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meltwonu · 4 years

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s n a k e | e y e s [chapter 5]

pairing; snakehybrid!woozi x female!reader

this chapter’s notes; possessive!jihoon, dom!jihoon, marking, choking, restraints, dirty talk, impregnation kink, cream pie w/ minor cumplay ! whew! 🤪🥴🤤 also this snake-hybrid au isn’t following any of the blurbs/drabble game posts that precede it!! I know I did some drabble posts with snake hoonie but this doesn’t follow the same timeline as those otherwise it wouldnt make sense 🤣 kfhkdh also i do be laughin that this gets posted after the svt anniversary video and gose where jihoon was chan and teasing him bc 🥴 anyway! this is a long ass chapter and almost 6k words so strap in for the ride yall! 💕💕💕💕

chapters; 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - x - x - x - x - x

“Are you mad?”

“What? No, just… I mean, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

You watch Jihoon from across the table at brunch as he picks at his food quietly. Minghao had texted again asking if lunch was still on for next week and you had asked Jihoon as soon as the two of you sat down to eat.

“If you’re uncomfortable with Minghao and Chan coming, it’s okay. You can tell me, Jihoon.” He sits across from you with a pout on his lips.

“It’s not that I’m uncomfortable I’m just… shy. But it’s okay. Because I… If they’re your friends then they must be nice, right? I’m just shy around new people.”

“Okay, but like, if things feel off… Just let me know?” Jihoon nods, taking a bite of his food. It falls into a comfortable silence while the two of you eat; enjoying each other’s company after last night. The memories flood your headspace in an instant. Right, you needed to talk to Jihoon about that.

“Hey, Jihoon?”

“Hmm?”

“About last night…”

“Oh. Right. Did you hate it? I can stop if you don’t like it. It doesn’t make sense if we don’t benefit from it.” A flush covers your skin almost immediately as you place your fork down on your plate.

“I didn’t hate it… But I’m just curious… If--I mean, I don’t want you to think this is just a physical thing, I guess?” This time it’s Jihoon’s turn to blush as he meets your shy stare.

“I… I mean we’re still getting to know each other, right? And I like you. You’re nice and you care about me. We can just… think of it as the physical part of getting to know each other.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, thinking about his words. You clearly like liked Jihoon too and you didn’t want to take things too far too fast. But you also knew that he was aware of the sexual tension floating around the air now and the two of you couldn’t really go back to ‘normal’ after last night.

“Okay, yeah, that makes sense. I just don’t want to… go too fast, y’know? You’ve only been here a few weeks...”

“That’s true. But also in fairness, this is the longest I’ve been away from the adoption center so it seems to be going well if you ask me.”

Damn. He was right and you hadn’t even realized it. Jihoon had already been with you for over a month and you hadn’t even noticed the time passing. You feel your heart swelling at the thought.

“Huh. You’re right. I guess we really do work well together, huh?”

“Ah, ngh, Ji--Jihoon w--wait, my phone’s ringing!”

Jihoon’s grip on your thighs tighten, his blonde hair peeking from between your legs. Your hands brace yourself on the table where you calmly had brunch just 3 hours ago. Jihoon had clearly still been hungry.

“You can answer it?” He immediately laps at your clit after his comment, fingertips curling inside your pussy as your eyes roll to the back of your head. “I--I ca--can’t!” He smiles against you before applying pressure to the nub with his tongue. “Uh-kay them, dom’t?” Jihoon’s voice is muffled against your skin, a whimper escaping your lips at Jihoon’s unhelpfulness.

“Ji--Jihoon you’re so m-mean!” You whine.

You watch Minghao’s name disappear from your phone screen next to you on the table, a moan on your lips when Jihoon’s fingers curve up into your g-spot. “Oh, f-fuck, right t-there!” You tangle one of your hands in his hair, tugging him closer as you grind yourself against his tongue and fingers.

Minghao [3:14PM]: I tried calling but you’re probably busy?

Minghao [3:14PM]: Chan and I are free on Wednesday, lmk if it works for you.

You can barely catch the words on your phone screen before Jihoon sucks your clit into his mouth.

“Ugh, fuck, Jihoon I’m--” Your eyes snap shut almost immediately; thighs clamping shut around Jihoon’s head as you cum hard. He scissors his fingers inside of you, tongue still lapping at your clit until you start to come down from your high.

Your limbs feel boneless once your orgasm fades off, shaky legs unclamping as Jihoon slides his fingers from your pussy straight to his mouth. Letting your legs down as you sit up to catch your breath, you watch him still on his knees in front of you as he cleans your wetness from his fingertips.

“God, Ji. That was Minghao!” Jihoon pops his fingers from his mouth, getting up from his kneeling position.

“What did he want?”

“They’ll be over Wednesday so we have some work to do!”

“Okay but can we cuddle first? We can figure out the rest later.”

Over the next couple of days leading up, you and Jihoon take the time to clean up the apartment and buy some ingredients for lunch. And since Chan was a bunny hybrid, he was strictly vegetarian which meant you and Jihoon had tried to cook a few recipes to decide what was best.

“Are they gonna come soon?” Jihoon munches on a stray piece of carrot, watching as you finish up in the kitchen. “Mmhmm, but knowing Minghao they might be a little late.”

You and Minghao had agreed on 12:00PM and it was currently 12:04PM; If you were lucky he’d be here by 12:45PM at the earliest. Jihoon helps you tidy up the kitchen once you’re finished, flopping onto the sofa once he’s done. And he won’t admit it but he’s nervous; eyes fixated on the ceiling as he twiddles his thumbs and sighs.

“You okay, Ji?”

“Mm? Yeah… Haven’t really met another hybrid since Mingyu and Seokmin so s’kinda weird. I’m okay though.” You start to make your way to the sofa but the doorbell rings just as you reach Jihoon. You shoot him an encouraging smile, running your fingers through his hair really quick before turning and making your way to the door.

When you swing it open, you're met with Minghao’s cheery face and Chan inquisitive one. In actuality, you’d only ever seen Chan in photos and you can’t help but immediately gush at how cute he is; completely ignoring Minghao’s presence once you take note of Chan’s cute bunny ears atop his head.

“Oh my god, you are just… So cute!”

You refrain from touching the cute caramel coloured bunny ears, noticing they match the colour of his hair.

“Come in! Jihoon’s in the living room!” Chan flashes you a sweet smile as Minghao raises an eyebrow at you. “You didn’t even say ‘hi’ to me. Rude!” You laugh at Minghao’s comment, giving them enough space to enter your apartment.

“Sorry, I’ve just never met Chan before. He’s cuter in person so I was distracted!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, just tell me you’re tired of me, you don’t have to lie!”

“‘Hao! You know you’re my best friend but Chan’s… cuter. I’m sorry.” Minghao feigns hurt, wiping invisible tears as they stand in your hallway.

Now that you think of it, you weren’t sure how Chan and Jihoon were going to get along, if at all. It’d slipped your mind but technically Jihoon was a predator animal hybrid and Chan was a prey animal hybrid. Your mind blanks at the sudden epiphany as you gulp.

“Um, shall we move to the living room?” The two nod, waiting for you to lead the way. Taking a deep breath, you lead them to the living room; eyes meeting Jihoon’s as he sits up on the sofa.

“Jihoon, I want you to meet my friend Minghao and his hybrid, Chan!” You try to put on a cheery smile but you can already sense that Jihoon’s kind of on edge.

When you’d spoken to Seungcheol about him back at the adoption home, he had said that Jihoon typically got along well with every hybrid at the home so far and that the snake hybrid hadn’t gotten into any fights or threatened any of the other hybrids there. You really had no reason to be that concerned, and plus, Jihoon had already told you he was just shy more often than not.

“Hi, I’m Jihoon. Um… I’m a snake hybrid.” You can see the flush on his face, watching as he licks his lips. It was a nervous habit that you noticed he had. And for a second you worry about if Chan’s also going to be nervous about the snake hybrid but he shoots the shorter male a beaming smile.

“Hi! I’m Chan! I’m a bunny hybrid and I like to sing! And I like to dance, too!” Chan moves forward to shake Jihoon’s hand, backing off slightly when he sees the snake hybrid flinch. “Oh, sorry. Do you not like handshakes?”

“Huh? Oh, no I--I was just surprised that’s all.” Jihoon reaches a hand out instead, a tiny smile on his lips when Chan shakes it. “Oh, whoa, your hands are cold!” Minghao scolds him slightly, giving him a warning look as Chan sheepishly scratches his head. “Sorry, hyung always gets mad at me because sometimes I talk first and don’t think.” Jihoon laughs at this and you feel your heart soaring out of your chest. Thank god!

“It’s okay, I know someone else who’s just like that and he’s a big puppy hybrid named Mingyu.”

You and Minghao fondly watch the two interact, glad that they’d gotten along well despite their differences.

“Okay guys, shall we have lunch?”

Over the course of lunch, Jihoon and Chan talk animatedly about music as you and Minghao delve into your own conversations about work, letting the two hybrids bond. Jihoon calls your name after a while, grabbing your attention.

“Chan and I are done with lunch and I was wondering if it was okay to bring my keyboard out? We were gonna do some music stuff.” Chan looks at you with pleading eyes, lips jutting out in hopes of swaying you.

“Yeah, of course! You didn’t need to ask permission for that.” They smile at you in return, Jihoon getting up to retrieve his keyboard from his work room. “I’ll be right back.”

The three of you watch Jihoon leave the dining area, watching as he disappears into the hallway.

“Jihoon is really nice, Minghao-hyung!” The smile on Chan’s face is sincere, eyes curving into crescents.

“You’re more than welcome to come over anytime you want, Chan! Ji could use the company other than myself sometimes, I think.” You laugh at your own comment, leaning over to pat his head. He leans into your touch, sighing dreamily when you start to itch behind his ears.

“That feels really nice…” You internally scream, face red as a tomato when Chan starts scenting your hand. He rubs his face against your palm, resting his cheek against it. Uh oh, Jihoon’s not gonna like that.

Sure enough, Jihoon round the corner, eyes fixated on the way Chan’s head is on your palm.

“Um…” Minghao’s eyes travel from Chan to Jihoon as he bites his nail; knowing exactly what the snake hybrid is thinking without even saying anything. “Hey, Chan?”

“Mmh?” Minghao clears his voice in a warning manner, Chan’s eyes fluttering open.

“I think Jihoon would like to go do music stuff in the living room now.”

“Oh… okay!”

In an instant, Chan gets up like nothing happened and walks up to Jihoon. “Okay! Let’s get it!” Jihoon on the other hand quietly nods, gesturing to the bunny hybrid to follow him to where he likes to set up by the window. You shoot Minghao a look as you share a sigh. “Shall we clean up?” He nods at you, getting up from his seat as he starts to collect the utensils. And once the two are properly distracted, the two of you move into the kitchen where you start on the dishes.

“I’m really sorry about Chan. He’s normally really up on skinship, I just, I didn’t think--”

“Shh, it’s okay! I don’t think… Jihoon’s mad. Just might be weird to see me around other hybrids since he’s used to it just being me and him.”

The two of you talk in whispers, not wanting the two to hear your conversation about them.

“Trust me, Jihoon is really about skinship too. I know he doesn’t seem like it, but he’s just as bad. Don’t be sorry about Chan.”

Once the two of you finish up cleaning, you make your way to the living room as well. The two hybrids sit in the sun by the window; Jihoon’s music notes out while Chan tries to sing along to one of his melodies.

You decide to sit closer, wanting to be a part of their music session as Minghao grabs a film camera from his bag. “Might as well, Chan likes keeping the photos in his scrapbook.”

“Oh yeah! I put pictures of me and all my friends in it. All the pictures are from hyung, obviously. Now I can add you and Jihoon-hyung to it!”

The four of you sit on the floor in somewhat of a circle, Minghao and Chan next to you as Jihoon sits in front of you. Chan glances at you once before he shifts closer to you.

“Can you pet me again?”

You blush for a moment, but he inches closer again and you feel sort of bad. “He never pets me when he’s “working”...” Chan draws air quotes around the word, a pout on his lips as he looks at Minghao.

“How can I pet you if I’m taking photos? Do I look like I have more than two hands?”

Sighing, you raise your palm, placing it on one of Chan’s fluffy ears as he leans into your touch. You’d have to deal with the repercussions with Jihoon later; you’d just hope he understood.

Chan decides to lay down on the floor, using your thigh as a pillow as he listens to Jihoon play the piano. The snake hybrid plays a familiar song as Chan sings along, voice stable even when he’s laying down. You check Jihoon’s face for any signs he’s mad but he seems to be okay for the most part, albeit a little quieter than usual. He still makes an effort to speak to Chan and engage in conversation, praising his singing voice as Chan blushes.

You play with the soft fur of Chan’s bunny ears, admiring them as you coo.

“Your ears are just so soft! And so cute!” He nuzzles into your leg, scenting you again as Jihoon seems to flinch. “Thanks~ It feels nice when people pet them!”

He stays like that for a while longer, only getting up when he starts to feel sleepy. “Hyung, m’sleepy now…” Minghao sets his camera down, running a hand through his own hair. “Did you want to head back then? We can just come over another day.” Chan nods, trying to rub the sleep out of his eyes. “I’d like that. Jihoon-hyung is cool and I wanna come see him again!”

Jihoon blushes at the comment, accidentally pressing down the wrong key as he sputters. “Y-yeah, I had f-fun too…”

The four of you get up from the floor, stretching and gathering your belongings. “I’ll show you guys to the door?” Minghao and Chan nod, and to your surprise, Jihoon follows behind as you begin to walk to the doorway. “It was really nice having you guys over! And Chan, you’re always welcome here too. Maybe we can call up ‘Cheol and have him bring Mingyu along as well!” Chan talks animatedly about how much he’d like that, already asking when they could set up a date.

“Alright, slow down, bud. We gotta figure out when ‘Cheol’s got time and we still got work, y’know?”

“Yes, hyung…”

You side hug Minghao, only for Chan to launch himself at you right after. He nuzzles into your neck as he squeezes you tight. “Thank you for having us over today!”

When he lets go of you, he immediately looks to Jihoon, shooting him a smile and waving before running out the door.

“I’m really really sorry about him.”

“It’s okay, get going before he bounces off somewhere. I’ll talk to you later, ‘Hao.”

You shut the door once they leave, breathing a sigh of relief when you turn around.

Jihoon doesn’t visibly look upset, but you can see a glint in his eyes that tells you he’s thinking about it.

“Hey, Ji--”

“Mm, I’m gonna work on some music back in my work room. I got some ideas and I wanna hash them out before I lose the inspiration.” You nod, watching him as he grabs his keyboard from the living room and starts down the hallway.

“I dunno when I’ll be done but if you start on dinner, just call me.”

You leave Jihoon to his work, tidying up around the house before you plop down onto the sofa to watch some TV. You’d figured that Jihoon probably just needed some time to himself to cool off, just in case he really was mad. But at the same time, you were really proud of the snake hybrid for being so civil and kind to Chan despite Chan’s need for skinship.

Not even realizing you fell asleep at some point, you sit up on the sofa groggily. The sky is already dark outside of the windows so you’d fallen asleep for quite a white, shutting off the TV as you stretch. Turning towards the hallway, you wonder what Jihoon is even up to; if he’s even still working on his music.

Getting up from the sofa, you stretch, already walking down the hallway to Jihoon’s workroom. You don’t hear any music and you don’t hear his voice at all but you knock, calling Jihoon’s name softly.

He opens the door gently after a minute or so, sleepy eyes meeting yours. “Oh, did you end up taking a nap too?” You can hear the sleep laced in his voice, reaching up to thread your hand into his blonde locks.

“Yeah, I fell asleep on the sofa. Guess we were more tired than expected, huh? I’m gonna start on dinner, if you wanna come keep me company or something.” He nods, letting you know he’ll be out in a few minutes.

You walk to the kitchen, already grabbing the necessary items to start on dinner. Jihoon joins you a few minutes later, walking up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

“You smell like him, y’kno?” Jihoon’s voice is soft but gravelly next to your ear. There’s a certain edge to his voice that has you shuddering against his form. “Do you want to know something?”

“H-Huh?”

“They say that some snakes can smell the fear in their prey. Do you believe it?”

“I--I don’t know?” There’s a soft but warning chuckle by your ear, Jihoon’s arms tightening around your body as he presses harder into you. “I don’t know if I believe it either. But wouldn’t it be an advantage? To know your prey is… submissive.” You can’t even tell what your hands are doing anymore when Jihoon takes the moment to lick the shell of your ear. His lips travel down, nipping the skin of your neck as you let out a shaky breath. You can feel the wetness pooling between your thighs as he continues his path, digging his teeth into the junction of your neck before he sucks the skin into his mouth to soothe it. His hands begin traveling up your torso, cupping your breasts in his palms before harshly squeezing.

“Ji--Jihoon the--the dinner…”

“I think I want to eat something else right now. What do you say?”

You moan in response, grinding back against his hardening cock. “O--okay…”

“Meet me in the bedroom in 5 minutes.”

You release the breath you didn’t realize you were holding when Jihoon steps back and starts walking towards the bedroom. Okay, maybe he was a tiny bit mad, if not territorial. You wash your hands, forgetting about dinner as you stand in the kitchen thinking about how potentially dominating Jihoon could be. The thoughts alone are enough to have you moaning out loud as you rub your thighs together. You don’t really know why Jihoon has you waiting but you obey his word, giving him a few minutes before heading down the hallway to your bedroom.

Not really knowing what to expect, you open the door to find Jihoon by the foot of the bed, 3 of your panties already torn and on top of the bedsheets. “Sorry, I didn’t really know what to use for restraints so I had to make some. Hope you don’t mind.” You feel a tingly sensation running all over your body; all the way down to the tips of your fingers.

“Um--Uh, no..”

“Good. I figured we could do a little learning exercise. What do you think?”

“I--Sure?” There’s no denying how wet you are just from the energy Jihoon was exuding. “I--I don’t know what to do…”

“I want you to strip and get on the bed for me. And lay back against the pillows.”

You nod, stripping your clothes off slow and quietly before getting on the bed. Jihoon follows suit, stripping himself bare before he joins you, spreading your legs and slotting himself in between. He scoffs slightly when he notices your wet folds. “You know, snakes aren’t typically known for being territorial. But when they feel threatened, they’re more likely to attack.”

Jihoon leans in, his chest meeting yours as he ghosts his lips above your own. “Chan’s a sweet kid. Such a shame he’s so blind with his actions.” You can’t help but gulp and hold your breath, shaky eyes watching Jihoon as he leans towards your neck instead. “Just to make sure we’re on the same page as he is, I guess I should let him know who really belongs to who, hmm?” He chuckles against your skin, leaving love bites blooming in his path. “Ngh, Jihoon…”

Placing your hands on his forearms, he stops and pulls away. “Oh, right. Let’s try these.” He pulls away to grab the torn material on the bed next to you. “I’m sure Seungcheol-hyung’s already told you specifically I’m a ball python hybrid right? And you must know that constrictor types like to, well, constrict their prey.” There’s a glint in his eye and a smirk on his lips when he drags the torn fabric up your naked torso. It tickles your skin, a whimper escaping your lips when the soft material ghosts across your nipples.

“But before we get started, I need to know a safe word from you.”

“Um, uh… l--lightning?”

“Interesting choice, but okay. Arms up and towards the headboard.”

He takes his time tying your wrists above you, admiring his work once he deems it’s tight enough and you’re comfortable. “In theory, I’d love for you to touch me but this is a learning experience on predators and prey. You understand, don’t you?”

“Y-yes…”

Jihoon smiles at you, hands gripping your thighs hard. “You smell so good. You’re so fuckin’ wet I can smell just how bad you want me to slide my cock right into that pussy. But you know what else? I can still smell that bunny hybrid on your skin.” You moan at his rough touch, squirming when he presses the shaft of his cock against your wet folds. “I can stand it when you come home smelling like other people because of work, but not this.”

He leans into you again, lips ghosting against your sternum. “I’m just gonna have to get rid of it myself then, huh?” Licking his lips, his tongue peeks from between them, already lapping at your skin. His tongue drags across your torso, flicking at a nipple before he wraps his mouth around it. You arch your back, leaning into his touch. He repeats this on the other side, laughing softly against your skin when he feels you rolling your hips against his. “Already so desperate for my cock? C’mon now, baby.”

The way Jihoon calls you ‘baby’ has your entire body flaring up, the breath getting knocked out of you almost immediately. “I have to mark you up all nice and pretty for your friends to see.”

What you learn in the next 15 minutes is that Jihoon can be mean.

He takes the time to nip at your skin, biting and sucking at it to leave blooming red marks all over your torso and neck. Jihoon takes it even further by skimming across your lower abdomen, sucking love bites onto your hips and even on your thighs. You sob, tugging at the restraints above you as you beg him to do something more.

“I am doing something. I’m marking you.”

“B--But I want… mo--more…”

“Oh? Do predators usually pamper their prey before consuming or attacking them?”

The goosebumps rise on your skin at his comment as you quickly shut your mouth. “That’s what I thought.”

He slots himself back between your legs, wrapping them around his waist.

Jihoon runs his fingers through your folds, watching you squirm as he collects the wetness on his fingertips before inserting two fingers into your pussy. “Fuck, you’re so wet, my fingers slid right in.” You sob, eyes wet with unshed tears. The urge to cum is already so strong and Jihoon had barely started. He thrusts his fingers hard and fast, curving them inside of you to hit your g-spot. You can’t help but tighten around his digits, crying out when he adds a third.

You feel impossibly full when he fingers you and you can barely wait until it’s his cock instead. He was definitely much bigger than his fingers and you were slightly worried he was almost too big for you to handle. But he works you open, thumb on your clit while he thrusts his fingers in knuckle deep.

There’s no word of warning before you’re cumming all over his fingers, wrecked sobs the only thing you can manage while he continues to rub at your clit.

“Ji--Jihoon, fuck, I--”

“Mmh, your body is so fucking warm. Your pussy is so wet and hot around my fingers. I need to fuck you now.”

Whimpering, you watch through teary eyes as he brings his fingers to his cock, spreading the precum and your wetness all over the head and shaft of it before positioning himself at your entrance. Your body is still sensitive and your orgasm is still ebbing away when Jihoon starts to push in.

There’s a slight sting when he does; he was definitely much bigger and wider than his fingers. And without even saying anything, Jihoon caresses your skin, quietly praising you for being so good for him.

“Jihoon, ngh, fu--fuck, your cock feels so good and so big…”

He smiles at the praise, watching as his cock disappears into your pussy. There’s an incoherent babble on your lips when he finally bottoms out; the head of his cock snug against your cervix. “Fuc--Fuck! Please fuck me, please fuck me, please fuck me!”

Jihoon can also be nice.

He starts a slow pace, letting you get used to his size. “Your pussy is so tight and warm around my cock. Fuck, I could stay here forever.” His grip on your thighs tighten, grinding himself into you between thrusts. You can feel yourself start to drool a little at the feeling. If you felt full with his fingers inside of you, this was a completely different high all together. “Yes, yes, yes, fuck! Your cock is so good, I--I can’t…!”

“Yeah? Gonna let me fuck this pussy whenever I want?”

“Yes, god…!”

The sound of your moans and skin slapping are all that can be heard in the bedroom. Jihoon starts a quicker pace, leaning down until he’s nosing at your neck again. He licks at your skin, sucking on the love bites he’d already left and leaving new ones right next to them. You can feel his nails digging into the skin of your thighs, a shaky moan leaving you when you feel him raking them down your skin.

In all honesty, Jihoon never really struck you as someone that’d be into marking. But by now, you realize that it just takes a certain situation for him to really want to.

“Fuck, baby, I hope you’re c-close. I wanna cum in this tight ‘lil pussy.”

“Ngh, pl--please cum in--inside of me… I want your cum…”

He laughs against your skin, pulling away immediately after. “Oh? You want me to cum in your hot ‘lil cunt? Get you nice and full with it? Fuck… fuck! You want me to breed you, don’t you? I’ll fuck my cum into your hot ‘lil pussy and get you nice and pregnant with my babies. Bet you’d love, wouldn’t you? I’ll fill you up with my cum everytime we fuck. Everyone will know you belong to me when they smell you, when they can smell my cum trickling down your thighs. And then I’ll fuck my cum back into you and keep it inside of you ‘til you can’t take anymore of it.”

You could almost die at Jihoon’s words, clenching around his cock impossibly hard. “Yes, g-god, yes please! I want it! I want y-your cum inside of me, please!” You tug on the restraints again, just wanting to touch Jihoon as well. One of his delicate hands travels up your torso, wrapping itself around the column of your neck before pressing down on the sides slightly.

“You’re so filthy. You want me to breed you so bad, don’t you? I can feel you getting so tight around my cock.”

The lightheadedness makes you feel fuzzy, soft moans spilling from you as your eyes flutter shut.

“I want you to cum on my cock, get it nice and wet for me before I cum inside your pussy, baby.”

Jihoon grinds against you, letting the head of his cock push up against your cervix. The feeling is almost too much combined with his hand around your throat and he can see the look on your face that you’re about to cum, thrusting into you hard and fast as you sob; his hand around your throat loosening when he feels your body go rigid.

Your breath stutters and you momentarily black out when you cum, body seizing up at the intensity of your orgasm. Jihoon thumbs your clit as you cry. He continues to thrust into you, groaning at the feeling of your walls throbbing around his cock. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum!”

He grinds against you, muttering incoherent curses under his breath the entire time.

Your head feels fuzzy but you can feel his warm cum inside of you and you can’t tell if it's a hybrid thing or just a Jihoon thing but there is a lot of it. He stays still while the two of you catch your breaths, his cum already trickling down the slides of his cock that’s still sheathed inside of you.

“J-Jihoon my… my arms p-please…” He nods tiredly after a moment, undoing the restraints and checking your wrists for any marks. The skin is red and irritated where you were tugging against them but you seem fine otherwise.

“The redness should go down in a bit.”

He kisses your wrists gently, massaging your tired arms as he brings them to your sides. And as much as he doesn’t want to, he pulls out, watching as globs of cum pour out of your hole.

“Damn, what a waste.” You tiredly laugh at him, bringing a hand up to wipe at your tear-streaked face. “Push my cum out, baby.” There’s a slight blush on your cheeks at his request, but you oblige, the warm substance dripping down onto the sheets underneath you. Jihoon watches it as it drips down, bringing a hand towards it as he scoops it up on his fingertips and presses it back into your pussy.

“Ugh, Jiho--oon~ I c-can’t anymore…”

“Sorry, must be a… hybrid thing maybe.”

“Is the amount of cum also a hybrid thing or?”

Jihoon laughs, sliding off the bed to get a clean cloth. “Dunno. Think that’s just me. I haven’t… been with anyone for a long time so… I mean, I dunno to be honest.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah, I dunno! Anyway, should we get cleaned up? I think the bedsheets need to… um, go.”

This time you’re so tired you can’t even begin to sit up in bed. “Ji… do you think you can carry me? I don’t think I can feel my legs.” He nods. “Oh, let me run the bath first so it can warm up.”

You let him, watching as he disappears into the bathroom. To the best of your ability, you sit up, another gush of cum spilling out of you when you do.

“Ugh, Ji, if you’re gonna cum this much all the time what are we gonna do about the sheets?”

He licks his lips when he walks back into the bed to come get you, scooping you up into his arms as he brings you to the bathroom with a smirk on his face.

“I mean, we can fuck, get the sheets dirty and then fuck in the laundry room? Or fuck in the bath like I fully intend to do right now.”

“Oh my god.”

#snakehybrid!woozi #woozi smut #seventeen smut #svt smut #woozi scenarios #woozi imagines #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #svt imagines #svt scenarios #woozi #lee jihoon

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pastthebutterflies · 3 years

Text

Simple Solutions

Sometimes the answer to your problem is closer than it appears. Marcy didn't know it would be so simple.

Just a short little thing to get some feelings out about the finale, reblogs appreciated! Enjoy!

(Ao3 link in the reblogs!)

Marcy would never say that she had the worst family in the world.

They weren’t particularly stern or overbearing. Never set harsh rules, gave a somewhat lenient curfew, and mostly free reign of the city. They supported her gaming habits, whether that be video or table top, even tried to join in from time to time, when Anne or Sasha didn’t want to. Otherwise, she was usually left to her own devices.

Over all, her parents were good people. Logically, she knows this. She also knows this means she doesn’t have much room to complain when things at home do go wrong. Marcy has seen Sasha’s parents, heard about the rules, the constant raised expectations, seen the way it rubs at her when she thinks no one is looking.

She knows it could be worse.

But, as she storms away from the house, her parents sitting shell shocked in the living room, what Marcy also knows is this: it isn’t fair .

The tears are coming hard and fast, now. Fat droplets are bubbling up at the corners of her eyes, no matter how many times she wipes them away with her sleeve, threatening to drop with every step she takes. Still tucked in her pocket, she can feel her phone blowing up, likely with messages from her parents that she can’t bring herself to look at yet.

Marcy has never really fought with them like that. Not one of that caliber, that is. There was once, when Sasha brought her and Anne to a concert downtown, long after sundown, after coaxing Marcy out her bedroom window. In the end, she had nearly shattered her ankle on the way down and had lost all her devices for a month once her parents found out she was gone. Sasha had been there for that one, had convinced her to push back on the punishment (“We’re teenagers now, Mar, what else did they expect?”), which had only caused her grounding to be extended from a week to a month (she would only admit to Anne later on that she sort of…“Wish Sasha had stayed out of it, pleasedon’ttellherthough.”).

With that as her only real reference, Marcy gets the feeling that there might be a difference between sneaking out with friends and screaming how they ruined her life, followed by a swift exit, complete with slamming doors and heavy footsteps.

School had ended hours ago, she realizes. Anne and Sasha don’t even know yet. They don’t know yet. How is she supposed to-?

It’s Anne’s birthday, too.

The pit that had been steadily growing in her stomach since she left home gets ever larger. It sucks up every piece of her like a particularly hungry black hole and leaves her stomach feeling like it might cave in on itself if she isn’t careful.

She pictures arriving at Anne’s front door, empty handed (she still hadn’t had time to find anything decent, not with finals around the corner) with nothing but bad news to bring the night down. For a moment, she considers skipping out, entirely. She would probably only make them feel worse in the long run. Even if Marcy didn’t bring it up right away, her mood felt almost tangible, like they would be able to see the black cloud hanging over her head as soon as she approached.

By this point, the street she finds herself on is nearly empty. Thick, dreary clouds overhead are gathering overhead, accompanied by a wind that sends Marcy curling further into her jacket, hands tucked deep in her pockets. One is wrapped around her phone, which is still vibrating steadily. Funny, considering her parents aren’t typically ones to text so much, no matter their moods.

It isn’t until she stops a few minutes later that she decides to risk a glance. When the screen lights up, Marcy is more than ready for a scathing voicemail from her dad or a novel from her mom, asking her to come home, but instead, she only finds a stack of unread messages from Sasha. Most are asking when she will be by, along with a reminder that Anne’s party started half an hour ago.

Marcy winces, she was supposed to be there ages ago. At this point though, she leans against the shop beside her, what was a few more minutes?

The messages get swiped away and she looks up, ready to head out with a somewhat clearer head than she had a few minutes ago.

That’s when she spots it, nestled on an otherwise empty shelf behind the shop window.

The first thing Marcy notices is that the box is smaller in person than it had appeared in the book. Which she supposes makes sense, drawings from old books like that rarely translate well to real life, size wise. But the jewels along the side still shine in the dim light, green, pink, and blue, running along the frog carving beside it. If she hadn’t seen the sketch in the library that afternoon, she doesn’t think she would have recognized it. Probably would have kept walking, maybe would have noted its potential in a campaign down the line, before she continued down the street.

But as it stands, she does know that box and when she lifts her phone, the picture she took before already pulled up, her heart stutters at the perfect match.

Another text from Sasha comes in. There are still none from her parents.

A portal to another world.

Another buzz.

It would never work. These kinds of things only ever happen in video games, fantasies. Life has never been kind enough to just present this easy of an opportunity to her. Marcy has had to work for everything in her life; her grades, her achievements.

Her friends.

Life doesn’t grant any favors.

Even so, this doesn’t stop Marcy as she lifts her phone again and snaps another photo to quickly send off to Sasha. Her phone pings a second later, essentially setting the rest of her night in stone as Sasha plots out their mission.

It won’t work, of course it won’t.

Magic doesn’t work like that here. Besides, it looks so small, sitting up there, nothing like the power it supposedly emanates. Still, Anne would probably enjoy the story behind it and she was looking for a new jewelry box, anyway.

When she eventually continues down the street, the box left to sit until later, her shoulders feel a bit lighter than they had when she left home. Her friends still don’t know, she can’t put it off forever.

Tonight, she tells herself. After they’ve had their fun.

In the meantime, what’s the harm in waiting?

#amphibia #Amphibia Spoilers #true colors #true colors spoilers #Marcy wu #lydsfics #I have a lot of emotions rn #and I'm making them everyone else's problem

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twistedtummies2 · 4 years

Text

Photo Shoot (Post-Stuffing; Leona X Vil)

Well, here’s something a bit different...and also a bit shorter than my usual fare. XD This is meant to be basically pure comedic silliness, so we’ll see how you guys take to it. Hope you all enjoy!

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

In a studio room at Pomefiore, a lone figure paced…then stopped. Vil Schoenheit sighed as he checked the camera on his tripod again, just making sure it was functioning, then shook his head before pacing once more. The dorm head of Pomefiore was garbed in the typical formal school uniform – blue-violet and gold vest worn under the typical black blazer and dress trousers, along with black leather gloves. He brushed some of his blonde hair (the tips dyed lavender) out of his face as his pale purple eyes glittered with frustration, his lips curled on his expertly made-up, almost effeminate-looking face in a peeved sort of frown. Vil glanced at the clock on the wall of the studio and narrowed his eyes further. “Three minutes later,” he murmured, and shook his head crossly. “And after I told that mangy cat to be here fifteen minutes early! I should have known better than to expect that lazy, spoiled pussycat to…!” Vil’s words trailed off into an annoyed growl. The things he had to put up with in the name of art! Once again, the model, actor, and photographer triple-threat had decided to have a photoshoot focused on the dorm leaders of Night Raven. And after wrangling with Leona Kingscholar for over a week, he’d finally found a time where he could squeeze the lion-man in for a quick shoot. Vil glanced at the clock again; he’d have to make the shoot very fast. He had rehearsal for a production of “The Baron in the Kingdom of Cats” to attend! The thought of the show did make Vil momentarily ponder if Leona ever considered being an actor…but knowing the slothful savage, he’d probably just spend most of rehearsal snoring people’s heads off and threatening to gobble up the stage manager. Life was unfair, Vil decided. Leona and he had a bit of a working relationship: generally speaking, anytime Vil had a major project and needed someone to help out, time and time again he’d turn outside of his own minions in his dorm, and find his way somehow to Kingscholar’s shabby lair. The perfection-seeking head of Pomefiore could not deny that the half-lion had, quite frankly, one of the most gorgeous bodies and handsome faces in the entire school. Even his more animalistic traits, such as his tail, gleaming fangs, and glowing green eyes, never seemed to hinder his rather alluring disposition. In fact, Vil had discovered a surprising number of followers seemed to enjoy these same traits; anytime he posted photos of the head of Savannaclaw to his website, they inevitably and invariably got more views, likes, comments, and so on than nearly any other dorm head…he, himself, was the only exception. Vil smirked. Even the mighty Kingscholar could not top the Fairest in the Land, and that was the way he liked it. His smirk fell however as he was reminded of the exact reason why seeking such beauty could be…troublesome. Leona Kingscholar was, either by his own design or the vicissitudes of fate, one of the most breathtaking people at Night Raven to behold, with his tall, dark, lean-toned figure and overall demeanor that was somehow equal parts intellectual civility and feral animality…but he also happened to be a pain in the neck to work with. Vil respected his appearance immensely, and could not help but concede his status as “top of the food chain” in his dorm, and rather close to the same at the school, was well-earned. That was about where any element of RESPECT Vil Schoenheit had for his fellow dark-wizard-in-training stopped, however. And Leona’s constant tardiness was one of the reasons why. Not to mention his disregard for proper appearance, his carelessness when it came to the state of his rooms, his aggravating arrogance and above-it-all attitude…and this was to say nothing of his… “BUUUURRRRP!” …Table Manners.

“I’m here,” growled the cultured yet coarse voice of the lion demi from behind his fellow villain-to-be. Vil sighed. He clapped his hands together and straightened his posture, breathing deeply through his nose (ignoring the lingering scent of lion belch in the air) before turning around. “I thought I told you to be-” Vil’s scolding words died in his mouth…and his jaw went slack, eyes bugging from his skull as his arms abruptly went limp at his sides. Leona Kingscholar had silently entered the room, the rumbling belch the only alert he’d given of his presence. He leaned against the wall beside the doorframe, one arm outstretched. He was dressed in his own school uniform; the same black slacks, dress shoes, and pristine white shirt as everyone else, not to mention the fine black gloves…but he lacked the tie and blazer… …And at present, his golden-colored vest was open…leaving Vil free to ogle the beast-man’s ENORMOUS belly. His gut strained against his shirt, making his belt and waistband creak as it gurgled and rumbled deeply, the sound of the thick organ churning up its food growing steadily more resonant by the second. Leona’s belly was so heavy and bloated, it looked as if he’d swallowed a couple of watermelons, his free hand resting against his engorged stomach… …Before lifting to the scarfaced scoundrel’s mouth, as he repressed a thick burp, cheeks ballooning as he did his best to restrain it. “HHHRRRRRRLLLLLLMMMPH…oof…that felt good,” he mumbled. “What…how…why…?!” Leona looked up boredly at the flabbergasted Vil, who looked like he had steam pouring out of his ears. “Tch. What does it look like? I had a big lunch,” grunted Leona, patting his stomach indicatively; it wobbled at his touch. “For how…” He paused…growling slightly and shivering, tail curling behind him as his belly let out a particularly DEEP rumble, which seemed to make the floor beneath him tremble. “Mmmph…for how…the way ANYBODY eats ANYTHING, obviously. And for why…” Leona shrugged. “I got a little hungry.” “A LITTLE HUNGRY?!” Vil nearly screamed, gesturing towards Leona’s gut. “YOU HAVE A BELLY THE SIZE OF A PARADE BALLOON!” Leona smirked. “You say that like it’s something I’d hate having,” he growled, and licked his teeth. “I can fit more in there, too, if you’re interested.” “I am NOT interested,” sneered Vil, balling up his fists as he turned almost as red in the face as Riddle Roshearts with rage. “Did your stupid animal mind forget the whole reason you’re here?!” Leona blinked boredly. “I’m here to take photos,” he responded, scratching his belly through his shirt as he spoke. “What does it matter if I’m – UUUURRRRRRLLLLLLLPK! – oof…a little well-fed? It’s not going to break the camera.” “It might,” Vil almost snarled, and thrust his nose up snootily. “This sort of slobby demeanor is unbecoming of a dorm leader! I know you’re half-beast, but you could AT LEAST try to look less like a gluttonous, badly-groomed housepet on a day like this! Of all the indignities you’ve-!” “UUUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRRRRPH!” Vil coughed and wheezed as Leona responded by walking up to him and belching point-blank into his face. Kingscholar smirked almost cruelly as he watched the prissier dorm leader’s face turn a lovely shade of green. “If you can spew hot air, I can spew even more,” the lion man purred, one hand on his hip, the other on his gut, licking his sharp teeth. Vil looked like he was going to be sick, and nearly collapsed, glaring at Leona with hatred so pure it could have frozen the Sun. “I’m…guh…I’m going to put so many different p-poisons in your drink,” he choked out, “You will die a thousand deaths at once, lion. I PROMISE that.” “Tch. Yeah, I’ve heard it before,” Leona snorted, rolling his eyes. “Look, this is the only time you’ve got to take your precious photos, so either work with it, or let me go. Chernabog knows my next catnap is overdue anyway…” “Just how lazy can you be?” Vil sneered…then promptly held up his hands as Leona opened his mouth to respond. “Wait. Stop. Don’t answer that, forget it.” Leona smirked and chuckled through his nose. He tossed some of his long, dark hair away from his scarred eye, and cockily smirked as he bumped Vil with his hip and walked past him; his gut “gulornked” noisily as he moved, sloshing and bouncing with every step. “I guess we’ll work around it as best we can,” mumbled Vil, and shook his head wearily in surrender. There wasn’t much else that could be done; with so little time that afternoon, and a deadline quickly upcoming, the glamor-loving dark mage had little choice but to do what Kingscholar suggested and work with what he had. Schoenheit positioned himself behind his tripod, while Leona stepped into place against the blank wall, decorated with a banner that bore the Night Raven Crest. He’d done this before, so he knew where to go; a red X was marked with colored tape on the floor, and he stood squarely on it. “Okay,” Vil mumbled, frowning as he tried to find a good angle…but there was just no hiding Leona’s belly without ruining the consistency he had managed with the other dorm leaders’ photos. He sighed deeply, nearly groaning; and he’d thought Kalim’s chatterboxing or Idia’s camera-shy nature would be the hardest ordeal of the whole debacle… Next time, he was going to do headshots only, he swore. “Oi, are you ready yet?” frowned Leona, and yawned…the sound becoming another burp. “Ahhhhhmmmm-MMMUUURRRRLLLLLUUURRRRRRRPH! Mph…” He grunted, thumping his chest and working up a lighter “after-burp” before speaking again as if nothing had happened: “I’ll fall asleep on my feet here if you don’t speed up.” Vil ground his teeth together and repeated the mantra sanity now, sanity now, over and over in his mind. “I guess this’ll have to do,” he grumbled, finally getting his camera into position. “So, we’re gonna try three poses: laid back, seductive, and…” He gulped on the last word. “…Professional.” Leona rolled his eyes at Vil’s hesitance on the last word. “Tch,” he scoffed, then waved a hand in a “get on with it” manner while the other rested against his jiggling paunch. “Fine, fine, what’s the first one you want me to try.” “I guess we’ll try seductive,” Vil shrugged, rather hopelessly, and then raised an eyebrow, robotically reciting a question he asked so often around the half-lion: “Need any pointers?” But to his surprise, Leona just sniffed haughtily. “I think I can handle that attitude,” he said, simply. “We’ll see,” Vil said, already anticipating a disaster. Still, he decided he might as well give the tall, strapping leonine a chance; he hadn’t forgotten the way the alpha of Savannaclaw had surprised him during the Fairy Gala. So, Vil got into place behind the camera. Through the lens, he saw Leona Kingscholar’s bored, barely-focused expression; he saw the lion-boy’s tail twitch behind him as one ear flicked. His heart sank as he simply could not avoid looking at the belly of the beast-boy, and he nearly wanted to gag at the sight of such unholy imperfection in his mind… “Okay…give it a try,” he said lamely. That was when Vil Schoenheit realized something he seldom realized in general: he had been 100% wrong. Not only did Leona Kingscholar know how to handle a seductive pose…he knew how to use every part of his body to his advantage. And in this case, he showed it in a very particular way. The bored, coffee-needing expression on Leona’s face shifted; his scar seemed to be illuminated like an angler’s lure, as his green eyes flashed, his head dipping down slightly, just enough to allow his mane of dark hair to shadow his eyes, making the glowing green irises burn like dragonfire. The hand on his belly remained firmly in place, but flexed its fingers, clutching his bloated stomach more tightly. It groaned a low, deep, long grumble of hunger…as Leona thrust out his other hand in a beckoning motion towards the camera…and licked his lips. Vil blinked as he took in Leona’s pose for a few seconds…then, he shook his head, shaking himself out of his momentary stupor before snapping the photo. He got it in just one take. “Goodness,” he murmured, as he stood up straighter. Leona frowned and dropped the pose, looking towards him. “What is it?” he growled. “You don’t need another one, do you? Something wrong with the pose?” “For once, no,” Vil said, shaking his head and looking legitimately stunned. “I…I’m sorry for being so rude.” Leona’s eyes widened. He looked just as stunned as Schoenheit. “You’re…sorry?” he repeated, as if the word was some foreign language. Vil nodded slowly, and simply stated: “You look GOOD with a gut.” Leona blinked…then, his wide-eyed look of surprise shifted, as his eyes narrowed and a cocksure, sly, slippery smirk slid over his lips. “Hmmmm…I’ll need to remember that,” he said with a sultry rumble. Vil just rolled his eyes, letting out an unamused puff of air through his nose in a prim, girlish manner. He then made a shooing sort of motion with his hand. “Let’s move along. We’ll try something professional this time; got an idea of what to do for that?” Leona shrugged. “Sure, whatever.” “Fine,” Vil half-sighed, and got back behind the camera. “Then get into position, let me see.” This time, it was Leona Kingscholar who let out a puff of air through his nostrils…then, he adopted a serious, though not unfriendly, sort of look, and crossed his arms over his chest as he straightened his back and flipped some hair out of his face with a toss of his head, the scar gashed across one eye plainly visible. Vil looked through the lens and frowned, then peeked up. “Say, can you-” He cut himself off, biting his lip and closing his eyes. His expression was the perfect portrait of his thoughts: dear madness, do I REALLY want to say it? Leona raise an eyebrow in confusion. “What?” he snapped. “Spit it out, we don’t have all-HIC! Mph…sorry, pressure pocket…we don’t have all day.” Vil gulped and took a breath…before very, VERY slowly giving his directions, as if he had to make sure he was actually saying each separate word. “Please try it with your hands on your hips. Hiding that belly just makes you look…dumpy.” Leona blinked…then smirked slightly. “My, my…and earlier you were insulting my appetite.” “Oh, shut up,” snarled Vil. “You’re still a pig, and I hate the fact you’re pulling the look off, but I know what looks attractive in the camera, blast it all!” “Attractive in the camera?” retorted Leona. “And here you were saying I’d break it.” “Will you PLEASE just take the pose before I ask Professor Crewel if he could SKIN you?!” Leona just rolled his eyes, and then adopted the serious expression once more, placing his hands on his hips. With his posture straightened, his appearance went from simply professional to something almost lordly. Through the lens, Schoenheit begrudgingly admitted that the “portly” front of his body didn’t look too bad when matched with the rest of him; every line and curve was in perfect balance. Vil abhorred the fact this lion wore his weight so well…though not as much as when he accidentally bumped the tripod, and snarled as his camera view became unsteady. “Drat it all,” he muttered, and called to Leona, “Hold on a moment; I need to get things back in focus.” Leona groaned and tilted his head back, looking to the ceiling as he thought of all the better things he could be doing…like napping…and practicing chess…and napping…and teasing his herbivore…and did he forget napping? GRRRLLLRRRB… Leona grunted and his brow knitted as he inhaled sharply, his gut grumbling loudly as a few bubbles of gas burst. He placed a hand on his stomach, feeling the pressure build. “Tch…urgh…” His cheeks swelled as he held back a burp…but only halfway through, as the tail end of the eruption managed to rumble its way past his lips. “HHHRRRRLLLLPH-UUUURRRRRRRLLLLLLGPH. Oi…lame…” He thumped his chest twice, catching Vil’s attention. The head of Pomefiore had just finished readjusting the camera, and looked with befuddlement at the half-lion. “What…are you doing?” “Trying to burp.” Vil instantly felt the urge to murder small and fluffy animals. “…What?” “I’ve got some pressure lodged in my gut; won’t come out.” “Well, keep it to yourself!” snapped Vil. “It’s bad enough you ‘warthogged out’ before coming here tardy, you shaggy-haired mongrel! I’m not going to have such crudity in my presence!” “It��s a compliment.” “Not. To. Me.” Leona half-growled and half-sighed. “Fine, fine, whatever. Are you ready?” “Almost. Get into position, and don’t move!” Leona grumbled under his breath – “Tch. Pain in my ass…” – but obeyed, readopting the strict, no-nonsense pose with his hands on his hips. As his belly pushed outward a bit, it let out a deep burble, and he winced, having to fight to keep his expression steady as he felt the gases stirring inside him. “Just hold on a bit,” he mumbled, then stiffened a bit more as Vil called out to him… “At last! I’m ready to shoot! Stand still…on the count of three. One…two…THREE!” At the exact same moment Vil was doing his countdown – BRRROOOOUUUURRRRLLLLG! – Leona Kingscholar’s stomach let out a TREMENDOUS roar. So tremendous, in fact, it visibly vibrated under his tightly-buttoned shirt. In the split second before Vil’s finger pressed down on the camera button, Leona’s eyes widened…his cheeks ballooned…and then… CLICK-SNAP! “BUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!” Leona’s belch echoed for several seconds, the walls of the studio vibrating from the force and volume of the eruption. The smell was so nasty, Vil was fairly sure the tips of his perfectly-dyed hairdo were curling up. Vil slowly rose up from behind the camera. His eyes were VERY wide, and his face was a perfect mixture of red and green. Leona, for his part, carelessly palmed his chest, let out a softer after-burp – “BRUPP!” – and sighed deeply with relief: “Ahhhhh…now THAT was a good one…” Vil stared at Leona for several silent seconds. Leona looked back with half-lidded, uncaring, unfeeling eyes, as if nothing had happened. Vil slowly looked towards the camera…and turned a little redder when he saw the photo he had taken perfectly showed the lip-flapping expression of Leona Kingscholar mid-belch. “…Forget the poison,” he hissed. “I am going to find a way to put ACID in your drink.” Leona yawned, totally unfazed. “You can just take another one.” “I DON’T HAVE TIME!” screeched Vil…then immediately restrained himself, clapping his hands together and breathing smoothly, deeply, in-and-out, almost as if trying to center himself in a Zen-like way… Leona watched boredly, tail flicking this way and that as his distended stomach “blortled” with relief. “…We have one more standing picture to take,” Vil said at last. “Let’s…just…get it over with.” “Gladly,” Leona nodded. “Laid-back pose, yeah?” “Yes. Got anything for that?” “I can try something.” “Then by all means, go ahead.” One of Leona’s sandal-clad feet lifted…then moved into a new place as he crossed one leg over the other. He then slung his arms behind his head and arched his back. His belly let out a rolling rumble, and strained against his trousers and shirt some more. Once again, his belt audibly creaked as his gut strained, making him groan a little. He recovered, however, and gave the camera a sly, lazy smile. “That’s not too bad,” murmured Vil, then added, “For such a boorish stray, you’re very good at this.” “I’ve told you before: had to pose for family portraits a lot at the palace. Still do,” snorted the Prince of the Afterglow Savannah…who then added under his breath: “Doesn’t meant I think any of this is less of a bore…” “And napping is exciting to you?” Vil droned. “No, but the dreams sometimes are,” shrugged Leona…then smirked. “Besides, if I know my Herbivore, THIS…” He broke his pose to pat his gut; it “blorgled” at his touch. “…Is gonna make naptime MUCH more interesting.” “Have I told you before that you’re a repugnant slob?” Vil droned. “Have I told you before that you’d taste good served on rye with mustard?” Leona droned back. “Point taken,” mumbled Vil, and brushed some hair out of his face with a light, airy sigh as he made sure the camera was ready. “Alright, get set, please. We’ll once again take a photo on the count of three.” “Right,” Leona nodded, and reset, belly jutting out as he flashed his coy smile at the camera. “One…two…THREE!” SNAP-CLICK! This time, the photo was taken without a hitch. Leona paused, tail twitching into a question mark shape behind him as he tilted his head slightly, expectantly watching as Vil checked the viewer on the camera…then, both sighed softly as Vil Schoenheit gave his most troublesome model a thumbs-up. “That takes care of that,” Vil said, nodding to himself and adjusting his gloves. “Good,” Leona grunted, and started to move towards the exit. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a food coma to get started…it’s gonna feel sooo good kickin’ in…” So saying, Leona was about to leave…but just as he reached for the studio door, one of Vil’s hands slapped over his wrist and held him fast. Leona snarled aggressively. The leader of Pomefiore gave him an unflappable, cool stare in return. “We’re not quite finished.” “You said three pictures!” “I said three STANDING pictures. I also need a seated picture.” Leona blinked. “Are you serious?” he hissed. “It won’t take long,” frowned Vil. “All the others took four photos, you can take one, too.” “Don’t you have other places to be?” “Yes,” Vil glared. “And if you make me late for those other places, I will use my spare time to cultivate something to put in your favorite tree, so the next time you nap there, you’ll break out in a rash.” Leona’s eyes flashed dangerously, and he leaned close, baring his fangs. “You. Wouldn’t. Dare.” Vil smiled a thin, toxic smile. “Perhaps, perhaps not,” he crooned. “That depends: would YOU really dare to eat me?” “I am strongly considering it.” “Well, then, by all means, try.” There was a tense pause…then Leona growled and pulled his arm away. “Not worth it for just one stupid picture,” he grumbled…then added under his breath, “Besides, I’d rather do it when I’ve got more room…” “Good kitty,” teased Vil…and chuckled as Leona flashed him an absolutely MURDEROUS glower. Then, he guided Kingscholar back towards another part of the studio. There was a small wooden table, with a single apple and a vase of flowers in its center, set up in a corner of the photography room. Vil waved a hand elegantly, indicating Leona was to sit on the stool that was beside the table. Leona did so, sitting down roughly so that the stool let out a terrible groaning, grinding noise under him…but it held. Leona rumbled in tandem with his tummy; he ground his teeth together as he placed a hand over it, his gut straining and let out an unhappy sort of gurgle. He hiccuped and burped in response. “HIC! HIC-UUURRRP! Ooof…damn…I think I need more room,” he mumbled. “You didn’t leave much,” Vil sneered. “Why do you make such a glutton of yourself, anyway?” Leona raised an eyebrow. “Why shouldn’t I? If I’m hungry, I’ll eat till I’m full,” snorted Leona. “If that makes me a gannet, that’s not anybody’s problem but mine.” Vil raised an eyebrow. “Gannet.” “It means-” “I know what it means,” smirked Vil. “I’m just surprised a fleabag like you has such a vocabulary.” If looks could kill, Vil Schoenheit would have been six feet under. “Never mind,” he chuckled to himself, shaking his head. “Let’s figure out your pose…” Leona rolled his eyes and leaned against the table, placing one arm over it, and the other in his lap; his fingers instinctively found their way to the swollen underside of his cloth-covered belly. Vil Schoenheit frowned, placing a finger to his chin as he inspected Leona’s pose judgmentally…then clucked his tongue, shook his head, and moved to make adjustments. Leona growled as Vil moved closer. “You know I don’t like it when you manhandle me for this stuff,” he grumbled. “And you should know by now that I don’t care,” Vil replied, quick as a wink. He then took Leona’s arm on the table and began to maneuver it; he fiddled with Leona’s fingers till they were curled just the right way, then swatted his hand away from his stomach. Leona growled as the professional actor and model positioned his arm the way he wanted. “Is all this nitpicking really necessary?” “Yes,” Vil said, bluntly, then looked Leona in the eye. “After all this time, it’s plain that you still haven’t learned a thing about the importance of self-respect.” Leona glared and said nothing. There was a calculating, dangerous look in his eyes; Vil was suddenly reminded of the fact the lion was, for all his hedonistic ways, regarded as a brilliant chess player as much anything else. He had the distinct feeling that Kingscholar was eyeing him up like a piece he VERY much wanted to remove from the board. Vil shrugged the musing off and turned his back on Leona as he flounced back towards his camera. Leona smirked behind his back in a most devilish manner, and while Vil checked the tripod and adjusted his blazer, the lion man’s fingers sneakily moved towards his belt buckle. His hand had been repositioned very close to it. His gut let out a rhythmic rumble, almost as if letting out a malevolent laugh… As Vil got behind the camera again, he took a deep breath, and smiled as he noticed Leona’s own slippery smirk, not yet catching the devious intent behind it. “Perfect!” he declared, giving a thumbs-up from behind the camera. “Now, let’s get this over and done with: one…two…THREE!” Several noises all sounded off almost at once. CLINK – this was Leona sneakily unfastening his belt at the last minute.

POPK – this was the trouser snaps of the half-cat’s pants coming undone. ZZZRRRIIIP – this was the zipper on Kingscholar’s bottoms coming undone. GULORSH – this was his belly, rolling free as he groaned deeply, the gut freed from its initial constraints. PANG-PANG-PANG – this was the sound of buttons on his dress shirt breaking off and scattering across the studio walls. And finally – CLICK-SNAP! – the camera went off. Vil looked absolutely MORTIFIED at what his viewscreen showed back to him: his camera had caught the EXACT moment where Leona’s belly broke through the buttons on his shirt and was thus exposed for all the world to see: a smooth, round, doughy-looking ball of swollen flesh, light tan and thick as treacle. Vil’s mouth opened and closed a few times; a few strangled noises came from his mouth as he looked to Leona, who sighed deeply, lounging back in the chair where he’d been posed. Leona smiled a lazy, cunning smile towards the perfectionist. “Sorry,” he purred. “I – UUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRLLLLLLAAAAAAARRRRRRPHK! – ahhhhh…I told you I needed room. I guess you were right: I have no self-respect, hm?” Vil’s eye twitched; his normally pale, almost feminine face was red, and one could see him physically starting to tremble with intense, rising fury. “You…y-you…YOU BLUNDERING FOOL!” Leona’s smile fell away in a flash as Vil suddenly lunged forward, as if he was going to strangle him. Kingscholar threw himself off the chair where he sat and dove away as Vil grunted and gasped, ramming into the table and thus having the wind knocked out of him for a moment. Leona stood – somewhat unsteadily, given the weight of several pounds of zebra roast in his belly – and adopted a predatory crouch, ready in case Vil chose to come at him again… …But instead, Schoenheit just…stayed still. His head was bowed, his back hunched; his normally regal and dignified posture or flamboyant mannerisms were completely absent, replaced by an utterly crushed look. “You ruined…everything,” he whispered softly, the sound echoing through the studio. Leona blinked…then frowned. About now was when most people would apologize and try to make things better. Leona was not most people. “These dumb photos mean that much to you?” he grimaced. Vil paused…then shook his head, not looking at Leona. “It’s not about the project,” he murmured. “It’s about perfection. Pure. Beautiful. Perfection. These are…these are…you have RUINED my perfection…” Leona bit his lip, looking Vil’s rather destroyed demeanor up and down carefully. He had to admit, he…didn’t quite understand why the drama king was so distraught…perhaps he still hadn’t fully recovered after the events of meeting the Prefect of Ramshackle Dorm? Whateve the case, Leona was tempted to simply walk out and leave the Pomefiore dorm head to his moping over imperfection…but something stirred him to stay, and he drummed his fingers over his now bare belly thoughtfully, gloved hands making little “plapp-plapp-plapp” noises against the soft, dark, creamy flesh. “Perhaps I haven’t,” he said slowly. “Perhaps you’re just looking at ‘perfection’ through the wrong lens.” Vil paused…then turned his pale purple eyes towards Leona. “What?” “You admitted yourself, I look good with a gut,” Leona smirked. “Maybe these aren’t what you should use for this project…but…well…you’re an actor, right?” Vil nodded slowly, looking confused, but also curious to hear more. “With every movie or play, there’s gonna be ‘goof-ups’ or ‘bloopers’ behind the scenes, yes? What if you posted these as those? Wouldn’t that be amusing to some of your followers?” Vil bit his lip…he opened his mouth… “I’ll find time to take more stupid pictures,” Leona sighed, holding up a hand and rolling his eyes. “Jeeze, I know you’ll need at least one.” Vil closed his mouth again…then nodded slowly once more. “I…might try that…when can we schedule another round, then?” “How soon do you need them?” Vil gave the lion the date. Leona scowled…then shrugged. “I can make it before then.” “But-” “I’ll skip class; not like I’ll learn anything worthwhile,” scoffed Kingscholar. “We’ll figure out another date and time tomorrow, okay? Right now, you’ve got a rehearsal, and I’ve REALLY gotta see about getting my catnap in.” Vil paused…then stood up straight. He adjusted his clothes and his hair…and smiled. “Very well. Tomorrow we’ll work it out…” He frowned. “…I’m still mad at you.” “I’m sure you are,” smirked Leona. “But we’re both used to that feeling, aren’t we?” So saying, the lion moved forward…and playfully slapped Vil on the shoulder. Vil flinched and glared as he clutched his shoulder. Leona, meanwhile, plucked up the apple from the table and tossed it into the air before catching it again like a tennis ball. CRUNCH! His jagged fangs cleaved through the apple, taking a chunk out of the fruit so large it nearly split it in two. He chewed it up briefly as he walked toward the door – GRUMCH, GRUMCH, GRUMCH! – then swallowed the mouthful with a GUUULLLP. As he reached the doorway, Leona licked his lips and teeth clean of apple, and winked over his shoulder at Vil. “Till tomorrow, Mr. Perfect,” he purred…and as he went out of the hall, a final belch echoed back almost tauntingly. “BRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAOOOOOOORRRRRRP!” Vil watched Leona go, hearing the sounds of him eating fade into the distance…then looked towards his camera. He frowned…then sighed through his nose and shook his head. “Hmph. Outtakes…well,” he sniffed snootily. “I suppose it wouldn’t be a total loss.” So saying, Vil Schoenheit cleaned up the studio, and began making plans for what was to come next…

The following day, Leona Kingscholar swaggered through Pomefiore. He ignored the looks of surprise and occasional disapproval from the other students in the dorm as he strutted like the proud feline he was in the direction of the dorm leader’s quarters. He glanced boredly at the gilded decorations throughout the hall, and the indigo tapestries strung up everywhere. Leona shook his head to himself, his scarred eye flaring up behind his messy bangs. He really felt out of place here, and he wouldn’t have come at all…except that Vil had INSISTED he see him in his own chambers, rather than the other way around or meeting some more neutral location. Leona, for whatever reason (even he wasn’t truly certain), decided he didn’t want to argue. He blamed it on the look Ruggie gave him when he had been ABOUT to do so over the phone. “Damn hyena; pain in my…” Leona didn’t finish his usual cussing catchphrase as he came to the well-carved doors of Vil’s room, which had the imagery of Pomefiore’s crest painted on them. He knocked three times fast; not too roughly, and not too softly. Vil would have a conniption if he was too quiet, and even more of one if he was too loud. “Come in,” came the dulcet voice of Vil Schoenheit from behind the door. Leona entered and carefully shut the door behind him. He frowned with light disdain at the resplendent finery around him…he wouldn’t have minded all the fancy décor, except that it reminded him a little too much of his oh-so-perfect brother’s room. Ugh. His green eyes soon caught sight of Vil, who was seated at the old-fashioned desk beside his bed, fingers fluttering over the keyboard of a laptop computer. “Well?” he growled. Vil jumped slightly, as if he’d forgotten someone had come in, and frowned back as he saw Leona. “Oh, you’re on time for once,” he responded. “That’s new.” Leona narrowed his eyes, and then arched one eyebrow as Vil’s gaze wandered towards his abdomen; Leona was dressed in his school uniform again, but this time, the buttons of the vest were decidedly closed, and he clearly wasn’t as bloated…though he HAD noticeably gained a very, very slight swell of tummy fat after his gorging on zebra meat the day before. “You’ll need to work that off,” Vil sniffed, snobbishly. “Maybe I will, maybe I won’t,” Leona purred. “Now, you called me here to discuss the next round of photos?” Vil bit his lip; he looked like he was measuring his next words very carefully. “Yes and no,” he said. Leona blinked slowly. Vil sighed, then scooted his chair away and gestured to the laptop. “These are the pictures I took yesterday; I decided it wouldn’t hurt to follow the advice of a mongrel in this case, so I posted them to my social media as ‘outtakes,’ like you suggested. The responses have been…not what I expected.” “Did people not like them?” “No, they LOVE them, but not for the reasons I thought,” Vil snorted, and waved to the computer again, more insistently. “Take a look!” Leona, rather bemused, twitched an ear and flipped his tail behind him before approaching and bending down over the laptop. He adjusted the screen and took the wireless mouse (Vil preferred it over a touchscreen), and scanned through the comments on the images… …His eyes widened at what he read. OMG, LOOK AT DAT BELLEH! So smug…he’s sexy and he knows it~ Awwww, he looks so ky-ute tryin ta be all serious wiff that tummy! Damn…I can smell the gas from that belch from here! He can do that in my face any day… If he gave ME that look, I’d be in his stomach YESTERDAY. <3 <3 <3 Leona blinked several times fast…then slowly turned to look at Vil. He mouthed three words: What. The. Hades?! Vil nodded back, looking utterly deadpan. “Yeah. Congratulations, Kingscholar. Apparently you wear a gut so well it makes you an absolute icon.” Leona looked back to the computer screen…then back to Vil… …And grinned deviously. “How many views did you get?” Vil gulped nervously, not sure he liked the way Leona uttered the question. “Ah…um…enough.” “Schoenheit…did my belly beat YOUR views, Mr. Fairest of Them All?” “No!” Vil protested…then mumbled under his breath: “But it came awfully close-DISREGARD THAT.” Leona laughed and grinned toothily. “You know…maybe I should stuff myself before the next photo shoot…” “You will NOT!” Vil exclaimed, utterly aghast, rising from his chair. “This project is for…for…for CULTURED people!” “Oh? And wouldn’t you call your devoted fans cultured?” Vil was at a loss for words. “Well, then I suppose we’ll just have to do it again,” Leona said, grinning more widely. “In fact…” He leaned close and licked his chops. “Maybe next time you can…join in the fun…” He rubbed his belly indicatively. Vil sputtered…and then let out a teeth-gritting scream as he began to shove Leona out the door. “Forget it! Forget the project! Forget these pictures! Forget those…those…millions and millions of views…” “You’re tempted!” “GET OUT!” Leona laughed all the way back to his dorm. He and Vil would settle things over the phone later… …He was already anticipating the zebra meat feast he’d have before then… The End

#post-stuffing #stuffing #implied vore #belching #burping #belly #fanfic #kink fic #digestion #leona kingscholar #leona #vil #vil schoenheit #twisted wonderland #disney villains #comedy #silliness

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de-profundis-ad-astra · 4 years

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Word Count || 2.5k Author’s Note || This is part two of what I posted yesterday. You don’t need to have read the first part for this to make sense, but I would recommend it. You can find it here. So, yesterday you met Kerri, today you get to meet Charlotte!

Charlotte Moore was most easily identified by the click clack of her heels on the gleaming tile floors and the way the temperature seemed to flux around her. Her thick, curling red hair—hanging down her back and spilling over her shoulders—practically bounced with a life of its own as she flounced up the stairs and through the halls of Legion’s Los Angeles corporate location. She would have used the elevator, but the prospect of a new job had her positively bursting with energy. The stairs provided an outlet, just enough to take the edge off. Even then, those she passed along her way made sure to vacate more than enough space for her. A privilege that came with her title, she knew.

For someone trained to be silent when entering new or unpredictable situations, Charlotte was capable of making a hell of an entrance. Though unpredictable, she aimed for it every time she met with her… handler.

She reached her destination, wrapped her long, freshly manicured fingers around the knob, and pushed the door open without knock or warning. Most people felt that walking from a well-lit atmosphere into a dark room was disconcerting. Charlotte thrived on such excitement.

Director Cecil Soren tried, and failed, to conceal his jolt of surprise as his office door flung open and crashed into the wall. He knew he’d failed the moment he heard a hint of low laughter join the fading echo of the door and the thud of his knee hitting the underside of his desk. The laughter subsided as Charlotte dropped her body into one of the seats directly across from him.

“You can’t be surprised to see me,” said Charlotte, grinning at the fatigue in her handler’s eyes as he hunched forward to grip his throbbing knee. It seemed her mere presence already wearied him. “I’m always on time.”

Director Soren looked at the clock above his door, his mouth forming a tight line. Eight o’clock sharp. As always. He straightened. “Your punctuality is merely a standard you’re expected to uphold, and is one of the few you actually care to meet.”

Charlotte sniffed, disappointed that he didn’t rise to meet her banter. They were always so good at it. She moved along, not without making a mental note of this, “So, if we aren’t going to play.” She crossed her arms. “What do you have for me?”

Director Soren reached into a drawer, removed a slim file, and placed it on his desk with a certain amount of delicacy. Placing one hand flat over the cover, he slid it towards Charlotte. “The panel has decided to grant you one more chance to prove your worth as a Named Agent of Legion.”

Charlotte nodded with recognition. Over a week had passed since what they considered the unmitigated disaster that had been her last meeting with her disciplinary panel. To Charlotte, it had been just another Tuesday.

What was meant to be a review of her most recent discipline case had devolved into what he could only describe was an amalgam of arguing and backtalk until Charlotte was ordered out of the building and given strict instructions to remain on call.

This was the first she’d heard from Soren since then. Hence the excitement.

Charlotte tilted her head, her eyes locking on the folder like a piece of meat. Her fiery curls fell over one shoulder with the motion. “Can’t say I’m hard pressed to disagree with the decision. What’s the job?”

“Getting you this opportunity was a hard fought victory,” said Soren, deflecting. “I do not suggest you take it lightly.”

“Whatever gave you that impression?” asked Charlotte, her eyes rounding and mouth falling open partway. The portrait of innocence.

Her whole career, actually, might have lead one to believe this. But Charlotte never passed up an opportunity to gibe at her handler.

Director Soren easily saw through the ruse. “Anyone reviewing your service record wouldn’t need to make it far to know your history of insolence.”

Air hissed from Charlotte’s nose as she exhaled, the soft features of her face hardening into hard planes and angles. “Fine,” She huffed, her long, thick eyelashes fluttering to conceal the way she rolled her eyes before her focus narrowed back to the file. Without asking, she reached for it.

Soren yanked the folder back before she could touch it. She leaned back with a puff. “You swore an oath to support and defend this corporation. To bear allegiance to it and no others. Do you still swear it?”

Charlotte’s heart soared at those words, wings fluttering against her ribs. Excitement rose in her throat, and she tamed the face-splitting grin that threatened to break across her face to a mild conspirator’s smile. “I do.”

“You swore to serve as a living example of this corporation’s philosophies and beliefs and to uphold these values at all times. You took this obligation freely and of your own accord. Do you still swear it?”

Charlotte allowed some of her control to slip, and her resulting smile reminded Director Soren more of a predator baring its teeth than an expression of happiness. “I do.”

“Do you swear to give yourself wholly to this assignment and complete the request of its commissioner?”

“I do.”

“Thank you,” Director Soren withdrew his hand, and Charlotte greedily snatched the file off his desk. She flipped it open, immediately faced with the small headshot of a stern-looking blonde clipped to the inside of the cover.

Charlotte snorted, “Hell of a mugshot. What do we want from her.”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Charlotte repeated, incredulous. “Then why—”

It dawned on her, then, and she trailed off. Her handler’s expression gave her everything she needed.

“Oh, Cecil,” Charlotte breathed, placing a hand over her heart. “You shouldn’t have.”

Soren ignored the flattery and the way she casually flung around his first name instead of addressing him by his title. “Agent Gatsby, you’ve been commissioned an assassination.”

Charlotte gave a low whistle as she skimmed over the few pages the file had to offer. “Haven’t had me one of those in… oh, what’s in been? A year? Year and a half?”

“One year, three months, and eleven days.”

Charlotte cocked an eyebrow. “You kept track?”

“It was the biggest mess I’ve ever seen a Named Agent make.”

Charlotte recalled that memory fondly. Another assignment that had put her under scrutiny from Legion’s board of directors. Perhaps even Alpha, herself. It was hard to tell, though. Alpha rarely deigned to show her face to anyone outside her cabinet.

She hummed, handling the file with tender delight, the way she supposed people may feel when holding a newborn baby. “And yet…”

“And yet, indeed.” Soren pinched at the bridge of his nose. “I advised that this kind of mission was inappropriate for your circumstances, but they did not heed my council.”

“Why would anyone ignore you? You have such a commanding presence.” She gave him a once over that seemed all too invasive. There was nothing promiscuous behind the action, but that was of little comfort to Director Soren. It was too reminiscent of a predator assessing a threat. “It’s your broad shoulders. They really work for you.”

Soren ignored the jab; Charlotte’s smile turned into a wink.

“So,” he emphasized, taking back control. “This is a very important mission, and you should treat it as such. This is your opportunity to prove to the board that you are more of an asset than a liability. Success without infraction will put you on the road back into their good graces.”

“And all it’s going to take is a ticket to Texas and one body?” There was far too much glee in Charlotte’s words.

Soren folded his hands and rested his fingers over his mouth. “It’s less about the task itself and more about your performance. Remember what you need to prove to the board.”

“Surely you don’t think I’m taking this seriously?” said Charlotte, feigning incredulity. She tugged the small, index-card sized sheet of cardstock free of its paperclip and inspected it closely.

“I’m ordering it, in fact,” he forged forward. “Your target is dangerous, and you would be wise to proceed with extreme caution.”

Charlotte kicked her feet up onto the edge of Soren’s desk, leaning heavily against the armrest of her chair. “That’s what all the girls say behind your back,” she said without looking away from the photo.

“And if you have any self-preservation instincts,” his voice grew strained. “You’ll listen to me. Please—”

“You say that so imploringly. It gives me goosebumps.”

“Please,” Soren did, indeed implore her. “Be discreet. Do not make another spectacle of yourself.”

“But I’m such a lovely spectacle,” Charlotte pouted.

Director Soren barely had the energy to glare. “There is a lot hanging in the balance, Agent Gatsby. This kind of behavior is not what will tip the scales in your favor.”

“Believe me, if you didn’t make it so fun, I wouldn’t bother,” said Charlotte. “But that’s neither here nor there. I just want to know what Blondie here did to make herself such a prize shot.”

Sure enough, Charlotte’s initial skim of her file had given her absolutely nothing to suggest that her newest target was an overt menace to society. That wasn’t to say she wasn’t above killing another for small reasons. However, she was plagued by an incessant curiosity that yearned to at least know why.

“To borrow a phrase: that’s neither here nor there.”

“Oh, Cecil, you make me laugh.”

She wasn’t laughing.

“I should not have to remind you to remember your place, Agent Gatsby,” said Director Soren. “Everything you need to know to do your job is in that folder.”

Charlotte looked down at the pathetic excuse of a folder. Such a meager amount of information certainly was not typical for her. “You’ve given me enough high-profile jobs to know my resume is stacked with Legion’s trust. When you look me up in the database, it says Intelligence Specialist. Which is code for ‘really really likes secrets’. So—” she flicked the photo around between her fingers and shoved the image of the austere woman into Director Soren’s face. “I’d like to know who this Kerri Stevens is.”

Director Soren’s mouth formed a tight, impenetrable line.

“Classified.”

Charlotte frowned, leaned back, then schooled her features into a neutral mask. She looked pensive, considerate, even, as she secured the photograph into place with its paperclip. She lowered her feet to the floor, but when she looked up, her dark green eyes were positively aflame. Delicately, she flipped the folder shut and placed it down on the desk.

“I wonder what would happen,” she said slowly, carefully, as she slid the file towards Soren. “If I were to… rescind the mission.”

Director Soren stared at Charlotte, yielding no reaction other than a subtle tilt of his chin downwards as he swallowed. She sat back and mirrored her handler’s stare, patiently awaiting an answer. She could be a very patient person.

“I see I’ve made you speechless,” she commented at last.

“You think you can rescind an assassination that came straight from Alpha’s desk?”

Charlotte shrugged, an air of indifference about her that brought Director Soren’s blood to near boiling temperatures. “Depends. How badly do they want me to stay?”

“It’s your status being evaluated, no one else’s,” Soren shot back. “How badly do you want to stay?”

Charlotte clucked her tongue and sighed, “Well, where’s the fun in saying no to such a mysterious target?”

Soren fumed, “Fun?” He glared at the redhead casually slumped in the chair across from him. “This is all just for fun, then. The tests, the trials. All of it… fun?”

“Is working for a max-security espionage operation with blurred ethical and moral boundaries not you idea of a good time?”

“No.”

“That’s probably why you’re not a field agent, then.”

Her handler’s fingers began twitching over the metal surface of his desk. “Perhaps I should tell the board you’re not interested in taking the assignment.” He pulled the folder towards his side of the desk. “We can see how keen they are on providing you with another opportunity once they’ve learned of your apathy.”

“Ah,” Charlotte held a finger up, looking all to pleased by his chosen response. “But you just said they wouldn’t take your council when they chose this for me. They clearly want me to stick around. Maybe it’s time you jumped on the bandwagon.”

Director Soren’s hands slammed down onto his desk so hard his palms stung. It did get Charlotte to shut up, which he reaped a moment of satisfaction from. He fixed his most wrathful glare on his agent who, infuriatingly, remained unperturbed. When he leaned over his desk, her gaze turned questioning.

“Might I remind you, Agent Gatsby, that bearing a Name does not make you untouchable.”

Exhaling deeply, Charlotte leaned forward and braced her elbows on her knees. She gave Soren a wolfish smirk.

“Cecil,” she breathed. “If you want to touch me, All you gotta do is a—”

Director Soren’s hand snapped forward, wrapping her around her throat before she could finish her statement and clenched. Not hard enough to see stares, but just enough to—hopefully—remind her who was superior.

Charlotte gasped, choking on her words, but did not appear alarmed as she casually wrapped a slender hand around his. If anything, she looked more annoyed than fearful. Her manicured nails dug into the bone protruding from his wrist. But, just as she showed no reaction, Director Soren gave nothing away as he pulled her forward until the corner of his desk dug into her stomach.

Charlotte hissed, her nails scratching over his skin, “Buy me dinner, first.”

Soren tucked the pain to a corner of his brain where he would not let it bother him. “Consider the ones who earned the Director’s desk—not a mere Name.” He managed to keep his voice low, despite his rage. “I’ve done more than my due diligence.”

As annoying as the gesture was, Charlotte couldn’t blame him for lashing out like this. Legion was a cut-throat corporation and, in all honesty, she was accustomed to being treated roughly. With her, violence or other physical displays of authority were often the only thing her superiors could do to get through to her. Or at least, it was a way for Charlotte to know that she’d pushed the right buttons.

“A desk,” she snorted, her fist jabbing out and catching Director Soren in the throat. An eye for an eye, a trachea for a trachea.

When his hand retracted, Charlotte calmly drew in a full breath, and scooped up Kerri Stevens’s file from her chair. In a stunning whirl of leather and red curls, she swept towards the back of the office and opened the door.

“You can keep your desk,” she said with pointed lethality.

And with that, the door slammed behind her, leaving Director Soren coughing and ruing the day he was assigned to be Agent Gatsby’s handler.

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x-nerdingss-x · 4 years

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Your Turn

Summary: 1943. Janus is employed as the town's telegram boy.

Context before the story if you don’t know what a telegram boy is (if you do, you can continue reading): It's basically someone, typically a young child or teenager and men who couldn't enlist or be drafted due to medical conditions or religious beliefs, who isn't drafted for fighting during WW1 or WW2, works like a postman, except their job was to deliver letters to families with members that were sent from the member's officer/higher positioned commander.

These letters weren't typically sent from the solider themselves telling their family of their experiences in the war front, but news such as the family member who fought either died during action, M.I.A (Missing in Action; normally from running away during battle or their body cannot be retrieved and therefore missing) or P.O.W (Prisoner of War; typically captured by enemy lines and like M.I.A, usually never returning back to family).

Usually telegram boys worked in towns or cities, but were generally avoided by the community because their job was to bring the unfortunate news of disaster from the front lines to the home front. They would also serve as a comfort tool for grieving families that were affected by the letter, but also delivered last letters written by the soldiers, photographs, jewellery and money - anything with value that is to be sent to the families as a memoir.Hopefully I taught someone something new today lol.

Happy reading-

(You can read this on Ao3 under XxUnknown_IntrovertsxX)

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1943

It was early morning in a remote town, the sun rising from behind the hills with pale blue and purple colours swirling together to paint the new day. Yet to be hot for the townspeople, many were outside to do their daily activities before it got too warm, the summer heat too unbearable for anyone. Of course, it wasn’t sandy, with grass growing lightly in muddy hills near outback huts many made as homes. A light breeze blew over to the town, the heat slowly growing closer.

On a bicycle, a teenage boy travelled to the town’s post office to collect mail for the day. Putting on his black newsboy cap, the boy also wore a black and yellow striped cloak to protect his skin from the dangerous sun, yellow gloves to prevent sweat slipping from his bike handles. He said thank you to the post man behind the counter, and bid them farewell as he buckled the letters at the back of the rack of his shiny yellow bike. Yellow, so many people could see the boy clearer.

Except, that was the issue. The boy rode on his bike, and others in his town went inside their homes immediately. He would admit, it hurt the teen a little; he only wanted a few shillings like the workers in his hometown. Mothers pulled their children away from the boy, and the yellow teenager even glanced at a parent who pointed to the boy, giving the child a disapproving wag of their finger and told them to stay away from him. He knew what he was doing was the unthinkable for any family during these unprecedented times, but there was no use for being a newsboy in a small home either. Adjusting his cap, he looked onward and visited the first house.

He knocked on the door, holding a mustard splatter of an envelope in his grip. Waiting for the mother to open the door, the boy hummed as he knew who owned the house. Mrs. Realeza. Her son Remus was a friend of the boy and Roman a mere acquaintance… although someone he wouldn’t particularly talk to. The letter in his hands twisted his gut inside. He knew exactly what it was, and he gulped down his feelings. Knocking again, he rocked on the balls of his feet and tilted his head from the lack of response. What he was aware of however, was the mother was behind the locked wooden door, holding her breath with her hand covering her mouth. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes, and the boy knew she was the same as every other mother he had to encounter. It was still a saddened thought to consider.

The telegram boy was not supposed to know she was there.

“Mrs. Realeza,” The boy said, keeping his voice firm for the mother despite threatening to waver. “I know you’re sobbing from behind the door, but I think it’s best to know the truth.”

“No Janus, please go away - If I don’t read it, then the truth doesn’t exist.” She could feel her body shake uncontrollably, her soft whispers of denial were heard through the door. Janus mumbled to himself, controlling his own attitude for what the letter meant. In truth, he didn’t like his job, much preferring a different job; but he also felt a sense of justice when he gave the townspeople these letters. It would spare them much grief if they knew when the news came, instead of waiting for someone non-existant to return home after years of fighting a war.

“Mrs. Realeza, I don’t have two letters for you. You should know which son it is-”

“I SAID GO AWAY - NONE OF MY BOYS ARE DEAD! THEY ARE TOGETHER, THEY ARE ALIVE-”

Janus huffed, leaning his face against the crack of the door instead. “I am legally not allowed to open your letter, and even then I am against such manners. I could read it for you, with the permission of course.”

She wept quietly, wiping a tear from her eye before getting up to open the door. The mother knew what the boy was doing, and even if she hated him and his job, she couldn’t help but remember that one of her sons is a close friend of the telegram boy. He shouldn’t feel such pain or sorrow from reading the letter first hand; it was just his job to deliver them instead. A click echoed through the crack of the door, and Janus stepped back to allow room for the mother to see him properly. Clutching on the letter firmly, he had another hand behind his back. She took the first letter, and Janus waited until she read the first letter to reveal his second hand.

“Oh Remus… my baby boy…” She whispered in disbelief, her eyes dashing through the lines of the letter. Janus sniffled quietly, snaking his second hand to her. Held was another pale yellow envelope addressed to her, and he frowned when he caught a glimpse of her disbelief. Hiding one side of his face, he revealed the white, discoloured pigment of his skin and looked at her with his blurry eye instead. He couldn’t bear gazing at her grief. Hesitantly reaching out for the second letter, the mother screamed in pain as the boy recoiled from the sound, shoving the letter to her before rushing off to his bike to escape her fury.

“YOU LYING SNAKE! YOU SAID THERE WAS ONLY ONE LETTER. BOTH MY BOYS ARE GONE - YOU LYING SON OF A-”

“I had to lie, because you wouldn’t open the door otherwise.” Janus hopped onto his bike and prepared himself to dash off.

“NEVER STEP FOOT ON MY PROPERTY. CONSIDER THIS THE LAST TIME YOU’LL EVER SEE THIS HOUSE AGAIN.” She slammed the door, effectively shutting the boy from any connection he had to the family. Janus swallowed his bubbling tears, taking his hat off to give a moment for both the lost lives of Roman and Remus. His hat hovered over his chest, covering his heart with his head down. He may not have liked Roman, but even he felt a sense of sorrow for his lost life.

Two letters down, and sadly just a few more to go.

-*-

Biking around the small town, Janus took a moment for himself to find the next house. He felt the cool, metallic chain around his neck bumping into his chest, a necklace hidden under his shirt. He didn’t have a moment to think earlier, especially after reading the first letter he had to deliver, but now only one person was stuck in his mind during the whole fiasco. Janus knew fully well of the necklace, a photo of his Patton, the faith of his journey. From meeting each other in their childhoods, both boys felt a separation between them when Patton was drafted into the war just a little over a decade later. It was a shame, since Patton was 18 and Janus fell short being 17, but he promised to join Patton as soon as he could, just so they could be together again. Just a few months, Janus could be deployed to where his friend is.

He much preferred fighting than delivering the fate of those who are gone.

Janus arrived at his next house, preparing himself for giving the next letter. He also knew who this house belonged to as well, being an ex-friend of the boy. What he didn’t know was he was deployed to fight, and it didn’t sit comfortably with the knowledge that he was also gone into the hands of death. Knocking on the door curtly, he waited for the ex-friend’s father to open the door and receive the letter. It should be better; in Janus opinion, to get it over and done with. He didn’t want to suffer through the grieving process of Virgil - he doesn’t want to admit that he already cried when they departed, to only cry again when it’s fact that they’re both completely separated.

The dark oak door opened to reveal the old man, and Janus gave him an awkward wave to the man. “For you, sir.”

Unlike Mrs. Realeza, the old man gently took the letter from Janus’ jittery clasp, already aware of how uncomfortable the situation was. “Thank you, Janus.” His face curled up unnaturally, his eyes squinting to hold in his tears. Virgil… his son…

Janus had to pray for Mr. Ansia’ that night. He already knew he lost his friend, but he couldn’t dare think of how hard it was to lose his son. He would admit, he didn’t have a close connection with Virgil, and bowed down respectfully to his father before trailing off to the next house. Janus wanted the meeting to speed up, rather leaving to deliver the next letter before lunch than to remember the ex-friend that just died on the battlefield with the friend's father standing emptily on the porch. Even if Janus didn’t like Virgil, he would be a fool if he ignored the few happy times they did share. Janus would be a bigger fool if he denied that the same happiness would arrive again.

-*-

He went back on his bright bike, but didn’t speed off as quickly as the wrath of Mrs. Realeza. Instead, he rode slowly. He took his time, recollecting the memories of Virgil and taking his moments to remember him as a fallen man. It was ironic; their arguments were always about worth, and Janus can safely claim that Virgil held more worth. Despite his unnerving energy and negative views of the world, he also faced the challenges to prove something else entirely, and the yellow boy couldn’t help but respect that courage. It wouldn’t be long now; he’s counting the days till he can be in the battlefield and see Patton again.

His heart fluttered when he thought of Patton, a small smile curling in his lips and closed his eyes to imagine the soon-to-be encounter. What could he say? Oh how he missed him. He missed the golden curls, the baby blue eyes and toothy smile the other would wear a lot. He missed the blue shirt and grey cardigan hugging his shoulders, but Janus couldn’t wait to see him again in his military uniform, wearing it alongside him with pride. The boy didn’t notice he went off trail to the next house, and turned into a small corner to where it should be. A shortcut, in a sense.

Unlike the previous three letters, he didn’t recognise the next house as well. He only saw a boy walking inside it once from the way home from school, a year or two above his own. Janus only started high school whereas the other looked like he was attending for a while, far too tall for his already short legs.

Arriving at the house, he took a few minutes to gaze at the place before stepping foot to break the news. Familiarising himself with the neatly tended gardens and swing set on the porch, he also noticed how it was made from brick compared to the lazy wooden timbre for structure. An outdoor lamp sat coolly under the shade, small flickers of light bounced from the electricity the house swam with. He was far too distracted, never noticing the parents who chatted together near the fence of the front yard. Taking a glimpse of them, Janus could tell the older boy wasn’t just an ordinary student. With a house that looked neat, tidy and well mannered to his parents, Janus could assume he was rich.

The mother had her hair wrapped onto a bun, wearing an all black dress with a cardigan to protect her forearms. She had a large hat on top, with black and blue feathers puffing the look. The father looked no different, except for the dark blue tie and white shirt tucked under his black pants. If Janus had to guess, they looked rich; possibly a scientist or business owner. It would make sense if the older boy could continue learning for so long, since many high school dropouts like Janus had to quit from the lack of money to continue.

“We assume you’re the telegram boy?” The man asked, strolling over to him. “I’m afraid you’re a bit too late, since we just came home from his funeral.”

Too late?

“What has to come I say,” The mother said. “We would appreciate what his officers said though, check if he managed to make any colleagues while fighting.” She neatly folded a handkerchief she held onto a pocket of her dress. “Come inside, I’ll get us some biscuits to pass the time.”

Beckoning him to come, Janus propped his bike against the wooden fence and followed them past their blooming garden. It didn’t sit right inside him, as if he was intruding inside a home of someone who passed rather than like he was a guest. A little funny though… the parents didn’t seem so shocked or surprised by their son’s death, almost like they expected it to come.

China plates were displayed in the cabinet by the kitchen, which was down the hall from where they all entered. It was a big house, like it was small from the outside but bigger on the inside. Janus could spot the living room just a few metres away, with a fireplace and television - wait, television? How rich are they? He wanted to sneak away and inspect the television, never imagining to see one for himself. Of course, it would be considered rude, and he was named Janus Classy Sanders for a reason; named from Patton, who he wore the title with pride.

“We never thought he'd come back in the first place. Despite our protests for him to stay, he wanted to join anyway for the opportunities granted for him after. He even said if he died, we would collect the military funds he organised for us.” His father said when he strolled to the kitchen. Grabbing some drinks and glass, he settled them on the table and waited for the teenager to join them in the room. “We don’t even need the money, thinking of giving it away in fact.”

“Perhaps you’ll want it dear? You look like a smart boy. Would you say you wanna go to university? It would be nice for a kid from this town to go to one anyway if he wasn’t the one to do it - a shame, since you’re the only kid in this town left.” The mother quipped, changing from her black to a cosy blue. Janus blinked from the odd behaviour, but thought nothing of it.

“I stopped high school just a few months ago because we couldn’t afford the classes. Working for the money is fine,” He said.

“But we insist. Logan would’ve wanted the money to go towards an education than to nothing anyway - he was going to be a teacher you know? Teaching children who couldn’t afford schooling anymore.”

Logan?

“I mean, if it’s a good cause…” Janus trailed off. He would admit, he would like the money and actually finish what he wanted to be in the first place, a lawyer, and Patton always said to strive for opportunities if it meant for the better. “Would you both like the letter?” He asked.

“Oh sure,” Janus handed Logan’s father the letter first, waiting patiently as he scanned the letter from the officer first. A simple message, nothing grand or extravagant. “It seems he only had a letter from the officer, dear. No comments from anyone else, friend or colleague.”

Both Logan’s parents took a moment of silence, frowns evident in their faces. A sense of melancholy washed over the room, and Janus gulped down the unforgivable sadness. A tear welled up in their eyes before either of them could mutter, wiping them off quickly and returning to a blank, apathetic look they mustered in front of the telegram boy earlier.. “Shame…”

Janus bowed his head before taking his leave, after they explained how the funds would work. After the discussion however, Janus noticed the sun rising steadily north and bid them farewell, his mind curiously checking them from behind the walls to sense any distress. He knew some families held a ‘front’ in front of the boy, acting as if it’ll comfort him from the terrors and reality of war. His head sunk when he heard a female wail from behind closed doors, knowing this was the reality as well.

-*-

“One more letter, just one more,” he told himself when he got back to his bike. The seat was warm and the metal too hot to touch with bare skin, but he hummed when he picked the letter up to see who it was for. “I wonder who it’s for…” He sang the last line.

J. Sanders.

From: US military division, officer T. S.

Janus ceased his eyebrows when he noted the letter, ensuring it was a telegram instead of a normal letter. He knew it should be a telegram, delivering them to almost half his town, but he never received mail anyway. Not even Patton sent him letters for a few months now, so what could this mean? Strolling to the undercover shade with his bike, Janus plopped himself on a grassy hill nearby Logan’s house to read the letter. He should’ve probably given it to his mother, as it could’ve been a relative who had their tragic demise (although, did any of his family join the war?)

He took out the necklace that had Patton’s memory and clutched on it. At least it felt like he was there with him to read the letter alongside him; he was always better when it came for emotional support. Slowly tearing the letter open, he took note to keep the envelope in a decent condition, so if his mother were to read it later, then the letter should be nicely protected. The yellow mustard of a colour was boring into Janus’ mind, and he yanked the letter from the envelope before he could overthink the contents. The worst that could be was Patton, but that’s his mind spitting nonsensical ideas.

Opening the envelope, he slowly rubbed his thumb over the page, the ink print trailing over the touch. All he had to do was read the first letter of the note, and the strong, cold-fronted boy to other widows/vilomahs/orphans could now feel the same feeling of those who grieved: the loss of someone they deeply loved.

Janus. C. Sanders,

Patton Walds, a member and soldier of the US army in participation in WW2 is M.I.A. His father was killed in gunfire just a few weeks earlier, and is suspected Patton was missing since 1st November, 1942. If there was no letter written during those few months, then it is safe to claim he is missing in action. As a dear friend, it is to commemorate his loss, as it is recorded of his lack of family to write to. Contents are included in this letter, such as a necklace he disposed of before his missing report, as well as letters that were kept with that necklace.

Sorry for the loss, and may your prayers be heard.

Officer Lieutenant T. S.

Janus blinked quickly, a tear shedding onto the paper held in his hands. He quickly wiped his face to avoid smudging the ink, knowing his mother should read this with him later. A small cry left his mouth, his throat closing up and his breaths quickly pacing into short gasps. Patton - Patton, no, his friend, why? They were meant to meet just in a few months, they were so close to seeing each other again. Janus took a few deep breaths before he could empty the envelope’s contents, a letter and necklace left to show Patton’s last moments of existence. A pain gripped inside his chest, and he tugged on his hair when more thoughts of his disappearance flooded his mind. Why? Why?

A golden chain fell onto the lively grass, although it felt like nothing when Janus skimmed over the long blades of green. His touch felt numb against the chain, skipping the cool, cold chain and instead opened the locket that hung with the necklace. A photo of him was printed onto the locket, with Patton hugging him from behind. As he closed the locket, he trailed over the faint graving of a love heart printed onto the metal. He slid the locket off the chain, and took off his own necklace to add the new locket beside his. His photo of Patton, with a swirly snake engraved instead was together with the heart of his friend.

Janus picked up Patton’s last letter, his expression curled into a scowl when he whimpered out the pain inside him. The words became a blur to him, from both his watery vision and his mind’s struggle to comprehend the scenario, let alone the words printed on the page. He didn’t want to read it - he couldn’t read it. Soon a small wail tugged inside him, clenching his fists as he curled up into a small ball. He was alone in this remote town, the summer sky blazing over his dark clothing and slowly burning his skin. The boy didn’t care.

Now, he supposed; he knew how the other families felt. Logan’s parents were right, their words spat like facts instead of a simple statement. He is the only kid left in this town.

It was his turn to grieve.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #moceit #platonic/romantic moceit #Janus Sanders #Patton Sanders #remus sanders #Roman sanders #Virgil Sanders #Logan sanders #Ao3

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wingfics · 3 years

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just gave myself space buns for the first time and i'm thinking about reactions to it. specifically ignis, haru, and aymeric. word of warning these all get longer as i go bc i cannot be stopped <3

ignis just goes Straight As A Board when he sees them. he can't stop staring for a good thirty seconds. he can't even lie to himself about it. the circumstances surrounding this moment are entirely unremarkable within the context of their lives: an impromptu camping trip, a long drive into the mountains north of insomnia. as per usual, gladio was the only one to dress in anything resembling camping attire (although prompto had certainly made an effort with his new cargo shorts), but for the occasion, helenis had seen fit to dust off their high waisted shorts and baseball cap, likely stolen from noctis. (he's honestly pretty proud of how he manages to keep his eyes above their shoulders for most of the morning.) on the drive, helenis had pulled their hair into a ponytail, pretending not to notice as prompto braided and unbraided a lock of it. now, however, as helenis leans back to back with noct, posing for a photo with their brother, ignis just cannot stop staring. he's grown up around helenis, he's fairly sure he's immune to their... everything by this point (don't dwell on that don't dwell on that do NOT dwell on that), but he can still feel the pink climbing up his cheeks. worse still, his gaze slips unbidden to the line of their thighs, stretched out in a wholly artificial arrangement that only accentuates the arch of their back and the curve of their- a click from the camera spares him that line of thought and brings him crashing back into the present. fortunately for him, helenis doesn't seem to notice his thrall, still entirely focused on prompto and the camera. by the g-ds, that pout could start and stop wars. noct, however, is not nearly so beneficent in his ignorance. "see something interesting, specs?" the smug drawl does little to curb ignis' flush, but he's proud of his composure when he finds the breath to respond: "is that hairstyle new, helenis?" they brighten instantly the second their gaze meets his. "yeah! i've never tried it before, but i think my hair is long enough now- wh- hey!" distracted by the click of prompto's camera, helenis lunges for him, swiping at his camera with the typical care to make sure it didn't actually get damaged. safely freed from the floodlight of their attention, ignis finally breathes out for the first time in a while--how long had he been holding his breath?--and musters up as threatening of a squint as he can at noct's lazy, knowing cheshire grin. "not a word, noctis."

haurchefant very noticeably stumbles when he sees calanthe leaning on the edge of his desk, dark hair swept into two low buns instead of their regular braid. "dear warrior!" he gasps, scrambling with the stack of parchment that has almost slipped from his hands. "how fortuitous it is to see you again! what brings you to camp dragonhead?" calanthe looks up from the paperwork on his desk, and even after months, haru's breath still hitches when purple meets blue. they smile that small, familiar smile, ears swivelling to face him, and he hurries to set down the parchment on his desk before setting a hand on calanthe's shoulder. the muscle under his fingers shifts, but they don't seem uncomfortable with his touch. he can't help but beam at them, basking in his friend's undivided attention and returning it in kind. oh right, the buns! he inspects them more closely. "i must ask, are those a new trend?" he asks, nodding to their hair. calanthe's smile widens into something adorably close to a grin, one ear flicking in poorly-stifled affection. "no, merely a style i wanted to try. do you like it?" haurchefant couldn't stop his smile from broadening if he tried. "'like it?' why, i'm utterly taken by them, my friend! i wrongly assumed that you could not get more breathtaking, but let it be said that i have never been more pleased to be wrong." by the end of his little declaration, cal's eyes have narrowed affectionately at him, their tail twitching where it's curled around his back. "flatterer," they accuse without much heat. "but of course! lest my dear hero go unappreciated and their praises unsung!"

aymeric looks up from a zoning ordinance and directly into the wine-dark gaze of his warrior, this time blanketed in gentle reproach. "aymes, it's quarter til." he blinks once, twice at this before glancing over to the clock on his desk (a "gift", aka thinly veiled threat, from lucia) and grappling for a frankly embarrassing amount of time with the numbers, startling when he realises that it's a quarter til two, not midnight. "oh," he sighs, rubbing at his eyes and blinking away their sudden sandpaper. the lord speaker, reduced to monosyllables in front of the person of his affections. how far he has fallen in his creeping exhaustion. he's brought rapidly back to reality by cal snapping their fingers just under his nose, snapping him out of a sleepy daze that he hadn't noticed he'd fallen into. "hmm? oh, yes. i should certainly sleep. rest assured my dear, i will turn in for the night soon," he says, waving a limp wrist at the couch in the corner of his office. it's not the most forgiving surface, but it's vaguely horizontal and not covered in live bees. he's certainly slept in more uncomfortable places. "not so," cal hums, following his line of sight and stepping in between him and the couch. he looks up at them again, brow furrowing. "oh no- i assure you, dear friend, that the couch is more than adequate. i will be fine left to mine own devices." cal hums again, eyes sharpening, before their hand darts out to grab his wrist as he makes to shuffle through the remaining paperwork. "i'm afraid i'm insisting, lord speaker." their grip and gaze soften before they continue, "i will see you back to house borel before the second bell, or i will not go at all." aymeric can do nothing but gape at them for a moment, tired brain finally stunned into silence. "but- i must protest-" he tries, only to be silenced by calanthe's exhausted sigh. "ser aymeric. come with me. i would not make the walk back to house fortemps alone at this hour besides." halone be damned. for all calanthe's insistence that they'd make for a poor politician, they certainly know all of the ways to get him out from behind his desk. on the next exhale, aymeric allows the tension to drain from his shoulders, rolling his neck a couple of times before setting about tidying his desk. calanthe smiles.

as aymeric stands, the last of his work set aside for tomorrow (well, later today), he gratefully takes calanthe's proferred hand and allows himself to be tugged close to their side- and stumbles for a moment. are those... buns? cal blinks at him before responding with a drawn out "yes". whoops. he hadn't meant to ask that aloud. he must be even more tired than he'd thought. abandoning all pretense, he squints at his warrior's hair, wondering at the thought process behind it. "they're very.... fetching," he offers, and the way cal's nose wrinkles is counterintuitively endearing. "fetching?" they echo incredulously. "the best word you came up with is 'fetching'? twelve, you really are tired, aren't you..." aymeric shakes his head comically quickly, wincing as a headache starts to make itself known, before clarifying, "forgive me, dear, i thought you'd find the descriptor of 'adorable' disagreeable, no matter how truthful." though their face remains neutral, cal's ears betray them: one flicks back, a self-conscious response to flattery that aymeric picked up on quickly in the presence of lord haurchefant. "they're quite distinctive, too," he continues, still trying to find non-patronising adjectives, but calanthe cuts him off with a shake of their head and a fond half-smile. "oh, come on. off with you. estinien is likely still waiting." at aymeric's look of surprise, their smile grows a smirk. "yes, indeed. after accompanying me here, he issued a thinly veiled threat to make you come home before lauching himself over the rooftops back home. you know his wont." aymeric drops his head, chuckling at his feet before squeezing calanthe's hand again. as they lead him to the door, he thinks of his warrior of light, of his wayward dragoon waiting for him, and takes naught but a moment to lock the door behind him before setting off home.

#YES this got long YES i rly do love aymeric a concerning amount YES square enix owns my ass what of it #haru's dialogue is HARD to write #making it distinct from aymes is Tricky rn but hopefully w more exposure to both of them it'll get easier #mine #my writing #hcs #crush tag #ALL OF THESE LADS R CRUSH TAG CAN U BELIEVE IT #gd it's rly past time for a retagging huh #anyway. it's quarter til 1 here and like aymes i am Sleeby #where's MY warrior of light who will take me by the hand and coax ME to bed (ft one warm surly dragoon) D:

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isitgintimeyet · 5 years

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Road To The Aisles

AO3

Back to the usual weekend schedule... Thanks to you all for reading, liking, reblogging and commenting. It’s so encouraging to me. Im not sure exactly how many chapters this story will have but I think we’re about at the halfway point now. Hope you enjoy

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

Chapter 11: An Ocular Advertisment

I have been meditating on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow.

-Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

When Claire arrived, the hospital coffee shop was already full. Visitors patiently (and some impatiently) awaiting the official ward visiting times were queueing at the counter as the baristas hurriedly prepared lattes and paninis.

Claire sighed as she looked around. Frantic waving from Geillis at a tucked away table caught her eye. She returned the wave and pointed to the queue. Geillis pointed at the table and beckoned Claire over. Relieved, Claire made her way to Geillis, negotiating the tables, people and bags in her way.

"I got ye a ham sandwich and a black coffee. Oh, and a chocolate brownie. Keep yer energy levels up.”

Claire settled in a chair and gave her friend a grateful smile. “Thanks, G, you’re a lifesaver. Are you not eating?”

Geillis sipped her cup of tea. “Och, I canna eat. Ma belly’s like a washing machine. I’m having the talk wi’ Dougal tonight. I canna put it off any longer. And I’m that nervous.”

Claire gave Geillis’s hand a comforting pat. “You know what you need to say. Be honest with him, G.”

“Aye, I ken. I’ve thought it through so many times in ma head. I have tae tell him. I dinna want a bairn, at least no’ at this moment and I canna promise that I will ever want one. If he sticks wi’ me thinking I’ll change ma mind, he may be verra disappointed. So the choice is wi' him.”

Geillis's eyes filled with tears as she fumbled in her bag looking for a tissue. Claire passed her a paper napkin and she roughly wiped her eyes before take a couple of deep breaths to control herself.

"Look at me, greetin' like a bairn. Tell me something funny, Claire, tae take ma mind off it. What devilish scheme is Geneva cooking up? Has her mother threatened tae have Jamie's bollocks in a bap?"

“Well, no schemes as far as I know and Jamie’s testicles remain attached to the rest of him but…”

Claire assumed an elaborate pseudo model pose, her chin resting lightly on her fingers, lips in an exaggerated pout and her eyelashes fluttering.

“...I have been asked to do some modelling.”

"Modelling?" Geillis snorted. "Oh, I'm sorry Claire. I dinna mean tae be rude but I dinna think the catwalks of Milan would be yer cup of tea. Unless, ye havena been asked tae do some… er… nude modelling have ye?"

"Ew, no, of course not."

"I could totally see that."

Claire gave her friend a hard stare.

"What I mean is…" Geillis tried to explain. "Ye are gorgeous, ye ken. There's many a man… or woman… who'd pay good money tae see photos like that. Anyway if it's no' that, what is it?"

"Jamie has asked if they can use my photo in a marketing campaign in Japan. Well, not all of me, just my eyes, the rest of my face would be hidden by a glass of whisky or a bottle. He's discussed it with the board. Now just waiting for my decision."

Geillis looked closely at Claire's eyes. “They are incredible, really like whisky. And I should ken, I've drunk enough. So, ye're going tae do it, are ye no'?"

“I’m not sure. Do you think I should? What if someone recognises me? And I usually look uncomfortable having my photo taken.”

“What if they do recognise ye? Besides, how many people do ye ken in Japan? Why not do it, Claire? Nothing to lose, except some inhibitions. Go fer it… and report back tae me.”

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

Patient medical notes lay unopened on Claire’s desk awaiting her review. She sat quietly, thinking about what Geillis had said before reaching for her phone.

She quickly typed a message:

G, remember I’m here for you no matter what

And then a second:

Tell Ian and Jenny I’ll do it

She put her phone down and turned her attention to her patients.

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

The photographer’s studio was in a converted Victorian warehouse. The interior was an urban architect’s dream -- all exposed brick and iron with clear glass walls partitioning the cavernous space.

The photographer and one of his assistants met the ‘whisky delegation’ (as Claire privately called them) of Jamie, Claire, Ian and Jenny in the foyer of the studio. Through the glass walls, Claire could see the bustle of assistants preparing for the shoot. Her stomach flipped over. She was sure Geneva would be perfectly at home in this environment, but to her it was totally alien.

Jamie glanced at Claire’s glass face and discreetly took her hand, lacing his fingers with hers and gently squeezing for reassurance. She felt herself relax a little bit. Jenny looked across and smiled at her. A bit more tension seeped away.

After an initial exchange of introductions, Ian explained. “We have tae have a quick meeting wi’ the agency, Claire, so mebbe they could start getting ye ready and then we can join ye soon enough.”

The photographer, Simon, explained. “Yes, so Debbie here will take you through and start with the makeup.”

Jamie gave Claire’s hand a final squeeze as she was led away into the main studio area.

As she sat and waited for the make up artist, Claire looked around, watching the activity in the studio. Everybody seemed to know exactly what to do… unlike her. She twisted her chair and stared into the large, brightly lit mirror in front of her. A totally unmodel like reflection greeted her. The instruction had been to wear no make up and have freshly washed hair. A typical day for her then. She peered more closely at her reflection. Was that a spot on her chin? She breathed a sigh. Eyes only for the photo was definitely a good decision, she thought to herself.

The image of Geneva crossed her mind again. She would, no doubt, have been sitting here, giving orders, chatting freely with the assistants, as if in her own living room. Claire tried to suppress a smile. How jealous would Geneva be if… or when... she found out about this? Claire decided that she would make sure she did… petty, yes… satisfying, definitely.

Through the mirror, Claire could see Jamie, Ian and Jenny in the glass-walled meeting room. She spun her chair around for a better look. Jamie had his back to her and had taken his jacket off. His white shirt was stretched tight across his back and shoulders accentuating his well defined muscles, his curls rested against his collar. Even after more than a year, the sight of him could still take her breath away. Would the wanting him ever stop…

“So, hi there. I’m Ceri and I’ll be doing your makeup today.”

Claire was abruptly pulled out of her reverie by a young woman brandishing an enormous toolbox, which she placed on a trolley next to her. Whirling the seat around to face the mirror, Ceri stared at the reflection before consulting a sheet of paper.

“Right, then. Let’s get started.” Claire closed her eyes and tried to relax as Ceri clipped her hair back and began to stroke various wipes, potions and creams across her face. She actually found it no problem to relax with the murmur of activity in the background and Ceri keeping up a monologue that required no input from Claire.

Suddenly Ceri’s monologue came to an abrupt halt. Claire opened her eyes to find Ceri staring across the studio. She swivelled a little to try, and failed, to see what had fixated the makeup artist.

“Fuck me,” Ceri started then immediately stopped and reddened slightly. “Sorry, didn’t mean to offend you with my language. But there’s a guy over there just my type… talking to Simon. Wow… tall… broad… bet he could throw a girl over his shoulder without even breaking into a sweat. The things I’d like to do to him.”

Claire smiled at Ceri’s reaction to this unknown man. She had her suspicions about his identity, but kept them to herself. She didn’t want to embarrass the poor girl and Ceri’s reactions were, after all, perfectly understandable. In fact they were exactly the same thoughts as she herself frequently had… fuck me… please...

“Wow,” Ceri repeated as she returned Claire’s chair to its original position and continued applying makeup. “Guys like him don’t come along very often. Hope he sticks around for a bit. I think I’d like to get to know him better.”

With just the odd exception when Ceri tidied up Claire’s eyebrows, making her wince as the tweezers pulled at tiny stray hairs, she easily found herself drifting back into a state of relaxation.

“Och no, I’m sorry, that willna do.”

Jenny’s disapproving tone made Claire quickly open her eyes.

With her hands on her hips, Jenny continued. “That makeup, around Claire’s eyes, it’s too much.”

Claire peered in the mirror in dismay. A palette of shimmering gold, brown and vivid orange was spread across each eyelid beneath darkened brows.

“And what is it wi’ the stripes on her forehead and nose?” Jenny placed a hand on Claire’s shoulder.

“It’s contouring.” Ceri spoke nervously, the rising inflection making each sentence sound like a question seeking approval. “It’ll blend in. And the notes I was given just said focus on the eyes.”

“Ah, well, it’s no’ your fault.” Jenny reassured her. “We jes’ need tae wipe it off and try fer something subtle, ye ken?”

Ceri nodded and reached for the wipes as Jenny disappeared to talk with the photographer.

“Oh god, that gorgeous chap, he’s headed over here.” Ceri stood upright, pushed her chest out and watched, smiling broadly as Jamie approached.

Jamie smiled politely in return before giving Claire his full attention and kissing her fondly on the top of her head.

"Ye ken I've never seen ye wi' sae much slap on yer face. It doesna suit ye. "

"I'm sorry. I’m taking it off… I thought that was… " Ceri spoke nervously.

"Dinna fash. It'll wash off," Jamie said. "It's no' the look we are going fer."

"And," he continued, pointing at the hair straighteners. "What are these fer? We're no' havin' straight hair. We want the beauty and wildness of the highlands, the heather in the background, the untamed curls and the natural beauty of these eyes reflecting the amber of the whisky in the foreground. Ye ken?"

Ceri nodded as Jamie kissed Claire once more before heading to talk to the photographer again.

"Are you two an item then?" Ceri asked as she applied makeup remover to Claire's eyes. "Sorry for going on about him before. It's just, well, he is a bit gorgeous. You are lucky."

"Yes," Claire answered laughing. "We're getting married in a few months. And don't worry, I know that feeling well."

Jamie watched from the side as Simon positioned Claire for the shoot. His assistants bustled around her, adjusting lights and moving light reflectors at the photographer’s instruction. He knew this was totally outside her comfort zone, but no one would ever have guessed as she moved and posed under Simon’s guidance. Even though only her eyes would be featured in the advertisement, it was clear that Simon was photographing her entire face. Jamie reminded himself to ask for copies of all the prints for his own personal use.

Suddenly, Claire turned and caught sight of Jamie. Imperceptible to other people, her face changed, the warmth in her eyes increased, their amber depths flashing a message to Jamie.

He grinned. He knew what was going through her mind. Exactly the same was going through his.

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

The curtains were slightly open allowing some light from the street to filter into the bedroom and illuminate the curves of Claire's body. A warm summer night, she had gone to bed naked and now the thin sheet lay wrinkled around her waist, exposing her chest and legs to Jamie's gaze.

She sighed contentedly and stretched her arms above her head. Her breasts rose with the sudden movement.

"That was lovely. You knew that was what I was thinking about this afternoon, didn't you?" She commented.

Jamie turned onto his side, leaning on one elbow. His free hand idly traced a pattern around her breasts.

"Aye, it was plain as day, Sassenach, written all over yer face." He smiled. "It was grand tae watch ye being photographed. Ye were like a real model."

Claire laughed. "Geillis found it so funny when I told her. She seemed to think I'd been asked to do some nude modelling."

"Now there's a thought…"

Jamie's hand ceased its motion. He swallowed hard. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, almost secretive.

"Would ye do that, then?" He paused before hurriedly continuing. "I dinna mean fer other people, jes' fer me. Ye ken what I mean?"

Claire was quiet for a minute.

"I havena offended ye, have I? I'm sorry if I have."

"I'm not offended. I just… er… don’t think of myself that way… as sexy.”

“Christ, Sassenach, do ye no’ realise ye’re the most beautiful woman in the world. And as fer sexy, well…”

His hand resumed its meandering path around Claire’s breasts, running his fingers lightly around her nipples. His breath was hot against her ear as he carried on talking.

“And tae have these photos of ye and ken that they’re jes’ fer me, only me… a secret treasure that only ye and I share. It makes me hard just thinking about it.”

Claire felt the truth of that statement pressing against her thigh.

Jamie had clearly given this idea some thought. “And tae see ye touch yerself --“

“Eh? And what about sauce for the gander?” Claire asked playfully.

“What? Ye mean in front of ye. I’m no’ sure I can do that, Sassenach.”

“Mmm, interesting. So it’s ok for me but not for you to return the favour. Well, if you’d rather we didn’t play that little game…” Claire let the sentence hang in the air.

“Alright, Sassenach, fair’s fair. I’ll buy a camera this week.”

#outlander fan fiction #outlander fanfic #Road To The Aisles #Jamie Fraser #claire beauchamp #Chapter 11 #modern au

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rushingheadlong · 5 years

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The Brian May Tank Top Thesis

I would say that you guys asked for this, but really I threatened it and you just encouraged me. The end result is the same though, because here we are.

We’re setting out to discuss the specific fact that, if you want to be incredibly pedantic about all of this, Brian did not actually wear true tank tops for most of the roughly 30-year span where he was wearing sleeveless shirts. There is a specific bell-curve evolution of Brian Wearing Tanks that happens that I think is a little fascinating to look at, so that’s what we’re going to do in yet another unnecessarily long post brought to you by yours truly!

1984-1986: The Works Tour, Live Aid, and the Magic Tour

The first photos we have of Brian wearing “fake tanks” come from The Works Tour in 1984. These are things that aren’t true tank tops but where he still has the arms visible (cut-off shirts, cap sleeves, sleeves rolled up, vests, etc.).

Here are a few examples of what I’m talking about:

The first shirt isn’t a traditionally cut t-shirt - there are small cap sleeves that cover the shoulders but leave the arms exposed. (That’s actually piece of Queen merch from The Works tour, because ofc he’s wearing his own merch.) The second is from Rio in 1985. Brian’s wearing a vest and either a cut-off shirt or has the sleeves of a t-shirt rolled up underneath the vest.

How do we know that it’s not a muscle tank style tank top that he’s wearing? Well, in some cases we don’t but the majority of the time we can prove (or at least strongly theorize) that these were at least originally t-shirts.

For example, here’s an “I ♥ Elvira” shirt that he wore in September 1984 and the original t-shirt version that was sold in the 80s:

In this case I think he cut the sleeves off, just because other photos from that same concert don’t show any bulk around his shoulders and armpits. But if you look at photos from Wembley 1986 (both nights) you can see the way the shirts bunch and are rolled around his shoulder, which makes it pretty clear that these aren’t cut-offs:

While we’re on Wembley, the shirt he wore for Is This the World We Created? at Live Aid is not a vest. It’s a sleeveless button-down that, in typical Brian fashion, he has left mostly unbuttoned. (I think this was bought as a sleeveless shirt rather than having the sleeves cut off, since it looks like there’s a hem around the arm hole, but I could be wrong on that point.) The shirt appears in at least one other photo, where you can see the buttons down the front better:

One thing to keep in mind with all of these looks is that Brian didn’t wear them often. For the stage looks he would only wear these shirts for a small portion of the concert, sometimes only one or two songs. For Live Aid he only wore that shirt for the Is This the World...? encore and one backstage interview.

Because the thing with all of this is that Brian started wearing tank tops incredibly gradually, and even when he wasn’t wearing true tank tops he still wasn’t showing off his arms in public for long periods of time. With the exception of One Vision (which is discussed in the next section) the overwhelming majority of photos of Brian in “tanks” are these sorts of limited concert photos and screencaps.

There’s been a few discussions in the past that it’s possible that his arms were a sticking point for him, as he’s been open about having a lot of body image issues for a number of years and it seems odd that he would be so resistant to wearing tank tops at a time when everyone else in the band did so pretty frequently and especially given the fact that he doesn’t seem to have a problem showing off his chest. I’m not necessarily comfortable saying that this is absolutely what was going on here, but I think it’s worth pointing out and exploring as a possible theory.

September 1985: One Vision

Yes, One Vision gets it’s own section, and for a very good reason: This is the first time we see Brian wearing a true tank top.

Here are the three One Vision shirts of note:

The first one is 100% just a t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up, so we won’t be focusing on that one. The second one is the “DiMarzio tank”, as it has the logo for the DiMarzio company on the front, and similarly the third one is the “Guild tank” because it has their logo.

Guild was the company who was manufacturing authorized Red Special replicas in the 1980s, and the pickups they used in their guitars were made by DiMarzio. So both of these tank tops are branded clothing from the companies involved with manufacturing the replicas. Brian has talked in the past about not caring about fashion and he’s probably wearing these because they had just been sent to him along with the replica that he uses in the One Vision video.

But let’s talk a bit more in-depth about these two shirts for a moment.

The Guild tank is 100% a true tank top, based on that neckline and the armholes and how it sits on Brian. The DiMarzio tank... gets to be a bit trickier. It’s either manufactured as more of a muscle-tank style or it’s a shirt with the sleeves cut-off. (We only see this shirt without sleeves and there’s no bulk at the shoulders, so I think it’s safe to say that there aren’t rolled-up sleeves with this one.)

Personally, I lean towards the sleeves being cut off. I don’t think a company sending out free branded clothing is going to go to the effort of putting their logo on that exact style of tank top because I would expect that to have been far more expensive than a regular t-shirt or the style of the Guild tank.

Does this mean that, technically, the DiMarzio tank might be a fake tank? Yes. Does that matter? Well... maybe.

On the one hand, it doesn’t matter because if you show a photo of Brian in that shirt to almost anyone they’re going to say, “Yeah, he’s wearing a tank top.” On the other hand, the fact that he cut the sleeves off a shirt (besides just being an incredibly charming mental image) actually supports the body image issues theory quite a bit as that style of shirt gives the illusion of having more muscle than you actually do.

Which is a little noteworthy because, again, Brian generally isn’t wearing these shirts out in public. He’s wearing them in the studio and for an incredibly limited photo shoot. With the exception of a few brief appearances in the One Vision videos, Brian seems to have primarily worn the Guild tank underneath other shirts:

Whereas the DiMarzio tank is only ever seen by itself. It also shows up in several different still photos from the One Vision sessions and, most notably, makes an appearance a full year later at Freddie’s birthday party in 1986 (the third photo below):

At the very least this would seem to indicate that Brian prefers this style of shirt over a true tank top, which would also make sense considering how so many of Brian’s “fake tanks” in the 80s started out their lives as t-shirts.

So the progression of Brian Wearing Tanks, so far, remains one of mostly Brian wearing fake tanks with the exception of the Guild tank which only makes a very limited appearance.

1993: Back to the Light Tour

And then we come to the early 90s where this gradual progression make a very hard pivot, because the Back to the Light Tour for Brian’s first solo album sees him wearing a very different style of tank top on stage: the loose tanks.

These tanks are the first and last time that Brian wears loose tank tops like this (as opposed to the more form-fitting shirts of the 80s and late 90s). The curious thing, besides the fact that this is the only time he wears this style of tank, is that these are actually a combination of true tanks and cut-off shirts.

This is a cut-off shirt. Especially in the second photo, you can see the way the fabric is curling in on itself (which is common in especially lightweight cotton t-shirts when you cut and stretch the fabric) and you can also see the notch where the shoulder seam has been cut through.

But, it’s a cut-off shirt that he’s cut down a lot more than he ever did with any of his 80s shirts and it fits a lot looser than anything in the 80s.

These are true tank tops. The first is a bit up for debate, but based on the neckline I’d say it’s a tank top and not a former t-shirt. The second is absolutely a true tank, based on the neckline and the fact that you can still see the intact hems around the arms.

So this is also the first time that Brian is wearing true tank tops in public... but there’s a catch to that statement.

Brian did not consistently wear these tank tops for every show on the Back to the Light tour, and we actually have very few photos and videos of him in these tank tops. When he wore them it was usually for one or two songs at the very end of his shows, but again that wasn’t even for every show.

So, like with the fake tanks of the 80s Queen concerts, Brian continues to be very restrained in when he wears the loose tanks. If the possible body image issues theory is true, it would still make sense for him to only wear these infrequently and for shorter periods of time (and, arguably, to wear them on stage when he’s always said that performing gives him more confidence than he usually has).

I would also argue that, although these tanks are wildly different from what we see from him in the 80s, they’re still a logical progression in this journey. If we assume that Brian started out preferring cut-offs and rolled-up sleeves it makes sense for Brian to eventually take that a step further and cut the shirts down further, and then acquire similar styles of tanks to that.

Also... if we veer into absolute wild speculation territory for a moment here, do you know what these tanks always remind me of?

Can I prove that Brian is wearing these looser tanks as an homage to Freddie? No, absolutely not, and it would be ridiculous for me to claim that this is anything close to fact. But I can very easily see Brian, starting out on his first solo tour, looking back to his last tour with Queen and drawing inspiration from that.

1998: Another World Tour

Okay. We’ve reached 1998, which is the peak year for Brian Wearing Tanks.

Starting late in 1996 and then continuing into 2000 Brian wore true tank tops. The bulk of these were worn during 1998, when almost the entirety of his Another World Tour saw him wearing tank tops, usually a plain all-black tank top:

I’m not exaggerating when I say that I have over 100 photos of Brian wearing black tanks just in concert in the late 90s. That’s not even getting into the fact that Brian also wore black tank tops in photo shoots and publicity photos:

And he also frequently wore (what is most likely) a black tank under a jacket during interviews:

So, at first this seems to come even more wildly out of left field than the early 90s loose tanks did. I mean at this point Brian has spent the past almost 15 years not wearing tanks in public for extended periods of time. But if you think about it, it kind of makes sense for him to do this.

Firstly, going back to the body image issues theory, Brian in the late 90s has filled out quite a bit from where he was in the 80s:

Obviously he’s not going to look exactly the same as he did over a decade earlier, but he does have some meat on him now particularly in his arms. The traditional style of tanks that maybe he didn’t feel confident or comfortable wearing in the 80s are now a style that flatter him pretty well.

(It’s also very possible that at this point he just feels more comfortable with his appearance in general, or at least with his arms, and they’re no longer quite the sticking point that they were before.)

The other reason why I can see Brian choosing to do this is that, as we touched on briefly with the One Vision, he’s never been big on “fashion” and tends to wear what is easy. One advantage of these tanks is that they are very utilitarian. He can wear them with any color jeans, he can wear them under a suit jacket or another shirt (which may have been useful for the T.E. Conway quick-change on the Another World Tour), and he can basically buy them in bulk and then not have to worry about his wardrobe very much at all.

And the decision to wear plain black tank tops the majority of the time is absolutely a conscious choice on Brian’s part because he does own other tanks:

Brian very rarely wore grey tank tops, usually for photo shoots or interviews. He also had one white tank top (or multiple versions of the same one?) with that logo on the left breast. He had a black and yellow tank top that he wore for the Another World Tour, and also on the Another World Tour he would occasionally roll up the sleeves of t-shirts or wear cut-offs again.

But, again, the overwhelming majority of what Brian wore in 1998 was a simple black tank top. He found a style that he decided worked for him and, in typical Brian May fashion, just ran with it.

Unfortunately for us, the late 90s are also the peak of Brian Wearing Tanks. After the conclusion of the Another World Tour the number of tank top photos immediately and drastically decreases.

2000s and 2010s: The End of an Era

After the end of the Another World Tour we return to Brian rarely wearing tank tops in public and primarily wearing “fake tanks” when he does.

For the early 2000s Brian wasn’t touring and when he did one-off performances he typically wore some sort of dress shirt or occasionally just a t-shirt. (The one exception to this would be a TotP performance in 2000 where he wears a black tank top, as well as a few photos from 2003 where he has the sleeves of a t-shirt rolled up.)

The first time we see the return of Tank Top Bri in full-force comes in 2005-2006:

The first photo is from 2005 and is part of a photo session done for the announcement of Brian receiving his CBE. That is not a tank top, it’s a t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up. (For those curious, the 46664 is the Nelson Mandela concert series that Queen participated in.)

The second photo is from 2006 during the Queen + Paul Rodgers Tour and again is a shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Very much like the 80s Queen concerts, it’s unclear how frequently Brian did this - at least for the shows where we know he did this, it seems to have only been for small portions of the overall concert. Brian and Roger also appeared with the Foo Fighters in Hyde Park in 2006 for a handful of songs, and Brian had the sleeves of a t-shirt rolled up in a similar fashion then as well.

The last photo is from American Idol s5ep28 in 2006, when Brian and Roger appeared on the show as part of their Queen-centric episode. That, my friends, is a true tank top and not only that, it’s the same white tank top he wore in the late 90s:

That first photo is from 1996 which means Brian has kept this tank top for literally a decade, and is still wearing it. More proof that this man doesn’t get rid of clothes and that once he finds something he likes, he keeps it!

Brian later wore two tank tops (one a real white tank and one what looks to be another cut-off 5-shirt) in 2008 for the 6-year anniversary of the We Will Rock You Musical:

After this, no other tank top photos are found for another 8 years, until 2016. The remainder of the Q+PR tours and the early Q+AL tours have Brian mostly wearing dress shirts like he does now. But 2016 gave us exactly two photos, and one video from a soundcheck, of Brian once again in black tank tops:

We’ve returned mostly to a point where Brian isn’t wearing these out in public, or at least not for extended periods of time. But that first photo Brian shared on his own instagram, so clearly he’s still somewhat comfortable showing off the arms!

I suspect that we have this brief resurgence of black tank tops because on the 2016 Q+AL tour Brian wore them underneath this lovely lace top:

However, as his stagewear changes with every tour he’s left this particular look behind and, unfortunately, seems to have left the tank tops behind with it.

In Conclusion

Brian Wearing Tanks is a fascinating little study into his wardrobe that we don’t really have all the answers for. I think it’s likely that Brian’s body issues at least somewhat influenced how, when, and how frequently he wore the tanks and fake tanks- but that’s not something we’re likely to ever have confirmation for, so it has to remain only a theory.

However, what we do know is that the Tank Top Saga follows a bell-curve that begins with Brian wearing various “fake tanks” and other forms of sleeveless tops, peaks in 1998 with the black tanks of the Another World Tour, and rather sharply slopes back down to the world of “fake tanks” and true tank tops being worn underneath other shirts.

More specifically, most of what Brian wears as tank tops have been modified t-shirts, starting off with rolled up sleeves, then cut off sleeves, then cut off even further in the early 90s. After 1998 he also seems to fall back into that “comfort zone” of rolled-up or cut off sleeves rather than true tanks for most of their rare appearances in the 2000s and 2010s.

It’s ironic that Brian’s late 90s tank tops, which by far make up the bulk of the photos we have, are an outlier by simple virtue of them being true tank tops. And I do think that the jump to these true tanks and the overwhelming presence of solid black tanks in the late 90s has some root in Brian wanting to simplify his touring wardrobe, with a heaping dose of “I found a look and I will wear this into the ground”. But, again, that’s not something that I think we’ll ever get confirmation for.

So. There you have it. What ended up being over 3k of me rambling about Brian Wearing Tanks, because apparently I have more Thoughts about this than I expected.

(This isn’t cited like the Red Special post was, so if you need sources let me know and I’ll hunt them down for you. Also if I got any information here wrong please let me know!! As always I’m not an expert, just a fan with a bit of a fixation on this.)

#long post //#brianwearingtanks #yes I'm putting it in that tag I might as well at this point #masterpost #text #brian #oh yeah this ended up being literally like 3k but I mean.... there's also photos in here if that helps?#listen I just went off but that should just be expected from me at this point

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onstarsandiron · 4 years

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Cannon Character Descriptions

Here’s a big master post of cannon character physical descriptions, for all your related needs. Let me know if there’s anything I missed/should add!

Ana

"She had warm bronze skin and wide golden-brown eyes, full lips, and a heart-shaped face. Her hair was as dark as space itself, but it always curled into tangles. She wore it atop her head in a long braid and shaved the sides. She was moderately tall, solidly built for a life of evading death at every turn, and wore hand-me-down coats like the red one she wore now and darned trousers that never fit right. She looked like a girl from any part of the Iron Kingdom—and nowhere all at once.” (HoI, I: Iron Theif, Ana)

“Tattered burgundy coat, a Metroid at her hip, long black hair in a renegade braid, and looking like she hadn’t bathed in a week—the girl must’ve been an outlaw.” (HoI, I: Iron Theif, Robb)

When Ana arrives at the palace and is shown to her new quarters she has a little break down in the bathroom -- and who hasn’t had one of those? -- and shaves her hair off. In SoS, 6-months have passed since the coronation day and her hair is describe merely as “short”.

As D09: “His hood was pulled low to disguise the slats and plates that made up his face, without a nose or ears or eyebrows. He was more dented than other Metals, having fallen through mine shafts on Cerces and been shot at by mercenaries on Iliad. She felt bad for a particular ding on his forehead, but she had apologized a thousand times for accidentally running him over with a skysailer.” (HoI, I: Iron Theif, Ana)

As Di/Dimitri: “Redheaded and dark-eyed, a strong jaw, and broad shoulders that filled a slightly-too-small lavender evening coat. He smiled at her—lopsided, imperfect. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t place from where. ... So close, the individual strands of his hair looked woven with sunlight, his skin pale—but not like Jax’s, more like a boy who had never seen the sun." (HoI, IV: Iron Will, Ana)

“So she memorized how the light from the windows slanted across the sharp edges of his face, the way he leaned toward her like a shield, how there were a thousand stars in his eyes, which sometimes made them shine as silver as moonlight—as they did now.” (HoI, IV: Iron Will, Ana)

Di received a cut on his cheek during Coronation Day that is held with silver stitches during SoS to prevent the cut from revealing the metal underneath. He also has a little breakdown -- as one does -- in which he busts up the skin on his knuckles, which he hides then with gloves.

Throughout SoS, Di’s hair is often remarked very specifically as “Blood red”, and he wears quite a bit of black.

Jax

"A Solani. The one from the skysailer. He must’ve been close to Robb’s age, but his silver hair made him look old—ancient—and his skin shimmered as if starlight hid just beneath. He wore a ruffly purple evening coat, golden filigree decorating the collar to match the lining, and buttons so polished they gleamed. Underneath that insufferably garish jacket was a silk shirt, stained with what Robb figured was his blood. A pair of goggles sat around his neck.” (HoI, II: Iron Ships, Robb)

Wears purple often; after the event with Koren Vey, his skin literally glows. “”It’s a long story, but yes, I’m a glowlight. It makes reading in the dark riveting.” (SoS, III: Starless, Jax) Also in SoS, Jax has to chop his own hair off during the final fight, resulting in him sporting a shoulder-length cut during Erik’s funeral; according to Robb, he looks no less dashing for it.

Robb

“He looked the most like their father, broad shouldered and stocky, with hair that curled like the lies that fell from his tongue.” (HoI, I: Iron Theif, Robb)

Like his mother and brother, Robb also has olive skin and signature Valerio-blue eyes, often compared to the Erosian sky. In HoI, Jax threatened to make a short joke (mind you, Jax is tall); in SoS, Robb notes that he was always shorter than his brother, but a recent growth spurt had now made them eye-to-eye.

In the conclusion of HoI, Di -- then HIVEd -- made his tracking chip go haywire and an impromptu amputation was needed, cutting his right arm off between his elbow and his shoulder. Robb got a cybernetic prosthetic about a month before the events of SoS.

Elara

“She was around Ana’s age -- eighteen, maybe -- with shoulder length silver hair that partially shadowed her sharp face, and wide violet eyes rimmed with kohl. Her lips were painted black to match the rest of her wardrobe. She was short and curvy, with wide hips and thick legs that tapered into knee-high gravity boots. She was a Solani like Jax, but her skin was darker, reminding Ana of the cold deserts on Cerces. There was a wire that looped from her right ear down into her collar and disappeared. A hearing apparatus.” (SoS, I: Starship, Ana)

"Then -- like twin stars igniting -- moonlight-colored eyes flickered to life on a face made of metal slats, forming angular cheekbones and mouth and chin. There was a horrible, deep scrape across its temple that had been soldered closed. A Metal.” (SoS, I: Starship, Ana)

Malifare

“She walked with the grace of a dancer, floating without a sound. The pins in her flaxen hair matched her black dress. Floor-length, high collar, the insignia of the crown on her sleeve.” (HoI, I: Iron Theif, Di)

“Flaxen hair, narrow face, wearing the deep purple of a royal handmaiden." (HoI, IV: Iron Will, Di)

Siege

“The captain’s black hair framed her brown face in wild, electrifying curls, glowing with interwoven fiber optics, simmering orange like a stoked fire— Oh, Ana could tell by the color that she was mad.” (HoI, II: Iron Ships, Ana)

Siege has green eyes. When she isn’t mad her hair is typically a golden yellow, though it grows dull when she’s drained or injured, and can be blue though it happened very rarely. As a teenager -- in a very hazy recollection by Di -- she’s described as someone who never smiles.

Talle

“Talle—short and thin, with black hair in a pixie cut and hands so steady she could slit a throat clean while navigating the skyways of Nevaeh...” (HoI, II: Iron Ships, Ana)

In Jax’s flashback in Soul of Stars, Talle is described as tall with long black hair, but I’ll just assume that Talle is simply tall compared to an 8 or 9 year-old Jax. (SoS, II: Starless, Jax)

Also, her voice is often noted as sweet.

Lenda

““Seriously?” Lenda groaned, brushing back her floppy dishwater-blond hair. She was solid, with narrow brown eyes and tawny skin with rosy undertones. She displayed the scars on her arms like trophies—battles won in the fighting arenas of Iliad. Lenda was twenty and unafraid of everything— Except, maybe for Palavar.” (HoI, II: Iron Ships, Ana)

Riggs

"Riggs, fiddling with a ball bearing in his mechanical leg, grumbled a reply and heaved it off the table, setting it on the bench beside him. He’d lost his right leg to the Plague twenty years ago—cut it off himself right above the knee. He lost his family to the disease on Eros, and kept a photo of his daughter in a silver locket around his neck. Sometimes at night, Ana heard him talking to her in his dreams." (HoI, II: Iron Ships, Ana)

Wick

““No one [likes Palavar],” rumbled Wick, who had a habit of being quiet. He listened, and that made him a talented communications specialist. He absorbed languages like a sponge, so many that Ana could only hope to wrap her tongue around a quarter of them. He was Cercian by birth, the markings under his eyes so faded Ana couldn’t tell which clan he hailed from, and he never told, having left that life years ago. His skIn was a shade darker than Siege’s, with a warm hue to it—like the dawn.” (HoI, II: Iron Ships, Ana)

Barger

““Eh, don’t bother me. Three jacks,” said Barger, a stout man in his mid-twenties with a ginger mustache. His fingers were always grease stained, nails ripped short, the signs of a tireless weapons mechanic.” (HoI, II: Iron Ships, Ana)

Cynthia Valerio

“Lady Valerio looked wicked, from her bloodred lipstick to her bloodred dress, as she gave a gracious bow.” (HoI, I: Iron Theif, Ana)

“Tall and thin, with olive skin and graying brown hair swept into a bun, cheekbones so sharp they could cut ice. She wore a finely detailed coat and trousers, a Valerio crest pinned above her heart. She appraised the small crew with shrewd blue eyes—he knew that color. He knew it achingly well. The color of Erosian skies.” (HoI, III: Iron Blood, Jax)

Mercer Valerio

Robb is his spitting image, except that Mercer wore a thick beard.

Erik Valerio

“At nineteen, Erik Valerio was dashing, popular, and conniving in a way that granted him whatever he wanted. He looked like their mother—tall and olive skinned, a sharp face, with straight dark hair and a smile that made you want to trust him.” (HoI, I: Iron Theif, Robb)

“His brother stood blocking the doorway in a deep brown leather jacket with mink fur at the collar and dark trousers. His boots were well polished and decorated with the Valerio insignia—a snake eating its own tail. He filled the doorway just like he had in Robb’s nightmares, his hair short, the sides shaved with celestial designs, and he narrowed his eyes like their mother always did—disapproving, but not surprised, as if nothing Robb would ever do would be worthy of approval.” (SoS, IV: Star Crossed, Robb)

Erik and Cynthia often match, both wearing red at the celebration for Erik becoming the heir, both wearing black at the pre-coronation ball, and both -- this time including Robb -- wearing white at the coronation itself.

Nicholi

“The Emperor, clad in royal purple, had a hand on his wife’s shoulder. He looked like all the pictures she’d seen in the newsfeeds. Golden-brown eyes and rich brown skin, like the Grand Duchess, a full beard over a strong face.” (HoI, III: Iron Blood, Ana)

Selena

“Beside him, his wife, the Empress, smiled out of the portrait, brown curly hair and Valerio-blue eyes.” (HoI, III: Iron Blood, Ana)

Rhys, Wylan, and Tobias Armorov

Ana’s three older brothers are described as having dark curly hair, and the youngest, Tobias, has Valerio-blue eyes. They’re described further in short snippets Ana recalls in the palace, chasing the ghosts of their voices:

“Rhys— He let her taste the sweets from the kitchen. The scent of cinnamon. Warm brown eyes, a melting smile. He used to kiss her bruises when her middle brother, Wylan—a cocky smile and a mess of black curls—knocked her down when they pretended to be outlaws. All the horseplaying would scare her youngest brother—Tobias. Valerio blue eyes and a small smile and a love of violins and sweet candies and stories.” (HoI, IV: Iron Will, Ana)

Lord Rasovant

“An older man, graying beard braided down his chest, appeared at the far end of the hallway. Dark eyes and deep wrinkles and ghostly-pale skin. The clank of decorative medals on his breast accompanied his footsteps. He was dressed in a simple royal-purple evening coat with uneven tails, gilded buttons and filigree across the collar and sleeves.” (HoI, I: Iron Theif, Di)

The Grand Duchess

“Ana drank the woman in, from the delicate wrinkles across her face to her silvery-white hair pulled back into a simple bun, making her cheekbones look sharp enough to cut. Her skin was the color of soft earth and speckled with age, her hands bony knobs. She looked old, but in a terrifying and timeless way, the way mountains looked old but immovable.” (HoI, I: Iron Theif, Ana)

She also has “...stone-cut green eyes...” (HoI, IV: Iron Will, Robb), similar in description to Siege’s

Wynn Wysteria

Wynn has a freckled face and long, curly strawberry-red hair. (HoI, IV: Iron Will, Ana)

Viera

“She was tall, with white-blond hair and arrowhead-shaped markings under her eyes—heritage markings for certain Cercian clans.” (HoI, I: Iron Theif, Di)

Messiers

“A patrol of six Messiers appeared in the doorway. They were sharp, metallic. Made of planes and slats she knew well, because they looked like D09. Like Metals. Because once, they had been. Now HIVE’d, the Messiers’ blue eyes blazed like virtue incarnate. They moved in unison, their blue-and-black uniforms pristine, shined boots making solid thumps on the masonry floor as they marched into the shrine.” (HoI, I: Iron Theif, Ana)

Mokuba

“A tall, burly gentleman in a stained long coat and trousers, the seams frayed and boots greasy.” (HoI, I: Iron Theif, Ana)

Redbeard

“He had been an imposing man, as thick as two men. He had a braided red beard that reached halfway down the front of his barrel chest, and it glowed with optics the way Siege’s did, although Ana much preferred the way they looped into her curls.” (SoS, III: Starlit, Ana)

Cullen

Ana spun around to the owner of the voice, a tall androgynous person with long black hair that reached well below their waist, and warm brown skin, decked in gold jewelry and a coat the color of a nebula. They grinned at her, and the neon implants in their cheeks glowed a brilliant teal. (SoS, IV: Star Crossed, Ana)

#heart of iron #hoi #soul of stars #sos #reference #descriptions

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lets-talk-appella · 5 years

Text

It’s Legal in Munich

Ch 3/4

Summary: Lonely in Munich, Germany, Chloe hires an escort to pass the night. AU. Addition from Bechloe Week 2019: 20 Questions. Not representative of individual experiences in the sex industry.

Word Count: 2k

Rating: T

AO3 and FFN

For the most part, repeat clients are Beca’s favorite.

They’re usually polite, comfortable around her, and they pay the best. She knows what to expect from them, and they from her. She can even have genuine conversations with some of her repeat clients. It works well.

So when she’d seen that familiar name once again asking for her, she’d been able to imagine exactly how their evening together would go. And she’d been right; Kommissar is nothing if not predictable.

And after, just like clockwork, once Beca has put her dress back on and Kommissar has shrugged on a robe, Kommissar walks Beca to the door. “Thank you for a lovely night,” she says in heavily accented English, as she always does. “Was good stress relief,” she adds as an afterthought, making Beca hesitate.

This is a slight deviation from their typical script and Beca isn’t usually a huge fan of small talk (something about Kommissar has made her spew word vomit in the past), but she quickly recovers and manages, “Busy schedule?”

Kommissar’s shoulders lift into a shrug and she tilts her head gently. “Busier than normal. The World Championships are this year and we need to train. For a cappella,” she adds, picking up on Beca’s confusion.

“Oh,” Beca says, hearing the surprise in her own voice. She had no idea there was a World Championship for making music with just one’s mouth. It seems there’s a lot more to a cappella than she’d ever known. “Are you guys—you’re good? Since you’re going to the World Championships?”

A corner of Kommissar’s mouth curls up into a smirk that tugs at something inside Beca, and she has to block whatever weird compliment threatens to break free. “We are the best,” Kommissar states simply, her voice somehow simultaneously sensual and factual.

“Then I’m sure you’ll win. I’m rooting for you.” Beca tries for a sporty arm wave or something, but instead ends up waving her fist around aimlessly. “You probably don’t even need to train.”

Kommissar’s smirk widens as her eyes momentarily flick to Beca’s lips. “We will win, but… doesn’t hurt to reach perfection.”

“Of—of course,” Beca replies, wondering absently if Chloe knows about this competition. Maybe her group from Barden had even competed in it. “I mean, you’re already physically flawless, so, like, I’m sure your group is just absolutely, like, really also very flawless, and, um, it’s probably…”

Beca hears her own voice trailing off, distracted by Kommissar’s widening smile. “I should give you a nickname. Tiny mouse? You are small and cute like mouse.”

Beca is pretty sure she doesn’t look all that attractive with her mouth hanging open in surprise, but she can’t seem to close it. Thankfully, it only takes her a handful of seconds to recover; she makes her exit after a few more minutes of conversation, leaving Kommissar with a wave and a “You know where to find me!”

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

“You bought me a postcard with tons of boobs on it?”

Beca blinks. “Um, yeah? It’s the culture here.”

Chloe stares back at her, eyes narrowed and lips pursed in thought. She holds the postcard in question pinched between two fingers securely so it doesn’t flutter away in the breeze. The various images of cleavage adorned in tight-fitting, colorful traditional German clothing stand out proudly on the postcard.

“Oh,” Chloe says, studying the images. “And I assume the beer also pictured is…”

“Traditional.”

“Awes. I love it. Very Munich,” Chloe decides happily, sliding the postcard into her bag. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Beca grins, reaching for Chloe’s hand automatically as they walk away from the souvenir shop. Around them, the late-afternoon streets bustle with vendors, shoppers, and wanderers like themselves. “Least I could do after you organized today.”

“Yeah? You had fun, right?” Chloe asks with wide eyes. “It wasn’t weird or anything?”

Beca shrugs. “I think all the looks we got from old people made any weirdness worth it. It was definitely fun, Chlo.”

Chloe’s beaming smile does something funny to Beca’s stomach, making it twist and flip pleasantly. Beca hadn’t been expecting to have as much fun as she did on the e-scooter tour Chloe had organized—in fact, she’d been pretty sure she was going to crash and die or get hit by a car and die or maybe just spontaneously die somehow—but it had been one of her favorite days in Munich in all the time she’s spent there.

They’d ridden around the city on electric scooters, accompanied by a tour guide who knew seemingly everything about the history of Munich, including its good times and dark days. Both she and Chloe learned a lot, took tons of photos, and ate more than they probably should have. They’d visited a biergarten in the English Garden, watched people surf in the middle of the city, saw the college, and generally zipped along the streets, wind flowing thought their hair. People stared at them, many waving in excitement, but some older people shot them glares that made Beca laugh. She didn’t know what their problem was; she was having too much fun to care.

She had fallen once, but only because she’d been trying to impress Chloe by jumping a curb. The curb had bested her, and her scooter went one flying off in one direction while she went in another, hitting the pavement hard enough to knock the wind from her lungs. She’d been fine, with more harm done to her ego than to her body; she’d been embarrassed, face burning, until Chloe had helped her up and kissed her lightly on the lips.

Yeah. It had been a good day.

“I’m happy you liked it,” Chloe chirps, apparently satisfied with herself. “I’ve always wanted to do it.”

Beca nods. “Maybe I’ll have to get an e-scooter of my own, just because.”

“I think you should. They’re fun. And good for the environment.”

“Mmm,” Beca hums, distracted as her eyes land on a nearby gelato stand. Her mouth waters in anticipation; she’s never been able to turn down the sweet, cool dessert. “You want some?” she asks, tilting her head toward the stand. “I can grab it.”

“Oooh, sure,” Chloe agrees, her eyes moving toward the stand. “I’ll take…um, strawberry on a cone,” she decides after a second.

“Okay, one sec,” says Beca, dropping Chloe’s hand and stepping toward the gelato stand. She orders Chloe’s choice and a scoop of chocolate on a cone for herself, and hands the woman behind the stand the money.

The woman scoops the gelato, handing Beca the strawberry first. “Your girlfriend is very pretty,” she says as she prepares Beca’s order. “You two look good together. Happy.”

“Oh, uh—” Beca hesitates, then forces a smile, hoping she doesn’t look too awkward. “Thank you, that’s nice of you to say.”

“It’s true,” the woman shrugs, handing Beca the chocolate gelato. “Have a good evening together.”

“Thanks,” Beca says again, then turns and walks back to Chloe. Her face is on fire and she really hopes Chloe, by some miracle, hadn’t heard or seen any of that exchange. “Here’s this,” she mutters, handing Chloe her cone of strawberry gelato.

“Looks tasty,” Chloe says in appreciation, taking a lick as they resume walking down the busy sidewalk. “It is tasty.”

“Good, yeah,” Beca replies quickly. “Um, yeah, I like getting the gelato around here. It’s always good.”

“Hmm.”

“Yeah, it’s really—all the flavors are—”

“Girlfriend, huh?”

Beca’s heart stutters. “Um… yeah. I guess she assumed.”

“Is she wrong?” Chloe’s asks bluntly, her voice free of assumption or pressure; with a glance over at her, Beca realizes that Chloe is asking her to make the decision without cornering her. She understands that no matter her answer, Chloe will still be there for her and that nothing has to change unless she wants it to.

“I…”

“It’s okay,” Chloe says with a shrug. “We don’t have to label—”

“No, it’s not—” Beca cuts herself off with a huff. “Um, it’s just—I mean, Chlo, this isn’t really… like, you’re leaving Germany soon, and it’s not like I’m planning on being here forever, but I don’t know where I’ll end up. So, I don’t… you know?”

Chloe nods, taking another lick of her gelato; Beca notices that her own has started to melt, chocolatey drips rolling down the dessert and descending precariously close to the cone and her hand. She quickly catches them with her tongue as Chloe says, “Yeah, I know, and that’s—that’s fine. I was only wondering.”

“For sure,” Beca breathes, relieved and, once again, more than a little surprised by Chloe.

Around them, the late afternoon Munich streets bustle with tourists and locals, bikes passing every few seconds with a jingle of their bells. A group of kids across the street crowd around a street performer with a violin, laughing whenever the performer winks playfully at them.

As they walk, taking in the sights, Beca’s mind races. Though Chloe hadn’t said anything for a few minutes, and the silence blanketing them is a comfortable one, she feels uneasy. Their conversation had been too similar to one she’d had before, but with a completely different outcome.

“Do you want to go watch the surfing again?” Chloe asks. “I know it’s all the way in the park, but I thought it was aca-awesome.”

“Hmm?”

“The surfing? Do you want to…” Chloe trails off, her eyes flicking between both of Beca’s. Somewhere along the way, she must have finished her gelato; the dessert is gone, its only remnant a smudge of strawberry at one corner of Chloe’s mouth. “Bec? What’s up?”

“Um, you’ve got a bit of…” Beca points to the same spot by her own mouth, and Chloe gets the hint and swipes at the spot impatiently with a napkin.

“Are you good?” Chloe asks once her face is clean of gelato. Concern fills her expression, a line appearing between her eyebrows.

Beca scrunches up her face. “I—yeah, it’s just—um. A couple weeks after I started working here, I went on a few dates with a guy I met.” The words spew out of her, and she risks a glance at Chloe, who only nods in slow encouragement.

“Right,” Beca huffs. “And things were good or whatever, but then he started to get… weird. About my job,” she answers Chloe’s look of confusion.

“Oh,” Chloe says softly, her eyes softening.

“Yeah. He got jealous and wanted me to quit, and when I wouldn’t, he called me these… just horrible things. It—it scared me.”

“I’m so sorry, Bec,” Chloe whispers.

Their walk slows to a crawl, until they finally stop off to the side of the walkway, next to a corner of a random building.

Beca forces a shrug. “Thanks. I ended it with him, and I haven’t seen him since, but… I don’t like talking about my job so much anymore, and then when you started… I don’t know, I was always nervous that you’d—” She stops to take a breath. “You wouldn’t. I know that. But still…”

“But it was still hard?” Chloe guesses carefully.

Beca nods, laughing a little at herself. “Yeah, kinda dumb maybe, but…”

“Not dumb,” Chloe says immediately. “After that—after what you had to deal with, I get it.”

The look on Chloe’s face, nearing guilt, jolts Beca’s stomach. “And I know you’re not like that,” she says quickly. “I knew that the second you asked me to play Twenty Questions. It’s still just kind of… hard… sometimes, and the thing about labels just...”

“I hear you,” Chloe replies quietly when it becomes apparent Beca isn’t going to finish her sentence. “Thanks for telling me.”

Beca manages a small, sincere smile, feeling… not lighter, exactly, but maybe just that much more relaxed around Chloe.

“So... what do you know about the a cappella World Championships?” she asks, and Chloe’s entire face lights up.

“Bec! It’s so cool!” Chloe exclaims, and immediately launches into an explanation of the history of a cappella, the cumulation of which results in the Worlds competition.

Even if it’s impractical and unrealistic for what she and Chloe have to be labeled as anything other than “short-term” or maybe even “doomed-to-fail,” it’s not going to stop Beca from enjoying the moment.

As she has this thought, reuniting her fingers (left slightly sticky from her gelato) with Chloe’s, her phone lights up. It’s in her pocket, tucked away and left on silent to be checked later, so she won’t immediately see the email that, despite all odds, will change everything.

#bechloe #bechloe fic #my writing #beca mitchell #chloe beale

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lukeysgirl · 5 years

Text

swallow me whole | c.t.h pt. 1

synopsis: nasty calum hood smut w a decent storyline?

word count: 10k+ (i got carried away but like)

authors note: i know this is so long and intimidating bt its a good read (i think) and youll like it (maybe) !!

PART ONE I N V I T A T I O N

“Y/N! Work better, not faster!”

Your heart beats just a bit faster as you straighten your back and link eyes with your manager. That taunting demeanor never seems to ease up, causing you to gulp as you glue your arms to your sides. “I’m sorry-- I didn’t realize how fast I was being.”

The witch who hired me gestured behind me, “then you should start noticing more, Ms. Y/L/N.” You slowly turn your body while listening to your managers heels clink away from the aisle you were working in. You emit an annoyed sigh when you see the cans (that you swore to have stacked perfectly) sprawled about the recently-mopped floor.

You bring your fingers to your ears, using your indexes to see if you had your earbuds in. But you didn’t, causing you to frown. How did I not hear them fall behind me? You asked yourself in your head as you shake your head and reluctantly went back to re-stack them.

XXX

“You should just quit already.”

You glared over at your gorgeous friend beside you, “ah yes, and would you like to pay my bills until I finish my degree and get a better job?” The model could only roll her eyes and smile, knowing that you were a realist and she, in many aspects, was not.

Merigold Leigh is one of the kindest souls that walks the earth. Although she is a Victoria Secret model, she couldn’t give less of a damn about it. ‘It pays the bills and keeps me healthy,’ she claims as she eats her least favorite vegetables. She listens and holds you whenever you’re at the very brink of tears. She comes around every single time you need her, and whenever she can’t, she calls and gives you every free second she has.

“I mean, I always tell you to move in with me,” Meri begins with a shrug. She looks all around her lavish apartment and smiles. “You can ravish in my luxuries without worry so you can focus on your studies.”

You smiled but shook your head. You hated to decline her, seeing as her apartment had way more than enough space to house the both of them. It was a large New York City penthouse, with everything you’d expect a millionaire to have. Paintings imported from Paris, wine bottles imported from Italy. Her entire home was furnished with the most expensive (yet simple) things. It was like walking into a small IKEA. She kept from placing photos of herself or the awards she has won all over the apartment, as she isn’t too bothered to flaunt about her worth.

You pulled the shared quilt to cover your body more, “if only I didn’t have so much pride.” Meri giggles while taking another spoonful of Fage yogurt into her mouth. The two of you were very comfortable on her gray couch, with both pairs of legs up and both bodies curled up into balls. “Besides, all the excitement of sleeping over would be taken away if I moved in with you.”

Meri rolls her eyes, “your first mistake was assuming that I could become boring.” You giggle, tossing a few pieces of popcorn at her before taking another bite. “You love taunting me with your ability to eat whatever your heart desires.”

“Is’not on purpose,” you struggle to say through a full mouth. Chewing it down and swallowing, you glance over at her kitchen, “you don’t have food for regular humans here.” She rolls her eyes once again and threatens to catapult a bit of yogurt in your face.

She begins to scrape the corners of the container, “I still think you should quit. That supermarket will be the death of you.” You shrug, staring distantly. It wasn’t a bad gig but you can certainly do with a better manager, better hours, and a better uniform. “Green doesn’t suit you well.”

“But who else will get you discounts at Whole Foods?” You question slyly. Meri could only push some of her natural red locks off of her tanned shoulder. She places the empty container of yogurt on her coffee table and licks off any residue from her lips.

“Forget the discount; I want you to be happy,” she insists warmly. Your smirk dissolves and you begin to grow distant again. She notices and quickly takes your hands into hers, forcing your attention to return to her. “Working and studying at the same time is bringing you stress and that is something I don’t want.”

“But I need to work for money so I can pay for my apartment,” you begin somberly, “and I need to study so I can work a better job for more money to get the hell out of here.”

“That’s so cruel, Y/N,” Meri pouts. “You’re in the city of dreams-- the city that never sleeps! Everyone would kill to live where you live.”

“Yes, but will they kill for how I live?” You scoff at her words. “I pay almost $700 for a studio apartment that if I literally laid down on the floor and stretched all my limbs, I’d occupy the entire place.”

Meri gently brings her hand up and flicks the very top of your forehead. “Your apartment is literally a block away from mine and we literally live next to Times Square.” You roll your eyes, still not persuaded. “And you’re studying at NYU-- that’s a dream that only so many people could live.” You still shrugged her words away.

You didn’t feel special. There’s thousands of students studying at NYU, who live in an apartment similar to yours and have done the same amount of exploring as you have. You have walked around all the boroughs, have tried almost all the cuisines more than once and know the MTA system well. Those are not experiences or skills unique to you as this is one of the biggest cities in the world.

“You know what you need?” Meri tugs your hands, bringing you back to earth quickly. You listen attentively, assuming she would be spewing wise words. “Some dick.”

Immediately, you retract your hands, your sudden movement causing your bowl of popcorn to fall on the floor. You quickly get on the floor to clean up your mess, Meri following your motions. “I’m so sorry, Meri. I didn’t mean to make a mess.”

“It’s all good, sis, don’t fret so much,” the sweet ginger insists as you both pick up the pieces of popcorn and place them back into the bowl. Once the mess was done, you rose from the ground and headed straight to the kitchen to dispose of the fallen food. Meri tails after you, with full intention to continue entertaining the subject. “But am I wrong?”

You open the silver trashcan and slowly dig out the popcorn from the bowl and into the mint-scented Glad bag. “Meri, I really don’t think dick is what I need.”

“Okay, maybe I was a bit rash,” she hums behind you, taking a seat on her quartz kitchen island. “But I think you should finally go out with me and live a little bit.” Here she goes again…

Every weekend since the day you met her, Meri has asked you to go out with her. Whether it be to Victoria Secret shows, bars, celebrity parties, or a random trip to Europe. She encourages the careless for you, even though she knows very well that you have many responsibilities that keep you strapped in. Although you definitely knew that your social life was in desperate need of some flavor, you could not just spontaneously add some flavor to it. You have school to attend to, homework to get done, and bread to get. It wasn’t your fault that you have to be an adult and Meri got to live her best life.

“Maybe I can get another boyfriend to ruin my life again,” you began sarcastically. “Distract me from my studies and force me to call off days from work. Make me poor again and slack in my courses-- what a joy that would be.”

Meri huffs, clearly irritated by your words. “You won’t meet another Chris, I pinky swear.”

The very name she emitted made you want to vomit. Knowing alone that he existed erupted discomfort all over your body. There are days where you could be fine being reminded of him, but other days absolutely defeat you. Socializing would just lead to another Chris and although that’s very narrow-minded of you, you were just too afraid to risk it.

“Even so,” you begin as you bring the empty bowl towards the kitchen sink. Turning the faucet on, you take the initiative and start washing the buttery dish. “Partying is your thing. I don’t necessarily fit in the party scene.”

“That’s because you refuse to go to parties,” Meri pointed out a fact. You could feel her right behind her, her warm breath right on the back of your neck. She clung her hands on your shoulders and squeezed them gently. “Just one night and I’ll never ask you again.”

...One night really couldn’t hurt, could it? Wait, no, stop. Meri was good at being persuasive but when it came to parties, you are extremely adamant. You didn’t favor being in the position of being surrounded by many drunk people, potentially being touched by them and then sweating out buckets due to the summer heat and the cramped space. That idea did not appeal in any way.

“But Meri-eeeeee!” Whining was a very good tactic for you, as it typically worked. But Meri was not having it this time around. As soon as you finished washing your hands and shutting off the faucet, she turns you around and forces you to face her.

“You’re sleeping over this weekend, right?” Merigold begins with facts. You nod, unsure as to where she was going with this. “That means you finished all your homework due for the coming week, yes?” You nod again. “That also means you don’t work this weekend?” Another nod. “Perfect. We’re going the fuck out, bitch.”

You accidentally nod from the pattern but completely shake your head when realizing it had actually been broken. “I-- wait, Meri, no. I’m not going out--” but she had shut you up with a finger pressed against your lips.

“It’s Friday night and there's a party happening at one of my favorite bars,” Meri begins to fill you in. “It’s been booked for the night for the event so there won’t be anybody I don’t know. You’re going to let me doll you up like the Barbie doll you’re supposed to be.”

“I’m not plastic, Meri,” you grumble in annoyance. But her face glistened from the triumph. She easily defeated you and there was nothing more you could do. Plus, seeing her so excited made you feel somewhat better about going out with her.

She rubs her hands down your arms to weave her fingers between yours, “you’re much too beautiful for plastic, Y/N. I just want to dress you up and make you believe how gorgeous you really are. Live that fairy tale story just for one night.”

Her green eyes were full of hope and excitement, with a hint of puppy eyes and begging. She knew you already lost, but this had to be the cherry on top. You weren’t going to deny her, seeing as she was so excited to finally go out with her best friend. And maybe it really was time to embrace just how attractive you were and show off.

You let out a shaky sigh before nodding and giving her a small smile, “alright then; dress me up.” Meri widened her eyes and squealed so loudly, you had to look around to see if she broke any glass.

XXX

Merigold might have gone a little overboard with the consent you gave her.

She wanted you to look bold yet classy, bombastic yet very well put together. So she decided to flatten your hair with a steam-powered flat iron (to prevent damaging your hair, of course.) She parts your hair in half so each side of your head has enough hair to cover. Using the front parts of your hair, Meri pushes it behind your ears while pulling the rest of your hair a little forward to create that clean and nicely done hairdo.

For your face, she didn’t want to do too much. She only wanted to highlight your features (which is everything about your face, according to her.) She lightly applies foundation and contour on your face, with a bit of concealer here and there to help with your stress marks. She fills in your eyebrows nicely and does a red/brown ombre eye shadow that isn’t too much but states its existence on its own. With small wings and a bit of mascara, Meri finishes with a cherry lip gloss on your cleaned and lip-scrubbed lips.

Then, it was your outfit. And you didn’t keep yourself from vocalizing your opinion this time.

“Meri, this is a bit much, isn’t it?” You quietly question, looking down at your outfit. Meri was body-deep into her shoe closet, sifting through for a pair of heels that you know you’re going to have some trouble walking in. You haven’t worn heels since your high school graduation. “Meri?”

“Y/N, you look bitchin’,” Meri insisted while tossing shoes around. You looked over to see her frantically look through boxes of name brand shoes you’d never afford. “These shoes will make it come together.”

Goosebumps crawled all around your body as your self-consciousness finally decided to scream at you. A lot of your skin had been showing and you were barely wearing much clothing to cover the others worth concealing. Much cleavage had been showing, as the skimpy dress stopped right above your knees. Your chest as pressed a bit, having the top of your breasts protrude. You instinctively hugged your body, attempting to cover as much as you can in the completely white walk-in closet.

“Here they are!” Meri cheers in success as she returns to you and offers you these fairly low wedges. You took them hesitantly, taking a seat on one of her leather stools and easing in the golden-strapped shoes around your feet. “Are you cold?” Her warm hand begins to rub your upper arm. “Should I put the temperature up in here?”

You shake your head as you finish up strapping the wedges. “I’m not cold-- just a little nervous…” Meri bent down before you, holding your chin between her fingers while giving you an encouraging smile.

“You actually haven’t looked at yourself yet, have you?” You shook your head, knowing that Meri wanted to complete the outfit before surprising you. She stands up straight once again and offers her hands. You take them and allow her to guide you over to her tall body mirror. It reached from the floor to the ceiling. But before you could stand in front of it, she gives you a good look and a squeeze. “You actually have no idea just how beautiful you are.”

She pulls you gently while you sheepishly let her present yourself in front of the mirror. You look straight into your own eyes before allowing them to look at yourself up and down. This can’t be me, can it? You looked down at your forearms, seeing the golden accessories hang from your wrists, neck, and ears.

“That’s… me?” You whisper to Merigold as you continued to scan yourself in the mirror. Your fingers trailed around your body, your skin glistening with gold sparkles ornate all over from all the luxurious products Meri let you use. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not,” Meri confirmed. She joined you in the mirror, still in her pajamas and unready but nonetheless beautiful. Meeting shoulders, she smiles widely and nudges you lightly. “Aren’t you a tall glass of water?”

You were swallowed up by a completely crimson dress, which did wonders complimenting your body as well as your makeup. There were no words to say for it-- you weren’t Y/N anymore. Tonight, you were the woman you’ve been wondering about all your life but never let her out.

“Wow,” you breathed out, unsure as to how to really react. You then turn over to her and begin to fret. “Wait, you have to get ready too! Is there enough time before the party?”

“Girl, don’t you worry ‘bout a thing,” Meri hums quietly. “It’s only 6 and I’ve invited my favorite nail salonists so we can get mani-pedis.” You raised your eyebrows at her unnecessary amount of spending and she could only raise her hands shyly. “You’re finally letting me spoil you-- let me have my moment.”

“Yeah, yeah…” you rolled your eyes while flattening any wrinkle on the dress. But the dresses fabric on the outside didn’t exactly wrinkle so you were all set. “Hey, I have a question,” you started, with Meri staring at you in fascination. “When did you get my outfit that’s exactly my size?”

“I’ve been waiting for this moment, Y/N,” Meri stares at you wistfully. “Finally, my time has come and my purpose will soon be fulfilled.”

“You’re so annoying,” you shove her playfully before the two of you go back downstairs to prepare for the nail salonists. Meri failed to mentioned that she also invited her hair stylist and makeup artist so everything could get done at the time. All you could do was shake her head as she begins to explain her outfit to you.

XXX

“Can I back out now?”

“Absolutely not.”

You bite down on your bottom trembling lip as you looked through the shaded window of Meri’s SUV. The flashing lights of the city night wasn’t foreign but could definitely burn your eyes. Lines were piled with people who clearly weren’t allowed in with an army of guards protecting not only the door of the bar, but the surrounding blocks. Paparazzi swarmed the area as well, and quickly had taken notice of Meri’s car.

“Meri,” you begin quietly, “what other celebrities will be here?”

She looks down and thinks for a moment before nodding, “other models, artists, producers, actors. You know, a typical party.” Your eyes widened, unsure if you heard her correctly. “It’s no biggie, Y/N. You’ll meet them and it’ll be like you’re talking to normal people.”

“Ah yes,” you spat, “normal people with millions of fans and millions of dollars. Their faces are on the TV I watch and the magazines I barely read.” Meri shoves you lightly and pouts. “I’m just a little nervous, okay?”

Meri smiles. Her hands carefully hold up the bottom of your head and meets with your eyes. “I promise you shouldn’t be nervous. They’re really just like us; super chill and just looking for a good time.”

You swallowed harshly, letting out several sighs while keeping yourself calm. You begin to shake your hands, feeling your palms get clammy from the anxious sweating. “Do I look okay? Am I presentable?”

Meri shakes her head, “you’re beautiful, okay?” She then straights up your back and pushes your chin up. “Be confident, okay? You’re going to shoot arrows directly into everyone's hearts, I promise you that.”

You take her word and release a majority of the nerves. This was your moment after all. Why should you be nervous when you look like a million dollars? Tapping on the glass, Meri’s security opens the door for you and offer a hand to assist you out.

Taking the hand, you were immediately blinded by camera flashes. They were deafening, with the added spouts and shouts of the paparazzi and fans stood on the side. You raise a hand above your eyes to protect them as you turned and waiting for Meri to come out. And she does, with a smile touching ear to ear.

“Merigold Leigh! Look over here!” Desperate calls for her to look over sounded as Meri gave them looks and smiles. She looked beautiful, with her ginger hair in waves and blue makeup done very subtly. Her caramel body was hugged nicely with a cerulean blue dress, flaunting every inch of her curves.

“Y/N, let me go first,” Meri suggested. You listened while letting her lead, but she offers her hand for you to hold so you don’t part from her. She didn’t see, but you were smiling so warmly from how sweet your best friend was. She’s really one in a million, and you weren’t willing to exchange for anybody else. “Pardon me, my best friend and I are coming through!”

The two of you made the cement below you sound as paparazzi continue to call her name. But Merigold was focused on getting the both of you in as you and her stood before the bouncers. The bouncer looks down, clearly recognizing Meri but glancing curiously at you. “She’s my plus one, love.” The bouncer nods, not needing any explanation as another bouncer opens the door and allows the both of you in.

Though getting through was difficult with several fans touching you guys, Meri managed to pull you two in with a fair amount of ease. The bass of ‘bad guy’ quickly coursed through your veins as Meri held your hand tightly while squeezing you through the crowd. You kept your eyes down, knowing that the people surrounding you were famous and owned a net worth higher than yours will ever be.

Where are we going? You thought to yourself as Meri seemed to have known where she was dragging you. With each step you took, you could feel yourself get more embarrassed. Your legs were completely out and bare, as you felt your thighs rub gently against each other with every step you took. Thankfully, Meri had a solution to the chafing but the embarrassment had none. You just had to deal with the fact that you’re flaunting.

“Ashley!” You were suddenly halted and lost hold of your best friends hand as you looked up and watched her hug another woman. You looked to see that it was a fellow model; Ashley Graham. Meri told you what you were to expect, but that didn’t stop your heart from running.

“Meri, how are you?” The brunette model hums excitedly. You listened to the ‘duh’ of the song before the beat gently dropped. You watched their happy reunion as fellow models you were familiar with had joined in and exchanged hugs. But Meri made the exchange quick so she could pull you in and introduce you.

“Ladies, this is my bestest friend, Y/N,” Meri begins while putting her arm around you. You smile shyly, recognizes the few faces you’ve met several times due to Meri’s work. But you respected Ashley Graham a lot and put out your hand.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” you started as Ashley got closer to hear you more properly. “You look gorgeous tonight.” White pearls gleam as she returns the handshake.

“Awh, thank you,” Ashley kindly takes the compliment and eyes you up and down. “You look just as beautiful-- I mean, look at you! Are you not a model as well?” You cheeks went hot as you waved your hands and shook your head. Meri shook her head to confirm it and Ashley remained wide-eyed. “That’s shocking. You’d be an amazing model.”

You shook your head, “I think Meri should be the model between us. I’m too busy studying in NYU anyways.” Meri grinned, squeezing you a little closer as you listened to the next verse of the tune come in.

“She’s my study bug.” Meri smiles warmly at you, “she tends to study a little too much but I love her all the same.”

Everyone chimed in with giggles as you rolled your eyes. Words are flung all through the conversation until you and Meri divide. She went ahead to talk to her fellow models (likely about their work) as you decided to take a seat beside Ashley. The wedges, though comfortable, were finally starting to bother you.

Ashley quickly spews a drink to the bartender and gives you a look while she waits. “Did you not bring a purse with you, Y/N?”

You looked down at your crossed legs, placing your hand down where your phone is, “Meri told me I wouldn’t need to bring my wallet or anything so I only brought my phone with me.” She looks down to see where your hand was. “But my ID and credit card are in my case.”

“Do you have it strapped against your thigh?” You nod. “Y/N, you’re absolutely clever.” You laugh while doing a small bow. She joins in the laughter and you exchange a few more words until Meri comes and interrupts.

“I feel terrible to cut this short, but Ash we’ve gotta go,” Meri informs. She gives her a puzzled face, “our managers are looking for us. Y/N, you stay here.” You nod, following through with your given instructions as you watch the beautiful women wave at you before being dissolved into the crowd of people.

Subconsciously, your eyes began to scan the crowd and felt your eyebrows rise. The Jonas Brothers are here? What kind of event was this exactly? Feeling the intimidation from being surrounded by so many known people, you decide to turn back to face the bartenders. But as you did, you met eyes with the bartender that had finished making Ashley’s drink.

“Oh, she had to go do something,” you explained as you began to reach for your phone, “how much is the drink? I’ll pay for her.” The bartender smiled warmly at you and waved his hand. He began walking away, having you assume it was on the house.

You bring the small glass cup close to you, having you look down to see several cubes of eyes and a small amount of a transparent substance. You gave it a whiff before concluding it was vodka. Bringing it up to see the bottom, you squint your eyes to notice there were some sort of flakes in it. What in the world…

“It's a shot of Gold Flakes Supreme,” the bartender returned with a rag and a small glass in his hands. You met with his azure eyes, nodding at the information before putting the drink down and pushing it slightly away from you. “You don’t want it?”

“It wasn’t meant for me,” you reply simply, “plus, I don’t drink much.” The bartender nodded but gave the small glass a push. “Uh…?”

“I wouldn’t want it to go to waste,” he begins with a smirk. “A beautiful girl like you deserves at least one expensive drink tonight.” You blush, looking down at the polished dark oak bar as he pushes it into your peripheral vision. With your elbows leaned against it, you support your head with your hands and wistfully stared down at the drink. “Though, you must be used to drinking such luxurious drinks like this one.”

You kept blushing as you met his eyes again and shook your head, “o-oh no, I’m not famous!” His eyes widen but you laugh it off, “my best friend is a model and wanted me to come with.” The bartender comprehends and smiles a little cheekier.

“That explains how kind you are,” the bartender begins, “many celebrities are more stuck up.” You shrugged.

“I take it you’ve met many celebrities,” you put out. Right at your last word, someone calls for the bartender and he glances back. He winks at you before turning away to serve another customer.

You felt your cheeks warm. No! You began to scold yourself. Cupping your cheeks, you tried cooling yourself off with your cold hands. For the sake of your career, you were not going to immediately fall for a man so easily. You didn’t even catch his name.

While you were working away your thoughts, you felt an abrupt and harsh thud beside you. Turning slowly, you were met with a large man who seemed to be absolutely fuming. Your eyes scanned this man up and down, the sound of Eastside and his grown fusing together. And the man was very quick to notice your staring as he snapped his neck towards you, his brown orbs full of intimidation. “Can I help you?”

You found yourself distracted by how attractive this man was. Though the strobe lights made it difficult to tell, his skin was clearly sun-kissed. His jawline was sharp and obvious, but those chubby cheeks of his made them slightly less daunting. His nose was fairly big with facial hair randomly ornate about his face-- but he was handsome. Dark circles sat under his eyes, but those brown orbs were absorbing you completely.

“Hey!” A deep and strained voice brought you back to reality. You blink a few times before looking at the buzzed-cut man glaring down at you. “The fuck you lookin’ at?” Attitude.

You quickly look away and mutter a small “nothing.” He nods and turns back towards the bar, snapping a bartender his way. You glanced over, noticing that this man was completely in black. A black dress shirt tucked into what seemed like a shinier (and darker) pair of black pants. You let your eyes wander away once again, your nerves collecting up and down your spine.

A different bartender comes his way, in which he scoffs, “fucking finally. Can I have 8 shots of absinthe?” The bartender looked like her soul was just kicked out of her body. She nods anxiously before dissolving into the large wall of alcoholic drinks.

You decide to put your focus on the bit of vodka meant for Ashley. The ice was watering up the drink, making you feel awful for wasting such an expensive drink. Then, like you had spoken your thoughts, the man beside you asked, “are you going to drink that?” His voice was deep, nasally, and sounded like a warfare between two accents.

You meet with his eyes again and shake your head, “it isn’t mine.” He frowns.

“Then whose is it?”

Does it really matter? “Clearly not yours.” The man raised his eyebrows in shock. You, too, were shocked by the sass that left your tongue. You watched as he clicked his tongue against his bottom teeth.

“Do I know you?” He asked condescendingly.

You shook your head. “Do I know you?” The bartender returned to the man with the 8 shots he requested. The shots were full of this dark green liquid that made your liver already want to hurt. He nods away the bartender before returning to you with a smirk.

“You’re not famous, are you?” You shake your head. “A plus one?” You nod. He nods slowly before preparing to pick up one of the shots he ordered.

“I take it you aren’t a plus one?” He follows you and shakes his head. “Makes sense. I’m pretty sure I’m the only person without a net worth here.” You watched his plump, soft lips hold onto part of the shots rim and downs the shot with ease. He grimaces from the taste and shrugs.

“And you don’t know who I am?” He asks while recuperating from the shot of poison he just drank.

You shrug, “I’m sorry, am I supposed to?” The man chuckles and shakes his head. “Are you an actor, artist, producer-- model?”

He emits a raspy chuckle, “do I look attractive enough to be a model?” You could feel your cheeks tint pink. He smiles at this, having you notice that he has a very sweet smile. It makes him much more appealing compared to the angry expression he held when he first came over. “I’m in a band. I play bass.”

“Oh, cool.” You were genuinely impressed. Though you have no other celebrity to compare to aside from Meri, this man must have talent if he’s at this bar right now. “I’m sorry if I was rude earlier.”

“Ah no, it’s my fault,” the man admits as he waves off your apology. “I’ve been crabby all night and decided I wanted a drink.”

“That’s not the best coping mechanism, you know,” you commented as he took another shot. He grimaces yet again and slams the empty shot glass on the table. The man suddenly got closer to you, causing you to back off slightly. “H-hey--”

“I’m sorry,” he speaks a little louder, “I can’t hear you too well over the music.” Eastside was blaring pretty loudly, you had to admit. You eased up and nodded. “I know I shouldn’t drink, but my life feels like it's falling apart.”

“Are you stressed out?” You asked politely, your voice much softer and kinder. “I can imagine being famous isn’t easy.” The man shrugged.

“That’s always going to stress me out, you know?” You nodded. “But I’ve recently received some shitty news, which only brought shittier news.” You frowned. You felt his words completely. “I’m just kinda stuck between a rock and a hard place.”

Aren’t we all? You felt kind of bad. Even though he’s famous and could have everything, he’s still human and has the potential of losing things, too. And drinking doesn’t seem like his best friend either. He must be having a pretty hard time. And you weren’t sure why, but you decided to take the shot of watering vodka and forced it down your throat. The man beside you sat and watched as you coughed from the disgusting and very warm drink.

“My best friend brought me out here so I can try to get a better social life,” you admitted sheepishly, clinking the empty glass with your acrylic nails. “But I’m not famous so I don’t know what she expects from me.”

The man keeps quiet for a moment before slowly sliding one of his shots to you, “you’re doing pretty good right now.” You look down at the shot and smile curtly. He seemed kind, even though his aura is pretty off-putting. “Have a shot with me.”

“I shouldn’t…” you murmur as you bring the shot glass between your hands.

He holds up a shot near you and smiles, “I insist. You’re the only person I want to drink with right now.” You shook your head but he placed his hand on yours. You flushed up, feeling the hard and dry calluses ornate on his large hand. “Please.”

His voice emanated pure defeat, like he had nobody else but you. There was a touch of beg, and there was only so much you could do to resist such an irresistible man. With a shaky sigh, you pick up the shot and meet his eyes. “Fuck it.”

An hour passes, and each of you were full of shots and giggles. You two bounces off of each other from conversation with ease, like a perfectly made algorithm. He explained his broken accent, as he’s originally from Australia but had unfortunately been Americanized from fame. He told you of all the lovely experiences he’s had traveling all around Asian and Europe with his band mates who also happened to be his best friends. Listening to how content he was telling you these stories made you glad for his mood change.

Even if the two of you were a bit too tipsy.

“You know, you’re a really good listener,” Calum began seriously. He was a very chill drunk, extremely collected with very few slurred words. “Thank you for lending me your ears.”

You nodded, feeling your head heavy from the motion, “I get that a lot.” You felt a little sluggish, your eyes barely keeping up with his. He notices this and quickly whistles over a bartender. Your eyes wandered to see that it was the male bartender from early. He asked for a water bottle and the bartender eyes you worriedly before fetching his request.

“Let’s sober you up a bit,” the man insists as he takes the water bottle from the bartender and opens it up for you. You feel fingers lift your chin up as you felt the bottle gently sit between your lips. Cold water slowly entered your mouth as you swallowed a good amount. It was refreshing, and tasted so much better than the vodka and absinthe you drank. He pulls away the bottle after you wave it away and lets you go, “how you feeling?”

“Mmm,” you nod, “better.” The man smiles warmly at you. He then squints a bit before he brings his hand up to your face. You backed off a bit but he stuck out his thumb and began to dab your bottom lip. You could only blink as he gently dabbed away the loose water that remained on your glossed lips.

“Good girl,” he breathed, putting his hand down slowly. His brown eyes were captivating; you couldn’t find yourself looking away. And hearing him call you a good girl made you feel a bit weird. A little bit hot. He seemed entranced, too, as his face gradually came closer to yours. “Hey stranger, can I ask for your name?”

“I’m Y/N.” You stuck your hand out to him.

“Calum.” His large hand shakes yours. But he holds onto it, your eyes still locked with his. You smiled goofy. Calum.

“I like your name,” you slur out.

“I like your lips,” Calum murmurs quietly. His hot breath tickled your lips, having you realize just how close he was to you. “Hey Y/N… can I kiss you?”

It was a shot in the dark. But it was only one shot and it’s either a complete hit or a complete miss. Although you weren’t completely in your right mind and should probably be looking for Meri, you really wanted to seize this opportunity. After all, when would a very attractive man such as him come around again?

You nodded and closed your eyes, bracing yourself for the interlocking. And, without wasting a second, the man by the name of Calum, pressed his lips firmly against yours. They were warm and soft and plump-- exactly what you expected. You felt the way his warm tongue dragged along your bottom lip, savoring the saccharine goodness of it. His teeth would gently graze along your bottom lip while calming it with his tongue.

His hands quickly worked their way to your face, cupping your cheeks gently with his fingers fairly spread out. His thumbs were lightly denting your face while the other fingers had been gently massaging the back of your head and neck. Calum wanted more and more of you, as if you two weren’t locking lips, noses touching. Your hands found their way to his thighs, keeping you up as you two tried getting closer to one another.

Calum smelled good. He smelled of clean clothes and cologne, but he wasn’t drowned in it. It made the taste of booze easier to bare from his lips. Your pussy kept clenching, your hormones clearly desiring this man. Subconsciously, your hands crawled over to find that his crotch was protruding and twitching desperately. He groaned into your mouth from your touch.

“Fuck,” he growled against your lips. Your anxiety quickly rose as you pulled away. “Hey--”

“N-no, we shouldn’t be kissing here,” you mumbled nervously, looking around the bar. “Others could be taking photos, or paparazzi--”

“Y/N,” Calum spoke over you. “Paparazzi isn’t allowed in here and celebrities mind their own business among other celebrities.” You blinked a few times, still pretty drunk and attempting to understand his words. “Just like them, I want my privacy. So don’t stress, okay?”

You nod shyly, causing Calum to smile widely again. “Okay but um…” You pressed your thighs closer together, feeling a bit wet between them. “Can we… change scenery?”

Calum’s brown eyes glowed, offering his hands to you, “I was just about to ask the same thing. Come on.” He looks around before muttering an ‘um.’ You watch as he untucks his dress shirt and proceeds to unbutton it.

“Calum?”

Without answering you, Calum removes his dress shirt and begins to cover your head. Confused, you held the shirt down so it didn’t slide off. You were going to ask but Calum was quick to answer, “I don’t want the paparazzi taking photos of you when we step out.” Protecting my identity, you thought. Sick.

Calum checked his pockets to make sure he had everything before standing up and offering his hand. You slowly rose from the stool, using Calum’s forearms to help you up. As you did, you glanced back to see the bartender watching you from afar while making a drink for another customer. You look back at Calum and allow him to guide you out the bar.

“Cover as much of your face as you can, okay?” Calum instructs as he begins to lead you out of the bar. You take in your instructions as you slip through celebrities. You felt like you were going to get stuck with how crowded it was, but Calum had a very firm grip on you. “Excuse me!”

In seconds, you felt fresh air coat you all over. Your lungs were celebrating from the warm yet refreshing air. But you couldn’t bask in the excitement of being outside as you two were quickly met with flashing lights and shouts. You heard the paparazzi scream ‘Calum Hood,’ allowing you to safely assume that that was the man's full name.

“Miss!” Several of them then began beckoning to you, feeling hands attempting to reach you and reveal yourself. And they were close, but you had a pretty firm grip on the shirt. His smell was intoxicating and you looked like a nun covering your face with the shirt. But one more grab finally sparked some initiative from Calum.

He pulled you into his arms, your body firmly against his built torso, “stop fucking touching her!” He spat at the paparazzi, who only ate this up and resumed taking more photos and videos. You noticed from the little hole you had to see that security quickly came and pushed them back. This gave you and Calum enough time to get to his car and escape. “In here, beautiful.” He opens the door to his black SUV.

You struggle with your wedges but you get inside the car. As he closes the door, he rushes over to the driver's seat and joins you in the car. “You can take that off now.” Removing the shirt, you look around in paranoia. But his windows were shaded so nobody would be able to see the inside. “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

You fold the shirt and hand it over to Calum, “I’m fine, don’t worry.” He smiles while taking the shirt and gently placing it in the back of the car. He looks straight again and presses the button to start his car, watching as everything turns on and lights up. His radio immediately blasted Slow Motion by Trey Songz and you giggled.

“Shit, I’m so sorry--” Calum begins to apologize as his fingers try to lower the volume. But you loved this song and couldn’t help but jam out.

“Baby, when I saw ya walking out the door,” you sung, your hands reaching up to touch the roof of the car. “I jus knew you needed somethin’ more.”

Calum watched you in fascination as you sway your body to the sensual song. His boner had been getting worse and worse as you dragged your fingers down your collarbone and towards your chest. You notice that the car had been running but not moving. You look over at Calum.

“Shouldn’t you be driving?”

“Shit, yeah.”

With that, Calum pulls away from the curb and begins to drive to his apartment. You watched him drive, noticing how muscular his arms were. They were bigger than your face. Your eyes guide down to his collarbone, noticing one of the two tattoos that sit just below it. You bring your hand to touch it, causing Calum to flinch. But his tension dissolves as you slowly trace the lines.

“Like it?” He hummed quietly.

“It’s fitting,” you reply with a nod. You begin to drag your fingers towards his shoulder and down his muscular arm. They barely grazed his skin, but it had done just enough to make goosebumps rise. “Does my touch make you nervous?”

“Nah,” he replies unconvincingly. He quickly blasts the A/C and chuckles, “I’m just cold.” You giggle, continuing your adventure down his side. Your fingers reach his pants, causing you to bite your bottom lip. Your hand swiftly finds itself right on top of his boner, getting a “fuck!” out of him.

“You seem to have a problem down there,” you mumbled quietly. Calum chuckled.

“Amazing observation, Y/N,” Calum compliments sarcastically. You roll your eyes as you look up to see car lights glisten against Calum’s face. You look over to notice why he began sucking his teeth and sighing. “Fucking traffic,” Calum grumbles as he begins ot honk. “Fucking go!”

You laugh at his rage before returning your focus down on his crotch. Gently, you rub his boner, feeling his limb gradually get larger. Calum lets go of the wheel as he’s taken his defeat in the traffic and begins to pay attention to your actions. You look up to see his brown eyes study your hand and his bottom lip firmly stuck between his pearly whites.

You toy with the zipper of his pants before you halt and pout, “is this okay?”

Calum nods, “it's way more than okay.”

You resumed, pulling down the zipper slowly while Calum helped in pulled the pants down slightly. His black Calvin Klein's couldn’t do much as Calum’s boner immediately shot up. The tightness from the pants had been restricting his cock for too long as you heard Calum emit a relieving sigh. Your hands cling onto the waist of the boxers before pulling it completely down. You noticed that he was cleanly shaved before your eyes were on his bare cock. It immediately slapped against Calum’s stomach.

Without any more delays, you move closer to the drivers while using Calum’s thigh to hold you up. Using your free hand, you hold the 7-inch limb to keep it from slapping his stomach. Veins danced up and down his cock, his tip a light hue of pink. You let out a nervous sigh before bringing your lips to his tip. A throaty moan escapes Calum’s lips as your lips wrap around the top of his cock.

“Fuck,” Calum dragged, throwing his head back as you licked the man’s cock up and down. His dick was shiny from your saliva, making it easier for your hand to stroke it up and down while your mouth did the rest of the work. “That feels so fuckin good…”

His large hand takes up your flattened hair, keeping it from distracting you as you slowly took in more of his cock. His dick slid in with ease, through his tip was somewhat rough on your throat. More moans ensued from the man’s mouth as you take him as deeply as you could. He began to thrust up, desperate to put his dick as far into your throat as he could.

“Shit, Y/N,” Calum growled as he moved the car inches in the slow moving traffic. “Can I?” You felt his hand weave through your hair and massage the back of your scalp. He wanted to face fuck you. You used both hands to hold onto his thigh as a way to give consent. He bites down on his bottom lip harshly as he brought his other hand to hold your head. Slowly, he started to move your head up and down his cock. Your warm tongue swirled around his cock as he shoved it in and out your mouth.

Your panties became wetter from being face fucked. Although your eyes were tearing up and likely ruining your makeup, you wanted Calum to use your body more. “Your mouth feels so fucking good, Princess.” Your new nickname made you hotter as you gagged uncontrollably around Calum’s cock. You swallowed down the piling up saliva in your mouth, and that made Calum high. “F-fuck, your throat is so tight…”

He began to go a bit faster, tears quickly running down your cheeks. Your fingers and nails dent into his thigh, holding on tighter as Calum used your mouth the way he wished. A string of moans escape his lips-- he wants to cum soon. “I’m gonna cum right into your pretty little throat, okay Princess?” He informs you, his speed not relenting for a second as you felt his cock get bigger in your mouth. The tip of his cock hit the back of your throat so many times a minute that you knew it’ll be sore later.

Calum loved the sound of your saliva all over his cock, going in and out your mouth. “Y/N, I’m cumming--” even though you were warned, your widened your eyes when you felt a warm liquid getting forced down your throat. Immediately, you shot up and released his cock with a pop! Sound. You began to cough, relieving your mouth of being stuffed. With that, a bit of his cum still sat on your tongue and dripped down your bottom lip. It was bitter and salty, but you licked the remaining bit into your mouth. You looked up at Calum, whose eyes were suddenly filled with rage.

“Princess,” Calum begins darkly, pinching your chin with his fingers. His brown eyes were dim and haunting, causing goosebumps to rush all over your skin. “You let some of my cum drip into my car.”

You gulped. “I’m sorry…”

“Oh, I know,” Calum murmured quietly. “I’m gonna make you regret it anyways, Princess.” He then reverted back to driving mode as both hands clasped onto the wheel. You sat back into the passenger's seat properly, shifting uncomfortably from your juices leaking out of your pussy. Calum brought his hand to your thigh and kept it there, ensuing silence in the car as you mentally prepared for whatever the unpredictable Calum had in store for you.

XXX

You looked out the window when Calum pulled up in front of an extremely fancy and expensive apartment building. You watch Calum turn off the car and exiting it. Walking around it, Calum opens your door and offers you a hand. You looked around curiously, “are you sure I can show my face?”

Calum nodded, “the paparazzi hasn’t figured out where my city apartment is.” You take his hand and allow him to help you out as he shuts the door behind you and clicks a button to lock the car. Several security guards stood right before you as Calum tossed his ‘car key’ to one of them. You glanced back as one of them gets into the car and drives away to park it.

Calum’s warm hand holds yours into the beautiful and expensive building. The intensity of the bright lights was blinding as you kept your head down and followed Calum. But when you were looking down, you noticed the inner legs glistening due to how horny you were. And you still weren’t quite that sober so you squeezed Calum’s hand tighter in desperation.

He chuckles at you, “what’s wrong, Princess?” He glances back at you to see your face as red as a tomato. You bit your bottom lip and shook your head, too embarrassed to tell him your situation. Snickering, Calum guides you to an elevator and presses one of the buttons. You looked up slightly to see that they were going to the 48th floor.

“C-Calum,” you stuttered, looking up at him. He looked of a sadist right then, knowing that you were wet beyond belief and that you were desperately seeking relief. “I need you.”

“You need me?” Calum repeats. You nod your head slowly and Calum was in a short fit of chuckles. “Alright, c’mere.” He pulls you into his body and holds you tightly at your waist. Your cheeks were burning, and you watched Calum dip down to kiss your lips once again.

You clung onto his black tank top desperately, feeling his large hands slowly crawl down to your ass. Calum rubbed, grabbed, and spanked your ass as you two kissed through the floors. You listened to the sound of the elevator skipping each floor as Calum’s tongue breached into your mouth. It was clear he was the dominant, his tongue swirling around yours and eventually pressing it down before returning its focus to your upper lip. The gloss that was once on your lips were completely licked away by Calum.

You felt Calum pull your dress up to tease his middle finger from between your cheeks down towards your pussy. You twitched a bit as Calum’s finger began rubbing between your labias through your panties. “Y/N,” Calum parts his lips from yours, “when did you get so wet?”

You brought your hands up to his face and pulled it down to kiss him again. Calum’s finger pushed into your pussy, bringing your soaked panties along while rubbing the rim of it. You began clenching inside, desperate for this man to stick his finger completely inside. But before he could, the elevator had finally reached the 48th floor.

“Let’s go.” Calum pulls your dress down and holds your hand once more to guide you to his apartment. You followed him through the lavish halls of the floor, taking a look out the window to see the mesmerizing sight that was New York City at night.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered. Calum looked over and nodded. You heard him fish out keys from his pocket with his free hand. He forced the key in to his apartment and opened it with ease. Calum lets you go as soon as you two enter, closing the door behind you two while you just begin to wander in. “Princess.”

“Mm?”

Suddenly, two large (and now familiar) hands grab your hips and pull you back. Calum turns you and presses your back against the door. He grabs your wrists and hold them against the door as well, his large body surrounding you. “Finally,” Calum murmurs before he dips into the crook of your neck and drags his tongue on your neck. You let a moan slip, feeling Calum’s teeth begin to tug and tease your flesh with his tongue sliding on to ease the bit of pain.

“C-Calum…” you force out. Calum’s tongue teased up your neck, his plump lips nibbling your ears. You clench your hands into fists, wiggling in his hold as his teeth grazed along your skin. But he halts to bring his lips to your ear.

“Tonight,” Calum growls, “I’m Daddy.” Your eyes widen as he tugs your earlobe with his lips. “Do you understand, Princess?”

You nod, “yes, Daddy.” Calum backs up a bit and holds your chin in his fingers. Although you two were in pitch black darkness, you knew he was smirking at you. He releases your wrists but takes your hand again to guide you through his apartment. You follow obediently, your heart pumping quickly from the rush. You weren’t foreign to one night stands, but this one feels different. This one was more exciting, with a thrill you haven’t felt in a long while.

He brings you into a bedroom. That was clear as one of his walls were entirely of glass and allowed tonight's light to shine in. You notice a king sized bed with a bedside table and a few drawers. Any other detail was hard to tell from your gradual sobering as well as still being in a fair amount of darkness. He turns around and holds you gently by your neck.

“Get on the bed,” Calum instructed. “I’m hungry.”

Gulping, you quickly walk to the end of the bed and take a seat. Calum walks over and swallows you in his shadow, looking down at you as he grinned. He tells you to lay down, in which you listen and try to calm yourself down. You thanked yourself a million times for shaving before you went to Meri’s house tonight. As you tried slowing down your heart, you felt Calum unstrapping your shoes from your feet.

“Mm?” You wiggled your toes to catch his attention. You heard him chuckle from the end of the bed as he frees your feet from your wedges.

“I just wanted you to be more comfortable.” You knew that you two were supposed to be fucking, but his gesture was really endearing. You felt your heart warm up from how considerate he was to you. But that sweet moment quickly dissolves when Calum starts pulling your dress up and your panties down. “Spread your legs, Princess.”

Obediently listening, you spread your legs apart. You cover your face with your hands, completely embarrassed by the situation. Calum’s breath tickled your inner thighs as he completely removed the panties from your body. The tip of his tongue first touches your clit lightly and you were already in shambles.

“C-Calum…” you moaned. This made Calum stop to glare at you.

“What’s my name?” He growled.

“D-Daddy, it’s Daddy,” you pleaded with him. “I’m sorry, Daddy.” Calum nods in satisfaction after your apology and dips back into your pussy. You feel his tongue swirling around your clit, stimulating it. You felt waves of pleasure surge through your body, your hands returning to the bed to desperately grab the sheets. His large hands had to hold down your thighs to make you squirm less, his tongue rimming around the entrance of your pussy.

But he quickly found that dull and brought one hand to your flower. Calum forces his middle finger in first, having you arch your back in pure bliss. Moans drip out from your lips as you hear the sipping and slurping sounds of Calum eating you out with his plump lips. He thumbed aggressively against your clit, beads of sweat began to collect on your forehead and neck.

“Y-you’re going so f-fast,” you stutter, “it's t-too much…”

Completely ignoring your breathless warnings, Calum laps his tongue around your clit. He digs two fingers into you, sending sparks all around. You pull at the sheets desperately, your breathing completely off tempo. He thrusts his long fingers in and out slowly, spraying some of your cum out onto the bed. “I’ll be the judge of that,” Calum’s hoarse voice speaks against your flower.

Eventually, Calum bends his fingers at your g-spot right behind your clit and you writhe in pure euphoria. He smirks at your reaction and keeps doing it while circling around your clit (which had been gradually becoming swollen by his constant touch.) Your climax was closing in on you as Calum start leaving wet kisses all over your thighs, fingers still inside you. He slips his index finger in and you curl your toes. “S-so close…” you moan, thrusting a little bit to get his fingers deeper inside.

He keeps going but immediately notices the thigh strap with your phone stuck in it. Carefully, he pulls it out of your thigh and puts it beside you on the bed. He’s intrigued by this and keeps it in his head while he continued to pleasure you. “D-Daddy, please,” you shrieked, your nails threatening to poke holes through his sheets. Then, seconds before reaching your climax, your euphoric state comes to a halt.

Calum retracts all of his fingers and rises from the floor. You glance over to look at him, watching as he rids the tank top on his torso. Though it was still fairly dark, you could his flesh dent kindly to form his wondrous set of abs. You hear a soft snort before hands are offered before you. “Here’s your punishment.”

Following his lead, he gets you on your feet and holds your face. Your toes adjust to the flatness of the ground as Calum purposely wipes away his lips drenched with your juices with his tongue. He continues to lick his fingers as well, stirring your insides just a painful bit more. This man isn’t human, you thought. He couldn’t be. “Get on your knees,” he murmurs. You widen your eyes, complaints already filing in your head.

“But you didn’t finish--”

“Are you denying my order, Princess?” Calum growls. He pinches your chin and forces you to lock eyes with him. Goosebumps spread like wildfire as you shake your head. He smiles, “good. Now do as I told you.”

Nodding, you slide down to the floor, your hands gliding down from his thighs. Your knees dug into the carpet, knowing that it’ll leave rug burns and bruises on them. Calum’s eagerness shows; his thick bulge was right before your very eyes. Your hands carefully undo the zipper like earlier, and your hands quickly pulled down the waist of both his pants and boxers.

His cock hits his stomach and you could only bask in its largeness. Before you could indulge though, Calum pokes your forehead and reaches for something on the bed. You eye to notice your phone in his hands. “What are you…”

Calum slides into camera mode and begins to take what you guessed was a video. As he smirked mischievously into the camera, his hand held the back of your head and encouraged you to begin. Both of your hands quickly wrap around his cock to help it into your mouth. A rough moan escapes his lips before switching the camera to record you sucking him off. You were somewhat anxious about it but the video was in your phone so nobody but you could access it. Plus it was dark, so how much could one really see?

Calum watches wistfully at you as you suck him off the way you did in the car. But Calum was much rougher since he could dedicate his attention entirely to you. With his one hand, he forced his cock deep down your throat and sped up the tempo to his liking. Deja vu. Tears ensued once again, your hands holding onto his thighs so he could face fuck you with ease.

You could feel his cock twitch inside your mouth, your eyes looking up at the camera above you. Calum had been smiling the entire time, knowing that his climax would be coming soon. Eating you out made his throb cock so hard for you and he wants nothing more but to fuck you. But he had to teach you a lesson.

Precum slid down your throat, making you swallow around the tip of his cock. He stopped recording and tossed the phone back on the bad. He rested a hand on his forehead, euphoria completely taking him over. But he suddenly pulled you off his cock.

“Mm.” A string of saliva kept your lips and his cock connected. You clear your throat, easing your throat from the face fucking. Calum grabs your hands and turns you around. With one hand holding the back of your neck and the other right above your ass, he bends you over the bed.

“Do I have to use a condom?” He presses his body against your back to speak these words into your ear.

“No, Daddy,” you reply. You were on the pill so there were no worries. Calum nipped at your ear happily before standing up straight. His large hands hold onto your hips, his fingers denting a bit for a good hold. He rubs his cock against your soaked pussy, his tip teasing your entrance dreadfully. “Fuck, please!”

“Please what, Princess?” He’s a sadist.

“Please Daddy.”

You couldn’t see, but you knew for a fact he had a smirk painted across his lips. Without wasting another second, Calum thrusts right into your pussy. You hold onto the sheets, pushing them close together as you dig your face into them. His cock was stretching you harshly, but you wanted him deeper. Your insides clench around, hugging his cock happily to feel his length fuck you harder.

“Fuck Princess,” Calum mutters. “I love the way your pussy wraps around my cock.” His waist slapped your ass, his hands instinctively going to give it a few spanks. It was too much-- you were seconds from cumming. Your squeals gave you away as Calum starts thrusting faster. “I’m gonna ruin you.”

Your breathing couldn’t be controlled as you felt an exultant climax finally come. Your release coated Calum’s cock, but his cum was also filling you up. You moaned into the bed, trickles of sweat dripping down the both of you. The combined orgasms poured onto the bed and seeped into the sheets. Calum gave you every drop before pulling out.

Exhaustion slowly began taking you over while you listened to Calum walk over to his bedside table. Your squinted eyes watch him retrieve two items from the drawer before walking over to the wall of glass. The last thing you saw was a cigarette being placed between his lips before you fell into a deep slumber.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

part 2 here

this is long as fuck but this is only the beginning. please let me know if it was any good or bad here and ill see yall in the next part

- gabby xo

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27emailsicantsend · 5 years

Text

Hoodies at Midnight: Muffy Fic

Author’s Note: This takes place about a week after Andi’s party (presuming the party was a Friday, this takes place Thursday night). Marty and Buffy have spent every day together, but aren’t official yet. No one knows they are official in this fic, because Buffy wasn’t ready to tell her friends yet. Marty, on the other hand, wanted to tell everyone right away, but Buffy convinced him not to say anything yet.

Buffy was laying in bed, absentmindedly scrolling through her phone after a pretty uneventful day. She was looking at pictures of her and Marty, reminiscing on the time they had spent together yesterday. Today was the only day she hadn’t seen him since Andi’s party.

***

Buffy went over to Marty’s house after school to work on homework. Because winter was just starting, Marty’s mom hadn’t changed the temperature in the house yet to keep the bills low. This made the house feel comfortable at first, but as Marty and Buffy got to question twenty on their math homework, Buffy looked down at her arm and noticed small goosebumps forming.

“Hey Marty, do you have a blanket or something I can borrow? It’s a little cold”.

“I’ve got something even better,” Marty said with a sly smile. He popped up from the coffee table where they were doing homework and returned a few moments later with a baby blue hoodie. He tossed it at Buffy and she caught it, moving it around in her hands and eyeing it suspiciously.

“Well?” Marty prompted. “Are you gonna put it on or what?”

“Oh... y-yeah,” she stammered. She pulled the hoodie over her head, his musk filling her nose. Her heart melted at his scent. He had a cologne smell typically, but he also had a natural musk. She wasn’t sure how, but his natural scent smelled just as good as his cologne scent. Once the hoodie was on, smell surrounded her, making her feel as though he was wrapped around her. A feeling she wasn’t going to forget.

“Thanks,” she smiled as she looked down at the hoodie. It had “SHAW: DISNEYLAND 2018″ written across the front. It felt new and slightly worn. He must have worn it between the summer of 7th and 8th grade, when they weren’t talking. Suddenly, Buffy became very self conscious.

“You know, I really don’t have to wear this. I’m drinking juice and don’t want to spill it. This hoodie seems new and kind of like an antique thing for your family and I don’t want to get it all messy. I can just take a blanket-”

“Buffy,” Marty cut her off. He smiled gently at her with reassurance in his eyes. “It’s fine. I got it on a family trip and I grew a lot since then. The hoodie doesn’t even fit me anymore. I would give it to my sister, but she has her own.”

Buffy laughed sheepishly, but then she perked up. A realization hit her and she started speaking before she had the time to stop herself. “Wait, you’re giving this to me?” She body felt paralyzed after she realized what she had just asked him.

“Of course?” Marty said, as if Buffy’s question shouldn’t have even been one.

Buffy smiled sheepishly again, her blood beginning to rush to her face. “Well... thanks. I do like shirts. I don’t know who wouldn’t”. She laughed a little as she thought of Cyrus giving Jonah the shirt meant for TJ. And how jealous TJ got when he saw Jonah wearing it this week. He practically ripped the shirt off of Jonah and told him “never. again.” in the most threatening TJ voice he could conjure up.

She lifted the sleeve to her nose and took one last sniff. Marty sat down on the ground next to her. She began to start their homework again, but Marty was too distracted. He stared at Buffy as he shook his pencil rapidly between his fingers. He didn’t realize he was staring, but he couldn’t help but savor the moment. Buffy looked so good in his hoodie. The blue meshed well with her chocolate skin, her black curls slightly bouncing, her face slightly scrunched as she focused intently on answering her problem-

“dhsidhgsidofjd shfsdkgn lefnldsgk?” Buffy asked.

Marty shook his head back into reality. “Huh?”

“Do you know if we are supposed to answer this in decimals or fractions?” Buffy said, more clearly this time.

He turned back to his homework and quickly found problem #20. “Oh- yeah- decimals for sure”. Buffy leaned over and looked at the problem he was pointing his pencil to. “Marty, we’re on 23. Have you been listening?”

No. He wasn’t. He definitely wasn’t. “Ugh, ok,” she said jokingly frustrated when he didn’t respond. Buffy began to reexplain the problems, but Marty zoned out again. Nothing she did was going to keep him safe from himself. He ducked his head in under hers and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. She pushed her face into her shoulder and giggled, as if to protect herself. He kissed her cheek again. And then again. And then again, for good measure.

She playfully fought him off, “Martyyy... stop. We need to focus”.

“Ok, ok,” he said, pretending to back down. Buffy straightened her body back to a normal position and started talking again. “As I was saying, I think we use decimals because the answer is looking like a percentage... Martyyy. Stop. We really need to get this done,” she giggled again as he tickled her hip, her weakest spot.

Little did he know, she knew his weakest point too. He stopped tickling her and started to talk about the question. This time, however, while he was talking she reached over and tickled him right under his rib cage.

“I thought I told you we needed to focus!” Marty said, mocking Buffy.

He got up to run away from her, but she began chasing each him all over the kitchen. At one point, Buffy swerved around the corner of his kitchen island a little too fast in her walking boot. It caught on the edge of the wood and made her fall down with a loud thud!

“Buffy!” Marty said as he turned around and ran over to her. “Are you ok?” he asked, now extremely concerned.

Buffy acted a little weak and sad as she said, “yeah, just help me up please...”. She reached up a hand, but when Marty leaned forward to grab it, she yanked his hand down so he was on the floor too, his body in a 90 degree angle to hers. They both laughed until they ached. When they were done laughing, Buffy wiped some tears from her eyes and looked over at Marty.

She felt a sudden surge of confidence and rolled onto her stomach. She held her head above his and leaned in slow until their lips were touching. Like magnets, they reflected each others movements. The kiss being perfectly soft, sweet, and reciprocated. When she lifted her head back up, Marty reached his head to hers and pecked her lips one more time. He then laid his head back down, reached his hand up to her cheek, and began to caress it. Their eyes were locked and their faces close. So close, in fact, that they were practically breathing the same air.

“When are you going to tell Andi and Cyrus about us?” Marty asked softly, thumb still moving gently on her cheek. Buffy’s face dropped. She pulled away from Marty and rotated her body until she was sitting normally. She then pushed her knees up to her chest and locked her arms around them, gently placing her chin between them. “I don’t know. I’m sorry, Marty. I’m just not ready”.

“I’m not asking you to tell the whole school or anything, Buffy. Just Andi and Cyrus. Besides that, don’t you think they already know? We held hands and slow danced at her party while they watched,” Marty insisted.

Buffy started to sound a little frustrated. “Look, I’m just not ready yet. Can we please talk about something else?”

Marty heaved a large breath and scratched his head, frustrated. “Yeah.. ok... sorry. Want to go work back on homework?”

Buffy felt horrible he was upset with her over this, but it was hard for her to talk about. She was ashamed for how they fell apart still. She knew there was a lot of pressure riding on them to make things work this time and she didn’t want to let anyone down. Especially her best friends.

“Actually, I’m kind of done with homework,” Buffy said, smiling. She really wasn’t, but she owed it to Marty to make the rest of the night fun.

He helped her up and asked, “well, what do you have in mind?”

She smiled at him mischievously. In unison, they both yelled, “Ghost Hunters!” They had been binging the show together, so it shouldn’t have even been a question that they were going to do that. Marty pulled out the couch foot rest, while Buffy grabbed a pillow for him and her favorite gray soft blanket in his house. He sat down first and when she walked over to him, with the items tucked under her arm, he patted the spot directly beside him. She smiled, took her walking boot off, threw the blanket and pillow on him, and then hopped into the spot next to him. She scooted close and buried her head in his neck. He put the pillow behind his head and then let his head drop until it was resting on top of hers. She wrapped her arm around his torso and pulled him in even closer.

After one episode, she pulled out her phone and took a few silly photo’s with him (with the bonus of two of him kissing her cheek). She put her phone away and began to get squeamish.

“You ok? Are you hot?” Marty asked as he noticed her getting more and more fidgety by the moment.

“Heck yeah I am and that’s why you like me”. Marty rolled his eyes, “but no. I’m actually pretty comfy,” she said as she forced herself to sit still.

This was a lie. His body heat radiated onto her, so much so that she felt herself begin to sweat, but she didn’t care. She was not taking off her hoodie and she was not moving from cuddling with him.

***

Buffy lifted her hoodie sleeve back to her nose as she kept scrolling through her phone. She put her phone down and sat up in bed. She sniffed it again, and then again for good measure. There was no scent. It was gone. Already? It had only been a little over a day.

She looked at the clock. 11:48 PM. It was way too late to FaceTime, so she texted Marty instead.

Buffy: Your hoodie :(

Marty: What about it? haha

Buffy: It doesn’t smell like you anymore. I need you to come put your smell back in it.

Marty: Buffy do you have any idea what time it is?

Buffy stuck out her lower lip, knowing he couldn’t see her pouting.

Marty: I’m already on my way.

Or maybe he could.

About fifteen minutes later, Buffy heard little taps at her window.

Clink.

Buffy rolled her eyes as she got out of bed. She hobbled over to the window and looked down. Clink!

Another rock was thrown that made her jump. Marty must have not seen her at the window. She slid it open and leaned her torso out.

“You had to be cliche, huh?” She asked, unamused.

“Of course I did,” Marty said, obviously amused.

“How did you get out of your house?” She half yelled-half whispered so her dad couldn’t hear. He probably couldn’t anyway, he was usually in their basement, watching a game, around this time.

“You going to give me the hoodie or what, Driscoll?”

Sheesh, demanding! Buffy thought. “Come around back!”

Buffy quickly put on her walking boot and snuck downstairs to the kitchen. If her dad came up, she was just going to play it off like she needed some water. She slid open the patio door, flicked on the patio light, and stepped outside.

Marty was staring at Buffy again. It was easy to tell he was admiring her, but he wouldn’t say it out loud. She looked beautiful, even in her pajama’s with no make up. It was impressive to Marty how easily beauty came to her. She doesn’t have to do anything, she just is.

“Hey,” Buffy said, a small grin on her face.

“Hey,” Marty said, a slow grin starting to form on his face. Quickly, his grin became a mischievous smile. “So... Buffy Driscoll? Asking for my help? Is this... a new reality? An alternate universe?” he said, with an arrogant air to his voice.

Buffy punched him in the shoulder playfully while repressing a grin. “Stop it! Just fix it,” she said as she stuck her bottom lip out. He smiled as she took the hoodie off and held it in his face.

“So remind me again? You want me to put my smell put back on it?” Marty asked, slightly playful, slightly confused.

“Yeah, I miss it,” Buffy said, still pouting.

“Ok, whatever you say...” Marty said as he put his hoodie on the ground. He then laid on top of it and started rolling on it.

“Better?” He asked standing up and laughing. He handed Buffy back the hoodie. She ripped it from his hand by it’s hood, letting it dangle from the tight grip in her fingers.

“You’re an idiot, Marty,” Buffy said, reciprocating his gut-bellied laugh. She put the hoodie back on and sniffed the sleeve again.

“So?...” Marty asked, intrigued.

Buffy frowned. “It still doesn’t smell like you”.

“I knew it probably wouldn’t, which is why I brought you this”. He held up a small container. “It’s travel-sized, but it’s the cologne I use”.

Buffy had to hold herself steady. She couldn’t believe he was giving her his cologne and hoodie all in one day. He was one of the purest and most gentle human beings she had ever met. He came all the way to her house at midnight, just to make her happy. He helped her get care for her foot. He didn’t leave her during the race. Why shouldn’t she proud to call him hers?

“Thank you, Marty,” she said as she rested her hand on his shoulder and pecked his cheek. She looked sincerely into his eyes as she finished her sentence, “for everything”.

She wasn’t sure if he understood the sublimity behind her words, but his soft dimple-filled grin, gave her the reassurance that he probably did.

“Good night, Buff,” he said as he stepped off the patio.

“Good night, Marty,” she said as she walked back in the kitchen.

What each of them didn’t notice, was that they both looked back one more time at each other.

***

The following day, Buffy was standing at her locker, when Andi’s hand slammed it shut.

“This hoodie?” Cyrus said, interrogating. “Where did you get it?”

“I’ve always had it,” Buffy said, arms crossed.

“Oh, really? Because last I remember, you hadn’t been to Disneyland since we were ten!” Cyrus continued, pointing at the lettering on her shirt.

Buffy tightened her arms and said defensively, “I found it in a thrift store”.

“Too new looking,” Andi countered.

“I really liked the color,” Buffy fought back.

“Or you really like the person who gave it to you. Everyone knows it’s a rule at this school not to wear someone else’s hoodie unless you are dating!” Cyrus said accusingly.

“Back off, Cyrus! It’s mine!”

“Oh, please, Buffy. We all know that I have a thorough recollection of the pieces in your wardrobe and this is not one of them, nor would it be unless it meant something special to you,” Cyrus said, slightly arrogant.

“Wow, you’ve really reached peak gay, haven’t you?” Buffy said, trying to antagonize Cyrus into stopping.

He wasn’t fooled though.”Buffy, you already know I reached peak gay the day I was born! Now let us see it!” He and Andi reached over and fought Buffy’s arms down. Once they were down, “SHAW” was revealed in big letters.

“SHAW?!” Cyrus screamed.

“Are you kidding me, Buffy? This is Mar-” Andi was yelling too, but was cut off by Buffy hushing her.

“Yes,” Buffy said quietly, talking fast. “It’s Marty’s. But I don’t want you guys making a big deal out of it or anything. I got it two days ago when I was at his house-” Buffy cupped her hand to her mouth as her eyes widened. Both Cyrus’ and Andi’s eyes widened too.

“Is that where you’ve been all week? You’ve blown us off every day saying you were helping your grandma! You’ve been with Marty, haven’t you?” Andi accused.

“Yes and I’m so sorry for lying to you. It’s just that... Marty and I kissed at your party and I wasn’t ready to tell you guys. I was just scared that it wouldn’t work out again. But I really was going to go to my grandma’s the first day. When she cancelled, I used it as an excuse to see Marty,” Buffy explained.

“Awww, Buffy. I am so happy for you guys,” Andi said softly. Her face hardened almost instantly after that. “But if you ever leave out details of you and Marty from me -your number one Muffy stan- again, I will end you”.

“Alright, alright,” Buffy said, throwing her hands forward to fake-block Andi.

“I am so excited to tell Jonah, and TJ, and Amber, and...” Cyrus began to ramble.

“Cy, you can tell them, but please only them. Make them promise not to say anything. I want Marty to find out I’m wearing this on his own. Which is why,” Buffy began to take the hoodie off and opened her locker back up. “I am waiting to wear it again at lunch. I won’t see him again until then and I want him to see it before the rest of the school does,” she finished as she tossed the hoodie in and closed the locker door.

At lunch, Buffy was sitting casually on top of the table, in her new hoodie, biting the tip of her fork and laughing. Andi was sitting next to her and Cyrus directly across. Both were putting their pizza bagels up to their eyes, pretending to be zombies with them.

Marty, Jonah, and TJ all walked in at the same time, talking and getting in line to get their food. Marty was busy talking to the short, crotchety lunch lady while TJ and Jonah looked around the cafeteria for their friends. Jonah noticed them first and tapped TJ’s chest with the back of his hand to get his attention. Keeping his finger out of eyesight, Jonah pointed at Buffy.

TJ, oblivious, yelled, “oh yeah! There they are! Hey, Cyrus!” Both Cyrus and TJ waved massively towards each other, grinning from ear to ear. Jonah smacked TJ again with the back of his hand, but much harder this time.

“No, you idiot. Look at what Buffy is wearing,” Jonah said quietly. TJ’s eyes widened. “Ohhhhhh, wow. Is that-?” He nodded in Marty’s direction.

Jonah nodded. Affirming that, yes, that is Marty’s hoodie Buffy was wearing. The one Cyrus had excitedly told them about earlier. Both stayed quiet, as if mutually agreeing that they wanted to see Marty’s reaction.

“Have a good day ma’am,” Marty said as he turned from the cafeteria lady. He popped a baby tater in his mouth as Jonah and TJ watched him turn around. His eyes immediately fixed on Buffy and he almost choked.

“I-I-I’m gonna go sit... w-with those guys?...” Marty stumbled as he walked away from his friends.

Jonah and TJ tried humiliating him him with manly grins and nods as they used their most encouraging words they could for Marty.

“Yeah you are!”

“Yeah go sit down with your FRIENDS”.

“Looks like there is a seat next to Buffy!”

That last comment made Marty turn around and glare at them. He began to walk towards the table again, but this time a lot more confidently towards Buffy. He placed his tray next to Buffy and sat down. She hopped off the table and casually slid into the spot next to him.

“Marty, you’ve got to see this. Do it! Show him the face!” Buffy giggled as Andi and Cyrus started doing pizza-bagel-zombie faces again. But Marty wasn’t watching them, he was watching her. He looked Buffy up and down, noticing every movement. From the way she laughed, to the glimmer in her smile, to the way his hoodie looked on her. That hoodie felt like some form of acceptance that they were finally a true pairing.

A year ago, he couldn’t have ever imagined this happening. He would have never seen himself, next to Buffy Driscoll, making such an obvious statement they were dating, in such a public place. The rejection he faced ran deep to his core, to the point that he never saw her coming back to him. Much less so proud to show that she was with him.

Marty took his chances and slid his arm around the bottom part of her waist. He knew it was risky, but she only scooted closer to him on the bench. He leaned over and softly whispered in her ear, “since when did you start wearing my hoodies to school, huh?”

Buffy bit her bottom lip and looked down. She didn’t want Marty to see how much she was smiling, how much she was blushing, or how much she really liked him in this moment.

What she did want, however, was for the school to know they were together. For everyone to know that she was proud to be with him. The hoodie was the perfect symbol for that. She lifted up her sleeve and took one last sniff. She smiled as she nuzzled her head into his shoulder. Everything was going to be alright.

Requested by: @dancerdramatic14 and myself lol

#Muffy #Andi Mack #AM #fic #Marty from the party #buffy driscoll

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