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devldom · 2 years

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Hello, this is an introduction post for my Obey Me! MC, Blue. This post is a constant work in progress, as I'm still in season 2. Will keep updating it as I progress with the main story.

Spoilers for season 1 and 2, and specifically for lesson 16.

ID Card template by TARBLOODY on twitter. Art by me.

23 years old

Mexican. Lived in the US before arriving at the Devildom.

Birthday: August 31.

Bisexual, polyamorous, agender. They/them pronouns.

Virgo. INFJ.

175 cm tall. Light/medium skin tone, with warm undertones. Dark brown eyes with blue highlights. Black over the shoulder hair with bangs that they usually brush to the sides, with a peekaboo blue color on the sides and the back. Gold nose ring on their left nostril.

Background tw: suicide mention, death

Blue was born and raised by their mother in a small city in Mexico. They never got the chance to meet their dad, but they didn’t mind as their mom carried both of them on her back. Blue’s mother, Veronica, was an artist; a painter, who also worked multiple jobs half her life to be able to afford to take care of her child, constantly struggling with money. Blue and her mother were pretty close, as they were the only two members of their little family. They did everything together; they especially enjoyed painting together, with Veronica teaching her child everything she knew about painting. Veronica had always worked hard for her art, even before Blue was born, showcasing her work in local galleries and art events. Her hard work eventually paid off, as she caught the attention of an important art gallery when Blue was 12 years old, and the both of them moved to the US so they could start a new life and their mother could thrive off her art.

Veronica’s art gained popularity pretty quickly locally once they arrived in the US, with different galleries offering to showcase her work. The family of two lived off Veronica’s work; they weren’t filthy rich, but they were now able to live a good life in which they didn’t have to struggle economically anymore. Blue constantly struggled with their mental health since they were a kid, dealing with anxious and depressive thoughts, but things started going worse for them when their mother fell ill, a few months after they graduated high school and turned 18. As Veronica’s health started to deteriorate, Blue decided not to go to college so they could focus on taking care of their mother. Veronica passed away about a year later.

Blue’s mental health hit rock bottom with their mother’s passing, as they lost the person they loved the most. A few days after that happened, Blue completely shut themself out from the world for weeks. It wasn’t hard to do so; since they were their mother’s caretaker, Blue didn’t have a lot of friends (except for a few people from high school that they still talked with, from time to time) and didn’t leave their house much. As they constantly sat alone with their anxious thoughts, one day when they felt they’ve had enough, Blue tried to end their life. However, the odds turned against them, as they were found by one of their mother’s gallery acquaintances who was going to visit their place to check on them.

When Blue woke up on a hospital bed, they felt ashamed. Ashamed for a lot of things; for thinking dying was a solution, for doing something like that knowing that their mother would be disappointed, and also for not succeeding. After that attempt, Blue was forced to attend therapy, which eventually helped them to focus on their healing. When they turned 21, they decided to give college a try, getting enrolled in a visual arts program. They also started working part time as a painting teacher for kids, which they didn’t need to do as their mother’s inheritance was enough for them to support themself financially, but they still dreaded being alone with their thoughts so teaching was a relaxing activity for them. Even after entering college, Blue still struggled with making friends. They chatted with their classmates from time to time, but Blue didn’t really consider any of them their friends.

One day, Blue woke up and didn’t recognize their surroundings; they were sitting in a cold, dark room. As they looked up, there was someone sitting in front of them: Lord Diavolo. For a second, Blue thought that they were dead, but the demon greeted them with a warm smile and explained everything with Lucifer’s help. Blue wasn’t in their known world anymore. They were in the Devildom.

Personality

Blue has been a quiet person all their life; an introvert who’s always struggled to deal with their feelings. Blue is a person who feels everything way too intensely; they try not to hold grudges but sometimes they can’t help it. They try to help people whenever and however they can; sometimes they tend to give more than what they can actually offer, ending with feelings of burnout.

Even though they dislike big crowds, they do enjoy being around people. The sound of distant chatter is calming to them. Once they arrive at the Devildom, that shyness that’s always been inside them starts to shift slowly, as the demons have helped the human gain some confidence. Once they’re comfortable around you, they’re talkative and passionate. They enjoy going out, mostly to coffee shops, parks, restaurants, relatively quiet places (even though their social battery seems to run out pretty quickly).

As stated before, Blue often struggles with their feelings. They try to bottle them up as much as possible, all that anger and sadness; which ends up in them isolating themself from the world. They could spend days without leaving their room without even realizing it. After many therapy sessions, they’re still trying to be open about how they feel. The human tries to blend in with the crowd, they don’t like drawing attention towards them; however, if you really anger them, they will not hold back on you, causing a scene. And when they fall for someone, they fall hard; which ends up with them often shutting their love interest away, out of fear of being too intense and scaring them. They try to not get in trouble, which they often fail at, as their demon friends always find a way to drag them into their messes.

Relationships

Chibi Blue made with a picrew by koiponi. Chart by diavoloshugs on Twitter, with a few modifications made by me.

Lucifer. When Blue first arrived at the Devildom, they were terrified of Lucifer. He left a strong first impression and remained pretty distant the first few weeks the human lived there. However, as Blue started getting accustomed to their new life, the both of them got comfortable around each other.

They are pretty good friends, the human is always willing to give him a hand whenever he needs it and reminds him to take breaks. They rarely hang out as Lucifer is usually busy, but they know they can count on each other; there’s mutual respect between them and the human enjoys teasing him for being soft around them.

However, as Blue is friends with both Satan and Belphie the avatar of pride tries to be careful whenever he notices a shift in the human’s attitude, fearing the three of them may be up to something, as the human is often dragged to their anti-Lucifer shenanigans.

Mammon. When the both of them are together, it’s like they share a single brain cell. No thoughts are ever thought. Mammon was Blue’s first friend, even though the demon insisted on the human being a chore, he eventually got over that and became friends with them. They grew close pretty fast, as he was the only one who talked to them these first few weeks.

Mammon has been an important part of Blue’s development as a person, often pushing them to be overall more outgoing, pushing them out of their introvert bubble. They love spending time together doing whatever, often ending with Blue pulling the both of them out of problems and weird situations.

They both like each other, it’s painfully obvious, especially coming from the demon; but he’s extremely stubborn, often denying his feelings when confronted by his brothers. Blue, too, tries to deny their feelings, mostly to themself at first, which Mammon doesn’t help with his stubbornness. The avatar of greed tries to keep the human away from the rest of his brothers, which starts failing when Blue and Belphegor start growing closer.

Leviathan. Blue and Leviathan are good friends; at first Blue wasn’t really fond of him because of his gatekeepy attitude, but now he often introduces them to new anime and videogames. Blue is a good listener, so whenever Levi starts rambling about his interests they just sit and listen to him, which is always interesting as he’s so passionate about the stuff he likes.

They don’t hang out that often but when they do they always have a good time, even though it can sometimes get overwhelming for the human, especially when they game together. As we know, he’s the avatar of envy so he can get really petty, which ends up stressing Blue out.

Satan. Their relationship was kinda rocky at the beginning; Blue had heard a lot of different things about Satan on their first days in the Devildom. Lots of positive things, but also a lot of people calling him a hypocrite, assuring that his kindness is all fake. This made Blue nervous, as they didn’t know what to expect of him. When they started talking the human tried to be cautious, kindly rejecting his proposals to do stuff together.

However, when they ended up spending more time together because of him switching bodies with Lucifer, they realized they have a lot in common and Satan realized how much Blue had helped him to sort out his feelings of rage.

They quickly became friends after that; Blue often visits the demon’s room to just lie next to him and read something together or just talk about whatever is going through their minds. Aside from Mammon, Satan is the one who’s closest to Blue, with the human confidently calling him their best friend.

Both members of the Anti-Lucifer League, even though the human had no choice on that. Blue constantly tries to convince both Satan and Belphie to not execute pranks on Lucifer, but most of the time they fail on doing so. The human even helps them, from time to time, because they like to see both brothers getting along.

Asmodeus. At first, Blue tried to avoid Asmodeus as much as possible; they found his energy to be overwhelming. However, as Blue spends more time in the Devildom and starts being a bit more outgoing, they start enjoying Asmo’s presence.

They enjoy spending time together, gossiping while treating themselves; doing their nails, their makeup, shopping (which Mammon would usually try to tag along to). Asmodeus has tried, on multiple occasions, to charm the human, which hasn’t worked yet.

Asmo has recently discovered how much they like dressing Blue up; the human doesn’t have a specific style, they just wear whatever feels good and don’t know much about fashion, so they sometimes let Asmo choose outfits for them.

Beelzebub. Beelzebub and Blue are friendly; they enjoy going out to eat together, constantly exploring new restaurants. The human also enjoys attending Beelzebub's sports games to support him, even though they don’t know much about sports. Blue always feels safe around Beel, and they know they can count on each other.

However, after Belphegor’s incident, the two grew apart, as Beel felt conflicted by his twin’s actions and Blue’s feelings. The weeks after the Belphie incident happened Blue and Beelzebub barely talked, as Beel wanted to spend time with his twin and Blue didn’t want to interact with his brother.

After the human came back and made up with Belphegor, they’ve been slowly talking again, going out from time to time, the three of them together.

Belphegor. Blue and Belphegor’s relationship is a complicated one. After Blue saw themself die in Mammon’s arms because of Belphegor’s actions, Blue didn’t want to be near him, even though the situation was cleared up by Diavolo and the brothers. The human still didn’t feel comfortable being around Belphie, which was understandable. The demon tried getting closer to them, which Blue allowed to a certain extent to not make him and his brothers feel bad, but they constantly refused his invitations to do things together, keeping their guards up.

Going back to the human world definitely helped Blue sort their feelings out. After some time alone (and several therapy sessions), Blue was able to sort out their feelings and process their trauma. And when they stumbled back into the Devildom thanks to Solomon, they had a talk with Belphie about the whole situation and how they felt about it.

Blue decided to give him a chance, still keeping their distance for a while, until they started loosening up and getting comfortable around him. The demon worked hard to fix his damage, trying to get closer to them without overstepping, he wanted them to know they are safe around him.

Eventually, they became close friends; they enjoy taking naps together and hanging out around the planetarium, looking at the stars. As time has passed, Belphegor has developed feelings for the human and vice versa; the both of them conflicted, feeling a certain guilt about it. Blue feels guilty for having romantic feelings for someone who has inflicted so much pain on them and Belphegor feels guilty for falling for a human who he has hurt.

Diavolo. They aren’t close but they’re friendly towards the other; even though Blue is slightly intimidated by the power the demon prince holds, they appreciate how much he cares about their wellbeing. Even though his schedule is often very busy, Diavolo loves inviting them over to have tea with him and Barbatos whenever he has the time to spare.

Barbatos. Blue absolutely adores Barbatos. Even though he’s hard to read, as he often keeps the same facial expression, they know he enjoys spending time with them. Blue enjoys baking, so they often end up invited to the devil lord’s castle to bake with both Barbatos and Luke.

The human enjoys the butler’s company as he’s a very calm demon, especially compared to the brothers they’re used to hanging out with. Blue ends up visiting the castle whenever they need a break from all the chaos. They like to sit quietly in the garden, drinking some tea, listening to music and chatting about whatever comes to mind.

Blue also likes to help him with his duties whenever they have some free time, even though the butler insists that he doesn’t need any help, Blue can sometimes tell how tired he is and wants to relieve some of his stress by helping. The human has a crush on him and finds themself often getting flustered by his presence, but they don’t really expect him to return their feelings.

Simeon. Blue once heard Simeon tell Luke to be careful with Satan, feeding on the rumors of "he isn't as nice as he claims to be," which rubbed them the wrong way and gave off a bad impression of him, since Satan and Blue are friends. However, Blue themself has never had a bad experience with Simeon so they try to be friendly towards him. Simeon is more of an acquaintance to the human, they often chat whenever they share a class in RAD.

Luke. Blue and Luke get along pretty well. Blue is an only child and they always wanted a sibling, so they see Luke as a little brother. Even though they don’t spend a lot of time together (as Blue is usually busy), they always have fun when they find time for each other. They spend the most time together when they bake, usually in Diavolo’s castle with Barbatos' guidance.

Solomon. Solomon and Blue don’t interact much during the first season; they mostly see each other at RAD. It’s not until the exchange students are sent back home when they start growing closer, as Solomon visits Blue constantly to check on them, ending up in cooking lessons for the sorcerer and the two of them just hanging out. He would spend any free time around Blue and they quickly got comfortable around each other.

Once they’re back in the Devildom they don’t spend as much time together since the brothers are usually all over Blue, but they always have a good time whenever they are together, they’re good friends.

Solomon has a crush on them; however, since Blue is always hanging around the brothers, he doesn’t know how to proceed with his feelings.

Random facts

They’re left-handed.

Loves dogs but is definitely a cat person.

Always wears a gold pendant necklace, with a little B engraved on it. It was a gift from their mother, from when they turned 18.

Doesn’t miss much from the human world, but what they do definitely miss is watching the sunset every day.

Loves movies, their favorite genre is horror. Enjoys both terrible and “good” movies.

Likes being around children but doesn't see themself being a parent.

Needs reading glasses. Constantly forgets to actually wear them.

Taylor Swift fan first, human being second.

Favorite food are chilaquiles rojos.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #omswd #obey me mc #obey me oc #mc blue #kai writes #finally i finished this lmao been working on it for way too long. got lazy when thinking about blue's relationships w the cast #there's just. so many characters #also long ass post sorry

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leda-x · 3 years

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Ladybug has five minutes left with Chat Noir, and she isn't ready to give them up.

Ladybug woke in the cooking section of a library with the word “chance” tumbling from her lips. It was the ancient atrium of a newly modernized building. Like always, she was crouched down behind a bookshelf with Chat Noir at her side.

Far, far above her head, thin marble columns rose upwards, curving into graceful arches to meet in the middle. Early morning light shone through the enormous circular skylight positioned at the center of the atrium’s domed ceiling. It illuminated little specks of golden dust that had been disturbed by them seconds before. The room was empty, sound hushed.

Meeting her gaze, Chat tapped the screen on his baton and the numbers 04:58 began to flash. 04:57… 04:56... He reached down, flipping through a cookbook at his side, stopping at a random page. “Lobster tails meunière,” he read aloud to mark the attempt, green gaze flicking back up for her lead.

There were 2,000 recipes in The Escoffier Cookbook and Guide to the Fine Art of Cookery. That one was new. Ladybug took it as a good omen.

There was nothing but seriousness in Chat’s face right now. Seriousness and a rosy glow of determination and confidence.

Ladybug’s fingers drifted off her bracelet to cradle Chat’s cheek. Her gloved thumb followed the line along the bottom edge of his mask, right at the exposed part of his cheek. She watched the depth and vibrancy in his eyes. Could see a ring of eyelashes through the colored glass. Could feel the heat from his skin. He had a freckle on his upper lip. Not for the first time Ladybug realized her partner was beautiful. The first few times she had stopped to really notice she had cried. An ache started in her throat and grew until her entire chest was sore, until she was breathless with grief.

A blush colored his cheeks and his neck. She watched, with some fascination, the steady beat of his heart through the vein in his neck. It was throbbing quick. He was searching her face for answers now, lip pursing into worry. “Uh oh… It’s that bad?” Chat joked.

She wasn’t ready. It wasn’t the right time around. Ladybug got up from her crouch and held out her hand.

Chat took it without question and allowed her to lead them both out of the atrium into a modernized foyer, then into an elevator. She pressed floor four.

“What’s the plan?” he asked as the elevator doors shut. Ladybug could detect a thread of nervousness behind his grin. He was probably wondering why they were going up when the akuma was last spotted below.

Such faith. It cracked her heart a little further every time. Ladybug squeezed his hand, watching the elevator numbers tick so she didn’t have to look him in the eye as she admitted, “No plan.”

The doors opened to an art gallery absent of people.

She let go of Chat’s hand, even though she never really wanted to, and began walking through the exhibit. She could hear the soft sound of his footsteps following her. Extremely large images of sand flicked by in succession. Ladybug didn’t stop to marvel at them.

Chat always did. “Whoah,” he said and she glanced back, catching him craning his neck. “This isn’t a photo. Someone drew this.”

Ladybug used up a few of her seconds to watch her partner, feeling a wash of fondness as Chat placed his hands on his hips and tilted forward, nose scrunched, face inches from the canvas. “LB how long do you think this took to make?”

Years, Ladybug thought. Aloud, she said, “This way.”

Chat let out a low whistle as they passed by a total of ten drawings. Each one looked alike. There were slight variations, however, upon closer inspection. It was the variations in Chat Noir that Ladybug kept discovering that made it impossible for her to stop doing this. They had been here over a thousand times before. Each time was a little different, but always ended the same.

They wound a corner and ended up in a smaller room. Ladybug headed towards the back where a replica of the interior of an old-style french house had been built. There was a bed and a little TV where you could learn all about Château de Blois.

It was the best place she had found for this. She had tried a lot of places. She had already dragged Chat around the entire city of Paris looking for a solution. Not that this Chat Noir remembered any of that.

She gestured at the bed, ignoring the documentary that was playing softly behind her, “I have a lot to tell you and no time to do it. How are we, by the way?”

Chat Noir obeyed, sitting on the bed, cat ears perked straight up, eyes bright now and curious. His knee bounced with pent-up energy. He glanced at his baton. “Three minutes, forty-seven seconds. Why? What’s going to happen?”

“I need you to pretend that everything I’m about to say is true,” Ladybug began.

Chat Noir gave her a funny look like, ‘why wouldn't I?’

Ladybug couldn’t help but smile a bit at that. She crouched down in front of him, placing a palm atop each bouncing knee. “You are going to die in three minutes,” Ladybug said.

Chat froze.

“Your heart. It stops. An arrhythmia,” Ladybug continued, keeping her eyes locked with his, making sure he was following along. They never had time to go over it again. “We’ve been here a lot. Anything you are about to say I’ve tried.” She had tried every hospital, every ER, every doctor; had tried Lucky charm-ing a solution countless times.

Chat’s eyebrows drew together. His eyes were still present in the room with her, though. They hadn’t glazed off or flicked away in fear. “What?” he breathed. He searched her for a long moment for the joke.

Ladybug knew better than to so much as flinch or blink right now while he was looking for a way out. Chat’s denial came in different severities every time, but it was never helped by her saying or doing anything until he did first.

A stormy look passed across his face as he took that in. “So... I’m dead and there’s nothing anyone can do about it?” he summarized, grinning.

Ladybug nodded, relaxing a touch. In her experience him grinning was usually the best outcome, even though it did seem a bit deranged. She took her hands from his knees, giving him a bit of space despite every bone in her body aching to hold him close. Even though she had held him so many times, it was always new for him. Too much of her affection too fast could scare him off.

“Wait. What about the cure?” he asked.

“You know Ladybug can’t bring people back to life.”

Chat leaned back a touch. A clawed palm drew up to rest over his heart, expression a bit dazed. Ladybug watched as her partner’s brain spun, processing. Then he glanced back at her, eyes startled. “How… How many times have we done this?”

“Many,” Ladybug admitted. “Each time is a little different. Sometimes you don’t believe me. Sometimes you call your dad. Sometimes you call Nino. Sometimes we just sit together.”

“Nino?” Chat caught.

“I know you are Adrien Agreste,” Ladybug said and then waited to see how he would react.

Sometimes this revelation hit hardest. It was more real, more believable. Often the fact that she knew his name at all was taken as proof she was telling the truth about everything else. That realization typically followed with denial. Sometimes terror.

Ladybug watched closely as Chat’s chest heaved in panic.

A humming noise suddenly kicked off. It was only after it stopped that Ladybug realized the air conditioning had been on. The change shocked Chat back out of whatever place he had gone. “Do I know you?” he whispered.

“Do you want to?”

Suddenly he recoiled, gaze suspicious. “You’re not Ladybug,” he stated, as if the thought had just dawned on him. “This isn’t real.”

Ladybug’s heart sank.

He was standing now, stumbling backwards. His shoulder hit one of the wood beams of the replica, causing him to twist.

With a sigh she reached down and twisted the bracelet back into position.

. .

Ladybug woke again in the cooking section of the library.

Chat tapped the screen on his baton and flipped through the cookbook. “Eggs benedict,” he read aloud.

Ladybug was still reeling from last time. They had almost parted ways on terms she could (maybe) accept. But no— Chat had to get paranoid. Not for the first time she cursed all the replicas of herself that her partner had faced. Maybe if he hadn’t been tricked previously they would have a better chance at this.

“Ladybug?” Chat’s voice broke her out of her thoughts, worried. “What’s wrong?”

“Why do you wake up in the morning?” Ladybug asked, eyes locked down at the book in his hands. At the long pause she got out of her crouch and into a cross-legged position, chancing a look at his face. Sometimes his living face in all it’s animated glory really hurt to look at when seconds before it had been dead.

Chat was staring at her in uncertainty. After a beat he mirrored her, settling down at her side and putting down the book. “That’s a weird question. Why? Something to do with the akuma?”

“Yes,” Ladybug lied. “I need to know.” She needed a break. Even though she never grew physically tired, emotionally she was exhausted. She used up rounds getting to know him better, plucking up the courage to try again to say goodbye again.

He had a grin on his face now. “Usually because of my alarm clock.”

. .

She was back in the library.

“Grammont pullet,” said Chat Noir, to her right. He set down the cookbook and tapped his baton.

Ladybug laughed. She laughed and then she cried. She wasn’t sure when she stopped doing the first and started doing the second. They sort of happened together, just like all of these second chances and all of these subtle striations.

Chat’s hands hovered beside her arms like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to comfort her. His ears flattened, green eyes distraught. However, when Ladybug leaned in his arms looped around her in an easy embrace, chin resting atop her head.

Eventually emotions passed and Ladybug went quiet, listening to the sound of Chat’s heartbeat and the rumble of his voice as he asked, “What’s the joke?”

“You started the timer after you read the recipe this time,” Ladybug said.

Chat’s grip shifted. He fell silent, as if weighing something, before he admitted, “I don’t get it.”

Ladybug reached up and patted his back. She hadn’t expected him to.

. .

This time around was coq-au-vin.

They had made it to the elevator. This time, Ladybug pressed ‘Floor 4’ right as Chat pressed ‘Basement’. The elevator suddenly had a choice, and it chose to go down, and instead of twisting the bracelet to start over, Ladybug decided to take out some of her own anger on the akuma.

The fight was over before it barely begun.

The umbrella Ladybug tossed to Chat skidded across the floor. Chat stumbled. Ladybug reached down and spun the bracelet before she had a chance to watch him fall.

. .

The last recipe was profiteroles. And it was only the last one, because Chat— like always— surprised her. Ladybug supposed it was only a matter of when, not if. She could only do this so many times before Chat turned it back around on her.

He was glaring at her now, green eyes bright and vivid, unobstructed by goggles. Ladybug internally cursed whenever Chat decided to transform back because it meant there was no more baton— no more timer— and she always felt a bit lost within these three minutes without it.

“How many times have you put yourself through this?” he was asking her, again, since she couldn’t give him a straight answer. Suddenly, and swiftly, he got up from where he was sitting on the edge of the bed and took two steps forward into her personal space before Ladybug had a chance to stumble back. “How many?” he repeated.

“I-I don’t know!” Ladybug answered truthfully, suddenly flustered beyond belief. This was the first time Adrien Agreste had had the audacity to step this close to her, to get this mad at her.

“Marinette,” Adrien realized, sounding a bit punched in the gut. “You’re Marinette. This whole time...”

Not trusting herself to speak, Marinette nodded, eyes wide. The amount of times they had both come to know each other’s identities were slim. Rarely did it ever get this far. From this point on was uncharted territory for Ladybug. This Chat Noir suddenly became very real, no longer this strange version of himself that repeated the same phrases and did the same things over and over. No, all the sudden this profiteroles version of Chat was wholly unique.

“If I die in three minutes—” he began.

“Any second now, actually,” Marinette corrected.

“—you’ll do what, exactly?” he finished.

Marinette knew how bad it sounded, but she said it anyway, “I’ll go back to when you’re not dead.”

Adrien’s eyes flicked to the Miraculous around her wrist for a second, brows scrunching. “And then what?”

Ladybug only had to meet his eyes for a brief second to answer that question.

Suddenly Chat had a strong grip on her arm, yanking it towards him.

It took Ladybug a full three seconds to realize what he was trying to do. “Chat. Stop. Chat, stop,” she hissed, veins icy, mouth dry. If he took the bracelet it was over. She twisted and ripped her arm out of his grip, stumbling back and away. A quick glance down confirmed the bracelet was still there and still activated. She kept it pressed tightly to her polka dotted chest, holding it with her other hand.

Adrien was shaking his head, bits of blond hair falling in and out of his eyes. “You can’t keep doing this,” he said, a little out of breath.

Marinette wondered if his heart had stopped and her fingers rested down upon the bracelet, but after a few seconds passed and he remained standing she let them drift away.

If Adrien noticed, he didn’t mention it. “Other people need you,” he accused. “Paris needs you.”

“Paris can figure it out,” she hissed.

Chat blinked, surprised. His face slowly morphed, surprise bleeding into understanding. “It’s ok, Bug. It will be ok.”

Her throat clenched and it felt like he had cleaved her entire body into two pieces straight down the middle. How? How would it ever be ok? When she thought of her future now she only saw darkness. There was nothing left.

“I know I can’t keep doing this,” she gasped, the words ripping out of her. “I know other people love me, need me. But you’re not the one that has to walk out of here alone." The word 'alone' made her own heart swell ten times too big until it felt like it would burst. She hoped it would. That would be a whole lot easier. She had wished a whole lot of things recently that would have appalled her younger self. “I’m not ready.”

“When will you be?” Adrien asked softly.

A hot surge of anger raced through her and she felt the insane urge to shove him or hurt him or do something because how dare he ask her that. How dare he! How dare he die in the first place! Ladybug was tempted to twist the bracelet just to get away from this Chat and go back to an earlier version who was still malleable and innocent. Just erase this attempt all together from his memory so she would never have to answer.

All she had to do was twist it. But then he’d be right. And if she didn’t twist it, he’d still be right. Because… he was right, regardless. And no matter how many times she could make him forget it, she would never forget it.

Adrien wobbled, taking a few quick steps back until he was slumping back on the bed, face pale. Time’s up.

Her anger evaporated and she was there, tugging him close into her chest, because this was the closest to Chat she had ever gotten in all her attempts. The crown of his head tucked underneath her chin, gloved fingers running through his hair, as she felt all the movement and life drain out of him. It was like this every time. Quick, quiet, sneaky. As quick as a switch. One minute the lights were on, the next they were off.

She had no idea how much time she had before her five minutes were up. If she had to guess it was down to seconds. Her fingers detangled out of blond hair and dragged along her side, along her arm, until they met her wrist and bumped against the bracelet.

Was she? When would she be? Ready, that is.

#Miraculous Ladybug #fanfic #angst #adrien agreste #time travel #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Chat Noir #Ladybug #Sorry I'm not sorry #If anyone needed a good cry

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desperationandgin · 5 years

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Peaceful Easy Feelin’ (A Market Price One-Shot)

Rating: Explicit (or Mature? IDK.)

Author: desperationandgin

Also Read On: AO3

Summary: Jamie and Claire take their first road trip together.

A/N: Hello, my friends! After a month of 0 writing, I'm back with an MP one shot. This is, to date, the longest single fic of anything I've written, so I have to deeply thank all of my betas. @filledwithlight, @smashing-teacups, @happytoobserve, @fierceweebadger and @lcbeauchampoftarth, thank you so much. I dropped them on this yesterday and felt real bad about it, but they all knocked it OUT. A L S O thank you to @happytoobserve for the idea with the game! Annnnnd @fierceweebadger even made this GORGEOUS mood board, thank you love! This ficlet takes place after Future Expansions, and I would suggest reading (or re-reading for the tie-in) The Nearness of You afterward!

Peaceful Easy Feelin’

Let it be known, there is nothing sexier than Jamie Fraser pumping petrol while wearing his lumberjack ensemble.

Claire fires off her text to Geillis, subtly watching Jamie’s profile in the side mirror. He’s wearing jeans that make her purposefully linger behind him when they walk; and, to be quite frank, looks as if he stepped straight out of a Barbour ad. When her phone vibrates, she glances down just as he finishes, only having enough time to read part of her friend’s response.

Yer wee fox cub certainly’d like to show ye some wood-

Coughing to hide a laugh, Claire quickly drops her phone down into the bag at her feet as Jamie slides back into the car.

“Ye alright, Sassenach? Want me to go inside, get ye a drink?”

Shaking her head, she smiles and settles into her seat. “No. I’m fine, just eager to go. My expert navigation skills have us at the bed and breakfast by supper.”

The trip from home to the quaint town they’ve read about along the coast is nearly a three-hour road trip on its own. After spending most of the day on Friday making sure things will run smoothly for Jenny and Ian at the farmer’s market, their stop for petrol has them on the lengthiest part of the drive just after three in the afternoon. The temperature is a comfortable 13 Celsius, nice enough to crack the windows and breathe crisp autumn air once they hit the open road. They chat about various things each of them have been meaning to get to (Claire reminds him about the never-ending search for the perfect bedding; Jamie floats the idea of an all-family vacation to one of the cabins near the loch for winter holiday) and weigh the pros and cons of eventually adopting a cat versus a dog.

“I can run wi’ a dog,” Jamie patiently explains, as if that alone should be the winning argument.

“Well, while you run, I can laze around with a cat reading a book and drinking tea,” she responds just as matter-of-factly. “Besides, you don’t run more than once a day, but the dog definitely needs to go out more often than that. How eager are you to put on clothes at eleven p.m.?”

“Ye do tend to have me thoroughly undressed by ten,” Jamie muses, smiling at her soft thwap against his shoulder. “Dogs alert ye to intruders, they like to play, and they can obey.”

“Oh,” Claire scoffs. “Is that what you’re looking for? Something to obey you?”

“I’m no’ generally the commanding type,” Jamie retorts. Anyone trying to command Claire Beauchamp was never going to get very far, in any case. “I only meant they can learn tae do things.”

“Well, so can cats! And they don’t need to be held by the paw to go to the bathroom. I’m right about this.”

“I dinna have anythin’ against havin’ a cheetie, ye ken,” Jamie points out. “My mam had one when I was a wee lad, I liked it fine.”

Claire turns to face him, head tilting to the side. “What was its name?”

Jamie smiles in reflection, sparing a glance at her while he drives. “Adso. He was a fierce hunter, chased away all the mice and ate what dared to linger. She loved that cat until—” He trails off, quiet for a beat before finishing. “No’ long after she died, Adso disappeared. No one remembers seeing him after that, at least.”

Out of habit, Claire rests a hand on his thigh, but as he reaches down for her she meets him halfway, tangling their fingers together. “Adso was truly your mother’s. That’s beautiful, Jamie.”

For a few minutes the memory lingers, the image of his mother curled up with the kitten suddenly swimming to the surface. He can remember the sound of her calling out sweetly for her cat, and the rediscovered memory sways his decision.

“When we’re finally settled after the honeymoon, we’ll see about a cheetie of our own,” Jamie promises, wrapping up the debate for good.

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She didn’t mean to drift, and she’s alarmed to find herself alone in a still car when her eyes open. Before she can wonder too long, Jamie appears, exiting a quaint-looking home that she realizes must be Eskview Farm in St. Cyrus: the true starting point of the road trip. They’re staying for two evenings, planning a day at the beach (in jeans and jumpers) before heading out on the 30th toward Aberdeen. From there, it’s onward to Slains Castle just in time for Samhein, the questionably haunted portion of their road trip beginning and ending with a tour of Bram Stoker’s inspiration.

Getting out of the car, Claire stretches and Jamie detours, moving to her side instead of grabbing a bag from the boot.

“You were snorin’,” he teases, leaning in to brush his lips against hers.

“If I was, it was only because I found myself quite content,” she explains, granting him another kiss as she leans back against the car. “Our first road trip.”

“First road trip. How’s it feel, Sassenach?”

She smiles as she presses her lips to his cheek, then grazes his stubble with the tip of her nose. “How it always feels to be with you.”

Jamie’s lips find the crook of her neck, one hand wandering under her shirt, caressing her back slowly. “And how does that feel?” he whispers in inquiry, dropping a kiss to her pulse.

Claire feels as though she’s standing on a swaying ship, closing her eyes as warmth blooms in her belly. “It feels like an adventure with you, Jamie. Every day.” Sinking into him, her arms loop around his waist as her face nuzzles against his shoulder. When she speaks, her voice is muffled, but she doesn’t move. “And you cannot feel me up in the parking lot of our bed and breakfast.”

“And why no’?” Jamie asks, lips trailing to her collarbone now.

Her eyes drift to the porch and the pleasant-looking elderly woman eyeing them. “Because I think the proprietor is on the porch,” she laughs softly, stifling it against his shoulder. “I’m ready for a shower, though. With company.”

Distraction accomplished (and faster than she expected), they’re shown to a room exploding with lace and doilies, a teddy bear draped in a strand of pearls sitting on the dresser. Once they’re alone, Claire stops trying to hide her laughter and raises an eyebrow. “Someone not take a glance at the photo gallery before booking?”

Jamie, having opened the closet door, stands frozen to the spot. “Sassenach, I cannae think of words tae properly describe what I’m seein’, so just come look.”

Curious, Claire goes to his side, peeking in, and lets out another bark of a laugh as a row of wooden puppets stares down at them from the top shelf. “Well, this is supposed to be a spooky road trip.”

“Spooky and creepy are verra different things,” Jamie feels the need to point out as he firmly closes the door again, tugging off his shirt.

“How so?” she asks, heading into the bathroom to turn on the shower.

He follows her, shedding shoes and jeans in his wake. “Creepy is more on the weird side, ye ken? Like perhaps a person who has that many wooden puppets has other things in her cupboards. But spooky is just aesthetic, Sassenach.”

She scoffs, looking over her shoulder and appreciating the fact that he’s made quick work of his clothing. “I must say, I feel properly educated on the subject now. Thank you.” Draping her arms over his shoulders, she pecks his lips lightly before pressing closer. “I see I’m suddenly overdressed.”

“And the shower was your idea, even. I see what yer up to, distracting me from gropin’ ye in the parkin’ lot.”

Claire laughs, delighted at him — at them — and lets him undress her, if only to feel his fingers against her skin as he exposes it. “You can grope me just as well in the shower, you know.” The last word is a soft exhale as his fingers graze up her sides, pushing her shirt up as he goes and leaving goosebumps in his wake.

“Aye, I plan to. Dinna fash about that,” he breathes out against her clavicle, hands reaching behind her back to unhook her bra, gently pushing the straps down her shoulders. As he pulls the garment away, Jamie steps back to admire her — topless, in jeans, still wearing her practical walking shoes.

Tugging at her hand, he pulls her to the mirror, grinning at her reflection. “Ye look ridiculous right now.” She’s laughing too hard to respond, shoulders shaking with it. “I mean, it is a look, Sassenach.”

“Would you shut up and get me naked, please?” Claire finally sputters, heaving out a breath as she tries to stop herself from another round of hysterics.

Laughing with her, he unbuttons her jeans, turning her around to kiss her laughing mouth as he pushes them down her body. “I could distract ye wi’ bawdy things.”

Her laughter catches and she clears her throat. “Do go on. What sort of bawdy things will you do to me while the puppets listen?”

It’s his turn to laugh and he does, loudly against her ear. “Nevermind, ye ruined it."

“We’ve wasted enough hot water,” she decides, kicking off her shoes and shimmying the rest of the way out of her jeans, even as he pushes her knickers (with wee hearts on them; a joke gift on her birthday before the real gift of the skimpiest things he’d ever bought) down her legs.

Once all offending pieces are discarded, they step into the bath-shower-combination together, realizing the tight squeeze almost immediately.

“You know,” Claire begins. “Every movie and television show I’ve ever watched would have me believe sex in the shower is effortless. Easy, even.”

There’s hardly room to turn around, let alone do any groping, and Jamie graciously steps back to let Claire have the water. “This is why we never tried it before,” he points out. “I’m no’ prepared to break a hip on vacation.”

With a smirk, Claire wets her hair while facing him. “I’m glad you’re more practical than horny. My own hips thank you.”

When she turns her back to him, Jamie wordlessly reaches for one of the decorative (but unlabeled) bottles, sniffs it, and determines based on color and smell it must be the shampoo. Lathering it into her hair, he massages her scalp in the tamest of ways, but his cock is doing very little to help with his restraint.

“If either of us breaks anything then we cannae have one another for Christ knows how long, so I’m no’ willin’ to risk it,” he supplies practically, working on her hair until she has a well-shaped soap afro and letting her go to rinse—his favorite part.

Closing her eyes, Claire reaches up, working the water through her hair. “Then I suppose we’ll be boring and wait for bed,” she teases, scrunching her nose as soap drips down her face.

Jamie reaches up to wipes the offending suds away, then looks at the high edges of the tub. “I do have an idea. No’ quite what they write in bodice rippers, but somethin’.” As she finishes rinsing her hair, Jamie pushes the shower curtain behind his body before sitting on the edge of the bathtub. Her hips are at the perfect height, and he grins while dragging a finger over her skin.

Turning to rinse any lingering soap from her face, Claire finally finishes and eyes him warily. “What are you going to do?”

Carefully ensuring she doesn’t slip, Jamie pulls her closer and coaxes her left foot up onto the edge of the tub. When his gaze shifts to the view directly in front of his eyes, any half-hardness of his cock goes to full attention. It’s enough to make him groan, lips pressing to her stomach.

“Christ, ye have no idea how mind-blowin’ ye are.”

After his words, his tongue traces the crease where hip joins torso, feeling her shiver despite the warmth of the shower.

“I have—” her words falter, breath hitching as his fingers part her. “—you doing this. I know how to take a hint.” One of her hands pushes through his hair, and gripping a handful of said curls, she presses her hips forward against his mouth.

“Impatient,” he scolds, but the words are muffled as he’s helpless to fulfill her request. He can’t imagine what would need to be wrong with him to deny her, and he hopes to never discover it. His tongue teases around the enticing warmth of her, but his focus shifts to nerves already taut with anticipation. He waits for half a heartbeat before slowly circling his tongue around it, feeling her hand tighten in his hair, her curls brushing the top of his head as her own bows.

With one hand wrapped around her calf to keep her steady, the other moves to her opposite hip while his mouth devours her, doing all of the work. He grunts at the feel of her thigh against the side of his head, absorbing each tremble until her body pitches forward a bit. That’s when he begins listening: to the sweetest sounds that exist just for him, his own private performance.

When she’s close, when pleasure causes her hips to writhe of their own accord, she makes a keening sound; head falling back as her lips part, cheeks flushed the sweetest hue of pink, curls skimming the pearlescent expanse of her shoulders. A high-pitched cry comes next as she tenses, the skin right between her eyebrows furrowing as she chases her climax. Two letters, a gasped out “Ja—” is all the warning he has before a loud, unchecked moan fills the room, not at all drowned out by the sound of the shower. One hand is buried in his hair, while the other clutches his shoulder, leaving red half-moon marks in the wake of her pleasure.

Lapping at the fruits of his labor, Jamie hums in contentment, tongue lazily gliding along warm, slick flesh before nosing at soft curls and finally kissing her hip. As everything in her eases and relaxes, he gently lowers her leg, his arm sliding around her waist as he stands. He gathers her close, standing sideways with her in the shower as his lips find hers for a series of soft, tender kisses. Without prompting, he reaches for the soap and washes her, slowly bringing her down from her high with more touch, this time soothing instead of lust-filled.

When she can finally move again, Claire reaches out to cradle his face in her hands, smiling in blissed-out contentment. “I think I might have to marry you.”

Having previously deemed the shower too dangerous for more strenuous activities, they finish washing and step out, lazily drying in favor of kissing and touching again.

“I cannae be near ye and not want ye,” Jamie confesses against the hollow of her throat as she leans back against the vanity. After a brief pause to plant a kiss over her heart, his mouth envelops a nipple, the warm curve of her breast still damp from the shower.

With one hand braced behind her on the bathroom counter, her other reaches out to drag up and down his back. Claire’s eyes close, head tilting back as she encourages him. “I don’t have it in me to mind.” Her final word is said on a sharp gasp as the tip of his cock presses insistently against her. His mouth hasn’t stopped, moving to the opposite breast to shower it with the same affection as his hands begin lifting. She expects to be moved to the counter, but instead, he coaxes her legs around his waist once he comes up for air.

“Tell me I can have ye now,” he pants across her cheek, beginning to make his way out of the bathroom toward the bed.

“You can have me, Jamie. You can always have me.” Her lips fuse to his, and in a display of exactly how weak he is, she finds herself pressed against the wall, feet from the bed. Before she can tease him, he’s inside of her, and whatever thoughts she once had are replaced by a series of white bursts of light behind closed eyelids. Her hands grasp at his shoulders, frantically trying to find solid purchase on the scarred terrain of his back as he anchors her between his body and the wall.

Forgetting that they aren’t, in fact, in their own home, an unrestrained moan tumbles from her lips, so loud that it makes his own ears ring. Jamie slams forward, doing nothing to help keep her quiet as he sinks deeply into her. His loud groan is swallowed by her mouth, though there’s no resemblance to a kiss thanks to both of them gasping for lungfuls of air. He can tell that she’s focused again by the way she tugs her bottom lip between her teeth and digs her heels into his lower back. She’s close, but not close enough, which has him sneaking a hand between them, only just able to reach her clit with his thumb. It’s plenty; she jerks as though touched by a live wire, and as her body contracts around him, he holds a thrust while burying his face against her neck. Letting her carry him with her, both of them breathlessly whimper the other’s name as waves of pleasure begin to recede.

It’s firm knocking on the door that brings first Jamie, then Claire, out of their post-sex stupor, still slumped against the wall. He lowers her gently to the ground, and when her legs are no longer as wobbly as a new foal’s, he steps back, tossing on jeans and answering the door sans shirt. While he does, Claire revisits the bathroom, cleaning herself up a bit until she hears the door close and lock.

“What was that about?” she asks curiously, making her way to the bed and crawling in naked.

“We’re deviants,” Jamie replies casually, laying on the bed and shifting so that she can drape over him. “It was the person next room over. Apparently, ye sound like a dying coo, Sassenach.”

“Excuse me?”

“I didna say it! The woman next door did. I politely disagreed, and she told me that to answer the door in such a state of undress was a mark on my puir soul.”

“Was she about eighty years of age?” Claire mutters, blushing a little.

Laughing, Jamie pulls her closer, kissing her forehead. “Closer to eighty-five, I think. I promised her we’d be leavin’ after breakfast in the morning and until then, no more rude noises.”

“You think they’re rude?”

“I happen to find them verra adorable. Sexy too, if it helps,” he playfully taunts.

She huffs, pretending to be greatly put out. “And what if I wanted to try and get you to make rude noises before 5 a.m?”

With a smirk, Jamie curves a hand around her hip. “If ye’re awake before 5 a.m. on our vacation, Sassenach, I’ll make all the wee noises ye’d like.”

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Morning comes (but not either of them, thanks to Claire sleeping straight through the alarm), and after a few impolite stares from other breakfast goers, Jamie and Claire wander along the beach, properly freezing before driving into town to shop (Jamie buys a ridiculously priced book of Scottish poems printed in the 18th century, Claire sneakily buys cufflinks to give Jamie before their wedding), have lunch, and spend the rest of the afternoon at a whiskey distillery in Aberdeen. Research, he says, and she agrees to a point—until they walk out more than a few pounds lighter. Still, there isn’t much to worry about as the day begins to fade and they make their way back to the bed and breakfast.

As politely as they can, they rush through supper before escaping to their room; both of them miss the look of contempt shot at them from their neighbor in the corner.

Once their road trip resumes, Claire takes over the driving, opting for an Eagles playlist as the low background music. A half-hour in, Jamie reaches behind Claire to retrieve a bag from the backseat, rummaging while he explains himself.

“I told Jen we were goin’ on this trip and she suggested we borrow a game she bought a while back.”

“A game?” Claire asks with suspicious wariness, glancing at him as he settles back in his seat with a plastic bag full of small square cards.

“Aye, she bought it for a dinner party, when we started havin’ vendors to the farm for get-togethers. To break the ice, ye pick a card and ask the room whatever the question is and everyone answers.”

“It sounds like something you do when you work in a business office and go to company retreats,” she says dryly, looking behind her to change lanes. “And I’m driving, I can’t stop to read.”

“Come on, Sassenach, it’ll be fun. I’ll read them all, but every other card, I’ll answer first. Deal?”

“What could you possibly not know about me by now?”

Jamie takes that as his cue to draw a card and read it off. “‘Have ye ever bought anythin’ from a TV infomercial?’” He looks at her expectantly. “Weel?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, and I’m not ashamed of it like that question implies I should be.” There’s a slight huff at the end, but when he looks over, he sees the corner of her upper lip twitch as she tries to suppress a smile in favor of mock annoyance.

“What was it then? Can I guess?”

Now it’s impossible to hide her smile. “You can try. But it was years before I met you and I don’t own it anymore.”

“Oh, so it worked sae well ye got rid of it?”

“No. I lost track of it during a move and never bothered to replace it. Tell me what you’re thinking it could be,” Claire retorts, deciding maybe the game is alright after all.

“A kitchen gadget?” he attempts on his first try, then goes through various electronic gadgets, home remedy devices, and articles of clothing before giving up.

“A towel,” Claire tells him succinctly.

“A towel? One single towel ye ordered off of television?”

“Specifically for drying my hair. It had a tab in the back to secure it like a turban until these curls were as dry as they could get without assistance,” she explains. “What have you bought from an infomercial?”

“Nothin’ at all, I can honestly say. Do they even have them anymore?”

“Towels?”

“No, ye wee brat. Infomercials.”

Laughing, she shrugs in genuine ignorance. “If they do, I haven’t seen one in a while. What’s the next question?”

Glad to see her seemingly into the idea of the game, he pulls another card. “Alright. I’ll answer first. The question is ‘do ye possess any of the qualities of yer astrological sign?’ Claire, I couldna tell ye at all. I ken I’m a Taurus, but after that, ‘tis a mystery.”

“Geillis is really into horoscopes, you know. She told me that apparently you’re supposed to be devoted and responsible, so lucky me. Stubbornness happens to be a trait of your sign, and the more we talk, the more I think there might be something to that. You know what else a Taurus likes?”

“No, but I’m interested to hear,” Jamie declares, wondering when this conversation with her neighbor happened.

“Apparently, and I wouldn’t know anything about this, you’re supposed to be good with your hands.” When she glances at him, her grin is so toothy that they both laugh, spending a few seconds recovering from it.

“I’m ashamed to admit I’m no’ even sure what your sign is. What are you supposed to be like, accordin’ to October twentieth?”

“I’m a Libra. You’ll have to tell me if I’m gracious, diplomatic, and indecisive, with a love of the outdoors.”

Leaning back as if to appraise her, Jamie ponders it. “I’ve never kent ye to be indecisive. Careful to choose, perhaps, but no’ unable to make up yer mind. And either ye love the outdoors or the acting ye do at the farm is award-worthy.”

Claire smiles, reaching out to rest her hand on his arm for a second. “I love it. All of it, everything that comes with you and Lallybroch.” Her life before him of simply waking up and going to work was status quo for so long that the moment James Fraser stepped into her life, it was as if an entire world had opened up to her. Family and togetherness, love and warmth. Every single bit of her happiness comes from that farm.

“Next question?”

Pulling a card, his face softens. “What’s the most beautiful drive ye’ve ever taken, Sassenach?” She smiles at him sweetly; it’s a quick glance that feels as though it lasts forever, a moment neither of them wants to forget, and so it seems to stretch on. In unison, they answer.

“This one.”

“‘Which American landmark would ye most like to see?’ The Grand Canyon I think, aye? We’ve both talked about that one,” Jamie answers first.

Humming her agreement, Claire adds on to the wishlist. “I want to see the older parts of the country. The original Colonies, where it’s all the most historic.”

“Perhaps in ten years or so, we could take a trip, visit museums and the like,” he offers.

In confusion, she balks. “A decade? Why are we waiting a decade to visit America?”

His shrug is easy as he draws another card. “Our first bairn would be school age, able to appreciate it more, aye?”

As Claire stops at an intersection, she takes the time to look at him, eyes moving over his face and expressing a dozen things she doesn’t say aloud. Instead, as she begins to drive again, she agrees with him. “According to your rigorous baby-making schedule? Yes, we’ll have a nice school-aged child and probably two others by then.”

Jamie’s laughing as he looks at the next card, then makes a noise in the back of his throat as he really reads what he’s pulled.

“What’s the hardest thing ye’ve ever done, Sassenach?”

The air in the car shifts as she thinks, straightening up in the seat. It’s with that question she realizes maybe he doesn’t know some things. The things she doesn’t talk about, the things she’s pushed to the furthest recesses of her mind in favor of not sinking into pieces of her past.

“I can draw another,” he offers after her silence stretches for a full minute.

Shaking her head, Claire wets her lips. “No, it’s fine. I don’t think I’ve ever thought about it, really. I mean, I haven’t thought about it—” She pauses again and looks at him from her peripheral vision before focusing on the road. “The first time I told someone their loved one didn’t make it. It was only my fifth surgery, a young man. He was twenty-three; he’d been biking with his friends and swerved to avoid a pothole, but his rear tire caught it.”

It really wasn’t her fault he died on the table. She knows that now; but then, younger and hearing the single monotone beep after her hands had been trying to save a life, it felt as though she’d killed him herself.

“He crashed into a metal fence, the kind with the sharp point at the tip? One went right through him, and I did the surgery. Everything went fine, I thought. I had no idea there was a nicked artery and he was bleeding elsewhere. When he died...telling his parents, his beautiful young wife…that was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

Jamie watches Claire as she speaks, watches her face, her hands on the steering wheel. He checks to see if she’s white-knuckling it at any point, and listens as she checks herself for wobbles in her voice. He knows her, knows her heart, and realizes that must have taken a toll. “But ye got through it?” he asks quietly, reaching over to rest his hand on her leg while she drives in a show of quiet support.

“It took a long time,” she admits, taking a deep breath and letting it out. “Those don’t get easier, ever, but the first one is always the most difficult. And the hardest part was convincing myself that it wasn’t my fault.” She’ll never forget any of the wails she’s heard, will never forget the people waiting at the hospital alone who had no one to comfort them but her.

Exhaling again, she drops her hand to squeeze his. “Your turn.”

Even when she replaces her hand on the steering wheel, Jamie keeps his own on her leg as he answers. “Watching my da slowly lose it after my mam died.” His eyes move to the window, unable to look at Claire as he speaks. “I’ll always think he died of a broken heart, dinna care how cliche it sounds.”

“I don’t think it sounds cliche. I think he lost the most important person in his life,” she soothes. Once she’s on a long stretch of straight road, her hand drops again to cover his.

“He truly didna want to go on wi’ out her. Her death, Willie’s, they broke him, and he was never going to be the same. When he died, it was almost a relief, Sassenach,” Jamie confesses quietly. “To ken he’d be wi’ her again, that he was no longer here in a state of perpetual grief. He tried to be brave. You would have liked him, I think. I ken for sure he would have loved ye, Claire.”

“I wish I could have met him. Your father sounds like he was a wonderful man, Jamie.” A wonderful man who raised an incredible son. Claire isn’t sure what she believes — if her parents and uncle will be waiting to greet her when she dies — but she does know one thing for sure. “If I ever lost you, I don’t know if I would be any different.”

His hand squeezes around hers before raising it to his lips in a soft kiss against her inner wrist. “I’ll try to never go where ye cannae come wi’ me, Sassenach.”

She doesn’t hesitate in her answer. “Then I promise the same.”

They can’t — not really — but the words are sweet, the sentiment real.

Time melts away and she loses track of how many questions they’ve answered before she warns him they’re ten minutes away from the castle.

“Last one then,” he concludes. “If ye could do something dangerous just once, with no risk, what would ye do?”

Claire has to think about it, then hedges her answer. “Where are we on the danger scale?”

“I would jump out of a plane. Or perhaps let NASA launch me into space.”

“You’re out of your fucking mind,” she retorts with a scoff. “You’re never jumping out of a plane or anything close to it. Especially not with your plan for ten children.”

Jamie snickers as he puts the cards away, spying a road sign to Slains Castle. “I do have a different answer if ye’re interested. No’ really dangerous physically, but it could be a financial disaster if it doesna go right.”

She knows this has to be about the farm, and she looks at him curiously after making the final turn of the trip. “What is it?”

He hesitates, and she’s pulling up to the dilapidated ruins before he answers. Once the car is in park, he turns to look at her fully. “I want to expand into America. Once we finish wi’ the distillery, I want to market to restaurateurs and chefs in the States.”

She can tell he’s nervous about broaching it; she knows it will take a lot of late nights and frequent travel on his part. She studies his face for a moment before unbuckling her seatbelt in order to reach over and cradle his face in her hands. It’s an awkward position thanks to the center console, but she’s determined to make it work.

“You should do it. Do it because you’re afraid. Do it because I’ll be here to help along the way.” She pauses to kiss him softly. “Do it because I know you won’t go through with anything you don’t believe in, Jamie.”

A swell of emotion makes his eyes narrow a bit, the underlying surprise turning into a small, pleased smile. “Ye dinna think it’s too risky?”

Claire kisses him again before she pulls back to turn off the car, opening the door as she answers. “It’s going to be the riskiest thing you’ll ever do with our money,” she corrects, but after walking around to the passenger side of the car and opening the door, she waits until he’s out to finish her thought. “I’m not going to say ‘no risk, no reward.’”

“Oh, thank Christ. It’s uninspired.” His hands come to rest on her hips as his eyes study her face intently. “You’re serious, though? About looking into expanding, what it would take?”

Looking around at the currently unoccupied grounds, she walks with him toward the unattractive, not at all well-kept castle—a rarity for historical buildings in Scotland, as far as she’s observed. “I’m serious, Jamie. You’d never be happy knowing you could be doing more. You should look into it, find out what Ian thinks, and see about getting in touch with your cousin Jared? It’s different than wine, but he might have some useful contacts in the liquor business.”

Jamie has to stop solely to reach for her, ignoring the scenery around them and focusing on this woman he’ll be calling his wife in six months. With his hands at her sides, his forehead presses to hers. “You have no idea how incredible ye are. Everything I’ve done and all that I want to do, I’m no’ ever worried it’s too much to put ye through.”

“Silly man,” she says with a soft smile, nuzzling the side of his nose with her own. “Nothing about you could ever be too much.” Kissing him with a quiet, content sigh against his lips, she reaches for his hand after stepping away. “Now. Explore a castle before sunset with me?”

Following her lead and seeing a grand total of three other tourists while exploring, he listens while she tells him everything she knows about the castle, including that it was once difficult to determine which areas had been outdoor spaces and which were actually interior rooms. It was a confusing space, and as they cross the property to look out at the cliffs, she stands close enough to Jamie that an arm winds around her without thinking much about it.

“Are ye pleased wi’ yer Samhein road trip, Sassenach? Is this terrifyin’ enough for ye?”

“It isn’t what I thought it would be after reading the book,” she notes idly. “I had no expectations, and the view is beautiful. The drive was worth it. This just feels...I don’t know. Cold.”

“Could be that it’s currently freezin’ out,” Jamie notes, getting an elbow to the side for his wit. “Could ye imagine livin’ in a castle? Having meals in great rooms, wandering the stone halls wi’ a torch.”

“Is that how you imagine us? Living in a castle with a staff to wait on us hand and foot?” They walk to the interior of the castle now, stopping in a room with a fireplace. “This could have been a bedroom, for all we know. Imagine a large bed with four posts. A crackling fireplace.”

She’s stepped away from him to look into various nooks and crannies, and it gives him the opportunity to wrap his arms around her from behind. “I’m certainly imagining a few specific things,” he murmurs, dropping a kiss to the side of her neck.

“Of course you are,” she says with a smile so large he can feel the way her body relaxes with it.

“I’m thinking of making love to ye on the floor wi’ a bear skin rug beneath us. A fire going in the hearth.”

Closing her eyes, she tries to picture it, the way the room would have looked and felt; dark, probably, with the hearth doubling as warmth and light. “Would you mind it much? Not having electricity or modern conveniences?”

“If you were wi’ me? Nah,” he murmurs as he turns her to face him, dropping a kiss to her lips. “Dinna think I would mind much at all, so long as we were together.”

Pressing closer to escape the chill, her arms wrap fully around him as he reciprocates and both of them sink into one another.

“Are you happy?” Claire suddenly inquires, whispering the question as they stand together in the ruins.

“I dinnae ken if how happy I am can be measured properly. I’m happy to be here wi’ ye right now. Happy to do all of this driving, happy to be marrying ye, Claire.” Moving his fingers under her chin, he tilts her head up in order to deepen their kiss.

She gives in easily, lips parting as his tongue does a very thorough exploration of her mouth. As he does, her hands wander, dragging to the button of his jeans. “We may not have the furs or the fire, but I could certainly see about making you a little happier,” she offers with a coy grin, then pauses. “Unless there are qualms.” Her raised eyebrows suggest she knows there will be exactly zero qualms.

“If I tell ye to stop, it’ll only be on account of unexpected company. But at some point, my brain willna work and ye’ll be on yer own.”

“Well,” she begins, unzipping his jeans and pushing them down as her hands cup equal handfuls of a heavenly sculpted backside. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take.” When she kisses him, she can feel his laugh. “What’s so funny?”

“You. How long have ye been thinkin’ about this?”

“Honestly?” she asks, backing him up a couple of feet until he can brace against what she hopes is a sturdy wall.

“Aye, of course.” His eyes follow her movements as she sinks to her knees in front of him, but she delays answering to softly kiss along the line of his pelvis. It’s enough to convince his cock as one hand reaches for her hair.

“On the cliffs.” She licks her palm, wraps her hand around him, and begins a slow stroke. “You were taking a picture of the view.”

“Really got ye goin’?”

Instead of saying anything in return, Claire presses her lips to the tip of him before using both mouth and hand to show him exactly how inspirational she found his body in profile. Dragging her tongue along the underside of his cock, she hums in response to his long, low groan as one hand holds onto his thigh.

“Christ, Sassenach, do that again,” Jamie requests, panting, eyes so dark they nearly look black as he watches her intently.

She does as he asks, letting her tongue travel the length of him, slower this time. The way he shudders makes her own arousal ache pleasantly, so she indulges in the action once more. After repeating the action a fourth time, her mouth moves away in order to kiss along his inner thighs softly, giving him a moment to catch his breath. Each shaky inhale is a point of pride, and when he least suspects, Claire’s mouth moves around him again, this time finding a rhythm and not moving away.

With one hand pressing flat against the wall behind him, the other tangles in her hair. He doesn’t move her, but rather uses her curls to anchor himself. He focuses on the feel of them, the way they stretch but spring back to life instantly. He thinks of anything to keep from coming too soon, though she certainly is hell-bent.

“I’m no’—” he curses in Gaelic, wondering if this is how she feels when he’s greedy for her. “Mas e do thoil e, Sassenach,” he pleads, and the hand against the old castle wall attempts to clutch the stone as his body begins to tense.

It’s impossible to resist when he says please, and so she moves intently, closing her eyes as she focuses not on what she’s doing necessarily, but on him. The way the pads of his fingers grip her shoulders instead of his nails (she offers no such courtesy), and the way he’s careful not to actually pull her hair. His breathing, where before he took controlled but shaky breaths, is now panting gasps, each sound beginning to hitch. When she knows he’s going to come, one hand drags its way up his inner thigh to feel the way his muscles tighten, and the loud groan of her name is enough that she can feel the vibration from his body to her palm.

He loses it completely after that, head dropping back as his vision darkens and he’s sure he’s left his body. When pleasure begins to ebb and his heart seems content not to pound out of his chest, Jamie still can’t open his eyes. Her hands are warm on his body, but eventually she tucks him back into his boxers and jeans before standing. It’s then that he finally looks at her, a lopsided and lazy grin greeting her.

“Are you happy, Sassenach?”

As his arms envelop her, Claire rests her head so that she can listen to the now-normal beat of his heart.

“Aye, Jamie,” she replies, kissing his chest tenderly before raising her head to look at him. “I am.”

#outlander #outlander fic #jamie x claire #jamie fraser #claire fraser #market price #my fic

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isitgintimeyet · 4 years

Text

Road To The Aisles

AO3

Thank you for reading. Hope you enjoy this chapter and...

Thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge @happytoobserve @wickedgoodbooks for their continuing support

This is nsfw below the cut

Chapter 13: A Covetous Situation

“As I must therefore conclude that you are not serious in your rejection of me, I shall chuse to attribute it to your wish of increasing my love by suspense, according to the usual practice of elegant females.”

Jane Austen - Pride & Prejudice

Jamie sat in the living room and waited expectantly.

Claire had returned home from work, her arms fully laden with an abundance of chiffon, lace, velvet and glitter in a wild assortment of colours. She had greeted him with a peck on the lips, swiftly pulling away as he moved closer to prolong it.

Having informed him that the bountiful selection of evening gowns was on loan from Geillis for the black tie fundraiser at Kelvingrove Art Gallery, she instructed him to sit down and get comfortable as she paraded the dresses for his opinions. Before he could reply, she emphasised that although his views were appreciated, the final choice of gown was entirely hers.

Surveying the assortment of dresses now spread over the bed like some sort of high-end jumble sale, Claire could see that there was one clear winner in her mind and a couple that she would never have the courage to wear in public. She wondered when Geillis had the opportunity to wear them, as she didn’t talk about attending many formal events.

Realisation dawned and Claire smiled to herself. With Geillis’ and Dougal’s propensity for role play and other ‘related activities’, she supposed that some of these ‘costumes’ may have been included in said activities. Fortunately, as Claire noticed the dry cleaning tags still on the dresses, Geillis’ passion for sexual role play was only matched by her obsession with cleanliness and hygiene.

And now Jamie was downstairs waiting for the fashion show. Claire picked up the first dress and slipped it off the hanger.

Claire stood in the doorway. The black velvet dress clung to her curves as she walked into the room, her stride restricted by the tightness of the fabric around her legs. Only the diamanté trim on the high collar relieved the severity of the dress.

“What do you think?” Claire asked.

“Weel, ‘tis very plain. It’s no’ bad, but… Christ, Sassenach...” Jamie exclaimed as Claire turned her back on him to reveal the dress was backless, from collar all the way to the cleft of her buttocks.

She wiggled her bottom as he carried on talking.

“I can see yer bum cheeks in that. And ye canna be wearing any knickers, can ye?”

Claire turned her head to look at Jamie, his eyes still firmly fixed on her arse.

“I must admit, my bum is a bit bigger that Geillis’s, so there may be a bit of… er… cheek cleavage, shall we say? And you’re right, I can’t wear knickers with it, or bra either.”

Jamie swallowed hard.

“Aye, yer arse looks mighty fine in that dress. But, I’m no’ sure…”

Claire laughed. “Don’t worry. I’m not planning on wearing this to the fundraiser. Just wanted to see your reaction. Wait there, there’s more.”

And with that she tottered out of the room.

Jamie obeyed her instructions to wait there. In fact, he didn't want to move anyway. Claire seemed intent on putting on a show for him, and who was he to deny her that?

A flurry of red chiffon floated into the living room. Jamie stared at the vision in front of him.

“Wow,” he finally uttered.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s… er…”

Claire gave a quick twirl.

“Christ, Sassenach, I can see half yer boob at the side, and the other half from the front. And jes’ those wee straps holding it up. If one of them should snap…”

“I’ve thought of that. I can carry some safety pins with me, in case,” she teased as she moved closer to him, bending over and placing her hands on his thighs.

The thin shoulder straps slipped down her arms as Jamie lightly stroked her breast. He reached into the bodice, easily pushing the flimsy fabric aside, exposing her breasts fully.

Claire closed her eyes as he cupped both breasts, rhythmically rubbing the nipples with his thumbs.

“‘It’s a fine dress,” he whispered. “But I dinna think…”

“Don’t worry, this isn’t the one. I have already chosen something more suitable. This was just for you.”

She pulled away, ignoring his moan of protest. Gathering up the voluminous fabric of the skirt, she climbed onto the sofa, straddling him.

“Didn’t bother putting any knickers on for this dress either,” she whispered in his ear.

His hands slid under the dress to firmly grab her arse, drawing her closer to him. His cock was hard, almost painful, trapped inside his jogging bottoms. He wanted this to last, but could already feel his climax begin to build.

Claire’s nipples stiffened as he drew first one, then the other into his mouth, his tongue circling each in turn before his teeth lightly nipped the hard peak as he transferred attention to the other. Her low moan drove straight to his cock.

“I canna wait.” His voice quivered with desire. “Are ye ready?”

One hand travelled from her backside, along her hip before dipping between her parted legs, into the moist heat of her very core.

“God, ye are… so wet… so ready fer me.”

Claire wound her arms around his neck, her fingers raking through his curls. “Yes… ready…”

She knelt up to allow Jamie to shimmy his jogging bottoms and underpants down his thighs. Released from its restrictions, his cock sprang free, to be enveloped by the warmth of Claire’s hand. Teasing, she rubbed the tip along her moistness, shivering as it circled around her sensitive nub.

“I need tae be inside ye.” Jamie could wait no longer as Claire positioned herself and drove down against his cock before raising her hips and grinding down again and again, the motion drawing Jamie closer and closer to his release. His hand slipped under her dress once more, his fingers touching their joined flesh and stroking in time with each thrust, every movement building to their shattering climax.

They remained still joined as, panting, they came back to reality.

“Amazing…” Claire breathed.

“Thank ye, Sassenach.” Jamie chuckled. “Ye werena sae bad yerself.”

**************

Claire watched as Jamie sauntered across the room towards her, snagging a couple of glasses of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter. ‘Sauntering’ was a good description, Claire thought to herself, a certain careless elegance in his walk with long lean strides, unaware (apparently) of the admiring glances being cast in his direction.

Well, not totally unaware, as he smiled at her and lifted the champagne glasses to show her his acquisitions. This was the first time she had seen him in his dinner suit and, much as she found his kilt a total turn on, this outfit was proving to be a bit of welcome variety.

To Jamie, Claire stood out like a candle amid a sea of monochrome. The copper-toned dress that she had chosen fitted like a glove. Grecian, Claire had informed him. He didn’t know about that, he just knew that the colours accentuated her hair’s natural highlights, the off-the-shoulder draping displayed her creamy white skin, and the tight bodice held her breasts securely… with just enough cleavage to torment him. He had never seen her in such a formal gown before, and wouldn’t again until... he inhaled sharply at the thought. Until the day she would wear her wedding dress.

“Thank God,” she greeted him, accepting one of the champagne glasses. “I’m parched. Have you spotted Ian and Jenny yet?”

“Nah, Sorry, I was jes’ chatting tae the features editor of Whisky Magazine. He’s at our table fer dinner. I’m hoping they’ll do a feature on the Japanese launch.”

“So, you’re not here to support the hospice then, it’s a business opportunity,” Claire teased.

“Can I no’ do both, Sassenach? Ah, look, see Jenny’s over there, heading tae our table. Shall we?”

She took his arm as they made their way through the maze of white tablecloths and black crepe chair bows to their table.

Jenny and Ian were already seated, along with four guests Claire didn’t recognise. Jamie took his seat with Jenny on his left and Claire on his right. An unfamiliar face was next to Claire. Jamie leant across the table and spoke to the stranger.

“Claire, this is Tom Christie. Tom, this is ma fiancée, Claire Beauchamp.”

Claire smiled politely at the older man. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Allow me to introduce you to my colleagues… Morag, Giles and Mary.” Tom gestured to the remaining occupants of the table.

With the introductions over, the table settled down to the first course of Cullen Skink. The conversation to and fro across the table was polite, entertaining, superficial.

As the waiters collected the empty soup bowls, Tom spoke directly to Jamie. “I believe ye’ve offered up an auction prize… five bottles of yer thirty-year-old Broch Tuarach special reserve. Verra generous of ye. And how much would that cost?”

“It retails fer three hundred pounds a bottle.”

“Aye.” Jenny joined the conversation. “And if the bid is over a thousand pounds, the winner gets a tour and whisky tasting at the distillery, too.”

“What say ye, Miss Beauchamp, should I bid on this lot? Would ye be ma tour guide?” Tom turned to Claire. “Mebbe we should run a feature on the distillery in the magazine.”

“We’d be more than happy to arrange a visit fer ye and yer colleagues at the magazine.” Jenny offered. “And a whisky tasting too. Any time.”

Tom nodded briefly in acknowledgement of Jenny’s suggestion.

As the main course of Scottish reared beef was served, the conversation became sparse, everyone savouring the succulent meat and the smooth red wine accompanying it.

Claire drained her wine. Jamie reached for the bottle but Tom beat him to it and replenished her glass before setting the bottle back on the table with a sly grin. Jenny gave a theatrical cough and held her empty glass aloft. Tom turned his attention back to Claire.

“I trust ye enjoy a dram or two of Broch Tuarach then, Claire? One of the perks of joining the family, eh?”

“Yes, I do like a good whisky,” Claire responded and took a large sip of wine. “And Broch Tuarach is certainly special. Has Jamie or Jenny told you about the launch in Japan? That’s really big news for the distillery.”

Tom moved closer to Claire, his voice now a conspiratorial whisper in her ear.

“I must say, yer eyes are amazing. Jamie is a lucky man.”

On Claire’s left she could hear the scrape of Jamie’s chair as he inched closer to her. His arm moved across to rest along the back of her chair.

“Sae, Tom,” Claire recognised the fake bonhomie in Jamie’s voice. “Who do ye favour fer the World Whisky Awards, then?”

“Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me for a moment.” Claire stood and looked around for a bathroom sign.

“Aye, that’s a good idea. I’ll join ye.” Jenny followed Claire.

“True tae form. They canna go tae the bathroom on their own,” Ian joked.

*********

Claire shifted uncomfortably in her seat. The large dinner was proving to be a mistake, as the bones in her bodice were digging into her skin and Tom was demonstrating a bit too much interest in her cleavage. She felt obliged to be pleasant and polite to him, hopeful of a Broch Tuarach feature in his magazine. Only one thing to do… she took another sip from her brandy, rested her free hand lightly on Jamie’s thigh and tried to ignore the now slightly inebriated and sweaty middle aged man next to her and focus on the auction up on the stage.

The bids for the whisky climbed higher and higher, quickly reaching four figures before finally settling at two and a half thousand pounds.

“It’d be cheaper for them to buy it off the shelf,” Jenny commented. “But I ken it’s all fer the hospice and they get a whisky tasting… and mebbe we could put them up fer the night too, dinner and breakfast?”

Jamie and Ian readily agreed as the three of them were ushered towards the photographer, ready for the obligatory snap with the lucky bidder.

“Dinner and breakfast, eh?” Tom spoke slowly, carefully trying not to slur his words. “Mebbe I should have bid tae see yer fine eyes over the dinner table… and the breakfast table… and in between…”

His gaze was clearly focused several inches below her eyes.

“If you’ll excuse me, I think Jenny wants me.” Claire walked over to join the others.

With the auction all concluded, the lights dimmed and the disco began. Ian and Jamie were engrossed in an important conversation about rugby as Claire and Jenny headed to the dance floor where they stayed, with only the occasional break for refreshments as the DJ ran through the standard reception repertoire.

Claire loved dancing, it felt exhilarating as the heavy bass beat ran through her body. Any discomfort from her dress was rapidly forgotten. And Jenny was always a willing partner. With two children under five, she was keen for any chance to enjoy grown-up time.

Claire was aware of Jamie, sitting at the table, now with his jacket off, watching her. He didn’t really enjoy dancing but was happy enough to let her go wild to her heart’s content on the dance floor. She was also aware of Tom watching her intently, but tried to ignore him and focus on the music.

Gradually, Claire’s hair, which had been tamed and coiffed for this event, began to break free of its restraints and as she danced, the curls floated around her face and shoulders. Laughing, she pushed them out of her eyes. Jamie loved this wild abundance of curls. He longed to gather them up in his hands and then let them cascade down her neck and back. And, he admitted to himself, he wanted to show Tom that Claire belonged to him. He wasn’t particularly proud of this feeling so he remained seated and tried to ignore it.

Tom, however, had no desire to remain seated and began to boogie his way to the dance floor, joining Claire and Jenny. It was obvious where his intentions lay as he gyrated around Claire, turning his back to Jenny. Claire kept on moving away, getting closer to Jenny.

Jamie watched, growing angrier by the minute. Unable to stand this display, he walked up behind Claire and put his arms around her waist. She turned slightly to smile at him.

He whispered in her ear. “Are ye ready tae go now?”

Claire pouted. “I can’t remember when I last had a boogie. Do we have to go now?”

“Ten minutes?”

“Ok, ten minutes.”

With a kiss on her neck, Jamie strode back to his seat while Claire turned to Jenny and carried on dancing.

#outlander fan fic #outlander fanfiction #Road to the Aisles #modern au #outlander fan fiction #Jamie Fraser #Claire Beauchamp #Chapter 13

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writingsofmyimagination · 5 years

Text

Conjecture |9|

Idol Reader Au, Enemies to Lovers AU

Summary: Your management refused to renew your contract unless you collaborated, so you ending up working with Min Yoongi. A guy you’d disliked from before both of your debuts. There is more to their past than meets the eye.

Links to all other parts in my masterlist :)

Words:3941

Warnings: SMUT!! (BDSM themes, restraints, toys, oral m recieving, masturbation, Sub Yoongi with a tiny bit of Dom), Swearing.

It’s finally here guys! God it’s been too long since i worked on this! Love this chapter because of that!

if you want to be tagged let me know :)

Reblog, Like, Comment pwwwweeasse :)

//Yoongi obeyed and dressed albeit heavy with amusement. The way panic grew across your face tickled him and forged a drowsy grin on his face. He drew back the long black curtains and introduced the bright beams of the sun slowly ascending the skyline. As much your mum could be terrifyingly blunt Yoongi had always had a good relationship with her, quite often he’d find himself at one of your shows and end up chatting to your biggest fan and the one who brought you into this life. He slowed his pace nearing the junction to the living room and heard your mum giving you relationship advice before stepping into the situation.//

“Y/N!” Yoongi exclaimed when you’d grabbed his hand and pulled him into a harsh kiss as the elevator doors closed. His cheeks flushed rose when you let yourself pull away, your smirk thoroughly enjoying his embarrassment and awkwardness.

The meeting lasted a few hours and as soon the topic changed from the MAMAs to your relationship your mood soured incredibly quickly; the list of restrictions on your new relationship grew and grew like unwanted thistles over a perfect lawn. You knew this was going to be the case especially seeing as the situation concerned a member of BTS but it still grated you the wrong way. You couldn’t even hold hands in public! The air was thick with unease. You’d also been told to do a joint V-Live later on and announce the MAMA performance; an official statement regarding dating status was going to be released tomorrow morning.

Yoongi being Yoongi wasn’t sure how to deal with you in this agitated state, the only comfort he could offer was squeezing your hand with gentle pressure when you were finally alone in the elevator. The action so small actually bloomed into a lot of comfort.

“I’ll go get Charlie from Kook and make a phone call and I’ll be back okay baby” The way he looked at you, calling you baby with those contemplative gooey eyes somewhat soothed a little more of the turmoil in your mind.

“Sure, don’t be too long” offering a weak smile.

You gave the receptionist a smile which prompted they keys at her computer to stop emitting the tapping sound and make her way over to you, the unsure smile and never focusing eyes were the unmistakable signs of a fan approaching a celebrity

“Excuse me Miss YL/N” The politeness of when we first entered the building remained unaltered.

You replied with a soft smile beckoning her to continue, she towered above you as you were sat; she realised this and knelt down to your height after bowing.

“I just want to say that I’m a huge fan and so is my daughter we saw you in Seoul at your tour kick off, it was incredible”

You beamed at her with wide appreciative eyes.

“Thank you so much, glad you enjoyed it, how old is your daughter? You replied

“18”

“Exam week for her right?”

“Yeah it’s been a tense week for sure”

“What’s her name?” you asked

“Annabelle?” her tone was now quizzical.

“Would you mind if I recorded a video on your phone for her?” She swallowed hard as if her throat had just played victim to drought

“Oh my god, that would be amazing” her words stumbled out as did her hands giving you her phone.

You recorded a message of good luck and encouragement and promised that next time you toured she could have VIP passes to one of your shows for all her hard work. You took the receptionists details and sent them straight to your manager. Her face morphed from ecstatic to petrified when a door to the left of her desk opened.

She’s obviously not supposed to be fazed by the guests here

Thankfully it was only Yoongi accompanied by Charlie who was walking patiently by his side

“I didn’t know you was a y/n fan” Her only response was a guilty smile and returned to her desk.

Yoongi really needed to stop wearing skinny jeans with rips in, the just looked too good on him; not to mention how his oversized black t-shirt sat on him in such a way it emphasised how small he actually was. His skin always glowed even bare faced and tired; you were both jealous and in awe of this.

“Earth to Y/N, you don’t need to daydream about me ya know” he teased placing the lead in my hand. “I’m yours now remember”

You’d been busted

“That maybe but sometimes one imagines things not entirely appropriate” you shot back. His eyes grew wide as did his smirk.

“You going to let me in on the daydream then? Need to live up to my expectations now don’t I”

“Nope”

He visibly huffed before carrying on walking you both out of the building

“Fine, come on I want to show you something”

We arrived down a quiet street occupied by what looked like old factory buildings. Half of the street was shrouded in un-moving shadows, it blanketed the few of the cars left on the street. Yoongi pulled up and bursting with chivalry came and opened the door for you; as much as it felt odd you accepted his hand and stepped out the car. He pressed the buzzer at a Tuscan red bricked building, the door was a large factory one. All the while your head was turning and searching for anything that indicated where the hell you were and for any potentially impending paparazzi

“It’s me” He confirmed to the crispy, crackling voice of the intercom, a click reached your ears and Yoongi hauled the door open.

You certainly was not expecting to be welcomed into a large white room, the white walls were beaming; the tint of fresh paint aroma was hanging weak in the air. The only thing gracing the walls were a variety of shapes and sizes of photographs to be illuminated by the lamps that sat off above them. More central in the room were benches and small podium like stands with animals’ models shown proudly off them.

Before you could ask what you were doing here, Yoongi replied to the vacant look on your face.

“My friends opening an exhibition next week, I remember how much you like photography so here we are.

You were approached by a young faced man, bright face tarred with the lines of stress. He was dressed in navy trousers and a loose shirt.

“Oh I’m actually so glad you’re here” he rushed “Could you please hold the fort here for like 30 mins, the security people are running late but I’ve got to go and meet with the caterers” his face was flushed a red pink, poor thing.

“Uh Sure, yeah of course” Yoongi stuttered back.

“Also absolute pleasure to finally meet you Y/N, please enjoy” He offered you a bow down to his waist and placed a light respectful kiss on the back of your hand before zooming off.

“Nice to meet you too” your voice chasing after him.

“So I guess it’s just us then” your words slowed as they escaped you.

“Looks like”

You took his hand and moulded it to yours

“Guess we can look around the gallery like this then” you quipped bright as a button with the opportunity.

“Can also do this” he added yanking you to a kiss which then moulded you against his body, before you’d allow yourself to set you pulled yourself apart and focused your attention to the beautiful photographs at your personal viewing.

You’d spent about thirty grand in your mind already window shopping, it would be reality as soon as you worked out where on earth you’d hang them. One of them already would look perfect in your studio.

“He’s really talented”

“Yeah, even at college he was annoyingly talented, he beat me at every class” ….

“Well I’d say your both winning at life, just different departments. Reckon he has more in the back?”

“Probably yeah” he followed your lead, not that he had a choice, he was too content secured in your grip. The main back room was cluttered with debris of packaging and boxes, the only thing that was clear was a low sofa and a small table and chairs; the table was only lightly littered with food packets and wrappers. Along the far wall was a rack holding a stack of large prints all protected with a protective film for transporting.

You wandered off, releasing his grip and aimed straight for the rest of the prints. There was an expulsion of air from the leather sofa as Yoongi relaxed his weight to it; allowing you to browse excitedly with a content smirk resting on his face. You managed to catch the end of the sparkle of amusement trying to flicker away as you turned.

“What?”

“Nothing you’re just so adorable when you’re in your element”

“Call me adorable once more and BTS will need a new rapper” you warned.

“Ado……ra” he began, your eyes glistened with ‘you dare’; your uncontained smile only provoked him

“Ble” he finished looking smug.

“Is this adorable?” you breathed, teeth nipping at his neck, hand feathered at the back of his neck gripping at his hair. Your palm applying pressure through his trousers just underneath the apex of your thighs

“You know damn well it isn’t” he managed trying to keep all breathy moans from escaping to coax you more.

“You’ve gotta stop” he pleaded.

“Why?” lips enveloping his, delaying the response you knew was coming.

“You are going to get us into sooo much trouble and we really can’t have a scandal someone could be back any minute” his grip loosened at the outside of your thighs, further informing you of his sincerity.

“You mean you can’t! My reputation is quirky and beautifully tarnished at best. Yours is the squeaky clean one” You pouted, slumping back onto your legs shifting your weight to his legs.

“Put that bottom lip away before I call it adorable” you chuckled at his statement slapping his chest in amused disapproval.

The knock of the door almost jolted you on your ass as it made you jump and had you scrambling off Yoongi to an innocent position. A calm smile camouflaging the rapid panicking of your heart. After checking the window and confirming the work men you opened the door to an immediately flustered couple of guys. They definitely weren’t expecting two idols to greet them.

“Umm…I’m looking for..Mr” he stuttered. One pair of eyes was noticeably on you a hell of a lot more than Yoongi.

“He’ll be back any minute” Yoongi piped up, slightly stepping in front of you and pulling the door open from you. The protective gesture didn’t go unnoticed.

Hurried footsteps bombarded from behind to a flushed looking …

“I’m here, thank you” You and Yoongi wordlessly thanked him as the security guys were already going over plans like they couldn’t wait five god damn minutes.

The pair of you worked on some of the arrangement on the song until you both sub-misssed into your room at Yoongis and curled up together in comfy spoon and napped. The weight of your arms draped at his hips, your face nestled into the back of his neck was the perfect catalyst for sleep.

Everything was set for the V-Lives, you’d both wanted to air it from your own accounts so you’d managed to push two screens together in his studio and placed two cameras where each of the screens met so you’d be looking in the same direction.

The genius compromise came from you. Obviously.

“Ready?” he asked swivelling in his chair to your direction behind him faffing with your hair and fine tuning your makeup in a small mirror by the door.

“You’re shitting it aren’t you?” pushing himself up and out of his chair and wrapped himself around you from behind, head resting on your shoulder looking all bright and doey eyed at your reflection.

“Just nervous about the reactions we’ll get tomorrow more than anything” You confessed.

“It will be fine, we know they’ll be both good and bad, people will get over it. Anyway just see it as we’ll be the K-Pop power couple everyone will want to talk about”

You chuckled under your breath “Power couple? We’re not Jay Z and Beyonce” you quipped.

Both of you had thousands of viewers in minutes, watching the comments explode with excitement asking what’s going on had you wearing an amused smile leaning forward hand supporting your chin as your eyes scanned the influx of fans. Some of which were already saying you’d look like such a good couple.

After you’d made the performance announcement the V-live quickly deteriorated into a snowstorm of questions, you both did your best to control the blizzard without revealing any secret snowflakes.

“A lot of Army are asking what your favourite BTS song is” Yoongi directed at you with beautiful curious eyes.

“I think whatever it is you should totally sing some” he added knowing full well the power of army would make the peer pressure unbeatable. Even your fans comments turned on you and wanted to hear you sing.

“Seriously?” you asked bemused.

“Yep! Look literally everyone wants it and you can’t tell me as an artist you’ve not sung or prepared a version of it” he rolled his chair back and dragged out the mic stand and placed it defiantly in the room.

“I’ll play the piano for it” he encouraged. Your face felt the rush of blood tainting your cheeks.

“Erm, it’s so hard to pick just one, I guess either Tomorrow or House of Cards, you choose from them” you demanded, from the fans or Yoongi would do.

“We’ll do House of Cards, I think your vocals will be perfectly beautiful for that” Normally a compliment would be accompanied by a sugar coated gaze In your direction, not on live though, he turned without a moment’s hesitation and set up his keyboard. Fingers caressing the keys with such gentle precision as he warmed them up. The grey hoody slumped on his frame, his expressions hindered shielded underneath his black baseball cap.

“Hope you guys enjoy this” you stood tight, microphone facing side on to the camera allowing you to observe Yoongi from behind. The song had always sounded such a sexy ballad but under the keys of gentle fingers the piano made the song feel so sad, you inhaled as you nodded to Yoongi who played you into the song.

After a few bars the surroundings dissolved into the safe haven of your own room as if you were casually singing around the house. You’d even recorded a cover of this song. Just before the last note as Yoongi finished playing his smile and shimmering eyes reached you and shoved you straight back into shyness, you laughed through the flushness once again and gave a timid bow and scurried back your chair and shrouded yourself with your hood and scanned the screens for the comments. Yoongi just chuckled and joined you back at the computer.

“That was alright” he said as non chalantly as he could through his grin which he was attempting to squash.

You flung your wrist out and flicked it across the top of him arm with wide eyes and mouth.

“Ow” he exaggerated. His pout only encouraged you to do it again.

“They keep saying we’d be an awesome couple” his hands pointing at the pair of computers. You’d both agreed to not mention any comments hinting at anything like that. Without skipping a beat, as if you’re brain hadn’t just completely panicked.

“Can you imagine?” you managed through a giggle

“Ultimate power couple” you added reflecting on Yoongi’s comment earlier. The comments were flooding in on both feeds, flashing too quick to read but you got the gist of agreement and compliments.

You ended the session after minutes of sending your love and appreciation to fans and getting caught up in another few questions. It’s worse than leaving a house party and having to say your goodbyes to everyone on the way out.

“Thought we were avoiding any couple comments?” you glared at him returning the mic stand to its home behind the electronic keyboard.

“There were just too many to ignore” he defended tugging at your belt loop leaving you falling into his chest as he lent against the desk

“Don’t creep, we said not too! And you made me sing!” your fist curled into weak fist and rested at his chest, his hands rested at your lower back but they quickly started falling out of place and slid to cup your ass.

The sheets were ruffled into a hot mess, his fists were bound behind his back, beautifully decorated with black silk. His whines and pants were muffled by the mattress. The muscles at his shoulder blades were deliciously twitiching as he writhed under any contact you gave him. A pillow was under his hips raising his behind which was now a precious pink taking the shape of your hand. The quiet hum of the prostate massager just only audible over Yoongi’s tired moans, the hair around his neckline was damp and refused to move when he moved.

“Had enough?” the ache between your own legs becoming unbearable, you could feel the extent of your arousal as you moved. Tugging at his hair yanking his head up from the mattress.

“Yes, god please!” satisfied with the level of desperation saturating his voice you clicked and powered down the massager stealing a relieved groan into the mattress. The soft silk tie found a new lace on the floor freeing Yoongi’s arms as the fell to his sides

“Roll over” you ordered, leaving him no time to catch his breath.

“You look so sexy all fucked out” you breathed, fingers ghosting a teasing pattern down his thighs as your body soon followed your tongue gliding in so slow whirls around his throbbing cock. You allowed the hand that had ruffled into the top of your hair to stay, the tighter the ministrations of his grip only motivating you further.

“If you don’t want me to cum you gotta…” His hips bucked slightly even under the weight of one of your arms, his grunt catching is his throat. Your eyes shot upwards beneath the smirk growing at your lips swallowing him down. Your eyes were met with a regretful satisfied glance.

“What did I say would happen if you came before I said you could?” before relishing in a cup of water at the bedside.

“That I couldn’t make you cum and you’ll do it” the pangs of disappointment oozed into his voice, the confliction of what he knew was going to happen frustrated him yet sent a new wave of tingles rushing southward

This was fast becoming your favourite punishment for Yoongi for two reasons

1. His pride and selfishness made it torture for him if he wasn’t the one causing you to writhe in pleasure

2. To him it was the sexiest thing to watch and he’d end up frustrated and turned on again.

“You got it, you’ll have to listen to me moaning and touching myself when it could have been you if you did as you were told”

His body heavy with defeat against the bed as his eyes hollowed with dread and anticipation as they followed your every move as you shuffled up and laid down next to him, lightly pushing him on his side, he took your hint and rolled on his side facing away from you.

“You only deserve to hear me baby” you tease littering his shoulder blades with heavy kisses.

“You’re such a tease” he breathed.

“Mmhmm” you murmured already tracing your fingers through yourself. Fuck you were so wet honing in on your clit as you put yourself on your side and got as close to him as you could. He was going to feel every ministration of your hand as your hand brushed against his skin and your hips pushing forward slowly driving him up the wall of tease you loved to make him climb. He was going to hear all the explicit sweet nothings of you whimpering how much you much you wanted it to be his cock feeling your walls instead. How you wanted his fingers massaging your clit.

“Christ” he mumbled, barely audible through his face diving into the pillow as you cried out his name as you came over your own fingers. Your body jerking and your legs muscles tensing riding out your high.

“I’m going to take a cold shower before you make me do something you’ll only punish me for” he announced with a sense of exhausted cheekiness, chucking himself away from you leaving you with the devilish smirk. He didn’t complain about his punishment, at all. Opting to just try and cool down, you waited a few minutes before shuffling your way through the damp covers and followed him to the bathroom.

His main bathroom was exquisite, failing to find a different word worthy of the bathroom. Even the shower was majestic. The cubicle itself was large and oblong, at one end was a sauna like wooded slated bench just out of reach of the water; that was unless you turned a separate shower head on above the bench. The main waterfall shower head was centre of one of the longer walls surrounded by grey marble tiling only covered partially by the gold coloured shelving with copious bottles of skin, hair and body washes.

All that luxury was nothing compared to a bare Yoongi with his back to you dousing himself in water, the particles coating his skin. His behind still bearing your marks was sculpted by years of dancing; whether he like to dance or not you were certainly grateful.

“You can turn the cold off” your hands soaking up the contact from his sides, the freezing splashes rebounding off you, goose bumping your skin instantly. His hair flat against his forehead water using the strands as a runway before it landed on his chest and trailing down even further to his half erect member. This was soon remedied to full as your hands teased him

“Please don’t tease me anymore” he voice desperate and energy drained passing through a pleasing sweet smile.

“I’m done” he conceded, your skin left his as you feigned shock.

“Well I came here because I was going to let you sort that out” head dropping in the direction of his groin. “Any way you wanted seeing as you accepted your punishment with such grace but if you’re done then…” you turned in a deliberate slow movement to leave.

“Well that changes my status of done” his hand slid to secure yours, the pair of you had mirrored smug grins.

“I thought it might!” you detached yourself from him again and took a few cautious steps over to the sauna style seating at one end of the shower.

“So how do you want me” you toyed teasingly bending over hands resting on the bench giving him an eyeful he enjoyed. After a light chuckle diffused into a hungry glare he answered

“Right there” he affirmed through a groan as he pressed into you from behind, hands trailing up your back finding their grip at the back of your neck and hair.

“And I want you crying my name out” he added with a hard thrust knocking your forward through your own pleasurable whine.

“You better make me then”

#bts #btssmutclub #sub-bts-network #kwritersworldnet #btsguild #mygsnet #networkbangtan #kpopwonderlandtag #bangtanarmynet #yoongi x reader #min yoongi smut #min yoongi fanfic #BTS suga

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devildomwriter · 4 months

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So THATS what it looks like from the back. After all these years

#obey me art reference #obey me solomon #omswd Solomon #obey me chat gallery

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lattetimes · 6 years

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Callout Post: Commandomal/Creepypastajack

hi everyone, sorry that this post i’m making is not fun but this is incredibly serious. a kind person approached me with some information about a user on Deviantart, and this needs to be shared. i’ve been trying to wrap my head around all of this for the past days and i honestly can’t for the life of me.

the person who gave me this information will be left anonymous (since the user is scared of being harassed for showing me this), so i will be sharing this on their behalf. i am copy & pasting the information they sent to me, and will keep the warnings for the links provided in case any of the content may trigger someone. links are bolded, and another post will not have the link (to keep the user who sent me all this anonymous), but there will be a transcript of the chats for everyone if you can’t read the screenshots.

please, be careful around this person.

the person in this callout is a 22-year old. she is NOT a minor (and there is proof in the 3rd link- screenshot below saying she goes to college).

Her disgusting little series: https://creepypastajack.deviantart.com/gallery/?catpath=%2F&edit=0&q=Stainglass (I urge you to read carefully: this is not satire)

Her pettiness after a 16 year old girl she gaslighted (She’s 22) stopped taking crap from her: https://comments.deviantart.com/4/28631558/4454834204

(And just in case you need proof she’s over 20: https://creepypastajack.deviantart.com/art/El-Cadejo-On-Strike-635280479 (it’s in the comments)

Her sympathizing with the Joker (a known abuser) and blaming Harley Quinn: https://creepypastajack.deviantart.com/gallery/?catpath=%2F&edit=0&q=Joker

Her stalker-ish obsession with that one guy from Eddsworld that hasn’t worked on the comic for 9-ish years: https://creepypastajack.deviantart.com/gallery/?catpath=%2F&edit=0&q=Tord

Her bringing religion into a F###ING R.P. EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.:

https://tdweallstarscamp.deviantart.com/art/Holy-Blackmail-666637195 (check comments)

https://total-drama-reboot.deviantart.com/art/Hell-Break-685927537

The journal entries of her throwing a tantrum and quitting the R.P:

https://creepypastajack.deviantart.com/journal/I-Can-t-Do-This-Anymore-687498888 (check the comments here, too)

https://creepypastajack.deviantart.com/journal/Why-I-Called-Everyone-Out-By-Name-687635692

https://creepypastajack.deviantart.com/journal/Don-t-Feel-Like-Myself-691654970

(This one is just her being ridiculous: https://creepypastajack.deviantart.com/journal/Devil-Won-This-Round-706091885)

(Found some Pseudo-incest-y R.P comments in some of these art submissions: https://creepypastajack.deviantart.com/gallery/?catpath=%2F&edit=0&q=Loki)

(All of the gallery examples have fetishing examples, but here’s a more recent R.P: https://comments.deviantart.com/1/733320123/4560036205)

(Also, all of her non-white characters (so, like, 4?) are stereotypes)

(I am so sorry you have to see this. If you want, you can post it. I’m still afraid she’ll send her hounds after me. I had to deal with a lot of her bullshit last year.)

attached are more screenshots, with the person giving me the link being left anonymous in order for them to avoid dealing with any sort of backlash.

anonymous: I'm sorry if it sounded negative. But it's been a decade. Most likely, He's moved on from Eddsworld, I mean, he is almost 30.

creepypastajack: This isn’t about Eddsworld, this is about getting Tord to return to doing his artwork again because those were his dreams before the bullies ruined everything for him

anonymous: Yeah, but look at the facts. It was 10 years ago. If anything, he's moved on. Heck, he could be making art again under a different name.

creepypastajack: If a bully causes you to give up on your dreams, that wound doesn’t just heal easily under a different name. Tord had full intentions of having his own series after he left Eddsworld but the bullies just wouldn’t quit and caused him to delete his Youtube as well. I’m just trying to encourage him to come back so all of his supporters can help heal the wounds not just because The Lord is leading me to but because I also care about his wellbeing. Have some compassion, why don’t you? He is a real person, not just some cartoon character that left early in the show.

anonymous: Actually, it does. People do it all the time. You never know. Plus, Ridgewell literally had to tell people to stop bothering him. Larsson's not upset, he's annoyed because both the haters and fans won't leave him alone.

creepypastajack: Well, if by any means you find an account somewhere with art that resembles Tord’s, let me know. Niether Tom, Edd, Matt or even Tord himself said that the fans who loved him had anything to do with this, they just said that Tord was being harassed without giving much detail. Thanks to The Lord, I was able to find proof that Tord was cyber bullied into leaving, photographic evidence as well as evidence that Tord leaving because of us was a lie fabricated by the same bullies to make him seem shallow. They are of the enemy and they sought to kill, steal and destroy. They wanted to destroy Tord’s reputation as well as his dreams. He is upset, I know he is because The Lord told me and I’m going to obey him and do everything I can to help him. Now it’s your turn for persecution...Why are you trying to push the Tord left because of the fans lie when photographic evidence of the bullying has been presented and just what are doing to help anyone on planet Earth? Why persecute the person who is trying to do something to help someone who was hurt? Are you in on it? Are you one of the bullies? Because after the way you acted on Total Drama Reboot, I wouldn’t be surprised if you had a hand in what happened to Tord...

anonymous: You know art styles can change, right? It literally came out of Ridgewell's mouth that it was all of the fans who were bothering Larsson. I didn't even know what eddsworld was until you started making art? I just looked into it. And those comments are not even cyberbullying, that's a bunch of stupid trolls that can't tell the difference between the character and the real thing. ...What did I do to you? I'm honestly confused.

creepypastajack: He said people and I quote “people” were harassing him, he never once said the fans were harassing him. Trolls are cybeybullies! If you are saying something rude to someone then you are indeed cyber bullying, especially if you’re saying something about someone behind their backs but of course you would be on their side, you came to T-Mack’s defense too after what she said about me. I’m not even surprised by you at this point...Whether they could tell the difference between real or fiction does not excuse their actions...They still hurt Tord’s feelings and they still made him give up on everything. You know exactly what you did to me, as I previously stated. You sided with a person who said terrible things about me where they thought I wouldn’t be able to see it and you kept attacking my characters when both me and my characters were in the right. I told you I forgave you for that and you completely ignored me then when you finally do say something to me, you’re actively trying to tear down something that I’m trying to do for good but this isn’t about me, you or even T-Mack this is about Tord and God’s will. Now, you can redeem yourself, change your ways, join the group and help us either support Tord or find more information about the bullying or you can just keep being the way you are while I continue to help out.

anonymous: I... I was just asking a question...I thought we were just having fun in TDR! It was like, the first time I've ever done something with people on the Internet! And that's what everyone was doing! Pixanne, Candy, Manda, T-Mack and DLZ accepted me with open arms, and I wanted to be your friend, too...

And then everything just went so crazy! Why did you turn Bunny into that?! You could've tried to talk it out with T-Mack (He wanted to talk it out), but all you did was start to bully everyone! And it was only the second episode! What did T-Mack say that made you flip the script and start drama?! Please, I just want to know!

creepypastajack: The fact that you think I’m the bully really shows how you think. I cannot associate with someone I can’t trust and T-Mack has proven to me that I can’t trust her. The first person who ever cyber bullied me started to get on Pixane for being friends with me and when T-Mack asked why I was a problem the person said my art was offensive then T-Mack agreed that I was problematic then when a few, more bullies started to complain about Thorn because their precious, snowflake brains can’t handle gospel, T-Mack agreed with them all and even linked them to some of my art and journal entries so they could harass me even more and you know what the worst part is? You, Candy and Pixane were all supposed to be my friends and you all sided with that two-faced fraud! Did any of your characters even think to ask Bunny what was wrong? Nope! She got the same cold, cruel treatment as me. Well, now both Vivian and Bunny are dead because of all of you so I hope you’re satisfied. You may have made me give up on T.D.R. momentarily but I will not let you keep Tord in this dark corner he’s currently trapped in. Once again, this isn’t about what happened in T.D.R. Tord getting his art back is more important to me than any of this petty drama.

anonymous: Ok. First off, T-Mack is a guy. Second, Pixane tried to talk to you, but you never explained what had happened to her. Third, I ASKED what was wrong through Waylon, and got ignored. I thought this was just a drama-filled R.P, but I'm a worrywart, so I asked just I case. You brought Bunny and Vivian's demise in order to get back at Candy. Don't blame other people for that. I...I'm just gonna go. Ok? No bad blood anymore. Please.

creepypastajack: I did explain to her and Candy both but they still sided with T-Mack over me. I wouldn’t have had to do that had she not done what she did. Fine, just no more tearing down anti-bullying groups at least, okay? I just wish you would apologize for what happened...

anonymous: was just asking a question... I'm a curious person. Goodbye.

creepypastajack: It sounded rude and you kept saying the same thing over and over after I had already answered you... It made me feel attacked...

anonymous: Sorry for sounding rude. Peace out.

creepypastajack: It’s okay.

#long post #callout post #incest mention

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dailydoseofzhi · 3 years

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Daily Entry #9 (4/03/2021)

I woke up at 3:30am today - spontaneously & suddenly. Though I tried my best to go back to sleep, I wasn’t able to. That awful feeling of emptiness started to creep into me & I just lay in bed, defeated, unable to fight it. I knew that I was just going through a depressive episode (something that I’ve dealt with for years), but since I hadn’t had one since the start of 2019, I was super unprepared for it; and oddly, this time it felt even worse. I tried watching some Youtube meditation videos but nothing seemed to help. That’s when I heard a notification from Daddy; it was just past 4am and he’d woken up for another early start. His good morning text literally alleviated the emptiness & just like that, as cliche as it sounds, I felt normal again. He grilled me as to why I wasn’t asleep & I admitted that recently, I’d been having issues staying asleep through the entire night. I think that concerned him slightly as he set a bedtime for me on schoolnights, i.e. 10pm - 6am. Though I knew it’d be hard for me to stick to that sleep schedule, it showed evidently how much he cared about me & my well-being and that made me so happy.

We chatted throughout the day; and then after school, I went out to eat Korean with my friends before I was meant to head to another friend’s art showcase with them. At the restaurant, Daddy asked me how much he meant to me & I sent him paragraphs about how I truly felt about him - I meant everything that I said as well. But then he told me to prove by obedience by not going to the art showcase & heading home instead. Initially, I was a bit hesitant as I didn’t have the transport to do that & tried to compromise, promising him that I’d skip the art showcase but just stay in the art gallery’s toilet texting him. However, he told me that he wanted me to go home right then & there.. So I ended up faking sick to my friends & calling my mother to bring me home. It was all a test though; Daddy just wanted me to prove that I truly respect what he wants & that I would pull strings to obey him. Knowing that I’d passed the test filled me with genuine joy & being called a good girl by Daddy made me feel so damn happy. I know that sometimes I’m far from the obedient nympho bitch that he wants; but I know that no matter what, I won’t stop trying to become better for him. I do really want him to please him.

I also picked up my Shein haul today; Daddy told me not to open anything until he gives me permission so of course I’ll obey him. <3

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themalhambird · 6 years

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“God!” Edward woke to the sound of retching and the smell of vomit and scrambled out of bed, hurrying around to Richard’s side and pulling his hair back with one hand and wrapping the other around Richard’s torso. “Bathroom,” he said, as Richard struggled to raise himself up, “Come on.”

“Sorry,” Richard said, as Edward steered him towards the bathroom. “So-” he retched again and pulled himself free, stumbling toward the sink as he vomited again, turning on the tap so that cold water washed it away. “Sorry.” he said again, “I woke up being sick, there wasn’t time-”

“You’re burning up,” Edward said, putting a hand to Richard’s cheek. “I’ll get you some water.” He headed out to the kitchen, taking a glass from the cupboard, filing it up, and heading back. Richard turned and took the glass with a weak smile, lowering himself to the floor.

“Some night I’m giving you,” he said. “First I miss dinner, then I throw up all over the bed.” He took a few sips of water, then set the glass down next to him. “I’d offer to make up for it but...” he grimaced, and took another sip of water.

“Yeah, no.” Edward said with a lopsided grin. “You’re not kissing me until you’ve brushed your teeth at least twice, and we are definitely not having sex while you’re running a temperature.”

“I mean, a temperature’s hot by definition.” Richard said, “and...I was going somewhere with that, I think, I don’t know. Do you have a fever, because you’re really very hot-”

“And your ability to flirt obviously went the same way as the contents of your stomach.” Edward said drily. “Have some more water, and for god’s sake, stop coming on to me. I’m going to go and change the sheets.” he touched Richard’s cheek and smiled briefly, then left him to go next door. He’d got as far as stripping off the soiled sheet and the first couple of pillow cases when Richard shouted for him.

He hurried back to find him clinging on to the sink. “Can’t see,” he gasped. “Ned. Ned, can’t see, stood up too quickly.” He reached back, grasping blindly, and swaying a little. Edward caught his hand, and then his waist, lowering him to the floor.

“Head between your knees.” he urged, rubbing his back. Richard obeyed, breathing heavily. “Richard, do you think I need to call the doctor?”

“No, I just, stood up to fast.”

“I want to take your temperature,” Edward said. “If I let go...”

“I’ll be fine.”

Edward kissed the back of his head, and got back to his feet, fishing the thermometer out of the bathroom cabinet. Richard sat back up and opened his mouth so that Ned could slip the thermometer under his tongue. ”Two minutes.”

“Uh-huh.”

They sat in silence as Edward watched the third hand move around the clock face. “Time,” Edward said, and Richard all but spat the thermometer out, pulling a face as he handed it over. “Thirty eight and a half” he said, “That’s alright, nothing that a bit of sleep shouldn’t cure. Come on, love, back to bed. Unless you think you’re going to be sick again-”

“No, we’re good.”

“You okay to stand?”

“Yeah,” Richard said. “Just- help me up. Slowly.” He leant in to Edward’s chest as he helped him up. “ Abandon you, be sick next to you, nearly faint on you. At least there’s nothing left to go wrong tonight.”

“We could trip over the bed sheets you threw up on and I left on the floor and knock ourselves unconscious,” Edward suggested, steering Richard around the pile. Richard sniggered. They got in to the spare bedroom, and Edward pulled back the covers, helping Richard settle in to it. Then he took the wastepaper basket and stuck it next to the bed. “Here,”

“Classy.”

“It’s four in the morning,” Edward said. “I’m gonna go sort out next door, then I’ll come back in with you, okay?”

“Nnnnnnnghhh. Snuggles now.”

“Five minutes.”

“Fine.”

Edward smiled. Richard had already closed his eyes- Edward would place good money on him being asleep again by the time he got back. He’d text Harry to warn him he wasn’t coming in, and then hack in to the White Hart Gallery Group Chat on Richard’s phone to let them know he wouldn’t be around. Doubtless that would be an experience. Dinner with Bagot last night certainly had been. Not a bad experience, necessarily, but there were only so many innuendos he could stomach during a meal time. As for the proposition that he watch the next time Richard invited his friends ‘round for an orgy...

Well, he’d actually think about that. Some other time.

He was right. Richard was asleep by the time he went back in to the spare bedroom and slipped between the sheets. Lying next to Richard was like lying next to a radiator, if the radiator in question sighed and rolled over to snuggle up, wrapping an arm around him. Edward pressed his lips to Richard’s damp forehead, more than willing to put up with the heat, if a cuddle was what it would take to help his husband feel better, then so be it.

#Richard's alibi of sorts #The Wedding Night Verse #illness #vomiting #now all Ned has to do is convince the jury that bloody clothes didn't go in the washing machine along with the bedsheets

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mynakedarchitecture · 5 years

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Philip Johnson Naked In the Glass House

Be Damned Charlie Rose

One night I was sitting just inside my porch on Lake George. I was watching Charlie Rose interview Philip Johnson on tv in 1998.

I loved listening to Philip's logic his tone his grace his quiet demeanor when Charlie went after him for being a Nazi sympathizer. It was very unnecessary, but Charlie wanted a moment...but didn't get it. Philip danced gracefully around the attack and the rest and past is history.

But what lured me in was the nagging question, why I had not photographed Philip Johnson one of the legendary architects of the 20th century?

Up to this point in my career, I have had the pleasure of being able to photograph almost any cultural personality I chose to pursue!

Here now I was thinking, 'Jesus I have to meet this man before he dies...90 something’. How remiss I would have been not to have included someone so significant so influential/iconic, almost otherworldly at the time. My immediate judicious step was to call my friend Richard Meier. Richard is a protective sort of guy. His world is his world…But he has always been generous with me. So he made the connection for me. I called and set up an appointment…fortunately, I found out later that Philip and his partner David knew my work and thought of me as the next Irving Penn…or so they generously said. Well, of course, I never became the next …but it was a subtle stroking that I appreciated immensely since Irving was one of my photography heroes. So in December of that year, I headed up to New Canaan Ct on one of the most gorgeous days. It was crisp fresh and perfect for my camera sans lights…

I remember taking the train from Grand Central. I entered the station at an early morning hour. For a moment I felt I had walked into a frame of the history of photography: the light streaming in through the windows of the station looking just like that classic Lewis Hine image. Geoff Dyer’s “The On-Going Moment” warned me of these engagements, where you are in the present but really a link to the past. I am on the train thinking about that Lewis Hine…thinking about Philip and what I must do to make something memorable something that people can talk about, something that means that I made a memorable moment with a memorable person.

I always enter a space wondering if this is the time that matters…all photographs matter. There is an inspiration that works. it works like a wand guiding light for your eyes to live and see the moment, to seize the moment. It is almost like asking your camera to do something extra for you.

My Pentax 6x7 has seen so many moments that you sort of ask if the camera can pull off one more dance move…a capture that you weren't prepared for but suddenly it is there. The moment is an experience that comes to life and becomes not merely an experience but something you have dreamed of seeing your whole life as a photographer. It is a ridiculous notion but any photographer worth anything, really does have that inner heart that speaks to the moment. When entering in the experience as if you are in control, what happens is that you and your subject marry an idea to get there. It is this sort of an orchestra conductor’s moment where you take control and something that just magically becomes the photograph. Think about how boring it might be if you take the same idiotic photograph everyday…but instead made a rubik dance between you the light the space your camera your subject. Faster and faster all the squares move around until everything comes to a standstill and you say; “Philip …” don’t move!”. You know that that is the image that is the dream. It is of course only for you. Nobody else loves the moment as you do. It is why one becomes a photographer to show the rabbit pop out of the magician’s hat! One day with luck, you will show it to everyone out there and have that aha moment, not for yourself but that aha moment to a discerning audience! Ok, So now I arrive...

Walking into the Glass House for the first time, is kind of like entering a cathedral of architecture. The House is almost folklore for the second half of the 20th century architecture. You breathe the past the present and the future in one inhale, your exhale is nirvana.. Philip sits at his desk engaged in a jousting match with Herbert Muschamp: The former NY Times Architectural Critic.

It turns out they had been discussing me. Philip and Herbert seemed to be bandying my name about like a shuttlecock. Philip hung up and said, “ Tell me, Mr. Schulman, where shall we begin?

For the next 3-4 hours, we raced through all of the structures on the property. Philip outpaced me in every way.

He was marvelously striding as if floating on clouds, I was taking deep breaths hoping not to show my immediate need for assisted living. I was huffing and puffing, taking this and that pic.

But from every word we shared about Frank Gehry, Zaha Hadid, Rem Koolhaas and dozens of other architects…i was getting an education.

It was a life experience, a moment only the camera and memory would share with me.

The apex of the day was certainly in the Sculpture Gallery. Light speaks to photographers as light speaks to flora…we grow with every movement of light in a space of time.

We entered the space…I knew instantly that this was my space my moment. I made like a spinning top twirling down the steps to know if my mind’s eye was right. Shadows were dancing everywhere…. I raced back up the steps and had Philip stand in his/my light…god’s actually but …better, nature’s light.

I yelled To him, “Stop! where you are, face the light…I asked him. He was totally bewildered, but he obeyed, finally …and “click”.

I went to him and grabbed his hand and said thank you. He was a bit stunned that the session was over.

I spun around and for one second I thought my light had a bit of a link to Hine’s Grand Central Station…a link to the “On Going Moment”.

Philip suddenly remembered that when we met I had told him that I had a special request.

He asked me to share the request. We strolled over to the pool in front of his Glass House. I stared into 90 years of a life lived.

I said, ”Philip, I want to shoot you naked”. This was a WOW! Factor. He suddenly looked like a cherub with a dream in his mind. His visage of 90 transformed into a 4 year old in an instant.

At that moment his partner David drove up. Philip told me that he needed to speak with David first.

After a brief chat, he came back to me and said he couldn’t do it. He thought it was the most amazing request. I tried to persuade him that Philip Johnson naked in the Glass House would be amazing!

’I don’t want to see your private parts, just the idea of the naked creator in the Glass House would be epic, I begged’.

“David wants to protect my legacy”.

I begged some more to no avail.

David later drove me back to the train station.

He said Philip probably had the best time with you out of all of his photography sessions!! “You are probably our present day Irving Penn, but I just cannot allow Philip to be shot naked in the Glass House…he mumbled with a smile, “ Philip Johnson naked in the Glass House….”

Yes, I could write another 10,000 words on that day…

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ltdedngallery-blog · 6 years

Photo

THE BIG INTERVIEW … DAN BALDWIN

(Originally published Nov 2014)

BRITISH ARTIST DAN BALDWIN RECENTLY RETURNED FROM HIS STUNNING SOLO SHOW ‘END OF INNOCENCE’ IN NEW YORK CITY…AFTER 101 DIFFERENT INTERVIEWS ABOUT THE SHOW & THE NEW WORK, WE CAUGHT UP WITH HIM TO TALK ABOUT EVERYTHING ELSE…

LTD/EDN… Hey Dan, you are so often described, perhaps incorrectly, as an urban artist. It doesn’t get anymore urban than NYC, so how the hell was New York? Could you ever live there?

DAN…We had that very conversation out there, could we live here? We thought Yes and No .

If we had a massive loft in the Meatpacking District… Yes!

Although the TV Shows, disclaimers and adverts… that was driving us to a No! One commercial actually announced ‘If your erection lasts for more than four hours, seek medical advice’ and they invent words like ‘ruggedise’ and ‘dramadies’!

So as long as that loft apartment has no TV, you’ll be fine! Did you get to see any more of the City on this trip, or was it just work, work work? Any favourite spots?

Some good friends flew in from Brighton, and we visited all the usual places… Central Park, Liberty Island, Trump Tower, Dakota Building, Times Square, The MoMA, Soho, Cast Iron District, Ground Zero.

The Meatpacking District was the area we liked the most – round by Chelsea market and the historic High Line. I took photos I’m going to use in my new paintings which I’ve never done before – really interesting architecture, great buildings etc.

As for that Urban Artist tag, I guess I’m not easily labelled.

My paintings can be figurative, abstract, landscape, or non-perspective and they move forwards fast – I make sculpture and paint pots, I didn’t grow up in an inner city – but I’m not from the countryside either. My work may have urban appeal, and that may link back to my passion towards skateboarding and it’s art and music. I grew up in a very exciting time with music, that has inspired me.

When I started in 1990 (or 1996 if you exclude college) there was no Urban tags, until 2006, I guess art movements or chapters need to be boxed into a category.

Like they did with Pop Art – many of the Pop artists weren’t, like Ed Rusche, who was a young exciting painter making eye catching art at the same time as Rauschenberg – who actually wasn’t POP either, but was dating Jasper Johns, who was quite POP. I guess we all just love to categorise.

Brit’s taking and breaking the US has been a UK obsession in music and art for generations. With your management team PMM at your side are you part of a new British invasion?

Hopefully – who knows – what I loved was the response to my art from such a diverse mix of people – and selling art direct to people walking in from Texas, Canada, Australia, Germany and NYC, that doesn’t happen in my experience as much in London.

Can you tell us a little more about how it works with you and PMM Art Projects?

PMM will oversee all aspects of putting a show on for me – Pat, Roger, Richard will agree dates that work best, Roger will scout out venues across the city, Pat will then agree, then employ PR to maximise on Press, Roger will spread the word ‘like a scud missile’, Richard will deal in sales and clients, the hanging of the show, and email enquiries, Chippy will deal in decal, graphic design , show preview, lists, poster and sign, Marta will help deal in all admin, and take care of logistics; like cars, flights, hotel, crates, shipping etc - Pat had 700 posters distributed across NYC, and arranged a dinner for special clients and collectors the night before the opening. We all do our bit, I focus on making the art, then photographing it all, packing ready for crates and shippers, and I am there to hang it with Richard and a specialist hanger.

Pat and Roger also oversee any specific projects I may be asked to do, other than a show, like the deal with my recent Paolo Nutini project – If I’m approached by a company for example, I will run it past PMM.

It’s like I have a backbone of support and it all will come together on a show.

Do you pay attention to the American art scene? Feel different to London/UK? Any current artists out there you like? We heard that Shepard Fairey is a collector…

Not really – I rarely get time for other UK shows. I am aware of a lot of artists and try to keep my eyes open, but I’m 6 days a week absorbed in my own work so it’s not so easy.

I went to MoMA NYC just to see if there was a Basquiat, but sadly it was in storage. I was thrilled to see my favourite Rauschenberg again ‘Canyon’, I hadn’t seen that since I was about 19. It’s a mixed media collage on canvas with a eagle stuck to the bottom on wood, with paint and cardboard and as a young artist it made me realise you can do anything in art. I also still get a buzz from seeing Warhol like the huge black red Disaster piece/car crash .

I remember going out to a show in London after my LA show and it was so pretentious compared to LA, which is very much dress down laid back in its vibe. NYC was cool, good people.

Shep isn’t a collector of mine as such, but he has a lot of art – he came to my LA show and requested to meet me, which was great as I saw him there and was like Fuck, its OBEY ! . . Weirdly I had bought myself an Obey print when I first went full time in 2006.

We had a good chat about music mainly and my art and the next day he invited us to his downtown Hollywood studio, which was amazing – he was incredibly generous and gave me 12 prints, and two books, so I pasted some onto a canvas and made a Baldwin on top of some Obeys and one was a Martha Cooper, so it’s a one off Baldwin on some Shepard Fairey Martha cooper prints! I then sent it back to him. (pictured above left).

That meeting was a highlight of our LA trip and years later I had no idea it would link up to PMM via Logan Hicks.

You have a number of other celebrity collectors. If you could collect something from a celebrity what would it be?

I think something from the classic car collection of Jay Leno would be a nice one … I don’t know.

I do want a 50s American car, a 58 Plymouth Fury, after my top 3 favourite movie Christine, or some original Westwood punk gear.

I collected badges as a kid… Now i collect stuff for my art – something from Elvis’s Gracelands, perhaps or a bit of James Dean’s wardrobe, or his conga drums. One of Andy Warhol’s striped t-shirts would be cool or a Basquiat scrap of paper or something from his studio – similarly something from Bacon’s studio. A drum kit from Adam Ant was on my childhood wish list… They gave one away on ”Jim’ll Fix it’.

We covet inanimate objects – is it nostalgia? or sentimentalism? There, I invented a word! Or maybe not. I have a cabinet full of objects we collect. Old children’s dice, a dead Bee, a cats whisker, it’s memory and object – I like nostalgia.

Your Cyclone piece was recently used by Paolo Nutini on his album sleeve artwork – if you could design any album for any band through history what would it be?

Album art used to be so important, I never forget the power Frankie Goes to Hollywood had with their first album, and the symbolism they used, the heart, the bullet, the crucifix, the sperm. It made a big impact on me, as did Adam Ant, but that was more his look and that great logo.

So did Santa bring you anything exciting this year? What was on your list to Santa? Did any goodies cross over with your son’s list?

We escaped the misery of Dads Army, Quality Street, the Two Ronnies repeat from 1978 and you know, all the rest of it and celebrated Rome.

Is finding out that Santa doesn’t exist the real ‘End of Innocence’?

He doesn’t?

Ha, so enough of Christmas, it’s a New Year…What’s up next?

Thursday (Jan 8th 2015) sees the opening of a new print show alongside Peter Blake at the GX Gallery (www.gxgallery.com/exhibition/fame-promise) I have made 5 new works on paper for it.

I also have a lot of loose ends since NYC, some commissions to do, two charity events coming up, and making new art. I am itching to continue my SUBVERT series and make more bronzes.

There will be a lot going on over the next 12 months, we are also planning to move and relocate the studio. Plus I’m already planning my new show! In my head anyway!

Lastly, talking of your head, one question about the Show…. We noticed a splendid hat, move over Pharrell…Where did you get that hat, where did you get that hat?

Ha, I’m not brave enough for ‘Child of the Jago’, yet, but you know, all in time .. but in NYC it was essential.

I like the look of some of these www.nickfouquet.com

In the 90’s, or earlier, when England was full of casuals and mullets, if I said then imagine if all the young casuals started to dress like it was the 1940’s – braces, hats, cloth caps, brogue boots, beards you would have laughed – but now it’s true!

Everything comes round in circles. Look at Duchamp, putting an urinal in a gallery in 1917, how ahead of his time was he? Anyway you know the old saying ‘if you want to get ahead, get a hat ‘…1934 that slogan was created.

Thank you Dan for your time, we look forward to new work in 2016.

#art #artists on tumblr #danbaldwin #new york #maddox gallery

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