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contradictoryenigmas · 1 year

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2022 Postmortem: 10 Questions

Usually, I am on the ball when it comes to the 10 Questions piece for the past five years. It starts at the beginning of December when my mind starts to reflect on the past year and what I want to try and achieve for the upcoming year. For this year's piece, I didn't start this process until the week of Christmas.

I've been feeling like I have been pulled in all sorts of directions and not having any time to relax. Whether it be work, personal stuff, or the various crises the world seems to be in every day, it has made me not interested in doing anything outside of laying down or staring blankly at the wall. But that isn't to say there were moments of joy and hope, it just felt like they were few and far between.

I'm not going to say 2022 was the most difficult year in my life, but I would put it up there in my top five.

Author’s Note: If you are new to this or want to take a look back at previous pieces, you can click on the links here: 2017, 2018, 2019, 2020, & 2021.

What made up your body of work this year? Which parts are you most proud of?

I would to like answer this with some sort of writing. Alas, 2022 was barren of writing. I have some car reviews sitting on top of my printer from back in the summer that are awaiting any sort of editing. Others are waiting to be written. I could list various excuses as to why I haven't. It boils down to me not having any sort of energy to put words onto something. Despite the desire to write anything, along with efforts to try; nothing has been really able to flow out.

When it comes to personal writing, a brick wall seemingly pops up when try to write. There's a piece on Twitter that I started earlier this month that is only a few sentences in as I ran out of steam. The only place where I feel like I can make some headway is with a personal journal I keep for myself. I wonder if some of it comes down to being afraid of how people may react to something I've written. Being out of the game for a bit, I could see this as a possible reason.

All of my body of work for this year was with my day job as a specification researcher, now known as a data specialist. The only item I can ultimately be proud of is lessening my workload before going on holiday break. The past few months have seen me get slammed with many new vehicles and feeling like I won't be able to get through all of it. My coworkers have been awesome at helping me out whenever they could. But I can say that after every workday, I felt both mentally and physically drained due to how much work needed to be done.

What were your top 5 moments of the year?

Getting back into the swing of reviewing new cars

Continuing to exercise on a somewhat regular basis

Working on some smaller projects

Cooking more at home

Slowly stepping away from Twitter as a crutch for human interaction

What are you really glad is over?

I feel like a broken record as my answer is the same as last year - the day job! Aside from an intensive workload from late summer to the end of the year, we lost a few people throughout the year - two left in the summer to pursue other positions, and another was let go before the holidays. We do have a couple more people going through training that will hopefully start within the next month, I am wondering how much more I can hold on during the next year.

How are you different today than you were 365 days ago?

Feeling like I am in a constant state of tiredness. I know work is a big reason for this, but other items in my life zap the energy right out of me. What makes this worse is that my sleeping patterns vary; some nights I'm able to sleep decently, while on others I am rolling around in my bed with no sign of entering deep sleep. I try to take naps, but I find it to be more successful during the weekends as my eyes haven't been blasted by bright screens during weekdays. The tiredness has also affected other parts of my life from wanting to try new things, to watching TV.

Another issue that has popped up recently is feeling very lonely. With the pandemic and working from home for the past couple of years, I've been feeling alone and wanting to be around people that I care about. I have friends, but most are out of state and I cannot travel to see them at the moment. Thankfully there are phone calls and Twitter (before Elon Musk started making a mess of it). I do find myself wishing that I had some people closer to me to hang out with. Getting myself to that point is difficult being that the pandemic has made me lose a lot of the social interaction skills I somewhat had.

On the upside, my mental health has been improving throughout the year, partly due to some new medication I started towards the end of last year. I'm not having as many depression episodes. When it does appear, I'm able to resolve it much faster. My ADHD is slightly better as I can focus on certain things, but there are others like aspects that throw wrenches into my day that I'm still working out.

Also been trying to read a bit more when I go to bed to try and help with my sleep. This is to help keep my eyes from looking at a tablet or even my Kindle which causes me to stay awake longer, even though I want to sleep. It has been hit and miss with the sleep, but I am happy to be reading regularly again.

Is there anything you achieved that you forgot to celebrate?

I almost forgot about this, but I was asked by a friend of mine about what they should do next. Their current job was driving them to burnout and wanted some perspective from someone who was in the same boat. I gave them my perspective and hoped that I was able to help them reach their final decision.

What have you changed your perspective on this year?

Twitter. Ever since Elon Musk bought the social network, it has become messy. Trying to list various changes, layoffs, and controversies would take up a fair amount in this piece. But I have started to use it less and less. I realized once again that I had been using Twitter as a replacement for actual human interaction. Twitter is nice if I want to make a stupid joke, catch up with someone quickly, or show off something. But spend too much time and it can become a bit too much with the feeling of FOMO.

I'm still on Twitter and will likely be there when it sinks (or something else). But it has moved away from something I check regularly - Mastadon and CoHost are serving that role.

Who are the people that came through for you this year?

Numerous people deserve a huge thank you. They include my coworkers at my day job, my therapist, folks on Weird Car Twitter and Mastadon, and some very close friends. All of them played a key role in keeping me from going completely crazy throughout this year.

What were some pieces of media that defined your year?

Zelda: Breath of the Wild

An honorable mention last year, it has now moved up to the main stage this year. I finished this back in February and was blown. I've never really played a Zelda game before - only playing a few minutes of A Link to the Past and Link Between Worlds. But something about Breath of the Wild made me sit down and play for around 90 hours. The story unfolds in a way that you find yourself wanting to explore and understand how the world got to this place. I wasn't so fond of the weapon degradation system because I may break it in the heat of battle, and hoping that I have something capable to replace it.

I am wanting to do another play-through next year to get ready for the sequel.

Car Mechanic Simulator 2021

Over 300 hours. That is what Steam says how much time I have spent playing Car Mechanic Simulator 2021. I can't fully explain what got me to start playing this simulator - don't really want to call it a game - aside from it being on sale on Stream back in the spring. It has been something to help me unwind after a long day of work. Just something about taking apart a vehicle, fixing the various issues, and putting it back together that feels oddly fulfilling.

What If 2 by Randall Monroe

If your book cites Smooth by Santana feat. Rob Thomas to describe the temperature of Earth, you have my instant respect. I loved the first What If book, and the second continues the trend of people asking absurd questions and Monroe (creator of the fantastic XKCD cartoon) putting in the research and work to answer them. I actually started re-reading this book again towards the end of the year because I laughed so much.

God Gets A Little Busy Sometimes by Izo FitzRoy

youtube

I have a small playlist of songs that I tend to play whenever I'm in a depressive state to remind myself that it will get better in due course. The latest addition came from Izo FitzRoy in December. I can't fully explain how this song helps me out when I'm in a depressive mood, but I think the gospel undertones play a role.

Honorable Mentions: The Beatles - Get Back documentary; iPhone 14; Gran Turismo 7 for Playstation 4; modding a new Nintendo 3DS XL; Jazz FM in the U.K.; Linux Mint on a HP laptop; Mario+Rabbids - Kingdom Battle; Paramount Plus; Your Brain's Not Broken: Strategies for Navigating Your Emotions and Life with ADHD by Tamara Rosier Ph.D.

What will you be leaving behind in 2022?

The answer is the same as 2021: "I don’t know if there is anything I am leaving behind at the end of this year. Feels like I am making plans on things that I’ll be leaving next year." Hopefully, 2023 doesn't throw as many issues into this as 2022.

What do you hope to accomplish in 2023?

There are several things that I want to try and work on in the coming year. How many I can work on depends on a big elephant in the room; the day job. I'll split this up into two categories; projects I will be working on throughout the year, and projects dependent on the elephant.

Projects throughout the year:

Various electronic projects: I did some small stuff this year with various electronics such as modding a New 3DS XL to allow backs and slowly upgrading my work laptop to have a spare machine. There are some projects on the block including an iPod Classic upgrade to use a jukebox in my car and fixing up an old Dell XPS gaming computer to play older Windows games.

Clear up the auto review backlog: Having various vehicles from back in the spring needing to be written up has been nagging me throughout this year. Want to get those done and up somewhere. It would remove a big weight and allow me to start asking for media vehicles. I instituted a new rule a few years back that I cannot ask for any media vehicles until the backlog is fully completed. On one hand, this keeps me honest and not overwhelming me with more work. The downside is having a backlog that I don't touch for months.

Figure out a better way to get reviews out the door faster: Once the backlog is done, I want to figure out ways to help me get reviews out in a more timely fashion. Remembering to take notes is a difficult one, along with trying to block out some time every week to organize and start putting down thoughts.

Continue to make my apartment my own: Aside from getting various posters framed and hung, I need to work on better organizing parts of the apartment. Currently just feels like I don't have enough space and have items stacked in piles. I would love to have a bigger apartment or storage unit where I can throw various items, but that feels so far away at the moment. For now, going to make the best of what I can do.

Money Stuff: This year has been tough on my finances and I know that I can do better. Some items I have started to implement are cooking more at home, using a vacuum sealer to keep food longer, and using apps for coupons and cash back. For the new year, I'm planning to get back on an application I used before - Simplifi - to track where money is going and help me figure out where I can cut back. Also in the cards is setting up some automatic transfers to start stashing money away for items and trips I would like to do.

Projects dependent on the elephant:

Getting back to writing on a somewhat regular basis: I mentioned earlier that I really miss writing and want to get back to it. But not having the energy does put a major damper on it. For the automotive stuff, I would like to branch out and work on the history of various cars. I have a stockpile of old magazines, books, and an insatiable curiosity to explore. Now, I just need to get the energy to pull this off. Also been thinking of starting a newsletter to post various thoughts, but I don't where to even start with that.

The personal stuff is another area I want to try and tackle. Part of this is moving from Tumblr, which has been a good home for the life of the blog. But I feel having a new place to post would help increase my desire to write.

Traveling: I cannot remember the last time I went somewhere that wasn't with my parents or in the state of Michigan. I have the desire to explore and visit various parts of the U.S., along with the rest of the world. Money is a big factor in this, along with figuring out where I want to travel first.

Working towards a new car: My current Ford Fusion has a litany of issues and it causes me a fair amount of stress. Having something newer and fewer miles would help immensely.

As I sit in my old room on Christmas day working on this piece, I think how I'm at a set of crossroads wondering which road to take. 2022 has been a year where I had originally planned to make some big moves, but various monkey wrenches have put a stop to many of them. The end of the year has me feeling wanting to break out and do some new stuff. But there is another part of me that wants to take it easy and be at a place where I feel comfortable with everything around me. Seems counterintuitive, but I think it is fitting for a blog with the title of Contradictory Enigmas.

#2022 #10 questions #reflection #postmortem #Youtube

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lanadelreyscokewhor3 · 2 years

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STRESS RELIEVER

Pairing: Roommate!Buckyx FemaleVirgin!Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: After a stressful long day at work, your roommate Bucky knows just what you need to ease the tension.

Warnings: swearing, pet names, SMUT, size kink, daddy kink, fingering, oral ( female receiving), loss of virginity, teasing, cuddles.. uhh i think thats about it!

If one more fucking person gets in my way, I am going to kill someone! your thoughts screamed at you so loud you were terrified some of your neighbours would hear them from the front lobby. All day you had been swamped with meetings, phone calls, and endless amounts of numbers. The most painful, long, and boring workday had finally ended at the long-awaited 4 o clock, but so far you had been greeted with an infinite amount of traffic and a pounding headache that just wouldn’t go away.

All you wanted after your terrible day was to crawl into some cozy pyjamas and cuddle up with your roommate Bucky on the couch. The bunches of people at the very crowded foyer were preventing you from doing just that. You sighed in annoyance, wanting to scream at the top of your lungs.

Looking up at the crystal chandelier that glimmered above you, you counted backward from ten in your head to try and calm down. Once you saw a path was cleared enough for you to squeeze through, you clutched your dark red handbag tightly over your shoulder and strutted through- booking it for the silver elevators which gleamed like a finish line at the end of the room. After a dozen nudges and “ excuse me’s” later, you had finally clicked the up arrow button blue. It opened slowly and you stepped inside eagerly, thankful for the quiet. You clicked your floor, floor seven, and heard the voices diminish and murmur away into nothing as the firm doors shut with a thud.

You let go a breath you didn’t even know you had and slumped against the wall. You hated Christmas time. All the families coming to visit from the thousand residents you had in the building. Attempting to push past the mob of people with your little shoes on was a huge pain in the ass. God your feet were killing you from the heels you wore. What you needed was a long hot shower and to see Bucky.

Ahh yes, you thought with a sigh, humming. Bucky. You recalled the way his big, veined hands would grip the counter ever so slightly whenever the football game was too intense. You wanted them around your throat, grazing all over your body. The way the towel would hang loose on his hips as he’d walk out of the bathroom, his hair wet and messy. His abs were shaped from the gods themselves, chiselled perfectly. His arms were massive you ached for them to carry you. And his eyes. God, you could get lost in his eyes forever, the ocean shade of blue drowning you. The way they gleamed in the sun like millions of crystals-

The ding of the elevator broke you out of your hazy thoughts, the door opening slowly. You stepped out quickly, wanting nothing more than to sit down. You paced down the hallway, the dim lights flickering across your features. Finally, you made it to the end of the hall, and you fumbled for your keys. You opened the door with a creak, the sound of some 80s sitcom playing softly through the tv.

You stepped inside quietly, not wanting to intrude on anything Bucky was watching. A head of long black tussled hair peeked from over the couch and you smiled, leaning on the wall to slide off your shoes. “ Hey you!” you taunted, him being the first person you were actually happy to see that day. “ I missed you my кролик.” he sighed with a smile as you threw your bag on the kitchen island to scurry over to the couch.

You let your long hair fall down, grazing your back. He leaned over to turn down the volume on the tv as you unbuttoned your white blouse slightly, needing sweet relief. He reached his arms out, dragging up down to the couch with him and you giggled as he brought you close. “ I missed you too I suppose.” You felt a playful smack to your thigh and you laughed. “ You suppose.” he nuzzled into your hair, spooning you closer to him. The two of you chatted about your day and how utterly terrible it was, Bucky laughing softly when you’d mention the spilled coffee on your desk and the annoying calls that would be forwarded to you. He held you as you rambled about every little issue, stroking your thigh delicately with his fingers, tracing circles. That’s when you noticed.

Your black pencil skirt had risen quite a bit, and his hand was inching ever so closely upwards. The slit which showcased your thighs did not make matters any better. Heat crashed over your body, butterflies filling your stomach. Bucky was so close to you, stroking you like a violin. You felt him kiss your neck softly, and your breath hitched. You bit your lip enough to draw blood as he nuzzled closer to you, breathing in the sweet sickly smell of your perfume. With another kiss to your neck, you began to squirm, hips bucking involuntarily. He chuckled softly, and you felt it deep in your bones.

Heat began to pool down to your panties, as you rubbed your thighs slowly for friction that you so desperately needed. Your high-rise knee socks brushed against each other as you tilted your neck back, your hair falling to the side- giving him full access to your neck. “ Oh baby.” He sighed softly, kissing your neck swiftly. You felt as if your skin was on fire as his fingers trailed up to rest on your inner thighs. “ Bucky-” You panted softly and he grinned. “ Yes kitty?” he sympathised, getting you right where he wanted you. Needy and desperate. “ It tingles.” you gasped as he nipped gently at your neck. He loved your innocence, he craved it like a drug. Bucky had wanted this for so long, and now that he finally had you in his arms moldable as putty? He’d never let you go.

“ You poor little thing.” He whispered into your ear, tugging it with his teeth with a nip. “ You want me to make it feel better hmm?” You nodded frantically, and he pushed you close against him. Oh. He was big. Really fuckin big. He slapped your ass and you moaned so loudly it was embarrassing. His presence had this crazy effect on you, he could barely even touch you and you’d soak down your thighs, just as you were doing now.

“ Words kitty. Use em and tell daddy what you want.” You instantly tightened around nothing, your hips bucking. His arm held you down firmly in place as you whispered sweet as honey. “ I want you to make the tingles better daddy.” And with that, his hand slid under your skirt, rubbing small circles on your clothed cunt. You cried and he licked and sucked at your neck, leaving bruises that would last for days. “ Shhh кролик.. I’ll give you what you need. Be patient honey.” You moaned loudly as he teased you with the pad of his thumb, applying pressure slightly. “ Daddy... want you-” you murmured, suddenly being picked up by strong arms and thrown across Buckys shoulder as he stood up with a start.

A desperate cry left your lips, breath getting knocked out of you as he spanked your ass harshly. “ So fuckin needy.” he growled, carrying you to his bedroom. With a thud, you were sprawled across his sheets, panting and cheeks flushed. You felt as if you were going to burn up you wanted him so badly. Your clit was throbbing with need as he slowly unbuttoned your white blouse and shimmed you out of your skirt, eyes filled with hunger as he drank you in. “ My beautiful girl..” he breathed, his gaze staring you down as you unclasped your bra, tossing the black lace down on the floor with the rest of your clothes.

“ Need you..” You whispered as he pulled off his black tee, showcasing his perfectly toned chest, tattoos littering his collarbone. You couldn’t help but drool as you took him in. Holy shit, you thought with a gasp. He was so beautiful, towering over you like a god.

“ You know it’s not nice to stare bunny. I’d say you’ve wanted this as long as I have.”

“ Longer.”

You confessed, looking down to try and cover your blushing cheeks.

“ That’s not possible.” He murmured, gripping your legs and jerking you over to the end of the bed. An “oh” escaped your mouth as he dropped to his knees and slowly tugged your panties off.

“ Because I’ve wanted you since the very first second we met.”

Slick was running down your thighs, and he hummed in content as you shivered against his grasp. “ Gotta get you ready before I can fuck your brains out sweets.” Bucky lifted your legs round his big shoulders, nuzzling closer to your dripping core. With a smirk plastered upon his face, he blew ever so slightly on your cunt and you wiggled, not used to the sensations. “ Hold still my кролик.” he cooed against your weeping hole and licked a clean swipe across your pussy.

Your back arched with a loud moan, your toes curling. He began to lick and suck on you like a man starved as you gasped and shuttered in his grasp. You felt as you were floating, desperately needing something to hold onto. By instinct, you ran your fingers through his long dark hair and tugged as he applied kitten licks to your core. A moan escaped him as you tugged tighter, needing him to center you. Oh he liked that, you thought with a shiver, gripping harder. He looked up at you, his ocean blue eyes piercing yours.

The lust emitted off of him like a second aura and you gasped as he brought his finger up to your cunt and stroked it along your entrance, teasing you. “ Look at me кролик. Look at me as your greedy little cunt takes all that I give her.” he growled, plunging his two fingers in. You cried out, panting as his lips twisted into a cruel smirk. He scissored and pumped into you, your cunt clinging onto him like a vice.

Your eyes widened as he leaned closer to your clit, and with a dazzling smile, he sucked and nibbled on the little bundle of nerves. You were losing it. You couldn’t hold on anymore, you were flying and tumbling into the core of the earth.

“ James I’m goin-”

You squirted all over his face with a scream. He placed little kitten licks along your clit as you shoke from your high, stroking your thighs gently. Bucky stood up slowly, his chin covered in your slick. He began to free himself, sliding down his boxers. Your mouth watered at his length. Jesus he was HUGE. He stroked himself as he lined himself up and- “ OH GOD!” You cried as he thrusted into you.

“ So tight for me kitten. Prettiest little pussy I’ve ever seen.” He bottomed out into you slowly and you felt yourself clench him tightly. “ Would cha look at that kitty?” he cooed, placing his hand over the bulge in your stomach.

“ So deep in your guts. Right where I belong.”

You squeezed him tightly and he chuckled. “ Oh she liked that didn’t she? Needly lil thing.” You whimpered, clawing at his back. “ Buc- Bucky?” “ Yes honey? So cockdruck you can’t even speak huh?” You shoke your head frantically and he growled. “ Mo- move please?” you gasped against him and he chuckled. “ Well, why didn’t you just say so кролик? I’ll always give you what you need.”

And with that he began to thrust in and out, sucking and biting down your neck to your breasts. You felt your legs shake, arching your back as he swirled his tongue around each nipple, giving your tits the attention they so desperately needed. “ God. I. Love. You.” He murmured against your skin with each thrust. You cried and moaned, squirming as he pounded into you with no mercy.

The bed shook each time he entered you, so hard you thought it was going to break. But you didn’t care. All you cared about was Bucky, and the way he played your body like an instrument. You began to feel the coil in your stomach start to unravel and stretch, threatening to break. “ Daddy I cant, too much...too good-” you cried, tears leaking out of your eyes.

“ God honey you look so pretty like this” He cooed, hitting your g-spot harder and harder. “ M’ not goin last too much longer baby your grippin me so tight-”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him deeply, tongues and teeth clashing. He swallowed your screams as you came so hard you thought you had died and had gone to heaven. “ Such a good girl.” he praised and you peered up at him with innocent eyes.

“ Fill me up Daddy?” you whispered, voice horse from crying out his name so many times.

That was all it took for him to rutt into you and spill his seed into your cunt, cursing in Russian as he filled you up. He caged you in his arms and kissed your neck as the two of you came down from your highs. Your legs were shaking, your mind foggy filled in a haze. Cum seeped out of you as he pulled out gently, and he chuckled as it dripped over on the white linen.

“ I love you James.” you whispered, placing a hand on his cheek.

He purred like a cat as you stroked it with your thumb, melting into your embrace. Bucky held you tightly in his arms, stroking your hair gently as you felt your eyes start to droop.

“ I love you too my ангел. Now close those pretty little eyes and rest, I’ll be right here with you. You did so good for me honey.” he cooed and you sighed, sleep slowly dragging you under its peaceful waves.

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sisterspooky1013 · 3 years

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Only One Choice, Chapter 2

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

The Hoover building is still quiet at 8 am, weary agents are sipping their second cup of coffee and wrapping their brains around the task of the day. Studying the minds of murderers, rapists and sadistic torturers is enough to spoil anyone’s breakfast, and yet they approach it clinically, objectively. The reward of knowing that you helped take a monster off the streets is barely enough to keep them going, but they do. Maybe even more than that, they live with the guilt of knowing that if they stopped, it might mean one more murdered child or assaulted woman. One more man found floating in the river. So they get up every day and do it again.

Mulder stops by A.D. Kirkbride’s office to say good morning and finds the man angrily shoving the phone back on its cradle with a plasticky crack.

“Morning, sir. Going great so far I gather?” he quips from his spot in the doorframe.

A.D. Kirkbride scoffs, running a hand through his short cropped sandy-blonde hair. Diminutive in stature, Kirkbride is someone to be taken seriously. His pointed features and gold-rimmed glasses convey the gravity of the work they do here each day in his ever-present frown.

“These goddamn worthless couriers are on my last fucking nerve,” he laments, gathering the papers on his desk into one pile with jerky, frustrated movements. “This is the third goddamn time one of them has no-showed. We need that autopsy report from Quantico today, and because this worthless fucking courier decided to get the flu or something, we have to send an agent down there to get it.” He sighs and sits back in his chair, removing his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Can you send Agent Wilkes in here, please, so I can let him know he has to waste two fucking hours of his day driving down there?”

Mulder shrugs. “I can go get it, I haven’t even started on the Marino file yet. It’s a nice day for a drive.”

Kirkbride eyes him skeptically. “You’re a senior agent, Mulder. You’ve earned the right not to be the bitch-boy.”

Mulder laughs good-naturedly. “I appreciate that, sir, but I really don’t mind. I just got the new Radiohead cassette, it’ll give me a chance to listen to it.”

Kirkbride nods and puts his glasses back on. “I guess it’s Wilkes’ lucky day, then. It’s the autopsy report for the Dugan file, you should be able to get it from the pathologist on duty. And don’t fuck around, we need it ASAP.”

Mulder puts a hand to his chest and makes a mock-wounded face. “Me? Fuck around? I would never, sir.”

Kirkbride shakes his head with a smirk and turns back to his computer. “Get the fuck out of here, Mulder.”

It’s a beautiful late-Spring day and Mulder really does appreciate the opportunity to take a drive to Quantico, even during the morning rush hour. Removing his suit jacket and loosening his tie, he pops in the cassette and merges onto I-395 South as Thom Yorke sings Paranoid Android.

Ninety minutes later, he’s parked near the morgue; having worked out of Quantico for years before securing a spot on the small team of criminal behavioral analysts who operate out of the Hoover building, he knows his way around. He first pokes his head into the office the pathologists share and, finding it empty, he moves on to the autopsy bay. The slabs are all clean and free from corpses, which is a relief. As many crime scene photos as he’s seen, the live version always gives him the creeps. A young woman in blue scrubs is perched on a stool with her back to him, filling out a form by hand. He approaches her, speaking when he’s still several feet away so he doesn’t startle her.

“Excuse me, I’m looking for the pathologist on duty,” he says, and she swivels on her seat, her shoulder length auburn hair swinging gently with the motion.

When she turns to face him, he’s momentarily struck by how pretty she is. Her red hair is complemented by ivory skin, a light dusting of freckles across the bridge of her Grecian nose. Her eyes are a brilliant shade of blue, not unlike the morning sky he’d enjoyed on his drive down.

“I’m the pathologist on duty, how can I help you, Mr.-” she looks at him expectantly.

“Mulder, Agent Mulder,” he replies, stepping forward to offer his hand.

“How can I help you, Agent Mulder?” she asks, taking his hand with a firm, confident grip, though her palm is dwarfed by his own broad paw.

“I’ve been tasked with picking up the Dugan autopsy report. Seems like there was a snafu with the courier,” he offers, stuffing his hands in his pockets in an attempt to act casual.

She stands, and he’s again struck, but this time by how short she is, barely reaching his shoulder in her sneakers. “That’s an odd task for an agent, isn’t it?” she says as she moves to a small filing cabinet and rifles through its contents.

He moves to stand beside her, leaning against the wall. “I suppose so, but I don’t mind. Nice to take a break from profiling sociopaths now and then.” He feels his heart do a little leap at the small smile that quirks at the corner of her mouth in response. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name,” he continues.

She turns to him, holding out a file. “I didn’t give it,” she says dryly. “It’s Dana Scully. I did this autopsy myself, actually, and I’d be interested to know what you make of it.”

He opens the file and leafs through its contents as she returns to her post on the stool, picking up her pen. She appears to see this conversation as concluded, but he doesn’t feel ready for it to end just yet.

“Ah, yes, I’ve heard a bit about this case, though it’s not one I’m assigned to. What interests you about it?” he asks as he follows her back to where she’s sat down, taking the stool beside her without invitation. She quirks an eyebrow at him, but doesn’t say anything about it.

“My findings indicate that though there is only one entry point for the stab wound, there were at least 15 distinct entries into that same location, which would suggest that the assailant stabbed him in nearly the exact same location repeatedly. I suppose I’m wondering what would possess someone to do that.”

He watches her speak with rapt attention, transfixed by the soft, sibilant S’s that pour from her pouty mouth.

“Hey Scully, do you know of any good coffee places around here?” he asks hopefully, completely changing the subject.

She gives him a curiously incredulous look. “Scully is my last name, my first name is Dana,” she answers.

He studies her for a moment, then shakes his head slowly. “You don’t look like a Dana,” he finally says.

Her eyebrows lift and he can see that she’s fighting back a smile. “Really? What do I look like then?”

“A Scully,” he says plainly, and his heart fills to bursting at the wry smile he gets in response.

She shakes her head and turns back to the form she was filling out. “There’s a place called Cafe Adamo a few minutes away that’s pretty good,” she answers his question.

“Great, are you free now?” he asks, forcing a calm demeanor even as his palms are becoming clammy.

She snaps her head up from the form to look at him with an open-mouthed expression of surprise, and he sees a bit of panic in her eyes. Not a good sign.

“Oh,” she stammers, “I’m sorry, Agent Mulder, I have a boyfriend.” Her cheeks are reddening in a devastatingly cute way.

He keeps his expression neutral, and can’t resist messing with her a little.

“I just meant as colleagues, Scully, to discuss the file,” he says matter-of-factly.

If she was blushing before, she’s morphing into a tomato now. She closes her eyes briefly and takes a breath. “I-I am so sorry, Agent Mulder, that was very presumptuous.”

He smiles broadly, no longer able to contain how much fun he’s having with this exchange.

“I’m just messing with you, Scully. I was definitely asking you out,” he admits, and her eyes go big before she deflates a little with relief, biting her lip and looking away with a soft smile on her mouth. “Thank you for this,” he says, holding up the file. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

He stands and moves to the door, stopping just before he exits. “Say hi to that boyfriend of yours for me,” he adds, “he’s a lucky guy.”

She blushes again and he takes a moment to soak up the image before he returns to his car. Tossing the file onto the passenger seat, he flips the cassette to side B and hits the road back up to Washington, finding that he can’t seem to get his mouth to stop smiling.

————————————————————————-

She slumps through the door at half-past six, dead on her feet.

“Hey,” Ethan calls from in front of the stove, “dinner will be about twenty minutes, if you want to take a shower.”

He knows that she always likes to shower when she’s performed autopsies, not wanting the stink of the morgue to find its way onto any of their furniture.

“Thank you,” she replies, toeing off her shoes and stopping by to give him a quick kiss before she moves to the bathroom.

The hot spray of the shower is a welcome relief and she emerges feeling much more alert. They sit at the table, sharing the details of their days over shrimp scampi and white wine. They tend to be very thorough in their retelling of their workdays, and Ethan gives a play by play of a meeting with his boss before Dana tells him all about a student who challenged her in front of the class and how she shut him down. She doesn’t intentionally leave out the interaction with Agent Mulder, but it doesn’t come up somehow.

After dinner, they curl up on the couch to watch ER together. Ethan is on his back with his head propped up on the arm of the couch, and Dana fits herself into the vee of his legs, her back resting on his chest. He idly traces his fingers across her collarbone and shoulders while they watch George Clooney and Julianna Margulies grapple with being both coworkers and lovers.

This is their favorite show, and yet her mind continues to wander to those hooded green eyes, and the boyish smile that played across his pouty lower lip. He was very cute, that’s without question, but she interacts with handsome men all the time at work; why is this particular one worming his way into her brain? She shakes her head to clear the thought, then rotates her body so that she’s belly to belly with Ethan, her head resting on his chest. He kisses the crown of her head and she sighs. She’s got a good thing here, that much she knows.

Maybe she should have gotten coffee with him, though, as colleagues. Maybe.

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #msr #x files #fanfiction #alternate universe

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recurring-polynya · 3 years

Text

@iz-stardust is a lovely person and a wonderful artist and I wanted to write her a little present based on this adorable drawing she did. I hope you like it, friend!

Adventures in Babysitting | ao3 | ff.net |

Summary: When Byakuya is stuck on emergency babysitting duty, he gets an assist from Squad 10.

Starring: Toushirou, Rangiku, Byakuya, and one cranky Ichika.

Ships: Friendships as far as the eye can see!!!

Rating: General audiences, can you believe it?!? You should probably brush your teeth afterwards, tho.

❄️ 🐱 🌸 🐰

“Sir! Captain Kuchiki and, er, a guest are here to see you!”

Toushirou looked up the mission report he had been reviewing. In general, it was pretty unlikely for another captain to just drop by, and it seemed doubly unlikely for Byakuya, of all people, to do so. “Matsumoto!” he barked. “You didn’t schedule an appointment with Captain Kuchiki and then forget to tell me about it, did you?”

“Oh, Captain!” Matsumoto pouted. “You know Renji makes all of Captain Kuchiki’s appointments for him, and he would never trust me to remember something like that.”

This was very true.

“See him in!” Toushirou waved at his waiting Seventh Seat. “Try to look busy, Matsumoto!”

“I am busy!” Matsumoto gestured at the catalog in front of her. “We got budget approval for new office chairs, and I’m trying to pick out the best ones. Your hiney is going to thank me.”

“I will thank you to never mention my hiney again, Matsu-- greetings, Captain Kuchiki!”

Byakuya looked… haggard. His face was pale, his eyes shadowed by dark circles. His hair was gathered in a rather sloppy ponytail, rather than falling in it’s usual glossy waterfall. He kept shifting from one foot to the other in a semi-rhythmic fashion. There didn’t seem to be any blood on him, but there was a large, lumpy bundle strapped to his chest, and some sort of duffel slung across his back. Had he just returned from a harrowing mission to Hueco Mundo, perhaps?

“Hello, Captain Hitsugaya,” he said, his voice ragged with exhaustion. “I need to ask an important favor.”

“Are you all right?” Toushirou asked, jumping to his feet. “You look like you need to sit down.”

“No, no, I must remain standing.” Kuchiki excused. “As you know, I was supposed to lead the meeting of the Gotei Transparency Improvement Documentation Standards committee this afternoon, but it seems I will not be able to attend. I was hoping that, as co-chair, you would be able to take my place. I am most apologetic, and I swear, on my honor as a Kuchiki, that I will make it up to you.” An angry squall erupted from the cloth wrapped around his chest, and Kuchiki’s hand immediately moved to pat it reassuringly.

“Do you have Ichika?!” Matsumoto squealed, her eyes filling with glittering hearts and stars.

“Er, yes,” Kuchiki mumbled. “It is very unusual, of course, for Renji and Rukia to be called away together, but Kurosaki Ichigo specifically requested their assistance, and obviously, all of Soul Society owes him a great debt, so...” He trailed off in a most un-Byakuya-like fashion.

“Of course I can handle the meeting,” Toushirou reassured briskly, although he had to raise his voice to be heard over the crying, which was steadily increasing in volume. “Do you need… help… with the other matter?”

Kuchiki made a troubled face. “I had thought that my staff at the manor would be able to assist, but Ichika seemed extremely agitated to be left in their care. Strangely enough, being attached to my person is the only thing that seems to placate her. Even so, she becomes angry if I sit down or stop this infernal swaying motion.”

“Well, of course!” Matsumoto scolded. “She doesn’t know those people! You’re her special uncle! But she’s probably bored from being in that thing. Take her out and let her have a little playtime with Auntie Rangiku!”

Byakuya’s face went stiff, and his eyes narrowed judgmentally. For a moment, Toushirou feared that Byakuya was going to take issue with the non-biological nature of Rangiku’s aunthood, although he knew for a fact that Abarai and Kuchiki subscribed to the Rukongai idea of “the more aunties the better.” He, himself, had respectfully turned down a similar honorarium, although he had been secretly touched by the offer. (Momo still insisted on referring to him as ‘Uncle Shirou’ in the baby’s presence. He found that much less touching).

Rangiku, for her part, was regarding Byakuya with a look, just daring him to try it.

People, namely Rukia, kept insisting that Byakuya considered Toushirou to be his friend, but Toushirou had his doubts. Sure, they played shogi regularly, and Toushirou seemed to be the only person outside of Renji and Rukia that Byakuya ever texted, but it’s not like Toushirou really knew the guy. And yet, as he watched Byakuya’s face, he realized, like a bolt of thunder, that he recognized an emotion. He was suddenly certain, down to the marrow of his bones, that Rukia had given her brother a stern talking to on this very topic.

A few moments of obvious internal struggle went by, and then Byakuya blew a small puff of air out of his nose, and began extracting the baby from her wrappings. “I wish you luck,” he declared grimly.

Rangiku hopped up from her desk and danced over to Byakuya’s side. As the cool air hit Ichika’s face, her crying slowed, and she began to look around.

“Hello, baby!” Matsumoto trilled. Toushirou could tell she was dying to snatch the baby from Byakuya’s arms, but was holding herself back until Ichika was ready.

Ichika looked up into Byakuya’s face, her violet eyes wide and uncertain. Then she looked to Rangiku again. Then Byakuya again.

“These are the offices of Squad Ten,” Byakuya explained. “I believe you have been here before. We are guests, so you must be on your best behavior.”

Ichika looked back over at Rangiku, who was hiding the lower half of her face with her scarf. “Peekaboo!” she exclaimed, flinging the scarf away.

Ichika squealed and lunged for Rangiku (or possibly her scarf), nearly knocking Byakuya off his feet.

“Ha ha!” Matsumoto sang, spinning Ichika around. “There’s my happy girl!”

Byakuya’s entire body slumped with relief, like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

“You should sit down,” Toushirou suggested, pulling his chair around. “I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

Byakuya sank gratefully into the chair and didn’t even ask any pointed questions about the tea, which is how Toushirou knew that he must be completely exhausted.

Rangiku plopped down on one of the office couches, Ichika in her lap. She dropped her scarf over the baby’s head and tickled her nose with it as Ichika laughed and laughed.

Toushirou wasn’t exactly envious of his lieutenant’s way with people, big and small, but he was grateful for it. Rangiku did friendship so easily-- ironing out disputes between squad members, throwing a birthday bash for a friend-of-a-friend-of-friend, charming cranky babies-- and yet, watching her work her magic only made him feel more special to be part of her inner circle, that she’d seen something in that scrawny kid, so hesitant to stand up for himself that long ago day in Junrinan.

“Her attention span doesn’t last very long,” Rangiku said in a sing-songy voice. “We should have a series of fun ideas lined up!”

Byakuya perked up, and unloaded the bag from his shoulder. He seemed to have forgotten it was there. “I have her Seaweed Ambassador!” he offered helpfully, pulling a stuffed…creature from the bag. “Although it did not produce the desired reaction earlier.”

“Oh, I know!” Rangiku suggested. “Have you ever seen Rukia and Renji do the ‘Big Mommy, Little Daddy’ game?”

“The what?” Byakuya and Toushirou replied in unison.

“It’s so cute! Rukia gets on a chair and makes a big deal about how she’s so tall, and Renji stands on his knees and talks about how short he is. Ichika loves it, don’t you, Ichika!”

Ichika stretched her hands above her head and blew an enthusiastic raspberry.

Matsumoto looked meaningfully at Toushirou. Then Byakuya. Then back to Toushirou.

“No,” Toushirou growled, pointing his finger at Rangiku. “It would be very-- I would-- Just, no.”

“Absolutely not,” Byakuya agreed. “Categorically not.”

Rangiku stuck out her lower lip. “You two are no fun.” She turned her attention back to her tiny charge. “Ichika, are these your toes? I didn’t know you had toes! Let me see!”

Toushirou busied himself with the tea. This, unfortunately, was also classic Matsumoto, trying to draw him into her nonsense. As if even a baby could mistake himself and Byakuya for a pair of loud, dramatic dumbasses like Renji and Rukia. No, the best thing he could possibly do is help Kuchiki get his nerves back together. Children didn’t like Toushirou. Even when he was a child himself, other children hadn’t liked him. Ghost children liked him sometimes, but that was different.

Toushirou decided that Kuchiki deserved the good gyokuro, the stuff he himself only indulged in when Matsumoto was being particularly taxing. It seemed appropriate. He let his mind clear a little so that Hyourinmaru could get the water to the perfect temperature. Hyourinmaru loved the ceremony of even a casual workday tea break. You are a kind friend, his zanpakutou rumbled in his head. Senbonzakura will appreciate this gesture. Hyourinmaru had a hard time telling the difference between Byakuya and Senbonzakura sometimes, and Toushirou had given up trying to correct him.

A memory suddenly popped into Toushirou’s head. A little ghost boy who hadn’t passed over to Soul Society because he was waiting to see the first snowfall. Toushirou had been hesitant to use his zanpakutou for such a frivolous reason, but Hyourinmaru hadn’t seemed to mind, in the end. An idea began to crystalize in his mind.

“Oh, no, baby, what’s the matter?” Matsumoto was exclaiming. “What is this sad face? Is it time to get up? Do you want Auntie Rangiku to walk with you?” Ichika had started to make little fussy noises again.

Toushirou pressed a fragrant cup of tea into Byakuya’s hand as he passed on his way over to the couch. He cleared his throat, and Ichika turned her tiny face up to his. “Hey, Ichika,” he said. “Check this out.” He opened his hand to reveal a tiny, sparkling ice sculpture in the shape of a snowman adorned with rabbit ears. Ichika’s eyes widened, and she waved her arms at it. She would have fallen off of Matsumoto’s lap, if it weren’t for his lieutenant’s quick reflexes.

“How cute, Captain!” Matsumoto cried. “Oh, lucky you, Ichika! Captain made that beautifully bunny just for you! He wouldn’t do that for just anyone, you know.”

“You can touch it,” Toushirou said, crouching a little and holding his hand out. Maybe she would be interested in the feel of the ice.

“She will likely ruin it,” Byakuya warned.

“That’s okay. I made it for her.”

Byakuya took a deep inhale of his tea steam. “It is just like you,” he opined, “to put as much care into an amusement for an infant as you would into a great work of art.”

Toushirou’s ears burned, but Matsumoto just laughed. “You are so right, Captain Kuchiki! Classic Captain Hitsugaya, am I right?”

“Yes,” Byakuya agreed. “Classic Captain Hitsugaya.” He took a sip of the tea. “Truly, this tea is returning me from the brink of death. I thank you.”

“Well, I do expect you to take this baby away eventually,” Toushirou tried to grumble. It was hard to get properly grumpy when Ichika was patting his ice bunny with her fat little hands and smiling a big, gummy grin. Suddenly, she stretched her arms out toward him, and made a little whimpery sound. “Sorry, this is the only one I have,” he said.

“I think she wants you to hold her,” Matsumoto suggested.

“She is mistaken,” Toushirou replied.

“Hmmm,” said Byakuya.

“I heard that! Don’t you ‘hmmm’ over there!” Toushirou snapped.

“Abarai has conjectured that Ichika is able to identify Rukia and himself by their reiatsu.”

“Stop.”

“That would be nonsense, obviously, except that she is a Kuchiki, so she is, of course, exceptional in every way.”

Matsumoto’s eyes went wide with delight. “Do you think she thinks Captain is Rukia?”

Toushirou winced.

“Of course not.”

Toushirou blew out a sigh of relief.

“I was only suggesting that he reminds her of Rukia. Because of the cold nature of--”

“Yes, yes, we get it!” Toushirou snapped.

“Oh, Captain,” Matsumoto made a frowny face at him, as Ichika’s face started to screw up in preparation for a full-throated Abarai howl.

“Fine, fine!” Toushirou sighed, handing the ice rabbit over to Rangiku before hefting Ichika up onto his hip. “There. You’re up. You happy now?”

Ichika leaned her head into his side, and patted his chest, making a comforting little cooing noise.

A high-pitched noise came out of Matsumoto, and she clapped her hands over her mouth. “You got a hug!”

“She has just started doing that,” Byakuya informed them grandly. “I, myself, have received several. It is adorable, is it not?”

Toushirou pointedly avoided looking at Matsumoto’s face, which was probably dissolving. Instead, he looked down at the sticky little gremlin who had her cheek pressed into his haori. “Yeah,” he admitted. “It’s pretty great.”

#my writing #uncle byakuya #byahitsu brotp #👏byakuya👏in👏a👏baby carrier👏

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oftenderweapons · 4 years

Text

Love Talk - Taehyung

Pairing: Taehyung x reader (nicknamed Lace)

Wordcount: 11k words

Genre: smut, fluff, (Taehyung is moody but no angst I guess) dating au, idol au

Rating: 18+

Finally! I can post this! My inner praise-thirsty brat has been missing y’all’s attention so here I am!

Actually I’ve managed to write the end this afternoon after I finished writing a whole chapter of my dissertation (God, why do I need a degree...)

Anyway, here is Taehyung’s take at love talk. This is clearly smut, so minors please, do not read or interact.

Quick recap/everything you need to know before reading. Taehyung and Lace (in this fic called many many nicknames since “Lace” hasn’t sticked yet) have been dating for a couple months and Tae has been taking it slow, they have done some coupley stuff and have made out, but they haven’t been really physical yet. Until he visits her late at night after coming back from a trip in Paris with Jimin. And he has a gift which might spark up something interesting.

Disclaimer: Personally, I don’t see Lace as the stereotypical slim girl, but there’s a very generic reference to this. Also, Lace has taken bondage and basic domination lessons in a dungeon. Taehyung knows this. Both of them treat this fact as something serious rather than a kinky fun fact, since it comes from one of Lace’s insecurities.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: woah. so. Foreplay, mostly masturbation (male and female receiving), making out and grinding, marking, biting, Oral (male receiving), duality king Kim Taehyung, mental health and depression, body image issues, the characters discuss public sex, food play, oral sex, sensation play and impact play, wax play, tantric massage, BDSM, domination, bondage and submission, sex toys, exhibitionism, dungeons. Both the characters have had same-sex experiences and relationships. There might be a few swearwords here and there.

Wordcount: 11k. This thing is big so I’ll come back and edit it a bit at a time.

Here is my masterlist!

And remember to vote for next prompt :) (link in bio!)

Enjoy <3

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“Hey.”

“Hey.” He replied right back. He was standing in the empty corridor at three a.m., the light coming from your doorway illuminating his chocolate curls, his eyes gleaming darkly. “Can I come in?”

You nodded, opening the door and letting him in.

The low lights of your hallway made him move slowly in the room, since he’d never ventured upstairs before. Reaching your living room, you switched on the small lamp beside the sofa, a gentle yellow warmth diffusing.

“Your house is very pretty.” He said, looking around.

“It’s basic. I’m still trying to buy some pieces as I go.” You commented, your mind still slowed down by sleep.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s late.” He said. He was being extremely scarce with his words. “We arrived in town ten minutes ago.”

“How was our trip?” You asked out of habit. You were still trying to understand what to expect from this.

“Very tiring.” He murmured. “I think I’ll be jetlagged all the way to next week.”

He had been in Paris with Jimin after being in London for group schedule. Of course he’d been conflicted between coming back to you and spending some time with his best friend, but at the same time, he thought you'd been dating for a short time and after all, he should give Jimin the priority.

You smiled. “Eight hours?”

“Seven.” He corrected. “May I?” He gestured to the sofa, a two-seats dark red velvet number dominating the room entirely.

You nodded.

“You look incredible.” His low voice made your insides shake. “Have you just woken up?” He shook his head in disappointment. “I’ve woken you up, haven’t I?” He shook his head, reprimanding himself.

“It’s okay.” You said, sitting beside him at a respectful distance. “What brings you here at three a.m. on a workday?” You asked, mischief tinting your voice.

“I wanted to see you.” He replies dryly.

What’s with the atmosphere?

Something felt off. It wasn’t just your sleep-addled mind. There was tension.

“Okay.” You argued back in his same attitude.

He shook his head, throwing his spine against the pillows, inflating his lungs. As he turned towards you, something lustful and obscure possessed his eyes. “Say yes.”

You furrowed your brow. “To what?”

“Fuck, just say yes, ____.” He begged with a growl.

You bit your lip and nodded.

He was on you in a millisecond, kissing you with an intensity that you didn’t think his lithe figure could muster. Yes, of course he was solid under your touch but his body was sinewy rather than bulky. It was a matter of kinetic force rather than actual strength.

He smothered you under his torso, your lungs constricting with the impact. The kiss wasn’t even an attempt at gentleness. It was a matter of teeth and tongues and sucking straight away. Your hand gripped the hair at his nape, trying to control him, slow him down. If he kept this up, he was going to bruise your lips. Soon he grew breathless and parted from your lips. His body was thrown over the sofa, over your lap, into your arms.

“I’ve been thinking of this single spot for days.” He murmured, diving for the crook of your neck, immediately nibbling on it. One hand already on your hair, he tried to move the other one around you, between your back and the soft burgundy velvet. “And I find you all fuzzy and warm from sleep, skin tender, freshly woken up, wearing this sorry excuse of a nightgown.” He snarled.

“Taehyung.” You murmured.

“Lace looks incredible on you, dove.” He lowered his head and started sucking on the upper curve of your left breast, clearly intending to leave a bruise.

You combed his hair back, looking at him while his eyes stared into yours.

“Tae, baby. Why don’t we get more comfortable? I have a queen size bed in the other room, are you sure you want to stay on the sofa?” You offered gently.

He shook his head, still latched onto you, no intention of letting go whatsoever.

"Taetae, you're gonna get a cramp, darling." You caressed his face with affection, his wide-eyed look making you weak.

He finally parted from you and inspected the bruise. Happy with the result, he kissed the mark, drying it with his cheek, slightly scratching you with his stubble. "I think we should stay on the sofa." He argued with a rumble.

He wouldn't answer for himself if he had you in bed. And it was too early to go all the way anyway. Of course his aim was getting his hands under your clothes — and possibly your hands under his, — but he also knew he wanted to take his time. His will was still strong enough to wait, but he knew, were he to be tempted, he would not hesitate. And he knew he wanted to play it slow, go one base at a time before diving all the way in.

"Were you listening, Tae?" You asked, noticing the absent look on his face.

He shook his head with an innocent look, his curls tickling your bosom.

You giggled, fondness warming your gaze. "You want to stay here?"

He nodded, his hair grazing your skin once more, his expression sparkling with a playful smile.

"Then we'll stay here." You declared. "Do you want something to drink? Something to eat? To you it should be dinner time, right?" You fussed.

"No, I'm okay, I'm trying to adjust." He explained. His expression went blank for a moment before lighting up in an Eureka! moment. "I have a gift for you!" He chimed happily.

"Really?" You replied, incredulous.

"It's a bit artsy and sexy, but it's from Paris, so…" He shrugged.

"Oh, now I'm curious." You combed his hair back, exposing his forehead.

"Let me—" He sat upright, disentangling himself from you. He sat cross-legged on the sofa and dove for his canvas bag. "Here." He said, handing you a paper bag.

"Is it…" It was heavy. Very. You opened the bag and you were met with the heavy scent of printed paper. "A book." You realised, taking the volume in your hand, gently removing it from the bag. It was still covered in a thin layer of plastic. "Oh, God! It's that book! How did you find it?"

He grinned. "A friendly bookseller. A connoisseur." He winked. "I didn't open it. I didn't want to ruin it. And I wanted to open it with you. Do you like it?" He dove into the crook of your neck once more, shaking his shaggy locks against your tender skin.

"Thank you, baby." You kissed his cheek. You were still getting used to his mood swings from dark, charming gentleman to his bubbly tiger cub persona. “Do you mind if I go grab a glass of water and then we leaf through it together?” You asked.

“Yeah. Grab one for me too.” If he had to have you half naked beside him for an hour or so, he’d better have something to keep him cool.

As you did your thing in the kitchen he looked around, wide eyed. The relaxing golden light coming from the lamp illuminated a shelf of fashion books and a series of black and white pictures on the walls. He recognised one as a feather. It looked very classy, still he knew you had bought it in a cheap shop downtown, a vintage parlour the two of you had visited during your fourth date.

“Here, Tae.” You said, entering the room, putting the glasses on the small tables at each side of the sofa, one of which hosted the lamp.

“Thank you.” He was sitting comfortably, legs slightly parted, his back laying on the sofa, elbows propped on the pillows. You stood in front of him, admiring him a little.

He was used to being watched, but your scrutiny was so fierce and detached that he felt crystallised, as if any movement would send him shattering on the floor like a frozen leaf.

He looked up at you, mesmerised, but also so terribly afraid of your next move. Like you could incinerate him with your eyes. Slowly, he raised his back from his slouching, hands naturally meeting your hips. It was intimate and cold at the same time. You felt afraid of the intensity he could evoke with a simple touch and a glance.

He called your name and it felt like an awakening, like you had never had a name before. His long lashes covered the upper part of his irises, giving you the sultriest, darkest look.

“Taehyung.” You whispered back, in hope you would sound just like he did.

His hands moved from your hips to your waist, bringing you closer, right in front of him. He scooted closer to the edge of the cushion, his nose skimming the soft silk of your nightgown from your sternum to the dip of your navel. “I missed you, darling.” He kissed your belly, propping his chin on your stomach.

Again, you combed his hair back. “I did send you a small gift, though.” You reminded him coolly.

Once again he remembered the picture, the voice text, your breathy moans and needy whines as you whispered how much you were missing him, how dumb you had been to tell him that you could wait one more week before seeing him again. Your relationship wasn't sexual yet, but during his short stay in Paris you realised how quickly it had escalated, feeling the need to simply tell him how he made you feel, how hot it was to listen to his deep, warm voice as he talked about his day. He could have been reading his shopping list and you would get wet anyway.

"You did send it." He replied. "And it was wholeheartedly appreciated." He said with a growl.

You licked your lips as you noticed his legs spreading farther, parting to accommodate your standing figure.

"Are you gonna make me beg for it?" He murmured, a pinch of worry in his voice.

You raised an eyebrow, playing confused.

Shaking his head, he tutted and grabbed your waist, his strong fingers digging into your skin as he turned you with his back to him, making you sit heavily between his thighs. "I won't beg for you tonight, Lace." He huffed minaciously in your ear, one arm coiling around your waist while his other palm dragged possessively from your hip bone to your knee, fingers digging into the soft skin of your inner thighs.

“Let’s look at your kinky, niche art book.” He growled at your ear.

Nodding silently, you bent to the coffee table, lunging for the book, your hair tumbling forward and exposing the naked expanse of your shoulders.

Of course he profited from the moment, lunging forward, drawing the line of your spine with the tip of his nose, from the upper hem of your nightgown to your nape, inhaling the flowery scent of your shampoo.

You almost lost your grip on the heavy book, your body responding to his touch with a deep shiver and a slight loss of balance. He gripped your waist tighter, helping you up. “Did you like that?” He asked.

You let your short breath and stumbling heartbeat speak for you.

“Did you like that, sweetheart?” He asked again.

“Yeah.” You huffed.

He chuckled gruffly. “Open the book.”

You used your nail to open the thin plastic foil, ripping it until you managed to open the cover. The first page was an unmade bed, the title printed in a dark, heavy font.

“Passion portrayed”

The theme was very… French. Your ex-flatmate had recommended you the book, printed by one of her former university classmates.

It didn’t even feign being ordinary or appropriate. From the very title of it, it was unmistakeably an erotic book, meant to expose intimate parts of the subjects’ life, exhibitionism in its most artistic vest.

“How does it work?” Asked Taehyung, his chin settling on your shoulder.

“It’s a book.” You said, matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, but the theme.” He said, taking the book from your hands and turning it around, searching for an abstract.

You shrugged. “From what I’ve been told, some couples asked the photographer for a series of intimate pictures. They loved the results so much that they asked if the author ever thought of publishing them as a collection. The pictures were selected and rearranged to create this book.” You explained, using your forearm to sustain the back of the book, your hand turning the first page.

“I like this.” Taehyung said, the page printed fully offering a wide, light green clearing in the middle of a wood. The straw field was bathed in orange twilight, the light cutting perfectly into the lens, creating small, interference halos in the picture.

You smiled, nodding, your hair brushing against his cheek.

He exhaled, his body relaxing. You felt so soft. Like his personal teddy bear. The skin of your thigh was warm against his palm, if slightly clammy. You were holding the book so to allow his hands to wander and he felt somehow confused and grateful for it, not knowing whether he could take advantage or whether you were just testing him.

“Tell me when you want me to turn.” You said quietly.

“Turn.” He said. The following two pages were only partly printed, hosting a smaller photograph on the center of each page. Both offered the same setting as before with a change of perspective, one lowered to the ground, in a picnic, the traditional chequered blanket laying on the ground, a wicker basket, small glass cups for wine, grapes, cheese and picturesque, cliché sandwiches; the other filtered through the backseat of a pickup. The definition of an American Sixties teenage rendezvous. “I can kind of figure where this is headed.” He murmured.

You snickered. “I can only imagine.”

You turned the page again. Black and flashes of neon pink. Probably a club, empty.

“Wow.” You said. The atmosphere had changed dramatically, contrasting with the previous page. The juxtaposition was somehow interesting.

“Turn?” He asked.

You obeyed. Same disposition of pictures: two, smaller, at the center of the page, same setting — the club — but through a different cut. A gothic black velvet armchair, the seat surrounded by elaborate swirls of sculpted ebony. The glimmering of metal in the darkness, reflecting the neon hot pink.

“It looks like an adult club.” He murmured, his finger exploring the vague shape of chains hanging from the wall in the picture on the right.

“I think so, too.” You agreed. “Have you ever visited one?” You asked, turning slightly to examine his reaction.

He denied with a tut. “I’d like to visit one, though. It would be curious.” He shrugged. “Have you?”

You cocked your head to the side. “Kind of.”

He waited for you to elaborate.

“Call it an occupational hazard of sort for a lingerie retailer. You just get used to a lot of crazy stuff, meet a lot of crazy people, get into a lot of crazy hobbies.” You approximately justified yourself.

“Was it for your… extracurricular?” He asked, a lazy smirk on his face.

“Yeah.” You confirmed, licking your lips.

He nodded delicately, trying not to punch his chin into your collarbone. “Next?” He called and you turned the page.

A bluish bathroom. Maybe a spa room, it had a massage bed. But everything was blue. Entirely blue. Blue tiles, blue floor, blue carpet, blue supplies. Blue. everywhere. Soothing, calm. “So much blue.” He commented.

“I think she’s going through primary colours. Yellow, reddish pink, blue. We’ll see what’s next.” You explained.

Tae stared at the picture. “Do you like it?”

“I’m not sure.” You turned the page. Again, two smaller pictures at the center of each page. The first one was a closeup of the massage bed, with its plush blue cover and a small shelf of products and candles. The other picture contained another detail, a white, thick candle and its burning wick against the dark blue tiles.

You nodded with a knowing huff.

“Want me to turn?” You asked.

Taehyung hummed in approval.

Black. And white. And grey. This is the same setting as the title page: bedroom, silken, glimmering sheets. But now you could figure out the rest of the room. A plain bedroom, the headboard made by a sophisticated tangle of iron swirls and bars, the rest of the scene empty except for a big wardrobe and a drawer. The setting in time is completely anonymous, the black and white chromatism killing any light that could suggest day or night or twilight.

“Turn.”

First detail: the silken sheets appearing through the iron bars at the foot of the bed.

Second detail: some absolutely ordinary, if not cheap and old clothes abandoned on the wooden floor of the room.

This is where it starts.

Taehyung was growing impatient, his hand getting restless on your leg. He started drawing small circles with his short nails on your inner thigh. "So…"

You stopped turning the page, leaving it perfectly standing, pinched between your fingers.

He suddenly shut his mouth, as if he had decided not to speak, however his glance gave him off, his eyes stuck on the page you had just uncovered.

He moved his hand from your belly, catching your wrist and making you turn the page fully.

On the page on the left a dainty, lithe female body occupied most of the picture, picturing the torso and lower body, covered only slightly in a cute, gingham lingerie set with small embroidered cherries. It looked like coquettish demureness, the combination extremely girly and juvenile on the model’s barely-there curves.

You turned to Taehyung as you felt his adam’s apple bob against your neck. He was staring at the picture on the other page, where a wooden honey dipper hovered over the girl’s lower abdomen, dripping the sticky, sweet liquid on her skin, her bent thigh hiding her crotch from the camera. “I like the angle. And the colours.” You commented.

He nodded simply.

You observed the picture for one more second before letting your fingers reach for the corner of the page to turn.

“Would you let me do that to you?” He growled, leaving a soft kiss on your neck.

Let him cover you in honey? “Would you lick it away?” You asked, curious, trying as hard as possible to play it cool. Secretly you were self-combusting.

“Duh. Of course.” He kissed you again.

“Yes.” You replied, without even thinking about it for half a second.

The following page moved back to the club, all black and magenta. This time everything you could see was the silhouette of someone laying on their front, naked, on a flat surface. It was impossible to recognise a male or female anatomy. It made everything more interesting. On the page beside, the picture focused on the dip of their spine, showing a vague outline of the shoulder blades and the frilly tip of a feather barely grazing the skin, as if the person in the room with them was running the… tool? down his or her spine.

“And you, would you let me do this to you?” You asked, curious, looking at him.

His fingers clawed at your lower thigh, making you hiss at his vicious grip. “You want to torture me, sweetie?” He teased, parting your thighs. The cool air licked at your sweaty skin, raising goosebumps in its wake. “Want to make me furious? Get me mad?” His lazy, soft kisses turned into an aggressive nipping, his main intent that of making bruises bloom on your tender skin.

“I want to see you wild.” You replied, still hoping to sound detached, even though at this point it was your own arousal rather than your sweat making your thighs clammy. “I’ve seen your stages. You roar.” You used your free hand to grab and knead his knee, but unfortunately he stopped you.

“Hands on the book.” He reprimanded. “What about my stages?”

Flashbacks of his Singularity performances ran through your mind. “You’re sultry. Seductive. Predatory. And so aggressive.” You explained. “So sinful...” You admitted.

“I know it drives you crazy.” He whispered, nuzzling into the underside of your ear.

“Fucking insane.” You huffed out, leaning into him.

He chuckled. “You’re so weak for me.” He mocked you.

You wiggled a little in his hold, your backside brushing against his lap, a deep, vibratoed moan exiting his mouth. “You’re so weak for me.” You teased back.

And then you squealed. He had just bitten your shoulder. “Turn the page, you menace.”

You did as you were told. This time it was a woman for sure laying on the massage bed, her body covered from chest to knee by a pale fluffy towel. Again, everything felt a bit too blue. You liked that she looked overall fuller, curvier than the previous models, the towel draping around her curved belly, her fleshy thighs. It wasn’t that strategically planned plumpness. It was genuine, showing both the traditionally attractive and the socially unaccepted parts of body fat. It wasn’t all tits and ass. It was arms, calves, belly. And it looked beautiful. Still, you couldn’t see her face.

“You like her?” Taehyung asked.

You shrugged. “Her body's non-canonically beautiful. You can tell that she loves her body. I like that she didn’t let society kill her vibe, that she likes her body so much that she wanted to have this kind of pictures taken. I think she trusts the photographer a lot.” You shook your head. “I’m so dumb. All of them must have trusted the photographer a lot. I don’t know why a curvier person would be more insecure about her body than a slimmer person.”

“I think society kind of taught us that people who don’t adhere to a certain beauty standard should or actually do feel ashamed for it.” Taehyung mumbled. “I don’t see why a curvier girl should be ashamed. And curvy is not just the sexy curve. Curvy is fleshy, handfuls everywhere. I don’t really care. I just want flesh and fullness to grip while I’m fucking.” He continued mumbling with a slightly careless but also complaining tone.

Suddenly the meaning of the hand coming around your middle, gripping the skin on your side and occasionally your love handles changed meaning. “So that’s what you were doing when you gripped me?” You asked. The first time he did it during one of your previous dates, you had felt wary, almost called-out by his action.

“When?”

“The first time we kissed. And then some.” You blushed. “I thought you were pointing out that I’m fat.”

“You’re not fat. You’re beautiful and sexy and yeah, you’re soft, so what? You feel so good. And we all have body fat. You like eating. You eat regularly and healthily. You care for yourself and love yourself. You’re one of the most confident women I’ve ever seen.”

You dipped your head, trying to avoid spilling the tear almost rolling down your cheek. “Thank you.”

“And you make lingerie look like sin.” He added, turning your head and holding you tighter. “I grip you and grab you because you’re sexy and because I need to stop myself from doing dumb, ridiculous stuff. And you’re squishy. It calms down my nerves. It soothes me.” He kissed your cheek. “If you ever decided to lose weight I would support you, of course, but if it were for me, I wouldn’t want you any other way.” He kissed you again. “And look!” he pointed to the following photography. “She seems to like curvy girls too.” He pointed to the other female figure appearing in the picture, standing beside the bed, untucking the towel and revealing the top of the laying woman’s breasts. “I like that they have a same-sex couple. Do you think they’ll have two boys too?” He asked.

“Are you interested?” You asked, no judgement or excitement in your voice, trying to silently communicate that he was safe whatever his reply would be.

“I mean, you have two girls, why not two boys?” He said, raising one shoulder. “Plus, I’m not opposed to it.”

“Have you ever had a boy?” You asked, quite blatantly.

He tutted. “It was a quick thing. I prefer girls, I think. The female body is more attractive.” He confessed. “It has way more secrets. It’s more interesting to explore.” He pushed his hips against your backside. “I think that the moment I feel attraction and curiosity, I let myself experience it. I don’t limit myself to something as dumb as gender.”

You loved his eclectic, versatile tastes. He is experimental and seductive, a natural hedonist.

“That sounds good for you.” You admitted.

“Have you had girls?” He asked, curious.

You smiled. “Yeah. I was in a relationship with a girl, in uni. A small thing.” You told him. “And yeah, they’re more interesting.”

“Right, you mentioned.” Taehyung remembered.

“I don’t wanna sound rude or pervy but… how was the sex? I mean, is it different, other than anatomically speaking?” He asked.

You exhaled, thinking about it more accurately, trying to remember. “Every person is different. I never really had male lovers, but the few subs I had all had something special and different — not that I had that many, that is.” You blushed.

He nosed his way through your hair and against your nape.

“It was more… conversational?” You tried finding the right word. “We gave each other a lot of constructive feedback.” You reminisced. “And fuck, I loved how responsive she was.” You scrunched your face. “I do miss fucking a girl every now and then. Wrecking a pretty girl gives me quite a boost of adrenaline and self esteem.” You admitted with a wild, embarrassed laugh.

“I agree to that.” He laughed too, his diaphragm moving with a belly laugh that ricocheted from his stomach into your back. “I can’t wait to wreck you.” He spoke with a dirty, hot, gruff voice.

You arched your neck, offering him the curve of your shoulder as you licked your lower lip. “Why aren’t you inside me already?”

The hand on your thigh, which had lost some pressure, climbed half an inch higher. “Because you couldn’t wait to see this book.”

You shook your head in disagreement.

“And because I’ll put my fingers inside you first.” He said aggressively. “And because I’m waiting. When I’m so desperate that I’ll wake up sweaty and horny in the middle of the night because I was dreaming of your dripping, sweet cunt on my face, then I’ll come fuck you until your entire body is nothing but a pretty toy trained for my pleasure.” His hand shifted from the harsh grip on your side to the devious, light, teasing fingertip tracing your puffy areola and erect nipple which were pushing against the satin of your nightgown. "I need to wake up so fucked out that I can conjure your taste in my mouth, that I can almost feel the wetness of you around my fingers. Your pretty, red lips around my cock.”

You hummed at that, wanting nothing but the stretching feel of his blunt, long erection inside your mouth, warm and salty down your throat. “Fuck my mouth, Tae. Please.”

He snarled and snickered. “Not a chance, darling. Now, turn the page.” He felt dumb for turning you down, but he had plans. He needed to resist. Good boys go to heaven.

Turn the page. The black and white felt soothing after all the coloured shots. “Oh.”

Taehyung breathed out loudly. “Fuck.”

You were too fascinated by the picture to look at him.

“Yes?” He asked.

“Yeah.” You replied.

“You’d let me?” He asked again.

You nodded. “Would you? Let me, I mean...”

“You wanna tie me up?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

You momentarily put the book on your legs joining your pointer fingers together at the fingertip. “I have taken lessons, so...” You bit your lip, blushing.

He kissed your shoulder. “I can’t wait to try that. With you.” He gave you small bites this time, playful and caring. “And I’d be very happy if you taught me too.” His hand caressed your belly gently, the other one digging in the valley between your joined tights.

“Thank you, baby.” You pressed your shoulders into his chest enjoying the solid feeling of his body supporting yours.

“Anything for you.” He replied politely. “Now, can we move on?” He asked, trying to ignore the picture that had sparked the conversation, where a man wearing only boxers laid in bed, his wrists tied to the bedpost with a sturdy, rough rope.

You nodded, picking up the book and turning the page. Back to the babygirl in the field. This time her lover had his mouth on her; the shot a closeup of his stubbly cheek and chin and his open mouth sucking at her inner thigh. In the matching picture his mouth was on her small breast, sucking her nipple over the fabric of her bra. You clenched your legs slightly, wiggling a little in your seat.

It went maybe unnoticed. Maybe. Taehyung stopped breathing for a second, until you settled and he managed to gain his cool again.

You managed to keep it cool with the second set, the dungeon, where the only thing really happening was for the feather to caress the submissive’s ass, in the picture on the left, only to be substituted by a furred glove on the following photograph.

The third set had Taehyung gasping and moaning. You simply breathed out a small laugh. “Will you do this to me too?” You asked.

“I’m gonna worship you head to toe, dove.” He grinned, observing the pictures. Both involved the standing woman massaging the laying one, with strong, oiled hands kneading the round globes of her ass and thighs, the soft and pale plants of her feet.

“I love your hands.” You murmured, placing yours atop the one on your navel.

He smirked. “Don’t you?” He twisted his wrist to intertwine your fingers.

Nodding, you added: “They look so strong. And big.” You took a deep breath, daydreaming about the feel of them grabbing your breasts, your ass, your neck, pinning your wrists, moving inside you. Your brain had a special gallery dedicated exclusively to his hands.

“I bet you can’t wait to have them inside you.” He teased, the hand on your thigh climbing a little closer to your heat. You were wondering how long it would take for him to find out about your little surprise for him.

Let him live in innocence for now.

“That, yes.” You admitted, not even playing coy. “And also I can’t wait to see them on yourself.” You provoked him, hoping that he would understand.

“You want to see me touch myself?” He asked, his face absolutely impassive.

“Yes.” You replied plainly.

He laughed with a series of quiet exhales. “We’ll see.”

You turned a few pages, observing all the small details of the four different foreplay scenes.

“Would you do it outdoors?” He asked at a certain point, his stare fixed on the coquettish blonde angel sucking off her partner at the picnic.

You raised an eyebrow. “If the setting was right, yes. Though here in Seoul it's quite difficult.”

“We could visit my hometown. There are a lot of empty, remote fields over there.” He said, his arm holding you tight as he made both your bodies scoot back, away from the edge of the sofa.

“I would rather avoid you risking your career for a fuck out in the open air.” You commented pragmatically.

“We’re only risking that if we get caught. And I’m sure we’re smart enough.” He tried to convince you.

“What about insects? Bugs? Safety?” You asked, concerned.

“We’ll think about it in detail if we ever decide to walk down this path, yeah?” He suggested respectfully.

You pouted, nodding in agreement.

“Holy shit, look at this.” You commented, quite shocked. In the dungeon, the dom was sprinkling glitters on the backside of his submissive, which you had discovered being — much to Taehyung’s chagrin — also a man.

“I want that. Oh my God, they're gonna get all over the place.” He replied, frowning at the thought. “You can go through major catastrophes and those bitches would still colonize every nook and cranny of your body.” His brow creased. “But fuck it looks amazing.” Especially since in the second picture the dom was using a leather glove to spank his sub, making all the glitter disperse into the air at the impact, creating a purplish halo around the silhouette of the spankee.

“I’m gonna spank you.” He said, out of the blue. “I hope you’re okay with that.”

Yes, sir, Your slutty brain replied. “We’ll see,” you said out loud.

Ha laughed dryly. "You'll want me to. It's only a matter of time."

You turned around, smirking at him. You tipped his chin back with a finger, kissing him with a cruel tenderness. His eyes closed, initially surprised, but then he became more than eager to deepen the kiss. Still you drew back, while his mouth tried to chase after yours.

"No." You whispered.

"Are you telling me no?" He asked gruffly. "Mh?" The hand between your thighs had kept rising and by now his palm laid on the junction between your hip and thigh, his index tracing your mound. "Is it a no?"

You moaned lasciviously. Was he going to discover your surprise for him?

He finally reached your sex, expecting to meet a wet patch on your underwear. "____. Where are your panties?" He murmured in your ear.

You bit your lip. "Not wearing any." You murmured gently.

"Say it again." He growled.

"I'm not wearing panties, Tae." You mewled tauntingly.

He moved his hand from your navel to your breast, the other one cupping your crotch.

"Naughty girl." He snarled. "Bad, bad girl." His mouth latched at your neck while his hands pushed you further into him, his erection pressing against the small of your back.

"I want you." You whined. "So bad, Tae. Please."

"You're wet for me?" He said, his mouth parting from your skin long enough to interrogate you, only to continue to lick you as soon as he was done talking.

"I'm drenched. I want you. Make me cum, Tae, please."

His chest shook with an evil laugh. "You told me no earlier." He replied.

"I made a mistake. I only wanted to tease you." You cried out, your free hand trying to reach for his between your legs.

"Hands on the book, bad kitty." He said, nibbling your earlobe.

You obeyed with some quiet complaining.

"Why would you tease me?" He asked

"I wanted you to want me." You confessed. "I wanted you to stop resisting me."

"I'm not gonna fuck you." He repeated. "But nothing is stopping me from making you cum with my fingers." He kissed your temple. "Are you okay with that?"

You nodded. "Just make me cum, Tae."

He snickered. "Then keep your hands on the book. Keep watching your kinky pictures. Let's see what makes you even wetter."

You whimpered as his long fingers moved against your folds, and you parted your legs further to grant him better access.

On the following page, the women had moved from a tantric massage to a steamy, slow session of waxplay. The receiving partner was now laying on her back, her breasts exposed for her lover, her skin glistening with oil as the other woman let a droplet fall on her unmarred skin, however you could tell it wasn't the first drop from a stain barely visible in the corner of the picture, out of focus.

Taehyung interrupted your musings with a twitch of his fingers, while he spoke directly in your ear. "What about waxplay, darling? Would you like to try that?"

You exhaled at the movement, your head falling forward as the muscles on your neck went slack.

"Your body would be a work of art, covered in coconut oil, sweat, droplets of wax and my cum."

You felt your soul leave your body. From your seated position your inner organs were positioned so that his fingers perfectly reached your g-spot. "Fuck, Tae, you're fucking perfect."

He kissed the corner of your mouth, the hand on your chest toying with the hem of your nightie until he slipped the strap off your shoulder and uncovered your naked breast. "Oh, you like it." He bent some more trying to reach for your mouth. He thought about using one hand to turn your face but he was content with where they were at the moment.

The black and white bondage scene turned into a submission exercise, the woman standing on her knees over the face of the laying man, using a vibrator to pleasure herself.

And he simply laid there, mouth open, waiting. You almost turned when Taehyung stopped you. "I'd love to try that." His voice was slightly strained, probably from the strange angle he was in. Both his arms were busy and working from a difficult position. Not that you noticed.

Ever since he had started touching you, you had been in a haze, your head feeling extremely light and floaty.

"Anything you want." You replied before your voice broke in a mewl. "I'm close." You were, already, and incredibly so. All you needed was for him to keep talking. "I wanna hear your voice."

"What do you want to hear, Lace? How soft your cunt feels on my fingers? It feels like fucking velvet, darling. Do you want to know how much I wanna eat you?" He moved closer to your ear. “I wanna hear you scream for me, Lace. I want you to be so loud that everyone will know you’re having the best orgasm of your life.” He bit your earlobe. “I’m gonna make you cum so many times you lose count. I’m gonna make you regret teasing me. I’m gonna make you cry in every best way possible.” His fingers moved faster between your legs, his thumb meeting your clit. “I’m gonna fuck you so much you’re gonna hate yourself for complaining I haven’t fucked you yet.”

His dirty words got to your head like liquor, your hips undulating to find the final stimulus you needed to come apart. You felt your backbone roll dangerously and in a few seconds you snapped forward, his forearm on your chest keeping you upright through your climax. “That’s it, Lace. Ride my fingers.” He commanded and you complied, like the needy, desperate animal you are for him. Only for him.

Never in your life had you experienced the need to bend over backwards for anyone, least of all a man; yet, here you were, pliant like putty in his hands, feeling submissive for the first time of your life. “Taehyung.” You whispered, too lost to realise it was barely hearable. Still, he noticed, slowing down his movements.

“Are you okay, dove?” He checked on you, his voice warm and caring.

You shook your head yes. “I need a second.” You said through heavy breath.

He moved away the hand on your breast, bringing it to your cheek, making you ease back against him and cradling your body gently. “It was beautiful, Lace. Beautiful. I can’t wait to see you do that again.” He murmured, comforting you and praising you.

You giggled cutely in reply, turning toward his face and puckering your lips.

He read your cue and pressed his lips to yours chastely. “Need some water, dove?” He asked.

You nodded and for a second he thought how he could possibly grab the closest glass with both his hands busy. Noticing that, you caught his dirty hand and brought it to your face.

“Lace.” He groaned as you observed the slick coating his fingers.

“Tae.” You groaned right back at him, turning to give him a nice view before you put his fingers in your mouth, sucking lewdly.

His hips rolled below you, his eyes fighting to stay open while his forehead met your temple, jaw hanging low in a silent invitation to slide your tongue in his mouth. What you did, your devious will overpowering you, was to free his digits and part them in a V against your lips and chin, lashing your tongue out in the valley between his middle and ring finger to make out with him.

The sound he emitted was something so dirty and lewd that you found yourself turned on again, ready to slip his hand between your thighs once more.

“I cannot fuck you tonight.” He reminded himself once he parted from your tongue — and his hand.

“I still don’t see why.” You teased, always the temptress in a wild attempt to lure him into your bed.

“I need to take my time.” He gave himself the whole talk. “I need to learn you, your language, your tells and cues. Let’s run the bases and then I’ll take it home. Let’s enjoy every little step that takes us there.” He explained, giving you his whole vision.

You nodded. This is what he wanted. To make every single milestone meaningful, important, unique. “You should have said.” You caressed his face. “I wouldn’t have been so bratty, had I know of that.” You kissed his cheekbone.

“It’s cool.” He breathed out, eyes shut, teeth gritted.

“Are you okay?” You asked, fondling him some more.

“I’m just… dealing with something.” He replied, stressed, pressing his hips against your.

And you felt him. He must have been pretty big.

“Would you let me take care of you?” You questioned tentatively.

He shook his head. Then waited a few second. “Would it be okay if I grind against you?”

You raised your eyebrows, only to grin madly after it. “Yeah. Whatever works for you, love. Touch yourself, grind, I don’t care, just… let me be there for you.” You comforted him.

“Water first.” He said, using his clean hand to reach for the glass, mourning the departure from your chest for a quick second. As soon as he brought the glass to your lips, you took it from his grasp and placed his palm back to your chest, taking a small sip and and offering him some. He stretched over your shoulder and you helped him drink, tipping the glass carefully to avoid him choking or spilling. As soon as he was done you moved the glass back to the small table, grabbing the book in the process.

“Okay, back to where we left.” His hand covered in a dried up mixture of your and his spit laid on your navel, hiking up your nightie. The other was cementified to your naked breast, toying with your nipple.

On the pages there was an escalation of foreplay, the American sweethearts moving on to her offering him a blowjob.

“You okay with that?” You asked Taehyung, refusing to assume that all men love blowjobs.

“I think so, yeah. I hope in the near future I’ll be able to feed you my cock multiples time a day, sweetie.” He indulged in your kink, still shocked by your earlier request to suck him off.

You had to stop yourself from asking him to feed you now. He had asked for one step at a time. You owed him that. “All you need to do is ask, Tae.” You simply reminded him.

“Can’t wait to see you on your knees for me.” He mumbled, his hips thrusting up against you.

“What about spanking tools?” He asked as you turned the page, amazed by the riding crop that the dom was sporting.

“I’ve used them in the past, but I’ve never had them used on me.” You confessed. “I tested them on myself first before using them on someone, obviously, but I was never… I’ve never been truly dominated by someone else, so—”

He moaned and caressed your neck with the tip of his nose. “That’s okay. We don’t have to...”

You shook your head. “I want to, though. Just— easy. As you said, one step at a time.”

He ohed at that, nipping at your jutting collarbone.

You went through some more pages, discussing details, objects, feelings.

Of course your fascination with the dungeon scene grew when Taehyung cupped your pubis once more as a flogger appeared in the picture. “I’m close, I just wanna feel your wetness.” He explained. “I’d love to use that—” He indicated the flogger with a gesture of his chin “—to tease you. Drag its soft tips from your toes to your breasts, flick it innocently over your sensitive nipples. Draw lazy circles on your belly. Watch you lick, suck and hump the handle.”

You awed at that. Most importantly you awed at how he was pressing his hard on against your asscheeks through his trousers and your nightie.

“I’m close.” After ten minutes of being on the very edge of it, he gave up and brought his hand to his crotch, just adding more pressure. You felt somehow disappointed that you wouldn’t feel him on you anymore.

The next page was his undoing. In the bedroom scene, the man was still bound, propped up against the pillows, wide eyed, imploring. On the right page you discovered why: the woman was showing him her backside, on her knees, chest to the mattress, fucking herself with a huge dildo. “Fuck” he growled. “Lace, would you?” He asked, needing you to talk, to give him a scenario.

“Yes, I would. I would do it like that but I would also do it with your cock in my mouth, the dildo making me so relaxed that I could easily deepthroat the monster you’re hiding in your pants, mister.” You teased.

He smiled like the devil, barely holding in a snicker. “Fuck that, Lace, you just want my cock in your mouth, don’t you?” He mocked.

“I’ve never been so hungry for a cock, Taehyung. I just want to see you fucked out.” You had never felt so dirty and sexy in your life. You were fighting with your teeth and claws for him. There were so many people out there willing to do anything to get him. Might as well set the bar up high and offer him more than anyone else would ever dare to.

He whimpered, his forehead pressed to your nape.

You turned, grabbing his chin, making him look at you. “Let me see that bliss, Tae. Show me your pretty face when you cum for me.” You spurred him on gently. “Give me your best look. Come on, I wanna save that for the next time I fuck myself with my toy. Please.”

And he crumbled, holding your gaze, precipitating into oblivion. His mouth hung open, releasing a deep cry while his chest fell into your shoulders, pressing into you. He couldn’t care less about cumming in his pants, or messing up his trousers, in that moment he was only looking for a way to let his soul slither under your skin and tangle with yours. He wanted closeness and warmth and to leave his body and feel light.

When you saw his eyelids tremble, you tutted repeatedly, calling for his attention. “Keep looking at me, baby bear.”

He whined at the nickname, fighting the postorgasmic haze threatening to drag him under.

You fumbled with your hold of the book, freeing a hand to caress his wavy hair. “That’s it, baby.” You murmured, finally allowing him to let go of the snippet of control he had left over his body. “Are you okay, Tae?”

He nodded and inhaled against your neck, his mouth opening and laving your skin with heavy, wide and wet licks. He still had his hand between your legs and it looked like he was very happy with it.

"Are you happy, baby?" You asked him, combing his hair back.

He simply offered you an elated smile, nodding and nuzzling into you.

"You look so pretty when you cum, Tae. And so damn sexy." You praised him, being absolutely straightforward about your thoughts.

"I feel so good, ____." He said, his expression completely blissful.

"Do you want to keep leafing through the book?" You asked, still completely focused on him.

He scratched his cheek and nodded, even though he barely hid a yawn.

After making sure that he really wanted to keep going, you took hold of the book again. The couples in the pictures moved on from foreplay to actual intercourse, simply showing the closeness of body parts, but never including genitals in the photographs. It was only possible to identify which belonged to whom because of the light and setting. You appreciated the so-to-say gender neutrality of the shots.

"It's interesting how all the couples feel the same. The positions are slightly different but still there's always the same closeness, intensity, passion and intimacy." He noticed.

You agreed.

"It feels like they're together not just as in doing stuff together but actually exist together. They're one." He said, running his finger along the same possessive pose of the arm — snaking around the lovers back and keeping them close — which was featured on four different pictures put together, side by side, from each of the couples.

And finally it was the open mouths, the hard grips, the arched backs of an orgasm.

"It's so… Natural. The way we feel pleasure." He murmured, his heavy breathing and the movement of his lips teasing the sensitive spot behind your ear. "I mean, I know that there are some people who don't like sex. Or who don't perceive it as a necessity. And that's natural too." He thought about it some more. "But this feels like a universal language. Like music. You can read it in its little signs."

You were growing impatient again. The book was almost over, only a few pages left. What happens now? Does he want to leave? Is he going to stay?

You hesitated before turning the page, but he spurred you on.

This was aftercare. While the other photographs looked like they were made for the observers' aesthetic pleasure, this looked like invading the models' privacy.

"I feel uncomfortable." You spoke gently.

Taehyung worried. "Is it… Do you need space?" He asked, realising that you've been sitting for almost an hour in a very uncomfortable position. He started unraveling his hold on you but you stopped him, blocking his hand between your legs with the muscles of your thighs and blocking his other arm by catching his wrist. "I was talking about the pictures. It feels like I'm seeing something that I'm not supposed to see."

"Yup." He agreed. "But I like the one in the field. The one with the sweethearts." The sun had almost completely set behind the trees and the boy and girl were sitting exhausted in the backseat, her body perched on top of him, his head resting on her breast. "I would stay inside too." Taehyung said. "It's so warm. Intimate. And when you're tired and vulnerable it's so good to feel that emotionally together with someone. To stay sheathed inside." He mused.

You felt his fingers twitch almost imperceptibly on your folds. A wave of wetness oozed out.

"Oh, you're ready for another, doll?" He grinned, brushing against you more pressingly.

"Tae." You cried out.

"Yes, Lace?"

"Let me suck you." You said with a more imposing voice than before.

He made you turn your head and look him in the eye.

"You want that so bad?" He asked mischievously. "I guess you won't have any problem saying it again as you look me in eyes if you're truly so desperate for my dick."

You shook your head briefly. "Please Tae, let me suck your dick. If you don't give that to me I swear I'll go down the street and suck it to the first attractive man I see." You said, growing impatient both to his denying and his teasing.

"How can I say no to that?" He grinned sardonically. "Plus it would be dumb of me to put you at risk, wandering through the streets at this hour of the night wearing that skimpy mess of a nightgown." He parted your hair and moved it to the side, removing the locks that had stuck to your neck because of your sweat and his saliva. "And no panties.” His hand squished your breast aggressively. “You're driving me crazy with all this lace, baby.” He took a small pause, like he was thinking. “Come on, you want my cock in your mouth? Get in position and be ready to take it." He directed you harshly.

You put away the book, only the acknowledgements page left unread, and jumped to your feet, much to his chagrin, kneeling on the floor with the speed of a lightning.

“God, you sure are hungry for my dick, uh?” He kept getting cockier and cockier.

You probably should have played it cool, but you were too into it to fake aloofness. “Undo your trousers, Tae, please.”

He smirked, his eyelids lowered to look at you on the floor. He looked like a sex god, the kind of god that teaches unspeakable, sinful things.

His hands moved slowly and deliberately, so that you had the time to spot a wet patch of fabric where his tip was located. As soon as he undid his belt, you threw your hands at his button, but he stopped you.

“You don’t want me to block your hands, do you?” He warned you.

You raised an eyebrow as if doubting his words.

“I know basic knots, doll. Don’t test me.” He growled.

You pouted and looked at the floor.

He tutted. “Have I offended you, doll?” He questioned.

You rocked your head in a way that meant “so and so”.

He shook his head. “I’m so strict with you. I’m sorry, Lace.” He took a moment, thinking about how to make it up to you. “Would you be happy again if I asked you to pick a toy to play with while I use your mouth, doll?”

Your mouth opened slightly in surprise as you processed his request. You looked up at him. His zipper was undone, his cock partly out, his hand slowly, heavily petting it.

“Is this what you wanted to see, doll?” He threw his head back, licking his lips and giving you quite the show. “Go pick your toy, nymph.”

You sucked your lips in, indecisive between staying and not losing one second of this view or going to get something to relieve yourself.

“Go quick, doll.” He ordered.

Staying with your eyes fixed on him, you stood up and walked backwards to your room, running as soon as he got out of your sight. You quickly fished your favourite dildo from your bedside table, rushing back to the sofa.

“Here already? You chose quickly, doll. Are you sure you chose wisely?” He questioned, his voice caving when his hand reached the tip and circled it slowly but energetically.

“Yes, Taehyung.” You said, showing him your candidate, turning it so he could analyse it.

“It’s a very nice toy.” He commented, “It looks squishy.”

“It’s a special silicone.” You explained. “It was expensive but it feels amazing. And it’s safe, most importantly. No silly, cheap rubber.”

“Excellent, sweetie. Come kneel, doll.” He invited you and you complied obediently. “Such a good girl.” He praised you. “Look at you, all pretty, diligent, cute and wide-eyed. Who would guess that you’re the filthiest nymph ever?” He sat on the edge of the pillow, spreading his legs as far as his trousers allowed.

“May I roll them down?” You asked, leaving the toy stranding on its base on the floor while he nodded, your hands tried to push his linen trousers to his calves and ankles.

“I want you to put the toy inside, doll.” He growled.

You looked at him with an endearing expression. “Will you make it wet for me?”

“Want me to spit on it, doll?” He asked and you nodded neutrally.

He started collecting some saliva in his mouth before ducking to collect the accessory and rolling his tongue out, letting the liquid spread over the thick head.

“The base is important.” You tipped him, “it’s were I need it to be more slippery, since it’s thicker.”

“Okay, dove.” He said, his lips puckering dragging a thick coat of wetness all around the base.

It looked very erotic. Especially with his other hand stroking his shaft

What looked even more erotic was to see him stare at you before sliding his face up, all the way to the tip, his mouth opening and swallowing two thirds of the impressive length. His hand became faster on his hard-on.

“Holy shit, Tae, I— ” Words lost sound and meaning when you saw him bob his head on the toy, closing his eyes and moaning. He played with it for a minute or so before slipping it out of his lips, offering it to your chin.

There is a saying. No sub is truly trained unless they kiss whatever their dom puts before their lips.

And you kissed it.

He grinned with lust-fevered eyes. “Put it in, Lace.”

You took a second, staring at him. Your hands naturally reached the hem of your nightie and dragged it up and away.

“Fuck, doll. Look at those tits, you’re delicious, babe.” He praised you, and you beamed up at him, retrieving your toy and bringing it between your thighs, the tip already at your entrance.

“In, Lace.”

Once more you obeyed.

A moan escaped your throat and echoed from his own lips. He had moaned himself.

“Shit, all the way in nymph. All the way.” He said, replicating your pace on his cock.

When you bottomed out, he gripped his base, slipping his hand down to his balls and squeezing them delicately. With his eyes closed, head thrown back, he rumbled: “leave it there. Don’t move. If you can make me cum before you do, I’ll stay the night. But remember I won’t be fucking you.” He regained his controlled demeanour, staring at you, voice empathetic. “It’s up to you. I’ll still go if you want me to. Just know that there’s a way, if you want to make me stay.”

Distracting yourself from the filling sensation, you dragged yourself back to reality, making the best of the moment. As his hand gripped his base, you leaned in and licked the head with the tip of your tongue.

His rumble sounded like an earthquake. “Do what you want to, doll. Remember our game.”

Grinning, you opened your mouth and took him in as far as he would go.

You took maybe one third of him.

God, he was so big, his skin glistening, his veins pulsating so fascinatingly just under the surface.

He caressed your face and hummed. "Beautiful."

You took two more inches, eyes watering, lungs burning, but oh so determined to take all of him.

Backing up a little, you released some of his length to focus on the tip, twirling your tongue around it as you regained your breathing.

When you felt ready, you sinked again, adding one inch to your previous goal.

"Fuck, so tight, doll, you're a crime." His hips jutted forward and you opened your eyes wide, a little surprised by the motion. A single teardrop spilled, not due to discomfort but only to his shaft hitting the back of your throat.

"You okay, doll?" He checked in on you as soon as he felt the droplet hit his thumb. His hand gently tangled in your hair and pushed you back delicately, trying to free your mouth. You whined as his tip slipped out of you with a pop, even though you had tried to suck on him to keep your hold.

"Listen carefully, _____. I need to fuck your mouth, nymph." He said, panting, trying to control himself. "Can I put my hands in your hair? Is it okay if I stroke in?" He asked, worried.

You just nodded. "I want that, Tae. Just use me." You pleaded, caressing his erection, placing small kisses on the thick underside.

"Good. I just thought it was good to warn you. And make sure that you like that, doll." He combed your hair. "Now let's get it, sweetheart."

He showed no mercy. The moment you sucked his tip past your lips, he started pushing in with short, quick jabs. However, when he saw you getting more and more of him inside, he lost all semblance of control.

In the meanwhile you had lost any sensation apart from those coming from your mouth, almost forgetting the toy inside you, of which you were reminded the moment he started thrusting so hard that your whole body began to roll back and forth.

He groaned before murmuring deeply, "I'm gonna cum." At that he zoned out, going completely silent, his thrusts getting sloppy before he spilled into you with a long, raspy hum.

You welcomed his taste in your mouth, as he fussed, whimpering ‘don't swallow’. His first spurt was already down your throat but you focused on the second, the third, the last one a weak series of drops. He stayed still a few second and you admired his form: lush ringlets of hair sticking to his forehead, head tipped back as he filled his lungs hungrily before huffing out, his breathing pattern quick and heavy. His lashes fluttered and his brows knitted together every few second as he tried to get a grip on himself. He licked his lips, which had grown too dry with all the panting, his eyes finally opening and focusing on you.

You slowly pulled him out of your mouth.

"Lemme see." He growled.

You knew what he meant.

"Such a little nymph." He praised you, and you felt your inner walls flutter at that, moving the toy inside you.

"Do you want to swallow it? Drink me?" He asked with a condescending tone.

You nodded, trying not to spill his release from your tongue.

"Do it."

Eagerly, you did, the gulping sound almost too loud in the quiet room.

"Show me." He said, just as you parted your lips to do just that, assuring him that not a drop had gone to waste.

"Come here, doll. Keep the toy inside.” He grumbled, lowering himself to put on his boxers, coming close to you and kissing the top of your hair in the process.

Biting your lip, you stood up, quickly propping one knee on the sofa and straddling him, one hand gripping the base of the dildo.

“Tae.” You whispered.

He kissed your lips delicately, simply pressing his lips to yours. “Want me to do it?” He asked.

You nodded.

He caught your hand on your crotch and substituted it with his, the other one grabbing your ass. “Can I move?”

You nodded, “I just need hard and fast, please.”

Taehyung grinned, kissing your forehead as you lowered your head, looking at his veiny forearm starting to pump the toy inside. “Is it good like this—”

“Faster!” You exclaimed, your hand tugging at the hair of his nape.

In response he placed his lips on your cheek, nibbling at your soft skin. He hammered the toy inside you, teasing you on how nasty, kinky and absolutely divine you were, how incredible you looked, how much he wanted you to cum, how he was going to destroy you the moment he’d get to be inside you.

You felt on the very edge of pleasure, the sensation so disturbing since you felt like something was missing.

“Tae?” You asked with a whiny voice.

He slowed down, trying to let you focus on talking“What is it, doll?” He huffed gently.

“I need to touch myself.” You said with a pout.

He nodded and bent to your mouth. “It’s okay, sweetie. I’ve got you.”

He kept his pattern slow, trying to adapt it to your fingers on your clit. He synced up so nicely that you managed to rub yourself for maybe a minute before the tip of the toy reached the perfect depth, making you come apart in Taehyung’s hold.

“That’s lovely, doll. Lovely.” He whispered in your ear, speaking sweet nothings that you couldn’t quite register from your fucked out state.

After a couple minutes you managed to go back to reality. “Are you okay, Tae?” You asked.

“I should be asking that. You moaned your lungs out, doll.” He kissed your lips, bringing your wrist up from your mound to his mouth, smearing his lower lip with your wetness before licking it sinfully.

“Kim Taehyung.” You said in warning and exasperation.

He looked at you wide eyed, playing innocent. “I believe you earned me as your sleeping buddy tonight.” He joked.

“Indeed.” You said, wincing a little as he extracted the dildo.

“Are you sure it’s okay, you’re okay?” He asked.

You simply nodded. “Let’s just head to bed. It’s four thirty. I’ve got work tomorrow morning.” You explained.

“Can we have have breakfast or will you have to rush out?” He asked, already in tiger cub mode.

Your body deflated in desperation over your lost sleep but you smiled gladly when you looked up at him. “I’ll be happy to wake up early and have breakfast.”

Cleaning up was a bit messy, especially finding sleeping clothes for Taehyung, still you managed to hit the bed at five am, Taehyung managing to stay in his lane for maybe five minutes before cuddling up against you and falling asleep like a toddler.

Of course your head tried to process how you felt about the whole event, but your exhausted body and his gentle embrace cradled you to sleep.

#bts smut #bangtan smut #kim taehyung smut #love talk #taehyung imagine #Taehyung one shot #taehyung reaction #taehyungxreader #taehyung fanfic #bts smut blog

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laylainalaska · 4 years

Text

Working from home tips

I was thinking this morning that a lot of people are probably going to end up working from home over the next few weeks who don’t normally do it. I’ve been working from home for about a decade now, but there was a pretty steep learning curve in the beginning, figuring out how to actually get work done. So I thought I’d write some of that up.

All of this probably won't work for everyone, and a lot of it may not even be possible, especially for you all who also have kids out of school! But maybe there will be a useful tip in here that will help you.

This is what works for me.

1. Act like you’re going to work. Get up early. Shower. Dress in work clothes. (For me it’s jeans and a nice sweater, but they’re “going out of the house” clothes, not pajamas.) If you normally put on makeup, put on a little of that. This gets your brain in Work Mode instead of Weekend Mode. It also might help signal to older children and spouses that you are Working.

2. Have a Work Place. It doesn’t have to be a desk. It can be an end of the couch or a corner of the table. But when you sit in that place with your computer, you are going to Work. Try to make sure it has as few distractions as possible - no books or games within easy reach, no undone tasks that are easily visible, etc.

(I break this rule a lot, but I notice that I am notably less productive if I get in the habit of doing a lot of Tumblr and other faffing around in my Work Place. Like, for example, I’m doing now. Oops.)

3. If you find yourself getting distracted with things that need doing around the house, or pestered constantly, set a timer. I use an internet blocker for this, which not only gives me a timer but also shuts off a bunch of distractions. You might find that a big ol’ kitchen timer works better for you. I set mine in usually 20 min. to 1 hr intervals depending on the level of my justcan’tdoitism on any given day. At the end of that, you can goof off a bit, or succumb to the dog’s pleas to walk him, or answer the spouse/roommate’s 22 vitally important questions about dinner, or whatever. Then repeat.

4. Have time off. Most importantly, don’t even THINK about work during that time. If you have to, do the timer thing for that too. Or set aside certain times of day - e.g. 4-8 p.m. is dinner and kids time. Treat your weekends like normal weekends if you can. Even if you have to carry some work over to weekends, having at least one Day Off and doing normal Day Off things is really important. So is clocking out at some point during the day. You can burn out working from home just as easily as in an office - maybe even more so.

5. If you have a lot of scheduling flexibility - that is, if your job doesn’t require you to be on teleconferences all the time - notice when you’re most productive and roll with it. For you, maybe it might end up working best to get started right after dinner while the kids are watching TV and work until midnight, then sleep in. Or get up early and get a lot done in the morning. If it doesn’t completely throw you off, try working at different times of day than you normally do, and see what works best.

6. If you’re having a lot of trouble concentrating, more than you usually do at work, and there’s not an immediately obvious reason for it (kids screaming in your ear, the jackass across the street mowing his lawn at midnight, etc), one of two things might be going on:

There’s too much distracting clutter. You need less. Try cleaning up the area right around your Work Place, especially removing things that remind you of tasks that need doing, like shopping lists and laundry and reminder Post-Its. It doesn’t have to be gone, just out of sight.

There’s not enough distracting clutter. You need more. If you’re used to doing your work with a million things going on around you, home might be too quiet. Try turning on the TV - I need maximum quiet for writing, but for art, I concentrate best if I’m watching a distracting but not too distracting TV show, like a sitcom or a favorite movie I’ve already seen a million times. Get some little games, toys, or stimmy type things to keep around your Work Place so you can do something with your hands while you’re thinking.

There is a weird sort of dichotomy to working from home, where sometimes you can get a lot more done, and sometimes a lot less. If you can figure out how to manage your time efficiently, without having to deal with coworkers and phones and a million interruptions, you might be able to get done in 4 hours what you normally get done in 8, and take the rest of the day off. (Do take the rest of the day off! Try not to let working at home become an excuse to do All The Things and end up tireder than you were before.) But you also might take 8 hours to do what normally takes you 2. And both of these things might be true on different days.

Go easy on yourself. It’s NOT just like working on an ordinary workday or even working through an ordinary weekend. It’s different and weird and distracting. It’ll take time to adjust. You can do it. ❤️

#I don't know how to tag this #coronavirus #covid-19 #working from home #my posts #long post

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teddybeardoctorr · 5 years

Text

Professional Environment

Characters: Dean Winchester x Reader, Castiel

Summary: You’ve had the hots for your boss, Dean Winchester, since day one. You always do your very best to please him in any way possible. What happens when one day, you don’t?

Words: 4,270k

Warnings: 18+, Angst, Dean being authoritative, spanking, smut, cunninglus, fingering, rough sex, p in v, some dirty talk/cursing (let me know if I’ve missed anything!)

A/N- A big fantasy of mine that I thought I’d write. Not my best written smut, but meh, this helped me release my sinful thoughts and this is all for fun anyway. I hope you enjoy!

“Y/N, can you make me copies of these?”

You looked at the papers Dean clenched in his hand, stretching them out to you. Looking between the papers and his eyes, you asked, “I don’t know, can I?”

"What are you now, a teacher?"

"Not a teacher, but I can make you a copy."

"You will make a copy because I told you to."

"We'll see if I'm capable."

He rolled his widened eyes, a smirk ghosting his lips. "You're gonna get it, sweetheart."

"Not if I get to HR first."

You took the papers from his hand, smiling while he said, "I am HR!"

Shaking your head, you couldn't help but giggle. The banter between you and your boss always made the day go by faster.

But what made the day inch by slowly was the sinful thoughts you had of Dean Winchester, the personal/work injury lawyer you worked for.

A little over a year, you were hired into your office manager position. You were a little surprised to have landed the position, since you're younger than the typical leader. But he needed a person way more organized than he was. In the first fve minutes of your interview, he knew he would hire you for the job. As he put it, you had a vibrant energy to you that needed to be added to the office during all the chaos.

At first, you weren't sure how you would meld in here. Dean was a very stern, to-the-point kind of man, but he also joked around every minute and made sure you had everything you needed. It's hard to come by bosses like him.

You'd be lying if you didn't admit that your flirting wasn't also a perk of the job. He also wasn't a terrible sight to look at from time to time.

Especially when you saw him in his full suit, like today. The fabric hugging his arms so well.

Shaking your head at the thought and not wanting to get too lost in your daydream, you typed in the amount of copies you wanted to make before loading the papers in the tray.

"You know, it might actually help if you press the 'Start' button on the copier."

You turned your head to the right, snorting at Castiel's remark. "Funny."

"Any plans this weekend?"

You shook your head. "Not yet. Think I might just stay in with Netflix and cleaning. You?"

Castiel shook his head. "Nothing. I was hoping you'd be able to help me with my garden."

"Your garden?"

"Yes. I can't seem to keep my tomatoes alive, and you're just so vibrant, I thought you could show me a few tips."

Elbowing his arm, you took your copies and watched him laugh. "Shut up, Cas. Not so loud.”

"Come on, Y/N. It's no secret. You can let it go."

"Not to you."

"Anyone with eyes can see it."

On your way to deliver Dean his copies, you said quietly, "I think you really just want an office scandal to liven up the place."

"I can't be the only one giving this office life, even if I am an angel."

"An angel of the devil, sure."

"The devil was an angel."

Reaching Dean's office, he continued typing with one hand and reached his other one out to you for his copies. "Do I need to put you two on a leash?"

Castiel replied, "No, sir. But I will take a Starbucks puppyccino."

Dean rolled his eyes, but ended up smirking. "Funny, Cas. I need you to meet with Mr. Singer today and call some of these insurance companies. We need to get these settlements out of the way.”

He nodded with a "Yes, sir," and headed off. As you were about to turn on his heel, Dean gestured with a flick of his hand. "Close the door and sit."

A little surprised by his change of tone, you closed the door with a quiet thud and sat in the chair in front of his desk. While Dean finished typing before pushing his keyboard away, taking off his suit jacket, and fully facing you, you couldn't help but notice how clean his desk was. He was a bit of a neat freak, wanting everything in an exact place. His hands were gathered on top of it, and just by his sharp posture, you knew you couldn't have been in here for anything good.

"What's wrong?" You immediately asked.

Dean shook his head, seeming unbothered. "Nothing. I just wanted to ask you about yesterday."

"What about yesterday?"

"Were you busy throughout the day?"

Not sure where he was getting at, you decided to throw a bone and think about it. You talked with some clients that needed administrative assistance, held two office meetings, and organized case files in the storage room. The usual, along with some other busy tasks throughout the day.

Finally, you answered, "I suppose, but we're always busy."

He thought about it for a few seconds, his tongue poking out as he nodded. "Okay, I thought I'd ask, because I noticed our supply order was not sent, and the trash was not taken out.”

As soon as he said it, your cheeks burst with embarrassment. You knew walking out of the office yesterday that you felt as if you were forgetting something. But you couldn't pinpoint what it was, because once you left for the day, so did your work-brain.

"Additionally," he added, "I couldn't help but notice when I took a look at yesterday's cameras, that wherever you were at, Castiel followed. And you both didn't move away from each other."

He sat silent and let it hang, thick in the air. You took it as a sign to speak next, maybe offer an explanation, but you had no idea what to say. In fact, you were shocked that this was being brought up at all.

"Uhh," you started, swallowing thickly, "you looked at the cameras?"

"I did. Care to explain?”

There was that expectant look on Dean's face, annoyed and ready for you to leave his office with a conversation that pleased him. It annoyed you and a blush crawled under your skin, threatening to flood your throat with nerves. What were you supposed to say?

"I'm sorry for forgetting the trash and the supply order. I can get the order done now-"

"But this still doesn't explain why Cas was attached to your hip.”

"We were getting work done.”

"Want to look at the cameras?"

You tried keeping your face neutral, feeling the frustration rise behind your eyes. Tears threatened to prick the back of them, so you carefully shook your head, daring to keep eye contact with him. All you did every day you were at the office was trying to perform every task of your job correctly and accurately. Why was there suddenly an issue now?

You did everything you could to please and impress Dean, so hearing that you did the opposite made your heart sink.

"All I'm saying is that I think your time wasn't managed wisely," he continued, sighing while pinching the bridge of his nose. "I came in to find these things not done, and then when I looked at the footage, I was really disappointed. You're a leader here, and I trust you with everything I have at work, which is why I felt it would be wrong if I didn't address this."

Angrily, you nodded once, hoping your face looked as neutral as possible, since you felt anything but.

But this still didn't seem to satisfy him, as he commanded, "Tell me what's on your mind."

You shrugged. "Well, I'm sorry that this discussion had to be had, but I'm not going to make excuses for myself."

His eyebrows pinched together as his eyes narrowed. You couldn't tell if he was annoyed or curious. And honestly, you didn't care either way. You were just annoyed that he looked so fucking sexy when he was pursing his lips together. Especially when he runs a hand through his hair like that, a tiny bit frustrated and looking for something to do while he thought a bit.

Why did you have to have such a hot boss?

"Why do you say that?" He asked, prompting you out of your thoughts.

You sighed, biting your lips and explaining, "Well, if I say why I wasn't able to get these things done, then I am just making up excuses. So instead, I will correct my behavior and make sure it doesn't happen again."

For what seemed like a few long, awkward minutes, but was probably only six seconds, Dean stared at you pointedly. Disappointment, anger, and confusion all blended in, trying to figure out how to resolve this conflict. Truthfully, his gaze made you uncomfortable, but what else could you do or say to make any of this better?

The fact that this conversation of time management was had at all with you, an office manager, made you embarrassed in a million different ways alone.

And after all of his pondering, all he could seem to say was, "Okay."

Waiting for him to say more, you asked, "Okay?"

He nodded once and dropped your gaze, letting you know this conversation was over.

Usually when this happened, Dean had a lot to think about. Whether it was about dropping a business partner or battling an insurance company about paying for a claim, that look was reserved for deep contemplation.

Maybe for the rest of the day, he was going to think about what he was going to do with you.

The thought alone scared the hell out of you. You didn't want to lose this job. You honestly enjoyed all of the people you worked with and the work you dedicated your time to doing here. Imagining yourself anywhere else was a bit strange.

Losing your job over something like this would crush you.

Yeah, you were definitely overthinking this, but what else were you supposed to think about during after that conversation?

The end of the workday rolled around, and everyone started their departure. You hadn't received the chance to talk to Cas about what happened in Dean's office, but you knew you would text him after your commute home. You had to know; did Dean have this same discussion with Cas? Why was he so nice to the both of you before he pulled you in for a one on one?

Stuffing your phone in your dress pants pocket, you stood up from your desk and slung your purse over your shoulder. Frustrated with how today went, you knew a good few glasses of wine and pasta were in need tonight.

"Y/N, before you leave, come see me."

But of course, what you really needed was going to be delayed.

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you turned around and made your way to Dean's office. What else did he possibly need to talk about after making you feel like absolute shit earlier? Dean sat down on top of his desk, flattening his tie against his chest as he watched you sit in a chair in front of him. You tried analyzing his expression, wondering what this was going to be about.

But beyond those green eyes, the ones that made you want to swim and drown all at once, held something you couldn't place.

Clearing his throat, he asked, "What should I do with you?"

Knitting your eyebrows together, you tilted your head. "Excuse me?"

"When we spoke earlier, you seemed very ...whatever about the situation. As if you couldn't accept what you did," he explained, his hands gathered in his lap. "If talking doesn't get through to you, what will?"

Now, you were completely lost. "I…...uh-"

"Do I need to discipline you?"

Thinking at a moment like this was beyond you. Not only did you have no idea what to say, as the day taking a turn like this was unexpected. But also, those eyes turning a dark shade of green, dancing with ideas behind them, made it incredibly difficult to focus on talking, breathing, or even looking at what was right in front of you.

Where was he going with this?

"Do you…" you began, swallowing thickly. Suddenly, you needed five glasses of water. "Do you want to...suspend me?"

"Suspend?" He scoffed. "What use are you to me absent? No. I need to know what to do with you."

Making your back straight, he stood up from his seat. As he slowly walked towards you, the slightest hint of a smirk could be detected at the corner of his lips. Not quite there, but almost. He was holding it back, as if he wanted to keep his composure.

Then, he stopped on your right side. Looking down at you, lifting your chin with his index finger so you could meet his eyes. You practically shivered at his touch.

And that's when his smirk couldn't contain itself.

Voice steady, yet stern, he stated, "I think you need to be punished and shown who's boss."

You found his hand traveling down your shoulder, bringing your purse down and flopping on the floor. For just a second, it felt as if you were leaning into his touch. The goosebumps rising on your skin in the wake of his finger set you ablaze. And just when you thought you caught a break, his hand returned to the bottom of your chin, making you stare him in the eyes as he was level with your vision.

"Is that what you want?"

Just above a whisper and all too quick, you breathed, "Yes, sir."

He looked at your lips before diving in, pressing his against yours and drawing a gasp along with it.

Who could believe this was actually happening?

Right now, your boss was poking his tongue gently against your lips, demanding entrance. You granted it, letting his slide across yours as you tasted him. Just like you thought he would taste. Just how warm and inviting and sexy you thought it would feel.

When he smiled against your lips, that's when you registered the whimpering coming from your throat. Crimson warmed your cheeks, but he shook his head, rubbing his hands up and down your arms soothingly. "No need to be embarrassed, sweetheart. I love hearing what I do to you."

Your brain had a way of turning on autopilot. If you thought about what you and Dean, your boss, were doing, you would find any way to stop this interaction and run away from the office. But his fingertips were electrifying. And you couldn't stop, because that would mean not being able to run your hands over his chiseled chest. That would mean not being able to meld his mouth with yours, feeling him sigh into yours.

You pulled on his tie to deepen the kiss, chest pressing against yours. His hands traveled from gripping your arms, your hips, and your ass, squeezing the flesh in his hands as he groaned.

Muttering against your lips, Dean said breathily, "I can't wait to fuck you on this desk."

You smiled, clenching your thighs together. You could've swore you felt a drip of arousal down your thigh at his words.

Unbuttoning his dress shirt, he broke the kiss to look at you darkly. Those eyes roamed up and down, surely thinking of all the sinful things he was about to do to you.

"Bend over the desk," he commanded, loosening his tie.

You nodded once, but before you obeyed, you pulled your blouse over your head. The air conditioned space hit your nipples and caused a slight shudder up your spine. Then, you slowly stalked to the desk, drinking him in before you bent over, the smooth dark wood sticking against your skin.

Hearing shuffling from behind you, you smirked, giddy at what was to happen next.

Maybe he'd wrap that tie around your wrists and do whatever the hell he wanted with you.

You definitely wouldn't mind being slapped around by your lawyer. What a fantasy this had been for you; replaying in your mind ever since you interviewed here.

But the expression was quickly wiped off your face when you felt a hand spank your ass.

After shrieking, you started, "Dean-"

"I told you to bend over, not strip," he replied gruffly, massaging the spot he assaulted with his palm. Swiftly, he pulled your pants down your legs, pooling at your ankles so you could kick them off. The urge to wiggle your ass was resisted as his hand came down hard on your other cheek, stinging more than last time. "And you're not wearing a bra to work. Are you trying to kill me?"

Massaging your cheek before coming down on it again, softer this time, you whimpered, "No, sir."

He tsked, and you could just see the corner of his lip curled upward in a mischievous smirk. He was probably eating up this display of you spread out, legs apart, completely bare for him. And you enjoyed it just as much, bent over, at his mercy, enjoying the treatment he was enacting on you.

"And you're so fucking wet for me," he growled, grinding his hips against your rear. You were sure your hips would probably be wounded with his fingers digging into the flesh. "Are you always this ready for me?"

"I'm always wet thinking about you," you rasped before you could stop yourself.

That earned you another smack to your ass. A moan erupted from your throat, and your back straightened even more so.

"Dirty girl, you are," he drawled, massaging your assaulted skin. "That earns you a treat."

In seconds, you heard him kneel on the floor. His hands gripped onto the front of your thighs to bring you out further. Instantly, he dragged his tongue from your clit to dip inside of you.

"Oh fuck, Dean!" You gasped, letting your head curl up in pleasure.

His hands and tongue showed no mercy to your body. Bruises were sure to form from his hands. He kept gripping and bringing you closer to his face to the point that you felt like you were drowning him.

But hungrily, his mouth showed your clit extra attention. They made sure to suck on it long and hard while his tongue flicked against it back and forth, while his nose dove up and down your slick. All of the sensations encouraged the endless sounds falling from your lips. The tension in your stomach grew tighter and tighter as the coil kept unwinding. The way his mouth made you feel was indescribable. You couldn't even think with the way his tongue fucked your pussy and swirled down to your bundle of nerves, making sure to taste every bit of your arousal that he could.

The vibrations against your sex shot through your entire body. Dean couldn't contain his own sounds of pleasure. It made you feel even better, the way you could make him starved and show your dripping folds attention in a way no one else had.

When not one, but two fingers pushed inside of you, you struggled to keep your legs grounded.

"Oh my god," you whined, wiggling your ass out a little further into his face.

He chuckled, adding a third finger into your pulsing sex. "I can't wait to have this pussy around my cock, sweetheart. You feel so fucking good."

The way the pads of his fingers rubbed against your softest wall with fast precision made your eyes shut tight. His fingers curled into you and made you clench around him. He fucked them into you so fast you heard your arousal echo in his office, which only made him grunt with his own satisfaction.

You could only imagine how amazing his face looked, focused on making you feel so good and ready to take him inside of you.

At just that thought alone, you lost every sense as all you felt was your orgasm wash over you entirely. Luckily, Dean was there to hold you close, still fucking you with his fingers as he lowered his head to suck on your clit. Even when you felt oversensitive, you still shuddered and screamed his name and rode out each wave of bliss that you could.

The right side of your cheek pressed against the desk as you huffed. Your arms folded in front of you to still keep you bent over. It was the only support your body provided while it recovered. That one orgasmed alone ripped through you unlike one you had in awhile. But you already felt the building sensation in your stomach as Dean slammed his cock into you without warning.

Moaning in unison, he gripped one hip and massaged your ass cheek with the other hand. "That's it, Y/N. Take my cock."

With your back to him, you couldn't see, but you knew from the feeling that his cock was long and thick. It had to be, with how he instantly filled and stretched you. It was so deep, it rubbed against the most sensitive part inside of you. But you relished in it and just wanted him to fuck you into this damn desk until you couldn't walk anymore.

He thrust out until just the tip was inside, and slammed into you again. You clenched around him each time he thrust slow but hard. His skin slapped against yours, slow but measured. You relished in hearing the sound. It was like ecstasy to your ears. So beautiful that you pushed back to meet him halfway, feeling his thick cock stretch you.

Taking the hint, he grabbed your hips forward. He started slamming into you at a fast, unsteady pace. Over and over, his cock rubbed against your walls and filled you entirely. Your hands desperately clung to the desk. They needed to grab something, anything, in order to hold you in place instead of surging ahead with the desk each time he fucked into you. At this rate, you would fall down into bliss all too quickly. Not that he didn't make that too easy.

Involuntarily, you started chanting, "oh fuck," until it became a mantra that easily fell from your mouth. It was like a song, each sound becoming the melody. Even if your throat was growing dry, you didn't care one damn bit. No thought could even form with his thick, swollen cock filling you to the brim. It hit a part of you that you didn't know could feel such pleasure, with just a slight sting after.

"You like your boss fucking you like this?" He grunted, his fast pace unwavering. "You like being fucked like a dirty girl?"

"Mhmm fuck, yes!" You screamed, arching your back.

After your last word, Dean effortlessly hooked his hand into the inside of your right knee, bringing your leg up until it was supported by the desk. At the new angle, you cried out, feeling your upper half unstick from the desk so you could push back against him easier. At this angle, you could feel his cock slam into you and rub against every part inside. You didn't know if it was possible to be any wetter, to feel any better than you did right now.

One of his hands traveled up your back and laid down flat while the other still dug into your hip. Breathily, he let out, "Fuck, Y/N, you feel amazing."

You whimpered in response, feeling the coil about to break loose. Just when you thought the impending orgasm would draw out with his erratic thrusts, he grabbed a fistful of hair and brought your head back with it. This allowed your swollen, throbbing clit to rub against the desk. Just the friction and roughness you needed to come undone.

"Oh my god, Dean," you moaned, feeling your cum drip onto him as your pussy clenched over and over around him.

"God damn, I'm gonna-" he muttered right before you felt him spill into you, hot strip after hot strip filling you so deeply.

He wouldn't still and instead kept thrusting inside of you, hard and fast and unrelenting. It was only when he started to slow down and enjoy his high crashing down that you felt the pit of your stomach spark with a newfound tension. Before you knew it, your orgasm came crashing down again, causing you to yell explicits even louder than before.

By his uncontrollable grunts, he didn't seem to mind.

After slowly rocking into you, letting you squeeze every last drop from him, he pulled out and rested his softening cock against the crevice of your cheeks. You leaned forward, spent and trying to catch your breath. Feeling a bead of sweat race down your temple.

Did that really just happen?

A soft hand rubbing small circles into your lower back brought you back to attention. "You liked that?"

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. "I fucking loved it. But I didn't get to taste you."

Practically yelping from the sudden sensation of two fingers poking at your entrance, you relaxed once you saw two fingers in front of your mouth. Instantly, your lips captured them. You ran your tongue along the bottom and hummed around his skin, hollowing your cheeks. There was a slight tinge of you around him, but you mostly tasted the saltiness and distinct flavor of Dean. It made your taste buds so satisfied that you knew you would have to enjoy the full thing next time.

"God," he groaned, laughing. "You dirty girl. Whoever knew you were so hot for your boss?"

SPN taglist <3: @donnaintx, @lauravic

#supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #supernatural #dean winchester #smut #lemony #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader insert #reader insert #dean x reader #supernatural smut #dean winchester smut #the teddybeardoctorr writes #things I write

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eiirisworkshop · 4 years

Text

Avengers as Teachers AU Fic

For Good Intentions WIP Fest, details of which can be found @goodintentionswipfest

I have a lot of scraps of Avengers fics that, if I’m being honest, I’m never gonna finish. This is one of them--probably the one that has the most actually written.

***

Start of term is Monday, August 18th. Student move in is August 15th through 17th. All faculty are expected on campus to assist with move in. Any faculty who will be living in staff campus housing must move into their apartments during the week of August 4th through 10th.

Clint Barton set a cardboard box down on what was going to be his coffee table for the next nine months. His staff apartment was a bedroom, bathroom, and livingroom with kitchenet, all of it decked out in what seemed like Ikea's slightly classier cousin, though Clint had no idea where someone was supposed to get classier Ikea. He reached in his pocket, pulled out the note he'd found taped to the front door, and unfolded it. Neat, looping handwriting read, “Welcome, new guy, to the psychological crucible known as boarding school. Brace yourself, the Europeans are almost as crazy as the teenagers, have fun!”

“Heh,” Clint mused to himself, “that's not ominous at all.”

He shook his head, chuckled, and set to work unpacking. Shortly, he was interrupted by a knock at the door. He went to answer it and was met with the sight of a slim, redheaded woman leaning casually on the doorjamb. She grinned. “Hello neighbor.” She straightened up. “Everyone is talking about the newhire who's waited until the last minute to move in, but no one wants to be the first to snoop. I volunteered.” She held out a hand. “Barton, right?”

“Uh, yeah.” He shook the proffered hand. “Clint Barton.”

“Natasha Romanoff. I'm in the flat next door.” She nodded her head to indicate the apartment down the hall to her left, making her auburn curls bounce.

“I think you might be one of the crazy Europeans I've been warned about.”

The woman, Natasha, laughed, eyes glinting dangerously. “I think I might be. Did someone leave you a new guy note?”

“Yeah.” Clint snorted, fished the note back out of his pocket, and handed it to her.

She unfolded it and snorted. “Oh, Maria.”

“Maria?”

“Maria Hill. She's the school counselor. Does her best to keep us all sane.” Natasha handed the note back. “Tomorrow is the first teacher workday.”

“I know. Uh,” Clint stepped back, “d'you wanna come in?”

Natasha held up a hand. “No, that's okay. I have to finish up my own unpacking. See you tomorrow. Staff meeting starts at eight, don't sit next to the big blond if you value your hearing.”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

She sauntered the few steps down the hall to her door and he closed his.

The next morning, Clint took the stairs down from his apartment on the second floor and found himself in the middle of a group of three young women in the lobby of the staff housing building. The women stopped talking and eyed him. He cleared his throat awkwardly and grinned. “Is all the faculty but me and the headmaster beautiful women?”

One of the women, a fairly petite but curvy thing with curly dark hair and plastic-framed glasses, crossed her arms and studied him. “I think I like replacement Sitwell.”

“Darcy,” said one of the other two women, a dirty blond with an English accent, “you cannot call him 'replacement Sitwell.'” She sighed and shot a dark look at the third woman, who looked like she was probably some kind of mixed and was stifling a giggle. “I'm sorry. We're glad you've joined the crew. Now, we ought to all go or we're going to be late.”

The three women and Clint left the housing building and started across the green that lay between it, the main school building, and the student dormitory. The curly haired woman, Darcy, looped an arm through Clint's. “So, replacement Sitwell, since Jemma here doesn't think I should call you what you are, what should I call you?”

“My name's—”

“Clinton Barton.” The third woman shrugged. “I backed up all our digital files over the summer, I saw the hiring paperwork. I mean it's no secret or anything, I think most of the staff just didn't bother to look up when we heard Fury'd found a new lit teacher.”

“Skye does most of the school's IT support for the school and teaches two classes,” Jemma explained as she pulled open the door to the main building. “I teach biology and Latin, and Darcy—”

“Political science. And I'm the history department's bitch.”

The four of them filed down the hall and into the half full conference room across from the headmaster's office. There was a clump of people—two redheaded women that weren't Natasha, two dark haired men who both looked like they had some Latin blood in their pedigrees, two black men, and a woman with a long black ponytail—clustered around a decanter of coffee near the far corner, and three men were leaning on the edge of the conference table—a tall, muscular blond who Clint figured was the loud one Natasha had warned him of, a brunet with his hair pulled back into a spiky little tuft of a ponytail, and a slightly wiry man in a suit. The one with the ponytail glanced up, nudged the one in the suit, and nodded toward Clint, who was standing a bit awkwardly in the doorway, having been abandoned by his escort in favor of coffee. The man in the suit looked at him, stood, smiled, and held out a hand. “You must be Clint Barton.” The man clasped Clint's hand firmly. “I'm Phil Coulson, the other English teacher.”

Before either Phil could continue or Clint could respond, a voice from the other end of the room interrupted, “Excuse me, your first name is 'Professor.'”

It was one of the two vaguely Latin looking men from the group in the corner. He had dark, wavy hair dusted lightly with silver and a goatee that made him look like somebody's evil twin. Phil sighed and said conspiratorially to Clint. “Ignore him.”

“Whoa, hey, no, no, no. Don't ignore me.” The goateed man made his way around the table, cup of coffee in hand. Several other members of staff exchanged looks of amusement or concern. The other Latin looking man hung his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. The one with the goatee slung the arm that wasn't occupied with coffee around Clint's shoulders. “Hello there, new guy. Barton? Yeah. This your first teaching gig?”

“Uh, yes.” Clint glanced around for someone to rescue him but no volunteers stepped forward. Everyone was either watching or had returned to their own conversations.

“Well, you see, it doesn't matter what you think your name is, the kids decide what your name is. For instance, Bruce over there—Bruce, say hi.”

The other Latin looking man raised a hand in greeting.

“Thank you, big guy. Bruce is Dr. Banner. I, on the other hand, am Mr. Stark despite holding several doctorates.” Mr. Stark shrugged. “Your department mate is Professor Coulson and always Professor Coulson and the only teacher in the whole damn school who's consistently professor-anything. I think it's something to do with a suit.”

“Tony, don't traumatize the new guy.” Natasha had just walked into the conference room, flanked by a brunet woman, both of them in slacks and blouses.

“I'm not traumatizing him, Natasha. I'm educating him.”

The brunet woman removed Tony's arm from Clint's shoulders. “As your students will and do attest, your brand of education is often mildly traumatizing. Shoo.”

Tony made a sound of mock hurt and swept back to the corner with coffee. “I will finish educating you later.”

Clint turned to his rescuer. “Maria?”

She smiled thinly. “At your service. Can we please all start sitting.”

Everyone found their way into seats as another clump—three men, one blond with a goatee, one who Clint at a guess would have said was Mongolian, and one huge, redheaded, and bearded—filed into the room. The new group sat around the woman with the long black ponytail, who let out the long suffering sigh of a much harassed elder sister. Clint sat next to Natasha at the end of the table opposite the tall blond who had been talking with Phil. She leaned to whisper to him, “You're avoiding the wrong blond.”

“Huh?”

“Hello friends!” a voice boomed from the doorway, making Clint jump and fumble in his pocket for a remote he repeatedly hit the volume down button on. A muscular mountain of a man with long blond hair was standing just inside the threshold with a waif of a woman at his side. He beamed at the group at the table. “I hope you've all had a wonderful summer.”

The small woman tugged on the big man's arm. “Let's sit down, dear.”

Clint glanced at Natasha. “You meant that one.”

She smirked and nodded. Over the next few minutes, six other people came in: a woman with long titian hair back in a french braid; a tall, slender man with black hair; and older woman with blond curls who put a hand on the shoulders of the tall, thin man and the loud blond one before taking a seat next to the woman with the braid; a severe looking Asian woman; a young man with tight, flaxen curls who Jemma pulled the chair next to her out for; and a slightly heavy man with short, dark hair. That left only one chair empty at the head of the table. Soft chattered fluttered around the table. The small woman who'd come in with the loud blond was sitting next to Clint on the side that Natasha wasn't on. She smiled up at Clint. “Hi, I'm Jane Foster.”

“Clint Barton.” Clint smiled back, hand returning to his pocket to hit the volume up button a couple times. “Nice to meet you.”

Jane tilted her head curiously. “Are you wearing headphones?”

“Uh, no.” Clint unlooped the little grey plastic gadget from behind one ear and held it up. “Hearing aids.”

“Oh.” Jane blinked. “I am so—”

“It's fine.” He put the aid back on. “I'm not weird about it.”

“Oh. That's good.”

To Clint's other side, Natasha's eyebrows were raised in amusement with the realization of how ironic her earlier warning about avoiding the loud blond for the sake of his hearing was. Clint elected to ignore the other raised eyebrows around the table.

A tall man with an eyepatch dressed in a black suit strode into the room, flicking through a folder, and kicked the door closed behind him. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.” Headmaster Fury dropped his folder at the head of the table in front of the empty chair. “Hope you all took damn nice vacation's 'cause in one week we're gonna be overrun with adolescents and all their special brand of crazy. Before then, we have to get shit done. First order of business, everybody say hi to Clint Barton. He's filling the position in the English department left open by Sitwell's—” he cleared his throat “—resignation. Try not to scare him off. Stark, that means you.” Most of the room chuckled while Tony put a hand to his heart and declared he was wounded. Fury kept talking right over him, diving straight into an hour of bureaucratic housekeeping and discussion of curriculum. The headmaster flipped a page in his folder. “Now that that's done, about extra curriculars. The chess club Sitwell ran is out unless someone wants to take over sponsorship.”

“I could do it.” Fitz, the young man with tight, curly hair said, his accent distinctly Scottish.

“Great. Other than that, all the extra curriculars from last year will remain the same. Stark's damn robotics club—which had better not blow anything up this term—drama club, and writer's club, Rhodes has his co-ed boy scouts thing, Hogan's still doing the test prep thing, and there's our one sorry excuse for a sport other than track and field, cheer leading. Now, Barton has volunteered to coach an archery team. Any objections?” There was silence, a few shrugs, and some head shaking. “Congatulations, Coach Barton, you now get to be one of this school's crazy blond coaches of random sports.”

After the meeting, the staff were released to prepare for the arrival of the students in a week. Up on a chair, taping a poster to the wall of his new classroom, Clint asked over his shoulder, “So, there's twenty-eight members of staff, including me?”

“Right.” Phil was sitting on a student desk, eating Chinese delivery. “Are you going to eat anything?”

“Not hungry.” Clint stepped down from the chair. “Not right now at least. I'll get pizza or something later.”

“Since we're both teaching freshman and junior classes, we might want to compare syllabi at some point.”

“Yeah, sure.” Clint sat on another desk. “But so you, me, Fury, Stark, Natasha, Maria, uh, Banner. That's seven I can name.”

“Relax, you've got all week.” Phil held out a box of fried rice.

Clint took to box and a plastic fork. “I've got a week to learn the names and faces of more than two dozen people, settle into a new apartment, and prep for my first ever first day of class as the teacher.”

“You've done student teaching, and assistant teaching, right? You'll be fine.”

“Somehow I doubt it's the same.” Clint shoveled a few bites of rice into his mouth. “I'm also a little scared Stark's gonna make good on saying he'd finish 'educating' me and then whatever he says is gonna be the only way I think of everybody.”

Phil laughed. “You just met Tony today and you've already figured him out.”

“So, he teaches...math?”

“Yup. He and Fitz make up the math department.”

“Fitz?”

“Scottish kid.”

“Oh, right. Lots of Europeans on the staff.”

“Twelve.”

“Wow.” Clint chuckled. “You know, Maria left a note on my apartment door. She warned me the Europeans are almost as crazy as the students.”

“She's not wrong. The Brits aren't bad, the Norwegians are, well, they're interesting. And then there's Natasha.”

“Am I right to be scared of her?”

“Oh yeah.”

Later that afternoon, Clint was sitting behind his desk, hoping the damn thing would feel less awkward by the end of the year and going through lesson plans when there was a knock on the doorframe. He looked up. Tony Stark was leaning in the doorframe. In his band T-shirt and jeans he would have looked more like a high school student than a teacher if it weren't for the grey hairs and the bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand. He raised the bottle in a kind of salute. “I come to edjumacate you!”

“Are you drinking in the school?” Clint dropped his pen, busy gaping at the math teacher.

“No way, Fury would have me skinned alive.” He shoved off from the wall, took a few steps into the room, and swished the amber liquid in his bottle. “This is tea. I have plenty of booze bottles and it's fun to watch people's faces.” He took a swig and perched on one of the desks. “As I was saying this morning, the kids decide your name.”

“I'm trying to lesson plan right now.”

Tony waved a hand dismissively. “You've got all week.”

“As I keep getting told.” Clint sighed, picked up his pen, and capped it. “So the kids name us.”

“Right. So I'm Mr. Stark, Bruciekins is Dr. Banner—I guess he just looks like a Dr. somebody, probably the glasses—Coulson's Professor Coulson. I told you those this morning. Everybody calls the Scott Fitz, students and staff, except when they're talking directly to him, the kids call him Mr. Fitz, which I think sounds like it ought to be the name of a cartoon dog. Simmons is just Simmons unless she's just professor; she's never Professor Simmons—”

“Sorry, who's Simmons?”

“British chick, light brown hair, bio teacher.”

“Jemma?”

“Right. Skye is Skye—have you met Skye?” Tony held up a hand as though to tell himself to stop talking so Clint could answer.

“Yeah, I met her this morning. She does the school's I.T, right?”

“And teaches computer science. She's pretty cool. Thor—big loud blond one with the tiny wife—is Coach Thor to his face, otherwise just Thor. He's super formal and weird but really friendly at the same time so you almost have to be on first name basis with the man. On that note, hearing aids, do they have volume control?”

Clint smirked. “Yes.” He pulled the little remote out of his pocket. “Remote volume control.”

“Okay, I'm officially a little jealous. Everybody needs volume control when Thor's around. Anyway, his wife, Jane—I know you met Jane—she's Dr. Foster or Absent Minded Professor Foster when she's being particularly spacey. Sif is the only one who's managed to name herself, she tells the kids they have to pronounce her last name correctly or they have to call her Lady Sif. Nobody can pronounce her last name—it's some crazy jumble of consonants and vowels with extra lines—and the punishment for saying it wrong is extra vocab homework so all the kids call her Lady Sif.”

“Okay, that's hilarious.”

“It is. But I've got a better one. Steve, other big blond, he's the art teacher, kids call him Captain. He's got no military background or anything,—he was scrawny as hell in high school, I think I remember him telling me they wouldn't even let him join ROTC—never been with the police, doesn't do sports. No, they call him Captain 'cause he's got this dinky little boat that he's ridiculously proud of. Seriously, do not diss the man's boat.”

“I'll remember that.”

“You should.” Tony took another drink of his tea. “Oh, before I forget, and I will forget because I never have to remind people of this, every year after the first week of classes, I throw a faculty pool party. You're invited. There will be alcohol and barbecue.”

“Cool, thanks.” Clint laughed a little. “You don't live on campus, do you?”

“Naw.” Tony shrugged. “I've got a place in town.”

“Rich jackass has a mansion in town.” Bruce had appeared in the doorway, a plastic bin of batteries, light bulbs, and wires in his arms.

“It is not a mansion,” Tony said defensively.

Bruce looked scathingly at him over his glasses. “It's a six bedroom, three story house—four stories, counting the basement—with a pool and home theatre.”

“Okay, maybe it is a mansion,” Tony conceded. “So, yeah, pool party at my mansion for everybody who survives the next two weeks.”

*** Chapter 2

Sunday night, Clint found himself crammed onto Natasha's classier-than-Ikea couch along with Maria, Phil, Bruce, Skye, and the Russian herself, all of them eating fried chicken out of a cardboard bucket—except for Bruce, who had tofu tacos. Clint sighed. “No one told me 'student move in' meant 'ninth circle of hell.'”

“I think, by now,” Skye said through a full mouth, her long straight hair pulled up into a very messy bun, “the move in/hell association is so automatic we don't think to say it.”

“Preach.” Natasha sucked a trace of chicken off her thumb with a dignity that should not have been possible.

Clint snorted. “On the bright side, I think I've finally learned everybody's names.”

“One day before you have to learn two hundred more,” Bruce pointed out dryly.

“Uhg, don't remind me.” Clint leaned against the back of the couch.

Phil chuckled. “Seating charts and class rosters are good crutches.”

“That they are.” Natasha poked Clint in the shin with the tip of her pointy shoe. “But if you know everybody's names, let's hear it.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “Natasha, Maria, Skye, Phil, and Bruce—obviously.”

Maria grinned over a sporkfull of mac'n'cheese. “Obviously. Go on.”

“Headmaster Fury. Tony. Thor, Jane, Loki, Frigga, Sif, uh, Sygin, Hogan, Fandral, Volstagg. Other Hogan.”

“Happy.” Bruce tossed one of his taco wrappers into the trash across the room. “Other Hogan's first name is Happy.”

“Right.” Clint took a breath. “Pepper, Peggy, Steve, uh, James Barnes who's Bucky, and James Rhodes who's Rhodey. Jemma and Fitz. Sam. Darcy.” Clint was quiet for a minute. “I'm missing someone.”

“May,” Phil provided. “Malinda May.”

Clint rubbed a hand over his face. “I'm going to die this week. If I don't drown in teenagers I'm gonna get murdered by one seriously intimidating female veteran or another.” He glanced at Natasha. “There's what, three of you? Four?”

Natasha lightly smacked the back of his head. “I'm not military. But I will absolutely kill you.”

“I think that's my cue to go to bed.” Clint stood. “Thanks for dinner.”

As he let himself out of the small apartment, Maria called after him, “My office is room number seven if you start to go nuts.”

Coffee in hand the next morning, Clint was almost to his classroom when Natasha cut him off in the hallway. “I actually have an excuse to kill you now.”

Clint blinked at her. “Hm?”

“You got up at five thirty and I can hear your alarm clock through the wall.”

“I went for a run and I'm nearly deaf.”

“Don't they make vibrating clocks?”

“Yeah, I have one. It makes noise too. I'm not completely deaf.” He stepped around her, continued on to his room, and set his bag on the desk at the front of the room—the desk he had determined not to sit behind. It was early enough still that there were almost no students around, Clint's classroom was completely empty, but as the clock ticked closer to seven-twenty, four hundred odd fourteen to eighteen year olds descended upon the school building, uniforms neatly pressed. Clint had never gone to a school that required uniforms but—watching the first few sophomores of his first-hour class trickle into the room, their charcoal slacks or skirts, white shirts, and cobalt ties or ribbons all tidy—he highly doubted the movie like perfection lasted more than a couple days.

One dark haired girl who had the sleeves of her white buttondown rolled up past her elbows had plopped herself into a desk at the front of the room with her bag propped against the leg of her chair, and was studying Clint over a piece of toast she'd apparently filched from the dormitory dining room. After a long moment of contemplation she said, “You're new.”

Clint resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He was supposed to be the adult here. “Yeah.”

“What're you doing here?”

“Fury bought me from the circus.”

The girl snorted. “Right.”

“Okay, so I ran away from the circus.” Clint shrugged. “One way or another I get to make you read Shakespeare now.”

The girl frowned. Behind her, two boys who must have been twins snickered. The bell rang and the rest of the class flooded in, filling all thirty desks. Clint took a deep breath and stepped to the front of the room. “Good morning and welcome to tenth-grade English. I'm Clint Barton, Mr. Barton will do just fine, but I've heard from your other teachers that you're all likely to rename me.” He paused, relieved to see at least a dozen grins among the class. “I haven't got a clue who any of you are, so I'm going to take role. If you go by a nickname or if I butcher the pronunciation, tell me. Okay?” He snagged his first-hour roster off his desk. “Katherine Bishop.”

The dark haired girl with the rolled up sleeves waved her half-eaten toast. “It's Kate.”

By lunch time, Clint had made it through two hours worth of sophomores and one hour of juniors. Phil, in whose classroom he was eating, had survived three hours of seniors.

“It wouldn't be so bad,” Phil said, punctuating his statement by stabbing a meatball with a fork, “if it weren't for this one kid, Peter. Two girls like him, he's been going back and forth not quite dating both of them since they were freshmen, and there's another guy who, I don't know if he actually likes Peter or if he's trying to be funny but he flirts shamelessly and tactlessly with the poor kid. All four of them are in my first hour.”

Clint cringed sympathetically. “Sounds exhausting.”

“It is.”

“I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Couple of boys in my first class, last name Maximoff. That's really not the most common name on earth so I've gotta ask: Any relation to the politician?”

“She's their mother.”

Clint nearly choked on a mouth full of pasta. “Okay, I knew this was a high end school, but I wasn't expecting that.”

Phil shrugged. “We're close enough to D.C. that we're a convenient place for better off government types, diplomats, and other luminaries to send their kids, get them away from the city. And we're a safe place for them too. I know you've noticed how much of the staff is ex military.”

“I assumed there was some magnet force under the school that attracts badasses.”

Phil laughed. “It's called Nick Fury and he's in the office, not under it.”

After lunch, Clint had another class of juniors, which went almost exactly like the one before lunch. At the end of that class, while two of the more interesting juniors filed out, sharing some not entirely typical teenaged chatter—“Still think it's funny they've got the blind kid in the deaf guy's class.” “He's not Deaf, David. I know you know that.”—the one class of the day Clint had been really dreading began filing in: freshmen. As the class filtered in, Clint noticed that the freshmen were even more perfectly pressed than the older students. They stared at him with a wary scrutiny. A sturdy Latina girl dropped into a desk and crossed her arms defiantly. Clint raised his eyebrows. “You okay?”

“Class I just had is full of dicks.”

“It wasn't that bad.” A boy with headphones around his neck dumped his bag on the desk next to her.

“You're the worst out of all of them, chico.” The girl sounded ready to punch someone out and looked like she could do it and make it hurt.

“Okay, okay,” Clint intervened, “you, how old are you?”

“Me?” The boy pointed to himself dumbly.

“Yeah you.”

“Fourteen.”

“What's your name?”

“Peter.”

Clint looked at the girl. “Your name?”

“America.”

“Okay.” Clint shrugged. “Peter here is a fourteen year old boy. As a former fourteen year old boy myself, let me say that they are more or less all dicks.”

America blinked. “I have never heard a teacher call anybody a dick before.”

“Welcome to high school.” Clint winked. She grinned.

The boy, Peter, leaned forward. “Are you wearing headphones?”

Clint sighed. “They're hearing aids.”

“Dude, are you deaf?” Peter sounded excited.

“No, I'm Hard of Hearing. If I were completely deaf, hearing aids wouldn't do me any good.”

America and Peter shared a look then both shrugged.

The freshmen didn't turn out to be as bad as Clint had feared. The next hour of sophomores, though, was the last class of the day, and Clint had to fight to be listened to. After that it was curriculum talk with Phil, Skye making him look like an idiot while showing him how to use the gradebook software, dinner in the dining hall, old cartoons, then bed. The rest of the week went about the same.

Friday, as soon as the final bell rang, the kids all rushed out. Clint called after them. “Archery club first meeting is a week from today!”

The last of the kids left and Clint turned to his desk and the stack of persuasive essays he'd had his students write him about their favorite movies with the promise that each class would get to watch the movie that got pitched the best within their class. There was a quiet whirring behind him and he turned to see something like a streamlined, somewhat scaled-down assembly line robot trundle up to him, a slip of paper held in its three fingered “hand.” It extended its arm with a soft hum of servos that Clint would have described as curious if he didn't know better.

“Uh.” Clint took the slip of paper. A note was scrawled on it in a messy angular handwriting:

This is Dum-E. He's not very smart but he tries. New guy, this is your reminder to grab your trunks and get your butt to my not-a-mansion @ 4

-A. Stark

Tony's address was on the back of the note. Clint hesitated then awkwardly patted the robot's “head.” “Thanks, uh, Dum-E.”

The bot whirred with what might have been pride and turned to leave—presumably headed back to Tony's classroom. It bumped into a desk on its way out. Clint frowned.

A couple hours later, he was walking with Natasha to her car to head to Tony's party—she had volunteered to, or rather insisted that she drive. Clint stepped into the sleek, black sedan. “So, Tony has a robot?”

“Yeah.” Natasha started the car and pulled out of her space. “He's got two.”

“He has two robots?”

“He's disgustingly over qualified to be teaching high school.” She gunned it down the winding drive to the main road.

Once they stopped, Clint clambered out of Natasha's car. “I am riding back with somebody else, did you used to race? Holy crap that's a big house.”

Natasha snorted, leading the way along a path from the driveway around to an extremely expensive looking fence over which the sounds of revelry and smells of barbecue floated. Her beaded flipflops smacked quietly against the flagstones. “Four stories and a basement.”

Clint followed. “Is he married?”

“Are you joking? Stark, married? Ha. No. He lives here alone.” She unlatched the gate and pushed it open.

Stark's back yard looked like something out of a magazine, fire pit, koi pond, perfectly green grass, question mark shaped pool with hot tub waterfall, and trapezoidal deck with outdoor kitchen. The hot tub—accessed from the deck, spilling into the main pool—was full of beautiful bikini clad women, namely the school counselor, IT expert, biology teacher, and the history department's bitch. The last of whom, Darcy, stood and waved at Natasha and Clint. “Hey! The Cyrillic Cyclone and the new guy are here!”

Everyone—Stark, Banner, and the guy with the spiky ponytail at the grill; the Scottish guy, Pepper, and the big blond art teacher in the pool; and redhead who wasn't Pepper or Natasha and the two ex-military black guys leaning on the deck rail—all looked around. Natasha waved back and hissed to Clint, “Stop staring at Darcy's boobs,” before striding across the yard, dropping her purse and coverup on a lawn chair, and settling in as beautiful woman number five in the hot tub.

Clint quickly averted his gaze, shook his head, then went to drop his own things on a lawn chair, then stepped into the pool. Pepper floated by, hugging an inflatable orca. She nodded to him. “Hey, can you swim with those things?”

“Huh?” Clint hopped down the last step up to his waist in water. “My hearing aids?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you kidding?” He snorted. “Ever since I was a kid I've refused to have hearing aids I can't get wet.”

“Great!” Grinning, Pepper released the orca and splashed him.

He flinched, laughed, and splashed her back. Some of the splash went past her and caught Steve on the shoulder. He turned to glare at Clint.

“Hey!” Clint laughed. “Pepper started it.”

“Did she now?”

“Steve, Steve! Wait!” Pepper spluttered laughter through a face full of water.

“Steve, play nice.” The guy with the spiky ponytail walked to the edge of the pool, munching a fresh made cheeseburger.

“I am playing nice, Buck.” Steve waded over to the edge of the pool. “Can I have some of that?”

The guy with the ponytail rolled his eyes, “Sure,” knelt, fed Steve a bite of his burger, then kissed him.

Clint felt his eyebrows arch. “I think I missed a memo.”

Fitz chuckled behind him. “This is the first time you've been around them outside of work hours, isn't it?”

“We behave when the kids are around.” Bucky set his burger and paper plate down.

“If you can call giving each other bedroom eyes across the lunchroom 'behaving,'” redhead who wasn't Pepper or Natasha came up behind Bucky and pushed him into the pool.

He came up spluttering, long bangs in his face, dripping. “Peggy!”

“Man, I love this school,” Clint laughed.

Peggy jumped in the water. “I went to university with Steve, I've been pushing both of them around for years.”

*** Bonus Scene

“Sonnet one forty one.” Clint waved his book dramatically. “Now before anyone starts going on about 'oh what I sweet love poem' I want you to think about what he's actually saying here. Billy, would you read the first two lines for us?”

The darker haired of the Maximoff twins flattened out the page of his own book. “In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes,/For they in thee a thousand errors note.”

“And what does that mean?” Clint shoved off from his desk and paced down the center aisle between his student's desks. “He's saying to his girlfriend that his eyes don't love her 'cause he can see, visually, a thousand things wrong with her.”

The lighter twin frowned. “Are we sure he's talking to a girl?”

“This time, yes. It does say 'she' in the last line. Shakespeare does have some sonnets that we know were addressed to a young man, we can argue about the nature of that relationship later. Anyway, so he doesn't like what he sees. Couple lines later he tells us, basically, that if I met this woman I'd want to turn my hearing aids off her voice is so bad.”

The class chuckled.

#fanfic #Avengers #marvel #clint barton #good intentions wip fest

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casual-eumetazoa · 4 years

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i’m a perpetually broke grad student so instead of buying gifts for Christmas and birthdays i write fanfics or short stories for friends. Christmas 2019 i asked my best friend to pick up to three genres for his gift story and he told me political drama + classical literature + self-help. i added steampunk sci-fi to that and took that as a challenge...

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A Yule Anthem

(or how to end the monarchy and overthrow the government in twelve* simple steps)

a memoir by Erasmus Waynard Smith, a once royal circuit keeper

Season’s greetings to you, dearest reader. Although I have no way of verifying this, it is quite likely that you are starting this book on the dawn of a Yule, as this is the date my memoir is set to be released. If that is the case, then happy holidays! I wish you all the best. May the spirits of old Earth guard you and support you in all of your endeavors in the upcoming cycle of the Suns.

It is with an unsteady hand that I begin this story, for I have never intended for it to be heard. Indeed, the book you are projecting onto your cornea as of this very moment would not exist if it wasn’t for the efforts, diligence, and, if I may be so frank, stubbornness of a certain someone.

Thirteen months ago, you see, I was approached by Theodosia Pruce – a talented and perceptive lady from the distant, exotic shores of the planet Zanzibar. Miss Pruce was the one who convinced me to put my memories into words, for the sake of future generations. And although I do not give as much as half a bitcoin for the future generations, I was, nonetheless, swayed, by the most generous offer of a personal mansion on a resort world and a fully paid pension for the rest of my physical existence. And so, I am sitting here now, a tall glass of rapidly cooling Roomas juice by my side, and a touchscreen quill pressed tightly in between my fingers, trying to jolt my memory and produce exactly as many words as I was asked for, not a word more, not a word less.

Conveying all the truth and nothing but the truth about these events is an earnest challenge for me. I am an old man of a hundred and fifty now, dearest reader, and 2237 seems centuries away from the present. Back then, I was a young lad of hardly forty, and my mind was full of foolish desires, far-reaching ambitions, and cotton candy. I worked as a royal circuit keeper in her majesty’s planetary servers - a skillful but simple and honest occupation - and, like so many before me and around me, dreamed of preposterous things. Dreamed of success, and money, and love, and a glorious revolution…

Lean back, dearest reader, adjust your mindscreen settings, and let me bring you with me on a trip to the past and tell you how to accomplish what I have somehow accomplished.

step 1: identify your project

This story begins on a dark, uneasy, snowy evening, on the first day of Yule of 2237. The shifts down at the factories and the river banks were rolling to the end, and the work hours just came to a close for all the royal employees. I – your faithful servant – had only about arrived at my usual spot, the Drunk Mongoose pub, when a roar of thunder shook the ground and shattered the glass in the liquor cabinet.

-The forecast didn’t say no thunder snowstorm. - Said my best friend Arabella, as she fell down into a lumpy seat beside me. – I left Boy outside. If he will get struck by lightning again, I’ll never get the money to replace his burned-out batteries.

-Chill. – I advised, and took a generous sip of my drink. – It don’t seem to be a big one.

As if to disavow my word, the thunder crashed again, with twice as much strength this time. It pulsed through the floor, crackled in the walls and shook the roof above our heads.

-I ain’t likin’ it. – I whispered.

The lights and sounds of the pub were starting to flicker.

-Same. – Arabella retorted, clutching the rackety table with utmost strength.

Side by side, we watched as every single candle and kerosene lamp in the building lingered and died, blown out at once by a rush of electromagnetic wind. A low, irritating murmur reached my ears, and I realized that the entire holographic engine must have gone caput. For the second time this lunar cycle.

-Not again! – Came the exasperated moan of Octavius, the pub owner.

I sighed, and forced myself out of my seat, intent on helping the man with the machine.

-The entire network’s down. – Arabella informed, pointing at the blank projected screen of her pocket watch. – I’m so sick of this, Ersh. They’d promised to fix this back during the wet season!

-Sick of the government? – Yelled some drunken gentlemen from the other side of the pub. – Sick of his majesty’s empty promises?

-Yeah! – Another random visitor of the establishment supported the man enthusiastically.

-Well big mood, I tell ya. – The first man snorted. – Everyone hates them, but ain’t no one gon’ do a thing about it. So get back to your work.

Now I cannot put my finger on why that simple remark had such a profound effect on me… Was it the man’s voice, so full of despair and apathy and subdued anger? Was it my own exhaustion, the quiet rage at the thought of coming back home by foot, through the howling thunder and snow, in the absence of a sky bus? All in all, something must have short-circuited in my mind, as a sat back down, looked Arabella in the eyes and said, in a voice most confident:

-You know what? Let’s overthrow the government.

step 2: define goals and objectives

On my way home, I was drowning in feverish frenzy, drunk without wine and hopeful beyond reason. Oh, for how long I have dreamt of this! Many a morning I have spent imagining what it would be like to live on a planet fair, unburdened, free from the thralls of corrupt government and incompetent king. I knew that I wanted it, and I knew that every one of us wanted it, and, somehow, despite all common sense, I knew that I could do it.

I stumbled out of the pub and wondered on unsteady feet towards the docks. The snow swirled and raged around me, and my blurry eyes struggled to focus on my surroundings. I stopped at the slope of the northern canal and gazed into the clouded sky, feeling the snowflakes land on my eyelashes and the wind slash my face. I cannot tell you why, dearest reader, but I felt so utterly happy.

-How much for an uber these days? – I announced cheerfully as I approached the line of carriages waiting by the canal.

-Three fifty for a mile. – Echoed one of the drivers – an older lady, who was stroking the head of a white, shabby-looking horse.

-Steep. – I whistled, and swung myself into the carriage. – Hampton Hall please, down at the cross of Richmond and Westby.

She nodded at me, and pushed the minute counter switch. One word to the horse, and I could hear the sound of its metal hooves striking against the cobblestone. I half-sat, half-laid in my seat, staring at the hole-ridden ceiling of the carriage, and listening to the sounds of the dreaming city.

‘Alrighty then’, I thought, pulling out my notebook. It had hardly any charge left, so the bleak night mode would have to suffice.

“Tasks for tomorrow”, I noted down, and drew a flower on each side of the line. “Destroy the government from the inside. Make King Edmund step down from the throne. Profit”.

step 3: define tasks

It was only at noon next day when the realization of what I just committed myself to hit me like a bolt of lightning. I was enjoying my Roomas (the good kind – they don’t grow it right anymore) with my colleagues at the servers, and suddenly it dawned on me – I was going to take this planet apart, bit by bit. So powerful that was, so profoundly terrifying, that I had to excuse myself and sit in a locked bathroom stall, wheezing, my heart pounding in my chest. A few girls and a man must have heard me, as I was asked repeatedly whether I was okay.

I was not, but I was going to be.

I went straight home after the workday was over. I forced myself to gather my thoughts, and look rationally at this situation. This task, though ambitious, no doubt, could surely be accomplished. I knew this planet, knew it through and through. I knew politics too – it was the first thing I ever studied in university, and I hated it, I’ll admit, but it was useful nonetheless. All I needed was to sit down, think it through, and draft a plan.

And that is precisely what I did.

step 4: build your team

We met in the abandoned park by the lakes at dawn the next morning. The air was bity with cold and static electricity, and the seven of us could not help but shiver as we walked towards our gazebo. It was buried underneath a thick layer of snow, and I laughed as Arabella pretended to push the fluffy heap onto my head.

-Good morning, everyone. – I greeted, inviting them inside before myself.

-Skip to the important bit, please. -Arabella yawned, and took her seat at the table.

-Fair enough.

I took a deep breath in and gazed upon my freshly assembled crew. Arabella, a fellow circuit keeper and the fastest hacker I have ever met. Ambrose, a talented but not extensively successful journalist. Cecilia, an up-and-coming politician herself, but currently a secretary to one of the most famous politicians on the planet. Wilhelmina, a social media manager with hundreds of contacts at her fingertips. Josiah, an artist and designer, currently one of the official dressmakers to the king. Euphemia, a policewoman in the past, now a social activist and respected public figure. Matthew, a writer and a poet, who happened to be the lover of three separate government figures, all of different genders, all filthy rich. And me, a humble sysadmin with a dash of organization skills and arrogance to spare.

-Esteemed guests, - I said, and paused to clear my throat, - you all know why we are here. Now allow me to explain to you exactly what we will do.

step 5: create a timeline

-This is flippin’ insane, Ersh. – Wilhelmia exclaimed, glaring, and I was forced to shush at her.

-Quiet. – I reminded, and she swallowed hard, remembering that anyone in the building was at liberty to overhear us.

The upcoming revolution was now two days old. On the surface, we continued to lead normal lives, working, complaining, gossiping, and counting the minutes to the end of the shift. In truth, we were right in the middle of action. Meeting all over the city – in undiscovered pubs and inns, in unguarded computer cellars, on the rooftops of nuclear boilers, and in the dead-ends of dark alleyways. We communicated over quantum radio and made sure to burn all of our transmissions after every call. We were brave, and vigilant, and determined, above all else, to bring this to a close as soon as possible.

-But that is too fast. – Wilhelmia insisted in a hoarse whisper. – You don’t seriously believe that this will be over before the Yule ends, do you?

-Indeed, I do. – I replied, and had the displeasure of being poked in the ribs. – What’s more, it is the only way to accomplish what we set out to do.

-How so? – She questioned.

-Conspiracies are short-lived. – I elaborated, and shifted in my tight, deeply uncomfortable sit.

The server ventilation shaft was far from a pleasant place to be inside of.

-The longer it goes on, the more likely it is to fall apart. Especially as we begin to bring more people into it.

-But ten days, Ersh! – Wilhelmia repeated. – How would that ever work?

-Simply and elegantly. – I smiled. – Remember, my friend – I am brilliant under tight deadlines, especially when said deadlines are self-inflicted.

Wilhelmia chose not to argue with me – for she knew, deep down, that I was right.

step 6: adjust your plan accordingly

I did not get a wink of sleep on the fifth night of the revolution. The visions of failure haunted me like vicious yet intangible ghosts, and I tossed and turned in bed until the second moon grazed the sky. Giving up on sleep altogether, I got up, mixed up a glass of dehydrated water, and turned on the radio. I expected to be lulled back into calm by its soft, crackling static – but instead, I had my anxieties validated.

-Thank heavens, Erasmus. – The voice of Josiah erupted from the speaker. – I’ve been trying to reach you for hours!

-What is it? – I asked, and slumped down to the floor, my head dizzy all of a sudden.

-It isn’t working. – Josiah confessed, and I could practically taste his desperation. – Not a tad. He is listening to me, but he doesn’t believe me in the slightest, I fear.

-Okay. – I said, though I was as far from okay as one could be. – It’s fine. – It was not, in fact, fine. – Roadblocks happen. Let’s talk. We’ll think of something, I am sure.

And, unlikely as it was, we did.

step 7: be flexible

The sixth day flew by so fast; I hardly noticed the night arriving. Eleven pm, and I found myself on the top floor back row of a double-decker, moving smoothly on its set path, the electric engine buzzing and murmuring somewhere far below. Outside, the snow was replaced by a thick fog, with neither of the moons in sight. The bus was almost empty and deathly quiet. I sighed, turned to my left, and met eyes with Matthew.

-How many in total? – I inquired, my voice down, still aware of the potential danger of being overheard.

-Forty-seven. – He informed, and the hint of a smile touched his lips. – Which makes it almost a third of the entire government.

-Not enough. – I shook my head, unsatisfied.

-Not enough? – He pouted.

-Time is not in abundance. – I said, and he looked away, avoiding my gaze. – We need to accelerate. Do you agree?

He sighed, but nodded.

-Good. – I glanced sideways, and drew a spiral on the mist-covered window. – You know what to do, Matthew.

-Yeah. – He said, smirking. – Unleash them memes.

step 8: communicate with your team

All of us gathered together again on the afternoon of the seventh day, in a tacky, brightly lit and empty tea room. The forecasts mongered another thunderstorm, and the atmosphere was heavy still, but, somehow, it did not bother me in the slightest. I smiled as the maid droid placed a tray in front of me, and the smell of cinnamon and lemon zest reached my nose.

-We’re on the right track. – I proclaimed confidently, and took my acai rice pudding bowl and a steaming hot cup of Earl Gay off the tray. – Cheers.

-Cheers. – The team echoed, and we clanked our china cups together.

We spent the hour discussing the current affairs, congratulating each other, chatting, laughing, and feeling oddly optimistic about the whole endeavor. My step was light as I was leaving the tea room. We had a few challenges ahead, sure – but, overall, everything was going according to plan.

step 9: address any problems before they occur

Then the eighth day arrived, and, all of a sudden, nothing was going according to plan. News rushed in through the radio one by one; they piled all on top of each other, and right as I was leaving the server maintenance room to enjoy my well-deserved Roomas break. I felt drops of sweat form on my neck and roll down my spine as I scrolled through the message feed of my wristwatch. Nothing terrible has happened so far, I admitted – but it could. So shaky. So many opportunities for it all to go to hell – and in rapid succession. Three seconds later, and I was overtaken by fierce, unwavering panic.

It must have been twenty years at least of sitting in the memory cube closet, hugging myself and trying desperately to remember how one was supposed to breathe, when someone knocked on the door. The first aid droid, I realized.

-I have detected alarmingly high levels of adrenaline and cortisol. – The droid’s voice sounded even sillier than usual, obstructed by the door. – Would the gentlemen like some treatment? I can offer morphine drops or deep brain stimulation.

-No. – I yelled back through the closed door. – No, thank you.

-Very well, sir. – The droid responded. – If you will need me, I’ll be at my re-charging station.

-Yes. Fine. Now leave me, please. – I groaned, and gently bumped my forehead against the wall.

I cannot tell you why, but somehow, that brief exchanged kicked some sense back into my mind. I let go of my shoulders, took a deep breath in, and told myself – “think”. Yes, the opportunities for disaster were plenty. Yes, we were on shaky ground now, even more so than before. Nevertheless, not all was lost. In fact, nothing was lost yet, I realized. You see, dearest reader, the benefit of having anxiety is that you can foresee potential problems and overcome them before they arise.

Fifteen minutes later, I had a solution for every single issue that could occur in the last phases of the plan. I thought about it further over my Roomas (with just a few drops of morphine), then found an excuse to leave the server buildings for a brief pause. Outside, it didn’t take me long to find a kid aimlessly wandering the streets.

-Any spare change, sir? – The kid asked, big blue eyes full of sadness. – I am all out of coins to buy Fortnight mods.

-Just your luck, your little rascal. – I smiled, and ruffled the kid’s curly hair. – I’ll give you a tenner – if you can bring this, - and I handed him a memory stick, - to lady Euphemia O’Malley. You will find her somewhere in the city center, most likely close to the town hall.

-Alright, sir. – The kid said, and snatched the memory stick out of my hand even before I transferred the payment. – I sure will try.

I nodded, said my farewells, and felt completely tranquil at once. Whether it was the effect of having dealt with the problems, or the morphine kicking in, I had no clue.

step 10: learn to say ‘no’ and accept help

I took a break on the ninth day, knowing that the revolution was beyond my grasp at that point, and all I could do was step back and watch the dominos fall into place. I ended the shift early, and went to the ice rink up at Thatchley Square. It was full of preschoolers and noisy beyond tolerance, which prompted me to push my airpods deeper into my ears. I would take the majestic, sophisticated sounds of Ed Sheeran, Gwen Stefani, and other classics over the offensive modern chaos they played in public places any day.

Half an hour of skating back and forth across the artificial crystalline surface, and my muscles were starting to betray me. I sighed and leaned against the nearest wall to rub my aching thighs and ankles. Alas, I had not been built for physical labor. I was about to leave the rink, when something – no, someone – rammed into me at subhuman speed, making me cry out in shock and stumble backwards into the snow.

-Oh lord, - the someone exclaimed, - I am so sorry!

And I mumbled something incomprehensible in response, for there, in front of me, covered in snow and helping me get up from the ground was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Tall, lean and bright-eyes, she had bubblegum pink hair and a pierced nose and a tattoo of a rose on her neck. And she was staring at me… goodness me, she was staring at me as if she knew me.

-Erasmus Smith? – She asked, frowning, and my face lost all colour.

-Shush. – I said, immediately on guard. – Come to the dressing room with me.

We sat there, talking and drinking those awful food machine concoctions out of cellulose plastic cups, and she told me everything she knew about the revolution, and how she came to know of it. It brought me concern at first, but soon enough it left my mind, for I was told that she had no intention of upsetting our plans. And what’s more, she even wanted to join in – and take it up a notch.

-Out of the question. – I responded immediately, once she had laid out her scheme for crashing the entire political system. – We are not risking the original plan on a dare.

-But… - She protested.

-No. – I shook my head. – We’re sticking to our goals.

-Oh well. – She sighed. – It was worth the shot. Say… can I help you out, at least?

I considered it for a moment, then gave her a singular nod. It made her eyes glow with excitement and pride. Such a stunning smile she had…

-I have a different proposition for you, though. – I found myself saying. – What do you think about going to the holographic theater next week? With me.

-Oh. – She looked away, and a soft shade of blush touched her cheeks. – I’d be honored.

And thus, the exchange was not all in vain.

step 11: write tomorrow’s task today

On the dusk of the tenth day, all – now as many as fifteen – of us gathered together by the docks, next to the roaring powerplant, where the moons were shining, making the freshly fallen snow glow and sparkle. We drank warm beer, talked, and watched the dodo birds and the pterodactyls play and chase each other on the canal slopes.

-All set to run. – Arabella concluded, after we revised every minute step over and over again. – Shall we?

I paused, took in a full lung’s worth of fresh cold air, and said yes.

We followed the first sparks of the fire on social media, observed as politician after journalist after king’s man turned all against each other, throwing accusations, spilling dirt, and digging political graves for each other – and we thought it lit. I did not wish to stay there at the docks for the entire night, so I brought the meeting to a close.

-One last thing before we go. – I announced, just as the people were turning to leave. – Write down a tweet for me, people.

“All political parties on the planet have fallen apart. The entire government has resigned. King Edmund is stepping down from the throne to marry a commoner. Bitches, let’s party.” I finished, and every single one of us cheered.

step 12: celebrate milestones and victories

And bitches did, indeed, party the next day – party day and night as the biggest scandal of the century shook the planet to its core. I do not recall where I was for most of the Yule Tide. All I know is that by midnight I ended up in the town hall, which was utterly wrecked and overflowing with people. I came to my senses sitting on the floor, wearing nothing but booty shorts and an undone tie, and smoking weed through a pipe. It was the most splendid party I had ever attended in my life.

-To the revolution! – I shouted it, and half a hundred people – most of whom I have never met in my life – joined in cheerfully.

-All hail Ersh, - Ambrose added, - for without him, this wouldn’t have happened.

-All hail Josiah, - Arabella interrupted, - for if he hadn’t sucked the king’s dick, this wouldn’t have happened either.

-Oh leave it. – Josiah dismissed. – I’ve always wanted to do that anyway.

-When are you gonna tell him? – I asked. – That you aren’t marrying him after all, I mean.

-Well. – He shrugged. – I think I might actually like… do that.

-Wouldn’t that be funny, - Euphemia said, - if Josiah became a prince.

-Anything is possible now. – Arabella pointed out.

-Yeah. – I agreed. – Anything’s possible.

And that’s when yet another crucial realization dawned upon me, and made me instantly sober.

I have accomplished my goal – no question about that. Brought down the government, destroyed the monarchy, did away with every major political party – all like I had imagined. But the more pressing question was – what are we going to do now?

And here comes *step 13, dearest reader, which no one had the courtesy of warning me about. The step is to ask yourself: what in the name of holy fuck you are doing in the first place, and why.

I advise you to complete this step before all the subsequent ones, for it took me all but twelve days of the Yule to bring my entire planet into chaos, and more than twenty years to carry it out of it and back into order.

Which is why I always say to the young, overly ambitious people who seek my wisdom – before you fuck some shit up, you better come up with a plan of how you will unfuck it – or do not go fucking it up in the first place, my child.

Signed, Erasmus Waynard Smith.

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #original fiction #short story #steampunk #sci-fi #paradox nerd post

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bisexualstokes-archive · 5 years

Text

Innocence is Gone (1/?)

Chapter (1/?): Twilight Visions Rating: Teen+ (For: Language, Graphics Depictions of Violence) Pairings: Nick Stokes/Greg Sanders (also gen friendship with rest of the team) Summary: When Greg is abducted at a club by a group of vengeful youth who were part of the group that beat him up in Fannysmackin', it's a race against the clock to find Greg before the final blow is struck on him, and Nick admits some feelings he had tried to keep a secret, but some things can't stay underneath the surface. Nick/Greg, set in late season 7. Chapter Notes: oh boy...here we go, lads. My first whump fic in which Nick isn't the victim (but don't worry, he's not without his own suffering in this fic) (tw for a slur thrown at the end of ch. 1, by some ignorant youth.)

Read it on A03

Dusk was always Greg’s favorite time of day. While the bright, yellow sun against the clear blue sky brought a certain warmth and joy, there was a certain comfort, in the twilight hues that filled the sky as the stars began to appear on the multi-colored canvas. There was an awe-inspiring beauty, one that can only be found in this small time window, during a time of day in which he’s normally getting ready for work.

He’s grateful, for a night like tonight, in which he doesn’t have to go into work. A night all to himself, to do whatever he pleased, to fully experience this short window of time that he normally doesn’t get to look at.

“Something on your mind, G? You’re never this quiet.”

And what pleased him the most, was spending time with Nick Stokes.

“Nana Olaf called me this morning,” Greg said, staring at the vast desert landscape as they drove down the never-ending road. A crumpled paper was on his lap, the only direction they had on their excursion on this day.

“Oh yeah? How’s she doing?”

“Told me she had a terrible dream--well, not just a dream, a vision. Said it was about me.”

“Really? What’d she see?”

The corners of Greg’s mouth twisted up, he lowered his head. He knew Nick wouldn’t believe it--didn’t believe in that sort of stuff, or at least, he didn’t think so. But Nick seemed to have become a bit more open-minded since Greg’s met him, all those years ago. He knew it was stupid, to think telling Nick about something like this would be so...embarrassing, or maybe to think that Nick was just humoring him, instead of actually caring. He knew Nick cared about him, and the things he had to say, even when he was rambling about nothing in particular.

Greg let out a short, nervous chuckle.

“She didn’t say, actually...but she did tell me, not to go out tonight.”

Nick’s eyes widened, and then his eyebrows narrowed downwards, before a smile spread across his face.

“Maybe she foresaw us gettin’ lost on our way to this new club,” Nick snickered. “You sure you know where we’re going?”

Greg’s heart fell, just slightly. He had almost expected Nick to grow concerned, to take this bad omen for what it was, to suggest that they just go back to Nick’s house, or Greg’s apartment, and spend the rest of the night in each other’s arms.

Because he did know what Nana Olaf saw--or at least, a vague description of it. According to her, she couldn’t distinctly see Greg, but saw bloodied hands, a metal chair, blood drooling from his lips. He hoped it was just a nightmare, that perhaps she was seeing a crime scene that he would be investigating--it did happen before, after all. A week before Nick’s abduction, she had called him, to tell him that she saw Greg, surrounded by dirt, and glass, and white foam, frozen in fear.

“Yeah, ‘course I know where we’re going,” Greg muttered. He squinted down at the paper, wishing his friend had better handwriting. “You’re gonna be taking a left after we get past the city limits sign.”

“Where’d you hear about this place, again?”

“My friend, Trixie. She’s never steered me wrong before.”

“Trixie, huh? Isn’t that the same chick who told you to put bleach in your hair in your senior year of college?”

“Aw, shucks, you remembered!”

Nick shot him one of his looks that he gave Greg when he was semi-annoyed, but the smile still remained on his face.

“Besides, you saw those pictures, I was H-O-T hot with that blonde hair.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Nick murmured under his breath, fiddling with the zipper on his leather jacket. He moved the zipper up and down. An anxious tick. He knew Nick was still a little uneasy about going out, in public, with him.

“You should keep it halfway down. Looks hotter that way,” Greg suggested. He knew Nick wasn’t asking for fashion tips, he had to admit that his friend typically had a good sense of style--when it came to his clothing, at least.

Nick cleared his throat as he did what Greg suggested. Greg noticed that Nick wasn’t wearing a shirt under his jacket. He contemplated telling Nick to pull over, make some excuse to get them out of the car…

“Greg! Which way am I going?”

Greg snapped out of his mind, his voice squeaked as read the instructions to Nick. The sun had finally set, and they were left driving in near darkness. Although they were far from the neon playground in the middle of the desert, the stars in the cloudless sky shined bright enough to give them more light than the beams coming from Nick’s SUV.

“And then...the instructions end. Guess it means we should be seeing it soon.”

“I don’t know, man, it looks like there’s nothing but desert out here. We’re not even on the road anymore.”

“Wait--you see that? Up there?”

Among the vast landscape littered with bushes and boulders, Greg spotted a crowd of cars, all parked haphazardly together, surrounding a small, square building.

“That’s gotta be it.”

They parked off to the side, Greg ran his fingers through the curls of his hair, patted his shirt straight, popped up the collar on his jacket. The slight chill of the night air send a shiver down Greg’s spine as he took a deep breath. The thrill of the night was spreading through his veins. He bounced a little, with a big smile on his face, excited for whatever lay beyond the large steel door, guarded by a large man in a suit. Nick stood opposite him, staring at the door with a frown.

Greg ran a hand through Nick’s hair, in an effort to get his hair to stick up with a slightly messy style. He was grateful that Nick’s hair had grown back, his fingers lingered as he lifted the individual strands upward. Nick didn’t quite realize it, but with that look, he had become one of the most attractive men Greg had ever seen, and was sure to be the envy of the club that night.

“What’s wrong?” Greg asked, fiddling with the zipper on his partner’s leather jacket. He immediately realized why Nick hesitated before he even finished the question. He knew this wasn’t just nerves over going out in public with another man, this was nerves over the fact that this building, on the outside, was way too small to hold all the occupants of the dozens of parked cars.

“Nothing, G. Let’s go,” Nick gulped. His throat was dry, he was biting his lower lip. He cleared his throat again and started towards the door.

“We don’t have to--”

“It’s fine--”

“Nick, I didn’t know--”

“It’s fine, Greg,” Nick growled, and stopped walking. He sighed and turned towards Greg, his expression was a half smile, but Greg didn’t buy it until his hands were sandwiched between Nick’s.

“As long as I’m with you...everything’s fine.”

He planted a small kiss on Greg’s cheek, Greg’s mouth spread into a smile. Nick gave him a satisfied smirk and guided them towards the door. The bouncer nodded at them as he opened the door for them, the soft buzz of music vibrated through their bodies.

The stairway was steep, narrow, only allowed for one occupant at a time. Greg’s hand was held out in front of him as Nick’s arm bent backwards to keep hold of Greg. He grimaced at the tightness of Nick’s grip on his hand, which hand caused Greg’s fingers to stretch out between Nick’s whitened knuckles.

The previously muffled music grew louder and clearer as they made their descent. Once they made it down the stairs and Nick let out a slow, deep exhale. Greg cupped his face in his hand, looked him in the eyes. He asked a nonverbal question, to which Nick nodded in an answer.

“C’mon, let’s get a drink,” Nick shouted over the loud music.

They waded through the crowd of people huddled in the large room, the bar was on the opposite side of the entrance. The room felt smaller than it was, due to the amount of people inhabiting it. Tables and chairs were strewn around the edges of the room, most of the chairs were empty, the tables littered with empty glasses and bottles. In a high-energy environment such as this, there wasn't time for sitting, only dancing. Flashes of white light came from flashing strobe lights in the ceiling, which were the bulls-eyes to black light spirals surrounding the bulbs. A thin layer of smoke hung in the air at waist length, it gave the room an almost dreamy look. Though it was difficult to distinguish facial features from one another in the dim light, a sea of smiles was rising, falling, twirling, colliding. It was the ultimate party.

Greg beamed as he felt a sense of comfort, among people who took this time to forget all their troubles, to expend that last bit of energy pent up inside of them from their long workdays. Night owls, living their life to the fullest.

They made it to the bar, Nick ordered a pair of drinks, he had nearly finished his by the time he handed Greg his own. A flutter of concern floated up Greg’s chest, but was quickly dispelled as he caught up to Nick. The flutter settled down, and Nick’s teeth became the brightest thing in the room.

“Wanna dance?” Nick shouted to him as he finished a second drink--When did he even order a second drink? Greg thought to himself.

“Thought you’d never ask!”

Nick led them towards the crowd, the loud bass from the tall, large speakers aligned with Greg’s heartbeat. They settled into a small gap, Greg bopped his head up and down until he felt his body begin to sway to the beat of the music. He watched Nick similarly warm himself up, settling into a groove that was both ridiculously goofy, and ridiculously hot. He moved his body closer to Nick’s, felt something lift up in his crotch area--he noticed a bulge in Nick’s, too. They grinded their clothed bodies against each other, Greg felt his fingers grab hold of the zipper on Nick’s jacket, thrusting it down to the floor with such speed and force that Nick clenched his jaw as he grabbed the back of Greg’s head, his fingers twisting the curls of Greg’s hair.

Nick leaned his head in, Greg could feel the warmth of Nick’s breath on his neck, his nostrils tingled from the smell of Nick’s alcohol tainted breath. He felt wet lips do their own dance all over his neck, his cheeks, his ears, his nose, until they finally found Greg’s lips. Both pairs of lips merged into one, the world fell beneath them, and Greg floated in the air...before crashing back down as Nick quickly pulled away.

The music had changed, intensified, into a louder and faster song. The strobe lights became more intense. Multiple flashes, in short succession, before it froze for half of a minute. Greg saw Nick’s eyes widen as he stared up at the blinding light, his tongue licked his quivering lips before they were plunged into darkness altogether.

The darkness lingered, for at least a minute, the music stopped. The crowd screamed, playing along with the pseudo horror before the music and lights resumed.

Greg pulled Nick close, wrapping his arms around the man--he was shaking.

“Are you o--” Greg whispered into Nick’s ear, but Nick pushed himself away.

“I’m gonna go get another drink!” He shouted at Greg, before becoming part of the crowd, who were completely unaware at the minor bout of drama between the two men.

Greg’s heart sank as Nick walked away, but a stunning brunette woman walked up to him, and Greg let himself fall into a trance, as he became acquainted with this new angel.

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

The lights went off, the masks went on. Their contacts were already in, their eyes still glowed in the absence of light. Now the party could really begin.

They shook with laughter as the crowd screamed, some of the screams having started from the discovery of these masked maniacs--who, they had not realized, were there the whole time, lurking, waiting for a moment like this.

The lights came back on, and the crowd forgot its hysteria, and resumed their own laughter and cheers.

“Get a load of those fags!”

One of them gestured to two men, wrapped in an embrace. One of the men looked like he had just pissed his pants, the other was trying to console him. Were they that afraid of the dark? Of the big bad wolves, disguised as human beings? They hoped that the men were afraid, because if they weren’t, they would be--very, very soon.

“Hey...isn’t that the Sanders guy? The one that hit Demetrius?”

The group nodded to each other, snapped a picture, sent it to their leader, who was offsite at the time. They watched as the man Sanders was with broke apart from him, left him alone.

Easy prey.

Their phones buzzed, a message, from the ultimate Big Bad himself.

“Let’s fuck with him.”

#csi cbs #csi fan fiction #nick x greg #nick stokes #greg sanders #my fic #I'M SORRY GREG...i'm sorry #fic: innocence is gone

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