistol in your, well, pocket.

As you walked into the cafe, Izzy, the auburn-haired florist, nodded to you. She had Botanokinesis, plant manipulation, so your supply of white roses was never low. Every once in a while, Izzy would take a job but she had told you she was very happy in her shop.

You noticed the Senator immediately. He still wore a suit and the sunglasses did nothing to hide his identity. There were two young women behind the counter and you suspected that the four other ‘customers’ were too buff not to be the Senator’s security. Anderson had his back to the door which meant you would have to get past his security to get out. You zeroed in on the black briefcase on the ground by his feet.

“Senator,” you greeted and sat down across from him.

“You can’t possibly be the one I talked to,” the asshole replied. “You’re just a girl.”

“Well of course I couldn’t be,” you rolled your eyes behind your heavily tinted glasses. “My boss is too busy and smart to meet you in public.” He didn’t notice your sarcasm. You pulled out the burner phone and showed him the messages as proof. “Now, I’m also busy so if we can get this over with?”

“Sure, darling.” He put the briefcase flat on the table and pushed it towards you.

“Open it.” Even though small boobie traps wouldn’t hurt you much, it wasn’t a piece of information you wanted to give him.

Anderson sighed and complied. Then you turned it around to quickly inspect the contents. One thousand one hundred dollar bills. Hello Mr. Franklin. You nodded in satisfaction and comically rubbed your hands together to inconspicuously grab a knife that was hidden up your sleeve.

“Thank you, Senator. That will be all.”

You closed the case, stood up, and plunged your knife deep into his left carotid artery. As his security descended upon you, you pulled the knife out and his neck satisfyingly squirted blood. The Senator collapsed with his hands clutching his wound desperately. The pool of blood rapidly grew underneath him.

The two baristas screamed behind the counter and the Senator’s security drew their guns. You flipped the small table for cover as bullets pierced the cafe’s window behind you. Perfect. Just a bit more.

You pulled out the handgun from your waistband and with practiced ease, shot three of the four goons. The last one got the bloodied knife to the face. You elbowed the already damaged window and it finally broke, raining glass down on you. Ignoring the small cuts, you jumped out of the cafe through the window as a familiar red and gold suit landed in front of you. Why the fuck were the Avengers here? What about Loki?

You darted into Izzy’s shop and she played her part well, screaming that you had run out the back when you had actually gone into the side room. You listened as the Avengers followed her directions. One person, maybe it was the Black Widow, stayed behind to help calm down the seemingly hysterical Izzy. If she wasn’t so happy at her shop and she didn’t want to work directly for you, she could be a great actress.

You rolled back the rug on the ground to reveal a metal trapdoor. You entered the code to unlock it and climbed down into the darkness. Behind you, you heard the trapdoor’s magnetic lock click back into place. Two centuries ago, you had tunnels dug underneath Manhattan, Brooklyn, and Queens for easy getaways. If you went… that way, you would end up in Sandra’s souvenir shop which was a couple of blocks away from your penthouse.

With a million dollars in one hand and a handgun in the other, you walked down the concrete tunnel.

Taglist:

@kaithehero @liliannyah @andreasworlsboring101 @oatballsoffury @aberrant-annie

#inhuman #loki x reader #loki x soulmate reader #loki #mcu #marvel #avengers #Captain america #steve rogers #iron man #tony stark #hawkeye #clint barton #natasha romanoff #black widow #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch

82 notes · View notes

monstersandmaw · 4 years

Text

Embers - Male dragon shifter x reader, Chapter Five! (sfw)

So... this was supposed to go up on Friday but no one reminded me and I’m clearly not able to set a weekly reminder like an actual adult.

Hope you’re still enjoying this weekly series... Don’t forget to show me it some love if you are.

And I seem to have thrown my 'short chapters/800 words only' thing out of the window. This one is the longest so far, at 2455 words long. *rolls eyes at self*.

One, Two, Three, Four

An entire week passed without word from Mikaeïl. You had almost given up on the whole commission for this departmental murder mystery dinner, when one lunchtime your phone buzzed and you answered with barely a glance away from what you were doing. With a searingly important deadline looming for work, your stress levels were possibly at their highest since university finals, and you had been staring at the computer screen for what felt like days without a break.

“Yeah?” you barked, still tweaking the design while holding the phone with your other hand.

“It’s Mikaeïl,” came a surprisingly shy, male voice at the other end. “Is now a bad time?”

Your heart skipped a beat or two and you grinned despite the lingering frustration that the design wasn’t looking anywhere near ‘there’ yet. “No, not at all,” you smiled, “I’m at work, but I’d much rather talk to you.”

That seemed to fluster him a little, but he cleared his throat and said, “Well… I spoke with the department and showed them your preliminary design. They loved it and are very happy to commission you to do the posters for the event.”

“Fantastic!” you grinned, genuinely thrilled to have a more exiting project to work on than this steaming pile of minotaur shit currently sitting on your computer.

“I thought we might discuss it in more detail when you bring Celia over on Friday...” he said, his softly-articulated words doing odd things to your insides and heartbeat. You could imagine him standing amongst his hoard of plants, one arm folded protectively across his slim chest as he stood, ramrod straight, surveying the gardens beyond.

A second after that image had flashed through your mind, you realised that it wasn’t your turn to being Celia to her flute lesson that week. When you said as much, he sighed and said, “Never mind.”

“I mean... Celia doesn’t have to be my only reason to come over and see you, does she?” you asked playfully, doodling with the stylus on a new layer of the design. As you listened to him speak, his eyes began to stare out at you from the screen as you drew them, all distant and guarded, but glittering and somehow soft all the same.

“No,” he said slowly, the slight smile audible in his rich voice. “No, of course not. I’m rather busy with work this week, and I’m presenting a paper at a conference on Thursday, but if you’re alright to meet up in town instead during the week we could do that?”

“Stickybeaks?” you suggested, thinking of the cafe where you’d first met him.

He clearly along the same lines because he gave that sonorous chuckle that made your stomach churn pleasurably. “Perfect. What day suits you? I’m free most days after five, except this Thursday.”

“Friday?” you suggested. “I think Stickybeaks stays open til seven. We could have an early supper? That way you can tell me all about the conference too, if you like.”

“I wouldn’t want to bore you,” he said reflexively.

“Oh, I think you’d have to work quite hard to bore me. I’m really quite a curious person...”

There was something melancholic about the tone of his clipped response. “If you say so,” was all he said. “Well, Friday works well for me. Shall I meet you there at half past five? That will give me enough time to walk over from the department.”

“Perfect. Looking forward to it.”

A beat too late, he said with a slight crack in his voice, “So am I.”

You rushed out of work that Friday and ended up getting to the cafe way too early, so you got out your A3 sketch pad and started to draw a number of variations on the same theme that you’d doodled back at Mikaeïl’s house. When he stepped through the doorway at precisely 5.29pm, Mikaeïl glanced around, the lenses of his round glasses glinting in the low light, and when he saw you, the hard line of his tense shoulders eased just a little.

Mikaeïl nodded politely at Lidaë, who was fluttering around behind the counter as usual despite the fact that there weren’t all that many customers in at that time, and then he strode over to your place in the back corner. The pathway through the sleek, modern tables gave you the opportunity to admire the slender form of his body and the effortless grace with which he moved, almost like a dancer. Today he wore a butterscotch coloured trench coat, belted tightly at his slim waist over black skinny jeans, and his autumn-red hair was tied back in a sleek ponytail again, with the shorter sections at the front falling down to mask the full intensity of his bright golden eyes.

“Hey,” you said, half standing.

“I hope you haven’t been here long,” he said by way of a greeting and staring at your drawings again with that odd expression again.

“No, not really,” you said, awkwardly sitting back down again. “I finished work a bit earlier than usual and came straight here. I roughed out a few more designs for the poster anyway.”

“You’ve been here long enough to have finished your drink,” he said pointedly. “Can I get you another?”

You eyed your empty cup and then glanced at your watch. “I just turned in a major project that’s been bugging me for weeks,” you grinned. “I think I earned a grown up drink…”

He cocked his head slightly and the corner of his pretty mouth twitched ever so slightly to show his amusement. “Congratulations. And I think I might join you in that.”

By the time he returned, you’d shunted the sketch book to one side and once he’d set your drink down, he took his coat off to hang it on the back of his chair. It was a real effort not to stare at the beauty of his figure. Perhaps it was the artist in you, but you really noticed the strong, straight lines of his waist and thighs, his body clearly tightly corded with extremely lean muscle, and the elegant movements of his fingers as he worked the buttons of his coat.

When he was finished, he sat and shyly drew his ponytail over one shoulder, twisting the end of it between his fingertips and blinked softly at you. “What?” he asked in a breathy murmur.

“I… Uh…” you blushed, and settled on a bashful, “Nothing. Have you come straight from teaching?”

He nodded.

“Oh boy,” you laughed. “Your students must love you.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not,” he said bluntly.

“I wasn’t,” you said, feeling a heat creeping up your neck. Did he seriously not have any idea how attractive he was? “Don’t take this the wrong way then,” you said, sipping your drink and letting the warmth of the alcohol ignite a little courage in you, “But if you were my professor, I’m not sure I’d get much learning done…”

“Then I’d be failing in my duties as a teacher…”

Damn but he was hard work.

“Never mind,” you said. “How did the conference go?”

“Very well, to my surprise,” he said, holding the stem of his wine glass as if it were a rare specimen rose. He inhaled the scent of the wine before drinking, and closed his eyes briefly as he savoured it. His throat worked and you watched his sharp Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, and that newly-kindled heat in your cheeks flared a little hotter while blood rushed south away from your brain to somewhere a little less articulate.

“What was your paper on?” you managed to rasp.

He cleared his throat and swirled his wine absentmindedly around his glass. “It’s… hardly a dinner time conversation,” he said.

“What, because you study bodies and death?”

His golden gaze flicked up to meet yours. “Most people find it repulsive.”

“You’re searching for answers,” you said. “I’m sure you’re respectful about the way you treat the remains. What’s repulsive about that?”

Mikaeïl blinked, and then his hard, wary expression flickered to something a little gentler, bordering on relief. “Well, alright. I was presenting my preliminary findings on the use of MRI and CT scans to determine the presence of necromantic activity in long-dead remains…”

“That stuff shows up? Even centuries later?” you asked, instantly intrigued.

He made a side to side shake of his head. “That’s what I’m trying to find out. X-ray has been used in the past, but because any damage caused post-mortem usually presents exactly the same whether the person in question was truly alive or undead, it’s not always particularly accurate… I want to explore the use of other technology to explore the effects that necromantic magic in particular has on the body after the heart has ceased beating.”

“That’s awesome,” you breathed, and he smiled again. “Was it well received?” you asked tentatively.

“Yes, for the most part. Non-invasive examination is always preferable, so there was a deal of interest from others in the field. I even had a lich in the audience who was willing to undergo some testing, which was encouraging.”

“Did you study medicine at the university here?” you asked, and he nodded.

“Quite some while ago though,” he said. “I worked as a medical examiner for a long time.”

You frowned, and he read your next question in your eyes.

“I’m not as youthful as I look,” he said. “My kind is long lived. And before you ask, I’m just over two hundred and sixty.”

“Whoa…” Honestly, it wasn’t actually that much of a surprise, given how… ‘remote’ he seemed at times. A moment later you added with a wry smile, “You must have enjoyed watching the leaps and bounds that science has made then in the last hundred or so years! I’d love to witness something like that…”

“That’s…” he faltered into silence.

“What?”

Mikaeïl steepled his long, fingers and rested his lips against his index and middle fingertips, elbows resting on the table. “That’s… honestly not a reaction I’ve had before.”

“I don’t understand?”

With a dry chuckle, he said, “Most people - though the number is admittedly few - discover I’m old enough to be their ancestor, and they start to act strangely. Friendships have been hard to initiate, and even tougher to maintain, though I’m sure that’s partly due to my own…” he swallowed, apparently unsure of the word before settling on, “‘Quirks’.”

You shrugged. “It sucks, I’m sure, but anyone who doesn’t at least try to understand or get to know you is missing out, and probably isn’t worth the effort anyway, at least in my limited experience. Can I ask you another question though?”

As his lips hitched up on one side, he nodded. “Of course.” And with that, he seemed to relax a little more in your presence.

“Is it super rude of me to ask what you are? I had thought you were at least part tiefling, but that was literally just from the horns and the eyes.”

“A common misconception,” he said over the rim of his wineglass before he took another sip. “And one I usually let slide. But no, I am not any part tiefling. I am… my family is… that is to say…” He set his wine down, took off his glasses, and cleaned them with a little cloth that he drew from his top pocket while he said quietly, “We are dragon shifters. Wyvern, technically.”

You blinked in silence for a stunned moment. Dragon shifters were exceptionally rare these days, having been hunted ruthlessly for sport, mostly by orcs but also by humans, about five hundred years ago. They’d been massacred in droves almost to the point of extinction. “No way,” you finally breathed.

He acknowledged the truth with a brief pursing of his lips, and returned his glasses to his face. Tersely, he added, “Please don’t ask me to prove it here. I won’t fit into this corner of the cafe, and besides, shifting is a huge inconvenience to say the very least.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you said hastily. “I’m just… amazed? Surprised? Honoured?”

Mikaeïl deftly and promptly steered the conversation onto your drawings and drafts after that, and you allowed him to slide the limelight onto you. Clearly an intensely private individual, Mikaeïl had just honoured you with the truth about himself, and, curious as you were about what he might look like in his wyvern form, you respected his gift by focusing on the real reason you were there. This was not a date after all, no matter how much you wished it were.

Despite that fact, however, it was five minutes before closing time when Lidaë flitted over to you, her iridescent hummingbird’s plumage shimmering, and politely asked if you’d mind wrapping up so she could close up her cafe.

Mikaeïl startled from your conversation as if he’d suffered an electric shock. “I’m so sorry, Lidaë,” he said, standing abruptly and pushing his chair back with a decidedly ungraceful scrape on the wooden floorboards. “I had no idea it was so late.”

She patted his arm fondly and shook her head. “Never you mind, my lovely. I’m glad to see you having such a good evening.”

For the first time since you’d met him, his pale cheeks flushed and he glanced briefly at you before fumbling to pick up his coat. Once he’d slid it on, he fished out his wallet and insisted that he pay for everything.

Outside, with your bag packed and a design finalised, you looked up at him and he turned his deep, golden eyes on you. In the light from the street lamps overhead, his yellow eyes reflected the soft glow in a decidedly inhuman way, and you felt something stirring inside you again.

Feeling perhaps a little uncharacteristically bold, you reached for his shoulders, took them gently in your hands, and leaned in to kiss his smooth, cool cheek. As you withdrew, you saw that he’d gone rigid, his eyes wide with surprise. Allowing yourself a small giggle at his expense, you grinned at him.

“I’ll bring the finished design with me when I bring Celia over next Friday, if that’s ok.”

“Mmhmm,” he hummed softly.

“Looking forward to it,” you said. “And thank you again for supper.”

“My pleasure,” he croaked, bowing his head. “Sincerely.”

Tossing a final grin and a wave his way, you walked off down the street, leaving him standing there, and when you glanced back, you saw that he was walking away in the opposite direction, his fingertips just brushing his cheek where your lips had kissed his skin.

To be continued next Friday! (don’t let me forget!)

—

I really hope you folks enjoyed this one! Don’t forget to let me know if you did enjoy it by leaving a like and/or reblogging it!

For all early releases, character art and bios, upcoming story info, and much, much more, join me over on Patreon!

You’ll have access to stories before anyone else, and you’ll get instant access Patreon-only content as well, including polls and an exclusive monthly story for those on the Pixies and Goblins tier or higher!

#exophilia #dragon shifter #dragon #dragon x reader #dragon shifter x reader #weekly story #weekly series

316 notes · View notes

krreader · 5 years

Text

SEVENTEEN scenario → calling you clingy.

pairing: seventeen x reader fandom: seventeen warnings: / genre: fluff ; angst word count: 2.2k+

a/n: aaaaaah, I’m so happy I finally got to work on some more seventeen stuff so I hope you like it love!

choi seungcheol

As the leader, Seungcheol obviously had a lot of responsibilities. You knew that too. You had known that ever since you first started dating him and you respected that and were okay with it.

But you missed him a lot these days. Comeback was always hard on your relationship.

You wrapped your arms around him from behind when he was in the bathroom getting ready to leave again.

“Can you stay for a little longer? Just.. twenty minutes or something?”

Seungcheol sighed, “Please don't be clingy like this.”

You immediately stopped kissing his neck, instead you took a step back and cocked your head to the side, “Clingy? This was the first night we spent together in four weeks. One. Night. I've not complained once in the past four weeks and I'm clingy?”

“You know what I meant,” he turned around, “Don't turn this into an argument.”

“Oh, this isn't an argument, sweetheart. This is me telling you to maybe appreciate me a little more, instead of insulting me when I’ve done nothing but respect you and your job..”

“(Y/N), wait..-” he wanted to pull his own hair out when you left the bathroom, mostly because he knew you were right..

He should have thought about his words more carefully.

yoon jeonghan

He never meant to snap at you, he didn't quite know what was the reason for it, maybe the stress, maybe the exhaustion, but one second everything was fine and the next Jeonghan called you clingy and wanted you to leave him alone.

Which you obviously did, you weren't in the mood to argue.

And you knew he'd come running back to you in less than thirty minutes to apologize.

You were sitting on the couch when he entered the living room of your apartment.

“What are you doing?” he asked shyly.

“I'm on my phone,” you said nonchalantly.

“Are you.. playing that game? Pokémon Go?”

“No, the Harry Potter version,” it was clear that he wanted to make conversation, but you gave him the cold shoulder.

And it worked wonders. With a heavy sigh he dropped down on the couch next to you, “(Y/N), I am so sorry about what I said before.. I don't know what happened, but I never meant to snap at you like this, you have to believe me..-”

He continued on for about five more minutes while you just continued playing your game.

And when he was finally done you smiled at him, “It's fine, I'm not angry, I just wanted to see how worked up you'd get over this.”

His mouth was slightly ajar, then he murmured, “You're mean.”

“Only when I have to be,” you winked.

joshua hong

Joshua felt bad the second the words “Why are you so clingy today?” left his mouth and saw how hurt you were from it.

You had realized he was having a bad day and wanted to cheer him up by staying a bit longer than usual, but it clearly backfired.

“I'll just.. go then..-”

“No, no, no, wait..-” he grabbed your hand before you could do so and turned you around to pull you close, cradling your head against his chest, “I'm sorry, baby, I didn't mean to say that. I should have thought before speaking, I'm sorry.”

You forced yourself not to cry, focused on his heartbeat and nodded, slowly relaxing in his arms again.

You knew he didn't mean it.. or at least you hoped he didn't.

wen junhui

This wasn't a new argument you had. It was as if he always ended up saying the “You're clingy” line whenever he felt like shit and needed to let it out on somebody. And unfortunately, it was always you.

At this point, though, you've gotten so used to it that you simply rolled your eyes, “Whatever you say,” you continued to place the food in front of him, “Eat this.”

“No, I told you, I'm not..-”

“Stop arguing with me and just eat it. Am I your mother or your girlfriend? Jeez,” you plopped down on the couch and waited for him to eat it and of course he did. He did because he hadn't eaten a single thing today and you knew he hadn't, that's why you came here so late at night.

Not because you were clingy, but because you cared.

And once he was done, he turned around to look at you like a little child and said: “I'm sorry, (Y/N).”

“Whatever,” it was sad how used you’ve gotten to this..

kwon soonyoung

You visited him in the dance studio one night after he had been ignoring your calls for hours.

You were worried about him lately, you just wanted to make sure he was okay, but the moment he saw you, his face dropped.

“There's a reason I've not been answering my phone. Stop being so clingy, (Y/N)! I'm busy!”

You stared at him for a second, then you dropped the bag of food as well as the two bottles of water, “Well then.. sorry that I care.”

And with that you angrily left.

Soonyoung was still out of breath from dancing, then he slowly walked over to the food and smiled sadly when he saw you had bought all of his favorite things.

The smile faded though when he realized what he had just called you.. the one that cared so much about him that she'd go out of her way to bring him all of this.

“You idiot,” he muttered to himself.

jeon wonwoo

Wonwoo didn't have a lot of time as an idol, but he kept trying to squeeze seeing you into his schedule. Which, in itself, was horrible, given the fact that you were his girlfriend.

You kept texting him, asking if you could stop by tonight – like you had planned for a while – and if so, at what time.

And what you got as a reply was: “Can you stop being clingy for a while? I'm trying to figure it out.”

He did not get a reply. And after re-reading what he had sent, it was no wonder.

And you weren't surprised when he was the one that showed up with a bouquet of flowers and food that night, as well as an apologetic smile on his face.

“I have food, snacks, flowers and if you want, I can stay the night?”

“You're a bit clingy right now, you know?” you mocked him.

“I know,” he kissed your cheek, whispering an, “I'm sorry,” into your ear, then went into the kitchen.

lee jihoon

Jihoon was hardworking, but it came to a point where you rarely saw him anymore because of how much he worked and naturally, when he continuously canceled your date nights, you had to come to him at some point.

And it's not like you were staying for hours, you usually just stopped by at the studio with food, wanted to eat with him and then left again – after the occasional tumble, because yes, sex was also kind of hard to have when he was rarely at home anymore.

But today seemed to be a bad day, you noticed it the moment you walked in. He looked a lot more tense than usual.. might be because of the deadline he had coming up soon.

“Here, I wasn't sure what you wanted so I just bought a bunch of stuff. The lady at the store even gave me an extra portion because she said you needed to..-”

“(Y/N), can you just leave, please? You are way too clingy these last few weeks and right now I just don't need that, okay?” and with that sentence, he turned back around to his computer and put his headphones back on like he didn't just insult you.

Yes, it hurt, but you also knew him well enough. This wasn't the real him, this was stressed him who couldn't think straight.

So you just left the food there and went home without another word.

It was only when Jihoon was finally done and saw the food on his desk that he let out a heavy sigh and brushed his hands over his face.

He instantly texted you and apologized, asked if he could come over and talk to you about it all and also, properly apologized.

You said yes.

lee seokmin

You were at their dorm for dinner, were having a great time, your boyfriend telling a story, when he suddenly said: “Ah, (Y/N) can be so clingy sometimes.”

And boy, the awkward silence that followed after was horrible.

The rest of the boys that were eating with you all suddenly looked very interested in their dinner, Seokmin looked shocked about what he just said out loud and you stared at him with an open mouth and furrowed eyebrows.

“Excuse me?”

“I.. I didn't mean to say that, I don't know why I did..-”

You didn't want to cause a massive scene, not in front of the boys, so you just placed your napkin on the table and got up, “Then you better figure it out,” and with that you wanted to walk out of the apartment.

But Seokmin sprinted after you, chased you until he caught you at the elevator where you two started arguing.

And even though you didn't want the boys to hear, all of them stood at the door like they were watching a drama.

“Can someone get some popcorn?” Seungkwan asked, getting hit on the arm by one of his hyungs.

kim mingyu

“Do you realize that we never argue?” Mingyu asked one day out of the blue.

“Is.. that a bad thing?” you laughed, looking up from your book.

“No, it's just something that I realized today.”

“Well,” you turned to him, “Do you want to try arguing?”

“To be honest, I wouldn't even know what to argue about,” he narrowed his eyes at you, “How about.. You're clingy!” he tried to sound serious, but then instantly started laughing.. as did you.

“You're so bad at this, no wonder we don't ever argue, you have no talent for it.”

Which might not be the worst trait in the world.

xu minghao

God, did he feel bad. The second the words left his mouth, he was the one who was about to cry because he could see how much he hurt you.

“No, (Y/N). No, please don't cry,” but you already did and he instantly kissed your head and pulled you closer, “I'm sorry, I'm just so stressed lately, I shouldn't have let it out on you.”

But you already felt bad..

“I'm just.. going to leave,” you said in between sobs, but Minghao wouldn't let go of you.

“No, I don't want you to go, please stay for the night. For as long as you want. I'll miss you when you leave.”

But now he had already said the 'you're clingy' line and you just couldn't forget it.

boo seungkwan

You didn't know what started this argument, but here you two were, suddenly saying what annoyed you about the other person.

“You are so.. clingy! It's driving me nuts!”

“Oh, is that so, yeah?” you crossed your arms in front of your chest, “Would you rather me not seeing you for a while then? How about we take a break, is that what you want?”

“Fine! Go then!”

“Fine, I'll go!”

Seungkwan pouted for approximately ten seconds, until he heard the front door close, then he sprinted after you, because no, he obviously didn't want you two to take a break.

And you didn't.

You never did..

hansol vernon choi

Vernon had told you about the upcoming world tour and, naturally, you expressed that you were both happy, but also sad about it. Happy, because you knew what awesome experiences these world tours were for the boys. Sad, because world tour meant not seeing him for a very long time.

“It's because you've been so clingy lately, usually you don't mind it,” he laughed. He hadn't meant it in a bad way, but that's the way you took it.

“I've been clingy because I knew you'd leave and I wanted to at least spend a little more time with my boyfriend,” your voice showed the hurt and Vernon instantly sat up straighter when you got up.

“Wait, I didn't mean it like that.”

“I know. But the fact that this all seems to be so easy for you while I'm sitting at home missing you so badly..-” your shoulders slumped, “Makes me think you don't care about this relationship as much as I do.”

Vernon stared after you, his mouth opening and closing again because he didn't know what to say.

Why?

Because.. maybe.. you were right?

lee chan

Your relationship was still new, this was the very first argument you ever had.

And in a way, you could see why he said what he said.

Because you were clingy. But only because you were in that lovey-dovey phase.

Ultimately, it was you who gave in with a sigh and nodded, “What do you want me to do then? Should I leave?”

“No.. no, don't go, just.. understand where I'm coming from,” Chan brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, “I will reply when I can, I will come over when I can.. trust me. But some days it's just hard to do anything other than work. I need you to understand that.”

You nodded with a slight pout.

But you did understand..

#seventeen reactions #seventeen imagine #seventeen scenario #seventeen x reader #seventeen #reader #requests

420 notes · View notes

saintstrawberry · 4 years

Text

When The Night is Over/Just What I Needed

First Chapter of my first published fic is up on AO3!

Link:

Voila~ https://archiveofourown.org/works/27733207/chapters/67879633

Ships:

bokuaka, kuroken, kagehina, daisuga, daiaka

Description:

Akaashi is a struggling writer working two jobs. His high school best friend, Kenma, is a successful Youtuber/streamer who just so happens to be dating famous rapper Kuroo Tetsuro. After being convinced to go to a show for their friend Hinata’s birthday, Akaashi meets his tourmate, rising star Bokuto Koutaro.

Thank you for reading!! ❤（っ＾▿＾）

---------------

Road To Nowhere

Akaashi is only half listening as Kenma's monotone voice floods his ear. His phone is pressed up between his cheek and his shoulder as his hands work to stock cartons of milk at Sakanoshita. This is the most talkative Akaashi has heard his high school friend in quite some time. Eventually, it registers that Kenma is asking him something. Offhandedly, Akaashi makes a small sound of agreeance. He thinks they’re talking about Kuroo’s upcoming show.

“Akaashi.”

“Yes?” Akaashi hums in response.

“You’re not listening.”

He sputters into the phone in protest- despite knowing damn well he hadn’t a clue what Kenma just asked him.

“I just asked if you like Kuroo’s new single.”

“And?”

“And you said yes.”

“So? I could have liked it.”

“Akaashi. The only things you hate more than rap are unnecessary sequels and the Harry Potter books.”

“Oh,” Akaashi breathes out, taking a short break from his task and running his fingers through his hair. There is a pause as Kenma expectedly waits for an explanation.

“You know I’m at work.”

“We talk all the time when you’re at the store. You’ve been spacing out lately. it’s not like you.”

“It’s not like you to say something.”

“Yeah. Just worried about you.”

“I’m sorry Ken. I have a major deadline coming up,” Akaashi says offhandedly.

“I get it.” He knows Kenma does. His 23-year-old best friend has amassed quite a demanding following from his youtube and Livestream career. He promises content just about every other day.

“Just... uh. Try to get some sleep.” Akaashi wrinkles his nose.

“It’s weird to hear you give advice. Especially about sleep. Stop it.”

“You’re right. Anyway, if you need a break, I was planning on surprising Shou with tickets to the Tokyo show. I know it’s not your thing... It’s not exactly mine either. But it’s Kuroo’s first tour with another rapper- Hinata’s idol or something. I figured that would be a good gift for his birthday. You should be there. You know how Shouyo gets- he’ll want you there.”

He’s right. While he hasn’t known Hinata-san as long as Kenma has, the 20-year-old kid has taken quite a liking to him. Akaashi signs for the fourth time this call. Dammit Kenma, he thinks. The guy knows full and well no one can say no to Hinata.

“No.”

“’Kay. It's next Friday.”

“Sorry, Kozume,” Akaashi sighs.

“We have front row seats. Do you know how much someone would pay for these tickets?”

The older boy grits his teeth. If Kenma knows anything about his friend- it’s that he’s stingy with money.

“You already bought them?”

“Of course I did. Well, it’s Kuroo, so not really, but-”

“Find someone else, Ken. I have a lot of work to do. I’m sure Tsukishima wouldn’t mind going, he likes rap.”

“...We’re talking about Shou’s birthday, Akaashi. Not his worst nightmare.”

Akaashi grunts in response. Kenma tries a new angle.

“You know, I think you might like this other artist. I guess he used to be gunning for Japan’s Olympic team. Started getting good about two years after you quit so I don’t think you’d know him. Then he injured his knee and couldn’t play anymore, turned to music.”

“You know I don’t care for volleyball anymore,” Akaashi says flatly. Like he’s done a hundred times. He picks up another carton.

“Yeah. Think about it. For Shou. Gotta stream. See you Kaashi."

“Bye, Ken.”

Akaashi rubs his temples, already knowing the outcome of this situation. He knows Kenma’s only pressing him so much because he hates crowds. And Hinata would be too starstruck to help if something happened…

It takes more time than he’d like to admit before he notices the pool of milk forming in his lap.

“Dammit, dammit.” He mutters under his breath.

“You alright there, Keiji? You’ve been kinda zoning it all day,” his supervisor, Sugawara, offers him a wide grin and some napkins.

“Oh, yes, I’m fine, Sugawara-san. My apologies.” Akaashi begins patting himself dry.

“No problem, looks like that carton had a hole in the bottom. That’s why we have aprons!” Sugawara says cheerily. “And how many times do I have to tell you, call me Suga.”

But that’s what Daichi calls you, Akaashi thinks to himself dejectedly.

“Right. Sorry, Suga.” It even tastes weird in his mouth.

“Have a break, ‘kay, Akaashi?” Sugawara helps him to his feet. Akaashi offers a small bow.

It’d be much easier to hate his ex-boyfriend’s partner/new manager if he wasn’t so damn nice.

“Yes. Thank you very much.”

Akaashi sleeps through his lunch and a little into his shift. He wipes his eyes and adjusts his glasses, then peers at his watch.

“Shit.” He rushes back into the store from his “bed” in the storage room (two fifty pound rice bags), tying his blue apron as he goes.

“‘Morning, sleeping beauty. Welcome to the real world. I need a bagger on 3,” his younger co-worker, Tsukishima, chirps. Akaashi nods and hurries over.

“Hello, ma’am. Did you find everything you were looking for today?”

It’s around five when Akaashi ends his shift. Sugawara, the bastard, let him out thirty minutes early. He relishes in his commute- the one hour in his day he gets to sit and think about nothing. He puts his headphones on and thumbs his mp3 player. When Akaashi’s finger involuntarily stops him at a particular track, he’s launched into a memory of two winters ago.

“MP3 player, wow. You don’t, uh, you don’t see those much anymore.”

Akaashi looked up from the floor of the subway and pulled his earbuds out, shocked to be met with the eyes of a tan, well built police officer settling into the seat across from him.

“Oh sorry, officer, um, what was that?”

The man, probably just a year older than him, Akaashi guessed, looked down at his uniform as if he was surprised to be in it. Then, he chuckled, albeit quite loudly. Akaashi, wildly confused, gave the brunette man a half-smile, nudging his glasses up further on his nose.

“Oh, whew. Sorry, sorry, I just got my badge today- never been called ‘officer’ before. Sounds so official.” Akaashi gave him a small, breathy laugh.

“Anyway, I just said you don’t see those a lot nowadays- the MP3 player, I mean,” The policeman gestured to Akaashi’s lap.

“Oh, right. Just had it since I was a teenager. Cheaper than streaming services, kinda.”

“I don’t know about that. Guess it depends on what you have on it.”

Akaashi smiled, "Yeah, yeah. I guess it does.”

“Oh, what, you’re just going to leave me in suspense?”

“Take a look for yourself,” Akaashi smirked, throwing the man his device, “Just don’t steal it.” That comment prompted a proper guffaw from the officer.

“No promises… Let’s see here… Well, well, well, Glasses likes some oldies, Al Green, Etta James. Impressive. You were last listening to ‘You Send Me’- Sam Cooke.”

“It’s a classic,” Akaashi pointed out.

“That it is,” The man tossed the MP3 back to him. There was a brief silence before,

“Darling youuu send me. Honest you do, honest you do, honest you do, whoooooaaaa. You thrill me,” The stocky passenger sang roughly, staring at the ceiling. Akaashi blushed fiercely, embarrassed at his company’s sudden outburst. The man opened his mouth to sing more but was interrupted by Akaashi nudging him with his foot. The officer feigned shock.

“Stop that.”

“Am I a bad singer? I’m offended, Glasses, really.”

“You just can’t do it in public.”

“I’m a police officer, remember? I can do whatever I want.”

“Oh, is that how that works?”

“It is, actually. Pretty handy.” The man continued to the next verse, now choosing to whistle. He then stopped for a moment and looked Akaashi in the eyes.

“It’s Daichi. Officer Daichi, to you.”

Akaashi gave him a small grin.

“Akaashi. Citizen Akaashi. Not Glasses.”

“Damn, and I really thought I got that one.”

#fanfiction #haikyuu #akaashi keiji #bokuto kotarou #kuroo tetsurō #kenma kozume #kageyama tobio #hinata shoyo #kagehina #daisuga #daiaka #bokuaka #au #sugawara koushi #daichi sawamura #tsukishima kei #fanfic

8 notes · View notes

theliterateape · 3 years

Text

The Donation

by Wayne Lerner

The email arrived unannounced. A cold call. An over-the-transom letter. He had no idea what was going to hit him.

No ding, swoosh or chord announced its arrival. Nope. The academic elitist researcher, now University President, linked his email arrivals to Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony.

“Dr. Carton,” it read. “My name is Peter Howard. I am an alumnus of your University with two graduate degrees from the School of Allied Health. And I have done pretty well for myself. Your director of development, Mrs. Gardner knows this. She calls me just about every other week to see if I want to increase the $250,000 contribution I made last year.

I am ready to talk about another contribution but this one much larger. Many universities have been the recipients of large alumni endowments which have been linked to naming rights. What would it cost me to name the School?”

“By the way, if you think this is a scam or I’m not serious, talk to Mrs. Gardner or read the links I have attached below. In particular, the article from Forbes should take away any concerns you might have. Thank you for your consideration. I look forward to a timely response.”

Dr. Carton had no idea who Peter Howard was. Since taking office five years ago, he had established an MO that was known throughout the University community: manage the Board meetings and suck up to the seven figure donors.

Carton called Debbie Gardner and told her about the email he received. “Should I respond? Is this guy for real? He could have made up that Forbes story, you know.”

“Stop!” Gardner exclaimed. “Don’t do anything until we talk. I’m on the way over to your office now. Dr. Howard is one of the wealthiest donors on our prospect list. I’ve been trying to meet with him for months. Now that he’s interested in us, we can’t afford to blow it! But, you have to be careful with Dr. Howard. He’s outspoken and has a somewhat erratic persona. I can help you manage him.”

26.2 hours later, Peter’s phone dinged with an email from President Carton.

“Mr. Howard, thank you so much for your remarkable letter. Yes, we would be very interested in talking with you about naming rights for the School. I would love to set up a time to discuss this person-to-person, either over the phone or by Zoom. And, finally, yes, Mrs. Gardner has diligently done her job by staying in touch with you, one of our most esteemed alumni.”

Peter smirked as he read the email.

I knew I would get a quick response, but what a douche. Even with an MD and a PhD, he uses adverbs in his letter. What’s the matter with him? Where did he learn how to write? Medical school?

Three days later the call took place.

“Dr. Carton, thank you so much for arranging this meeting. As I said in my note, I’m a dedicated alum, committed to the school, my graduate program and profession. It’s because of them that I have had the chance to become so successful. Now I want to give back to the University.”

“That’s so generous of you, Mr. Howard. Excuse me, I should say Dr. Howard. We are excited to discuss how the donation could be constructed to meet both your and our needs.”

“Great,'' Peter replied, “but I have a few conditions. One is more important than the others.”

“Oh,” Carton said. “And what may I ask are the conditions?”

“The main one is I want the Dean of the School of Allied Health gone.” Silence. More silence.

Peter looked to see if the call had been disconnected. It hadn’t been. Just silence.

It felt like minutes to Peter but it was only a few seconds when Dr. Carton finally cleared his throat and responded.

“I don’t think we’ve ever had a request quite like that, sir. Can I ask why you feel this condition is necessary to make the donation?”

“Sure.” Peter replied. “That asshole dissed me, he disrespected me, several times when I was sitting on the alumni advisory board. He treated me like I was some putz from the southside of Chicago who didn’t know nothing and had no background or expertise.”

Peter didn’t know it but, at that moment, Dr. Carton put the call on mute and whispered to his assembled staff.

“What’s a putz?”

“Shhh,” they responded in unison.”We will tell you later. Just play along and don’t upset him. He’s very close to giving us the funds for the School!”

Carton unmuted his phone as Peter Howard continued with his conditions.

“Furthermore, the Provost put this guy into the Dean position over the objections of the search committee, someone who had never had senior academic administrative experience. He is a fucking researcher just like the Provost. They both should be gone. What do either of them know about leading people or even understanding the roles and functions of the departments within the school? I’ll leave the Provost to you. I have my sights set on the Dean. He’s paid no attention to the departments whose alumni have given the most money to the School. All he cares about are the esteemed research departments with the largest NIH grants.”

“Sir, you do not need to talk to me like that,” Carton interjected. “I’m sure there is another way to get your point of view across. But I get your message.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Doctor,” Peter replied in an obvious sarcastic tone.

“It’s my upbringing. It comes out when I get excited and I’m excited now. I’ll just calm down and try to remember that I am talking to the President of the University.”

“Just so we are clear on the offer, President Carton. I’m willing to meet your asking price to name the School. In fact, I’ll give you substantially more for scholarships for needy students, but the Dean is gone. He’s history! And he’s gone before the donation is announced. I don’t care if you retain him as an assistant professor in his department or a janitor in the building. That schmuck is outa here!”

Carton muted his phone again.

“Schmuck?” Carton mouthed to his staff.

“Later!” they replied in unison again.

Silence. More silence.

Then President Carton replied.

“We really could use your donation to accelerate the programs within the School and, especially, for your graduate program. And we certainly could use the extra money to help us recruit needy students to our campus.”

The President took a breath and continued.

“I am going to have to talk with my executive team in more depth about your conditions.We must give them the complete consideration they deserve. They are a bit unusual, you see. However, you can be sure we will take the request seriously. I’ll get back to you promptly.”

“Thank you, Dr. Carton,” Peter said. “I’ll look forward to your response. Several weeks later, the email from Dr. Carton arrived.

“Dr. Howard,” it read. “We have given your request and donation requirements careful thought. We will agree with your conditions. Please call me so we can make the final arrangements.”

A big cheshire cat smile formed on Peter’s face.

Shit! Great! Money talks. Cash is always king. And that’s how the big university can bow to the wishes of a southside Chicago guy. The Dean is history.

The call was set up for the following week. The parties talked through the conditions and reviewed the press releases. Special attention was paid to the timeline for making the donation and removing the Dean from his position.

“This is all fine with me, Mr. President,” Peter said. “I’ll have the first installment of the money transferred to the development office account as soon as we get off the call.”

“Thank you, sir,” Dr. Carton replied. “No one likes to be held hostage, but the size of your donation and the good it will do for the University, faculty and students is just too overwhelming.”

and now the President’s voice got very quiet,

“Besides, there is some validity to your concerns but I would appreciate it if you would never repeat that to anybody, ever.”

“You can be sure of that, sir.” Peter said. “This will be between just you and me”… And the tape recorder I’ve got going.

Peter continued.

“Mr. President, not to be rude, please remember that the timeline and deadlines must be hit for the donations to be made. There’s to be no slack in the timeline or the deadlines. If missed, the deal's off.”

“I understand that, Dr. Howard. You’ve made your point quite clear. And again I want to thank you for supporting the University. I hope we get the chance to meet

face-to-face as soon as the pandemic is under control. Maybe you could join me at an upcoming football game as my guest in the President's box? Have a good day and be safe.”

“Thanks. You, too.” Peter said as he hung up the phone and smiled once more to himself.

Silence. More silence.

Peter felt something cold and wet on his nose. He tried to ignore it but it wouldn’t go away.

“Honey? Honey? Peter! You’ve got to get up for your 7 AM Zoom meeting with your boss. You piss him off one more time and you're out of a job, again! And walk your damn dog first!”

“Ohhhhh, fuck me.”

1 note · View note

yoonjinkooked · 5 years

Text

lockdown | (m) - Chapter 2

moodboard by @flajka

pairing; jungkook/female OC genre; college au, strangers to lovers, smut and tiny bit of fluff too, humor ofc rating; explicit words; 6.209

— synopsis; Eunhee is in trouble and facing a deadline - in comes curly haired jungkook to save her life, make her laugh and maybe, just maybe, fuck her brains out. When the two end up locked in a building overnight, who knows what will happen?

warnings (for this chapter): cursing, OC still really wants to murder Tae, banter, cute Kook, slightly cocky Kook, an abundance of sexual tension, mentions of sex, drinking, mentiones of an ex (Seokjin)

A/N: I didn’t think I’d finish this this fast. Next chapter will be more challenging but i’m ready for it - i’m not sure if you are. Next chapter will be pure smut.

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

“So, this folder is basically… Your paparazzi photos?”

I have tried to rationalize it and sure, the guy does have a reason behind it but at the end of the day, he’s just a guy with a camera, taking photos of people who are not aware of it, more often than not.

He shakes his head at my words and chuckles. “You are making it sound a lot creepier than it actually is. I am the official photographer. Whenever a student enrolls our college they need to sign a bunch of papers. It has a clause about campus promotional photos or something like that, which makes this very much legal,” he explains.

“True, very true. Doesn’t make it any less creepy through,” I joke, mentally high-fiving myself when he actually laughs this time around. I needed this comfort prize after my miserable attempt from earlier.

“You know, boss lady, these are the only photos you have,” the stupid hood is covering his face too much for me to see his expression but he sounds… cocky. “I wouldn’t complain about them too much if I were you,” he adds.

“I’m not complaining,” I lift my hands up in surrender. “I’m just saying it like it is. Paparazzi.”

“Art.”

“Whatever floats your boat,” I say, laughing in relief when I realized he did not take me seriously. I was walking a dangerous line between joking with him and genuinely making fun of his profession, which is not something I want to do. The same way I wouldn’t enjoy being called a tabloid internet researcher instead of a journalist-to-be, I doubt he would enjoy being called a paparazzi. I did it in good humor and despite the earlier awkwardness, he was going along with it now.

“On a more serious note, I’m not sure how many of these can be usable,” he points at the monitor. “I hope you will have enough. You can just go through them and select the ones you deem usable.”

“That was supposed to be your job!”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?”

Bless him for turning around. If only for a few seconds, I have a chance to actually see him properly. He is very good looking, that was obvious from the get-go. His facial features are either childlike or very manly. His jaw is as sharp as one of the knives I bought recently and yet his nose looks beyond boop-able. Jeongguk, with a hood covering his face and all, is a ridiculously good looking man.

He’s looking directly at me too and it feels like this is the first time tonight he had done so. It doesn’t last long enough for me to actually feel uncomfortable or alert but my heart went berserk once again.

Calm down, woman. He’s here and he’s hot and it’s not the end of the world.

“Let’s do this then,” I nod towards the monitor.

Jeongguk could not specify how many photos he has to offer but the folder told me it carries 3000 photos. Of course, some of them are far from perfect but with 3000 photos at our disposal, I can only hope we can select 100 or so decent ones, to go with the 24 he brought to me earlier.

Without much commotion, Jeongguk and I start working. He starts his laptop as I transfer all the photos to Hobi’s PC. Then, he transfers them as well and one by one, we go over them. As soon as I find one that I think can be usable, I read out the number, he finds it and goes down to editing. Soon enough, he is unable to keep up with me and I need to write down the numbers as he manipulates the photos to perfection. We work in silence and in about half an hour, we have 10 photos ready to go.

Knowing that my ass is most likely saved, I have a chance to relax and actually pay attention to his work. He truly does have an eye for it, that much is painfully obvious. Guilt takes over me as I realize I have never paid much attention to photography. It’s simply not something I would focus on unless it is closely related to my work. I’ve always known Taehyung and Jeongguk, or as he was known before this, G.C.F guy, were good but this truly is something else.

He has a talent to capture people in that moment, that one moment, when no masks are worn and no fake smiles are shared. Looking at photos of random students, some of whom are vaguely familiar, some of whom are my friends and others I am sure I’ve never even seen before… It’s almost scary how he can capture that one moment with such precision. I could never do that, I just know it.

“What?” Jeongguk’s voice startles me. I look at him in confusion and he points at the photo. “You have been staring at it for like a whole minute. What’s wrong with it?” he asks.

“Nothing,” I shake my head. “It’s perfect. I mean, look at her – she looks tired but genuine. The smile she has is genuine. No matter how little sleep she had the night before, no matter how many tests she had that day, she cracked a genuine smile and you caught it,” I keep my eyes on the girl in the photo. I know her face but her name escapes me – I doubt I’ve ever even talked to her. A complete stranger to me, yet I can imagine her entire story in this photo, this one photo, because Jeongguk was at the right place, at the right time. He is, very literally, capturing perfect little moments.

“Sounds like you understand photography better than you think.”

I turn to him, already expecting my heart to do its thing and sure enough, when I see barely a hint of a smile on his face, the bastard betrays me and starts beating faster.

This is what happens when the only men you communicate with on a daily basis are either teachers or friends whom you could never be attracted to, despite them being ridiculously attractive. It is high time I get laid. Maybe then my heart would stop overreacting.

After this particular moment, I decide it might be better to be quiet. Does that make everything awkward? Sure it does. But it’s pretty darn better than actually giving myself the chance to talk, only to end up blurting out something along the lines of ‘I think you’re hot’. My ‘for work’ spotify playlist is good enough to make the entire situation bearable, as we nod our heads to the rhythm.

On and on we go, until I am suddenly looking at myself.

“Oh.”

It’s a photo of me and Seokjin. I can’t be sure when it was taken, but my short sleeves and the fact we haven’t been together for months now tells me that it was probably at the start of the school year. We are walking hand in hand, both smiling. Jeongguk captured a beautiful, genuine moment.

“Well, you are the ‘it couple’ of our campus,” Jeongguk shrugs.

“Were,” I correct him. “This is obviously an old photo. Seokjin and I are no longer together. Haven’t been for months,” I explain and watch as he nods in understanding.

“That explains the recent lack of photos of the ‘it couple’,” he jokes and I roll my eyes, knowing that unfortunately, he isn’t the first person to give us that title.

Seokjin and I spent two good years together. We were in the same circle of friends. Both focused on our studies and not so much about party life. As a couple, we made sense. But time passes and feelings fade, one thing led to another and suddenly, after two years of being in a solid relationship, I was single. There was no drama, no hard feelings and no bad words. Just two people going their separate ways.

“Keep an eye on Namjoon,” I give him a knowing look. “If he plays his cards right, maybe, just maybe, he has a chance with Hyejin. They could take Seokjin and me any day.”

“Debatable, but I’ll keep that in mind,” he tells me. For reasons unknown to my sanity, I find this incredibly funny and of course, I let out the most embarrassing snort laughter I could have possibly mustered. I don’t even bow my head in shame – that ship had sailed a while ago. “Okay, I’m starving. I’m gonna go and buy us a pizza. While I’m away, you can keep on selecting the photos you want,” he tells me as he flings the backpack onto his back.

“Can you like… promise me you’ll come back and not just run away?” I ask. It’s stupid, I know it is. Even if he is planning to leave me to fend for myself, he obviously isn’t going to say it to my face. Sadly, I am the kind of person who needs reassurance more often than not. I really need it now.

“Of course I won’t run away,” Jeongguk laughs and finally, for the first time tonight, he pulls the hood away from his face. Despite the office’s shitty lighting, I can finally see him well. His face is stunning, absolutely stunning. Clear skin, beautiful round eyes, cutest nose ever, cheeks that puff up when he smiles, like he is doing right now. “Here. I’ll even offer this. Pinky promise,” he lifts his right hand and offers me his extended pinky.

“Shit just got real,” I deadpan and I think I melted a little bit on the inside when he started laughing. “Pinky promise for life,” I link my pinky with his own before remembering an important detail I have overlooked. “What kind of pizza are you getting?”

“Pepperoni with extra cheese, duh,” he says it like that is the most obvious thing in the world.

“I like you more with each passing minute, Jeongguk,” I conclude.

“Right back at you,” he smiles for what feels like the tenth time in the last minute. “I’ll be right back. Get those photos ready so we can fix this shit,” he tells me, let’s go of my pinky and off he goes.

I am left giddy, smiling like a fool and fighting an overwhelming urge to giggle. Tonight is making me feel like a teenager with a dumb crush and strangely enough, I don’t think that I dislike the feeling. I haven’t truly focused on an attractive male since Seokjin and I were in the flirting phase. Jeongguk is… interesting. Very good looking and nice enough to catch my attention. I don’t know more than that but I wouldn’t mind finding out. Or maybe we could end up taking a different direction, with him giving me a decent fuck before we forget all about each other. Would that be a shame or would it be worth it?

For the love of everything Eunhee, focus on your work. There will be time for flirting and fucking later.

“Hey,” Jeongguk startles me when he walks back inside the office.

“There is no way you are Flash.”

“No, the door is locked,” he laughs. “Could you give me your keys?”

“What door?” I frown, confused. He literally just walked through a very much unlocked door.

“This part of the building. The big glass door? Eunhee, why are you looking at me like that?” he asks, but I am already on my feet and running out the office.

“I don’t have a key Jeongguk,” I yell back as I run towards the door. I get to it and I try to open – nope, locked. I try to jiggle it open, which is as stupid as it is useless. The door remains there, unopened, as if it is mocking me, us. I don’t have the strength in me to ride out another wave of panic.

“It’s not the end of the world,” Jeongguk tells me. “We can’t get pizza but we have the vending machine. And by the time we are done, we can call Namjoon or Tae. They’re at Jimin’s party, so they will definitely be awake. They can come and get us out in no time when we are done,” he reassures me.

“Jeongguk, Namjoon doesn’t have this key either,” I sigh in defeat as I turn my back to the door to face him. “And seeing as none of us who work here all the time have the keys, I doubt Taehyung has them either. I suppose we can try to call campus security, maybe they have a spare key but if they don’t, we’re stuck here until the cleaners stop by.”

“When do the cleaners stop by?” he asks.

“Last time I pulled an all-nighter here, they showed up around 6AM,” I tell him before looking at the clock hanging on the wall right behind him. “That means we are stuck here for… seven hours.”

“Not the end of the world,” Jeongguk shrugs casually. “We have a lot of work to do anyways. A pizza would have been nice but we won’t starve in six hours. I say we focus on getting the magazine ready for printing and then just like… nap or something.”

If I wasn’t running low on energy already, I would have taken this situation seriously. If I were my usual self, the campus security guards would already be on their way here to lock us out. But at this point, at with Jeongguk being so casual about it, I no longer have any shits left to give. Besides, as he had pointed out, we have hours of work ahead of us. Chances are we would have been stuck here with or without the door being locked.

And maybe, just maybe, somewhere in the back of my mind is the thought that this might be the only chance I will ever have to spend an extended amount of time with this guy who is making me into a nervous, giddy teenage girl. Not the worst way to spend a few spare hours.

“I agree,” I sigh and force a smile at Jeongguk. “Let’s get back to work and then we’ll figure it out.”

Until 1AM, we are working mostly in silence, listening to music and occasionally chatting about casual things – usually the people in our selected photos, whether we know them or not and how if we do.

“What made you chose photography?” I ask him. I am slowly growing bored, seeing as my work was already done – I am now waiting for him to edit the selected photos. Of course, I’m not just sitting around doing nothing. Hobi’s design still needs to be finished and one by one, I am transferring the done photos as soon as he finishes them. Right now, however, I am waiting for the next one.

“I don’t know, really,” he shrugs, not even bothering to look away from the monitor as he does his editing magic. “I suppose getting a solid camera for my twelfth birthday was a turning point. Back then, I wasn’t so attached to it but I remember my parents insisting that I should be the one to take photos whenever we would travel somewhere. They said my photos always turn out the best. Then as I got older, I discovered work by other photographers. I suppose that was it.

“Are there any photographers in particular that have peaked your interest?” I ask.

“Well, Ansel Adams is an obvious answer,” he chuckles. “It depends on the genre. Testino is the best when it comes to fashion photography but that was never my thing – doesn’t make him any less brilliant. Annie Leibovitz too. I can throw out a few names but I doubt you’d know them – same way I don’t know if I could name a handful of journalists. Adams, Robert Frank and Cartier Bresson would be my favorites.”

“I feel uneducated,” I admit. “I know so little about it.”

“Hey, I just told you I doubt I could be able to name a few journalists,” he chuckles. “We all know the things we are interested in – that is very normal. But what about you? Why this? Why editing, journalism, writing?”

“I wanted to be a novelist for the longest time,” I confess. “Before I could really get into it, I realized that maybe journalism might be my thing. My dad is a journalist. It would be idiotic of me to say that I wasn’t influenced by that in some ways. I saw the good and bad sides of it and decided to go through with it anyways.”

“What are the bad sides?” he asks.

“Well, it depends on what one chooses to focus on. If you are an investigative journalist and dedicate your life to uncovering corruption and crime, it can range from death threats to actually being murdered in cold blood. My dad’s an expert in analytic journalism, which means no death threats but he was away a lot. It was never ideal but it could always be worse.”

“And what about you? Which area do you want to go in?” Jeongguk asks. It’s been such a long time since I’ve seen someone take a genuine interest in my soon-to-be profession. I feel flattered.

“Honestly, I have no idea,” I admit. “Ideally, I’d like to work in investigative journalism but the side effects of it sometimes just seem like too much for me. Not to mention that with how the media is evolving, I’m not sure that would put the bread on my table. By the looks of it, I am bound to end up working as a blogger for a fashion magazine or something like that. Maybe I’ll end up being an editor, if I work hard and have luck on my side.”

“You never know,” Jeongguk tells me. “Hard work will get you places. You seem dedicated and intelligent. Although your music taste is slightly questionable,” he adds. I am about to ask why he would diss my music taste but to my horror, I recognize the song that is playing – I can’t remember the name, don’t know the artist but the singer is singing about how she is horny, horny, horny, horny tonight.

I just close my eyes, trying hard not to laugh when I hear him laughing at my reaction. I struggle to keep a poker face, but I manage. “Let’s just pretend this did not happen.”

“Nah, I will remind you of it whenever I see you in the years to come,” he jokes.

“Whatever, it’s a solid song,” I roll my eyes jokingly, enjoying this kind of teasing. He’s getting more and more comfortable around me and I am enjoying it. The more he talks, the more I realize how funny he really is. “You’ve heard my spotify playlists – you know me better than most people do.”

“True, music can tell you a lot about somebody,” he agrees. “But if I’m being honest here, your playlists only raise more questions.”

“Such as?”

“Well, it went from heavy emotional damage with Lana Del Rey,” he starts counting on his fingers. “We had a callback to teenage emo phase with ‘Fall Out Boy’, took a quick turn with ‘Whitesnake’ and now we ended up with 90s dance music about horniness. The question that is practically jumping out is what the hell you were smoking when you created such a mess of a playlist?” he asks through laughter.

“Shut up,” I jokingly punch him on the shoulder. “I was running on coffee and a lack of sleep.”

“Whatever you say, boss lady,” he grins at me. “You’re weird but likeable.”

Cue the butterflies. I say nothing but I know, I just know, he can see the stupid grin stretching on my face. I am flattered and he knows it. We are inches away to full-blown flirting and honestly, I love it.

“Done?” he looks over at me, eyebrows raised.

“Done,” I confirm, leaning back in my chair. “Four years of studying this shit only to have to finish my career as the school paper editor literally 30 minutes before the printing deadline.”

“You’re at the finish line, that’s all that matters,” he shrugs, looking like the textbook definition of the word casual as he makes himself more comfortable on the chair, folding and sitting on his legs. “I’m the only one who knows just how nuts you went these last couple of hours and I’ll never tell.”

“No way I trust you,” I roll my eyes. “We’ve met just hours ago – I’m going to need more than just puppy dog eyes to make me believe you?”

“Puppy dog eyes?” he questions but I just shake my head, positive that the blush in my cheeks speaks for itself.

“I just have one more thing to finish,” I mumble as I scroll down to the credits page, finding the photography section. “What’s your full name?”

“Jeon Jeongguk. Why?”

“Because all the photos we have used tonight are yours,” I tell him as I highlight Taehyung’s name and backspace it into oblivion – that’s the price he pays for nearly sabotaging me inadvertently. And also, I am allowed to do that, since none of the photos are actually his. So, I type Jeon Jeongguk, G.C. F.

“You don’t have to do that,” he shakes his head, suddenly switching back to the shy guy he was when he first knocked on the office door. “I’m okay with it remaining the same.”

“I’m not – it’s your work,” I say as I attach the file to the email addressed to our printers, who will probably murder me for doing this last minute. “And done,” I click send.

“Now we nap?” he suggests.

“Or we can just… I don’t know? Talk?” I suggest.

I don’t know how to say that I want to get to know him better, maybe flirt with him and set the foundation for a chance of a good fuck later down the road, without actually saying it.

“We can talk,” he nods and I could swear there’s a hint of a smirk on his face, but it disappears before I can confirm that it’s not just a product of my imagination and wishful thinking.

There is just something about him, something I couldn’t voice, even if I wanted to. A strange kind of appeal, the golden middle between shy and cute on one side and cocky and hot on the other. The changes between the two make my interest in him grow with each passing minute.

It’s been a while since I simply wanted someone to grab me and kiss me, hard.

And I can’t say it like that because so far, he hasn’t given me a single sign that he’d be up for it. That’s exactly why I want to talk. I want to talk and see where this can go and if I have to pull out some liquid courage to make it happen, I will not hesitate.

“You know, Namjoon has an emergency stash,” I smile when I see how he looks up at me in interest. “In normal circumstances, I wouldn’t dare touch it,” I say as I stand up and head for Joon’s desk, eyes on the bottom drawer. I crouch down; jiggle the drawer two times, like he always does. It’s still a little bit stuck but with one solid pull, I manage to open in. A grin grows on my face – there lies an unopened bottle of Absolut Citron – my safety net for tonight. “I don’t think these are normal circumstances,” I add, waving the bottle and giving Jeongguk a suggestive look. “You up for it?”

“Hell yeah.”

Half a mug of vodka later, I find myself laughing at Jeongguk’s fairly stupid story about how Taehyung once almost set fire to the apartment the two of them share.

“That guy is such a hazard,” I laugh.

“Maybe, but he’s also my best friend,” he comments. “You take the risks.”

“Tell me about it,” I snort. “Try being friends with Kim Namjoon. Not a month goes by without me driving him to the hospital because he injured himself in the stupidest way possible.”

“I always thought the two of you were a thing,” Jeongguk tells me, catching me completely by surprise because that’s just about the last think I expected to hear. “I mean, before I realized that Seokjin and you are a thing. Were a thing,” he corrects himself.

“Namjoon is the last person on this planet that would want to have anything other than friendship with me,” I laugh. “It goes both ways but I have a feeling the guy would rather walk barefoot on legos than have a fling or a relationship with me.”

“Why?” he asks. Simple question, complicated answer.

“He knows me too well,” I shrug.

“Oh no,” Jeongguk laughs. “No way I’m gonna let you cop out of that one. The conversation is finally turning interesting.”

“Thanks.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he laughs. “Now elaborate. Why not?”

Is this a can of worms I want to open? Probably not. “How honest do you want me to be?” I ask anyways.

“As honest as vodka can make you at 4AM,” he smiles and for the hundredth time tonight, I have to fight the urge to coo at him.

“Joon always calls me an overachiever,” I sigh before pausing to think about how to explain what’s fundamentally wrong with me as a person. Sadly, that’s not an easy task. “Even as a teenager, I’d always know what I wanted, I would aim for it and I’d get it. Dedicated, hardworking, obsessive – call it whatever. The problem occurs whenever I realize that I can’t have it all. No one can, it’s normal, right? Not for me. I still go for it, I hit the brick wall repeatedly but I make a crack in it, I pull the bricks out and I knock it down enough for me to pass.”

“That’s admirable, not bad,” Jeongguk interrupts me. “I wish I was more like that.”

“No, you don’t,” I chuckle, pausing to chug some vodka down because I am absolutely not drunk enough for this. “The problem starts when other aspects of your life start paying the price. For example, Seokjin. I could never put him before my work. Never, ever.”

“Isn’t that normal?” he asks, looking confused as he changes his position so that he is leaning on the wall. He is also a solid foot closer to me now and I am not complaining. “I don’t know how the two of you have functioned but isn’t it ridiculous to think that one’s romantic partner should be the center of one’s life?” he asks.

“Thank you,” I nod my head. “I tried to justify it like that. I still believe in that, too.”

“Is that why you and Seokjin are no longer together?” he asks.

“That’s even more complicated,” I let out a chuckle. “It just… it ran beyond the expiration date. I can’t explain it without sounding like a bitch because I was with him for two years and he really is an amazing guy but that just… that wasn’t me. He wanted me to invest more in the relationship and while that is completely fair, it’s not what I wanted to do. That is what made me realize that we were heading nowhere. When you don’t want to make the extra effort, that’s alarming.”

“It’s also the way life goes,” he shrugs. I am impressed and envious of how casual he sees the things that were absolutely not casual to me. “If you think about it, every relationship in your life will either end in a break up or with a happily ever after. Literally, every relationship.”

Shit, he’s right. “I never thought about it like that.”

“I have,” he chuckles. “Whenever I realize it’s going nowhere and it’s not my happily ever after, I end it. That’s why I’m single. It’s easier to just… not date anyone than to tell every single person that yeah, that’s not it. Sorry. Thanks for the time,” he adds and I laugh.

“True, that does sound wrong,” I agree. “I’ve been fighting the feeling that Seokjin’s not for me for a long time.”

“Not good enough?”

“More like too good,” I correct him. “He really is a great guy. Kind, smart, funny. He’s genuinely a good guy and I’d sing his praises for hours but it was just too… I guess boring is the word I’m looking for.”

“He’s a boring guy?” he asks. Wow, he is really interested in this.

“Kind of. Don’t get me wrong, I’m hardly the life of the party myself. But it was all just so… proper with him. Movie dates with an obligatory hand over the shoulder, flowers for birthdays, always red roses. Paying for everything, nice restaurants. If we had stayed together, it would go graduation, engagement, marriage, house in the suburbs and two kids – a boy and a girl. It wasn’t boring, not really. But it was just so… proper. Excitement-less. Always blockbusters, never indie movies. Always seats at concerts, never the pit. Dull conversations – about politics and the economy, never about conspiracy theories or the supernatural. The sex,” I suddenly stop, realizing I may have taken my rant too far.

“A bit boring too?” Jeongguk asks, a grimace mixed with compassion taking over his face.

“Yeah,” I nod my head. “Good but… same. All that I mentioned before, it’s fun, it’s nice but after a while you just… want something that will keep you on your toes a little bit. Not a fuckboy or anything like that but just a guy who can actually say something that might surprise me.”

“I like your way of thinking,” he mumbles, looking away from me and keeping his eyes directly in front of him. “You’re not wrong, about anything. And even if you were, on paper, you don’t need to follow the paper – you need to follow yourself. Yeah, many girls want exactly what you’ve just described but you’re not one of those girls and that’s okay. I have a feeling that you are looking at it as a flaw but it’s really not. If something doesn’t make you feel happy or content, it’s absolutely normal to walk away from it.”

“Thanks,” is all I can mumble, knowing that any other words may not be safe. This is not the direction I hoped our conversation would take but I can’t complain – it’s oddly therapeutic.

“You’re so hard to judge,” he chuckles and turns around to offer me a smirk. “I thought I had you all figured out even before we met. Then tonight, I realized I was wrong. And an hour later, I realized I was wrong again. And just now, I have to admit that I am wrong again. You don’t fit in the typical groups.”

“Okay, you gotta elaborate that,” he chuckles as I urge him to explain. “Come on. Elaborate.”

“Overachiever. I thought that too, at first,” he tells me. “A perfect girl, with perfect grades and a perfect boyfriend. Then I get here and see you panicking and hear your playlist and I figure you’re one of those ‘inner turmoil’ kind of girl who thinks the world doesn’t get her and listens to ‘The 1975’ and Banks and hates men and most women too and just wants to be left alone.”

“Hey,” I reach over quite a bit to hit him on the shoulder. “Don’t diss ‘The 1975’.”

“My point is,” he laughs as he rubs his shoulder jokingly. “You’re not one of those groups. You’re not any of the other groups either. You are… a healthy mix of a few of them. I can’t name them all – I don’t know you well enough. I can’t label you either and that’s kind of cool.”

“Okay, give me an unpopular opinion,” I change the topic in the speed of light, realizing that if he refers to me as ‘cool’ I will pull down his pants and give him the suck of his life. While that is something I would very much like to do, I still haven’t received any signs of him sharing the thought.

“Are you really at a concert if you’re not in the pit?” he laughs and I hit him on the shoulder again, this time simply scooting closer to do that and remaining in the same position.

“Yes, you are,” I laugh. “Pit is better but you can still enjoy a concert if you’re seated. Besides, that’s not an unpopular opinion. Give me something controversial.”

“Androids are better than Iphones,” he tells me and I gasp in fake shock.

“Oh no you didn’t,” he laughs at me. “How dare you diss the apple?”

“Your turn,” he nudges me with his arm.

“Flavored drinks suck,” I mumble as I look at my mug of vodka, my precious koala mug being used for such a shitty drink. “I’m not a drinker. I’m very much a lightweight but if I do drink, I want to taste the drink, not artificial aroma and sugar.”

“Not to mention it tricks you into thinking you’re not drinking much,” he adds.

“Next thing you know, you’re standing up and the world is spinning.”

“Eunhee, I hate to break it to you, but the world is spinning,” he tells me. Another hit on the shoulder and I realize that I am about two hits away from being considered extremely violent.

“Shut up. Your turn.”

“Mint chocolate chip ice cream is awesome.”

“YES!” I startle him with a yell. “Yes! Yes! Mint chocolate chip enthusiasts will rule the world.”

“Wow, if we keep this up you will probably start a revolution,” he laughs. “Do you want to continue with the unpopular opinions talk or do something else?”

Well, what I really want is to grind on him until he has tear in his eyes and is begging me to let him cum in his pants. Or for him to bend me over a desk and fuck me until I see stars – both works for me, really, but it’s not exactly something I can say. I don’t have enough vodka in my system.

“I have a shocking one for you – foreplay is better than sex,” I announce.

“Oh, that is an unpopular opinion,” he nods his head, looking pensive. “May I ask why?”

“Because people, and when I say people, I mean men, underestimate the value of it for a woman,” I tell him. “Some enjoy it very much, of course. But in most cases, they just wanna slide it in and get it over with and that’s not how it works for us, at least not for me. I need that kind of… mutual attention. It doesn’t have to be anything crazy or extensive but like… just making out. Just making out is such a fundamental part of foreplay and sex. It’s not that special – just a kiss with the passion amped up. But god, isn’t it important? Nothing beats that moment of lazy kissing, body to body, gentle touches and squeezes and subtle grinds, all while all the words are left unsaid between the two because they are too busy moving their tongues and biting lips and struggling to breathe properly because a good make out needs to leave your breath hitched and mouth open and… a moan stuck in your throat. A good, solid make out session is a preview into what kind of lover you will have and I’ll be damned but sometimes the trailer is more enjoyable than the actual movie, if done well.”

I stop talking with my mouth hanging open. I have no idea where that came from but I do know vodka fueled it. I stop my rant and struggle to think of a sudden change of topic, trying to ignore the slightly wide-eyed look on Jeongguk’s face that my rant had caused.

It sounded more like a political discussion than make out talk. I need to learn when to shut up.

“Yeah, that’s enough of unpopular opinions,” he lets out an awkward chuckle and I know that this is another moment I will regret in the years to come. “Don’t get me wrong, it was fun,” he chuckles when he notices the look on my face. “But I’d much rather make out with you right now.”

Oh. Oh. Okay. That’s… very convenient.

The tiniest of smirks that graced his face evaporates before my eyes and turns into a frown, caused by my initial lack of response – it’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just that I wasn’t expecting the suggestion. “If you want to, that is,” he mumbles, turning into a nervous mess, nowhere near the hot, straight-to-the-point guy he was literally seconds ago. “If you don’t, that’s totally fine and we can just talk about music and-“

“I want to,” I interrupt him. “I… really want to,” I emphasize the really, knowing that looking a bit desperate is not only honest, but will also work in my favor.

“Get over here,” he chuckles as he grabs my hand and pulls me towards him.

#jungkook smut #jungkook series #bts smut #jungkook fanfiction #bts #bangtan #bts jungkook #jjk #jeon jungkook #bangtan smut #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fanfics #jeon jeongguk #jeongguk

139 notes · View notes

twilightknight17 · 4 years

Text

Forgetting to buy more SP patches before taking on the final boss was probably a mistake.

Forgetting to sell the items I can’t take into NG+ for cash that I can take into NG+ was probably a mistake.

Forgetting to get Arsene out of Lockdown so that I can record his awesome new stats for NG+ was probably a mistake.

In my defense, I was really excited. I wonder if the game will let me make a side trip while I’m out...buying flowers. Because that is what it has come to.

Buying flowers.

Shinya is a terrible brat and wasn’t in Akihabara at ALL until the day before the deadline. Thanks, Shinya. There goes my max confidants. Blugh. At least I got some other things done. Got the award for the maid cafe, so I don’t have to go back except once to open the Twins field trip. I still suck at batting even with third eye. But I am a champ at fishing, it only took me like five trips to the fishing pond to catch the Guardian! I could have done it in less if I’d figured out how to manage my bait properly sooner.

Smile, Akira, we’re awesome! ...still not even halfway to enough fish points for the award, though. :/

I am also awesome at the crane game in Akihabara, and by that I mean I am persistent and have enough yen that it doesn’t matter how many tries it takes.

Ryuji truly knows the way to my heart. <3 I missed two episodes of Featherman; one I forgot to check the TV, and the other I was laughing so hard at the title that I forgot to write it down. But I know where they are, so it’s something else for NG+. ^_^

So I romanced Sumire, and I’m...slightly off-put. Only slightly. Not because of her, but once again, because of the writing. Sumire is cute, but the game is singling her out as “special” again.

She is the only one who confesses to you, and you explicitly have the option to turn her down, rather than the implications of a confession that you can shoot down indirectly (Haru’s, Makoto’s, Futaba’s), or the absolute fucking galaxy-brain leap of logic that is Ann’s dialogue choices. X’D

If you ignore that, though, they’re stupidly cute. Akira’s a little shit, as usual. Sumire asks you to “look at her”, based on her whole confidant thing of realizing that having someone you care about watching you makes you want to do better.

And so Akira looks.

And looks closer.

Dorks. XDDD

They’re sweet. Not my favorite romance route; that still goes to Haru. I think in the end I still prefer Akira adding another member to his army of younger siblings. He’s gotta be better than Yu. XDDD

So I got Kasumi’s rank 10 and literally the next day was February 2nd, and I spent the afternoon getting her third-tier persona. So I didn’t even get to see...Vanadis? in battle. Vanadis matches a little too well to Arsene for my tastes, and Ella is pretty, but I’m not sure how I feel about it looking kind of bride-ish when Maruki’s running around in a wedding tux.

Anyway...what do we do the night before the meeting that will decide everything?

We make curry and we pretend everything isn’t about to go to hell.

So, Maruki. Let’s chat.

Does no one die in your world? Or move away? What if someone’s dream is to move abroad, and someone else’s dream is for that person to stay with them forever? If what we saw in your Palace is any indication, both of them would be tortured into accepting new dreams where they wouldn’t hurt each other. Dreams that you deemed acceptable. And that’s why you’re wrong.

So you’re giving up your happiness to make sure everyone else is happy? Why can’t you just use your powers to make her remember you, without the trauma? Are you not all-powerful?

Or are you running away from the person that reminds you how helpless you used to be? You’re not moving on, you’re dwelling, and using it as an excuse to be terrible. For all of your kindness, you know Akira is a threat. And benevolent or not, you’re being manipulative. You’re using Goro against him. You’re hoping that he makes the decision you didn’t, and chooses the person he cares about over the reality he wants.

Every time he says something like this, I feel exactly the way he says he didn’t want me to. Newsflash, asshole, that’s exactly what it seems like. If we break your reality, you’re heavily implying he won’t be here afterwards. And you’re gambling that it will be too much pain for Akira to bear, because you know how important they are to each other.

Goro, meanwhile, is both perfectly determined and perfectly stupid.

“Don’t tell me you think dangling my life before us is going to have any impact on our decision.”

Goro. Honey. Do you really think he cares so little that he wouldn’t hesitate for just a moment?

Akira practically throws the calling card at Maruki before he leaves, which I think sums up his feelings pretty well.

I appreciate that Morgana understands that this is something between them.

Goro doesn’t want to be controlled or manipulated ever again. Which... I get it. He’s never had a chance to have full control of his own life. But that doesn’t mean Akira isn’t going to be upset by the idea of him dying. Again.

Two out of three dialogue options are basically “hang on one fucking second, your life matters to me.”

“Don’t oversimplify this.”

“Oh, but it IS simple. Do you think I’d be happy with this? Being shown mercy now of all times? I don’t want to be pitied-- this isn’t something I’m debating with you! Your indecisiveness is essentially a betrayal of my wishes.”

It’s not pity, you stubborn, idiot boy. ...and I hate that you see it as a betrayal.

Maruki is...very confident. And very kind. And part of the reason he upsets me is because he isn’t wrong, in many cases. But he uses that to justify imposing his will on everyone.

And being kind doesn’t mean that you are free from sin. You can be kind and still be manipulative. And selfish. In the end, that’s what separates him and Akira. Akira, despite all of his hesitation, refuses to be selfish. Even when he has every right to be. He will not hurt someone else to prevent himself from being hurt.

He will not hurt Goro by refusing to fight Maruki, even if it will rip his own heart to pieces.

Oh, I like you. At first glance, the silhouette was very similar to one of Mordred’s original pieces of concept art, though, and I was ready to Yell before I looked closer. XD

And so, at 11:30pm, having completely forgotten the several things I needed to have done before the meeting with Maruki, we head in to steal the Treasure.

This man needs to stop. How dare he know how much I love Cool Stairs?

I find it very concerning that the core of Eden is a writhing mess of tentacles. The metaphorical worm in the apple? X’D We were so close to getting Nyarlathotep, but Azathoth is suitably intimidating. And I appreciate that he’s using the same concepts as the Thieves: his will to rebel against what he sees as an unfair reality, and removing his mask to summon his distorted persona. Thanks for validating all of my headcanon meta about Adachi and Palaces all in one go.

But...

I can’t do this. What the fuck are you wearing?

At least Azathoth is cool.

Somehow I managed to bring exactly the right team to get consistent four-person baton passes for the whole first round. That one was about half an hour.

...the second round was an hour and fifteen minutes because holy shit this thing was a tank and had entirely too many arms and really needed to stop healing.

The torch is very pretty, at least.

And then before we can completely book it out of there, he steals the torch back and literally forces his second awakening so he can keep going. And at that point...what is he even hoping to accomplish? What is he going to do? Are you really willing to kill us to maintain this illusion?

The answer is apparently yes because it was a surprisingly poetic battle as each teammate in turn got a chance to fling themselves in the way and stop it from crushing Joker to death with it’s big giant hand.

And THEN he goes even further and validates some canon meta and me all at once by fusing with his own persona in a continuing last-ditch effort to... I really think he’s trying to kill us. I think he’s that far gone. Or at least his persona is. Because after the fusion, it’s specifically called “Adam Kadmon”, not Maruki. The persona is in control. It’s canon that if you try to summon something stronger than you, it can overtake and possess you. I know Maruki seemed to willingly give up control, but it’s also possible that forcing his second awakening like that left him with a persona that was entirely too strong for him.

(Nevermind that him being that strong in the first place is kind of ridiculous. That’s a discussion for after the final credits. I’m just hyped that someone fusing with their persona was a thing that actually happened!)

He’s so big. Where’s Satanael so I can fuse with him and we can have a megazord fight in Collapsing Ideal Tokyo? XD

The kids up the Holy Shit Quotient by a mile by catching the giant fist all together so that Joker can deal the final blow.

And what a final blow it is.

I really like this, because I don’t know if it was deliberate, but I read it as a callback to Daybreakers. Which came out before the game, iirc, so the first real piece of content. It’s just on a bigger, grander scale.

Everything comes full-circle in the end.

I really like the Mona helicopter. XD I just wish it was a little bigger, because poor Goro squished into the bottom. And poor Akira not managing to make it into the helicopter.

And this asshole WILL NOT STAY DOWN.

What is the point of punching it out on top of the collapsing Palace? Are you trying to kill us both? Do you just want to keep going until neither of us can stand? Dude.

And of course Akira won’t let him die. I think the upsetting thing about this, though, is really that you don’t get the chance to say a proper goodbye to Goro. Or anyone, really, but mostly Goro. The Palace crumbles, Akira wakes up in jail, the Thieves wake up the next morning after fighting all night, and Goro is...gone.

At least the Thieves seem properly sad this time. Even if it’s only for one scene.

Lavenza calls it “ironic” that “your wish for other’s happiness prevailed over your own.” I just call it unfair. Once again, hasn’t he done enough? At least he was only technically in jail for nine days from his perspective, but that must have been a whiplash of an adjustment.

Out of jail, Sojiro acknowledges he was Terrible at the beginning of the year, it’s 2:30am, time to do Valentines and then go to bed before the final walkaround.

And then Valentines passes. I spent it with Sumire. They’re cute.

And then it was February 15th and all the rest of the girls gave me chocolate?? It was just a constant ambush of being given chocolate all day?

And then it was March 3rd, and the Thieves are all splitting up and moving away? Are we sure this isn’t Scramble’s timeline? I get it, narratively, they’re taking the opportunities to move forward that Maruki’s reality would have denied them, but it still hurts.

And then it was March 13th and I still can’t save and now it’s 3am and apparently we get to play out White Day and Sojiro is giving me advice for the perfect date because captain idiot here forgot to plan anything and what heckin’ restaurant is getting this flustered that just mentioning Sojiro’s name is enough to get a table when they’re fully booked and---

Now it’s the 14th and I have to go buy flowers for my dinner date and I have finally been given control and saved and I am free.

Now next time I play I have to see if I can go sell my leftover items, because I’ve got a couple-hundred-thousand yen worth, and also rescue Arsene from prison. X’D

More thoughts on Maruki and everything after I see the ending, most likely.

#Li plays P5R #long post #the Longest Post #2.5 hour boss fight O_o #last time I spent that long on a boss it made me so mad I put the game in question down for six months

9 notes · View notes

saysomethingspiderman · 5 years

Text

Something Wonderful (PT. 1)

Synopsis: During your time as a professional photographer, you had come across incredibly good looking men, but there was just something about Tom that stood out. Who would have thought shooting the self-titled “walking meme” would change your life forever?

Chapter word count: 1.9k

Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Part Four // Part Five // Part Six // Part Seven // Part Eight

“Questions? What sort of questions?”

The light breeze blew a piece of hair in front of your eyes as you looked up at Carter, the cameraman in charge of the behind-the-scenes snippet for the latest British GQ shoot. You placed your camera gently on the sunlounger beside the pool, brows slightly furrowed. The Californian sun burned into your skin, but being used to shooting in locations where temperatures dominated even this, sun cream had become a part of your daily routine no matter the area. One could never be too careful, you’d learned that the hard way.

“I don’t know, one’s that are a bit… Out there,” Carter replied, and you roll your eyes. “Here, this is what I’ve put,” he said, handing you one of the pieces of paper from the baseball cap.

“‘If you could meet anyone from history, who would it be?’ Wow, very out there.” You folded the paper back up and grabbed another, shaking your head at the mention of a penis. “Alright, I guess I can come up with something. When’s he getting here anyway? Don’t tell me he’s being a drama queen.”

You had done enough shoots where the cover star had been quite the diva that it had gotten to the point where you always half expected it. Of course, a great number of people had proven you wrong, but judging was a hard habit to break. You had never been introduced to Tom before and from what you’d heard, he was a lovely guy who hadn’t let fame go to his head. Yet.

“No, Warren’s just doing the last touches I think,” Carter said, leaning over your shoulder to read the question you were writing. He laughed and took his notebook back after your piece of paper had been ripped from the book to be folded into the hat. “That one’s gonna cause a stir with the fans if he answers it!”

“Well there’s nothing wrong with a bit of drama,” you grinned wickedly and gave Carter a wink as he headed back into the rented house to set his own camera up to film the short video once you’d finished with Tom yourself.

The sound of laughter made you look up a few minutes later and you hastily tossed a shirt over one of the sunloungers, finishing off your touch to the set. Carter made his way back over, followed by Tom. You had to double take, caught slightly off guard by the sun hitting his golden tan, making him shimmer slightly. Well, there was no denying he was gorgeous.

“And this is [Y/N]. She’ll be the one bossing you about for the day.”

You shook your head and gave Tom a warm smile. “Just look good for the camera and no bossing about will be needed,” you smirked. “I’m sure you won’t struggle with that anyway. Right, let’s get started.”

Tom was a complete natural. He eased into the shoot in no time, effortlessly pulling off his poses. In fact, it was quite distracting. During your time as a professional photographer, you had come across incredibly good looking men, but there was just something about Tom that stood out. His personality shone through in the photos and you took some great ones of him laughing. Those were your favourites.

“You wanna have a break before the next outfit change?” you asked, wiping the sweat from your forehead. You loved the heat, but boy was it scorching. You put your camera down next to your laptop and found the snack table, grabbing a plate to fill with sliced watermelon. “I think we’ll go inside for the next ones,” you said, glancing up at Tom who had come to take some food too. “I don’t know about you, but I’m just about dying in this heat.”

Tom laughed and nodded. “Yeah, I don’t think photos of me drenched in sweat will look that great.” He reached over to pick a handful of strawberries and your cheeks warmed at the sight of his chest in front of your face, very much dripping with sweat.

“Well, I beg to differ,” you found yourself saying, then gave a chuckle to brush the comment away. “There’s towels inside if you want to wipe yourself down.”

“How long have you been doing this?” asked Tom as you both made your way inside, instantly feeling the cool air from the fans in the corner. He popped a strawberry into his mouth and swiped one of the hand towels from a table. “You just seem a bit young, no offence.”

You shrugged a shoulder and told him no offence was taken. “I’ll actually be twenty-one this weekend. You’re not the first one to question my age,” you hummed, joining him on the couch. “I’m just lucky to catch a break so early, I guess. I’m sure you can say the same.”

His face lit up and he smiled softly. “I’m just waiting for it all to fall apart,” he admitted and, catching your small frown, quickly added, “I know I’m lucky and being Spider-Man is… Well it’s awesome! It doesn’t seem real sometimes, is what I’m saying.”

It was refreshing to hear his humbleness. “Are you used to the attention yet? I think just about everyone wants a piece of you. I mean, we had to fight to shoot this cover!”

The comment made him laugh and he shook his head. “Well I better make it worth it!” He pulled a leg up onto the couch as he relaxed into the cushions. “I don’t mind it actually. It’s part of the job, isn’t it? I’ve had moments where I’ve freaked out and I start to question how I’m going to live this life,” he told you, eyes a little wide. “But I’ve met some great friends on set, like Zendaya. The amount of times I’ve rang her in a panic! She’s so good at handling it and is so good at talking me through all this.”

“Are you and Zendaya…?”

“What? No! She’s just one of my best friends.”

“Don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone answer a question so fast,” you teased, unable to hide your smirk. You raised a brow and laughed softly at his flushed cheeks. “I’m just messing with you,” you snorted and gave his shoulder a gentle shove.

His smile made your stomach flutter and you focused on your snack to try and hide the way your cheeks reddened, but you could still feel his dark eyes lingering on your face.

“You’ve got a bit of…” Tom gestured to his chin. “Juice.”

Your head shot up and you frowned before wiping your chin quickly with the back of your hand. “God, remind me never to eat melon again when there’s company,” you muttered, almost entirely sure your skin had turned as red as a tomato.

“Maybe you should be the one with the towel.” His laugh was infectious and you found yourself easily joining in.

The photoshoot soon picked up again before you lost the light from the setting sun. A golden hue illuminated the rooms, only making it harder for you not to get distracted by the man you were photographing. A part of you wished it was the middle of winter just because it would mean Tom would actually have a top on. He changed into a few different outfits, from a deep blue, loose pyjama style suit to a proper shirt and jacket that he must have been roasting in. You continued to snap away when everyone took another break to munch on the Chinese takeaway one of the guys had ordered, taking some of your favourite photos of him joking around with the guys.

Eventually, when you ran out of charge on both your spare batteries, the camera was put down and you all settled in the living room to start recording the special snippet with Tom.

“You look so worried,” you noted with a smirk as the actor got comfortable on the couch in front of the tripod. You leaned back against the dining table just behind the camera and sneakily looked him up and down. Blue was definitely his colour.

“Alright, just introduce yourself whenever you’re ready and we’ll go from there,” Carter nodded and gave Tom a quick thumbs up to let him know the camera began recording.

It was clear that Tom had done a lot of videos like this before, coming off at ease with the introduction and then he began to pick questions from the hat on his lap. Carter’s was the first to be answered and you couldn’t help but smile at his answer. You weren’t expecting Winston Churchill. He kept finding you as he spoke, barely looking at the camera.

“‘Kill or keep’,” Tom read aloud after picking another piece of paper and visibly cringed at the question. “‘Tobey Maguire or Andrew Garfield?’ Who put that one in there?” he asked, scanning the small amount of people in the room. His eyes found you and you gave him a sheepish grin, your own eyes sparkling. He shook his head and returned your smile as he stretched his arm over the back of the couch. “Oh, that’s a tough one… I’m gonna have to say Andrew Garfield because… I love him and he’s killing it right now.”

A few more questions were picked out and answered, one particular response going off on a tangent about not being able to chop off a nipple-sized penis. You weren’t in charge of editing the video, but you knew for sure some of his explanation wasn’t GQ-friendly and would have to be cut.

“I can’t believe you made me pick between each Spider-Man,” Tom said, coming up behind you as you packed away your laptop. “I still feel so torn about it!”

“Yeah, well life’s full of tough decisions. I just don’t know how Tobey will take the news you think he’s a shit Spider-Man.”

“If I’d said Andrew, he would have killed me,’ he replied, chuckling gently. He watched you zip up your bags and nibbled lightly on his lower lip. “What are you doing this weekend? For your birthday, I mean,” he said, trying his best to sound casual.

You pursed your lips to hold back a smile. “No idea. I was supposed to be going out with my flatmate for a few drinks since I go back home tomorrow, but I don’t know how long it’ll take me to edit all these photos. Deadlines aren’t put on hold because it’s my birthday,” you shrugged and pulled your bag up over your shoulder.

“Oh. Right. Well you should definitely go out for drinks,” he nodded, running his fingers through his soft curls. “I just thought… Well if your flatmate’s busy for whatever reason, I could always, well, take you out. I’m flying home tonight so I’ll be there for a few days and it’s a big birthday after all and you don’t wanna waste it editing some shit photos - not that I’m saying they’re shit, I just mean-”

“We can go for a drink or two,” you interrupted, his rambling giving you those damned butterflies again. “How about I text you and we’ll sort something, yeah?”

Were you really asking for his number? Were you that predictable to do what pretty much any girl would kill for?

“Yeah, sounds great to me,” he nodded quickly and took the phone you offered to type in his number.

“Well we’ll sort something out, but I’ve got to get going. If I plan on getting drunk with Spider-Man, I should start on these edits as soon as possible.”

You resisted the urge to lean up to give his cheek a kiss and instead went with an incredibly lame wave on your way out of the house. The thought of seeing him again in just a few days got you incredibly excited. Saturday really couldn’t come quick enough.

A/N: Credit for photographer idea goes to Anna. Read her fics, they’re bomb.

Join my tag list!

198 notes · View notes

convivialcamera · 5 years

Text

On Deadline: Jump

Previously

My entire universe had shrunk to the tip of a pin.

Every atom in my body was attuned only to the spot where Jamie’s blunt finger was delicately but insistently caressing my clitoris as I lay spread before him, feet dangling off the side of the bed and into oblivion. My blood rushed and my skin heated. My entire body tensed in a desperate attempt to keep still enough that the sudden jerking of my hips wouldn’t dislodge his finger. I held my breath deep in my lungs, straining, wanting, needing, burning.

Elbow tucked into my side, I reached up and grabbed at my shoulder, digging my fingernails into my collarbone in a last-ditch attempt to hold on.

And then, the chaos I was reigning in broke free. I exhaled on a small moan, and as I sucked in air the first wave of release hit me. After that I was lost.

When I came-to moments later, Jamie was gently running a finger down the inside of my splayed thigh and grinning like a cat that got the canary.

“You’re way too easy,” he said, a smirk barely concealed in the corner of his mouth.

“Shut up.” But I couldn’t help but grin myself, buoyed by the pleasure and contentment of orgasm. Jamie curled up beside me, resting his red mop just above my navel. I ran my fingers through his curls and caressed the curve of his ear. We stayed there, silent, for a long time.

As I gently floated in a state of semi-consciousness, Jamie’s breath tickled my stomach. Through the fog, it occured to me that he was talking.

“...that we could hit this wine bar later,” he said, “and maybe make a night of it.”

“What? Like a date?” I raised my head to look at him, propping myself up on my elbow.

He twisted his neck to look back at me. “Yes, like a date.”

I flopped back, a silly, wide smile overtaking my face. “Alright, then.”

I had the day off, having worked the Sunday before, but Jamie soon slinked away from my bed and back to the newsroom. I languished between the sheets, carefully cataloging every single moment that had passed between us. There was an easy intimacy between us that went beyond all the sex or even our shared profession, and I admitted to myself that I reveled in it.

I spent the day napping, mostly, although I did run out to buy a vacuum, since I had left the marital vacuum with my almost-ex-husband. I was loathe to think of Frank, I smugly told myself, as there really should only be two people in a new relationship. I tried to put him out of my mind, but he lingered. Why had I fallen in love with him? I wondered as I stood in front of the vacuum display, comparing models. What had made Frank stray? I pondered as I paid the clerk and lugged my purchase out to my car. Was it my work, or was it something irreparably wrong with me? I questioned as I drove back to my apartment. I didn’t have any answers, but something told me that with Jamie, everything was different.

Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, Beauchamp, or maybe you just like fucking him, I thought.

By the time Jamie arrived at my door that evening, beautifully windswept from his ride over with just a hint of helmet hair, I had showered, shaved, plucked and primped within an inch of my life. To my distinct pleasure, my date looked like he had been temporairly struck dumb.

“Dude, it’s just a nice top.” I handed him a bourbon, neat, as he openly stared at my chest. It was a vibrant red and rather more low-cut than what I wore on assignment.

He sucked down the drink like it was water. “Is that what you call it?”

“Yep.” I sipped my own drink like I had all the time in the world. I raised an eyebrow at him, daring him to say anything else about it. He immediately recognized the challenge, and demurred with a shrug.

“You ready?”

“Yeah.” I glugged down the last of the bourbon and grabbed my black moto jacket. “Let’s go.”

The bar was in an old candy shop in a small historic district downtown Leoch. The walls were brick with the paint flaking off, and it was filled with little nooks and industrial furniture and illuminated only with candles. A sprightly little hipster seated us at a tiny table beneath an arch in a secluded corner with a single votive candle and two of the tiniest glasses of water I’d ever seen. Menus were attached to clipboards, and I studiously examined mine, avoiding Jamie’s gaze.

I picked a pinot noir at random when the server came around, while Jamie ordered a sweet rosé and the biggest cheese plate on the menu.

“It’s refreshing,” he said at my smirk.

“I’m sure.” I swirled my own wine and took a sip. The alcohol rushed through my bloodstream and heated my stomach.

Jamie rolled his eyes at me, and put his hand on mine. “It’s easier if we touch, isn’t it?”

It was a startling observation. I squeezed his hand, and felt the nervous energy between us dissipate into the ether.

“Well, why don’t you tell me something about yourself?” I asked.

“What do you want to know?”

I cast about for a subject while I cut a hunk of Brie and smooshed it into a slice of baguette. “What’s your family like? Other than your uncles,” I qualified quickly. “Like, your mom and dad.”

“My parents are dead, Claire.” He said this softly; it pained him to tell me.

“Oh.” I exhaled. “Mine too. Car crash when I was five.” It was an old wound but a deep one that still ached when pressed. The warmth of his hand sustained me. He paused, as if deciding. When he opened his mouth to speak, I blurted: “You don’t have to tell me.”

“It’s OK. My mom died when I was eight. And Dad, he had a massive stroke my first year of college.”

“Sucks,” I said without thinking. Jamie gave me a look that clearly said “duh,” and I giggled. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“I think you’re the only one that could have said that to me and not get punched in the face,” he said contemplatively, drinking his wine. “Because you know what it’s like.”

I gave him my own look. “It’s a shitty club.”

Jamie loaded a baguette slice with blue cheese and a dried apricot and stuffed it in his mouth. “You told me a while back that you’re not from anywhere. What the hell does that mean?”

I smiled. I had told him that the day we met, the first time he called me Sassenach. “My uncle raised me. He was a photographer too — on staff at Nat Geo.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah, and in, like, the ‘80s, when the job was basically globetrotting with a camera. I refused to go to boarding school so I went with him, just about everywhere.”

“You come by all this naturally?” Jamie waved at me, indicating tip to toenails.

“Sure. All my belongings fit in a duffel bag and I didn’t go to a real school until college. So, yeah, I’m not really from anywhere.”

“That’s a hell of a childhood. I just grew up on a farm.”

“Like, cows and corn fields?”

“And horses,” he said.

“Race horses?”

He blushed. “Some. My sister Jenny and her husband breed and train them. She breeds merino sheep too.”

I could tell he was downplaying the race horses. “Are you and Jenny close?”

“As close as we can be, since I live here now,” Jamie said, but he evaded my gaze, which made me think there was more to that story. I itched to press him further, but didn’t want to bring the specter of tragedy back into our conversation so I turned to lighter things.

I told him about my uncle, Quenten Lambert Beauchamp, the archaeologist-turned-photographer who raised me, and my wandering childhood that spanned six of the seven continents (we went to Antarctica, but hadn’t made it to Australia). As I talked, Jamie listened intently, asking questions now and then, especially about Uncle Lamb’s assignments. As the cheese plate slowly disappeared between us and another round of drinks arrived, Jamie spoke of his sister and her husband, who was also Jamie’s oldest friend, and the trouble they got into as kids on the farm. He was a born storyteller, charming and funny.

I was telling Jamie about the time Uncle Lamb locked me in a temple to the Roman Goddess Vesta when I was 16, when Jamie’s eyes suddenly went wide and his ears turned so crimson I could see it even in the dim candlelight of the bar.

“Don’t turn around, but I’m pretty sure Geillis just walked in,” Jamie said in a low voice, as if he was afraid speaking her name aloud would summon her to us.

Unable to help myself, I peeked over my shoulder, and sure enough I could see Geillis’s bright blonde curtain of hair as she chatted with the hostess and was led to a table for two on the other side of the bar. I turned back and rolled my eyes at Jamie to tease him a bit. “Yep, that’s her. What of it?”

“Don’t you think it might not be the best idea for the entire newsroom to know we’re, you know…” He made an indistinct noise in his throat that made his meaning perfectly clear.

I raised a skeptical eyebrow at him, deciding if I should say the thought that immediately popped into my mind. “I’m sorry,” I said, the devil on my shoulder winning out. “I watched you slobber all over an intern in front of the whole staff and you’re worried about being spotted having a glass of wine with a colleague?” I smiled innocently at him.

Jamie opened and closed his wide mouth a few times, flabbergasted. “Geillis is an opportunistic gossip.”

“I don’t have anything to hide.”

“And anyone who saw you in that shirt would know this is more than a glass of wine.” He suddenly looked smug.

I began to roll my eyes at him, but I was distracted by a tall man with dark hair and strong bones walking into the bar through the back door. I leaned back, and pulled Jamie into the shadows. Dougal MacKenzie made a beeline for Geillis’s table, and Geillis smiled broadly when she spotted him.

“What are we looking at?” Jamie whispered in my ear, sounding bewildered.

“Any reason why your uncle is macking on Gellis at the most romantic spot in town?” I whispered back, as we watched our boss greet our colleague with a very familiar kiss and sit down.

“Can’t think of any, other than the obvious,” Jamie said. “Maybe we should get out of here.” He flagged down the server with one hand, and ran a suggestive finger up my thigh under the table with the other.

“Maybe head back to my place?”

“I’d like nothing better.”

#On Deadline fic #outlander #outlander fanfic #jamie x claire

155 notes · View notes

ghostofviperwrites · 5 years

Text

Phantom Dragons Motorcycle Club - Chapter 3

Word Count: 4200

Warnings: explicit language, implied criminal elements, implied cheating

This is a re-write of two chapters combined into one with some new stuff. All new chapters are just around the corner, but you should still reread these ones so you’re not lost with the changes.

PDMC Pinterest Board= has pics of characters, girlfriends, bikes and more to e added

Chapter 3

In the two months since the behind closed doors meeting about Sanada, it seemed like the club had gotten on more sure footing. When Naito had revealed to the rest of the founding members Sanada’s feelings of isolation and how long they had allowed that feeling to persist it had been met with shock followed quickly by realization. As he sat at the head of the table Naito watched as one by one they replayed the past year and a half and came to the same conclusions he had. That they had neglected one of their own and it did had not set well with any one of them. It was never intentional by any of them, but they had gotten into habits over the years that they hadn’t made the adjustment when Evil had gone away. By this point they were probably annoying the shit out of Sanada with the attention they were focusing on him.

Now it was crunch time. They were five months out from the deadline imposed by Naito for their move. Four months out from Evil’s release from prison. Naito wanted a choice sooner than later so they could get finalize the details.

The only good part of this process as far as Shingo was concerned was getting a lot of time on his bike where he was happiest. At the moment they were on their way to a little town called Watford the fourth town on their three day tour. The first three towns had been vetoed, either lacking the appropriate resources or Shingo finding something he didn’t care for. They were due to arrive in Watford in about fifteen minutes and they were both hoping the fourth time was the charm.

Naito was optimistic. Watford was a small town; with a population around 10,000 people, but not so miniscule that his boys would be miserable. There was still the small town vibe, with a main street filled with mom and pop shops, while still having some of the amenities of a bigger city. The biggest factor on its side was the small police force, at least in Naito’s eyes. Another bonus was the city of Ecrin which was about twenty minutes south of Watford, close enough the boys could ride up for a taste of the big city life.

In the distance the outskirts of Watford came into view, a peppering of houses spread throughout the forest trees, sharp contrasts of vibrant colors against the green landscape. As they continued along the road the ranches and farm houses came into sharper focus, sprawling ranch lands, barbed wire fences holding the cattle in, the smell of manure strong in the air. As they got closer to the main houses, goats and sheep began appearing with regularity, along with horses and chickens around the barns.

Pulled out of his thoughts by Shingo motioning for him to pull over, Naito followed him off the road, pulling to a stop on the dirt lining the blacktop. Naito raised his eyebrow as he pulled off his helmet, looking over the abandoned junkyard they were stopped in front of. Long abandoned by the looks of it. The sign proclaiming the location “John’s Junkyard” was half hanging, the paint faded and rust around the edges as it dangled over the broken wooden gate.

“Not very secure. A strong wind could break in.” Naito called out to Shingo who had climbed off his bike and was examining the perimeter.

“That can be fixed.” Shingo responded pulling one of the dilapidated boards to the side to peer into the yard. “It’s a good size. Good location. Could work well as a headquarters. A couple of months could have it in shape.”

Naito looked doubtfully at the weed infested land with scattered hulls of junk cars long picked over interspersed throughout. He didn’t see it, but if Shingo saw something he would cede to the other man’s opinion. This was his specialty.

“Turn these shitty wood fences into concrete, reinforce it with rebar, and top it with barbwire, secure gate.” Shingo thought aloud, speaking half to himself, half to Naito. “Put a laydown in the middle, gym, garage, and a couple other buildings. It’ll all fit.”

“You know it’s your call.” Naito said. “If you give the say so, we’re in.”

“Let’s check out the rest of this place before we decide.” Shingo said coming back to his bike. Grabbing his helmet from the seat Shingo strapped it on before slipping his sunglasses back on. Slinging his leg over the seat Shingo fired up his engine and followed Naito’s path back onto the street.

The two continued on their tour of Watford, driving through the residential areas and along the main street pulling to the side occasionally to confer before ending up parked across the street from the police station. The two men were cognizant of the stares they were getting as they sat on their bikes, Shingo smirking as he stared challengingly at the police officers walking into the building giving them wary glances. Naito got a kick out of the people who shied away from them on the sidewalks, not knowing who they were, but instinctually reading the danger implied by their leather vests proudly proclaiming their status in the Phantom Dragons Motorcycle Club.

“Let’s grab some lunch.” Naito suggested after Shingo indicated he was satisfied with what they saw. Climbing off their bikes the two men walked down the sidewalk towards the little corner café they had seen on their way through town; Mary’s Cafe. “See if small town food is good as they say.”

After they settled into a corner booth the men perused the menus handed to them by the teenage waitress, sending her on her way with their drink orders.

“Anything catch your eye?” Shingo asked as he considered his options.

“Everything. I’m starving” Naito said with a grin. “But I think I’m going to try the meatloaf special. What about you?”

“Burger.” Shingo said.

The waitress returned, setting their sodas down in front of them before cheerily taking their order, her wide eyes roaming over their leather vests and handsome faces with clear interest.

“You’re jailbait sweetheart.” Naito said catching her looks. “Not happening. Ever. Move along.”

Embarrassment flushed her cheeks and she scurried away, darting back into the kitchen.

“Nice to know things are the same even in small towns.” Shingo said with a sardonic chuckle. “Teenage girls still lusting after the bad boys.”

“I hope you boys aren’t scaring off my wait staff.”

Naito looked up, seeing an older woman approaching the table with a stern look on her face. He glanced down at the menu still sitting on the table, recognizing her picture as the owner of the café.

“You must be Mary.” Naito said flashing a megawatt smile. “I am Naito. This is my friend Shingo.”

“It’s nice to meet you both. Care to explain why Jenny is crying in my kitchen?” Mary asked with sharp focus that made Naito want to squirm in his seat.

“You’ve got that momma look down.” Naito said with a laugh, grinning wider as he saw the slight softening around her eyes. He liked her; and it never hurt to have a friend on your side.

“We meant no disrespect ma’am.” Shingo interjected. “We were just trying to warn Ms. Jenny away. We’re not the kind of men she should be flirting with. She’s underage and impressionable. We’re not good men. She doesn’t need to think we are.”

Mary stared at him shrewdly then turned the same look on Naito before nodding in satisfaction at what she saw and smiling kindly at the two men.

“I think you’re better men than you give yourself credit for.” Mary said. “Bad men wouldn’t care that Jenny is only sixteen. They would have taken advantage of her.”

Naito’s grin turned into a frown as a police officer appeared at Mary’s shoulders interrupting their conversation.

“Are these men bothering you Mary?” The officer asked placing a protective arm around her shoulder.

“What? Of course not.” Mary said turning to frown at him as she shrugged off his arm. “I hope you’re not going to harass my customers Officer Prembley. They’re just sitting here having a meal.”

“Just making sure they aren’t causing any trouble on their way out of town.” He said meaningfully.

“Actually we were just about to ask sweet Mary if she could direct us to a realtor. We’re going to be sticking around for a while.” Naito said with a smirk as Shingo nodded in agreement. He was glad Shingo was on board, because Naito would move here just to spite the asshole police officer.

Officer Prembley frowned while Mary smiled in delight.

“Oh, it’s been so long since we had new residents. This is so exciting.” She exclaimed. “I know just the person to help you. Let me go get your meal and I’ll get her information for you.”

“You aren’t wanted here.” Officer Prembley said as soon as she was out of earshot. “We don’t want your kind in our town.”

“Our kind?” Naito retorted sharply. “You mean foreigners? Do we not fit your perfect mold? Not white enough for you?”

“You know what I’m talking about. Mary may be naïve, but I know exactly what those patches on your vests stand for. My feelings have nothing to do with the color of your skin.” He snapped. “Stay out of our town. We don’t need your kind of filth.”

“Aren’t we the popular ones?” Shingo snorted as they watched Officer Prembley storm out of the diner.

“He’s not exactly wrong. We do have nefarious intentions.” Naito chuckled the conversation dropping off as Mary reappeared with their meals, sliding into the booth next to Naito and fussing over them as she apologized for Officer Prembley’s rude behavior.

By the time the meal was done, the two men were firmly under Mary’s wing, as she ate up their flowery compliments of her restaurant’s food and heard all about their makeshift family. Mary filled them in on the story of the old junkyard Shingo had been interested in, as well as the available real estate that she was positive would make good homes for her new friends, and an appointment with her friend the real estate agent.

“What about vacant lots Mary?” Shingo asked as the conversation wound down. “Any empty lots for sale? One of our friends is rather particular about his tastes. I’m sure he would prefer to build his own home.”

Mary pursed her lips as she thought of the land available in and around town before she brightened.

“There’s a beautiful lot out by the lake that just came up for sale. Death in the family. I think they want to get rid of it quickly. Absolutely beautiful. I’m sure it would meet the most discerning standards.” Mary said making Shingo snort.

“She doesn’t know Sanada.” He laughed making Naito chuckle in agreement. “I’m sure there’s nothing in this town that will meet his standards.”

“Oh hush now,” Mary scolded. “That’s no way to talk about your friend. Especially when he’s not here to defend himself. You boys better be nice.”

“Well Sanada will certainly appreciate your vehement defense of him.” Naito said. “You may just win him over.”

“I look forward to meeting him. Now you boys better get going if you want to make your appointment with Lisa.” Mary said sliding out of the booth to let Naito out as Shingo left a stack of cash in the middle to cover their meal and a tip for their long vanished waitress.

“Mary, you have been an invaluable help.” Naito said lifting her hand and pressing a kiss to the top of it making Mary blush like a school girl. “It won’t be forgotten.”

As they walked out of the diner Shingo nudged Naito and nodded up the street where Officer Prembley was standing next to their bikes, glaring in their direction. Naito grinned as they walked in his direction, watching him gear himself up for the confrontation; he could practically see the conversation the officer was having with himself. Three doors down from their bikes Naito stopped and opened the door to the realtor’s office, waving cheerfully at the officer as they stepped inside.

Naito’s eyes lit up as they were greeted by the real estate agent, Lisa Bloom. He had been expecting an older woman like Mary, given she had talked about Lisa like they were old friends, but was pleasantly surprised by the beautiful woman who ushered them in. She could be an entertaining way to pass the time while he was away from his old lady.

“Focus.” Shingo teased in a whisper as Naito’s eyes were glued to her shapely behind as she led them towards her office. “You can fuck her after our dealings are done. Don’t need to piss off the only realtor in town.”

Naito rolled his eyes but complied with Shingo’s demand. He made sense. Would be hard to work with her if he pulled a fuck and run.

“Unless I fuck her first.” Shingo said with a wide grin as he turned his charm onto Lisa.

Two hours and a lot of flirting later, the two men left her office with folders full of the available offerings in Watford and an appointment for the next day to check out some properties. During the meeting they had also extended an offer on the abandoned junkyard that had caught their eye on the way into town. A few phone calls, faxed contracts and wired funds and the plot of land was on its way to being Phantom Dragons property.

The two men found themselves back at Mary’s, taking up residence in the same booth from their earlier visit and spreading the listings out in front of them.

“You becoming regulars already?” Mary asked as she approached the table with a smile.

“Great food. Better hostess. How can we stay away?” Naito said.

“Oh stop it,” Mary fluttered. “Is he always such a charmer?”

“Yep. That’s our Naito, the little charmer.” Shingo said rolling his eyes as Naito ate up Mary’s praise with a smug smirk.

Despite their insistence that they weren’t hungry and just wanted a milkshake while they borrowed her table, Mary brought them out a plate of corn fritters and hush puppies to nibble on carrying on about them being too skinny and needing some good food.

As he flicked through the pile of papers Naito was surprised at the amount of properties available, mentioning such to Mary as she dropped plates at their table.

“Small towns are dying Naito.” She said softly. “People moving on to big cities. Better jobs. Better lives. At least according to them.” Mary harrumphed; her opinion on that clear.

Shingo pursed his lips, considering Mary as she walked away.

“There’s no jobs here.” Shingo said. “That’s why they’re leaving. No future.”

“And what does that have to do with us?” Naito asked taking a bite from a fritter.

“Small towns aren’t very friendly to outsiders. Mary being the exception thus far.” Shingo said. “Some goodwill on our part would go a long way in getting the townspeople on our side.”

“What are you thinking?”

“We have a lot of construction work that will need to be done. I bet a lot of these out of work men are in that field. They could make a lot of money helping us out. I say we hire them instead. A big company coming in for months at a time isn’t going to do anything but remind them we thought they weren’t good enough to handle our business. That’s just going to make us pariahs.”

“So you’re suggesting we play Robin Hood?” Naito asked skeptically.

“Pay em good and get em on our side.” Shingo said seriously. “Given the reception we’ve gotten from the police so far we’re going to need it. We need allies; who better than the people who live here. Money goes a long way towards that.”

Naito sat back, slinging his arm along the back of the booth and musing over Shingo’s idea.

“We can’t support the whole town indefinitely.” Naito said after a moment. “We’re not a charity.”

“I know.” Shingo acknowledged. “But all they’re going to remember is their benefactors coming into town and saving them from poverty. We need to open some legitimate fronts. Hire townspeople to work them, money in their pockets and ours.”

“Guess we better have Lisa get us some commercial lots together too. We can look at those when I come back in a few weeks. Just in case that’s the road we decide to take.” Naito said in resignation pulling out his phone to shoot a text to the agent. Shingo’s plan was sound. It wouldn’t hurt them to have some legitimate businesses running to cover the illicit activities. It’s what they did now, no reason why they shouldn’t continue it just because it was a smaller base of operations. Problem was the profit margin in a small town was much smaller than a big city. “We’re going to need to sit down before you move up here and figure out exactly what the fuck we’re going to do. As a board.”

Shingo nodded in agreement with Naito’s assessment. The club was planning their final move in about three months; however Shingo had volunteered to move immediately to oversee construction of their operations. The others would make visits throughout, but Shingo would be the only permanent resident for the next couple of months. They had a lot of details to hammer out before Shingo returned to Watford the following week.

While Mary cleared their plates, Naito picked her brain for the names of some local contractors who she felt would be suitable for the construction work the club would need. With some thought Mary came up with a few names, promising Shingo and Naito to have the men get in contact with them if they were interested in the jobs.

As he had on their previous visits Shingo threw a stack of cash on the table, ignoring Mary’s protests as she chased after them complaining about leaving too much money. Protests which fell on deaf ears as Naito waved her off with a lazy gesture.

Stepping into the quickly cooling night air the two men made their way back to their long parked bikes, climbing on and making the short drive up the street to the town’s only motel which was located about half a block down from Mary’s. It was a dilapidated building in desperate need of a fresh coat of paint and some TLC. Along with a good deep cleaning. They would probably be better off sleeping in the dirt at their newly acquired junkyard if the outside was any indication.

“This wouldn’t be a bad business to step into.” Shingo commented noticing the for sale sign in the front window as Naito walked into the small lobby to secure them a room. As Naito handled the registration Shingo ran a discerning eye over the property wondering just how much money they would have to sink into the place to make it half-way decent.

“A motel? Really? You gonna play maid Shingo?” Naito asked as he came back out with their key a few moments later, picking up the conversation where it had been left off.

“Hell no. But I’m sure there’s plenty of women around here who would jump at the chance.”

“That’s a big expense Shingo.” Naito said. “Not a lot of upside. This place is a piece of shit. You’re going to have to convince the boys. I’m not seeing it.”

Shingo nodded. He understood where Naito was coming from. They had never undertaken a business like a motel before. But as soon as he had seen that for sale sign, things had started running through his mind and he was pretty sure the club would see the benefit once he outlined it. If they didn’t he would forget it and they would go for something else.

“Here we are.” Naito said stopping outside room 124. “You better not snore.”

“Not my fault you’re too cheap to get us two rooms. Please tell me there’s at least two beds.”

The following morning found them back at Mary’s for a quick breakfast, quickly commandeering what they were now proclaiming their booth. Mary wasn’t around this morning, a new waitress severely lacking in personality compared to Mary getting dismissed by a grumpy Naito who was the farthest thing from a morning person you could get.

“I don’t like her.” Naito grumbled into his coffee.

“She’s fine.” Shingo waved off his complaints. “Just cause she’s not falling all over your dick doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with her. Long as she gets my food right and keeps my coffee filled she’s alright in my books.”

Finishing up their meal the two men left what was quickly becoming their regular haunt walking down to Lisa Bloom’s office to meet her for their viewing appointment.

“I’ve got a few new properties I came across last night that I think will be what you two are looking for.” Lisa said as she led them into her office, gesturing for them to take a seat. “If you want to take a quick look and see if any jump out as immediate no’s or must sees in addition to the ones I gave you last night.”

Shingo flipped through the stack Lisa handed them one-by-one, examining the pictures and specs of each listing and creating two piles while Naito did the same with his own stack. Lisa arched an eyebrow as she looked through the final stacks of their selected homes.

“These are exactly the same.” She said in disbelief waving the two piles. “How did you two manage that?”

“Jesus, I knew I’ve been hanging around you too much Shingo.” Naito groaned. “I’m turning into you.”

Shingo laughed and slapped Naito on the back, telling him it was only an improvement before passing over the properties from the previous listings they wanted to check out to Lisa.

“Well, hopefully we can find something for each of you. So long as you don’t both want the same house.” Lisa interjected.

“That won’t happen.” Naito reassured her. “Shingo will be the easiest client you’ll ever have. He ain’t picky.”

Grabbing her jacket Lisa led the two out of her office towards her silver Honda Accord parked behind the building.

“The first place is just up the street.” Lisa said making small talk as she navigated through the streets before pulling into the driveway of a small white cottage style home with colorful flowers surrounding the porch.

“I’ll take it.” Shingo said before she even had the car in park. He was sitting in the passenger’s seat of Lisa’s vehicle, the stack of home they were looking at sitting across his thigh. A quick glance around the neighborhood satisfied him and he wasn’t going to waste time.

The house was nice from the outside. Enough space between the neighbor’s houses that he wouldn’t feel claustrophobic and it was close where he envisioned the compound.

“Excuse me?” Lisa laughed in disbelief. “You haven’t even seen it. What do you mean you’ll take it?”

“Told ya in the office, Shingo will be the easiest client you’ll ever have.” Naito chimed in from the back seat.

“I don’t really care. I need a place. This will work.” Shingo said with a shrug. “Anything that needs to be done, I can do after I move in.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to look at it?” Lisa asked skeptically. “Buying a house is a big decision to make sight unseen.”

“No I don’t need to. Neighborhood is fine.” Shingo said. “If I can move in when I return next week I’ll take it. Otherwise I need whatever place can do that.”

“It takes time to buy a house Shingo.” Lisa objected. “There’s escrow. We have to secure a mortgage for you. Inspections. Paperwork.”

“I’m paying cash. Don’t want inspections.” Shingo said. “I just want it done. Now.”

“Okay then.” Lisa said huffing out a breath. “What about you Naito? Are you picking from the driveway too?”

“Nope. I’m not as easy as Shingo. You’re going to have to put some effort into me.” Naito teased. “Though I will give you longer than a week to finalize everything.”

“And what about a mortgage for you?”

“Cash.” Naito said. “Everything will be done in cash. For all of us.”

“How on earth can do you have that much cash just lying around?” Lisa asked in shock, paling as the smiles dropped from both Naito and Shingo’s faces.

“Don’t ask too many questions Lisa.” Shingo said shortly.

Lisa swallowed hard, wondering what she was stepping into with these men coming into her town throwing around hundreds of thousands of dollars in cash like it was nothing. Pasting on a fake smile Lisa backed out of the driveway and headed for the next property. All she was doing was selling some houses. She couldn’t possibly get into any trouble for that.

@ghoulsister1 @dawnie39uk @littlebluespoon @serenityfiretrash @earl-01 @paganbabe @willalwaysprotectyou @keltic-goddess

#pdmc #phantom dragons motorcycle club #lij fanfic #wrestling fanfic #njpw fanfic #mywriting #ghostofviperwrites

16 notes · View notes

cloudbatcave · 4 years

Text

Eye of the Beholder

The sun has barely started to rise across the sky when Tuuya’s phone buzzes.

Automatically, they reach out for it, only to slap the lid of their...bed, instead. It’s a bed, not a coffin. They are not a vampire.

Just because it happens to be filled with dirt like a shallow grave means nothing. It’s a quirk thing, okay. They’re not exactly thrilled that it’s comforting for them.

Blinking sleep away, they push the lid off (otherwise they’d spray dirt everywhere in their restless sleeping) fumbling with a grimy hand until they grab the phone off their short side table.

When they unlock the screen, there’s a picture waiting for them of a kid tied to a chair. The image is too blurry and dark to tell much about them, but from their size they can’t be older than five or six.

Tuuya starts throwing their costume on before they read the text below - who knows what state that kid’s in, if they’re even still alive. As long as there’s a chance...

Why did it have to be a small child, though. First that teenager the other day and now this.

The underground hero knows trauma is an inevitability of dealing with them, and they don’t take joy from it anymore. The sense of power it once gave them to shock and horrify dulled into boredom, into weary realization that a momentary rush still left them in the same position they’d always be in.

As they step out the door, vaguely noting early morning shadows and work-rush traffic, they check the text.

Be here in half an hour or the kid dies. Bring no one else. I’ll know if you do.

That’d be ominous enough on its own, but the fact that they’re not asking for money or something is worse; at least then Tuuya would have something to negotiate about. This implies a more personal vendetta, and given their colorful past, that doesn’t exactly narrow it down any.

They’re unfamiliar with the address given too, which is just fantastic. GPS time it is.

This adversary could also have a scrying quirk, or some other way to monitor the worm hero; while the last line might be an idle threat, it could also be very un-idle, and they can’t take chances.

They can however abuse loopholes, and they do so while humming as they tap away a few coded text messages before switching to their phone’s map.

It’s not far, at least - they’ll make the deadline just fine.

Their eyes narrow. That’s a little too easy, unless their adversary doesn’t know where they live after all.

No time to overthink, they muse as they get on their motorcycle. Opponents can be overestimated as well as underestimated.

Even with the annoyingly low speed limits (which they’re always careful to obey) they make it with ten minutes to spare and use it to look around.

Despite their texts none of Oculus’s pets can be sighted, or perhaps they’re hidden very well.

There are no obvious traps outside either - no hazards they can see that could be tripped, or bombs. There could be hidden ones, but for all intents and purposes the place looks like a normal junkyard.

Not that they trust it one bit.

Cutting open their hand with their fangs, they kneel down and release several worms, directing them to fan out. The information they receive from them isn’t very sophisticated, but the little things can feel heat, light, and react to signs of life. It’s far better than no warning at all, and they wriggle quickly across the concrete.

Their life outside Tuuya’s body is limited and dependent on the weather, among other factors. It rained yesterday, so the creatures have several minutes before they pass.

After a minute or two of waiting, all of them die within seconds of each other.

Good to know stealth is useless.

Whistling jauntily, Tuuya taps their fingers against their arm in short and long bursts as they stroll inwards, keeping it up until someone covered up to the nines, scarf and sunglasses included, steps out from behind a junk pile with a gun.

“What’re ya waiting for? Get over here.”

The voice - likely male, but it’s hard to tell - sounds bored, as if they have a million better things to do than wave a pistol at somebody. They probably do.

Still no sign of Oculus’s pets. There’s no tracks to see on concrete, but Tuuya can’t hear any telltale skittering or chirps.

The worm hero really hopes they’re just hidden as more thugs file in from different locations, all of them dressed identically.

All of them oddly bored.

They move in strange unison, too, as if...

Oh goody, a copying quirk.

Any hope of them being illusions is dashed by the smell of their bodies and the sound of their shoes pressing against the hard gray surface.

It also explains the worms’ nigh-identical death moments.

The billion-yen question is: are they all controlled by a single intelligence, or do they have their own individual ones?

Are they a real hive mind?

They round a pile and see the child still tied to the chair.

They’re bloody, but they seem to be alive.

Hatred surges in the worm hero, but they sink back into the old years of indifference, washing it away for a moment and not allowing their expression to change.

The woman standing next to them is unfortunately familiar, though given her gaunt face and crazed expression, it’s safe to say life hasn’t been kind to her since Tuuya saw her last.

“Mei-san! You look well.”

“You piece of shit. You should’ve gone to rot with the old man.”

They put a hand to their chest in mock affront, pale skin looking paler against their white costume striped with black.

“Is that any way to treat an old friend?”

“You sold us all out. Every. Single. One.”

“Mei-san, what would you have done in my position? Wasted away in that place for refusing to cooperate? I’m delicate, I couldn’t have managed.”

“I wouldn’t have gotten caught! Because I’m not a fucking idiot!”

Her hands are clenching and her teeth are bared. She’s quirkless, but with the five gun-wielding goons on her side (even if two are currently chatting with zero apparent interest in the situation) she definitely has the advantage.

Plus there’s the kid to worry about.

“That brat is your telekinetic pal’s niece, and she’s going to die while you watch.” She gloats, switching abruptly to smug from enraged as she paces back and forth, but her eyes are still alight with resentment.

“Oh, poor Shifter, she’s never been so insulted in her life. You’re lucky she can’t hear you.”

A brief look of puzzlement flashes over Mei’s face, but she snorts and then grins.

A flutter of wings flashes behind her and the goons.

They tap their arms again, twisting in place.

“So, how’s the kid going to bite it?”

Mei looks taken aback by your casual tone, which is funny in its own way. Then she smiles slyly, worn and yellowed teeth showing.

“Huh; you just let them think you changed. Still have to do this, but I guess it’ll be easier on you.”

A pair of great eagles swoop down and carry the child off, chair and all. Their wingbeats are unsteady at first, but avoid the late gunshots of the goons as they fly away.

Tuuya uses the distraction to tackle her to the concrete.

Mei swears and writhes and digs her fingernails into their skin, but she’s thin from stress and likely drug use as well.

Several bangs sound and Tuuya’s grateful for their earplugs.

Blood runs onto the concrete from a hole in Mei’s throat, a gleam of crushed bone and ragged windpipe visible through the torn muscle.

They feel themself riddled as well, the worms already working to push them out.

Looking up, they see the goons all positioned at near-perfect pentagonal points, one oddly large gap between two of them. All the shots seem to have been fired at the same time.

They’re riddled again. Gritting their fangs through the pain, they swing their head back and forth, watching, scanning.

More shots, more crushed bone and writhing worms. They’re approaching their limit.

One goon’s hand twitches before the rest of them do. Then the other two, then the other two a fraction of a second later. One is calling the shots.

Just like them when they send worms out.

Tuuya lets a flood of writhing white creatures spill from the holes, flowing out toward what must be the original. Their eyes close, but they can feel the pulse of the original’s blood, the breath that’s stopped by worms in their nose, their mouth.

No more shots.

Can’t let them die. Redirect the worms.

No matter how fun it would be.

Tuuya’s not a vampire, but they can only ingest liquids. Sometimes smelling blood makes them curious in a way that they’ve never had a good explanation for.

It’d be so easy. Let them die. See what it tastes like.

Oculus could still be watching, they remind themself.

Still the original thrashes, airways full of white squirming creatures.

It’s when they think of the child that the worms at last go their hands and tie them together, and the goon takes ragged gasps. Might have throat damage.

Tuuya can’t really bring themself to care.

With fewer worms in their body, it’s harder to push out the bullets. So they lie there, surrounded by four stock-still copies and one restrained original.

They soon pass out.

“Come on, honey - you already thanked the other heroes.”

“I want to thank them!”

They open their eyes, but the harsh light and lack of comforting dirt means they shut them again.

A hospital. How laughable.

And if that’s who they think it is, better to pretend to be aslee -

A small hand prods them in the arm before being scolded.

“But I saw them looking!”

“Let’s leave the...mix Hivemind to sleep, okay?”

The kid’s complaints get further and further away until Tuuya deems it safe to open their eyes for real.

Shifter’s here too, sitting in a chair and looking over at them over the magazine she’s holding.

Her face is unreadable.

“You were almost dead when we found you. Try wearing some kevlar.”

They smile dryly.

“That would restrict my quirk, and you know it.”

“Would restrict you looking like a colander too.”

“It turned out fine, didn’t it?”

“Chain Gang got away.” She says flatly. “So did the other watcher Oculus and Feathertouch had to fight. That’s why the birds were late; they had to keep them distracted, and Ichika almost didn’t make it.”

The worm hero opens their mouth to ask who that is before they realize the obvious answer.

“Ah. I’m sorry. She seems all right now, at least.”

“Her dad begged for her to get her memory wiped. Can’t blame him. My sister didn’t like it, but she gave in.”

Relief washes through them. She won’t tell anyone what they said.

Guilt nips at its heels, as well as wondering why they can’t have that done for everyone they save.

Their thoughts must leak to their face, because Shifter’s becomes uncertain, not an expression they’re used to seeing on her.

“This didn’t turn out great, but you’re not in trouble. No one expected you to take out five men with guns on your own. We didn’t even know Chain Gang was in the area; he’s from way further north, small-time crook.”

“He killed Mei.” they spill, unsure why they mention it. Unsure why their chest is tight at the thought.

“That was her name? You should tell the cops; they wanted a statement from you about the body as soon as you were conscious.”

“He killed her and he didn’t even have to.” They mumble.

Mei was one of Ryouji’s contacts; she brought him a lot of the supplies he needed for his experiments. She’d never had much time for Tuuya, but she’d always flick a cigarette their way. Never at their face. Just in their direction.

When they were young, Tuuya had always watched for her, waiting to meet her eyes. Scaring her was off-limits, but that had been almost as good.

They hadn’t paused when selling her or the rest of his contacts out to the heroes in return for staying out of jail. The choice had been simple.

So why did they keep seeing her torn open throat and burning with fury? Why should it matter to them?

Shifter looks awkward, but also thoughtful.

“This is his first murder, as far as we know. He’s way higher priority now, we have teams searching. Wonder why he decided she was worth it?”

“She wasn’t.”

They swallow, then speak again.

“She wasn’t worth killing. It doesn’t make sense.”

Shifter stares, until her face relaxes slightly with a faint ‘hm’ noise.

“You knew her, back then?”

“Not really.” They pause. “I didn’t know anyone then, except Ryouji.”

“What did your tap message mean, ‘no more’? If you sent others, Oculus didn’t get them.”

“Ah. I’d sent ‘no more - limited copies’ because I didn’t see any beyond those five, and I wanted to confirm there weren’t any more reinforcements.”

Shifter’s mouth moves into a grimace.

“From his records, Chain Gang’s limit is actually six, including the original. That’s how he got away - another came and grabbed the other ones, pulled the original out of your worms and got them in a car. By the time we could pursue, we lost them.”

Tuuya whistles in admiration. Smart villain, even if he is a complete bastard. What did motivate him to shoot his own co-conspirator?

“Anyway. Ichika won’t shut up about wanting to thank you. Just let her do it quick so she can move on and forget.”

“Is that smart, Shifter? I don’t want to piss off her parents.”

The short, muscular hero rolls her eyes.

“The more you tell a kid no, the more they want something. Easier to let her do it so she’ll stop fixating, especially since no one wants to tell her why.”

Tuuya blinks, puzzled.

“Just say I’m a monster. Easy, simple.”

More or less true.

“We can’t.” says Shifter, lips pulling back in irritation. “Not without risking more trauma. She doesn’t remember you, but she overheard enough that she knows you came to help her, and she already thanked Oculus and Feathertouch.”

They’re quiet for a few minutes. It’s a mistake to let the kid think positively of them. What will people think if she babbles of a hero with worms in them? A heteromorph of the most disturbing kind?

A creature who sleeps in earth because the hospital bed they’re lying on isn’t dark and comforting enough, not reassuringly crumbly to their skin and the little creatures swarming inside them.

A former villain.

“Let her come back in. Like you say, I’m sure she’ll forget.”

Shifter sighs, but gets up and goes to fetch her niece.

The little girl is so clean and bright and curious that Tuuya hardly recognizes her at first, but their hesitant fanged smile turns into a full one as they take in how healthy and happy she is now. They must have used a healing quirk on her along with the memory wipe.

“Hello, Ichika-san. I’m Hivemind. How are you doing?”

She clutches her stuffed panda and smiles shyly.

“M’good.”

“I heard you wanted to tell me something.”

She looks up at Shifter, mock furious, then giggles.

“Thank you!” she pipes. “Can I see your quirk? Look - I can do this - “

The child’s hands turn to furred paws, complete with claws. Bearlike ears sprout from her head. Then both fade away.

Ah.

Hesitant, careful, Tuuya allows a single worm to push through their skin, waving back and forth.

The child is captivated and reaches out to touch it with a finger before they can warn her back.

The sensation is so, so strange. So gentle. Ichika pokes it, and it retreats. She giggles.

“Bye!” She says, and runs off, her aunt muttering under her breath as she goes after her.

Tuuya lies back in the uncomfortable, perfectly suitable bed, staring at the white ceiling.

Shifter’s definitely going to hate them for this.

They wish they could find the will to regret doing it.

#cloud writes #tuuya #bnha fanfic

1 note · View note

lululawrence · 5 years

Photo

2018 Fics Written by lululawrence

Master Fic Masterpost / Buy me a Coffee?

A Dream is a Soft Place to Land (5k)

“It’ll be like a perpetual sleepover, Lou,” Harry had said. “It’ll be great.”

And it was...except it also meant that Louis’ long time, barely there crush on Harry had only grown into a full fledged, real life version of playing house where Louis all too often found himself pretending he and Harry really were together when they definitely were not.

Or the one where Harry might have told his friends that he was dating someone and has to show proof for their party on New Year's Eve. His best friend and roommate Louis is the obvious choice...but things don't exactly go as planned.

We Made a Start (2k)

“Hey! I thought your phone got taken away after that stunt you pulled in Chem,” Louis said brightly, relieved her best friend was going to rescue her from her awful reading assignment, even if it was only temporarily.

“It was taken away after that stunt she pulled in Chem,” a voice that definitely wasn’t Harry’s said.

“Oh...hi, Anne,” Louis greeted, suddenly nervous. Anne had never called Louis before, not when Harry wasn’t already at Louis’ house for a sleepover or something.

“Hi, Louis,” Anne continued. “Based on your greeting, I’m afraid I already know the answer, but I have to ask.” Anne’s voice was obviously filled with worry despite the fact she was trying to veil it with calm. “Harry doesn’t happen to be at your house, does she?”

Or the one where Harry's hiding, Louis knows just where to find her, and more comes out of the evening than either expected.

Tell Me That You've Got Me (3k)

In some ways, Harry felt like Louis was his older sibling as much as Gemma was. He certainly showed just as much affection as Gemma did. Whenever Harry would succeed in something they knew was difficult, both Gemma and Louis would celebrate by placing a loud, smacking kiss on Harry’s forehead.

As they got older, Gemma pulled back her affections. She was tired of her brother constantly hanging around, and she found ways to elude him. Harry couldn’t blame her, really. The hardest part for him, though, was not being able to be around Louis as often.

Louis never withdrew his physical affection like Gemma did, though. He continued giving Harry kisses on his forehead, much the same way he did with the ever growing number of younger sisters he had at home, to say hello and goodbye. Harry had come to rely on it. Gemma would bid him hello and goodbye with a soft smack on the side of his head, and Louis would kiss him wherever her hand had landed.

Or the one where Harry was always Louis' best friend's younger brother...until they grow up and once innocent forms of affection come to mean a little bit more.

I Don't Mean to Frustrate (14k)

Louis didn’t always feel like he had to hide. His family had known he would likely present as an omega from the time he was young and, despite the fact that male omegas were rare and had all the usual prejudices against them plus some, his loved ones were always caring and supportive.

Looking back on it, Louis sees quite clearly that had things gone differently, had three very specific scenes in his past played out with even a slight adjustment, he would likely be living his life as a happy and out male omega. Dwelling on that too often wasn’t good for him, though, because the fact was, they had happened. The outcome had been what got him where he was today: in the middle of a world tour feeling absolutely exhausted and needy, but not being able to tell anyone, not even his bandmates.

Or the one where Louis is an omega pretending to be a beta, but what happens when Harry, his (pining) alpha best friend, learns his secret?

How Much My Heart Depends (6k)

Louis is an alpha working as a fraud analyst who keeps having Bad Days. Harry is an omega working in Quality Support who shares a cubicle wall with Louis and only wants to help. Maybe this is the perfect chance for them to finally meet face to face.

I Will Care For You (15k)

“Afton, I just don’t know what I’m going to do,” Harry whined. “I’m going to adopt her, but I have no idea how to take care of her when I’m here as much as I am and I can’t really afford to raise a child on fewer hours. My family can only help so much, but I’ve already been relying on them too much this past week.”

“Oh, Harry. Just get yourself a nanny.” Afton threw out the suggestion and Harry sat up. How had he not considered that?

“How much do you need to pay a nanny? If I cut some expenses, I might be able to handle that, if they lived in. Would they expect more of me, since I’m an unmated alpha? Like, they wouldn’t think I’m some dodgy alpha looking for a nanny to become a bondmate or anything, would they?”

“Shut up, Harry,” Afton demanded. If she wasn’t a beta, Harry almost felt like she might have put some alpha timbre into her voice with that line. Either way, he did shut up to listen to her as she continued. “Reach out to Louis. He’s our usual sitter and he’s lovely. He’s come on some hard times, too, so you could probably convince him to work for you for cheap, especially if you’re having him live with you too.”

Hold Me Tight and Don't Let Go (19k)

Louis’ mind was whirling and a mess of information about application deadlines and talking to his mom about options he had for next year and the failed test and how she might react when he gave her the news. Louis was near his spot and he knew as soon as he got there he could let the tears and frustration flow, but when he turned the corner to his special space his whole body froze.

“Who’re you?” Louis bit out. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. That came out way more harsh than he was intending. “Sorry, I just-”

Louis was interrupted by the boy, previously curled in a tiny ball and crying into his knees, stumbling to his feet, saying something Louis couldn’t understand, and wiping away at the tears. He straightened his glasses, grabbed his bookbag, mumbled something a second time, and then he literally ran off.

Or the one where Louis is barely holding himself together when he meets Marcel and an unexpected friendship might be just what both of them need.

Can We Talk for a Moment? (15.5k)

It was widely known that alphas were never as common as betas or omegas. It is believed the reasoning for that was safety for their packs. Each pack could only have one Alpha, and in order to keep order and make sure there was no mistaking who was in power, once the successor had been named, other alphas would be forced out of the pack.

The populations grew, as was to be expected with time and all manner of developments, and while the packs got larger and joined together, the number of alphas never increased.

Harry didn’t care for the reasons behind the phenomenon. In the end, it didn’t really matter. All he knew was he was the only alpha within about a thousand mile radius, and he was a complete and total disappointment.

Or the one where Harry is a shy, nerdy alpha, Louis is a loud omega punk, and there's more to both of them than their reputations.

I Like Digging Holes (6.5k)

As soon as the video loaded, Harry practically choked on his tongue. It was a video of Louis writhing on his bed, moving his mouth to something. It was probably a song they had played, because he had tagged Harry specifically saying, “Thank you for my Morning Jam!” in bold white text.

All of that was great, but Harry really couldn’t get past the fact that Louis was topless, his tanned and tattooed torso looking like it was glowing as he sang along to whatever song it was.

“Harry,” Zayn said, snapping his fingers. “Oh my God, what is going on over there?”

Harry looked up from his phone, wide eyed with his cheeks burning. He truly had no idea if they were live again or not. He’d lost complete sense of his surroundings and time thanks to Louis’ erotic video. Harry knew he hadn’t meant it that way...or at least, he assumed Louis hadn’t...but it didn’t change the fact it absolutely was.

“You’re back on in five,” Liam said. “Pull yourself together, Harry.”

Or the one where Harry and Zayn host the Breakfast Show and Louis is a popular YouTuber who catches Harry's attention.

Back to How it Was (52.5k)

Harry carefully stood up and was on his way to the window to look outside when he ran his hand through his hair, and it stopped entirely too soon.

He froze then began fervently patting all over his head. Where was his hair? He’d been growing it out for a couple of years now and it was finally almost to the length he’d had as a goal the entire time. How could it have gotten cut off overnight?

Harry rushed over to the mirror hung on the wall adjacent to the window.

Oh shit. What the hell was happening? Harry leaned closer and saw that not only was his hair cropped shorter than he’d ever wanted to go again, but it looked like he had the beginning of crow’s feet by his eyes. Those definitely weren’t there yesterday! And what happened to his tattoos? He still had some of them, like the star and the letters he’d gotten for his mum and Gemma, but most of the rest were missing and there were a few he’d never seen before instead.

What. The. Fuck.

Or the one where Harry goes to bed angry with his bandmates and wakes up in a universe where One Direction was never formed and he has to find a way back home. Home definitely has nothing to do with his best friend and bandmate, Louis. That would be ridiculous.

Not the Desperate Type (6.5k)

“First of all, I’d like to tell you how disturbing it is that you’re this familiar with your neighbor’s sex life,” Liam said, amusement lacing his tone.

“Fuck off,” Louis said, laughing.

“Second, that is really very sad. How bad is the stomping? Are you sure your neighbor doesn’t like it fast like that?”

“With the amount of cleaning the guy does, I think he’s taking out his sexual frustration on the cleanliness of his apartment. I can’t imagine the guy makes enough mess to require daily vacuuming.”

It sounded like the guy was actually moving furniture above him as he was sweeping now. Damn. Did Louis miss the seven minutes in heaven or was the guy angry because he didn’t even get that much pleasure today?

“I’m kinda afraid with the amount of noise he produces while cleaning that one day I’m gonna look up through my ceiling and be able to see him.”

“Tell him we wish him a better sex life and that we’re rooting for him if you do.”

Or the one where Louis' neighbor has a series of unfortunately short sexual experiences and Louis can hear every. Single. One.

Just Enough (to Feel My Body Come Alive) (14k)

As soon as the door closed behind him, Louis leaned against it and let out the breath that he’d been practically choking on just moments before. He’d been able to hide behind his metaphorical armour until Harry, the barista, had approached the table. That one moment somehow cracked Louis open enough that he’d felt a surge of joy for just a second, and that second was enough to scare the shit out of him.

He couldn’t let anyone in like that, not even for a laugh. Especially not another cute boy.

What Needs to be Done (10k)

Harry continued walking in the direction he’d been headed before he found himself at a break in the woods. That...wasn’t right. Had he gotten turned around?

“Where’s the sun?” Harry muttered to himself as he looked around. The entire world was in shadow and the sky covered in clouds.

“Not going to be able to find the sun for the rest of the day, mate. I expect it to rain here shortly.” a high voice said, startling Harry. For the second time in ten minutes, Harry made a sound very unbefitting of a dragon as he careened towards the earth.

This time he wasn’t sure he should bother getting up again.

“You better watch yourself or you’ll end up killing someone. I’ve never met such a clumsy dragon.”

Harry blinked and looked around.

“Looking for me?”

Harry looked directly below his head and sitting right beside his clawed foot was an incredibly sassy looking hedgehog.

Or the one where Harry's a dragon, Louis' a hedgehog, and maybe if they come together with other new friends they can get the spells reversed.

I Knew From the First Time (6k)

Harry: NICHOLAS I MIGHT CRY THIS GUY IS PERFECT Harry: HE STOOD UP FOR THIS ADORABLE WOMAN WHO REMINDS ME OF BARBAEA TO TAKE JKS SEAT Harry: Unfortunately this means I don’t have as good a view of him now BIT STILL

Nicholas: You’re a horny bastard who needs to get laid. I am not trusting your judgement on men at the moment.

Harry: I will have you know I have excellent taste in men, horny or not. Harry: Besides, you’ve gone far longer without getting laid than I am currently at, so whose judgement should we not be trusting, hmm?

Nicholas: I don’t like what you are implying, thank you very much Nicholas: But seriously. I’m not going to believe how beautiful this man supposedly is without a photo

Harry: Grimmy. Are you implying I should take a sneaky pic for you??

Or the one where Harry definitely doesn't take a sneaky pic of Louis on the Tube. Absolutely not. (Except maybe he does.)

Something Classic (5.5k)

Marcel did not peak in high school. High school was full of dress codes and bullies and he never would have made it through if not for Zayn and Liam.

College has finally arrived, and Marcel is excited for his chance to finally be able to express himself in ways he wasn't able to before. He never could have accounted for how leaving his high school uniform in the past could change everything.

Especially once he meets Louis Tomlinson.

The World will Open its Arms (4.5k)

Harry scrubbed at the countertop. It wasn’t even dirty, but it was three in the morning and the girl who was supposed to relieve him over an hour ago never showed. He was now on hour ten of his shift and his feet hurt and his back ached and he was trying not to cry, thanks to more fucking judgmental alpha truckers who could smell it on him.

Of course they could. He practically lived at the diner. The entire place reeked of it.

Unbonded pregnant omega.

How I Feel Inside (9k)

From the time they were young, Louis, Harry, and Niall all knew their secondary genders. Louis was alpha, Harry was omega, and so was Niall.

Louis was the oldest and also an early bloomer. The day before Thanksgiving at the hormonally insane age of thirteen, he had needed Harry. He always did, but then he was humping a shirt Harry had left behind at their last sleepover while he popped his first knot.

Louis = Alpha. Check.

Harry’s presentation was far more talked about. He was sixteen and sure he was coming down with the flu in the middle of gym class when Louis came barging in. Harry was confused, but as soon as he smelled Louis, he dropped fully into his first heat in the middle of the gymnasium.

Harry = Omega. Check.

Niall was different, though. He always had been. He didn’t mind it, he took great pride in it usually. But then they had graduated and he still hadn’t presented. Maybe he was just a late bloomer. But maybe he wasn’t an omega at all.

So, Niall = Beta. Check.

But then a month into the fall semester of their senior year, Niall disappeared.

We've Come Too Far (14.5k)

“Harry! I can’t believe we’re finally meeting! This is great!”

Harry breathed in and Greg smelled like fabric softener and mint. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but that combination was even better than he’d hoped for. God, he was ridiculous.

As they walked into an unmarked room, Greg yelled, “Louis! Come meet your partner in crime slash competition!”

Harry looked at Greg in confusion.

“That doesn’t even make sense, Gregory,” a voice called. As the man drew closer, Harry almost choked on his tongue. How was it even possible to be in the presence of the two most beautiful men in the UK? It was absolutely Not Fair.

Or the one where Harry has had a crush on Radio 1 DJ Greg James for years before he finally has the chance to meet him. What he didn't take into account was the beautiful intern that just might overshadow Harry's interest in Greg.

I Just Wanna Give You Love (18.5k)

Graham Norton appeared on the screen introducing his guests and out of nowhere, everything in Louis’ world was turned upside down.

Louis gasped as he intently took in the man on the screen, smiling and waving from his seat beside Sir Ian McKellen.

“Oh my God,” Louis said before it all sank in as to what it meant. “Holy fucking shit!”

“Louis William, you watch your mouth,” Jay said. “What has got into you?”

Feeling like a madman, his palms to his cheeks, Louis couldn’t help the tears of surprise, relief, and fear as he turned to his mum. “What colour are his eyes? What do you call that colour?”

“Louis, are you telling me that the man on the screen, Harry Styles, is your soulmate?”

Or the one where the world is in black and white until you meet your soulmate, but Harry is world famous and Louis is...well...not.

(That’s Just) The Way I Am (17k)

There was no way Harry would want to bring anyone out for an introductory trip like this. The fighting between himself and his father was sure to be be worse than usual and father still hadn’t accepted Harry’s pansexual identity. Harry wasn’t dating anyone at the moment, but at this point he almost wished he were dating a man just so he could incense his father.

The door jingled, pulling Harry’s attention away from the window and to the man who had just walked into the cafe.

Now that was exactly who Harry should try bringing home. The man was dressed in ratty black skinny jeans and what was obviously a self cut tank top that used to be a Stone Roses t-shirt. His black chucks had holes in the canvas, indicating exactly how old they were, and his maroon beanie wasn’t in much better shape.

The more Harry studied the man’s smoky eyeliner rimmed eyes and the lipstick he had swiped on to match his hat, the more Harry started hatching an idea. What if Harry really did bring this man home?

This is a Rainbow War (15.5k)

“So what are we doing?” Niall asked as he slipped in.

“Harry seems to really like rainbows,” Louis said, purposefully vague. “So let’s go ahead and make sure he’s really in the spirit.”

Louis untaped the flag he’d used to hold it together and showed Niall what he had inside. He’d been keeping a wide variety of flags from each show and gathering them until he had enough to cover Harry’s entire dressing room with them.

“Oh this is going to be great,” Niall said with a chuckle.

“Oh my God,” Shawn said excitedly. “It’s going to look like someone puked pride flags all over a campsite.”

“Exactly,” Louis said.

Or, the one where Harry's a famous singer, Louis is part of his road crew, and after Harry gives Louis a special assignment regarding rainbow flags, things maybe turn out a little differently than either of them planned.

Can I Have Your Attention, Please? (16k)

Forty-five minutes later found Nick dancing and singing along to the awful hold music that played as he still waited in queue to speak to someone as he made himself some avocado toast. Luckily, in the time he’d had waiting for a human to speak to, he’d been able to scrape together two work outfits that would hopefully be enough to tide him over until he got his own luggage back.

“Someone needs to fucking answer the phone!” Nick sang loudly and off key to the jazz music playing out of his phone’s speaker. “I want my own shampoo back,” he continued as he swung his head around and twirled with the avocado back to the fridge. “I don’t like Fifi’s bodywash and her moisturizer makes me break out!”

Staring to full on shimmy back to his perfectly made toast, the call disconnected and left the kitchen ringing in the silence.

“Bollocks,” Nick sighed.

...or the one where Nick develops a crush on the man whose bag he accidentally grabs at the airport. It is obviously just a coincidence that the man shares a first name with the pop star whose Instagram Nick lusts after as well.

Great Minds (They Think Just the Same) (8k)

This entire thing was going to be an utter failure. Why had Louis agreed to this? Why had he allowed Harry to convince him it was a good idea? He didn’t know anything more than the basics about being a DJ, and while he wanted to learn, he’d hoped he could get a bit more instruction. He’d had a bit back in 2012, but Louis also thought it would be more hands on than just the few verbal instructions Nick had given him before he kicked off the show.

Nick Grimshaw, whom Louis absolutely one hundred percent refused to call Grimmy, was sitting across the table from him, bopping about looking adorable in his headphones as he laughed at tweets and texts that were coming in. Too bad he was a dick.

Or the one where in an attempt to get the Breakfast Show back to the number one morning show in the country, the BBC brings on Louis as a co-host with Nick. They only thing is they don't really get along... until they do.

You’re Here, Where You Should Be (5.5k)

Harry gave her mother a wide, pleading grin and finally gave up on her hair. It had been only a marginally decent hair day anyway. No one here cared if it looked nice or not, so messy bun it would be.

Hands caught in making sure all her hair was up and not held so tight as to give her a headache, Harry (naturally) had her arms up when she froze in shock.

Louis Tomlinson was in her family room.

Or three years after having last seen her best friend, Louis shows up at the Christmas party Harry's family throws every year. Old feelings might not be as buried as Harry had thought.

Nowhere to Land (23.5k)

“Harry,” Gemma said slowly and softly, like she was afraid of startling a frightened animal. “What exactly do you remember of the past few weeks?”

Rubbing his forehead, Harry scrunched his nose up in confusion. “Was I acting really off? Cause I’ve felt so strange for weeks. I remember most of it, but it’s all fuzzy around the edges, like I was there, but not really.” Harry put the glass down and looked back at her, feeling a little sheepish. “That’s quite mad, isn’t it?”

Gemma shook her head and reached out for Harry, wrapping him in a tight hug. “No. Not mad. Makes perfect sense. Welcome back.”

Or the sequel to Back to How it Was where other Harry has returned to himself with only foggy memories of the past few weeks. He finds himself with a new workout routine, recordings of interviews he doesn't fully remember choosing to do in the first place, and a budding relationship with a man he remembers from the X Factor but doesn't really know now. Doing the best he can, Harry tries to put the pieces together of what happened and where he's going to go from here.

#mine #my fics #my fic post #my fic masterpost #2018 fics masterpost #fic rec

128 notes · View notes