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wonderlustlucas · 4 years

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jack pot ; part 1 - hwang hyunjin

⇢ prompt You know it’s bad when you’re high as a kite and he’s still on your mind. ⇢ pairing hwang hyunjin x female reader, seo changbin x female reader for like 2 minutes ⇢ word count 7.5k ⇢ genre fluff, angst (not heavy, just in a slow burn kind of way), slight smut ⇢ warnings drug use!!! & lots of it (marijuana), grinding, implied smut ⇢ summary College is a matter of working hard and playing hard. It’s an opportunity to start fresh, to grow as an individual and to blossom with those you befriend. People come and people go, leaving their mark on your life and showing you all the parts of becoming an adult. Some, however, do more than leave their mark. Some take just as much as they give. Things become complicated once they take the entirety of your love because you outright offered it to them.—college!au ; stoner!au ; friends to lovers!au �� a/n yo!!! disclaimer: this initially was going to just be a long one shot but i decided to split it up into 3 parts, so just to let u all know part 1 & 2 does not have a ton of hyunjin interaction, they’re more character/plot building. part 3 is when things will get spicy ♥︎ i hope u enjoy! if u rb make sure to let me know what u thought in the tags mwah also i finally switched from ___ to yn are u guys proud of me :)

prelude.

Sometimes you really, truly, honestly think you could go right ahead and kill Han Jisung.

You say it all the time. Sometimes it’s a simple, “I will literally kill you,” or when you are feeling extra spicy, “Sleep with one eye open tonight.” He, of course, laughs it off like you aren’t vibrating with the urge to kick his kneecaps in. You seriously have lost count of all the times he has brought you to the brink of insanity.

And honestly, you have watched enough murder documentaries on Netflix that you probably could do it, but, you know, spending the rest of your life in prison does not sound that appealing. Plus, there’s the ever-troubling detail that Han Jisung is the closest thing you have to a best friend. So, it sort of goes against your basic human morals to backstab—literally—the most important human in your life.

But he really makes you crazy. Why you agreed to share an apartment with him in the first place is a mystery, but the fact that you leased it again for junior year is what really makes you lose sleep at night. Because, while he may be your best friend, Jisung is the epitome of a little shit. If such a compound word was in the dictionary, it simply would say ‘Han Jisung.’ Somehow, though, it makes you love him even more. Maybe it’s true that ‘opposites attract,’ or, perhaps, maybe it’s because no matter how much embarrassment and general self-loathing he may have caused you in the past, it has benefitted you in the end.

For example, his constant teasing about your lack of friends eventually led to you befriending a group of girls you always admired from afar. His snarky comments concerning your nonexistent social life finally got to you and now you can proudly wear the title of one of the best beer pong players in your class. His presence in general has taught you to stand up for yourself and what you believe in, whether it’s against him, your parents, a toxic friend, hell, even a professor. Proving people wrong, especially Jisung, is your favorite pastime.

Sometimes, though, it’s not that easy.

There’s one area in your life where you have accepted defeat. One area in your life where Jisung has his most fun. One area, or, perhaps one person, where you simply cannot step beyond your comfort zone.

Hwang Hyunjin is your Achilles tendon and Jisung is the arrow. There are times, along with all the times you’ve considered strangling Jisung in his sleep, where you have sat and actually prayed to the gods to send someone else. Someone not nearly as perfect as Hyunjin and someone not nearly as unattainable. Alas, these prayers, hook-ups, Tinder dates, anything to get him off your mind has proved futile; because here you are three years later, stuck with this stupid, absolutely infuriating crush on the only boy who has ever owned your heart because you outright gave it to him.

one.

You are beginning to think the two bubbly junior girls who led the campus tour you attended last year lied about the dining hall.

Correction: they one hundred percent lied.

Because even though the newly renovated food court looks nice—unscratched linoleum floors, shiny marble countertops and all sorts of seating to choose from—there must be something fishy going on with the cooks. Literally. Just last week, an upperclassman had a breakdown when she forked into her tuna (why anyone would want college seafood is another story) to find a worm right there in the middle of it. You have found little shards of glass in the yogurt and bugs even at You-Cook, but that’s all a part of the college experience, right?

“Are you sure there’s no spiders or anything? Did you check?” Beside you, Maddie watches with furrowed brows as you spoon a hefty serving of scrambled eggs onto your plate. Chuckling, you move down to grab a few sausages and a chocolate chip muffin before they are gone for the rest of the day; Lord knows, you are only a month in and carbohydrates have quickly become your emotional support, just like everyone else. “Yes, I checked,” you assure her, hiding a laugh with your hand as she leans over to further scrutinize the eggs, “I didn’t see any arachnids.”

“Good,” she hums, satisfied with your answer, “can you grab a banana muffin for me? They’re usually at the bottom.”

Nodding, you turn back to the blessed muffin basket, pushing away blueberry, corn, double chocolate, all because Maddie has to be different and go for the macadamia nut banana.

“Are those the dinosaur socks they were selling on move-in day?” In front of you, someone asks, and your first instinct is to look down at your feet just to confirm. 8:30 calculus simply turns your brain to mush and remembering how you dressed for the day is near impossible. “Yes!” Laughing, you lift your leg to get a closer look at the cute green t-rexes on skates. “I was sold once I heard they were a dollar.”

Tearing your gaze away from said socks, you look up and suddenly feel as if you have bumped into an angel. Maybe there were spiders in the eggs, deadly poisonous spiders that crawled up the spoon while you weren’t paying attention and bit your hand and now you are dead and this is the angel leading you to the heavens. That, or this simply is the most beautiful human you have ever seen up close and your brain does not know how to process it. Well, maybe that’s a little extreme, but you definitely have never been so starstruck in your life.

The boy in front of you says something but you don’t hear it, senses and thoughts momentarily Off™ as you gawk at him. Aside from the deep undereye bags you all have claimed the past few weeks, this stranger is as close to perfect as you can get. Sure, Seungmin and his roommates are pretty cute—but what the fuck?

Something tells you that you have been silently staring at him, wide-eyed and mouth hanging open for far too long when his brows raise in a mix of confusion and expectation. Shit. What did he say? Synapses suddenly shooting like fireworks in your brain, you desperately try to remember his reply but instead, all you had focused on was the plumpness of his lips as he spoke and not the words themselves.

Clearing your throat, you blink once, twice, hoping you were hallucinating the whole time and the boy in front of you is not Hercules incarnate.

Lucky for you or him, you can’t tell, but he is still as attractive as he was two seconds ago. “Sorry, what?” You blurt, loud, too loud, flinching at the sound of your own voice. Instead of recognizing that you are totally off your rocker, he smiles, a soft, toothy smile that has your muscles turning to goo.

“I said I bought them, too,” cutest-boy-in-the-universe repeats, looking down and you follow his gaze, “my roommates were making fun of me, so I’m glad I finally found someone who bought them.” Alas, as he tugs at the fabric of his jeans to slightly lift the cuff you see that he, too, wears the same socks. You think you’re in love.

“Well, your roommates clearly have no taste,” you deadpan, shakily meeting his eyes once he looks back up. He laughs softly, eyes scrunching at the action and you positively swoon until silence settles over you and he takes the opportunity to regard you, gaze sweeping down your frame and up again. You hold your breath because, 1) holy shit, you would get on your knees for him right now and 2) you suddenly wish you were wearing more than the ‘just-woke-up-to-get-pegged-by-calc’ fit.

“I’m Hyunjin,” he finally says and you release all the air trapped in your lungs. “YN,” you return, grasping his outreached hand and thanking the heavens it is as sweaty as yours. “Well, it was nice to meet you, YN,” Hyunjin proceeds, releasing your hand and offering a gentle smile.

“You too, Mr. Sock Man,” you grin, rocking on your heels and realizing with a pang of disappointment that your breakfast has probably gone cold. Well, that’s okay, because right now you are totally content standing here in the middle of the dining hall, silently staring at this Hyunjin with a stupid smile plastered on your face. And the best part? He apparently is just fine doing that, too.

“YN!” Somewhere behind you, Maddie calls your name and it thrusts you head-first back into reality. “Did you find a banana muffin? I can’t find— oh. Who’s this?” Appearing beside you, visibly shocked having found you in a staring contest with a very tall, very cute boy. “Oh, uh,” you huff out a laugh, scrambling to get yourself together, “Hyunjin, this is Maddie, my roommate. Maddie, this is Hyunjin. We have the same socks.”

Brows shooting up at the puzzling introduction, Maddie bites back a laugh and looks back and forth between you and Hyunjin. “Well, you don’t hear that every day,” smiling to hide her confusion, she offers him a small wave with her hand full of muffin packs, “nice to meet you.”

Hyunjin smiles in return, gaze quickly returning to you. “I’ll be off, then. Gotta get the waffles while they’re still warm. I’ll see you around.”

And before you know it, he’s off toward the other end of the breakfast counter.

“Um, what the fuck?” Maddie whispers excitedly as you make your way toward your usual table, elbow repeatedly jabbing into your side. “I have no idea what just happened. I think I’m dreaming,” you sigh blissfully, relieved to find that Jisung and Seungmin were able to claim your favorite booth. “No, definitely not dreaming. He’s totally into you. You have to hang out.”

“What?” You sputter, nearly tripping over your own two feet. Then, lowering your voice as you near the two boys, “I – no, he isn’t. How can you tell? That was like, the cutest guy I’ve ever talked to, and you think he’s into me?”

“Who’s the cutest guy ever?” Jisung pipes up, eyes lighting up and you curse him and his fucking bat hearing.

“No one,” you grumble, smiling softly at Seungmin when he gets up so you don’t have to sit on the end, leaving Maddie to sit next to the other one. “Is it me?” Jisung grins with a flutter of his eyelashes. He’s convinced the only reason you dislike him is because you’ve actually fallen in love with him, but that’s far from the truth. You don’t even dislike him—he’s just one of the first guys you’ve met who meets your sarcasm with as much ferocity, and that is a hard pill to swallow.

“In your dreams, Han,” you sneer, gracing him with a dramatic eye roll before tearing open the bag of your muffin. Comfortable conversation quickly falls into place as you eat, complaints about your classes, Seungmin trying to convince you to join them at the first party they will be attending while Jisung mocks you for wanting to stay home, Maddie asking where Felix is and Seungmin explaining that he got so high last night he ended up staying up past four playing Overwatch and is currently sleeping past all his classes.

Then, in the midst of guzzling your apple juice, Jisung leans out of his seat to call down the aisle. “Hwang! Come pull a chair over!”

Curiosity peaked, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and crane your neck to see over Seungmin’s fat head for who this ‘Hwang’ could be until, like the universe is really trying to kill you, the Hyunjin you met not even ten minutes ago has reached your table. “Hey,” he grins brightly, dabbing up the two boys before he glances to you, mouth promptly falling open. Certain you mirror the same expression, you struggle to find your words as Jisung and Seungmin look between you in shared confusion. “First we share socks, now it’s these dumpheads?”

Ignoring the way they scowl, Hyunjin giggles shamelessly and grabs a chair from an adjacent table to sit at the head of your booth. “It would seem that way.”

“Woah, woah, woah. Slow down. You guys know each other?” Jisung scoffs in disbelief, pointedly looking at you as if you’ve gone and disproved everything he pegged of you. “We just met,” Hyunjin replies with a shy smile, sparing you a quick glance before cutting into his waffle. Jisung looks to you and you offer an affirmative nod.

“And how are you guys friends?” Maddie asks, sensing your panic. “He’s Changbin and Minho’s roommate,” Seungmin answers.

You choke on a mouthful of juice.

“Christ, you good?” Seungmin snickers, offering a few slaps to your back. With a muffled yes, you look to Hyunjin with pleading eyes. “Please don’t tell them I said they have no taste.”

He laughs, arching a brow at you. “No way. They’ll get a kick out of that.”

“Oh, Christ,” faking a cry, you bury your face into your palms, “so much for making friends.”

“It’s okay, YN,” Jisung soothes with faux sympathy, “no one wants to be your friend anyway.”

Scoffing, the table quickly falls silent when you look up with rage in your eyes. “I bet when someone asks your parents about you, they change the subject,” you spit, shooting daggers at him before stabbing your fork into an innocent chunk of egg. To your utmost surprise but total delight, the other three burst into a fit of laughter, leaving you smirking smugly and Jisung sulking.

“Anyway,” Maddie promptly changes the subject back to her chemistry professor who has started every class playing Britney Spears. Tucked away in your corner finishing the last of your sausage and stifling the urge to get up for more, it isn’t until Hyunjin begins to speak do you realize that you have been quietly watching him the entire time. You would blame the soft morning sunshine shining through the windows and illuminating the right side of his face for making him look so ethereal, but you know that isn’t the case; from short, messy black hair, silver hoop earrings, thick, defined brows, the soft curves of his nose and the pouty fullness of his lips, you are totally, completely mesmerized.

And then, the sole of a sneaker is slammed right into your shin. “OW!” You yelp, loud, and for a moment you forget the pain in favor of the embarrassment that comes with the number of heads that turn to look at you. “Sorry. Bit my tongue,” you lie, earning an unconvinced look from Maddie. “Go on,” you nod toward Hyunjin to continue whatever he was saying before directing a furious glare to Jisung, who fails to hide his triumphant smirk as he enthusiastically types on his phone.

Just as you have bent down to rub at your throbbing leg, your phone vibrates twice against the table.

han jisung [now] stop staring, ur lucky hwang is as dense as a rock or he would have left a long time ago bc of you

han jisung [now] so THAT’S the ‘cutest guy ever’ huh? so ur straight after all

Squeezing your hands into fists, you prepare to fire back a reply that will have him crying. But he has different plans.

“Oh, Hyunjin, did YN tell you she’s a dancer, too?” He exaggerates your previous mention of dancing and has the audacity to wink at you. Thanks, Mr. Match Maker.

“Really?” Hyunjin gasps excitedly, eyes lighting up and totally missing the flabbergasted what? that sputters from your lips.

“I – well, no,” you hiss, scowling at Jisung, “I used to do ballet when I was younger but that’s it. Why, though? Do you dance?”

“He’s here on a scholarship,” Seungmin explains, “and minors in creative writing.”

“Oh,” you squeak, glancing to Hyunjin who is all but smiling like a cherub, completely oblivious, “that’s amazing. You must have a crazy schedule.” Chewing the last of his waffle, he hums in agreement. “Yeah, it gets really stressful at times. But it’s worth it,” Hyunjin chuckles. Then fucking winks.

Unable to hold his gaze, you whip your head back around in a panic and reach for the mere sip left of your juice. “Speaking of crazy schedules,” he hums, slapping both Jisung and Seungmin on the shoulders, “I must head out. This was fun. I may start crashing the party more now.” Rising from his seat, Hyunjin swings his bag over a shoulder and grins brightly. Realizing it would be rude to not say goodbye, you force yourself to look back to him and offer a feeble wave.

“And YN, don’t bite your tongue when you eat, yeah?”

You’re going to pass out.

two.

Felix likes to think of you as his corrupted child when it comes to smoking weed.

A few weeks before you would all be returning home for winter break, he came knocking on your door with a proposition. “No one wants to smoke with me. Do you want to?”

This, for sure, was not what you were expecting on a cold Tuesday night in December. Despite the general curiosity and always wanting to ‘try it’ simply to feel like a teenager breaking the rules, you told him you never smoked before. “I know,” he said with a smile, “that’s why I’m asking.”

So, you agreed. Reaching for your hand, Felix snuck you out the window and led you halfway across campus to the junior parking lot, giving you ample opportunities to back out when he felt how badly you were shaking. “Whose car is this?” You laughed in disbelief when he unlocked a beaten-up Nissan near the outskirts of the lot.

“Kim Woojin. The junior?” He replied once you settled in the passenger seat next to him. “Oh.” You blinked, confused. “He lets you smoke in his car?”

“He gets me weed, too,” Felix giggled, reaching into the pockets of his sweatshirt and coming out with two tightly wrapped blunts, each about two inches long, “I’ll turn the heat on a little so we don’t freeze but we have to keep the windows open. I’m not going to have you hotbox for your first time.” You had no idea what that meant, but you agreed nonetheless.

With a brief lesson on what to do that truly made no sense until you tried it for yourself, Felix lit the blunt, took a few small hits to get it started, and then passed it to you. Holding it gingerly between your thumb and index finger, you brought the unlit end to your lips and sucked as he instructed ‘like a straw,’ breathing it into your lungs and ignoring the faint taste of smoke. Unsure of when to stop, it wasn’t until your throat felt as if it was on fire did you realize just how much you had inhaled.

“Shit,” you wheezed, coughing and choking and watching with wide eyes at the amount of cloudy white smoke that left your mouth and nostrils. Passing it back to Felix, you scrambled for the cold water bottle he brought along, downing half of it in one go to soothe the burn. “Good?” He asked, blowing out the window and turning back to you with eyes full of concern.

“Yeah,” you huffed, “give me a few, though.”

Humming in agreement, Felix connected his phone to the car’s Bluetooth and began playing what he calls his ‘getting high playlist,’ and before long, you fell in love with the feeling.

When break was over, you were dying to try it again. Felix was more than happy to be of service.

For all of March, it turned into a daily thing.

Now, you try to smoke only once a week for the sake of not dying, or something.

australian felix kjellberg❤️ [now] come hang at 201?

When the text notification pops up in the corner of your laptop screen amid your YouTube binge, your bones jitter with a mix of dread and excitement.

Dread, because that’s Hyunjin’s room. Excitement, because that’s Hyunjin’s room.

Maddie must hear your sigh. “What’s wrong?” She asks from her cozied position in bed, hand deep in a bag of popcorn.

“It’s Felix,” you start, “but he said to go to Hyunjin’s room.”

She blinks, unfazed. “And? I don’t see the problem here.”

“Well, I don’t know,” you count on your fingers, “first, I don’t know how to act around Hyunjin sober. Second, I don’t know how to act around Hyunjin high. Third, I am very touchy when high. Fourth, Hyunjin is always touchy.”

Maddie scoffs. “That’s a pretty lame argument, YN,” she laughs, “isn’t that what you want to happen?”

“Well,” she’s got a point, “yes, but it still makes me nervous. He makes me nervous.” Closing your laptop, you shimmy out of bed and debate changing out of your cotton shorts and tee shirt. Nah. You’ll probably end up going back to Felix’s and sleeping there. You put a sports bra and deodorant on and call it a day.

Maddie finds this hilarious. “You know what should make you nervous? The fact that you’re usually the only girl getting high with, what? Six guys? You know they all want to fuck you.”

“I try not to think about that, actually,” cringing, you try to erase Felix’s voice when he’s high as a kite or Changbin’s arms from your mind, “and you don’t know that. Sometimes Ryujin and Lia are there. Or, you know, you could always come. You don’t have to smoke, just come hang out. I know you want to give Minho a fat smooch.”

Her nose wrinkles in disgust. “I love you, and I appreciate the invite, but I don’t feel like babysitting a bunch of stoners, even if Minho is there.”

Laughing, all you can offer her is a shrug. “I don’t blame you,” grabbing your phone, wallet, and charger, you make your way over to her and bend over to press a goodnight kiss to her forehead, “if you need me, don’t. I’ll probably be dead.”

“Oh Lord,” Maddie cackles, watching you struggle to open the window, “don’t die. I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“I’ll try,” you grin, military saluting once you’ve managed to flop over the ledge. With one last wave, you close the window behind you and thank admissions for giving you a room on the first floor.

[9:34 PM] YN: omw now, gather your forces to help me in :)

Nights in 201 are always interesting. First, their room is on the second floor, so climbing through the window is an experience. Things would be a hell of a lot easier if you could just walk in and out of residence halls as you please, but with the officer at the front desk documenting who comes in and who goes out, there would be a knock at the door at midnight asking you to leave. Second: as Maddie said, 201 means the whole squad is showing up. And when the whole squad shows up, you’re bound to feel a mix of anxiety and desire deep within your bones no matter how hard set you are on Mr. Hwang. And third: you know you’re in for one fucked up night.

[9:42 PM] YN: hereee

Standing awkwardly behind their building, you try and calm the nerves that always come when you know you will be with Hyunjin. Considering how close the two of you have become over the past few months, one would think you would have gotten a grip on those pesky feelings.

Yet again, it’s kind of hard to do that when he looks and acts like that all the time.

When the window slides open, you are expecting Changbin to hang halfway out for you to grab on to with the rest of them holding onto his legs. Instead, a tall, metal ladder of sorts is pushed out until it lands with a thud! at your feet, granting you a perfect staircase into the room.

Well, you certainly don’t see that every day.

Blinking in confusion, you do not know whether to focus on the crowd of boys waving at you from above or this abomination of a stepstool that was practically thrown out a window for you. Accepting the chain of events as just another fever dream of an experience in 201, you shake your head and begin to ascend on shaky legs, graciously taking Jisung’s hand and clinging to both him and Seungmin as they help you into the room. “Thanks,” you huff, giving them both a hug in return to their chivalry. And they dare say it’s dead!

Behind you, Changbin and Hyunjin lift the ladder-stepstool mutation back into the room and it isn’t until they have folded it into a more compact piece and set it against the wall do you speak up.

“Did you… buy a ladder?”

“Yes!” Minho bellows, thrilled by your successful entrance. “Isn’t it great?” After pulling back from a hug, he keeps his hands on your shoulders just to shake you like a bobble-head.

“Yes,” you grunt once he’s released you, head swimming, “a lot easier than hauling both me and Changbin through the window, right?” Looking to said boy, you can’t help but melt into his side when he pulls you close. “No worries,” Changbin beams, rubbing your arm, “at least we have some funny memories now.” When he moves to flop onto his bed, you realize with a shudder that you are alone with Hyunjin.

Well, technically not alone since they are all right there, but alone in the sense that they are not paying attention to you nor him.

“Hey, YN. I missed you,” he singsongs, engulfing you in one of his monster bear hugs. Disregarding the heart palpitations they may cause, Hyunjin’s hugs are truly the best and you wish you would initiate them more if it didn’t seem like such a big deal in that smooth brain of yours. “I missed you, too,” you mutter into his chest, squeezing your arms around him as if to engrave this feeling into your mind forever. “We saw each other, like, five hours ago,” he reminds you, finally pulling back and taking your will to live with him. God, he has no idea.

“And? You’re the only one here who doesn’t make me suicidal,” you lie because, in reality, he actually does. Just in a different way. “Aw,” he coos, large hand squeezing your side and you think you could orgasm on command, “good thing we have tonight, then, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you squeak, finally remembering to breathe when he steps away to sit beside Seungmin on his bed. Suddenly, you are feeling incredibly grateful no one is next to Changbin because, well, 1) he is closer to Felix and 2), you need a distraction.

“Hello, Felix,” you greet the boy sunk deep in a bean bag chair, busy grinding leaves and packing them into the bowl of a bong. “How are you this fine evening, YN?” He asks once you have settled beside Changbin, brows knitting together when the older boy drapes his arm around your waist.

“Good. Tired, though. How ‘bout you?”

“You didn’t have to come if you’re tired! We all know you work your ass off, no one’s gonna judge if you chose to stay home and sleep,” Felix expresses, giving you a look that screams ‘mom.’

“No! I’m not that tired,” you assure him, reaching for his hand and squeezing for extra effect, “you know I wouldn’t miss this. You’ve made me a pothead.”

With a proud smile, he returns to his designated job and begins working on the second, smaller bong. “So,” stretching to set your things on the desk beside Changbin’s bed, you turn to him with a knowing smile, “how’s the album coming?”

“Great!” He beams, eyes lighting up at the topic. “Jisung is a great addition. Did I tell you we started meeting with someone else, too?”

“No, who?”

“He’s a sophomore, Bang Chan?” Somewhere behind you, Felix passes a bong to Jisung for the first hit. “Bang Chan? Holy shit, Binnie,” repeatedly punching his arm to express your excitement, “that’s amazing! I didn’t know he was into music production. Not that I’ve ever talked to him, but.”

“No, I get you,” he hums, giving your side a firm squeeze, “he’s really awesome making beats. I hope we’re successful.” Then, reaching past you, he takes the second bong and a lighter from Felix. When he resituates himself, he’s considerably closer than before. You don’t mind.

“Ladies first?” Changbin offers with a crooked grin, handing them to you. Then, on second thought, he holds onto the lighter to do the honors. “Sure. Thanks,” you laugh, glancing across the room to find everyone arguing over which color to set the lights to as they wait for their high. Bringing the tube to your lips, you offer a miniscule nod to him and then he is setting flame to the bowl. Sucking strong enough to generate bubbles, you unplug the bowl once he stops and breathe in as much as your lungs can handle in one go. Then, once you have exhaled, you quickly finish what’s left in the tube before passing it to Changbin with a pleased smile.

“That was a lot,” he points out once you have handed the bong back to him. “Hey, you’re the one who kept lighting it for thirty seconds. Mother would be proud,” you joke, reciprocating the same service and lighting the bowl until he glares at you beneath his bangs.

The best part about being high is the fact that you are constantly laughing. Things won’t even be that funny, but once someone starts laughing—you’re done for. You laugh so hard it hurts, and then once it’s all over, you realize it wasn’t funny at all. “Has anyone ever told you that you look like a squirrel?” Minho asks Jisung at some point. You absolutely loose it. It quite possibly is the funniest thing you have ever heard.

Pouting, Squirrel Boy leaves Minho alone on his bed to come crash beside you. “How are you, my tender oozing blossom?”

Squinting at him past the way your eyes burn, you make grabby hands and pull him close to wrap your arms around his teeny waist. Changbin grumbles in protest, but he’s too transfixed on the light’s soft in and out fade of different colors to say anything else. “Please, don’t ever call me that again,” you mumble into Jisung’s mop of brown hair.

“What?” He gasps, tilting to look up at you with puppy eyes. “You didn’t like it?”

“Nope,” smiling lazily, you rest your head atop his, “I love you, but I’m not ready for pet names yet.” His face morphs from a frown to one lit with excitement. “Holy shit, did you just say you love me? Do my eyes deceive me?”

“That would be your ‘ears,’ but yes,” you hum, brain simply not capable of denying it the way your sober self would. “More than Changbin?” Jisung whispers.

“Yes, but don’t tell him,” you return quietly, biting back a laugh.

“More than Hyunjin?” He counters. At this, you look up to find said boy sat with his legs to his chest across the room. Next to Seungmin, he looks like a giant; but a happy, pouty giant that keeps talking about how much he could go for a winter melon tea right now.

“Never.”

One and a half (half because it was just the rest of Minho’s terribly big hit that left tears streaming down his cheeks) and an unfinished game of Cards Against Humanity later, you find yourself in a blissful headspace. The song playing quietly through Felix’s speaker makes it feel like you are bouncing down stairs and then going up again, and the lights are oh so pretty, pink fading to red, yellow to green, blue to purple and so on. Things are fuzzy but crystal clear at the same time, the popcorn you’ve been shoveling into your mouth tastes heavenly, and your body feels like it is engulfed in a warm, comforting hug.

Or, that could just be Changbin.

Somewhere in between trying to get more comfortable and him yanking you to stay next to him when you attempted to get up and hug Seungmin for something sweet he said, you now find yourself on your back with a clinging Changbin on your side. You are so comfortable, but also insanely hot, and as you begin to slowly come down from your high as the hours tick by, you begin to realize it’s for another reason.

What started as an innocent hand on your side turned into his thumb rubbing meaningless patterns against your shirt, which then turned into his hand slipping beneath to splay against the warmth of your skin. Growing increasingly needy as the minutes go by, you turn to look at everyone around you. Jisung, who found himself returning to Minho, appears to be passed out with him on the far end of the room. Seungmin, curled up on the floor with a pillow and a heap of blankets. Felix, who finished off the rest of his weed, scrolls aimlessly on his phone still at the peak of his high.

And Hyunjin, who you assume has been fast asleep on his bed for a while now if the arm flung over his face tells you anything. For a moment, you feel sick with sadness. So close, but so far he lies, always a step out of reach. But you can’t deny how Changbin makes you feel—for right now, at least. And it would be a shame to miss out on an opportunity with someone else because the one you want is unattainable.

Right?

Changbin must sense the way your breathing increases, must feel the way your body reacts to the slightest of touches, yet he takes his time. He is soft in the way his hand travels up your arm, rough fingertips grazing over your collarbones before smoothing down over your chest and abdomen. It isn’t until you are about to burst at the seams does he give your ass a strong squeeze and urge your leg over his hips.

“Changbin,” you sigh, biting your lip to keep from whimpering when he begins pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the length of your throat. “Please touch me.”

He only makes a sound of agreement, savoring the way you squirm and grip onto his arm for dear life. When he offers an experimental roll of his hips to grind against you, you practically go feral. The last time you were touched in such a way was at a party in the beginning of the semester Jisung and co. physically forced you to go to, and Changbin has barely even touched you and it’s already better than the rushed sex you had that night.

“Wait,” he huffs, pausing his ministrations no matter how difficult it is to do so, “we can’t.”

“What?” You hiss, trying to keep your voice quiet, “why?”

“Because you’re high, and I’m high, and I’m not going to do anything unless you really want me to,” Changbin explains, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips when you frown in response. “But I do want you to,” you huff, chasing his mouth for another, “I trust you one hundred percent.”

“Are you sure, YN?” What about Hyunjin? is what he really means and you know he’s right. You should have never told Felix.

Trying to ignore the wetness of your underwear, you turn to lie on your back. “Whatever. Never mind,” you mumble, and when you glance back to him, you can’t help the way your heart soars with him still pressed closely to your side, blinking tiredly at you. But like he said, it’s not Hyunjin. “Just get some sleep, Binnie. Forget it happened,” smiling past the tears that threaten to spill, you ruffle his hair and press a softer kiss to his forehead.

“I’m sorry,” Changbin whispers, returning the affection with a kiss to your shoulder. In minutes, he is snoring softly beside you.

You can’t fall asleep to save your life.

Reaching for your phone to check the time, you grit your teeth once you realize it’s almost four and you definitely have been staring at the ceiling for more than an hour. For starters, you are freezing now; unlike these passed out hooligans, you are showing a lot more skin and not being under the blankets is not doing you well. And secondly, it’s hard to fall asleep when your thoughts are flying miles a minute.

Is this how it’s going to be, then? Whenever you see someone, will the little guy on your shoulder whisper in your ear that it’s not Hyunjin? Or will people deem you off limits because they know of your infatuation? People who know, at least—Changbin is the first, apparently.

Just need to get comfy, you decide, trying to ignore such thoughts and turning to lie on your stomach. Bless Felix for leaving the lights on, too—you may be coming down from your high, but the vibe is simply immaculate. Tucking a hand under your cheek and following the ropes of light on the ceiling and up the walls, you find this to be enough to calm your nerves. Enough to make your eyelids heavy. Finally.

Someone lets out a monster train snore. Seungmin, you think, biting your lip to keep from laughing. Or, it could be Hyunjin. The thought is so amusing you can’t help but squint at the boy across from you to better see his outline, hoping he will do it again just to confirm.

No, not Hyunjin.

Because he’s facing you, eyes open, a soft smile plastered on his face. Well, fuck.

No reason to panic, you console yourself, returning a gentle smile in the assumption he can even see you. And you stay like that for a while, simply watching one another for an infinite amount of time. It’s not much, but it means something, you think, lost in the way the contours and highlights of his face change with each color the lights fade to. Just as you remember the whole point of getting on your stomach was to fall asleep, Hyunjin moves. Reaching for his phone, you watch in confusion as he brings it close to his face and starts typing.

hwang hyunjin👁👄👁 [now] Come sleep w me?

You almost throw up in your mouth. You must be dreaming. Surely.

Blinking against the harsh light of your phone, you cannot help your smile as you reread the text.

[4:02 am] YN: wont that b a little sus for bin

[4:02 am] hwang hyunjin👁👄👁: If anyone asks just say he kept kicking u or something

You don’t need to be told twice. Now that he has turned onto his side facing the other direction, Changbin does not stir once you slowly move to sit up and stand, nor when you reach for the quilt crumbled at the foot of the bed to pull over him. It’s not much, but hopefully it will keep him from waking in a few hours freezing to death. Then, as you tiptoe your way over to Hyunjin’s bed, avoiding Felix now that he’s sprawled half way off the bean bag, you cannot tell if you are still shivering from the cold or if the fact you are going to be sleepingwith Hyunjin in one, tiny single bed is finally clicking in your brain. Like Maddie said, this is something you want, right?

As you draw closer, Hyunjin shifts to make room and lifts the covers for you to quietly slip beneath. “Thank you,” you whisper, pulling the blanket up to your chin and trying to ignore the feeling of being so close to him. “Of course. You looked real cold over there,” he smiles tiredly. Then, his arm cautiously curls around you to rest by your head, fingers swiping stray hairs away from your face.

“I was,” you admit. Eyes level to his lips, you strain to look him in the eyes to resist the temptation now that he’s pulled you so close. “Changbin fell asleep and I felt bad waking him.”

Hyunjin doesn’t reply. He seems momentarily lost in thought, brows slightly furrowed as he chews on the inside of his lip.

“Do you like him?” He finally asks, voice shaky with hesitation.

“What?” You sputter, shocked at such a presumption. Yet again…

“No, no I don’t. I mean—as a friend, yes, but, you know,” you trail off, squeezing your eyes shut. You desperately wish you were not having this conversation right now. “He was touching you, though. And it looked like you liked it,” Hyunjin whispers, thumb swiping against your cheekbone.

“I mean, well yeah, I did. But I’m not close enough to like him like that. It’s just a physical attraction,” realizing you are discussing what went down with Changbin to Hyunjin, you suddenly pull back and lean up on an elbow to get a better look at him, heat now spreading up your limbs like fire. “Were you watching us, Hwang?”

“Yes,” he admits, “it’s kind of hard not to.” Your heart stops beating.

“I – what?” You manage once you have remembered how to breathe. “I didn’t know you were awake, we wouldn’t have… what do you mean, ‘it’s kind of hard not to?’”

“You know what I mean, YN,” Hyunjin mutters, arm slipping around your waist and pulling you to lie down with him again, this time, your chest pressed to his. “I like looking at you. You’re very pretty.”

You definitely must still be high, because you are seriously having a hard time wrapping your mind around Hyunjin calling you pretty, as well as being so close, and somewhere deep in your mind wonders if he knows. If he knows how your heart is on the line here. Knows that with him moving closer, you are taking a huge risk.

When Hyunjin kisses you, you forget that this could be the worst mistake you’ve made in a long time. Wrapped around his fingers, you pray this is his way of saying he feels the same.

“YN!” You wake to Seungmin gently shaking your shoulder. “YN, wake up. Your phone has been vibrating for twenty minutes now. It’s Maddie.”

The wave of panic washing over you dispels the grogginess you feel from suddenly being yanked from sleep, as well as the recognition of where you are and who you’re with. Frantic, you sit up and nod in thanks to him before taking the call. “Hello?”

“Oh, thank God you answered,” Maddie cries, voice choked, “I’m sorry, I know you’re still out, but I just threw up and I feel so terrible and when I get up I feel so nauseous. Can you come home?”

“Shit, Maddie, don’t apologize,” you whisper, rushing to grab your things as Seungmin unfolds The Ladder as quietly as possible, “I’m leaving now. Don’t move, you don’t want it to get worse. I’ll be there as fast as I can, okay?”

“Okay,” she whimpers before hanging up.

“Thank you, Minnie,” pressing a kiss to his cheek, you begin to climb down. “Is everything okay?” He asks, watching as you go with a worried frown. “Yes, it’s fine. Just a little emergency, don’t worry,” praying no one is out and about watching as you climb from the back of their building, you rush back to help Maddie as fast as you can.

You stay back in your dorm with Maddie for the rest of the weekend, fetching her water and ginger ale and food she can handle, helping her to the restroom, and binging all sorts of shows and movies with her. Seungmin, Jisung, and Minho visit Sunday evening, joining you for a few hours to watch Pokémon. You think it’s just because Minho knew it would be a good opportunity to snuggle with Maddie.

You can’t help but feel disappointed when Hyunjin isn’t with them. You refrained from telling Maddie what happened in 201, too caught up wanting to make sure she was alright, and by now you are starting to feel as if it wasn’t even real. Maybe you made the whole night up in your marijuana-infused brain. And snuggled up with Jisung, you can’t help but wish it was this annoying shit you were falling in love with.

On Monday morning, Hyunjin doesn’t show up for breakfast. On Tuesday, you find out he has been hanging out with a girl he met at his favorite boba joint and apparently won’t shut up about. First, you run back to your dorm to cry to Maddie, having to explain all of Friday night to her. When she leaves for her lab, you call Felix for an emergency smoke session. When Maddie texts that she is going to be out late working on a project, you call Changbin to tell him that you really do want him to.

Like you said, it’s just a physical attraction, right?

⇢ part 2

546 notes · View notes

selfships-in-spanish · 3 years

Text

The Queen of Demons

Pairing: Erwin Smith x OC, Levi Ackerman x OC

Rating: Gen (the rating will go up as the story advances! But it will totally be explicit ;D)

Warnings: None for now, but sexist and misogynist upbringing (Eva's father is a huge asshole).

Word Count: 2.085

ALSO POSTED ON AO3

A/N: This is it! The first chapter of the Arranged Marriage!AU I've been working and drawing about! I'll be posting it on AO3 too since I don't know if Tumblr will screw me over again and give me trouble for posting text >_> This wouldn't be possible without @spirit-in-the-library's help, so I got so much to thank my friend for <3 I really hope you enjoy the story, I've got so much written and planned already jajajaja Enjoy!

CHAPTER 1: THE PATH TOWARDS PERDITION

The scenery before her was breathtakingly beautiful, although it sent her a chill down her spine as she knew she went further into the unknown and her sealed fate. Snow was pretty, but silent and deadly too, and these woods weren’t familiar to her. The serene landscape didn’t calm her as it should have, only sending her nerves into a spiral of never-ending anxiety.

The cold bit at her hands and feet, the carriage did what it could in matters of isolating the cold, and she burrowed further into the thick winter coat, clinging desperately to it. Her handmaiden, Flora, looked pitiful too, her cloak not as thick as Eva’s. They tried to talk to ease both their minds, but it turned out it was better to let silence reign over them and try to enjoy the ride and the scenery as much as they could. Eva had never ventured this far when she accompanied her brothers on their diplomatic missions, Flora always excitedly travelling with her, eager to know the neighbouring kingdoms and people; she was a social hurricane and always ended up making friends with all the other maids (Eva made sure Flora could send letters and gifts, often pulling strings herself to make sure the packages were delivered safely), so both women knowing this was their final travel sent a freezing cold knot deep in their guts.

Eva saw Flora shiver, and with a tiny smile she scooted over, making room for her handmaiden under her cloak.

“Come here, I don’t want you to freeze.”

“Your skirt will wrinkle, your Highness.”

“As if it wasn’t wrinkled enough from sitting here for God knows how many hours. Come here, you stubborn mule.”

Flora snorted but obeyed, not wanting to be in the cold any longer. Eva covered them both, cuddling and letting out a sigh as she let her cheek rest on Flora’s head, looking out of the carriage’s window. She always hated the cold.

Eva probably dozed off while Flora was talking about some silly nothings, lulled by the rocking of the carriage and the shared warmth under her thick winter cloak. She realised Flora put her hood on so she didn’t let her neck stick out for too long.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty! I won’t let Diana know you fell asleep listening to her epic romance with the guard captain’s son.”

“God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. Please don’t tell her, she wouldn’t stop reminding me of it.” Eva rubbed her temples, still hazy.

“Your secret is safe with me.” Flora crossed her heart and looked at Eva trying to stifle a giggle. She failed, and both women laughed out loud, picturing Diana’s irked expression and waving hands.

They kept looking out of the window, enjoying the small moments as this one; they both knew they would be sparse now.

The landscape outside the window changed, having less never-ending fields of pure white snow and heavily covered trees and mountains, to more fenced fields with cattle and horses roaming around with some lonesome wooden houses in an architectural style so different from the ones back home.

Eva’s heart thumped painfully in her chest, knowing the carriage ride was about to end as they neared the fearsome warrior’s village walls. Flora squeezed her when the carriage came to a stop, trying to reassure the princess upon seeing the gate guards on the entrance talking with the royal soldiers at the start of the entourage, and the tremendous amount of people running around inside the village as both women peeked from the cold glass. They looked at each other in a silent and mutual exchange of comfort.

The townsfolk stopped on their tracks upon seeing the carriages entering the village, their gazes wary and distrustful, a contrast to the children shouting excitedly at the shiny armour the royal guards wore. Their mothers stood proudly, in defiance, reminding Eva of the fierce stray cats that roamed the Royal Palace gardens, hissing and standing tall whenever someone approached their kittens. Eva recalled the talk she overheard of Father and his advisors about this nation of warriors, how every single one of them had the blood of a terrifying fighter running inside their veins, how every single member of their society was trained to enter combat. Demons , that’s what her Father called them more than once, The Demons of Eldia. Whether that was true or not, Eva was downright terrified. Hostility was clear in their eyes and postures, not happy at seeing foreigners entering freely their territory. How did Father suppose she could survive this?

The carriages kept going, entering further into the maze of beautifully crafted houses. Flora parted from her embrace with Eva, knowing they would step out of the secluded space soon, and would need to make Eva look as if she hadn’t spent countless hours inside a wooden box; she had to make a perfect first impression. Eva wondered how different the village would look without all the snow covering every inch of it. Would it look as intimidating, but still beautiful, as it looked now?

Lost in her thoughts and Flora’s fussing, the entourage stopped in front of the biggest house Eva saw until now. It was massive, artfully crafted by the best artisans when it was built. Intricate markings decorated the wooden pillars holding everything together, and Eva could tell they had a meaning for these people. Right in front of the steps Eva saw more Eldian warriors, and in the middle stood those who Eva guessed probably were the welcoming party. She wondered how this Chief her father gave her hand into marriage was. Would he be a decrepit old man? A greedy one with lecherous fingers? A barbarian who would only use her for his own gratification? Was this Chief so entitled to himself and his pride that he would not even step down his throne, or the equivalent these people used, to greet them properly? What saddened her deeply was how her brothers, Hans and Friederich, agreed with Father.

Her questions would be answered in just a moment, hearing how the other two carriages, where her older brothers were, opened their doors, their heavy boots falling down the snow with a solid thud. Both women heard voices and movement outside. It was time.

“Remember, your Highness,” Flora began, giving her hands a final squeeze. “You have the strength to proudly hold your head high. The people of Gottesreich are by your side in here.” Flora touched with her finger where Eva’s heart was. “And I will be right behind you.

Eva let out a shaky exhale, a trembling smile on her lips.

“Thank you, Flora.”

The door of the carriage opened and a gush of freezing cold air hit both women. Flora tightened her cloak around her and waited patiently for Eva to exit first. It was Friederich who came to get her, gracing Eva with a tired smile while he offered his hand to help her out. Eva delicately posed her hand on the outstretched hand of his brother, the other pulling slightly up the skirt of the dress so she wouldn’t accidentally step on it and cause a scene. God forbid that happened, she couldn’t afford any humiliating mishaps of any kind. Eva stepped aside as Friederich also helped Flora out, and turned just once to see her sister following him behind, still with her hood pulled up; that was definitely Flora’s doing, knowing how the woman liked the tiny dramatics. Friederich huffed, amused.

Once they stopped just right next to Hans, his stance truly the epitome of a proud and regal prince, a member of the Eldian welcoming party walked over them, bowing their head lightly and making his light brown hair move.

“The people of Eldia welcomes you, your Highnesses, and hope you had a pleasant and safe trip.” The man had a soothing voice, calm, and such feelings carried into his eyes. “My name is Moblit and I’ll be your interpreter throughout your stay.”

“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Moblit. I’m prince Hans Stein, heir to the throne of Gottesreich.” The crown prince bowed, right hand on his chest, and waited for Moblit to translate his words into the Eldian language. Looking at each one of the Eldians of the welcoming party, Hans turned to his other two siblings. “This is the second prince of Gottesreich, and General of our troops, Friederich Stein,” Friederich mimicked his brother, bowing respectfully too with his right hand on his chest as Moblit kept translating. “And last, princess Eva Stein, our younger sister.”

Eva felt her hands tremble and not because of the cold. She could feel everyone’s eyes fixed on her although she kept her own to the floor as her father taught her— never look at them in the eyes, only when you are being presented, but then quickly look away, never speak unless you are being spoken and addressed first, never—

She could do this.

Eva raised her hands, carefully lifting the hood of the cloak so it wouldn’t disturb her hair and tiara, and let it fall gracefully on her shoulders. She raised her head to proudly display her long neck, knowing it was being accentuated by the collar of the dress she was wearing, and looked at each member of the welcoming party before elegantly bowing towards the Eldians while delicately lifting the sides of the dress skirt as she was taught as a child. Once done, Eva returned to the position she was before: gloved hands in front of her, clasped together, head slightly tilted downwards and her eyes refusing to meet anyone’s unless she was required to do so. Father would be proud of how well she performed.

Some warriors whispered to each other, and Eva didn’t know if to feel grateful to not know what were they saying. It was just a quick glimpse as she wasn’t able to properly focus, but, where were the horns? The claws? The evil smiles with mouths full of sharp teeth? Her books depicted Eldia as demons, as creatures taking humanoid forms but with grotesque features. Eva couldn’t help but to feel thoroughly confused at the difference. Were the books wrong? Were they waiting for the right moment to show their true selves...?

A deep baritone voice quieted all the murmurs, speaking in a calm and collected tone that didn’t leave room for questioning. Eva would have called it a beautiful voice if she wasn’t being eaten alive by her fear and anxiety. The voice kept talking, and was now joined by Moblit’s translations. It was time to raise her eyes again.

“We welcome you, your Highnesses, and thank Goddess Maria for your safe journey to our land.” Eva briefly looked at Moblit, and was taken aback by the gentle appearance he displayed; she expected a brute, like her books said, but was met with soft amber eyes and sandy brown hair. Her attention was swiftly moved to the Eldians before them as Moblit gestured towards them. “My name is Erwin Smith, Chief of the proud Eldian tribe, and I’m pleased to make your acquaintance too, your Highnesses.”

Eva’s eyes frantically fixed on the man Moblit was gesturing with his hand and claimed to be the Eldian Chief. Her husband to be. Eva was met with an icy blue gaze and intense like the sea she saw once when she traveled with Hans to a southern kingdom, but Eva noticed a hidden cleverness behind the stern glare. The eyes belonged to a handsome face, with sharp and chiselled features like his cheekbones, a beautiful aquiline nose and thick, blonde brows framing his face. His blonde hair was neatly parted to the side and Eva never saw a haircut such as the one he was displaying, both short and even shorter hair, but judging by the other Eldians, it was a common style. He was big, tall, and Eva saw the true poise and demeanor of a proud warrior. The blue war paint smeared on his face and exposed arms made Eva unconsciously gulp down; he looked terrifying. Even if the Chief was wearing thick clothing, there was no doubt there weren’t feeble sticks for limbs underneath them.

The princess was taken aback, unable to tear her gaze away from the Chief’s ones, and going against all her modal teachings. Those blue eyes were hypnotic and unreadable, like his face.

That was the man she was going to marry.

Erwin Smith.

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot #snk #erwin smith #erwin smith x oc #erwin smith x reader #snk fanfiction #aot fanfiction #arranged marriage au #queen of demons #mius writes

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theinkmage · 3 years

Text

Hope

Tw : self-harm mentions, attempted suicide, bleeding

I lie. Still. Not telling the truth.

The blood pours, but I deny pain. It trickles down, below my navel, runs the width and length of my right arm. The crimson red pools on the ground, the white hot tarmac, like spilled ketchup.

The plan failed.

Part of me is swamped with guilt, the feeling long gone from the sketches of my very existence. I haven't felt it for eons, the stab of a knife in my gut, twisting until it hits its mark. Bullseye.

The other part swims and drowns in regret. Regret and guilt are closely intertwined, but different. You can regret, but not feel guilt. You can also be guilty, but spared from regret.

I didn't mean to take lives. I didn't want to. But as one of the Darker Beings, they expected you to. Why resist something expected of you? Something so many of your kind are already doing with no qualms?

My guilt stems from my betrayal of my friends. But life isn't fair, we don't get to choose what or who we want to be. We can only accept what we are given and move on.

The expression on his countenance is still etched firmly in the dredges of my mind. Her shock too. So many of them. Not the friends. So the right word should be 'much'. Much shock, much hostility, much aggression. Of course, I didn't expect them to understand. They were born Lighter Beings. It was always Good versus Evil, and the latter would always be defeated no matter what. Who ever watched a movie where Evil triumphed? That would take the fun out of it and probably insert terror and unsatisfaction in its place.

This world has been stigmatised too much to be changed. And too few of us want it. Who would want change, in a world where ninety-nine percent of the odds are against you and you've already gotten used to it? Not to mention hope for it. That would be foolish.

Extremely foolish.

The Chief had wanted blood on our hands tonight, as a test. I know, I do admit, blowing up a building full of innocent children was too cruel. I wasn't given a choice. We all weren't. Maybe the Chief had a choice, maybe he didn't. Maybe he thought he was supposed to always do this. I can hear the clamouring at the back of my mind, screaming and yelling, "Ridiculous!"

Who are you to speak, if you are not one of us?

Whether blood did get on our hands tonight was a totally separate matter. What actually mattered was the defeat, which could be counted as a relief. The ones who had come with me had done their job well. Thrown the bombs well. Aimed, deft, precise accuracy. Almost deadly. Sharp like a sword. A flash of lightning and a peal of thunder.

Their encouragements still rang in my ears. I threw. I had thrown. Launched the black object like a curled up bat into the air, through the glass windows into the facility. It took only thirty seconds to detonate once released.

I heard the babies crying and shots from below. Honestly, I couldn't find it in my heart to blame them. I only watched, unwilling to betray my own kind, as those posted on the mission together with me attacked. I stayed up in the air, hovering, like a dark guardian angel.

He was below, battling fiercely while the others rushed in to get the babies. A slight twinge had tugged at my heartstrings, something so foreign to me I had almost forgotten it. It was a memory, something stronger, a fragment of the past always slipping past my fingertips like sand in an hourglass. Back when we were kids, back before the segregation, back before everything else that divided and conquered.

He had been my first true love, and still is. I had willed my resolve not to crumble there and then. The aches remained and flared, the smoke from their flames rising and intertwining into a monster in front of me. Porous, unreal. A living epitome of me.

My soul had risen into the air, cut itself out of my real physique, and watched silently as I dove down, slicing a spiral out of thin vapour. It took only seconds before my body collided with his, knocking his hands off my allies. The word tasted bitter in my mouth now, apart from the metallic sting of blood and the salty wash of tears and rainwater. I had watched the astonished, stung look on his dirt-streaked face, then fought against the longing in my heart. This was a good chance to win, to cut it all off once and for all. Human emotion was a tricky thing, not to be toyed with.

I haven't toyed with it for a while.

Even so, the years spent in numbness and coldness were for naught. I had felt the sprigs of flowers blooming inside my bosoms, threatening to unfurl their petals and burst in a radiant splash of colours. But before they could, I bit down hard on my tongue, tightened the iron fist, and rammed into him with all my might and force of my wings, sending him crashing into the glass behind.

The hurt and agony was something I would never forget, even as I lie, almost dying, on the pavement.

They had gotten the children out, fortunately. My allies had gotten away before the bombs had exploded in a fury of volcanic ash and red-hot lava. My wings had gotten burned, their black edges charred even further until the feathers singed and littered the ground. They had once been white, soft vanilla cream, until the segregation. And now they remained inky, jet-black.

The grit tasted hard between my molars and I spat it out, along with a mouthful of fresh red blood. Now I could feel it, the raw pain and anguish. A remembrance of human emotion. I clung to it in my last breaths, reluctant to let go of something I once had that made me human, something that defined me as virtuous and morally upright. Had defined me.

Now, no more.

I might have killed him. Murder. Assassination.

A lump formed in my throat and bobbed quietly. Why wasn't I dead yet? When would the descent to Hell begin? Angels, or Demons, come and take me away. I want to leave without any struggle. I have played my part in this horrific world, branded myself as Evil, now ruined by my own doing.

This was what I deserved.

The world around me blurred, coalesced into water and sharpness. The mist came, and left, and everything was crystal-clear again. Too clear. Each breath was harder now, the intake much more difficult. It was coming, I could feel it. Death arriving on my doorstep, ready to take me away to where I belonged. I would make its job quicker and more efficient.

The knife blade felt cool in my hands. I remember feeling it thousands of times before, the edge cutting into my soft skin, the blade ripping through, drawing just a tinge of blood, not enough to kill me. And then whenever I began to feel human emotions again, I would rip it through again, patch it up, and continue. Until I became a living breathing block of ice, unfeeling. With no feeling came no pain. That was what I had come to realise over time.

But this time, I wouldn't just be drawing a tinge of blood. My eyes took in the world above me – the shattered glass, the wails of babies, the shouts and yells ricocheting all above. Large wings flapping, white against the night sky. I hoped he was fine, I hoped they were all fine. But what could hope do if he wasn't, if they weren't?

My cold fingers shifted up to the handle. It would just take one plunge into the already bloody area. No pain, and I would just go like that. How ironic, that I had always longed for human emotion, but when I am given the chance to take it back, I don't want to. I want the feelings to spare me before I die.

I shut my eyes, expecting to feel fear encasing me in its shell. Instead, I don't. I feel an otherworldly peace shrouding me in its silent holy veil, draping me in its cloak, caressing the tears and blood from my face. Even Peace took pity on me, this ruined, broken thing longing to leave the surfaces of Earth. I positioned the knife, its shiny blade facing downwards, raised it high above my abdomen.

Then with a determinedness, I brought it rushing down. The air swept above bare skin, bringing with it a tint of frost and chilliness. Flashes, memories, pictures raced before the blackness in front of my closed eyes. Brightness soared in my mind, spreading wings and taking flight as I braced myself for the ensuing farewell.

It never came.

I blinked. The eyelids lifted. A blurred image knelt in front of me. Was this Hell yet? The Demon, Satan, coming to kill me himself? The rain fell harder, disorienting. The edges of wings lay below me, fluttering helplessly as I struggled to discern between living and dying.

That was when I could feel them. Warm fingers, holding mine around the handle. The blade was poking my skin, drawing just a tinge of blood. Even without seeing, I knew who it was and I struggled to remove my fingers from his grasp, desperately wanting to sink the blade into me even more. Anything to get away from cold, hard reality. No one would miss me.

The fingers refused to let go, retained their hold around mine and tightened. The drops of water above hardened their fall. I shut my eyes again, and felt the hands shuddering. Both of ours. Not because of the cold. We were both crying, me and him, while around us, the world lay torn, shredded into pieces.

A white flash of something, like a piece of cloud ripped from a clear blue summer sky of the past. Through the drenching cold rain, I thought it was his wings, burning with a light and righteous glory of their own. But no, they were a normal shaking white, encased with streaks of blood amongst the dripping feathers. Warm energy flowed from his hands to mine, and I turned slightly to look at my outspread wings. I forced my unseeing eyes to take in their shining surfaces, white slowly pooling in from the edges.

The tears came, now free-flowing like the rain, down my wet bloodied cheeks. He was hoping in me. It had been hope all along, that fuelled him to stop him from killing myself; hope that allowed me to hesitate in the last few seconds of throwing the bomb, praying for a chance to redeem myself; hope that gave me those last few moments of hesitation before plunging the knife in, wanting someone to come and untangle me from this ruined world as an alternative ending.

It was hope that almost killed us, but also brought us back to life, even stronger than before. It was hope that nurtured love, and love that nurtured hope. The two caught in an endless cycle.

"Hope, now!"

The thunder was loud, deafening, a splitting crackle of electricity above and the rain its tears, pitter-pattering down. Yet I could hear him over the crash, his voice ragged and hoarse and desperate. And hope I did. Our fingers intertwined tighter, palms pressed together, the handle of the knife between us.

An amalgamation of emotions came crashing onto my shores, flooding the gates of my memory.

First was Happiness, like a bite into the sweetest chocolate cake, fresh out of the oven, baked by my mother.

Second came Pride, like clinching a trophy in a competition.

Third was Anger, its red-hot flames washing over me, devouring all my senses in its explosions.

Then came Disappointment, with the disappeared notion of believing something good was about to happen only to have it snatched away from you, right under your nose.

Guilt, with its sting in the gut, sharp and raw, tearing into your conscience like a monster burrowing underground.

Sadness, with its poignancy and something broken deep inside, breaking the dam of tears.

Then Disgust, mud on clean carpets and all over pretty white shirts and dresses.

Regret, replaying the same scene ten different times in your head, each playing out differently, but having apologies as one thing in common.

Hope, its wings spreading to embrace you, cushioning your fall, believing that you can fly.

The hands clenched tighter and sparks flew. The glow around me lightened considerably, a halo around two figures crouching under a lightning-split sky.

Last came Love, a burst of cherry blossoms and rose petals fluttering all around you, the sweet fragrance of honey and clean washed clothes.

His lips came down on mine, gently, almost as if unable to believe that it was happening. Hope could make anything happen. The brushing of a feather, light as breath, the rainwater and blood and tears mingling into one dark bitter taste, overcome by the sweet pleasantness of touch and intimacy. Using up the last of my energy, I returned the kiss, lips pressed against each other, hard and firm and safe, yet soft and dream-like and humane at the same time.

To love and to be loved were things I had yearned for for as long as I could remember.

Now, I could feel my body burning, my wings heating up and flaring out with a brilliance never felt before. The white swirling faster and faster behind my eyes was now dotted with numerous black spots, tightening into a circle of white and black.

I hoped for Change, and the change it would in turn bring into the world, like a rippling effect of pebbles on still water.

The circle spun faster, dancing on the edge of my vision, white-washed waves painted with black. Would Good and Evil truly coexist together?

A flash, darkness, then light. Freshness of petrichor in the air, and then once more, the airy feel of new spring raindrops against skin. I opened my eyes, noticing the wings first. Black and white. Both his and mine. Together, two colours on the same pair of wings, a mixture of colours filled in in startlingly intricate tones and patterns.

Hope had brought us together. But more than that, it meant that this destroyed world had a chance of being healed after all.

#hero x villain #betrayal #hurt #comfort #romance #light vs dark #hope you like this!

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horrorslashergirl · 4 years

Text

Female!Chromeskull x Male!Reader- Reborn

My first try at writing Female!Chromeskull (Jessica Cromeans). This one is for the males, because they also deserve a piece of Chromeskull. ENJOY!~

It all started with you searching for a job, been almost broke, and having to evict the apartment made you feel like walking on thin ice; that's when one of your old friends from high-school, Spann heard of your quest and said she might find you something. You knew she worked for a very high and important business organization.

She had called you to tell you that there is one more assistant job and they're looking to hire someone. Looks like the organization was getting so big and important, Spann, being the primary secretary, couldn't handle everything just by herself and the boss decided that one more person could help things get more smoothly.

Spann told you a little about the CEO and you were surprised that it was a woman. Now, you weren't a sexist, but being to work under a female made you a little anxious, mostly because you couldn't talk to a woman, not even if your life was on the line.

The interview went pretty good and looks like they hired you mostly because you could speak ASL fluently and your boss was mute. Your boss was pretty, no, scratch that, she was gorgeous; tall, hourglass figure, long tresses of platinum blonde hair pulled into an impeccable pony-tail, dollface like make-up, black clothes. She was the epitome of a femme fatale and you were surprised you managed to answer all her questions without making yourself a fool.

Before you could get up she stopped you, raising her hand, the manicured red nail-polish on display.

'That won't do.' she signed, making you furrow your brows in confusion.

"What are you talking about?" you asked in a quite nervous voice, afraid you screwed up with something.

'Your clothes.' she signed, gesturing to your attire.

Looking down, you had to agree on a little with her. You were wearing a simple white shirt with faded jeans and black converse; not exactly that professional, but you didn't have the money to buy Versace and Calvin Klein. You looked down in shame, feeling like you were so out of place, then you heard her walk towards you, looking you she flashed you an apologetic smile.

'Don't worry, sweetie. You're new here, but there's always room for improvement.' she signed, motioning to you to follow her and you did, after all, she was your boss now, or so you hoped.

That day she took you out for shopping, buying you new clothes, even going with you to hairstyles to do something about your unkempt hair. You looked yourself into the mirror, seeing a whole new person and you wondered if it was really you. Your hair was all freshly cut, the upper part swiped back, then you looked lower; black button-up shirt, black slacks, and black oxford shoes.

'See...a little magic.' she signed, flashing you her pearly white teeth.

After working under her for almost two years, you started to learn much more about Jessica Cromeans and that her business wasn't exactly that orthodox like, but you learned to accept everything that included a very fat paid job that most would kill for.

With these two years came the taboo feeling and you cursed yourself every time you thought about your boss in the most inappropriate ways possible.

'She is married for Christ's sake! Get your mind out of that, [Name]!' you scolded yourself mentally, as you typed on the laptop, working at your desk for the murderous organization along with Spann.

'She would never look at you that way. You're way out of her league.' you told yourself with a sigh.

Yes, you were falling for your boss, so imagine the shock you felt when she was almost killed and destroyed. Staying close to the operating room, pacing back and forth, with Preston and Spann sitting on the chairs, waiting for their boss to wake up.

"Can you stop that, kid?" Preston grumbled, looking at you with a raised eyebrow.

You sighed, leaning on the wall and looking at your Rolex, counting down the minutes that passed.

When Jessica woke up and you heard she was alive and alright, you were over the moon, but you knew she would never be the same, ever. She became more distant and much more abrasive, but you couldn't blame her. You would be so too if someone disfigured your face.

You were glad that she was back and continued her murderous tendencies, but another incident happened that made her almost have a break-down.

Her husband found out about everything and you didn't know if you were relieved or sad that he shot himself in the interrogation room of the FBI.

Jessica stayed inside her home for at last a week and she called you to bring her some supplies; after all, you were her assistant, so a job was to be done. Seeing her modern luxurious mansion made you feel small and insignificant, but you continued, entering the house and calling for her; no response. You sighed, hoping, at last, to receive a message on the work phone, but nothing.

You groaned in annoyance and walked up the main staircase to her bedroom, maybe she was asleep. Opening the huge double doors you saw her at the mirror vanity, looking into her reflection, a lipstick in her hand that she clenched so tightly it broke.

"Ummm...boss? I brought the food and the supplies." you said, catching her attention.

Looking now better at her face, you agreed that she was destroyed; the once impeccable face, now a mass of scarred skin, her functional brown eye looking at you wide open.

'Leave it on the front table and get out.' she signed, looking away from you.

Your lips pulled into a thin line and you could bear to see her likes this; she used to be a very confident woman, marching with superiority whenever she went, so seeing her so vulnerable, broke your heart.

"Look, Miss. You have to get out at some point." you said, putting the bag on a table close and took a step towards her. Big mistake.

In an instant, she was in front of you with a glare directed to your face, teeth pulled into a snarl.

'I said to get out.' she signed into your face.

"Look. It's not that bad." you started, but were met with a slap across your face.

'Not bad? I'm a monster! I'm ugly! I'm disgusting!' she signed with ferocity.

You were done taking her bullshit and caught her wrists in a tight grip, your eyes piercing into her brown one, wide-open that you had the guts to stand your ground; the submissive soft-spoken [Name].

"Stop all this goddamn signing!" you snarled, your eyes looking from her eye to her lips, scarred, but still so kissable, so tempting. Before you knew it your lips crashed into hers, a kiss so needy and full of attention, all towards her.

If Jessica could speak she would probably squeal and scream, not expecting to be kissed, not with that face and by all means, by you. The nerdy [Name] that in all these years she turned into a handsome and suave man; you really evolved into a man since you started working for her. You gulped back and gasped, blush on your face.

"Look, Jessica. I'm not gonna tell you this a hundred times, but you're still beautiful. You still have the charisma, your intelligence, strong and by all that happened I still find myself longing for you." you declared, making the blonde woman that was your boss almost tear up.

You knew you probably screwed up, so you were ready to leave until she pushed you back into a kiss, much more feverish than the one before, her hands running up and down your torso. The surprise that you felt was quickly overtaken, your arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her closer against your body.

The next hour was a blur of clothes flying everywhere, lots of biting and kissing, hands running over each other's body; it was pure bliss, like a dream that finally comes true, especially when you pushed into her, her mouth pulled into a silent gasp.

"Oh, Jessica..." you groaned, grinding your hips into hers. It was heaven inside her; so wet and tight.

Sadly, all the pent-up libido in you came to a final and you felt your length twitching, ready to pull out of her, only for her legs to tighten around your waist, trapping you in.

"N-No...I-I'm not wearing a condom....I...Y-You're not on the pill." you gasped, looking down at her.

'I don't care. Cum inside me...Fuck me.' she signed quickly, making you throw your head back and fill her up, her hands pulling your head on her chest, her fingernails scratching your scalp, making you groan, trying to catch your breath.

That's pretty much how you became Mr. Cromeans and she was more than delighted you were so understanding of everything, and I mean everything.

You opened the silver suitcase, pulling out the chrome skull mask, your fingertips brushing over the cold metal, then you felt arms wrapping around your waist, the skull ring on the ring finger, and the red stiletto nails giving you all the guess for who it was.

Jessica was nuzzling on your broad back, taking in your scent and masculine cologne she had bought for you.

Your smile turned into a deadly smirk as you looked back at the skull mask, the twin knives resting into the suitcase.

Oh yes....Things are just going to be dandy.

#Chromeskull: Laid to rest 2 #Laid to rest 2009 #Chromeskull #chromeskull x reader #Jesse Cromeans #jesse cromeans x reader #slasher x reader #genderbend

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senaar-ika · 4 years

Text

Masterpiece (Charlie Barber)

And for my first fic I present you: getting nasty in an art museum with our classy dom Charlie! I’ve been thinking about this since I first saw Marriage Story since it’s set in NYC and that’s also the home of some wonderful museums with private corners -wink wink- Of course seeing as it’s my degree, I can’t help but use this idea to also teach you sexy reader a little bit about art history too so apologies if the set up is a bit long. This is actually the first time I’ve written a full length smutty fic, so I really hope you enjoy!

Warnings: it’s smut, it’s a little kinky, it’s in public, it’s fingering, some elegant filthy whispering, Charlie is a dom, sub reader

“I’d like to conclude our tour with this piece here.” You step backwards and gesture toward the statue in the corner next to you, in true tour guide fashion. “We call this one a seated muse, mainly because it’s a partially nude woman.” A few soft chuckles from your group. “Although we don’t know who exactly crafted her, we do know where exactly she came from. Like many of the other statues we’ve seen today, this is a Roman copy of an ancient Greek sculpture. We think that this muse was part of a larger group of statues depicting a mythical musical contest.”

You gave this speech at least ten times a week, but you never got tired of it. The statues in this gallery had become like old friends to you as you spent your days telling their stories to eager listeners. Some days you even found yourself just sitting and admiring them, content to be among the spirits of a long ago world.

“The muses were considered the epitome of natural beauty and the craftsmen that carved these statues took great pains to capture that beauty.” You pause, letting that hang in the room. “Now I’m afraid that’s all I have for you today, but I’ll be in the gallery for a bit longer so feel free to come and ask me any questions that might arise. Of course I can’t guarantee I’ll have an answer, since our lovely muses are so often shrouded in mystery, but hey, I’d love to have a chat. Thank you!” You smile to yourself, pleased to have completed yet another tour, as the group gives you a short round of applause.

When no one steps forward with questions, you turn fully to the statue as the group disperses, taking a few moments to enjoy her. You’re so caught up in the muse in fact, that the soft voice in your ear startles you.

“Do you always speak so dramatically or is that just for the tourists?” Charlie bites back a laugh as your face dissolves from surprise to feigned annoyance.

“Do you always have to sneak up on me when I’m at work?” You retort, rolling your eyes as he places a soft kiss on your cheek. “Wait, were you on the whole tour?”

This time Charlie can’t stop his laugh as he shakes his head. “Just the last few statues.” He loves how absorbed you could become in your work. And he loves watching you guide wide eyed tourists around the hall of sculptures as you pour your knowledge out to them.

You nod and turn back to the muse, tilting to your head as you examine her. “What do you think of her?”

Charlie steps in closer behind you, practically enveloping you against his tall form. He wraps his arms around your middle and leans his head down onto your left shoulder.

“She reminds me of you.” He says quietly. His breath is warm in your ear and the rumble of his soft baritone makes you weak in the knees.

“Really? We look nothing alike!” You try to turn around so you can get Charlie’s damned voice out of your ear, but he tightens his grip on you, sliding his hands down so that one rests on each of your hip bones.

“You’re not twins, no, but you called her the epitome of natural beauty.” You inadvertently lick your lips as Charlie presses a long slow kiss to the side of your neck. “If that’s not you, then I don’t know what is, babygirl.”

You inhale sharply to keep from moaning at one of your favorite pet names he has for you. This is so unprofessional, you’re technically on the clock right now. But that had never stopped Charlie before. As you cast your eyes around the gallery, praying silently that none of your coworkers are nearby, you lean fully into Charlie’s body. He’s strong and solid behind you, and you can already feel his quickly hardening length against your ass. You feel wetness start to pool between your legs.

“They used to worship statues like this right?” Charlie asks at a normal volume, straightening up but still keeping you close to him. For a moment, all you can do is nod because he has brought his hands up to trace lightly along your shoulders and the feeling gives you shivers.

“Sure, many ancient humans used to view sculptures as vessels for the divine.” Speaking about art tends to come naturally to you, but right now you feel your heart pounding in two places. Charlie’s hands are still dancing along your shoulders, gracing over your collarbones. Two can play at this game. You shift subtly.

Charlie hums slightly at the feel of your ass rubbing against him. His hands trail down from your shoulders along your curves, landing back at your hips. His voice is deadly in your ear, “I’d like to worship your body like a statue.”

You fight back another moan at his words, trying to concentrate on the art in front of you instead of how near to your pelvis his hands are drifting. If anyone were to look closely at you two for more than a second they’d be able to see. You thank whatever fates exist in the universe that you’d chosen today to wear a wrap skirt. Charlie’s hand slips easily through the layered fabric and he rests it on your sex. You pull your blazer around you to further obscure the absolute obscenity you know is about to occur.

“I wish I could take you right here. In front of this statue. You belong here. You’re a work of art.” Charlie breathes into your ear, his whole palm covering your mound in a possessive sort of way. “Touch every inch of your beautiful body while you look at hers. You’re my little masterpiece.”

A sigh escapes your lips and you try to rub against him to create a little friction. To ease your need just a tiny bit. Damn his way with words.

“Oh, you’d like that?” He teases, “Yeah, beautiful little whore would love for me to touch her right where anybody could see. Well it’s your lucky day, babygirl.”

And that’s as much warning as you get. In one swift move, Charlie slides your panties to the side and slips a single finger between your folds. You cough in an attempt to stifle the pathetic little mewl that you let out.

“You’re so wet already, beautiful.” Charlie coos, slowly beginning to pump his finger in and out of you.

“You have that effect on me.” You gasp as Charlie crooks his finger and stops moving. “Sir.” You add, hoping that’s what he was waiting for.

It is. He hums in acknowledgement and eases another finger into you. God his hands are so big, just two fingers feels like he’s stretching you. His other hand is delicately trailing the curves of your body, from your hips to your shoulders and back again. You lean as close as you can to his form and slowly reach an arm behind you toward his slacks. His hand moves from your shoulder to your wrist in an instant.

“Oh no, no, no, beautiful,” He whispers, guiding your arm back to your side. His fingers still pushing in and out of your wetness. “I just want you like this.” He lowers his voice even more to make sure only you hear, “I just want to worship your pretty little cunt like the work of art that it is.”

That’s it. You melt fully into his touch, feeling your knees start to shake. A quiet “Fuck, Charlie.” slips from your throat as you try to keep yourself upright. The muse is blurring in and out of focus.

“That’s right, beautiful,” Charlie’s thumb grazes your clit and you bite your lip, your eyes rolling back into your head. “Ah-ah, keep those eyes open, beautiful, we wouldn’t want anyone to get suspicious. Just keep looking at this gorgeous statue.” Somehow you manage to pry your eyelids apart and bring the sculpture back into your field of vision. “That’s a good girl.”

Charlie’s fingers are pumping into you even faster now, and his thumb is lavishing your clit with attention. You can’t believe you’re doing this. You could be fired. You both could probably be arrested. The thought fills you with a dangerous little thrill and you feel yourself smile. Only Charlie could do this to you.

“Enjoying this, beautiful?” He nips at your earlobe. “I certainly am.”

“Yes, sir, I love your fingers in me.” You murmur almost lazily. “Thank -fuck- thank you, sir.”

Charlie lets himself smile, since you can’t see his face. You’re sex-drunk over him and he loves it. You can’t even talk about your art while he’s doing this to you. Now that’s an accomplishment. Having you wrapped around his finger, literally. “You’re very welcome, beautiful.”

You feel yourself clench at his words. You’re getting close, and he knows it. His fingers are plunging deep into you while his thumb vigorously strokes your swollen nub.

“Ch-Charlie?” Your breathing is coming at faster intervals and you hope you can get your words out.

“Yes, beautiful?” He’s supporting most of your body weight now with you leaning back into him.

“Fuck I’m gonna - can I - fuck - please.” Between trying to keep quiet and focusing your gaze straight ahead, you can’t quite form the sentence that he usually requires of you. Charlie’s hot breath tickles your ear as he chuckles slightly.

“Cum, beautiful,” he purrs, “cum for me now.”

And you do. You practically explode on his fingers. You clamp a hand over your mouth as you lean your full weight into his hulking form. He shushes you gently, swaying both your bodies a bit to disguise the fact that you’re spasming through your orgasm. To someone standing behind, the two of you might simply be romantically slow dancing. You pant behind your hand, attempting to catch your breath. Your vision is spotty as Charlie eases his fingers out of you and shifts your panties back in place. In an incredibly smooth motion, he wipes his hand on the inside of your skirt as he brings it out. Then there’s a kiss on your cheek, a soft “Come home quick tonight, beautiful.” And he’s striding across the sculpture hall away from you. As if nothing happened.

---

It’s only when you’re sipping your afternoon coffee in the break room that it hits you. Shit. Shit shit shit shit.

You forgot to thank him before he left.

#charlie barber x reader #charlie barber x you #charlie barber/reader #charlie barber/you #charlie barber smut #charlie barber fanfic #e's writing #legit very nervous about posting this i hope someone reads it

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ageeksnerdyworld · 5 years

Text

Dirty Words Pass Through

Characters: Dexterity Burrows, Raleigh Burrows & Felony Burrows

Word Count: 3,700

Trigger Warning: Slight Swearing

Notes: I tried my best but writing’s hard... Idk how I feel about this... As always The Cyber World belongs to @voiceoflarka

Summary: Dexterity Burrows goes back home only to endure very uncomfortable, and forced, interaction with their parents. Afterwards they head to the nearest bar for some well-deserved down time. Click the read more if you like.

~~~

They had purposely parked on a side street. The driveway to their childhood home was long so it was possible for them to go unnoticed. But there was also the possibility that their parents would use that to their advantage. Both their mother and father had done so in the past. If they were honest with themselves they'd admit that they didn't want to chance it.

Dexterity Burrows currently stood outside of their car, which was a red Shelby GT500, leaning against the side of the hood by the front tire. Staring at the ground they thought things over again. Maybe they should just leave. Nobody would know. There wouldn't be any guilt or anger. Nothing bad would happen. But they wouldn't forgive themselves if they left without at least a short hello. As they thought about it their legs carried them along the sidewalk and all the way to the front gate.

And now they were walking up the lengthy driveway.

After ten or so minutes they reached the front door.

The large, ornate, gold plated knocker loomed ominously from the face of the door. An angry scowl stared them down from the demonic face. Two large and curved horns sat on either side of its head. Its eyes were deep recesses carved into the metal. That detail made the creature all the more terrifying. The handle of the door knocker hung from the demon’s clenched teeth. The very bottom of the handle was more oval shaped and was carved into the shape of two identical fleurs-de-lis which both lay horizontally.

Dexterity grabbed the handle and knocked twice.

Their mother opened the door not five minutes later.

Felony Burrows was always the epitome of a trophy wife. She had impeccable looks and long, luscious, chocolate brown hair. Her eyes were an olive green. Butterscotch veins ran along her skin. Red lipstick colored her lips; accentuating the shape. She wore a stylish two-tone dress with full length sleeves. The right side of the dress was a dark navy while the left was a sky blue. A white belt ran along her waist.

Her unwavering poise was broken by the clear shock in her eyes.

"Dexterity--I, we--we weren't expecting you. This is quite the surprise."

They smiled and crossed the threshold before she bade them enter. As the thick rubber soles of their boots landed on the white tile their mother slowly closed the door. She turned around to scrutinize her child. Her eyes flattened to small slits and her lips pursed together in intense thought. She rested her chin on her pointer finger and thumb.

“Looking as horrid as ever I see.”

They scoffed; “I don’t dress to please you, mother. I dress the way I like.”

In fact, Dexterity wasn’t wearing anything different from what they’d wear on a normal day. Head to toe black. Black combat boots that stopped an inch or two above their ankle. The laces were untied and shoved in the boots. The tongue was pushed out a bit so that it appeared taller than the boots themselves. They wore a black tattered t-shirt with a white pentagram and the phrase “sinners are winners” on it. They also wore a dark gray leather jacket. Somewhat distressed black skinny jeans covered their legs.

A half moon shaped silver earring dangled from their right ear. The facade of the metal was engraved to look like a skull.

“Your father and I were just sitting down for lunch. Care to join us?”

Dexterity shrugged; “I can’t stay long.”

Their mother laughed, deep and full of disbelief, “What on earth could you possibly have to do?”

They didn’t say anything. It was pointless to try and argue with her. She was the kind of person who would say whatever would hurt you the most. No matter what it was or if she was given the information in confidence. Dexterity had been on the receiving end of her vicious words many times.

The two of them entered the dining room without a word. Their mother went straight to the opposite end of the table and sat down. She went straight back to eating seemingly without a care. Dexterity’s father, Raleigh, calmly asked who was at the door. She told him and he grunted a stern hello to Dexterity.

“Won’t you sit down, dear,” their mother said sweetly. “You must be starved. Have you been eating well?”

"Please," they said with an obvious annoyance. "Don't pretend you ever gave a shit about me, mother."

Felony Burrows gave her child a harsh look over her wine glass. Her dark brows furrowed and her nose crinkled.

“How dare you,” she said viciously.

Angrily setting her glass down on the table she shot them a deadly glare. She didn’t raise her voice but there was no need to. Her tone, harsh and cold, was enough. It was the tone Dexterity had heard her use many times. It was the voice she put on when she wanted her words to be heeded. When she wanted to be respected and feared.

“After everything your father and I have done for you? We gave you a home, food in your stomach, and clothes on your back. You never need or want for anything.”

“We could’ve left you in the Nursery like your poor, disgusting, friend.”

Dexterity laughed.

“Emery is a better person than the two of you ever could be. But, this is between you and me. Leave him out of this, mother.”

She scoffed, shocked and appalled, and looked in between her child and her husband. Raleigh Burrows sat at the opposite end of the table with his head down. He was staring at his tablet; reading something. Knowing him it was either company emails or company stock records.

He wore a plain, mottled gray, vest over a black dress shirt. The top of the shirt was unbuttoned to the part where both halves of the vest met. Both of the long sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. His dark pants matched the vest and he wore dark black dress shoes. Large, triangular, blue ears emerged from the top of his head. His black hair was combed back. The sideburns grayed slightly at the edges. A puff of cream colored fur poked out from the unbuttoned top of his shirt. His eyes were a bright, bold, red. Except for the right eye which darkened considerably due to the large wisp of navy blue soul that flowed from that eye. His skin was lined with the same navy colored veins.

Felony cleared her throat and said; “Dear, would you care to tell Dexterity why they shouldn’t say such things?”

“Oh fuck you!”

He set his tablet down with a sigh.

“Stop swearing at your mother. We raised you better than that.”

“First she brings Emery into this conversation, like this has anything to do with him, and then she...”

“You seem very stressed,” he said; cutting them off. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes, there is. I came here to visit and the both of you are acting like I never left. You don’t care at all.”

“Don’t think that, that simply isn’t true,” Raleigh said.

As he spoke Dexterity could feel their anger dissipating. The disgust that had been rising in their gut since stepping foot in the house was becoming an afterthought. Each shred of emotion was turning into something else. They knew what he was doing but they didn’t know how to stop it. After years of this they were still unable to resist his powers.

"Now, don't you feel better?"

Dexterity nodded; "Yes."

"Don't you have something to say to your mother?"

Again an unstoppable change in their emotion overtook them. They could feel the calm shift inside. Overwhelming waves of shame and regret slammed into them. A physical knot formed in their chest. They knew it was there. They could feel it.

"Sorry. I... I'm so sorry. I promise I won't do that again."

"Good, now sit down," Raleigh said with a nod of approval.

With that he sat back in his chair and returned to reading. Every so often he would take a sip of wine. He stayed silent for quite some time.

Dexterity calmly sat in the chair on the left side of the table. A plate of food had been brought out at some point in the argument. When they had no idea. They stared at their plate. They knew that if they tried to leave now things would only get worse. Their mother would make a scene and their father would make them stay. Even worse he'd make them want to stay and feel bad for thinking of leaving. They ate the food so as not to cause another fight.

The family of three sat in awkward silence for the rest of their lunch.

“So,” their father said after the plates were cleared away. “How long do you plan on staying with us?”

“What?”

“I believe you heard me,” Raleigh replied. He leaned back in his chair and brought his fingers together. With a serious, strangely almost concerned, look he asked; “Unless your friend’s horrible so-called singing made you go deaf?”

“I’m not staying,” they grumbled.

“What?” their mother exclaimed.

Dexterity knew that her surprise was completely fake, but, their father somehow was never able to see through it. He always jumped at every cry, or shock she endured, ready to help. He usually used his powers to help alleviate the situation but never in the way one would think. Raleigh always went for the supposed aggressor. And more often than not Dexterity was the cause of her emotional distress. For whatever reason she got off on having her husband manipulate their child. Or the control she got from having to do practically nothing. Either way in Dexterity found it very disgusting.

“It seems like your mother wants you stay,” Raleigh said.

They gave their father a harsh glare.

“This again?” they said; interrupting his manipulation.

“If your mother wants you to stay longer, then, maybe you should. After all, you haven’t visited us in a very long time.”

“Yeah,” they scoffed. “This is why. A person can only take so fucking much emotional manipulation, after all.”

Raleigh stood up from his chair and walked over to where they sat.

He stared Dexterity down as if they were a scuff on his newly shined shoes. It was a look of utter hatred and disgust. But Dexterity returned the angry glare right back. The two remained like that for a good five minutes. Then a strange, satisfied, smirk slowly crept its way on Raleigh’s face.

Unable to resist Dexterity suddenly stood up, with tears in their eyes, and hugged their father. Crying and shaking they apologized over and over again. They profusely apologized to their mother as well. Still overcome with regret and sadness they disavowed everything they believed in. Dexterity pulled away from their father and stood firm. Their bottom lip quivered as they begged for his forgiveness. Begged to be allowed to move back in with them. They vowed to quit the band and become their father’s intern. Once again they were the little kid, sobbing, exploited and dominated into doing exactly what their parents wanted.

Raleigh had made them do all of this without uttering a single word.

They didn’t realize what happened until they sat back down.

With that being the last straw Dexterity aggressively slammed their hands on the table and pushed their chair away. The legs of the chair loudly scratched along the floor. They stomped out of the house. As they made the long trek back to their car they stewed. They only felt better when they were finally in the car; turning the key.

Should've listened to yourself, you fucking dummy, their conscious scolded as they shifted the car into drive.

They knew exactly what they were going to do next.

Who was the real mystery.

~~~

Dexterity drove around aimlessly for awhile. They hadn’t been back home in such a long time that they weren’t sure where anything was anymore. But they eventually found their way to a local bar.

“Fucking finally,” they muttered to themselves.

They walked through the door and went straight for the bar.

A very tall, very buff, looking man was bartending. He had dark auburn red hair. It was slightly shorter on the sides than the top which was spiked up. He wore the, seemingly, standard uniform; black jacket over a gray top and black pants. The only part of his outfit which looked out of place were the round sunglasses on his face. Bright periwinkle veins poked out from his collar and shirt sleeve.

He was currently handing a drink over to the only one other virus at the bar.

She was a pale skinned woman with long, dark, brown hair. Purple dye colored the ends. She had bright yellow eyes. Her ears were sharply pointed at the top. Two curved horns protruded from the middle of her skull. They curved outward to either side of her head and curved around her ears before coming to a sharp point. A silver cuff covered a portion of the left horn; just below her ear lobe.

A series of bees were tattooed on the left side of her neck.

She gave Dexterity a nod as they sat down at the first empty bar stool.

They ordered a Death in the Afternoon and looked around the room as the drink was being made. The bar had a strange atmosphere. Most of the patrons were crowded near the back of the building. Dexterity craned their neck in a futile attempt to see what was occupying everyone’s attention. But the sheer number of bodies blocked their view. So they gave up and ran their eyes over the shelves behind the bar.

Bottles with strange names lined the shelves. Names they didn’t recognize. Some were very long laundry lists of nonsensical letter combinations.

Their drink was set on the bar and Dexterity barely noticed the woman move to the stool on their left.

"Haven't seen you around here," the woman said.

"Not really in this area much. Don't plan on staying long."

"That's too bad," she said. "I'd really like to get to know you."

Dexterity looked at her and decided to lay on the charm. It was what they did best after all. Their father could change and affect a person’s entire array of emotions and had a good handle on everything. But they could only affect one specific area; desire.

“In what way,” they asked.

“I think you know exactly what way,” she said.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?"

“Xylophone, but, most people call me Xy.”

“You should join us, big boy,“ they said to the bartender.

The man’s face went red. He tried to explain that they both of them had to work, but, it was useless. When Dexterity wanted a good time, or to block out a bad one, they made someone else want the same. Dexterity smiled seductively which only caused the man to blush even harder. He reached out to touch their hand, needing to feel their skin against his own, but Dexterity quickly pulled their hand.

“Soon.”

~~~

Hours later, well into the night, the three of them were laying on a queen sized bed. They had rented a room in a nearby hotel thanks to Dexterity’s father’s credit card. The thick, black and silver, comforter lay in a heap on the floor. As did some of the abundant pillows. Open bottles from the mini bar lay strewn about.

Dexterity stared at the ceiling with a shit-eating grin on their face.

They were in the middle of the bed with the bartender on their left. He was actually half on the bed and half on them; struggling for their affections. Xylophone was on their right. Hurried and without any regard tossed about the floor, mixed in with one another, were their clothes. It was pretty obvious which ones belonged to Xylophone as she was the only one who didn’t wear all black.

Not to mention the pair of bright, cerulean, blue panties that somehow hung off the lampshade across the room.

To no one’s surprise the bartender had enough energy and need to go again. He kept whispering sweet nothings, and very dirty words, in Dexterity’s ear. They ignored his advances. Truth of the matter was that so could they, but, the third member of their little ménage a trois seemed uneasy.

Xylophone sat up and stared off with a strange expression of mixed emotions. It was clear that something was wrong because their powers, which were still active, didn’t seem to be affecting her. They turned it off and the big, muscular, bartender collapsed onto them. It was as if the only thing that had kept him awake after.

Shoving the hulking man off of them Dexterity convinced him to give them some space. The guy begrudgingly climbed off the bed, pulled his pants on, and walked out of the room.

“Hey, you okay?” they asked once it seemed that guy was out of earshot.

“I lied earlier,” she said with an intense guilt.

“Everybody lies, darling,” they replied. “If I was honest I’d say I do it all the time.”

She didn’t laugh at the lame joke. Dexterity didn’t either but it was worth a try. She turned away and brought her knees to her chest. Looking down at the floor Xylophone stays quiet for a few minutes. The silence in the room was eerie. Unsure of what to do, and completely out of their element, Dexterity just sat there.

Comforting people, or staying this long after sex, was not their style.

Looking to the door they hoped the bartender guy, whatever his name was, would just barge in. Or that the room would spontaneously catch fire. Even getting a drunken call from the guys would do. Anything that would be a good reason to not have this conversation.

“I didn’t want to know you at all,” she said; still staring at the floor.

“Me neither,” they said.

Xylophone shot them an angry look. They then realized that what they said was the complete wrong to say at a time like this. She sighed; half angry and half sad. Running her hands through either side of her hair she closed her eyes tightly and grit her teeth.

“You don’t get it, do you?” she spit. “The bar, my outfit, my fucking lingerie... Did you really not see it? Or are you that desperate to get some?”

The realization hit them like a brick to the face. It was unexpected and hurt like hell. Their mouth hung open in a small “o” and they felt so stupid. The bar was a strip club which explained why most of the people inside were near the back. But it was crazy to think it was fronting sex workers. At the same time Dexterity thought that Xylophone had no real reason to lie. Despite their better judgment they spoke.

“Why do you do it?”

“What would you do?” she said with a serious look in her eyes.

“Do about what?”

Tears began flowing from her eyes. She tried to wipe them away but they continued to run down her face. Her makeup, some of which had previously from her sweat, was now ruined. Streaks of black eyeliner and mascara lined her face. Every time she wiped her nose she would accidentally take off her lipstick.

“For you this is just a good time but for me this is what I call life,” she cried through her tears.

“How much?”

“What?” she asked between sniffles.

In a half response to her question Dexterity got off the bed and rummaged through the mess of clothes. Turning the clothing items over in their hands they felt around for something unseen. Angrily tossing the clothes over their shoulder they finally found the pair of jeans they wore earlier in the day. Digging their hand into the rear left pocket they felt the cool plastic of their father’s credit card.

They held it up with a smirk.

“How much to get you out?”

Xylophone’s eyes went wide. She stammered; shocked beyond belief.

“It’s not fair that you have to do this to survive, to live,” they said.

“Nothing’s that simple.”

“And why not? If someone can pay to spend a night with you then why can’t I pay to make sure you’ll never need to do that ever again.

“Money can’t solve everything, Richie Rich,” she said.

Dexterity stood in the middle of the room; frozen. In that moment they felt disgusted with themselves. They had tried their entire life to prevent themselves from becoming this exact person. But they still came off as a patronizing rich elitist. She ran her hand through her hair and got off the bed. She walked across the room and picked her panties off the lampshade. Xylophone pulled her underwear on before grabbing her matching bra off the floor. She quickly pulled her shirt over her head.

The bartender walked in, just as she finished buttoning her shorts, and approached Dexterity with fiery anger.

“You little shit! You’re dead, you’re so fucking dead.”

Dexterity said nothing. They didn’t hear a word the man was saying. And they couldn’t care less. But Xylophone walked up and put a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“Leave them, we have to go back to work,” she said.

The door slammed as the pair exited. Dexterity sighed heavily and ran their hands through their short, buzzed, hair. An intense feeling of disgust filled their gut as they paced the floor. Looking around the room they decided it was best to leave. So, they dressed themselves as quickly as they could and left the room. It didn’t take long for them to head to the front desk. With barely a few words they checked out of the room.

Rushing to the parking lot they hopped in the driver’s seat of their GT500 and gunned it out onto the street.

They made a silent vow to themselves that they would never come back.

#my writing #larka's virus community #lvc #dexterity burrows #raleigh burrows #felony burrows #tw slight swearing #ageekwrites

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inloveandwords · 4 years

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This post was inspired by Ally’s series (which was inspired by Lia at Lost in a Story).

I’ve decided in 2020 that I’m going to do this twice a month and double the number of books that I’m going through (so, I’ll be doing 20 books for the rest of the year, twice a month). I have way too many books on my Goodreads TBR and I need to fix that!

I’m also thinking about completely redoing my Goodreads shelves – stay tuned!

It works like this

Go to your Goodreads to-read shelf.

Order on ascending date added.

Take the first 5 or 10 books (I’m doing 20 because I have way too many on my list)

Read the synopsis of the books

Decide: keep it or should it go?

Lost and Found (Emi Lost & Found #1) by Lori L. Otto

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Independent and sensitive, idealistic and hopeful, Emi Hennigan lives her life with optimism and an open mind. Between sharing a tiny Manhattan apartment with her fun-loving roommate and spending most of her free time with her heart-breaker friend, Emi’s seen enough failed relationships to know what to avoid in her quest to find her true love. Not only that, but a single moment from her past lingers in her mind, setting high expectations for every man she dates.

Emi’s best friend, artist and hopeless romantic Nate Wilson, has been her closest companion all of their adult lives. After swearing off love with Emi in a silly high school pact, Nate has been seeing other women in hopes of finding one that evokes stronger feelings than the ones he’s been harboring for Emi since he was a teen. Over the span of a year, boundaries are crossed, feelings are confessed, and their unique friendship begins to blossom into something more.

Through Nate’s eyes, an atypical romance unfolds, disrupting the comfortable safe haven their friendship has provided. With a promising future ahead of them both, fate intervenes to bring two soul mates together.

Photography and cover design by Christi Allen Curtis, assisted by Katrina Boone

Date added to TBR: 12/19/16 Keep or Ditch? Ditch Comments: I don’t remember adding this?

Angels Watching Over Me (Angels Trilogy #1) by Lurlene McDaniel

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Happy Holidays! Bah humbug. “Happy” is not the way Leah Lewis-Hall would describe herself at the moment. She’s spending her twelve days of Christmas in an Indianapolis hospital, while her mother is thousands of miles away on a honeymoon with husband number five. Leah went to the doctor with nothing more than a broken finger, but he ordered her to undergo some tests. Now she’s stuck in the hospital, alone. Then Leah meets her hospital roommate, a young Amish girl named Rebekah, and her big family. Cynical sixteen-year-old Leah has never known people like this before. From Rebekah’s handsome brother, Ethan, who can barely look Leah in the eye, to her kind older sister, Charity, the Amish family captivates Leah with its simple, loving ways. When Leah receives frightening information about her condition, her new friends show her that miracles can happen. And that sometimes angels appear in the most unexpected places.

Date added to TBR: 12/19/16 Keep or Ditch? Ditch Comments: Super not interested in this one anymore

An Abundance of Katherines by John Green

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Katherine V thought boys were gross Katherine X just wanted to be friends Katherine XVIII dumped him in an e-mail K-19 broke his heart

When it comes to relationships, Colin Singleton’s type happens to be girls named Katherine. And when it comes to girls named Katherine, Colin is always getting dumped. Nineteen times, to be exact.

On a road trip miles from home, this anagram-happy, washed-up child prodigy has ten thousand dollars in his pocket, a bloodthirsty feral hog on his trail, and an overweight, Judge Judy-loving best friend riding shotgun–but no Katherines. Colin is on a mission to prove The Theorem of Underlying Katherine Predictability, which he hopes will predict the future of any relationship, avenge Dumpees everywhere, and finally win him the girl.

Love, friendship, and a dead Austro-Hungarian archduke add up to surprising and heart-changing conclusions in this ingeniously layered comic novel about reinventing oneself.

Date added to TBR: 12/21/16 Keep or Ditch? Keep Comments: I’ve heard good things about this one and I’m still somewhat interested.

Odd Thomas (Odd Thomas #1) by Dean Koontz

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“The dead don’t talk. I don’t know why.” But they do try to communicate, with a short-order cook in a small desert town serving as their reluctant confidant. Odd Thomas thinks of himself as an ordinary guy, if possessed of a certain measure of talent at the Pico Mundo Grill and rapturously in love with the most beautiful girl in the world, Stormy Llewellyn.

Maybe he has a gift, maybe it’s a curse, Odd has never been sure, but he tries to do his best by the silent souls who seek him out. Sometimes they want justice, and Odd’s otherworldly tips to Pico Mundo’s sympathetic police chief, Wyatt Porter, can solve a crime. Occasionally they can prevent one. But this time it’s different.

A mysterious man comes to town with a voracious appetite, a filing cabinet stuffed with information on the world’s worst killers, and a pack of hyena-like shades following him wherever he goes. Who the man is and what he wants, not even Odd’s deceased informants can tell him. His most ominous clue is a page ripped from a day-by-day calendar for August 15.

Today is August 14.

In less than twenty-four hours, Pico Mundo will awaken to a day of catastrophe. As evil coils under the searing desert sun, Odd travels through the shifting prisms of his world, struggling to avert a looming cataclysm with the aid of his soul mate and an unlikely community of allies that includes the King of Rock ‘n’ Roll. His account of two shattering days when past and present, fate and destiny converge is the stuff of our worst nightmares, and a testament by which to live: sanely if not safely, with courage, humor, and a full heart that even in the darkness must persevere.

Date added to TBR: 12/21/16 Keep or Ditch? Ditch Comments: Why is this even on here?

The Red Notebook by Antoine Laurain, Jane Aitken, Emily Boyce

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Heroic bookseller Laurent Letellier comes across an abandoned handbag on a Parisian street. There’s nothing in the bag to indicate who it belongs to, although there’s all sorts of other things in it. Laurent feels a strong impulse to find the owner and tries to puzzle together who she might be from the contents of the bag. Especially a red notebook with her jottings, which really makes him want to meet her. Without even a name to go on, and only a few of her possessions to help him, how is he to find one woman in a city of millions?

The Red Notebook has already been sold in twelve different languages. French TV is making a film of The President’s Hat and the movie rights of The Red Notebook have been sold to UGC.

Antoine Laurain was born in Paris. He is the author of five novels, including The President’s Hat.

Date added to TBR: 12/21/16 Keep or Ditch? Ditch Comments: I don’t get it.

Hold Still by Nina LaCour

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An arresting story about starting over after a friend’s suicide, from a breakthrough new voice in YA fiction.

dear caitlin, there are so many things that i want so badly to tell you but i just can’t.

Devastating, hopeful, hopeless, playful . . . in words and illustrations, Ingrid left behind a painful farewell in her journal for Caitlin. Now Caitlin is left alone, by loss and by choice, struggling to find renewed hope in the wake of her best friend’s suicide. With the help of family and newfound friends, Caitlin will encounter first love, broaden her horizons, and start to realize that true friendship didn’t die with Ingrid. And the journal which once seemed only to chronicle Ingrid’s descent into depression, becomes the tool by which Caitlin once again reaches out to all those who loved Ingrid—and Caitlin herself.

Date added to TBR: 12/23/16 Keep or Ditch? Ditch Comments: The synopsis says this is devastating and I can’t…

Captive Prince (Captive Prince #1) by C.S. Pacat

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From global phenomenon C. S. Pacat comes the first in her critically acclaimed trilogy—with a bonus story.

Damen is a warrior hero to his people, and the rightful heir to the throne of Akielos. But when his half brother seizes power, Damen is captured, stripped of his identity, and sent to serve the prince of an enemy nation as a pleasure slave.

Beautiful, manipulative, and deadly, his new master, Prince Laurent, epitomizes the worst of the court at Vere. But in the lethal political web of the Veretian court, nothing is as it seems, and when Damen finds himself caught up in a play for the throne, he must work together with Laurent to survive and save his country.

For Damen, there is just one rule: never, ever reveal his true identity. Because the one man Damen needs is the one man who has more reason to hate him than anyone else…

Includes an exclusive extra story!

Date added to TBR: 12/26/16 Keep or Ditch? Keep Comments: I think this is pretty polarizing, but I’d like to read it to see what I think!

The Assassin and the Pirate Lord (Throne of Glass 0.1) by Sarah J. Maas

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A Throne of Glass novella.

On a remote island in a tropical sea, Celaena Sardothien, feared assassin, has come for retribution. She’s been sent by the Assassin’s Guild to collect on a debt they are owed by the Lord of the Pirates. But when Celaena learns that the agreed payment is not in money, but in slaves, her mission suddenly changes—and she will risk everything to right the wrong she’s been sent to bring about.

Date added to TBR: 12/26/16 Keep or Ditch? Ditch Comments: I think this is part of Assassin’s Blade

The Assassin and the Desert (Throne of Glass 0.3) by Sarah J. Maas

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The Silent Assassins of the Red Desert aren’t much for conversation, and Celaena Sardothien wouldn’t have it any other way. She’s not there to chatter, she’s there to hone her craft as the world’s most feared killer for hire. When the quiet is shattered by forces who want to destroy the Silent Assassins, Celaena must find a way to stop them, or she’ll be lucky to leave the desert alive.

Date added to TBR: 12/26/16 Keep or Ditch? Ditch Comments: “”

The Assassin and the Empire (Throne of Glass 0.5) by Sarah J. Maas

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Celaena Sardothien is the assassin with everything: a place to call her own, the love of handsome Sam, and, best of all, freedom. Yet, she won’t be truly free until she is far away from her old master, Arobynn Hamel; Celaena must take one last daring assignment that will liberate her forever. But having it all, means you have a lot to lose . . .

This fourth fantastic e-novella gives readers an inside look at the characters who appear in the full-length novel Throne of Glass. Don’t miss out!

Date added to TBR: 12/26/16 Keep or Ditch? Ditch Comments: “”

The Assassin and the Underworld (Throne of Glass 0.4) by Sarah J. Maas

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When the King of the Assassins gives Celaena Sardothien a special assignment that will help fight slavery in the kingdom, she jumps at the chance to strike a blow against an evil practice. The mission is a dark and deadly affair which takes Celaena from the rooftops of the city to the bottom of the sewer–and she doesn’t like what she finds there.

Date added to TBR: 12/26/16 Keep or Ditch? Ditch Comments: “”

The Assassin and the Healer (Throne of Glass 0.2) by Sarah J. Maas

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Meet the Assassin: beautiful, defiant, destined for greatness. Celaena Sardothien has challenged her master. Now she must pay the price. Her journey to the Red Desert will be an arduous one, but it may change the fate of her cursed world forever…

Date added to TBR: 12/26/16 Keep or Ditch? Ditch Comments: “”

A Court of Thorns and Roses eSampler (A Court of Thorns and Roses) by Sarah J. Maas

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Get a FREE sneak peek at the first four chapters of New York Times bestselling author Sarah J. Maas’ thrilling and seductive new series, which blends Beauty and the Beast with faerie lore.

When nineteen-year-old huntress Feyre kills a wolf in the woods, a beast-like creature arrives to demand retribution for it. Dragged to a treacherous magical land she only knows about from legends, Feyre discovers that her captor is not an animal, but Tamlin–one of the lethal, immortal faeries who once ruled their world.

As she dwells on his estate, her feelings for Tamlin transform from icy hostility into a fiery passion that burns through every lie and warning she’s been told about the beautiful, dangerous world of the Fae. But an ancient, wicked shadow over the faerie lands is growing, and Feyre must find a way to stop it . . . or doom Tamlin–and his world–forever.

Perfect for fans of Kristen Cashore and George R. R. Martin, this first book in a sexy and action-packed new series is impossible to put down!

Date added to TBR: 12/26/16 Keep or Ditch? Ditch Comments: Clearly I went crazy adding SJM books and accidentally added this randomly.

Catwoman: Soulstealer (DC Icons #3) by Sarah J. Maas

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When the Bat’s away, the Cat will play. It’s time to see how many lives this cat really has. . . .

Two years after escaping Gotham City’s slums, Selina Kyle returns as the mysterious and wealthy Holly Vanderhees. She quickly discovers that with Batman off on a vital mission, Batwing is left to hold back the tide of notorious criminals. Gotham City is ripe for the taking.

Meanwhile, Luke Fox wants to prove he has what it takes to help people in his role as Batwing. He targets a new thief on the prowl who seems cleverer than most. She has teamed up with Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn, and together they are wreaking havoc. This Catwoman may be Batwing’s undoing.

Date added to TBR: 12/26/16 Keep or Ditch? Keep Comments: This is on my bookshelf

Angels’ Blood (Guild Hunter #1) by Nalini Singh

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USA Today bestselling author Nalini Singh introduces a world of beauty and bloodlust, where angels hold sway over vampires…

Vampire hunter Elena Deveraux knows she’s the best—but she doesn’t know if she’s good enough for this job. Hired by the dangerously beautiful Archangel Raphael, a being so lethal that no mortal wants his attention, only one thing is clear—failure is not an option…even if the task is impossible.

Because this time, it’s not a wayward vamp she has to track. It’s an archangel gone bad.

The job will put Elena in the midst of a killing spree like no other…and pull her to the razor’s edge of passion. Even if the hunt doesn’t destroy her, succumbing to Raphael’s seductive touch just may. For when archangels play, mortals break…

Date added to TBR: 12/26/16 Keep or Ditch? Ditch Comments: I’ve tried reading books by this author before and I wasn’t super interested.

Monstress, Vol. 1: Awakening (Monstress #1) by Marjorie M. Liu, Sana Takeda

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Set in an alternate matriarchal 1900’s Asia, in a richly imagined world of art deco-inflected steam punk, MONSTRESS tells the story of a teenage girl who is struggling to survive the trauma of war, and who shares a mysterious psychic link with a monster of tremendous power, a connection that will transform them both and make them the target of both human and otherworldly powers. Collects MONSTRESS #1-6

Date added to TBR: 12/26/16 Keep or Ditch? Keep Comments: This has actually made a comeback on my radar!

A Rogue by Any Other Name (The Rules of Scoundrels #1) by Sarah MacLean

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What a scoundrel wants, a scoundrel gets…

A decade ago, the Marquess of Bourne was cast from society with nothing but his title. Now a partner in London’s most exclusive gaming hell, the cold, ruthless Bourne will do whatever it takes to regain his inheritance—including marrying perfect, proper Lady Penelope Marbury.

A broken engagement and years of disappointing courtships have left Penelope with little interest in a quiet, comfortable marriage, and a longing for something more. How lucky that her new husband has access to such unexplored pleasures.

Bourne may be a prince of London’s underworld, but he vows to keep Penelope untouched by its wickedness—a challenge indeed as the lady discovers her own desires, and her willingness to wager anything for them… even her heart.

Date added to TBR: 12/26/16 Keep or Ditch? Ditch Comments: I very rarely read historical romance

Nine Rules to Break When Romancing a Rake (Love By Numbers #1) by Sarah MacLean

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A lady does not smoke cheroot. She does not ride astride. She does not fence or attend duels. She does not fire a pistol, and she never gambles at a gentlemen’s club.

Lady Calpurnia Hartwell has always followed the rules, rules that have left her unmarried—and more than a little unsatisfied. And so she’s vowed to break the rules and live the life of pleasure she’s been missing.

But to dance every dance, to steal a midnight kiss—to do those things, Callie will need a willing partner. Someone who knows everything about rule-breaking. Someone like Gabriel St. John, the Marquess of Ralston—charming and devastatingly handsome, his wicked reputation matched only by his sinful smile.

If she’s not careful, she’ll break the most important rule of all—the one that says that pleasure-seekers should never fall hopelessly, desperately in love.

Date added to TBR: 12/26/16 Keep or Ditch? Ditch Comments: “”

Mindfulness in Plain English by Henepola Gunaratana

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Since Mindfulness in Plain English was first published in 1994, it has become one of the bestselling — and most influential — books in the field of mindfulness. It’s easy to see why.

Author Bhante Gunaratana, a renowned meditation master, takes us step by step through the myths, realities, and benefits of meditation and the practice of mindfulness. The book showcases Bhante’s trademark clarity and wit, as he explores the tool of meditation, what it does, and how to make it work.

This expanded edition includes the complete text of its predecessor along with a new chapter on cultivating loving kindness, an especially important topic in today’s world. For anyone who is new to meditation, this is a great resource for learning how to live a more productive and peaceful life.

Date added to TBR: 12/28/16 Keep or Ditch? Ditch Comments: I ended up unhauling this a while ago.

Immortal Beloved (Immortal Beloved #1) by Cate Tiernan

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Nastasya has spent the last century living as a spoiled, drugged-out party girl. She feels nothing and cares for no one. But when she witnesses her best friend, a Dark Immortal, torture a human, she realizes something’s got to change. She seeks refuge at a rehab for wayward immortals, where she meets the gorgeous, undeniably sexy Reyn, who seems inexplicably linked to her past.

Nastasya finally begins to deal with life, and even feels safe–until the night she learns that someone wants her dead.

Date added to TBR: 12/29/16 Keep or Ditch? Keep Comments: This is still on my bookshelf!

Bye-Bye Books: Decluttering my TBR #1 This post was inspired by Ally’s series (which was inspired by Lia at Lost in a Story…

#declutter

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mrmichaelchadler · 5 years

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Nick Allen's Top Ten Films of 2018

Below is a small glimpse at my film year, a collection of the movies I was fixated on during and after festivals, recommended to you if you asked me what was good, or was simply blown away by. And in the case of my number one film, it was lodged so deep into my brain that its second-to-last shot made for a solid homemade Halloween costume. Of course, this list is subject to change at any minute, with special shout-outs to “Roma,” “Minding the Gap,” “Eighth Grade,” “Widows,” “Vice,” “Free Solo,” “If Beale Street Could Talk,” “Blaze,” and the laugh-out-loud quality of “Mile 22.”

10. “Bird Box”

In 2010, Susanne Bier made one of the most unforgettable stories about the immediacy of day-to-day violence with “A Better World,” its plot hinging on acts of humanism across continents. She brings that focus on how we treat each other to the ruthlessly thrilling “Bird Box,” which tops off a year of nervous cinema, but is approximately 300% more stressful than the silent but deadly “A Quiet Place” (nor can “Bird Box” have its logic poked through by the prospects of farts). The hook here is an apocalyptic disadvantage—one’s eyes must always be covered from an outside force that invades consciousness, making them want to hurt others or themselves.

Adapted by Eric Heisserer from the novel by Josh Malerman, “Bird Box” takes the set-up of a survival story to its most tense limits, where characters are walking, driving, or riding down a river through unknown environments, without being able to see where they are going. In a year in which watching white supremacy terrorize families in “The First Purge” seemed redundant, “Bird Box” is one of the most terrifying depictions of fanaticism; those who do decide to see sometimes have a frightening, monstrous power, and try to force others to look. It's a scary reflection of our modern cults built on hatred, anonymous conspiracy theories, or willful misinterpretations of the Bible.

The whole of "Bird Box" hinges on dumb luck, but each major set piece has an inescapable claustrophobia, in which the ability to see what the blindfolded characters can't, and imagining what could befall them, makes it that much more terrifying. At the center of it all is a top-level performance from Sandra Bullock, portraying a mother in the most desperate mode of survival. She makes a viewer even more wistful that somehow she and her two blindfolded kids can survive the film’s impossible world.

9. “Searching”

Aneesh Chaganty’s “Searching” is a thrilling correction to a few bugs in mainstream filmmaking: it’s an unabashed crowd-pleaser that doesn’t talk down to its audience, a tech-savvy movie that doesn’t lament the growing presence of smart phones and social media so much as whole-heartedly embrace them, and a screen-based thriller that isn’t just the cinematic equivalent of watching a desktop. That it’s also a thriller that gives John Cho the leading role he’s long deserved is just one of its many elements to adore.

Scripted by Chaganty and Sev Ohanian, this story about a father (John Cho) searching for his missing daughter Margot (Michelle La) is one of the year’s most exciting examples of creativity, with elements of filmmaking one can easily take for granted—it’s one of the year’s best edited films for how it creates an emotional roller coaster using only the content on its characters’ screens, orchestrating a narrative out of an insane amount of on-screen detail that fully immerses us in everyone's lives. "Searching" plays wonderfully on repeat viewings, and the opening scene has deservedly won comparisons to the first ten minutes of “Up”—“Searching” is the debut of major storytelling talent, with a thrilling new perspective on the technology we use every day.

8. “John McEnroe: In the Realm of Perfection”

“John McEnroe: In the Realm of Perfection” is a sports documentary that begins with a Jean-Luc Godard quote, and doesn’t show its title subject until five minutes in. Yes, this movie is a dream for anyone who has felt film semiotics and sports analysis aren’t too different of beasts, especially when one talks about the strengths and weaknesses of a performance. Needless to say, “John McEnroe: In the Realm of Perfection” transported me back to my brain-fueling Film Studies classes, all focused around a pivotal match for the hot-head tennis player in 1984. This doc does not just thrill with how it toys with form, but also in how it proclaims the expansive potential of critical thinking. I dare anyone who is interested in the very concept of criticism, whether for athletes or filmmakers, to try to turn it off after watching it for those five minutes.

7. “Makala”

“Makala” popped into my life as a review assignment back in August, and by the end of the year it’s still the most exemplary idea of the power in minimalist storytelling. One of the most tense scenes this year is of Makala trying to push a huge bundle of coal, strapped to his bike, up a small hill, as captured with simplicity by director and cinematographer Emmanuel Gras. As it documents one man’s process in creating coal, carting it many miles and then trying to sell it, “Makala” speaks to the eternal values of filmmaking, and recognizes that walking many miles in someone else’s shoes is an instrumental part of it.

6. “Cold War”

Anyone who was a bit miffed by the ending of Damien Chazelle’s musical “La La Land”—not that it ended on a surprising note, but that it felt like an incomplete thought—will find refreshing heart and soul in Pawel Pawlikowski’s musician story, “Cold War.” Told over various years and across countries, the story of two Polish musicians and their romance in spite of years and geographical distance beautifully condenses time but doesn’t cut short its emotion. “Cold War” precisely captures the different chapters of a relationship, while having a black-and-white beauty that makes the film like the year’s best love ballad.

5. “Mandy”

Like a holy mix of “You Were Never Really Here” and “If Beale Street Could Talk,” as blended with a chainsaw fight and served on an actual dish of revenge, “Mandy” is one of the year’s most visceral proclamations of love and loss. Be not fooled by the howls from its growing cult audience, the best aspects of “Mandy” (directed by Panos Cosmatos and co-written with Aaron Stewart-Ahn) are not its albeit glorious action scenes but its sensitivity: this is the story of a man (Nicolas Cage), a woman named Mandy (Andrea Riseborough, her close-up laughing at macho BS the true face of this film) and the depths of his battling the demons of grief after his loved one is taken away. The late Johann Johannsson’s heavenly score uses synthesizers and heavy metal guitars to grip you from its opening text, and the film’s heavy use of color filters creates a dreamy atmosphere, which only gets kookier as “Mandy” becomes a straight-up hero odyssey with Cage battling phantasmagorical Jesus freaks. But the true beauty of “Mandy” is its intimacy; it’s as beautiful as looking into the eyes of your loved one as you both lie in bed, no one else existing in the world.

“Mandy” also features an unforgettable Nicolas Cage scene, in which he downs a whole bottle of vodka in a bathroom while standing in his underpants. He’s crying, howling, screaming. It epitomizes the appeal of one our greatest screen artists—that Cage is unafraid to tap into the absurd emotions we sometimes wish we could—and it pushes the surrealism of the scene to sincere and complete heartbreak. I’m placing “Mandy” in my proverbial “In Case of Loss, Break Glass” collection, right next to a copy of Philip Roth’s Everyman.

4. “Leave No Trace”

I really love what my colleagues have written about Debra Granik’s story of a PTSD-afflicted father living off the grid with his young daughter, but one of my favorite qualities of this nearly pitch-perfect story is that it’s not what you think: it’s not about them living in the woods, but adapting to our society, a story that takes place after what only seems like the true narrative. The completely soulful performances from Ben Foster and Thomasin Harcourt McKenzie create a family dynamic you don’t want to see disturbed, and through small developments there’s a large unease that capitalism and technology could get in its way. Granik’s script, adapted with Anne Rossellini from Peter Rock’s book, has an incredible rhythm with its bare bones scenes, exploring the greatest of emotional stakes in the most deceptively simple way.

3. “Madeline’s Madeline”

In a sense, “Madeline’s Madeline” is a movie that was made for its debut lead, Helena Howard. You understand, about thirty seconds into the film, why Howard warrants her own project, and why a filmmaker like Josephine Decker would mix her own experimental and primal instincts with the talents of her future young star. “Madeline’s Madeline” is delightfully beyond words—describing it as a film about acting and actors is just scratching the surface—but it’s one of the most year’s most hypnotic movies, especially as Decker’s camera toys with point-of-view and takes an approach to editing that is unlike any other film from 2018.

2. “Shirkers”

I spent much of my Sundance last January recommending to people a little documentary called “Shirkers,” and ramped up that practice when it came out on Netflix this past October. Believe the hype for this movie, which just took our #6 spot on the staff list, and is one of the few docs that has been making waves on #FilmTwitter. It’s both a celebration of and a mystery movie about the lost treasure of a film project that Tan directed as a teenager in 1990s Singapore with her friends, which then disappeared along with her pushy filmmaking mentor, an older white man named Georges, before the film was finished. “Shirkers” has Tan investigating what happened to the project and looking back at her life when she was a teenager making her cool-as-hell film that predates the style of "Ghost World" and Wes Anderson. Perhaps best of all, Tan shares with us the filmmaking daydreams, and the collaborating women, that fueled such an enigmatic passion project.

1. “Hereditary”

I believe “If Beale Street Could Talk” director Barry Jenkins put it best when he once tweeted to “Hereditary” writer/director Ari Aster, “GIVE ME BACK MY PEACEFUL SLEEP,” followed by six crying emojis. Speaking as someone who has now seen Aster’s masterful debut five times (including an experimental, not recommended double feature at the theater with Fred Rogers doc “Won’t You Be My Neighbor?”) I can only affirm the lasting power of “Hereditary” and its perfection as a modern American family tragedy that uses horror language in order to devastate its viewers.

There are so many elements to cherish about the film, including its exact creepiness with slow-moving shots and deceptively long takes, a score by Colin Stetson that peacefully conjures the devil, and the way that while a first viewing may inspire one to watch it through their fingers, "Hereditary" only gets more disturbing with each viewing. And all of this for a horror film that’s about a household that doesn’t discuss trauma, or about a family plot that’s a highway to hell. Most importantly, however, is the emotional magnitude brought by the likes of Toni Collette, whose viciousness as the central mother can rival the terror of Joan Crawford proclaiming “No more wire hangers” in “Mommie Dearest,” and Alex Wolff, depicting the shattered, silenced nature of trauma.

"Hereditary" is in the tradition of disturbing films like Kubrick’s “The Shining” or Zulawski’s “Possession"—it's equal parts terrifying and exhilarating, scarring a viewer with the emotional turmoil that's in the foreground. Aster's film messed me up in more ways than one in 2018, and it hurts so damn good.

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