#trying to keep myself calm until i inevitably shut down from something minor in the afternoon and the intrusive s/h thoughts drive me insane | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wondernimbus · 4 years

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veritaserum — draco malfoy

pairing: draco malfoy x female!reader

request: Hi I want to request a Draco Malfoy x Ravenclaw reader please! a spell gone wrong makes Malfoy can say nothing but the truth throughout the day. Scared but too embarrassed to approach a teacher, he decided to go to y/n instead because she’s the top student of their charms class to help undo the spell but what he didn’t consider is how he would later straight out confess his attraction towards her, going on and on about her hair, her eyes, etc and they just share a heart-to-heart moment

a/n: i did Not proofread this so i apologize in advance if there r any typos!! also i made a v minor change to the req but other than that bon appetit

Someone spiked Draco's morning pumpkin juice.

It would have been really helpful if he'd noticed it before he laughed at Snape's face and called him a greasy git, after which his eyes grew comically wide and and he tried to hurriedly apologize (more out of fear for his parents than Snape)—only for his mouth to tell Snape to "go wash your hair for bloody once".

Veritaserum. Someone put blithering Veritaserum in his drink, and now he can't open his mouth without spitting out several of his deepest, darkest secrets.

"Two points from Slytherin for your uncharacteristic and very offensive behavior, mister Malfoy," Snape had sneered. "I will only tolerate this foolery once. The next time you dare to speak to me like that, I will not hesitate to treat you the same way I would treat any other student."

Draco would have tried to defend himself, but he isn't stupid enough to let another truthful insult slip out by accident, so he'd kept his mouth shut and nodded.

If one were to go into detail, they would tell you about how Draco had tried to ask Madame Pomfrey to help undo the potion's effects only to severely insult the poor old lady's hair, and how he'd also tried to ask McGonagall only to admit the fact that he'd cheated on her transfiguration test two years ago. He has insulted every single person he has tried to talk to so far during the day. He's called Crabbe an illiterate oaf, told a random Gryffindor couple passing by that they look absolutely dreadful together (something that he doesn't really regret blurting out, but he could have lived without letting them know), and admitted to Professor Flitwick that he'd paid someone to do most of his essays.

But if one were to put it simply, they would go like this: Draco is in a dilemma, and he needs help, fast.

Except he has severely offended every single person he has tried to ask for help, and will no doubt do the same for anyone he plans on asking. Draco is desperate. He is halfway through the school day and the effects of the truth serum have yet to wear off. At this rate, he's going to lose all of his friends, as well as lose his teachers' favor.

Draco can't ask a teacher in fear that all of his good grades will slip from his grasp at a single (honest) insult. He can't stick it out for the rest of the day, either, because when he spends too long a time not talking to anyone, it seems that the truth potion grows impatient and starts making him blurt out a bunch of his innermost secrets.

He has already shouted "I peed my pants when I was eight" in the Great Hall; there is no time to waste.

Potions class comes around right after breakfast and brings with it the inevitable need to face Snape again. Uncharacteristically enough, Draco doesn't swagger into the dreary dungeon classroom. Instead, he keeps his head down as he perches himself on his usual seat right—which is, of course, right in front of Snape's desk.

When the last of the students have filed in and Snape closes the dungeon door shut to begin the lesson, he makes sure to fix Draco with a long stare; one that Draco only holds for several seconds before he sniffs and casts his eyes away to look at his desk instead. You'd think that a Potions master would be able to tell when someone was under the influence of a truth potion—but then again Snape might also have known, but was too offended by Draco's jab about his hair.

He looks up sometime along the lesson and catches sight of the light reflecting off of Snape's greasy hair; well, Draco had been telling the truth.

For today's lesson, they're tasked to brew some sort of calming draught. Draco can't entrust Goyle—his partner—to even as much as get the name of the potion right, so Draco shoots the poor boy a familiar scowl and proceeds to do everything on his own. But Draco is no Potions expert, so instead of the faint lilac hue the liquid inside their cauldron is supposed to have turned into, it becomes a violently bubbling pink substance.

"Four slices of the bat spleen, mister Malfoy, not five," Snape drawls, peering down at Draco's cauldron through his hooked nose. "And you have been too heavy-handed on the lavender. Shame. I expected better."

Draco suppresses a sneer. Snape usually never points out his mistakes—that sort of treatment is reserved for other houses. Snape, it seems, took his insult to heart, the greasy-haired bloke.

Feeling severely irked, Draco slumps down in his seat, folds his arms over his chest, and stops trying entirely. He may be acting like a sulky five-year-old but so be it because Draco is not in the mood. He has humiliated his own self far too many times in one day (and been humiliated by Snape approximately ten seconds ago)—he wants this day over, fast, and with any luck, the Veritaserum out of his system by the end of it.

But he can't see how, so Draco does the only thing that he can do to help himself: he keeps his mouth shut.

The annoyance on his face shows as he surveys the dungeon room with a sour glare. Stupid Potter and Weasley are laughing over something at their shared table; why isn't Snape telling them off? Bloody slimeball. How dare he even speak to Draco like that? It's not like Draco lied. He has never seen anyone in such dire need of shampoo as Snape.

Draco shoots the back of his head a nasty glare from where he's standing all the way on the other side of the room, looming over a table of two Ravenclaws. One of them looks bored and the other seemingly immersed in potion-making; her movements are quick and precise as she pours one ingredient after the other into their cauldron with the same kind of effort Draco would put into making his afternoon tea—like what she's doing is an absolute piece of cake.

"Sit up, mister Corner," says Snape curtly, voice echoing throughout the dungeon and ceasing all chatter as he fixes the bored-looking Ravenclaw with a stony gaze. Draco recognizes him now—Michael Corner, some annoying half-blood he shares a few classes with. As for the girl beside him.. Draco tries to angle his head to see her properly, but her head is bowed over her cauldron and her hair blocks her face from view. "If you think you'll be getting the same outstanding grade as miss [Y/L/N] without even as much as lifting your pinky finger, then I assure you, you are terribly mistaken. I do not tolerate free riders."

[Y/N]. Draco knows her. Some Ravenclaw he has several classes with but has never spoken to—the one with the pretty eyes, Draco vaguely recalls himself thinking at one point, back when he'd first laid eyes on her. And truth be told her eyes are pretty; a lovely shade of [Y/E/C] that Draco has only seen up close once or twice.

But that is hardly the topic of concern, because if Draco turns his head just the right way and sits up a little straighter, he can see that the liquid inside of her cauldron has turned a glossy shade of faint lilac, which, according to the instructions written on the board, is what is exactly supposed to happen. [Y/N] finishes faster than anyone else, even Hermione Granger, and Draco sees Snape give her an appraising nod before moving on to criticize some other innocent student.

So it seems Snape isn't the only Potions expert in the room.

He perks up a little in his seat and fixes the Ravenclaw girl—[Y/N]—with a discreet stare out of the corner of his eye. [Y/N] sits down properly in her seat so that Draco gets a good view of her face (not a bad-looking one, an annoying little voice says inside his head). She hasn't even broken out in a sweat—it seems that potion-making isn't as difficult for her as it is for other people. Draco pictures the truth serum in his veins quivering in fear (although physically impossible) because he is pretty certain he's found the answer to his dilemma.

The rest of the class passes by annoyingly slow—or at least for Draco—because it seems like ages until Snape finally dismisses them for lunchtime. Draco just about jumps right out of his seat and strides straight towards [Y/N], who is currently in the process of stuffing her books inside her bag.

Draco clears his throat.

She turns around, and he's suddenly reminded of why he'd dubbed her as "the one with the pretty eyes", because she truly does live up to the name. Her eyes are strikingly [Y/E/C]; even the whites of her eyes look like they're tinted with gold. He finds himself incapable of speech for a brief moment, but then she raises her eyebrows and offers him a grimace of a smile, and Draco is back to himself again.

He opens his mouth to say "brew me something that'll stop me from blurting out the truth every bloody second" but instead what comes out is: "I've never spoken to you before but that's mostly because I have an irrational fear that I haven't quite admitted to myself yet which is that I'm scared of talking to pretty girls in fear that they'll reject me and my pride will be in tatters."

There's a split-second in which Draco stands there, his own words not having sunken into him yet, and then his face slacks.

[Y/N] stares at him, evidently baffled. And then she opens her mouth, eyebrows furrowed in apparent bewilderment, and says, "Um," she swallows, forcing out an awkward laugh as she takes a step back. "Wow. Okay. Thank you..?"

If Draco had been thinking straight—if he hadn't been so flustered and if he wasn't rushing to take back his words—he would have probably paused, realized that talking would have made the situation worse, and left. But Draco is flustered and he isn't thinking straight, so instead he opens his mouth to take his words back only for the following words to leave his mouth in a rapid burst: "Your eyes are a really lovely shade of [Y/E/C] and you have a beautiful smile and I've never heard you laugh before but I bet my inheritance that it's one of the loveliest sounds to ever exist."

[Y/N] looks flabbergasted more than ever. She doesn’t even look flustered—just utterly confused. For a few seconds, all she does is stare at him, frowning.

And then, looking as though she wants to thank him but not entirely sure it would be appropriate, her gaze darts away from his momentarily before she purses her lips. Excruciatingly slowly, she repeats, “Your.. inheritance.”

Draco grits his teeth.

Apparently there are several truths that the Veritaserum in his system thinks appropriate to reveal to [Y/N]—truths that even he hadn't been fully aware of. He opens his mouth, thinks better of it, and closes it again. At that moment he catches sight of the quill and parchment in her hands that [Y/N] had been in the process of stuffing into her bag; hurriedly, he grabs it from her (much to a surprised [Y/N]) and begins to write down the following words (seriously, why hadn't he thought of this before?): accidentally drank truth potion, brew me a remedy.

He practically shoves the parchment into her hands. Still looking wildly confused, she takes it from him with the cautiousness of someone being handed a firecracker. Her eyes dance across the words on the paper for no more than two seconds before she looks back up at him; realization slowly floods her face and her eyebrows rise even higher as she mouths, mostly to herself, "Truth potion."

Draco nods, eyes darting around the classroom. most of the class has already left. Snape is at his desk, fixing the two of them with a frosty stare. When Draco meets his gaze, Snape flicks his eyebrows up at him and asks, in that same drawling voice Draco despises today, "I was under the impression that lunch time meant all students had to be at the Great Hall."

Draco's brain doesn't operate well when he's annoyed—that's something he's realized today. Against his better judgment, he opens his mouth to sneer a retort without even pausing to think about the fact that he might blurt out some other offensive truth, but [Y/N] cuts him off and says, "I'm sorry, professor, but Malfoy's asked me to help him with homework and I thought it'd be nice to help him." She stuffs the piece of parchment into her robe and side-steps Draco so that he's not blocking her from Snape's view. "Would it be okay if we stayed here for lunchtime?"

Snape's lip curls in apparent amusement. Staring at Draco, he drawls, "That’s quite convenient. I had been thinking of assigning mister Malfoy a tutor; it seems he's been having trouble holding his tongue—alas," his mouth twists into a sneer, "I meant potion-making. Forgive me."

And then he heads to the dungeon door, leaving Draco behind to stare at his greasy head on his way out.

[Y/N] purses her lips, cheek twitching with the threat of a smirk. "I’m guessing you've offended him somehow? Veritaserum and all?"

Draco opens his mouth again—really, remembering to keep it shut is easier said than done—and instead of the reply he'd been intending on saying, what slips past his lips is: "Has anyone told you you're one of the prettiest—"

"Okay!" [Y/N] 's eyes widen and she rushes to clamp her hand over Draco’s mouth, looking actually flustered now. "Okay—stop. Just.." Slowly, she pries her hand away from his lips, movements cautious, and Draco stares at her, body completely rigid as he registers the fact that they're a mere few inches away from each other and she'd just put her hand over his bloody lips. And this is the first time they've ever spoken to each other.

"I’ll brew you the remedy," she says, grimacing. There seems to be a hint of a faint pink blush spreading across her cheeks, but that could just be because the dungeon lighting is poor. She turns on her heel and makes her way to the ingredients cabinet all the way on the other side of the room, calling over her shoulder to Draco, "Just sit tight there—and keep it zipped before you say anything you don't mean."

The last part she says in a quieter tone, but Draco catches her words anyway and he finds himself thinking that maybe he did mean them.

Because [Y/N] is pretty—prettier than most. She’s not breathtakingly beautiful, but there's something about her that seems to have always drawn Draco, though he might not have ever thought much of it. Maybe it's why he always finds himself staring at her whenever they come across each other in the hallway. Maybe it's why he'd thought of asking her to the Yule Ball last year, but chickened out at the last moment.

He leans on the desk, arms folded across his chest whilst watching [Y/N] rummage through the ingredients cupboard. A moment later she turns around bearing an armful of different potion vials.

Draco means to ask her if she needs help carrying them (because yes, he may regularly be a prick but he has common courtesy). Instead, the Veritaserum still inside his bloodstream urges him to say, "I wish I’d asked you to the Yule Ball last year instead of Pansy."

He freezes.

At that moment, Draco swears to himself that he will inflict pain onto whoever poured Veritaserum into his pumpkin juice. He will have his revenge—no matter what it takes—and although he hasn't quite figured out how exactly he'll be doing it, all Draco knows is that he will.

He can't bring himself to look at [Y/N] any longer, so he plays it off by picking up a book on the desk he's leaning on and rifling through it. It only takes him a moment to realize that it's [Y/N]'s; her name is written across the bottom of the cover. Almost every page Draco flips through has tiny scribbles written in-between the lines—countless of notes, it seems, but so many of them that the actual text is almost indiscernible. Draco almost snorts. [Y/N] seems to be the quintessential Ravenclaw, if he has ever seen one.

She sets down the potions onto the desk, Draco still flipping through the pages. "I’d ask you how you accidentally drank Veritaserum," she says casually, "But I don't want you fawning over me even more than you already have."

Draco glances at her out of the corner of his eye. She’s in the process of uncorking two of the vials, both of which she pours into the now steaming cauldron. Whatever, he thinks to himself, rolling his eyes in an effort to convince himself that he's not embarrassed (even though he totally is: he's bloody blushing).

But then again, whatever. He’s totally not flustered. Totally.

Draco reaches the final few pages of [Y/N]'s Potions textbook without having even registered most of the ones he'd flipped through. The last two pages, like every other book, are completely blank save for the—

Draco's eyebrows furrow. There are drawings of all sorts on the back pages of her textbook, from cauldrons and brass scales to places in the castle that Draco recognizes.

But what has him most intrigued is the faces, all drawn so vividly and with so much detail they look as though they had been brought to life on paper. Draco sees Snape’s deprecating sneer and Michael Corner’s familiar face of boredom, sees Hermione Granger with her brows knitted together at the middle as she leans over her cauldron, Ron and Harry with their heads bowed over a piece of parchment—and then he sees himself, arms crossed over his chest as he fixes something with a stony gaze. But the more Draco’s eyes explore the pages, the more of himself he sees. There’s him slicing what looks like a dragon heart, scowling at someone that looks like Goyle, and another one of him smirking—

And then the book is snatched from his grasp by none other than [Y/N] who looks wildly panicky. "You—I—" she blubbers, gaping at him for a moment before whipping around, turning her back on him as she stuffs the book into her backpack. "How much did you see?"

Slowly, a grin breaks out on Draco’s face. "Enough," he says—and apparently it's the truth, because it's what he actually meant to say. A little surprised, he tries his luck again and means to say so you draw? But instead what leaves his lips is something so excruciatingly blunt and embarrassing part of him wants to dive under the table and hide there for the rest of his life: "I’m assuming because you've drawn me more than anyone else that you find me attractive so I’m going to go ahead and thank you for that, but unfortunately you're a half-blood so I might have to get my parents' permission before I think of asking you out."

A moment of silence, only interrupted by the sound of the antidote bubbling. Draco has to physically suppress himself from diving straight into the cauldron and never coming back out.

[Y/N] scoffs a little, uselessly fanning her face with her hand like doing so will somehow rid her of the blush on her cheeks. Draco grits his teeth and fixes his gaze on the stone floor, refusing to meet her gaze.

She clears her throat in an attempt to quell the sudden burst of suffocating awkwardness now resting between the two of them. Not quite looking at him, she peers into her cauldron and mutters, "I just like to draw all sorts of things. People, as you've seen," she adds, pressing her lips together abashedly. Draco watches her out out of the corner of his eye, lips twitching. "And I don't find you attractive. You just have.. a nice face. For drawing, I mean. It comes out nice on paper."

Draco’s eyebrows flick up of their own accord. He has a nice face. Are those butterflies he feels in his stomach, or is it just the Veritaserum?

It takes no more than a minute or two of silent awkwardness before the antidote is finally finished brewing and [Y/N] pours it into a small vial, which she hands to Draco.

Draco eyes it skeptically, holding the vial up to the light and swirling it around a little. It definitely doesn't look pleasant; a stark contrast to the clear hue of Veritaserum, the antidote is a murky brown in color and vaguely reminds Draco of mud and manure.

You expect me to drink this? Draco means to ask, but instead says, "You have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen."

And just like that, Draco, exasperated and embarrassed out of his mind, uncorks the vial and takes a large swig.

The feeling of the liquid sloshing down his throat is an unpleasant one; he coughs a little, face scrunching up with disgust as he swallows down the last of the antidote. But not long after the vial is emptied, a tingly feeling spreads from his fingertips to his entire body and has him feeling weightless for a few moments before it fades and Draco feels normal again.

He sets the vial down on the table, rubbing his throat. When he looks up, he sees [Y/N] already cleaning up, throwing away the empty glass vials and emptying the cauldron with a single flick of her wand. She’s taking all of her things and shoving them into her bag, and Draco watches as she slings it over her shoulder and makes for the door—

“You’re leaving?” says Draco without really thinking about it. “Already?”

She stops in her tracks and turns around, already a few feet away from him. Eyebrows raised, lips twitching up at the side just the slightest bit, she shrugs. “Well, yes,” she purses her lips. “Was there something else you wanted me to brew?”

Draco’s hand comes up to scratch the back of his neck. “No,” he says hastily. But he hadn’t been expecting her to leave so soon—not after his, ah, countless confessions.

What had he been expecting, though?

“Well, I’ll be going now,” [Y/N] says slowly, a little awkwardly, gesturing to the door. Draco watches her as she takes a backwards step away from him—but he knows a chance when he sees one, so he blurts out, “D’you wanna go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?”

Her eyebrows rise even higher as a genuine look of surprise floods her features. Draco doesn’t know what the bloody hell he’s onto, but whether or not he regrets it is entirely up to [Y/N]’s answer.

She lets out a breathless laugh, looking dubious. “You’re being serious?”

Draco stares at her for a little while—Merlin, she really does have pretty eyes—and then he shrugs a casual shoulder, nodding.

She narrows her eyes at him suspiciously, but there's still that hint of a faint smile resting on her lips. Draco finds himself wishing he’d see her do it more often—in front of him, and not halfway across the classroom. She feigns a look of contemplation, tilting her head at him, now full-on smiling in a manner Draco thinks might be playful. (Alright, those are definitely butterflies in his stomach.) "And what d'you have to offer?" she asks him, eyebrows raised.

It’s Draco’s turn to narrow his eyes at her, unable to suppress the tiny smile that slides across his face. He pauses to think about his answer first, all the while holding her impish gaze, before finally shrugging and saying, "My company. And not everyone gets to enjoy that," he adds as an afterthought, and it's true—Draco is very picky with who he graces with his presence.

But then [Y/N] replies, "Well, not everyone gets to enjoy mine, either," and her tone is almost challenging. Draco, for some reason, finds himself on tenterhooks. Something about her is drawing him in; he can't quite decide whether it's her coyness or her eyes. Likely both.

Severely amused, he leans on the desk and inclines his head a little towards her. "So would you do me the honor of blessing me with your company this weekend?”

There’s a beat of silence—this time not at all awkward—as they stare at each other, a sort of tension between them that Draco finds himself enjoying. And it's a blessing that she breaks it because if it had stretched on for any longer Draco would have lost himself in her eyes completely; “Alright. Sure. No harm to it,” says [Y/N] with a light laugh, nodding.

Draco’s lips break out into a grin and he nods, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. "Maybe you can tell me more about your drawings. Well,” he pauses, brows raised teasingly. "Drawings of me, to be specific."

She lets out a scoff, rolling her eyes, but she's laughing. "Okay—and maybe you can tell me about how much you love my eyes."

Draco’s face falls. [Y/N] grins, beginning to walk towards the dungeon doors. "I’ll see you around," she sings, and her back is turned but Draco can hear the smile in her voice. Just before she disappears into the corridor, she pauses at the doorway and looks back at Draco, and her eyes are positively sparkling. "Try not to get lost in my eyes too much. Wouldn’t want you tripping over yourself."

With one last playful grin, she leaves the Potions classroom.

And while, just a few minutes ago, Draco had been prepared to get revenge on whoever put Veritaserum in his pumpkin juice, now he feels like thanking them.

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stxrshxpxd · 3 years

Text

professor (part 2) x 90s!damon

part 1

pairing: 90s damon albarn x reader

word count: 2.254

warnings: smut (professor x adult student)

* * *

The next day was calm. I wasn’t in Damon’s class all day, nor did I see him in the halls. The day after that I got an awful headache halfway through the day and missed his lecture. For a minute I began to think that the universe was actively trying to keep us apart after our inappropriate encounter. But then I made it to class the next day and so did he and we were once again in the same room.

He looked even better than normal. He wore his usual dark trousers and belt but this time he had an all black button up. And he looked as if he hadn’t shaved his short stubble since the other day. The biggest difference was that he was wearing a pair of glasses. He had worn them a few times before but they had never looked as sexy as they did now.

It took a while before he dared to look me in the eye, but at last he did in the middle of a speech about J.D. Salinger. His eyes stayed on me for a few seconds and then carried on to look at the other students.

I was still not taking notes. I couldn’t focus on anything he was saying. All I kept wondering was if he was going to deny our interaction or if he was, in fact, constantly thinking about me while he praised his beloved authors.

The lecture inevitably came to an end and I stalled as long as I could folding up my books, watching as the other students left one by one. Once we were left alone Damon turned around and sat on the edge of his desk. We were in the same position we had been a few days ago with similar tension in the air.

I didn’t want to be the first one to speak — I had absolutely no idea what to say — so I sat in silence and mirrored his small smile.

“God,” he sighed in a chuckle, looked around the room swiftly and then let his eyes rest on me again. “There’s no way we can continue doing this, Y/N,” he informed me.

“You sound like you want to,” I said, leaning in over my desk.

He really did. It seemed to pain him to have to decline another round with me.

“It’s not a question of whether I want to or not,” he said. “There’s not even a question,” He corrected himself immediately and walked around his desk. I allowed myself a scan of his body. His broad back, his hips that were tightly hugged by his belt, the modest bulge in his trousers.

“We’re both adults. You’re only a few years older than me. It’s legal.”

“It’s strictly against the university’s code of conduct that a professor sleeps with a student. I could lose my job.”

Damon kept his head lowered and pretended to be busy sorting through papers on his desk. The narcissist in me was taken aback by the fact that he wasn’t willing to jeopardise his career for sex with me, but I shut her down quickly. I understood his situation, of course I did, but I just couldn’t give up without a fight.

“But it’s after hours. And no one has to find out. Doors have locks for a reason.”

Damon laughed at my persistence. He let his head hang low between his shoulders as he propped his body up with his closed fists pressing into the top of the desk. I knew his skinny, yet defined, arms looked so good under his solid black shirt. It drove me insane that I couldn’t see more of his skin.

“Don’t you like my outfit?”

I turned around on my chair so that the side of my leg was facing him. I was wearing a skirt that reached my mid thighs, a pair of white sneakers and a chunky oversized sweater. Damon looked up and stared at my legs for longer than he had probably initially planned. It gave a boost to my ego.

“This comes off like that,” I explained and snapped my fingers, referring to my large sweater. Damon took his eyes off my exposed legs and locked eyes with me, contemplating his decision. I took the opportunity to show him just how swiftly the sweater could be removed, and I pulled it over my head.

“See.”

It laid in front of me on my desk and Damon’s eyes flickered down to look at my thin bra, then at the closed door to his right, then back to my chest, and then up to meet my eyes again.

“Don’t make me beg,” I whined with a pout. A long silence ensued. It was so quiet that I could practically hear his conflicting thoughts. Lust was battling rationality in his mind as he chewed on the inside of his cheek.

“But I like it when you beg,” Damon finally spoke. It was quiet but delivered steadily and wrapped in his silky smooth voice. A tingly feeling, accompanied by a sharp inhale, spread through my abdomen, and I sat upright.

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

Confidence overtook me and I left my seat, made my way over to his desk and was met with slow exhales that hit my face at a regular pace. Damon flexed his jaw continually and stayed still, his closed fists still glued to the top of his desk.

“Please, sir,” I resorted to a whisper. Something primal had taken hold of my brain and was making all my decisions for me.

“I can’t stop thinking about your body. And our.. our bodies together.”

Another long couple of seconds passed of Damon deep in contemplation. A moment later he let his gaze fall to the desk as he relaxed one his fists and patted the smooth wooden surface. That small gesture alone made my mind and body act up in a way I could’ve never anticipated.

I climbed up and sat with my legs folded, my heels digging into the very tops of my back thighs. Finally Damon had caved and given in to his urges, now holding both my cheeks and pressing our lips together. I felt him suck in and hold a deep breath as my fingertips trembled around the buckle of his belt.

People could faintly be heard from outside the classroom, which made everything so much more wrong and so much more exciting.

“I have to lock the door,” Damon said, the first half of the sentence muffled as he was pulling away from the kiss. His belt, half undone, slipped out of my hands as he marched away to the corner of the room.

“Take that skirt off,” he muttered, turning his head back towards me, and he wiped his lips lazily with the base of his thumb. Everything he did left a deep mark in my brain, and I had a few in-depth thoughts about his mouth and thumb and whole hand as I struggled to take my skirt off.

Once off, that mouth and thumb and hand were back again. A wet kiss was placed on my jaw and a steady hold on my waist was established. I returned the favour with an equally wet couple of kisses down his neck and my hands finding their way back to his hips.

Damon’s belt fell to the floor and my bra bands fell down the sides of my arms. Soon after his trousers hit the floor, and my bra was fully off within seconds. I eagerly pushed Damon’s shirt up his torso in an attempt to rid his body of it without unbuttoning it. He laughed quietly at my enthusiasm and grabbed my wrists gently.

“Hold on, love,” he laughed and I sighed in a chuckle as well. My hands settled on his lower stomach for a moment and I accepted a sweet kiss on my lips while Damon swiftly unbuttoned his shirt.

“Go on,” he purred. I opened my eyes to find him shirtless in front of me. A small smile was placed on his soft lips.

I kissed down his chest and stomach and didn’t hesitate much before stripping his underwear off his body.

His breaths grew heavier and louder when suddenly my hand held the base of his cock and my lips hungrily wrapped around his tip. Damon took half a step backwards and held onto the whiteboard behind him.

“Fucking hell, Y/N,” he breathed, trying his best to keep his voice down.

Confidence once again took over everything inside me and I couldn’t help but smirk as I licked a stripe up his growing erection. I caught him between my lips again and hollowed my cheeks, taking him deeper and deeper in my mouth.

“I think this would be worth losing my job over,” Damon admitted and I laughed momentarily while catching my breath.

“But, god,” Damon sighed, tucking my hair behind my ear. “You’re gonna make me come before you want me to if you keep that up.”

He pushed me back and his right hand fell to my left hip. He let his palm sprawl out across my hip and his thumb began slowly rubbing my clit. He kissed me again and his hot tongue met mine.

“Sir-“ I began begging again — because everything he did only made me more excited for his next move — but he smothered my sentence by kissing me harder. It seemed he, too, was very eager. That beautiful nose of his was pressed into my face now and his glasses grazed my skin.

“Shh,” he whispered, pulling back for a second. When he kissed me again I could feel the wide smirk on his damp lips against mine. Most of all I could feel his extremely skilled thumb still massaging my clit, now having slid under the soft fabric of my underwear.

“I want you completely naked.”

Damon’s whispers sent goosebumps racing up my back and down my limbs. On wobbly legs — and displeased to have his fingers far away from me — I hopped off the desk and shimmied out of my underwear quickly.

I felt my heartbeat in every vein of my body as I kicked my last piece of clothing to the side and eagerly stepped out of my loosely tied sneakers. I visibly let my gaze stick to everything but Damon’s eyes.

His hand reached out to hold mine as he turned both of us around and sat down on his chair, which had been left out of the equation until now. He gave a nod, as if to say “come here”, and I obeyed.

Straddling him, my heartbeat increased further and I was convinced he could hear my pulse at this point. I let a quiet moan out as I sat down and felt his cock begin to fill me up.

“You’re very wet for me, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” I answered in a whimper and I planted my palms on his chest. It was broad and sturdy and warm. I felt his heart beat persistently against my right hand. It was almost as fast as mine.

An exhale of his name fell from my lips. He instantly made a sound of displeasure and, in the form of a minor punishment, dug his fingertips deep into the flesh on my hips. I thrived off the feeling of him having his way with me.

“Sir!.. Sorry,” I corrected and apologised. Damon’s fingers relaxed a tad but he continuously held a steady grip on my hips as I rocked them back and forth.

“Professor Albarn,” I tried my luck and instantly earned a small grin from him.

“That works,” he purred.

Damon bucked his hips and made me pick up the pace. I gladly did, as the tingly feeling built up inside me. I crashed my forehead into the top of his chair and I tried to contain my sounds, letting them pour right into his ear.

“I know, sweetheart,” Damon murmured in an oddly reassuring, but incredibly sexy, response. His large hand was laid across my back and I instantly felt sweat pearls begin to form under it.

Just as he placed his lips on my neck and sucked a harsh kiss into my skin my body exploded in a prolonged orgasm. I snaked my hands up to gently hold his face and wriggled my head up to rest my forehead against his, as I twitched my way down from my high.

I opened my eyes for the first time in a while and was met with Damon’s gorgeous face. It was hot and the apples of cheeks were tinted red. His glasses had fallen a bit from the root of his nose.

“Fuck,” he cursed and grimaced.

Everything of mine was sensitive and almost hurt, but I wanted to bring him to his edge. And, to be honest, his hushed noises and tensed muscles made me want to continue for hours.

“You’re so- ugh,” he huffed and let another couple curse words out.

Suddenly he half lifted half pushed me off of him and just seconds later came on my lower stomach. He wiped a thin layer of sweat from his left brow and found eye contact with me again. A crooked smile broke out on his face and a beautiful breathy laugh filled the space between us.

“You’re incredibly persuasive,” Damon commented and I laughed as I slid off his lap.

“Any regrets?” I asked in defence.

”None.”

#its the middle of the night as im finishing and proof reading this so bear with me lol #damon albarn #blur #graham coxon #dave rowntree #alex james #britpop #90s #imagine #fic #au #blurb #smut #fluff #angst #damon albarn x reader

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spencersstrawberryjello · 3 years

Text

Inside Scoop (Chapter Two)

Chapter Two - Someone Wants To Kill Me

Previous Chapter < - > Next Chapter

Chapter Summary: After being taken into the police station for further questioning, Hotch reveals some shocking information about the case.

Chapter Warnings: Swearing, minor panic attack, descriptions of case-related violence (please let me know if I missed anything)

Word Count: 2563

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Today was full of firsts for me.

For example: I never imagined that I would be awaiting an FBI agent to come interview me in a police interrogation room.

I was saved from my inevitable breakdown by Agent Hotchner entering, swinging the door shut behind him.

“Dahlia Silvers, I presume?” He asked.

It was a bit of a ridiculous question, but I nodded anyway. He took a seat in front of me, his hands clasped together on the table.

“You know you’re here by your own free will, and you’re free to leave at any time, correct?”

I nodded, unable to process what was going on well enough to speak.

“Alright. Why don’t you start from the beginning: what did you see?”

I sucked in a deep breath before speaking, telling Hotch pretty much the same thing that I told the police officer who’d asked me at the crime scene. He listened attentively the entire time, not speaking until I sat back in my chair, finished.

“Ok. So you didn’t see anybody else in the area?” He asked. I shook my head.

“It was raining, the streets were empty. I’m sure I saw some cars drive by, but I can’t remember off the top of my head anyone looking suspicious.”

“Alright. I wanted to walk you through something called a ‘cognitive interview.’ It’s essentially a mental exercise that’ll take you back to the scene of the crime, and allow you to notice things that you might not remember.”

I’d heard of this before, but I’d never done one. Honestly, I was curious to know what it was, so I nodded. He encouraged me to think back to the event, allowing me to get into that headspace before he began asking questions.

“So, the first thing you saw was the purse, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Ok - do you see the woman’s body?”

Mentally, I turned to look down the alley, seeing the gruesome scene I’d witnessed only an hour ago.

“Yes.”

“Ok. Now, I need you to look around the area. Do you see any cameras?”

“Cameras?”

“Yes. Possibly security cameras on the walls, or something more discreet, like a camera in one of the nearby windows.”

I was confused, but I looked around, seeing nothing like what he described.

“No, I don’t see any cameras.”

“Ok. How about the street? Look at the cars driving by. Are any of them driving slower than the rest, or do any of them look suspicious in any way?”

I looked towards the street, taking note of the cars that I saw. For a second, I was about to say no, before I noticed a black SUV driving down the street significantly slower than the rest of the passing cars.

“Wait - yeah, there’s a SUV. It’s black, it’s in the lane nearest to me and driving way slower than the speed limit; maybe they wanted to stop and help?”

“Did you see the license plate on the car?”

I focused on the memory, but when I tried to see any details, it was just blurry. “No, I can’t tell. I guess I didn’t really notice it earlier.”

“Ok. You can open your eyes now.”

I did so, momentarily blinded by the fluorescent lights of the interrogation room. When my eyes adjusted, Hotch was looking at me with a grim expression.

“So, why’d you want to know the car license plate?”

He sighed, contemplating something for a moment before he spoke.

“Since the first murder, we’ve been able to pick up on the unsub’s pattern.”

“Wait, that’s good, right? It means it’ll be easier to catch them?”

“It should. Whoever is doing this, though… they’re good. They’ve managed to commit three murders without leaving any trace at all.”

“What’s their pattern? If you don’t mind me asking.”

I had relaxed a bit after the interview, knowing that I wasn’t in here as anything but a witness.

That relaxation ended after I heard what he had to say, though.

“The pattern we’ve noticed is related to who they kill. Dahlia… they’re targeting the people who discover their crime scenes.”

For a second, I thought I might’ve misheard him.

“What?” I stuttered out, too in shock to process what he’d said.

“Every time after the first, the victim was the person who’d discovered the crime scene.

You’re the first person to call it in, actually. That’s why we didn’t figure it out until just now… Prentiss called me when they arrived, confirming that the most recent victim was the woman that discovered the last crime scene - Kate Johnson. She didn’t call it in, but her friend came in last night to inform us that Kate had told her what she witnessed. Her friend thought she should tell us, but Kate refused. So she came herself.”

Now I was the one listening with rapt attention, desperate for more information. He continued, explaining what they’d done in the last twenty-four hours.

“When her friend came in, we rushed to find Kate, but she’d already disappeared. We had no idea where she was taken, but… well, I guess it doesn’t matter now. The second victim - the man who discovered the first crime scene - was a homeless man, and people who knew him said he didn’t report it because we might’ve thought it was him. So we had our suspicions on the pattern, but they were confirmed with this most recent murder. Which is why I had Prentiss bring you in.”

My hands were shaking, my brain still trying to process everything he’d told me.

“Why - so why did Agent Prentiss say you guys had other questions for me, then? Why didn’t she just tell me the truth?”

“Well, to be honest, we weren’t sure how you’d react. We wanted to tell you in a controlled setting, not when you were standing right next to a crime scene. Plus, we did have more questions for you.”

“I… fuck.”

I knew I probably shouldn’t swear in front of an FBI agent - professionalism, or something - but the weight of the information I’d learned had finally hit me. I didn’t know what else to do. I put my head in my hands, trying to steady my racing heart and force back the tears threatening to spill down my cheeks.

“I understand this has to be shocking - do you want me to give you a minute?” Hotch asked. I shook my head, raising it only after I was sure my emotions were in check.

“No, no, it’s ok. Just… what am I supposed to do now?”

“Well, we thought the best thing for your safety would be for you to stay here until the unsub is apprehended. We’re hoping that by taking away his target, he’s not going to know what to do, and he’ll slip up.”

“You want me to stay here? At the police station?”

“They have an empty office, and there’s a couch, or space to blow up an inflatable bed if you have one. We know it’s not an ideal, and obviously we’re not going to force you to do anything, but we do believe it’s the best way to ensure you’re completely protected. We could send someone to watch your house, but there are a lot more variables in terms of the unsub breaking in, or situations of that nature.”

I nodded my understanding, knowing that he was right. “Ok. Ok - holy shit - would I be able to go get stuff from my apartment?”

“Of course. We’ll have to send someone with you though; as long as she’s not doing anything, I can have Prentiss escort you, since you two have already become acquainted.”

“That’s fine,” I agreed, “How long do you think I’ll have to stay?”

I was scared to hear the answer, and his sigh wasn’t exactly reassuring.

“We’re really not sure. Hopefully not long, but it all depends on the unsub’s next move. It’s all a waiting game at this point.”

My hands were definitely shaking now, and I nodded again, balling them into fists to try and keep them still. Hotch looked sympathetic, albeit deeply uncomfortable. It wasn’t hard to tell he wasn’t really an emotional guy.

“I have a cat,” I mentioned. I figured I knew the answer to my next question, but I asked it anyway, “I’m assuming I can’t bring her here?”

“Unfortunately, I doubt it.”

I nodded, not expecting him to say yes, but figuring I should at least try. “I’ll get one of my friends to watch her.”

“That’s probably a good idea.” He cleared his throat awkwardly before going, “I’m sorry about all of this. But it really is the best way to protect you.”

“I understand. And I really appreciate what you guys are doing,” My voice sounded small, and I knew that I was on the cusp of a complete breakdown, “Can I go now?”

So far, this had definitely taken the cake for the worst day of my entire life.

“Yes; I’ll tell Prentiss to meet you at the front desk.”

I left the room, mind racing. Making my way to the front desk, I plopped down on a nearby bench and tried to force myself to stay calm.

“Dahlia Silvers?” A voice asked. I looked up, expecting to see Agent Prentiss, but instead I saw a man standing above me.

That man was none other than the same Dr. Reid that I was staring at earlier.

“Oh - yes, hi. Sorry, I was expecting to see Agent Prentiss,” I explained my surprise. He gave me a small half smile, gesturing to the seat next to me. I nodded for him to sit down, knowing there was no chance of getting my heart rate back down to normal now.

“I’m Dr. Spencer Reid, but you can just call me Reid. Or Spencer. Either one, I -” He faltered, clearly trying to get his thoughts in order before speaking again, “Sorry. I just figured that I should introduce myself, given that we’ll likely be seeing more of each other now that you… I’m sorry, I probably shouldn’t -”

“No, it’s fine; honestly, I don’t think I’ve processed it yet. I’m supposed to be going with Agent Prentiss to pick up my stuff, and I still have no idea how long I should be packing for.”

He nodded again, “I’m really sorry that you got wrapped up in all of this - you were on your way to work, right? Journalism?”

“Yeah, I work for The Washington Post, I’m a writer.”

“Cool. That’s cool - have you written anything that’s been printed?”

I thought about it for a second, “I’m not completely sure, most of my stuff is published online. I’ve dipped into crime journalism recently though, and I’m pretty sure that my article on Maria Coursetta - she’d been missing for a year up until a month ago, when her body turned up in a river about twenty miles from her home - was published in the print edition of the paper. Why, do you not read online news?”

“Reid is a bit of a technophobe,” Emily Prentiss rounded the corner, smiling as Spencer glared at her.

“Really? Man, we definitely don’t have that in common; I practically live on my phone,” I joked.

“There’s not much to do on my phone,” He said, and I cackled when he pulled out an old Blackberry from his pocket.

“Oh my god, how old is that thing?”

He was laughing along with me when he answered, “Like, ten years, I think? I got it during like, my first year with the BAU, and it’s been working since then.”

“You must take incredible care of your belongings.”

“I try.”

“Speaking of belongings - Dahlia?” Emily spoke from over Spencer’s shoulder, and I nodded, remembering what I was supposed to be doing.

“Right. Well, it was nice to meet you, Spencer - hopefully I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah!” He grinned, and I forced myself to ignore the way my heart fluttered. He took his leave, disappearing into a nearby conference room, and I stood up, following Emily outside.

“Here,” She handed me her phone, with a GPS open, “You can just put your address in there, if you’re ok with it.”

“Yeah, that’s good,” I took it, typing my address in and handing it back to her.

We were crossing the parking lot to the car we’d came here in when I noticed a familiar car drive by.

I stopped dead in my tracks, my gaze following the black SUV that had just grabbed my attention. I don’t think Emily saw me stop, because she kept walking towards the car, but I was transfixed, trying to figure out any little detail that could tell me if it was the same car I saw earlier or not.

Because it’s not like a black SUV was an uncommon car. But in one of the SUV’s in this city, there’s a person who wants to kill me.

Holy shit, someone wants to kill me.

Suddenly all I could hear was my heartbeat in my ears, my breath faltering as the reality of the situation finally set in.

Someone wants to kill me.

White hot fear drove through my body, forcing goosebumps up and down my arms. I tried to continue walking towards the car, but I couldn’t move.

“Dahlia?” Emily had turned around now. I felt her hand on my shoulder, but her voice sounded distant. I was brutally aware of the tears stinging my eyes, and I tried to force them back, tried to keep my composure, but it was useless.

“Dahlia you have to breathe, ok? Just breathe with me, alright?” She moved to stand in front of me, grabbing my shaking hands and squeezing them, trying to bring me back to reality. She took dramatic breaths, modeling a pattern, and I tried my best to follow her, slowly sucking in air and forcing my racing heart to slow down.

After what felt like hours, my heart rate finally returned to something close to normal, and she dropped my hands, still staying nearby to ensure that I was ok. I sniffled, wiping the tears off my cheeks, immediately trying to hide the evidence of my minor breakdown.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know -”

“No, you don’t have any reason to apologize,” She shut me down, but I shook my head.

“I know, but still -”

“Nope. No still. Do you want to talk about anything?” She asked. I shook my head again. I didn’t even think I could put into words what just went through my mind, and honestly, I didn’t really want to try.

“Ok. Are you ok to go to your house?” She asked. I nodded this time, and I followed her on unsteady legs as we crossed the parking lot to the car. I glanced back at the road, but the SUV was gone by that point. I reminded myself that it was probably just an ordinary person, that I couldn’t be scared every time I saw one of the most common cars in the world, but in the back of my mind I knew that I would never look at them the same.

Someone wants to kill me.

The thought kept running through my mind, I couldn’t shut it up despite my best efforts. So I just climbed into the car with Emily, staring out the windshield as she backed out of the parking lot.

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cosmicbash · 4 years

Note

Hey, So I'm having a bad week and would really like an outed Kells and Em fic, it could be as angsty or fluffy as you want, I just need a happy ending. A little joy from a situation like that would be really nice right now, Thanks P.S. I've been reading your writing for a while and I think they're really great!! I hope you keep having Inspiration to do so!!!

Sorry I'm so late replying to this!! Ive had a shitty busy week myself and i feel horrible its taken me so long!!

I feel like instagram would be Em and Kelly's downfall. Just because the younger rapper is constantly on it, posting little snippets to interact with his fans, going Live, and of course posting pictures.

Slip ups are inevitable once he and Marshall start spending more and more time together.

Because Colson can't just cut back, when he does that fans start speculating. Questioning why exactly he's suddenly getting more secretive or searching through what he does share with a fine tooth comb to spot a new mystery girlfriend.

So Colson continues posting away on instagram and filming his lives, even when he and Marshall are together. Ignoring the headshakes and looks the older rapper shoots his way everytime he's on live laughing it up.

At first it's awkward, Marshall and him keep alternating who's going to duck into the bathroom or step out for coffee. But eventually they get used to it and comfortable enough that Colson can walk around their hotel room filming while Marshall naps on the couch.

The blonde even gets cheeky enough to start teasing his partner, like snapping photos of their shared brunches, or taking after sex selfies that always get Marshall hiding under the blankets or kicking him.

Really Colson should have seen it coming. You can only fly so close to the sun before you get burned afterall.

The mistakes start piling up soon enough.

Marshall accidentally yelling to ask him something when he's recording a live, Colson walking a bit too close to the couch and flashing the hoodie clad rappers back, the bottom of Marshall's AA necklace in the back of a breakfast shot, and more minor incidents that branch out from there.

At first Colson can just brush the unfamilar voice and thankfully covered up body as one of his assitants or friends. But as soon as that necklace peek gets out the internet does its thing and speculation over a possible collab strikes up.

The assumption being he gave everyone the glimpse on purpose.

Of course he's relieved the public isn't immediately jumping to the crazy possibility of them banging. Even though thats exactly what theyre doing. But him and Marshall AREN'T actually making any music together, and neither of them has publicly squashed their beef. Afterall, what better cover than pretending to still hate eachother?

But now that's all out the window. Colson's lack of an immediate excuse and rapid deletion of the photo just convincing the media their theories are correct.

Paul is of course furious, reaming both of them out over the phone about how they better get on a track together or figure out some new cover. And Diddy, well Diddy rarely comes off his self made throne to speak to Colson, let alone acknowledge most of his success, but the rapper actually does inquire to him about the whole spectacle. And Colson can't help but find himself wishing he had a guy like Paul who knew about them and could just simply yell at him because he still has no idea what to even say.

They settle on quiet ambiguous statements from their labels about how the two of them are working towards mending their beef and that a collaboration isn't exactly out of the question at this moment.

It works. For about a month or two, mostly due to them being apart yet again. The major hype dies down and Colson avoids any and all questions relating to Marshall in his lives and on twitter. The two of them are able to breathe a sigh of relief as temporary as it may be.

Until the next time they make time to see eachother. Colson's got a small charity event in Detroit that he plans on using as an excuse to linger around the city and steal some much needed time with his secret boyfriend.

Of course all eyes are on them yet again, questioning whether the young rapper might also be stopping in to work in some music with his rival.

With paparazzi tailing him more than ever it's impossible for him to just go to Marshall's place like he'd planned. Instead forcing him into renting a suite and wasting most of the day stressing over just how the hell he's supposed to sneak Marshall in with the bastards sitting outside the building like hawks. The other rapper isn't exactly helping either, just sending his usual cryptic texts telling Colson not worry about it but never expanding on what his plan is either.

By the time the blonde finally finishes his busy day and drags himself back to the room he has fully accepted that their rendezvous is not going to happen. Marshall had stopped texting him more than two hours ago and he wasn't about to act even more like a spoiled child by blowing the man's phone up. Colson's just given up. He can't even muster the energy to give the paparazzi outside his hotel more then an annoyed comment about how his life doesn't revolve around collaborations and the finger before slipping inside.

Marshall's presence in his hotel room, already stripped down to his night tee and briefs almost looks like a mirage. But when he shuts the door and crosses the room to bury his face in the other man's neck he smells like ivory soap and that woodsy beard oil the blonde bought him and Colson can't help but hug him closer.

He's so relieved to see him he doesn't even snark back at Marshall's muffled comment that he looks like shit.

The moment is sweet and Colson honestly should have realized it was just the calm before the storm but he's too caught up in complaining about the media and basking in his partner's soft agreements to care.

Before taking off to take his shower he hands Marshall over his phone, suggesting the brunette look through the mess his instragram comment section has become, all the questions and posts he's been tagged in over that little picture and their statements. Because why not? They would inevitably end up laying against eachother in bed scrolling through them all together anyway, at least this way Marshall can get a headstart.

And Marshall does actually swipe through them for a bit, spending more time admiring some of his partners pretty posts than he does reading the never ending stream of comments. The rapper rarely gets on the app himself except to post the occasional merch drop and promo. Social media isn't his forte, and it's not like he could follow Colson's account anyway. Navigating the app and searching for his boyfriends account was too much work when he could just asks for selfies over text.

Thats why when Marshall finishes his browsing and begins backing out of a post back to Colson's homepage he doesn't even care to pay much attention to what he's tapping. The flash of black and loading wheel that lights up the screen completely missed when he tosses it across the bed in lieu of playing around on his own phone.

The livestream he accidentally starts mainly films a blank ceiling through the rest of Colson's shower. The occasional creak and shift on the bed from Marshall's weight and blare of music from his own phones speakers all anyone tuning in can hear.

It doesn't take a brain surgeon for fans to realize the Live has been started unknowingly, but thats not going to stop any of them from filing in.

Maybe if Colson hadn't set his phone to silent the string of text messages might have alerted Marshall to his mistake. But the older rapper relaxes back on the bed less than a foot away blissfully unaware until Colson finally exits the bathroom.

Neither of them notice the phone when Marshall sits up and scoots to the edge of the bed, his body briefly flickering past the frame. They don't see the explosion of comments flying past the screen while they talk and Colson shoves the other man back onto the bed again. Bouncing the phone high enough to almost flip it if fate didn't decide to just scoot it closer to their tangling bodies.

Colson's whole upper body and face is in frame from then on. His cheeks flushed and smile cocky while he straddles his unseen partner. Marshall's fingertips peeking onto the screen where they're tickling the skin covering his ribs.

Its not until after Marshall's sat back up and begun peppering kisses down the front of his throat that he finally catches sight of his half blanket covered phone. An amused accusation about the other rapper trying to sneakily film them prompting Marshall to scoff and reach out for it.

"Probably just the app, shits always opening up to the camera on my phone-"

The rush of comments speeding past the screen and the unmistakeable red dot next to LIVE has Marshall freezing. His wide eyed face fully on screen for 10 seconds before Colson finally pries the phone from his hands to see whats got him so spooked.

Instead of panic, anger is what rushes through Colson's veins. A slew of curses leaving his mouth, before he finally manages to end the live. Phone promptly flying out of his hand against the wall afterwards.

The blonde wants to scream and thrash around. And thats what he does, fingers tearimg at his hair in frustration.

It takes Marshall's fingers softly prying them down for Colson to finally open his eyes again. The utterly terrified look on his partner's face chasing away his residual rage. "Fuck Colson I'm sorry-" its not the first time he's heard Marshall apologize, but it is the first time the man has ever done it while looking so scared of his response.

All the months he'd spent dreaming about his rival making such an expression have nothing on the real thing. And that smug powerful feeling he'd imagined was completely absent now. Just an uncomfortable knot seizing up his chest in it's place.

"I'm not--" his own voice feels tight. Tears threatening to bubble up in his eyes while the reality of the whole situation continues to wash over him. "I'm not mad at you, alright?"

He's mad at the media, at his fans, the rap industry, everything that makes him feel like this little slip up and intimate moment of theirs going viral will ruin their lives.

Colson's sick of hiding who he is and who he's with. Its utter bullshit. Its 2019 for chrissakes, who gives a shit who's banging who? They both make bad ass music either way and liking dick shouldn't change that.

Pushing up off of Marshall, Colson moves to climb off the bed. His hopefully not smashed phone across the room his current focus. But the older rapper snags his wrist and wont let him take more than one step.

And thats when Colson realizes just why Marshall looks so terrified. The man's worried that this is it, that he's going to just leave.

Run away from their problems and abandon the relationship they've been cultivating. Just go full scorched earth.

And that hurts.

So instead the blonde softens his expression and climbs back into bed, onto the other man's lap to hug him tightly. "Fuck Marsh--" He's not about to let the media ruin another relationship. "I love you."

The responding hug is so tight it hurts but Colson doesn't stop. "I fucking love you."

They're falling back onto the bed, legs tangling and Colson's teeth grinding while he rubs his face along the older rapper's shoulder. "I love you"

He doesn't even know what else to say. Now that the words are out it's all his tongue can shape.

"Colson-" Marshall's warm palms are cupping his face, pulling him back so they can stare at eachother

"I love you-" that one hurts the most, maybe because they're eye to eye and just looking at Marshall's soft expression and the possibility of losing it makes him want to crumble. "Please-"

He chokes back a wet sound in the back of his throat before they kiss. Pressing as close as he can, practically trying to glue their mouths together permanently.

Marshall's afraid to lose him just as much. They're idiots for ever thinking it might be a possibilility.

The media can get blown, and so can the industry and their so called fans. The cats out of the bag now and theirs no turning back. If they don't like them together than tough shit. They've both dragged themselves up out of the pits before, this will be no different.

Except, this time they have eachother to lean on.

"I love you to you cornball."

(((Ffffff this sat in my drafts cuz I got distracted by work and life. Im so fucking sorry anon!!!)))

((Also! Thank you anon! For the compliments! Im glad you enjoy my works!))

#emgk #ehhh i dunno where this went #sorry if its not great #been real distracted and busy with work lately #but i hope you can still enjoy it #prompts #asks #i love asks

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xxisxxisxxis · 4 years

Text

Gateway Drug | Part Thirty-Three

Table of Content or Part Thirty-Two

Word Count: 3.4K

Warning(s): Explicit language, Drug abuse, Domestic abuse, Minor sexual situations

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I stare at Nikki, the breath knocked out of my body.

"Wh-What?" I ask, but there's no use in lying, he can read me like a book.

His hand, slightly shaking with anger, slides along the kitchen counter, picking up an envelope that's been torn open.

He picks the folded piece of paper out of it, and waves it at me before unfolding it.

"Viv, happy birthday. It's been damn near killing me to keep this from you. I hope you had a good day. Duff." He quotes the letter and then pulls out a second piece of paper, handing it to me.

It's proof of payment for that ticket I got.

He must have mailed it in.

"So not only did you lie to me about that fucking tail light, you also let another man pay for it!" Nikki's throwing at me and I keep myself calm.

"Nikki, why're you mad? That's just $350.00 you didn't have to pay—"

"Because you're my wife! You're my responsibility! You could have told me the truth and just let me handle it, but instead, you looked me in the eye and lied to my fuckin' face!"

Glass slashes at my skin when he throws his whiskey bottle against the wall, blood rolling down my leg to my foot as a hiss of pain cuts through my teeth.

"Yeah. I could have told the truth so you could have blown up on me then like you're doing now!" I fight back.

"I would've been irritated, Vivian, but I would have gotten over it! It's gonna take me a while get over this bullshit, though!" He points at me, letting a beat pass between us before he rubs his forehead. "I-I don't even wanna know who this dude is, right now, I just am too pissed off—"

"Nikki—"

"Don't, Viv!" He spits out, harshly. "I-I can't even be around you right now." His voice cracks a little, and I rub my lips together as he pushes past me to grab his keys and jacket.

"Just talk to me about this instead of running off and getting messed up, Nikki!" I follow him to the door.

"Fuck you!" He shoots, seething. "That's about all the fucking talking you're gonna get from me right now."

He slams the door, leaving me to myself, and I take several deep breaths to convince myself not to wreck our new house.

He didn't come back for a couple of days, and the only reason he did come back was because Robbin made him.

"All he's doing is moping around and shooting up and talking about how he misses you but refuses to call you when I tell him to, so here." Robbin says, trying to keep a nodding-off-Nikki up as he walks him to the couch and drops him on the cushions.

"Thank you." I say to him.

"Whatever you did, whoever that dude is, he had a right to know, Viv." Robbin tells me.

"It's completely innocent, Robbin. I swear. I didn't tell him because I knew he'd want to make a big deal about him and meet him so he could size him up." I roll my eyes and he raises his brows.

"If Nikki had a girl friend that he hid from you, you would claw his eyes out, and her's. I know you don't think he's overreacting. Just talk to him and own up to it." He advises and I nod a little. "I love you. Good luck." He pats my head.

"I love you, too." I reply as he steps to his car, and I shut the door and walk to the living room to wait for Nikki to sleep off his high.

The next several days are spent with him attempting to ignore me, but doing a shitty job of it when he sees me fresh out of the shower or changing clothes or coming back inside from the hot tub.

This time, I'm coming back inside from laying by the pool for a few minutes, and the sunscreen I slathered all over my body before going out, has created a light glisten over my skin and he's looking up from his bass, eyes rolling down my body and back up, lingering on my chest for a few seconds before pretending he wasn't just checking me out.

I just step to the kitchen and get some water before deciding to attempt a conversation.

"So, what do you wanna do for New Years?" I ask Nikki.

No response.

"I was thinking maybe we could call the guys and hang out with them since we haven't seen them in a few weeks and we can all go out or something." I suggest. "Or Tommy and Mick ateast...I don't think Vince feels like it."

Nothing.

"I could invite Duff so you can meet him." I offer and he stops writing, his jaw rolling.

It's ironic he was so pissed off at me when the first time I found out he and Vanity even knew each other it was because I walked in our house to see her on our couch, dressed for a night out with all of us, Tansy and Sparkie.

I never asked him then how they met because the chances I wouldn't like the answer were pretty high.

I leave him to be pissed, taking a shower and dressing in a t-shirt and panties before he comes in to get ready to go out.

"I won't be back tonight." He tells me blankly and I raise a brow.

"May I ask 'why'?" I ask.

"You can ask. Doesn't mean I owe you a fucking explanation." He snaps, and grabs his keys.

"I'm your wife so you kind of do when you tell me you won't be back tonight." I argue, losing my patience.

He ignores me, leaving the room and I follow him.

"I'm speaking to you, Nikki!" I hiss.

"Trust me, I know, I'm just hoping you'll shut the fuck up and hop the fuck off." He coldly cuts and my hand is grabbing at his arm, roughly, pulling him to a halt.

"Nikki, can we just talk about this?!"

He snaps around to face me, shaking my hand off of him like I've got a contagious disease.

"Talk about you lying to me or talk about you hiding an entirely different dude from me, because both make me want to set you pretty fuckin' straight, Vivian!" He bites and I shake my head.

"Of all the things you've lied to me about and hid from me?! For Christ's sake, Nikki, I had to find your used needle-farm before you admitted to shooting heroin for eight months!"

"I can't fuck heroin, Vivian!" He barks, balling his fists up, getting in my face.

"You think I'm sleeping with this guy?!" I scream, completely engulfed with outrage.

"Why the fuck else would you not tell me about him?!" He's got tears in his eyes, despite his loud, graveling tone.

Hurt roots itself in my chest, the fact that he thinks I would do that to him making me nearly see red.

"Careful, Nikki, your abandonment issues are showing!" I throw out, cruelly, regretting it the second it leaves my mouth, just before his fist is connecting with the wall inches away from my face, leaving a hole.

His hand is around my throat before I can say anything else.

"I want you out of my house by the time I get back. Or I'll kick you out myself." He puts it as calmly as he possibly can, anger seeping from every pore as he shakes, tense from probably keeping himself from strangling me.

I know, I know. "How do you come back from that?" The answer is simply, "the only way we knew how."

I stumble to the bathroom, cum and traces of blood running down my legs, my scalp sore from the tension of my hair being yanked around and my bottom lip is busted where Nikki bit in to it.

Some of Nikki's skin and blood is under my nails and when I look in the mirror, my face is tear stained and flushed from crying through indescribable ecstasy.

We would get into explosive fights, then screw the hell out of each other in the most aggressive and degrading ways.

Our eventual marriage counselor later explained to us it was because we felt we had no control over ourselves, the things around us, and each other, but one thing we did have control over, and the only time we felt we had control over each other, was sex.

If it was a decently mild fight—well, mild for us—Nikki would just storm out and stay gone for a while.

If it involved enough screaming, me hitting him, him calling me offensive names, me pouring out liquor, flushing his drugs, the both of us threatening divorce or packing our shit to leave the other person, it would come to a halt just for us to start ripping at clothes, scratching and biting at each other, him putting his prick wherever he could get it in the fastest, and me accepting every inch at the inevitable barbaric rhythm we fell in to that would always result in me having some internal bruising in some form or fashion.

By the time New Year's rolled around, it was like we never fought to begin with, which would have been great if we actually talked about the fight and genuinely resolved it instead of pretending it never happend.

Nikki grasps my hand as he helps me out of his car, whistling when I get out and I roll my eyes with a shy grin and nudge him with my elbow before he's pressing his lips to mine for a second. When we pull away we head to the Rainbow to meet Tommy and Duff.

When we're inside, I see Tommy at our usual booth, chatting away with Duff, who has newly bleached hair, as the two of them drink a beer, despite Duff being underage until next month.

I can already sense Nikki sizing him up before we even get to the table.

"There they are." Tommy tells him, motioning to us and I smile hesitantly while a smug, shit eating smirk adorns Nikki's face.

"Hey." Duff greets me, not even noticing Nikki yet, dopey smile on his face.

"Hey." I reply as Nikki clears his throat.

Duff takes notice and respectfully stands up and extends his hand.

"Nikki Sixx." Nikki introduces himself. "Vivian's husband." He emphasizes.

It doesn't phase Duff a bit.

"Oh, I know, dude. It's an honor." Duff replies. "Duff McKagan." He adds and I look between the two of them before we sit down in the booth, Nikki still studying Duff to decide how threatened he should be.

He eases up when he learns Duff is from Seattle, he plays bass, and has the same music taste as him.

Dear God did I have a type or what?

"Did you know," Duff starts, blowing cigarette smoke through his lips. "That your wife is a disgrace to punk?" Duff asks and I raise my brows.

"Man, I know, she doesn't like the Sex Pistols." Nikki tells him.

"I never said I didn't necessarily like them, I just think Sid killed Nancy." I argue and Duff and Nikki look at me with the same expression because this argument has been had plenty of times.

"He did not!" They simultaneously tell me.

"Why would he kill her? That would be like me killing you." Nikki states.

"I've told you he probably didn't intentionally do it." I reply. "They were both fucked up and he more than likely was hallucinating and did it on accident."

He just looks at me and shakes his head.

Sid was one of Nikki's heroes. So of course he didn't even entertain the idea of him killing the woman he was in love with...until Nikki tried to kill me two different times, both times when he was tripping after days of freebasing.

It's not fun waking up to your husband strangling you in a panic, or shooting at you.

"And she likes Bon Jovi." Nikki adds.

"Because they make good music." I say.

"They go with the grain." Duff tells me, shaking his head.

"Exactly!" Nikki enthusiastically agrees.

"Tommy, tell them Bon Jovi is good." I look to Tommy and he just opens his mouth to speak only to close it again.

"They're kinda..." Tommy starts after a moment and I look at him.

"...They suck." Nikki finishes his sentence.

"Oh, like Mötley Crüe can do any better." I smart off and Nikki and Tommy are looking at me with cut eyes.

"We are, actually." Tommy tells me. "Me and Nikki are currently working on a fucking masterpiece."

"You haven't talked to each other in weeks. How collaborative can you be when you haven't been talking? Communicate via carrier pigeon?" I ask them and a little tension settles around us.

I realize I've unintentionally brought up the accident and how it effected the band, and Duff's painting over my screw up in no time.

"What kind of masterpiece, if it's okay for me to ask." Duff seems interested and even excited to hear about it and Nikki and Tommy light up like Christmas trees as they explain a song called "Home Sweet Home" that is slowly coming to life off a random piano melody that's been in Tommy's mind for some time that he showed Nikki about a month ago and they've both been writing lyrics for it seperately.

By the time 10:58pm hits, we've migrated to a strip joint called the Seventh Veil, and Tommy and Duff are practically joined at the hip in terms of how well they get along.

I suppose it's because they're both easy going and just go with the flow of things and have really good senses of humor.

Nikki, however, is too busy trying to drunkenly get me in the mood.

I step out of the bathroom stall to wash my hands in the the sink, Nikki stays against the wall behind me until I'm done, then he's running his hand over my ass that's being contained by tight jeans.

"Baby, quit." I laugh out, trying to shrug him off before his hand is pulling at the top of my tank crop top, getting a grab at my boob. "Stop trying to feel me up." I scold him lightheartedly, even though I enjoy his unfiltered want for me.

"I wanna fill you up, though." He snickers against my neck, turning me around and putting me on the sink.

"I said 'feel' not 'fill'." I correct him, trying not to chuckle, my hands resting on his arms as he nestles himself between my legs.

"Well, I wanna do both." He says, nipping the skin of my neck between his teeth lightly, causing a breath to catch in my throat.

"When we get home." I assure him, using all of my will power not to take him up on his offer now.

"Fuck it, let's go home, then." He smiles, reaching in his pocket for his keys.

"We can't, baby, we're with Tommy and Duff remember? We can't just ditch them." I remind him.

"I like your him." He tells me out of nowhere and I furrow my brows a little.

"What?"

"Duff. He's cool."

"Really?"

"He doesn't wanna fuck you." He tells me. "Guys know when a dude wants to fuck their girl. Vince and Sparklette do. Robbin use to. But he doesn't wanna fuck you." He motions to the door as he refers to Duff.

He was right.

A few years ago Duff was asked what he meant about a comment he made about me being "in a whole other league" than most women he knew way back then, he answered: "I never looked at her and thought 'Oh my God, I've gotta sleep with her.' Sex was never the focus, even when our relationship became physical. I mean yeah she was beautiful but it was hard to think about her in the typical-rockstar debauched way because she wasn't a shallow groupie with a hot body and hungry for attention anyway she could get it. Like, she was just Viv and she's still Viv. That's what I meant. She's always been in a different league. We've been friends for, what, like, thirty-one years now, and I felt lucky to just know her, then, of course now I feel even more lucky because I've had the privilege of raising a son with her."

It explained a lot for how he treated me.

In a few hours, long after the New Year is rung in, I'm attempting to get a nearly passed out Nikki into the passenger seat of his corvette, with Duff's help, being that Nikki could barely walk after a few minutes in the bathroom which I know were spent shooting up.

I carefully shut the passenger side door, Nikki unconscious and Duff about to head to his car.

"Thanks for inviting me out, tonight. I had a lot of fun." He says, resting against the hood of the car and I do the same, rubbing my lips together.

"I'm sorry if Nikki was a little stand-offish to begin with." I tell him.

"No, no, don't worry about it. I get it." He assures me. "It was really cool to meet him and Tommy, though. Maybe some other time I can meet Mick and Vince."

"Absolutely. After Vince's trial and everything goes back to normal they'll be inseperable again and can get you into whatever trouble you want." I chuckle out and he laughs.

"I hope by then I'll have my own gang of trouble makers." He admits.

"Me too." I agree, exhaling.

A minute of silence passes by before I'm looking at him.

"You paid for that damn ticket anyway." I state, and he nods.

"I paid for that damn ticket anyway." He repeats smugly.

"I'll pay you back." I promise and he shakes his head.

"It was an early birthday present. You can't owe someone when they give you a present."

"You paid it in October and 'gave' it to me as a present last week." I point out. "That doesn't count."

"It does if your birthday is the only loophole I could come up with to avoid you insisting on paying it back." He argues and I just look at him, still feeling a little bad that he paid it. "Viv. I just met Nikki Sixx and Tommy Lee and they might even consider me one of their buddies." He tells me. "That in itself is payment back."

"Thank you." I say in reference to my birthday present from him.

He nudges me with his elbow and smiles.

"Anytime."

It wasn't long after that, that I realized I had an angel bassist on one shoulder, and a fucking demon bassist on the other.

1985 tore around the corner and by the time May was in tow, Vince had been 30 days in rehab (the label gave him a Rolex if he agreed to stay sober for at least three months), Mötley Crüe were regularly in the studio recording "Entertainment or Death", and Duff had found his band, and Tansy...well...

Screams sound through the house, causing me to startle out of my nap.

I rush to the bedroom door and swing it open to see Tansy standing at our phone in the living room, tears streaming down her face, Nikki and Tommy looking at each other, worried.

"Wh-what did they say?!" Tansy asks, frantically, rubbing her forehead, and we all look at each other as anxiousness starts up within me.

A few moments pass as whoever she's on the phone with speaks.

"Oh, God, mama, I can't..." She sobs softly. "...I can't believe this."

I step to her, my brows furrowing.

"Alright, I gotta tell Viv and the guys before they think something's wrong." She laughs out through her tears and I let out a sigh of relief. "I love you, too. I'll call you later tonight. Bye."

She hangs up and immediately and starts crying again, gripping my hand.

"Tans, what's up?" Tommy asks, coming to us and she looks up at him and starts smiling, shock washing over her face.

"I got it." She tells us.

Everything she had worked her ass off for, took her clothes of for, got taken advantage of for, got abused for, got high for, hid her truth for, grinned and beared it for, entertained for, for years, had finally paid off.

Tansy Lyn was Playmate of The Year: Miss 1985.

#nikki sixx #tommy lee #vince neil #mötley crüe #the dirt #douglas booth #daniel webber #colson baker #gateway drug

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carryonmywaywardwriters · 5 years

Text

Signed, Sealed, and Delivered - Sam x Reader (Mini Series)

A/N: Here’s another bit of something for my @spnkinkbingo card. This little series is going to cover a few of my squares. As always, feedback is incredible. And, I hope you all enjoy <3

PSA: I am NOT a minor friendly blog. If you are below 18, please come back when you’re older. I don’t want to lose my blog because you were too eager to grow up. If I discover you, I WILL block.

Square Filled: Arranged Marriage

Warnings: Non/Dub con moments. Beaten/Abused reader. Upcoming smut.

Word Count: Roughly 1,800

“We haven't had a hunt in weeks,” Dean grumbled, leaning back in his chair. Quitting the search for a new job with every theatrical mutter he could manage. Time off forcing him to prowl the bunker like a caged beast. Sure enough, the hardened face deepened as he shot to his feet. Continuing his lumbering pace as if he'd never stopped.

“You say that like it's a bad thing,” The younger brother skimmed over the library's walls. Searching for a book that had nothing to do with lore. When he finally settled on one, he stuffed himself into the chair as deep into the corner as he could get. Crossing his leg over his knee as he opened up the hard cover. Breathing in the soft scent of aged paper, Sam let the calm sweep over him. The moment he flipped to the first page, a metallic banging caught his attention. First time, he blew it off. By the third? He had no choice but to grow alert. “You hear that?”

“Oh yeah,” Dean's grin held nothing short of carnal glee as he tugged his pistol from its place beside the abandoned laptop. “Looks like break time is over.” The hammer clicked back. Affirming the statement loudly.

Teeth grinding, Sam nodded. Slamming his novel closed, he got to his feet. Wishing for just one more moment of peace. “Fantastic.”

His own weapon was tugged out as he moved towards the staircase. Braced for war. Werewolves? Vampires? Djinn? They'd pissed off every kind of monster on the planet. Every kind of deity. Other hunters. The possibilities were endless.

“Winchesters!” A male shouted through the door as it slammed open. There were no obvious deformities. Wild, only slightly reddened eyes. Greyed out hair. Normal, albeit damaged, teeth. Shotgun in hand. Definitely a hunter. The man was waving his metal in the air wild in a single palm. His other grip was busy lugging something after him. Something that was fighting back, “You've got a debt to pay!”

“Yeah? Get in line,” Dean stepped forward. Drawing the attention to himself right from the start. Poised and ready to shoot the weapon in an instant. “Who the hell are you?”

“A friend of John's.” That earned a shared glance between the brothers. Their dad had been dead for over a decade. A hell of a long time for someone to go without making contact. A short nod said plenty. They weren't buying it. “Get up, would ya! Always so damn difficult.”

“Let...me...go!” Your voice cried out, making a move to bolt even with your wrists bound behind your back. The door slammed shut, trapping the huddled figure that Sam could just make out. That didn't stop you, though. You changed your course down the stairs in an attempt to get some kind of space. Safety from the lunatic who shared your blood.

The last step was your downfall, though. Your worn boots caught, leaving you to fall forward. Sam didn't hesitate. Moving half a step faster than his brother. The swiftness saving your face from another hard landing. “You okay?”

Your eyes met his as he helped you upright. All E/C and bloodshot from your ordeal. Dark rust crusted down your chin from where your lip had been split. Staining the white tank you wore. Black and blue lined your cheeks. Breathing hard, you remained stoic. Looking over him. Attempting to gauge how much of a threat he'd be to you. Every instinct in his body told Sam to hold on and protect the fragile being in front of him. Even as his brother's brows slammed together in distrust.

A nod was all you could muster. Your father, however, had more to say. “Which of ya two is our dear Sammy boy?”

“Why?” Dean rocked forward, again; blocking his brother as he always did. Not bothering to answer the question. Letting the man assume it was him. All too familiar with what John had thought of his youngest son before he'd croaked.

If there was a debt? A price on his head? Didn’t matter in the end. Dean'd take it in a heart beat.

“I've got some business to take care of with him.” Came the vague answer before the weapon was trained on the boys. Not taking anything other than what he'd gotten there to accomplish. “Now...which one?”

“Me.” As soon as the word left the younger brother, your eyes jerked up to his face in horror. It was as if you'd been burned. Before he could ask what the deal was, you were scrambling again. Trying to get away from him. Shaking like a leaf all the while. “Hey,” His voice was low as he yanked you into his chest. Attempting to soothe despite the elbow to the stomach he received, “Hey...hey, I don't know what you heard about me...but, I'm not going to hurt you.”

“You better not,” The weapon master at the top of the stairs smirked, looking awfully pleased at the turn of events. “Cause that's your future wife. And you try it? I'll kill ya.”

“Future...Uh...” Sam couldn't even finish that statement as his brother turned to him; mouth open as if he was about to say something and couldn't find the words. Hoping there'd be some kind of clear up from the younger man.

Sam had nothing. He shrugged, eyes equally wide. Unable to provide an answer that made some kinda sense.

“Excuse me?” Dean finally breathed out, turning back to the doorway. Needing a little clarification. “Wife?”

“No!” The word seemed to force out even more of the fight in you. Again, you scrambled. But, the stunned being in front of you wasn't letting you go anywhere. Not until it was all laid out.

“You hush up, girly. Let the men talk.” Your father's words didn't touch you. Instead, your knee came up; knocking into Sam's crotch. Not enough to maim, but just the right amount to get free. “Y/N!” The shout of rage didn't slow you down. Instead, you bolted down through the library.

“She isn't going to get far,” Dean promised as you escaped down the closest hall, preventing your father from hunting you down in their turf. Getting back to business. “Now...talk...fast.”

“You're not goin' to let an old man rest his feet?”

“No.” Sam's answer was stern as he straightened back to his full height. Jaw working as his body throbbed in protest. His weapon raised again. Suddenly more willing to have to pull a trigger. “You stay right there and tell us why we shouldn't shoot you.”

“Shoot me? Me? I'm not the one who broke a signed contract!” Indignation filled the air as the weapon was lowered. The old man shifting into his pocket all the while. His find? A yellowed, wrinkled slip of paper that had seen better days. “I've got the proof right here. Says it in black and white. 'My son Samuel Winchester will be married to your daughter Y/N L/N. Signed, John Winchester.”

“And why would he do something like that?” Dean didn't buy it.

John had made a lot of mistakes with the boys. No one could deny that. But, he hadn't sold his sons. Least of all into marriage. And if he had? He'd have told them, surely.

“Cause I had a lead on a yellowed eyed demon.” Just like that, certainty fled. Weapons dropped an inch. Green eyes met hazel. Both less sure of their footing. “Ya seem to know what I mean.” One step. Two. He made it halfway down the stairs before the guns raised back up to aim for their lethal targets. “John needed help tracking the son of a bitch. I needed someone to look after Y/N when I’m gone...win win.”

Sam felt the breath leave his body. Another betrayal from the man he'd called father. Certain that he'd been sold to the highest bidder. Not for the first time. “Dean...check out that paper.”

The safety was pushed back on the hand gun as the older hunter turned to his brother in confusion, “Where are you goin'?”

“To find my bride.” With that, he turned away. Running his hand through his thick hair. Cursing his bloodline for the millionth time.

“God...”A heavy slam of flesh meeting wood sounded. Trapped in a dead end. “Damn...” Another crash followed in between your cursing. “It!” The cry of rage echoed down the walls as the statement was finished. Just as Sam turned the corner, you slid to the ground in defeat. Arms still trapped behind you. Head bowed. Waiting for the inevitable. “Go away.” It was a weak order delivered through a light stream of tears.

“Can't do that.” Slowly, he crouched down in front of you. “Your old man is kind of insane.”

There wasn't any point in denying that one, “Yeah? Yours, too. Should've seen him that night. Drunk...willing to do anything to get to that demon.” A broken laugh left you as you thought over everything that had led you to that point. “This whole thing is some kinda sick joke. Pops was going to toss that stupid piece of paper til his ‘prodigy’ died. Then, suddenly, you're the magical answer...Like I hadn't kept myself alive this long. Like he'd even cared about me before that...” Clanking metal sounded as you tried to get more comfortable inside your chains. Talking more to yourself than to him. “I don't even know you.”

“I...I get the feeling.” Your eyes lifted back up to him slowly. He wondered what you were seeing. What you were thinking as you looked at your future. “Thing is? I don't...I don't think either one of us is getting out of this without your dad offing someone.” There wasn't a noise from you. Simply silent defeat. “It doesn't have to mean anything, alright? We do the deed. And then you're free.”

“It doesn't work like that.” Once again your head bowed. “He's going to just keep showing up. At least, until he's dead.” Another broken chuckle left you. “Hell...probably even after that. His idea of fatherly duties, apparently.” Your shoulders drooped as the weight grew deeper. “You're right...the only way we're getting out of this is to...to kill him...let him kill one of us...or to go along with it.” Somehow, the last option held the most disdain.

“So...option one?” In his mind, it was the easiest solution.

“He's the only family I've got left...” The only ties to your past. As a Winchester, Sam appreciated the sentiment more than most. He’d done a lot of shit in his life. And yet, somehow, taking away that last link wasn’t something he could hold onto. Not with the amount of sadness residing on your face. No one said a word for a moment. Absorbing the end of the road you both faced. And then? “It's a marriage in name only...you don't touch me. Ever.”

“Deal.” Sam sounded as dead inside as you felt. Both of you sat, waiting to be found. In no hurry to rush into your futures...

Forever: @dean-winchesters-bacon @supernaturalginger

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xannnina · 4 years

Text

Mistimed and on time

Fandom: Twin Peaks Pairing: You must find out for yourself! Notes: Keep in mind that I'm a Spaniard, and I don't use English on daily basis so, it might have some grammar/vocabulary mistakes. Please, let me know if something sounds too odd/strange or out of place. I'm just trying to do my best. Just constructive criticisim is welcome here. Other than that, ENJOY!!!

Cold and discomfort is what I feel at this very moment, even if it sounds ironic. Yes, ironic, because I’m in the middle of a room overlaid by amber solid wooden strips; the floor, the walls as well as the ceiling; with the same material but different kind of wood, are made the furniture, the doors and its frames. “Warm” and “cozy” are terms that could come to mind to anyone who went through the doorstep and they might fall short to be fitting it as the precision it deserves because the little details also take part, taking those terms to the next level: like the tree well-folded towels in the shelf by the main door; the (over the top) use of different kind of lighting such as wall lamps, recessed lights on the ceiling and the lamps on the nightstands, on the desk and on the dresser; the curtains have an unusual hexachromatic pattern of red, maroon, green, indigo, brown and grey besides its trimmings made of squares are forming triangles and its other trimmings made of triangles are forming vertical lines, and the rug with a geometric pattern standing at the end of the bed. Maybe, what breaks a little bit the pleasant atmosphere is the rifle displayed on the wall where the headboard of the bed rests. I may add the terms “clean” and “tidy”, even though the bed is unmade. Two nightstands are located on both sides of the double bed and I couldn’t help it, I used one of them as a seat even if that’s not its primary purpose or why it was designed for. I finished the drink I’ve served to myself for the third time and got up, meanwhile I was watching how the beam of sunlight were slipping through the windows, very characteristic at noon. In front of one of them I placed myself.

The sun was sparking and smashing; no, it didn’t match with my current mood, quite the contrary. I wanted its beams burn me off and get rid of me. Nothing happens; at best they only irritate my retinas and make difficult my vision. And I take a swig. And I hate the call I got just an hour ago. And I do hate its resulting news. And I drink once again to forget it. To dismember it, to break it up, to disintegrate it. And make disappear all the suffering with it. My duty is to tell him although I don’t want to because it’s too hard to bear. ‘Cause it hurts more the lies than any loss. ‘Cause it hurts more the hypocrisy than any loss.

I cannot understand what’s going on in this town lately. It used to be a placid and calm place, with mild crime cases, simple loss of domestic animals or insignificant fights in local bars and clubs. Not about brainy puzzles where you have to use a large range of tools and skills, ordinary and extraordinary ones, so you’ll be able to fit all the pieces together perfectly; drawing conclusions and solutions just by intuition, deduction or magic, even! Eluding any logic. That teenager girl turned up murdered, wrapped in plastic, Laura Palmer; Ronette, she’s still alive but with severe psychological damages; later on, it followed a series of homicides such as Renault’s brothers, Blakie, Maddy or Thomas Eckhardt; an homicide attempt against Agent Cooper too; the failed suicide attempt of Nadine; or achieved suicides like Harold Smith’s and Leland Palmer’s cases; minor wounds to Shelly Johnson caused by a murder attempt against her; some unexpected missing people such as Leo Johnson or Windom Earle; and the strangest case about a sudden death, Josie’s death… It seems that the cause of such chaos was made by an entity, they call it BOB. Or the way to put a name to all the atrocities that a human being is capable of doing in order to shutting up the lowest instincts, I’d say.

And I finished my drink. And I filled up once again. And another casualty has been added up to the homicide cases, inevitably.

A metal and clatter noise was heard behind the bathroom door; one of my best friends and coworker was inside and he was locked the door. With a pretty good kicking I managed to bring the door down, breaking the lock so I could go into. Its slam was so hard that took the door apart from its hinges.

- How’s Annie?! How’s Annie!? –

And there he was naked from head to toe, apparently he just got out of the shower, he was in front of the mirror with the forehead bloodstained; he wore his regular hairstyle but he used water instead of hair gel, it gave him a more natural and genuine look. He was making a disconcerted gesture to his reflection, to his broken reflection, at the same time his reflection was giving it back at him.

Surprisingly, it didn’t fall any piece on the sink nor the floor, from the broken mirror. It was cracked, that’s for sure, however each and every fragment was kept in place forming a chopped scene, a divided scene.

For a while, I disappeared from there looking for his red robe, I found it in the last drawer of the dresser. When I came back to the bathroom, I covered his back up with it. Later on, I managed to put in his arms through the sleeves, first one of them, then the other one. Down to his waist, on both sides, there was hanging a cord; a cord I decided to tie up with a simple knot so we’d be able to preserve his dignity as well as mine and, at the same time to win back the modesty. When I looked over the bleeding wound of his forehead, I noticed it wasn’t deep, luckily. I cleaned and disinfected it, put a clean little towel on it and made him aware that he had to put pressure on the wound to stop the blood coming out.

- I lost my balance when I stepped out… - he excused himself. - Cooper, come here and sit down –

It seemed that he already knew the answer to the question he’d asked so vehemently just few minutes ago. Also, it seemed that the unexpected accident that took place in the bathroom was not unexpected at all. Because, if any skill would be part of Agent Cooper’s identity, without a shadow of doubt, it was intuition. Even if he went to the Hell itself and came back, it’d be one of the lasts aspects of his to disappear before he lost his identity entirely.

Once he was sat on the right side of the bed, I was standing still for several minutes until I was able to clear my mind and gather my thoughts; then I knelt in front of him, meeting his glance, of which you couldn’t tell the difference between pupils and iris.

- Doctor Hayward called an hour ago, from the hospital… And it’s my duty to tell you this – A lump in my throat made my voice rough and dry – She couldn’t make it. - Annie… - he stated softly then avoided eye contact. - I’m sorry to give you such pretty bad news Cooper, I really am.

He was still immersed by a plain and growing apathy, now his face stayed stern and gloomy; his hollower and more lugubrious eyes were sparkling because they were watered, he was crying without tears. The sadness seized his heart and he was about to dive himself into it and never come out. I’ve never seen him like that; however I knew that feeling pretty well because I suffered it myself a few days ago. You start blaming yourself about everything, about all the facts, all the acts, the context, denying the harsh reality; after that you change that feeling into anger, into wrath, into impotence and ultimately you realize it’s sadness the only one that’s making this thundersquall of emotions; later on, it arises the fear of being all alone, of being empty, of being cursed. He lost two persons under the same circumstances; I lost just one. Anyway, now it was my turn to give him comfort. That’s something I’ve never been good at.

And I reached across and stroke him on the knee, it turned out to be uncovered from any clothing; and I caught his attention, and he went back making visual contact with me and, from my position, by instinct, I did shorten our distance, it occurred to me to give him a hug. Gesture he corresponded leaving the towel to the side. My arms were around him entirely. His arms were around me totally.

- I’m sorry Coop. - I didn’t learn my lesson, I should’ve seen it coming…

I wanted to protect him. I wanted to give him shelter. I wanted to mend his wounds and make them mine. Soothe such horrid and heartbreaking suffering.

I still recall our first encounter, our first greeting, our first handshake; when he came to Twin Peaks with his spotless presence and wearing a black suit and a tie, and his cheerful and optimistic personality which was always dazzling to anyone that he was passing by; he was alternating the seriousness and professionalism with the spontaneity and the passion of a child; he was fascinated by all little discoveries he found hidden in nature; looking up his surroundings with sharp and fresh eyes, not missing any detail at all. I bet that positivity he radiates might be the cause of keeping childish, delicate and rounded his facial features; one could even misinterpret them as somehow naive.

At times, he looked as if he was feminine. At times, his voice mesmerized me and disarranged my world. At times, his spontaneous behavior shook up any social protocol.

Now he wasn’t himself. They burned out his electric enthusiasm, charred his grandiloquence, each and every one of his virtues; the evisceration was so huge even his body felt much lighter. His soul, his essence and his guts were ripped open, and they were stuffed by an endless and matte emptiness and neatly stitched up. Because, now, he was not being himself; now, there was another person in his place.

And then, something happens.

He was looking for consolation in my arms because in his thoughts there was only torment. So he buried his head in my shoulder, and heaved a heavy sigh, and the shivering was exchanged for soothing soon; and another heavy sigh; and the peace wrapped us up and made that very instant stop.

And his cheek brushes against my ear and the red burst out all over my face. And his fresh citric herbal scent is enveloping me and blushes me. And then, there’s no turning back.

I move away from him a little, just few inches away. And he gathers momentum and has the nerve once and for all to rush at me. Now his lips and mine collide. And I don’t step away. Nor run away. Nor standing unfazed.

Why am I not able to stop him? Why aren’t my hands responding to me? Why is he kissing me on my mouth? Why am I delighting myself?

He made the first move pretty slowly, tasting every bite and taking delight on my mouth a bunch of good endless minutes, as long lasting gift; at the same time, he was holding my curly hair with both hands. I was simply imitating him, like a double facing his reflection in the mirror. I never imagined so much sweetness flowing out his lips, such softness and such a display of affection.

Until, our kiss broke up. And we’re still standing face to face, not too far from each other.

- Forgive me, Harry… that wasn’t an appropriate behavior towards you – murmured, then furrowed his brow and shyly smiled – Well, in fact, I’m surprisingly pleased that…

And I shortened our distance. And I wanted to taste his kisses once again, so I acted and I found them truly quivering and fragile. They’re like waves, one against the other on the sea, one superimposing over the other and sharing humidity, that’s how our mouths were acting out.

I didn’t want to hear any of his theories, didn’t want to rationalize that moment, nor wanted to label it under any invented excuse. I just wanted to enjoy it without any goal at all, after all the tragedies that were triggering in the town, I was anxious to build something good among such destruction and chaos; I craved after something good for him, something sublime and I craved it no matter what, at all costs, and I wanted it right now.

Button by button, he unbuttoned my shirt groping his way. Button by button, he met my trousers, but the belts were getting on his way. From both belts he let me out and my weapon fell down with them. Shortly, the shirt landed on the floor. The black t-shirt had the same destiny.

When we broke up the kiss in order to take it off, like waves that come and go, we met again gaining strength.

The sun was guarding my back. The backlit was in my favor and against him. The sun was giving me the different shades of his skin and was making stand a few freckles out.

Helping me with my hands in his jaw, I came away from him; I wanted to observe every one of his facial features. In the middle of his forehead, where he hit himself, there was a little cut but the bleeding stopped. His two precious stars immersed me in an autumnal landscape filled up with bur oaks exploding into sandy greenish tones; they were swinging in the breeze, dancing. His jet black but still wet hair, was making him look even more attractive, a messed up attractive look. His well delineated and thick brows intensified his glance, his thin lips and his pronounced chin made his looks to go beyond sensuality.

Far ahead of my thoughts, there were my hands, and they were occupying their touch all over his neck along his hairless chest. It didn’t take me too long to bring that milky skin he had under the reddish robe to the light, not even the sun dared to tan. His fine anatomy muscling and his barely existent body hair turned him into the most delicate being, almost porcelanic. Later, I undid the knot on his waist and placed myself in front of it, so I was close to fully laying down. I kept looking to him from a low-angle stare, he was half closing his eyes, half opening the mouth and looking forward to my next move.

I had to lift the red clothing on his legs to see the hidden secret; his spear of rosy rounded head was laying lax on one side; he wanted me to look at it so I could get the whole picture because he spread his legs to the limit. The distance got shorter and under my lips the peachy skin of his belly was vibrating and burning; at the same time, his thighs against my palms were shaking. Soon I noticed how he sank his claws into my hair and, on instinct, he was pushing me down.

I did not pay any attention to his indication, to his insistence, and to that sudden and growing desire that he was pooling clearly in his groin. When I placed my lips on his thigh, his skin began to suffer from casual spasms on and on, now the clipped and repressed breathing of his took its part on the matter; I moved along by the inside of his thigh and passed through that pretty jet black forest on his groin, brushing its foliage up and down.

Since she faded away, my passion didn’t come back so strongly for anybody; I knew her own forest but its shadows and where they led me it was a no-return place, a new identity of hers, utterly estrange and unknown for me. I felt degraded, betrayed and insignificant. After I found out her real self it seemed like all the time we spent together was reduced to pure ashes, everything turned into a simple stupid and unreal story.

However, the FBI Special Agent Dale Cooper had a forest without shadows at all, mixed foliage making a bright landscape, no nooks, no secret caves, no hiding places, no torrents, no cliffs; plain and open. It was really nice for going out for a walk, sharing experiences and having a good chat with no rush. There was just one lake in that picture, dry and consumed, waiting to be regenerated over time.

I wanted to bring on a rainstorm in it. I wanted a stream of water to fall from the sky into that consumed lake. I wanted to bring it back to life, to make it to spill over the water putting it in danger of flooding.

At that very moment I opened my eyes and spotted the scar nearby the pelvis, I framed it with my fingers. I got away a little and the scene froze, she came back to me again, to my mind, to my torment.

- Josie.

With the thumb I pressed it lengthwise, I was trying to recall the pain she caused him in the past. Present pain from the past. It was pain for him, horror for me. I wanted to travel back in time, to that very past, when she was still alive, when she was still in my arms. I wanted to change her destiny but if I couldn’t, destroy it all.

A sudden kick threw me up against the floor.

And my surroundings fade away in less than a second. By a blinding light the bedroom is gobbled up, mixed with blurred edges and dispersed tones. And the same light takes me back to another place, another time, another context. An endless place, no horizon, no stimulus. Timeless.

What time is it? What happened? Where am I? And Cooper…?

A quadruped, a mustang with a uniform toasted brown fur appeared in front of me. The four paws joined together. The four paws tied up together. Laying down on the floor. Standing still. Half sleeping. Or daydreaming. Half alive. Or nearly dead.

That strange place is bringing about more doubts than answers. It collapses my mind, it confuses me.

And my surroundings transform and deform. And a radiant light makes me close my eyes. It makes me end up with that strange vision and its disorder.

Somebody was slapping in my face. Over and over again. Being insistent.

- Wake up Harry! Harry!

To the amber solid wooden strips I came back. To the overlaid wooden room. To the room number 315 of the Great Northern Hotel. To its warm and comfy ambient. To my fellow lawman’s arms, I was losing myself in his affectionate voice while he was cheering me up. He was apologizing in my ear. The itching sensation he felt when I pressed his scar, made him do that kick against me. It wasn’t planned. It was a reflex act. A reflex act I was well aware that it might happen.

- I deserve it for being so selfish and for thinking that I’m the only one with a tragedy. - You shouldn’t let the effects of such tragedy to take control over yourself, over your actions; I assure you Josie might wish the best for you.

Was that really happening? How could it be? Was he the one giving comfort to the other, which means, to me, when it should’ve been the other way around? The field of the human psychology was too much for me, that’s for sure. Yes, it’s a technical skill you can study and put into practice later on someday but, even if I’d make my biggest effort, I’ll never be good at it, I know my limitations and this is likely to be one of them.

He helped me out leaning forward, getting up. Then, he pulled the sheets and the bedspread aside so I lay down on the bed. The energy seemed to move out from one body to another, from mine to his, when I fell down against the floor. However, my cravings for him didn’t grow smaller quite the contrary, they’re getting magnified, running wild, out of any rational control. The more time was passing, the more I was eager to eat him up, eager to posses him, eager to dominate him… I was starting to feel a huge attraction, an overwhelming attraction.

His two sandy greenish stars were contemplating me; he was still standing on the right side of the bed, wearing the robe undone, even though he was standing against the sunlight, one could even get a glimpse of his trim figure, relaxed and at peace. He knelt, stroked my hair and I took advantage of it by taking his palm and kissing gently the inside of it. And he couldn’t wait any longer and had the nerve to smack me on the lips; it looked like it was decades we hadn’t seen each other. We fully opened our mouths, and closed them, acting like fishes undersea quite a while; having one’s lips into the other’s, trampling down each other’s, overlapping one’s into the other’s; at the same time we’re framing our faces with the hands; he grabbed my neck, I held his nearly dried hair; with no rush at all, his hand began to go down through my body, through my bare chest, through my tummy and stopped on the only piece of clothing I still had on, and rubbed its surface.

At the door, someone knocked three times.

- Room service.

My fellow lawman’s head turned around to the main door, as he was looking for that new someone to talk to. My exclamation and his surprised reply went together.

- Room service? - Room service! – After two full seconds I scratched my head – Yeah, I ordered your breakfast, I thought you might be hungry.

I almost forgot that little detail that was why I didn’t mention it to him. Keeping in mind his metabolism and that he spend the whole night inside the Black Lodge, I came to the conclusion he might be starving to death. Of course, I asked for it before knowing the bad news. It might cause a knot in any stomach. It would make sense he hadn’t appetite anymore.

As quicker as I could I made myself decent, I got out of bed looking for my clothing: I put on the black t-shirt and the shirt even if it was unbuttoned. I sneaked a peek at my fellow lawman that was staying put, still knelt and his arms were resting on the bed. It took him few seconds to react, stand up and then cover up his body properly with the reddish robe and tie a pertinent knot. When I was sure that both of us were presentable, I went to the door and opened it.

- Hello, good morning Sheriff. – said a young lady with a wavy chestnut hair and honey eyes while she was holding a tray on her hands– I brought the breakfast as you requested, at twelve o’clock sharp.

Waiting no response, she came in and placed the tray on the desk, taking off the lid.

- Thank you very much… - replied Cooper while he was reading the badge that was hanging on her uniform by the left side of her chest - … Monica. It looks absolutely delicious; my congratulations to the chef; of course, to the service as well – he gave her a brief smile that she mimicked in return. - Thank you! I’ll let her know it.

She handed him the bill so he could sign it and she left the room closing the door behind her. Our eyes met once again. He after all, gave me a hint of a smile; it seemed he was hungry anyhow. He leaned in to the tray and started to smell the steaming food. Then he rubbed his hands. The breakfast I ordered was the same he used to have: a cup of black coffee, a freshly squeezed grapefruit juice, two well-done fried eggs, crisp bacon almost cremated and two slices of bread. I included a large slice of cherry pie. I made a nod of invitation for him to eat, he took a seat and he was getting a thrill out of the coffee and its unique bitter scent.

During the next three minutes, he simply sipped his coffee not paying any attention at all to the rest of the three course meal that were there in front of him.

- It’s a reasonable assumption that you might ate absolutely nothing since last night – stated remarkably certain of himself. - No, I didn’t. - Harry, I’m not hungry whereas you are. This town won’t feel the necessity for a weakened Sheriff at their service, considering his lack of food consumption – he looked at me over the mug without adding anything else. - O.K. then.

As I accepted the most part of his breakfast, he handed me over the chair and, at first I wasn’t very hungry, but I just began eating the main course and my stomach awakened to its lethargic state. It was a bit odd his behavior. Don’t get me wrong; his behavior was as odd as always, that’s for sure, but there was something about him that didn’t match with the whole picture. As I was thinking that, the gesture of his face changed: he looked away as he was about to brooding over the last fatal event, frowned his brow and clenched his jaw after taking the last sip of his coffee. His eyes were watered and barely blinking, his pupils got pretty inky, a cloud of doom were hanging over them.

The worst fate in life is to end up all alone against your wishes. You put a great effort into looking for and finding the right person, giving them the time that they deserve, looking after that intimate relationship that has grown out between you both since you found love. A deep and enduring love. At least, that’s what you thought it was, because one day they’ll hit you on the face with the one piece of news you never want to hear, blowing up everything and rocking the whole world, and why?

To turn it into a living nightmare. To end up murdering the relationship. I wanted to undo such nasty tragedy. I wanted to pluck it all up. So I could make him rise from his ashes. So I could revitalize him, bring him back to life. So I could have him and make him all mine.

- Hey Coop, this is delicious. And you were right, I was starving to death! – I wanted to break that absorption he was going deep into and falling on, so I offered him a bit of his favorite desert: cherry pie. - Oh, thank you.

As I brought a small portion of pie closer to his mouth, we made eye contact again, then he savored it for a while. He was having another bite and at the same time, I gained half a smile that lightened my heart. His lips turned pearly sheen, because he just passed his tongue through them so he could get any trace of cherry or pie. I stopped him on time, just before he was going to wipe them away; I brushed them with my thumb and later on, exchanged it for my lips. We finished the palate of the sugary dessert both together, putting our lips together, smoothly fusing ourselves between bite and bite, tasting every bitter sugary bite, mixing the slight touch of coffee, the juicy trace of cherry and the faintest whiskey flavored bite.

Today, this is my present. And I was part of it and my devotion. And I didn’t plan it; I just did let it happen.

After the last bite of the pie we carried on kissing, my hand escaped among his clothing looking for a warm surface, fingering his knee, his thigh and I got up from the chair; with the other hand messed his hair up utterly; he won even more points in charm and beauty; there he was with his hair style now so anarchic, I wasn’t able to see him like that, I wasn’t able to find himself; he was looking so casual, so pretty and informal; his new portrait made him look even younger, he turned into a rather young man just on the threshold of the puberty. My fingertips were focused on his face, on such black, well defined bushy brows, on his jet black hairline, his temples, his ears and earlobes, his jaw and his slightly prominent chin; we still were tangled up in a nonstop series of kisses. He had to put the mug on the table right away so he could grab my cloth and somehow take it off. Clearly, he was at disadvantage.

I didn’t know where we’re going exactly, I was terrified just thinking about it, because everything was new for me in that particular field; I had no experience in sexual relationships such as this, with another man; even though I didn’t consider him in that particular way; the wrapping wasn’t the most important aspect to me, it was his inner self. That was why fear wasn’t acting in my place. The attraction I was feeling for him was much stronger, capable of avoiding any problem we might find in our way. For the first time, I was paying more attention to my instincts than any reasoning and it wasn’t so bad at all. In fact, it was terribly pleasant feeling, to sense such insecurity and mystery.

My shirt was thrown to the rifle wall, after he pulled off. My black t-shirt was thrown halfway there, at the foot of the bed.

Before I could even realize, he already pulled down my pants and was fondling my crotch. To my surprise, the dagger under my boxers reacted to such provocation standing up and magnifying all of the sudden.

As good as I could, I slipped off my boots, my socks and my pants; my hand went back to his face and the other one undid the knot of his reddish clothing. At the same time, I was pushing him against the nearest wall, just in the middle of the two windows.

One in front of the other, we were, with no room between us. No letting the other go for a second, continuing with the intimate touch of ours lips together. Once and once again, we’re sharing humidity. Once and once again, sharing warmth. Once and many times, enjoying such infinite affection.

We bumped our bodies against each other as if we wanted to build a new one. We embraced ourselves so we’d be able to sense the surface of our bare flesh entirely. We’re sharing and giving out a roasting blast, and a fine sweaty friction. Our heartbeats synchronized considering his chest and mine were together, it was pure magnetism. That silky skin of his made me have a constant physical contact and even though it was squeezed in between us, my dagger was getting sharper, and as stiffened as it was, now was trying to make a hole in my colleague’s hip at any costs. While he was rubbing his spear against my pelvis.

The fire flared up by the pores of our skin, it looked like we were at the Hell itself. It was the very pit of Hell but on earth. It was the Hell itself just right there. At that point, I didn’t care about the future or if I’d ended up going straight to Heaven or to Hell. I was living on inertia, by impulses and instincts; expecting nothing in return; it didn’t matter anymore if that was right or pretty wrong; I didn’t need any ethical nor moral approval; It didn’t matter to me if it was possible or impossible, if it was just a dream or pure reality.

I was hunger for something magnificent and he was giving it to me willingly with no doubts. To die for someone in life on your deathbed, could that bring you back to life? Maybe it could.

With no rush, I broke our kiss link and his eyes looked at me very startled, they showed me their autumnal landscape in detail filled up with bur oaks. Later on, he cupped my head, started getting focused on the curls of my hair of the back of my neck. Now he was wearing the robe undone, I caught a glimpse of his perfect torso and how his nipples made an appearance shyly on his porcelanic canvas.

Inch by inch, I was running across his neck and nape with the tip of my fingers. Purring and asking for affection, he was. Exchanging my fingertips for kisses across the field. Passing and fingering his chest, abdomen and pelvis. Huffing and puffing, he was. Twirling and going back to his areolas, to his pointy centers, they arose just by the brief contact. Sobbing and patting, he was. Touching up and groping my way across his dark forest looking for his spear. Breathing in deeply, he was; and holding it like he was about to dive in the open sea.

I reached it, grabbed and handled it for a good long while, its remarkable velvety texture was screaming out for a merciless wearing away time. Three times and three more times were enough to straighten it out. Three and three more unhurried jolty motions were more than enough. Doubled its size, was standing upright with a new majestic robust shape, ready to be thrown to its prey.

But first, I wanted to sharpen it with my teeth. But first, I wanted to have it entirely in my mouth. So I went on. I almost choked on when I placed it inside, while I was getting it into the bottom of my throat several times. Such swaying occurred in unison with his suppressed moans. Such path was savory, self-hypnotic. Such rhythm sped up by the second. And the temperature turned up by half a second.

The flames were spreading all over our bodies; it was a mirror of the Hell itself. It was The Hell itself but on earth; The Hell itself on there; The Hell itself between his legs.

I did savor all the length of his burning spear, all its magnitude. One time and once again, running through it being all greedy. Once and once again, huffing and puffing, he was. Once and once again, my humidity were covering his fiery spear and covering all over again. And then, his claws sank into my skull. And once and once again, his hips were thrusting against me. And then, I took captive his glutes with both hands under the reddish clothing. And then, he leaned back and hit the wall with his head, his jaw dropped two inches and he was panting even more aggressively. And one of his legs enfolded me, took me captive. And then, my touch was focused on his roundly and a bit jutting glutes, they were like sinuous dunes. And then, I slipped two fingers in between them. And then, I wanted to go deeper into his narrowed well.

And I was just introducing the index and the middle finger when a series of long dying yeses came out from the deepest guts of my colleague’s. Fingers I introduced thoroughly into that narrow well then he started to grasp in a sharp manner. And at last, I made him to get rid of the reddish clothing so I could appreciate every bit of his bare skin, every tensed tendon, every angle, every spot, every muscle. All his body was shuddering at that physical check-up, at every new entering, at every new thrusting, at every new deeper exploration. When I finished with my fingers, just after my lips came away from his spear, I got up, took the boxers down a little just enough to pull my rigid dagger out and stick it inside him. I made him scream out half a lament half a tortured cry, then held his right leg up, the one that was enfolding me before.

And then he writhed in pleasure while his vocal cords were tearing my name apart at every jamming, at every jostling; begging for kisses, imploring them, demanding them. He reached out his arms to get a hold of my face; with his lips he was hunting for mine’s. So we kissed in such muddled way, once and once again. Our tongues met, said good bye and met a great bunch of times over and over again. And then he put his hands around my waist tightly giving a boost to the thrusting. And we were getting beyond rhythm, beyond urgency, beyond fervor. And the melody from our sobs was beginning to deaf us both; sounded more like a groan in pain than a groan for excitement, sounded more like a cry in pain than a cry of enjoyment. And one of my hands got a hold of his magnificent spear. And every time I moved back, rubbed his spear over full of energy. And every time I pushed against, applied more pressure to his spear. And then, placed both of his hands on my butt, grasping firmer and firmer to it. And I was about to reach the climax. About to reach the top of the ecstasy. And he whispered in my ear that he was at the same point. About to explode. About to bursting. Carried on swaying; harsher every next time, quicker every next time. Carried on burning in flames. Carried on smacking on the lips and making half noisy howls. Carried on giving high-pitched notes, time after time. Until I couldn’t hold it back much longer and ended up shooting all my ammo into his well; still standing chained to him, trembling and sinking myself into his whole body. Even though I’ve finished, I kept on with him and the grasp. Now three fingers were visiting his well. And as how he was huffing and puffing, I already knew he was very close to reach the top of the peak. And I planted a great bunch of passionate kisses on his neck, at the same time I sunk my fingers right deeper and deeper into his well. And it made a shiver run through his skin. And I jolted his spear even furrier and narrower. And I noticed how his well got tighten, got smaller. And now he reached the top, at last. And he spattered us both as a result.

And I embraced him in his last breath. He locked to me in an affectionate embrace, resting his lips on my shoulders. We stayed like that quite a while. Until we were able to recover the energy, to slow down the pulse, to put out our fire. Just when we moved away a little, I realized he was crying and smiling at the same time. Did I go way too far? Did I hurt him somehow? Did I upset him? There were so many doubts stuck in my throat that I couldn’t put together properly any of them. So I decided to dry his tears, to kiss his forehead and held him tightly again and he placed his head on my chest quivering, so fragile. He might be wearing in black for mourning his deceased partner all over again, might be mourning her loss. Earlier we were just friends so he might’ve been keeping up appearances, despite that he might’ve been deadly ruined inside. Now, he couldn’t care less to show me his most helpless side.

I allowed him to spew his grief out, to rain in his heart and soul. He needed that moment, he needed to fix every bit of his broken self, needed time to get all the pieces back together and heal every fracture.

In a extremely gentle manner, I headed him for the bed, made him to lie down and I kept company next to him so he could cuddle up in my chest comfortably. He didn’t let me go, not a bit, not for an instant. The storm took its time to calm down but it didn’t bother to me to wait as much as needed. He gave me support when Josie was taken away from me, he was the most helping hand and the best adviser I ever had by far. And now, he needed me more than ever, and so did I, even if I found it difficult to admit it openly.

I fondled his jet black hair, thanks to that I managed to quiet his sobs down. I planted another kiss on his forehead and didn’t move away from it. His eyelashes were raking dimly my skin. I got the impression his eyes were open yet watered.

The storm ceased already after a quite long lapse of time.

- What was it, Coop? – I was able to put into words at last. - What did just happen was the utmost representation of affection between two human beings – met his two autumnal shiny eyes - and you, my dear Harry, also took part in it.

The curious double meaning of his reply captivated me, because he was very right: affection for her and affection for me. One thing wouldn’t have happened without the other, not a good thing would’ve happened if the tragedy hadn’t started in the first place. We had to pass though that tender brute event of our lives, we were mistimed and on time, at the best and the worst of times; in that pretty and revolting precise place. That murder, that terrible criminal act committed to your nearest and dearest someone, kills a part of yourself too, a part of your identity; or it’s simply the great imprint she left on you. Later, you look around, yet everything’s wrecked you realize what remained among the wreckage; those were the ones who survived, the ones who stay on your side, who stand any emotional, spiritual or terrestrial disaster. That gives you hope again. And the gratitude I was feeling at that very instant I knew he was sensing it because a widely smile played over his face even though was wet. He was feeling the same thing and I couldn’t wait much longer so I kissed him so mildly we barely touch; as if it was my first young love, my first time going to bed with someone, and I was worried about ruining it all by acting in a rush.

Before we could even be aware of it all, we were getting very sleepy. We’ve covered ourselves with the sheet and the bedspread and then he snuggled up on my chest while I was holding him tight. I secretly dreamed to be just like that, catching a whiff of shampoo from his jet black hair; simultaneously my fingertips were brushing up and down his spine.

The sun was going down changing its color into a brighter orange. I never wanted that very moment to end, I wanted to be by his side, up to the last day of my existence.

#fanfiction #twinpeaks #twinpeaks slash #slash #truman/cooper #Dale Cooper #harry truman #cooper/truman #truper #harry/cooper #harrytruman/dalecooper #special agent dale cooper #specialagentcooper #harry/dale

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andrea-lyn · 5 years

Note

A Malex Prompt: The Air Force finds out what Sgt. Manes has been up to: diverting military funds for his own private war in a time of fiscal restraint, bribery, a side deal of stolen valour (I myself don't put it past him). The fall-out and subsequent court martial(s if we include Flint and the prison support staff) is epic (I'm assuming Alex is smart enough to erase himself from any collusive evidence). Bonus: Also, Sgt. Manes? They /did/ come in peace, you *unmentionable soiled underwear*.

Six weeks after Kyle injects his dad with barbiturates, Jesse Manes comes around from his coma. Alex makes sure that he’s there, because he wants to see the look on his father’s face when he sees the MPs standing there flanking him while Alex sends off a few emails.

“You’re awake,” he says, feigning a bored tone even if his heart is pounding wildly. “Good.”

“Alex?” Jesse’s drugged still, clearly out of it, but Alex refuses to look at him. He’s not going to let Jesse manipulate him anymore.

He’s had six weeks to put an airtight case together. He has the scrubbed footage that Kyle had escaped with from Caulfield, he has decades of papers that delve into diverting government funds into his project, bribing officials, and an intent to commit genocide against an unknown race.

He could’ve added in ‘assault against minors’, but that one felt personal and he’s trying to keep Michael out of this for now.

”Hi, Dad,” Alex says calmly, stepping aside to allow the inevitable to take its course.

“Jesse Manes, you’re under arrest.”

Alex swears he’s never heard sweeter words.

He’d insisted that he be here for when they haul him away, even if his commanding officers had questioned his need to see his own father being carted off, but he’d made Michael stay back until he could safely make sure that Jesse Manes was behind bars and the smart bomb wouldn’t go off. He needs to be sure that Jesse won’t be a problem in their lives.

Hands behind his back, defeated, Jesse slides a disappointed look over Alex. “You’re making a mistake.”

“I’m choosing a side,” Alex counters.

“They’re a violent race, Alex. You’re making the wrong choice, they’re incapable of love,” he spits out.

Alex shakes his head, because if there’s one truth that he’ll always know and hold true, it’s that his father is wrong. “No,” he says, and there isn’t a shred of doubt. “They’re capable of more love than you’ve ever shown me. Unprovoked violence is something you’re an expert on, but they,” he says sharply, cautious not to use Michael’s name, “came here in peace. We’re the villains who pulled the trigger.”

”It’s because of him,” Jesse spits as he’s put in cuffs, his rights being read to him. “You’ll regret this!”

Alex watches his father go, the double doors shutting behind him with a heavy clang. He stands there as he’s debriefed by the MPs, is given an expected timeline of when the evidence will be reviewed, and then he’s there in the hospital alone.

Not alone, not really.

”Hey,” Kyle says, sneaking up on him. “You okay? I could’ve kept him in the coma, you know. I actually think I might’ve liked that.”

Alex shakes his head, because as tempting as it might be to let his problems stay unconscious, this is better. This has the potential for consequences not only for his father, but his brothers and every other person who hurt Michael and his family for the last seven decades.

”I think we need to get a beer to celebrate,” Alex says, feeling weird saying that, but right.

He needs to celebrate because his father is going away, Alex has successfully kept himself, Kyle, and Michael out of the crosshairs, and maybe he’s celebrating something his father had said.

Because it’s true.

He chose Michael. He’s just getting used to what it’s like to choose him and not run away, but it feels good. It feels like the kind of thing that deserves that celebration beer, along with the relief that tonight he’ll fall asleep knowing that Jesse Manes can’t hurt him.

That relief is worth twenty-seven years’ worth of beer, but Alex will start with the one and work from there.

When he gets a text that his father has been found guilty and is being sent to prison, Alex expects to feel relief. He expects the last ten years of pain to melt away and leave only the good, but it doesn’t. He feels alone. Victorious, but alone.

He slides away the notification and stares at his contacts for ten minutes before he gets up the courage to text Michael.

Are you okay? My Dad’s gone, I need to know you’re okay.

It’s not what he should be texting. His father just went to prison, orchestrated by Alex’s hand himself, and he’s asking if Michael is okay. It’s better than what they’ve been doing, late night moments where they crash into bed together, because deep down, they always collide.

The text must be ominous, because Michael calls ten minutes later.

“Alex, what the hell?”

“My dad got sentenced today,” Alex says, his voice sounding deceptively calm given the enormity of that news. “Twenty years. Pretty light, if you ask me, but that means he’s not going to be around. Twenty years in a secure military prison.”

“He should’ve gotten seventy,” Michael spits out.

If there were karmic justice, then yeah, Jesse Manes would have and he would’ve been someone’s lab rat for all of them.

“Come over,” Alex says. Pleads, maybe. He’s been keeping Michael at arm’s length for so long until this is over and he’s not sure he entirely has a right to ask this of Michael, even though he’s not sure that he’s asking him to come over for anything more than his company.

It’s just that ‘company’ usually turns into something else entirely.

There’s a knock on his cabin door that jolts him from his thoughts and he opens it to find Michael on his doorstep. “I’ve been waiting for you to call me since you sent him away,” he admits hoarsely. “That text, today, I started driving here, because I’m tired of waiting for that Jesse Manes shaped elephant in the room to go to jail.”

He pushes a hand on Alex’s chest, grabbing his phone and hanging up the call, wrapping an arm around Alex’s waist so he doesn’t go stumbling when his legs hit the couch.

“I chose you,” Alex breathes, as he collapses back onto the seat. “Jesse wants everyone to think that you’re not capable of love, but I know better. I know, because I know that you loved me.”

“Close,” Michael says, sinking down into a straddle.

Alex’s brow furrows worriedly, his stomach churning with an uncertain flare he hadn’t counted on. “Michael?”

“That I love you,” he corrects. “C’mon, Alex, you gotta get it right if you’re gonna shove it in your Dad’s face when I show up at the trial with you,” he teases in barely more than a whisper.

Hands holding tight to Michael’s waist, Alex pulls him down and spends the next few hours showing him how incredible of an idea that is, along with showing how much he loves Michael right back, using his words, his body, and all of his heart.

#joanib #malex #malex fic #tumblr prompts #jesse manes gets his comeuppance #michael/alex #fic

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makenna145 · 5 years

Text

Welcome to Riverdale (Fangs x Ellie x Sweet Pea)

Chapter 3: The Real You

Ellie stood from her seat and walked over to the entrance to hopefully try and find out what Jughead and Fangs were discussing, but as soon as they saw her coming, Jughead patted Fangs on the back and left in the direction Ellie had just came from. Ellie turned and watched as Jughead took her previous spot next to Betty. However, not really worrying about Jughead, she turned once more to continue towards Fangs. “Hey, what were you two talking about?” she asked when she finally reached him.

“Oh nothing, Just some serpent business.” Fangs was never a good liar, especially with Ellie. She could tell he was doing it every time.

“Well I’m a serpent too so why don’t you tell me?” She lifted an eyebrow and crossed her arms. She knew he was hiding something. The conversation was clearly about her, why else would they be staring directly at her?

“I promise nothing is wrong, don’t worry about it.” Fangs said annoyed. He had never acted this way to her. She felt anger build up inside her.

“Okay then, I’m going to class. When you are ready to tell me why you are lying to me you know where to find me.” She huffed out of frustration, leaving the lounge and heading to her first period class. She knew that she would have to face Fangs again at lunch but at least she had a couple of classes to calm down. She made her way to her seat and sat down. No one was in the classroom seeing that she had gotten into the classroom earlier than most people even got to school. She pulled out her notebook and pen for that class and then leaned back in her desk.

Five minutes had passed when she felt her phone buzz in her jacket pocket. Pulling it out, she saw that she had received a text from Toni.

Toni <3: Hey girl! I saw you leave early, you ok???

Ellie: Yeah, Fangs and I had a small fight, so I left a little early.

Toni <3: I’m on my way, be prepared to spill. :)

Putting her phone down, Ellie waited for Toni to walk through the door. She tapped her fingers on the table. She was still very mad at Fangs for being secretive and lying to her face. However, relief flooded over her when she saw her pink haired friend waltz through the door. Toni walked to the back of the room, taking the seat on the left of Ellie. She sat on top of the desk, legs dangling over the side. She looked at Ellie as if telepathically telling her to tell her everything that happened 8 minutes ago.

Turning to face Toni, Ellie told her everything that happened from the time they walked into the lounge to now.

“Has he even texted you?” Toni asked. Ellie shook her head. Toni, shocked, got up and left the room leaving Ellie in her seat.

————————————

Toni walked down the hallway looking for the smaller dark-haired boy. She wanted to know what he was hiding. If he was talking about Ellie she needed to know. Toni was a short girl so seeing over everyone was hard, but she knew that if she could find Sweet Pea, she would find Fangs, and Sweet Pea stood out like a sore thumb. Making her way back to the lounge, she spotted the tall, raven haired boy leaning over a table, talking to someone she didn’t recognize. It didn’t surprise her that Sweet Pea was there because he skipped class all the time, but when she didn’t see Fangs alongside him, she worried. What is he up to?

Toni walked up to Pea hoping that he would know where Fangs had run off to. By tapping on his shoulder, Toni was able to get Fangs attention. Sweet Pea stood up and faced Toni, looking down so he could see her properly.

“What’s up Toni?” Sweet Pea was curious as to why Toni wasn’t in class…she never skipped.

“Have you seen Fangs anywhere?” she asked him.

“Not since he left with Jones and his northside princess.” He rolled his eyes in annoyance. He hated the thought of his best friend ditching him for those two. “Why?” He asked. Toni noticed the annoyance, he could notice something was up with her.

“He was talking to Jughead about something this morning and when Ellie went and asked him about it he completely blew her off and lied to her.” Even though Sweet Pea hated Ellie, he knew that it was not in Fangs’ character to act like that. “I’m going to check in the Blue in Gold if you want to come with me.” She stated as she walked out of the lounge once more. Sweet Pea debated with himself about going, but in the end, he convinced himself that he was going for Fangs and not Ellie. Ending the conversation, he was having, he ran to catch up with Toni.

———————————

The two walked up to the door of the room where Jughead and Betty spent most of their time. The Blue and Gold. Southside High had something similar, the Red and Black, but it wasn’t in use except for the short time Jughead was there. Taking a deep breath, Toni opened the door to reveal the three teens sitting around Betty’s “desk”. All three sets of eyes darted in the direction of the door, startled by the sudden action of Toni.

“Toni? Sweet Pea? What are you doing here?” Jughead asked. Fangs slid down in his seat. He knew exactly why they were here.

“Ellie told you didn’t she” Fangs didn’t even make eye contact with them. He felt terrible about lying to her, but he was doing what he had to do to keep thins investigation under wraps. Before either of them could answer he continued. “I feel terrible for lying to her, but if you promise not to tell anyone I can tell you why I did it to begin with.” Fangs sighed finally looking at them. He didn’t want this many people involved but he knew that if he didn’t tell them it would only make them more curious which would inevitably end very badly.

Sweet Pea and Toni looked at each other then nodded and made there way over to where the others were, shutting the door behind them. Fangs began to explain everything to the two of them, starting at Pop’s Friday night. “Ellie and I went out to Pop’s after we left the Wyrm so that we could get some milkshakes and have a conversation in a quieter place so that we could actually hear each other. It was going well until I asked her about her time in London. It was like there were things she didn’t want people to know about.” He paused allowing Toni to speak.

“Well Fangs, to be fair doesn’t everyone have things from their past that they want to bury? Maybe she just doesn’t want to think about it again.” Toni stated in Ellie’s defense.

“Well yeah, I mean I have some of those myself, but this was…different. It didn’t seem like that she just didn’t want to talk about it. It was like she felt like if anyone found out it would ruin her life. She literally told me that she wanted to tell me, but she couldn’t.” Toni didn’t say anything else. She herself was on edge about the whole situation. “So, I decided to find out myself. I asked Jughead and Betty to help me find her records and stuff from London, basically anything we could find on her. We were going to meet afterschool but this morning Jughead told me that he already found stuff on her. He had done a little searching when she first moved here but when FP found out, he told him to drop it. He said he was hostile about it too.” Toni and Sweet Pea were speechless. They began to feel just like the others. They wanted to find out what secrets Ellie was keeping from them. “That was what Jughead and I were talking about this morning. That’s why I had to lie to Ellie. I can’t have her find out about this, at least until we find something.” Sweet Pea crossed his arms and leaned against the bookshelf behind him.

“So, have you all found anything” He wondered if what they were searching for would make him hate her more, because honestly, he didn’t want to. He wanted to like her but there was something about her that rubbed him the wrong way. At times he wondered if it was because she was beginning to steal his best friend away from him. Fangs would cancel plans to go hang out with Ellie and Sweet Pea hated it.

Betty sat a stapled set of papers in front of them. “Everything legal looks fine, but then again she is a minor. They can keep a lot of things out of the database. So, then I decided to look up her mom. There were many DUI charges and other petty crimes like theft. However, one thing caught my eye. It was an article on her death…5 months ago. Right before she came to Riverdale.” Betty pulled up the article on her laptop as the others gathered behind her. “It says that her death was ruled an accident but that was not what surprised me, it was this…” Betty pointed to a sentence toward the end of the article.

As they read it, they gasped in shock. Toni threw her hands up to her mouth as it hung agape. Sweet Pea ran his hands through his hair, contemplating what was going to happen next. Fangs stared into the screen as his worst nightmare just became a reality. Jughead stepped back. His suspicions were true. Ellie was not who she said she is. She was not the sweet, innocent girl that he had come to love as his sister.

“Oh my god…” he gasped. Still in shock. “Ellie killed her mom.”

TAG LIST:

@chipster-21

#riverdale #sweet pea #fangs fogarty #jughead jones #betty cooper

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raymondleonora1993 · 4 years

Text

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snickery-doodles · 6 years

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Competition Crisis

AN: Hi! This is the first thing that I’m posting here but I promise this is not similar to my usual writing. This was an assignment for a class and one of the requirements was to let the world see it so that is exactly what I am doing.

Trigger warnings: Anxiety? I think maybe. I don’t know if that counts or not.

I looked at the clock. We were running two minutes late and for reason this sparked a feeling of fear in my chest. Like they’d leave without us if we were just two minutes late. They might, how do you know? I not-so-politely asked my subconscious to shut up. I directed my gaze to Leah, who promptly wiggled her eyebrows at me. I returned the gesture and we fell into a fit of giggles. The worries in my heart melted away as we joked around for the rest of the ride. I’ve never been able to understand how she warms the room when she walks in, bringing a smile to everyone’s face. No matter my understanding I loved it.

Leah’s mom dropped us at the school 3 minutes late, and to my relief the buses were still there. We ran inside and grabbed our instruments, hurrying to help Gabby load them on the bus. Her hair was curled and she looked miserable. Gorgeous, sure, but miserable. We opened the back of the bus and loaded the bass in, completing our part of the work. I felt ready for the competition ahead of me.

“Are you ready!?” My friend Kate ran and dramatically threw her arms around my neck. Looking me up and down she paused, “You look nice!”

Chuckling, I returned the compliment. “You look good too.”

Ms. Clement exited the orchestra room, looking around at the children dressed in black. It looks like we’re going to a funeral, I thought, running my eyes over the outfits of the people around me. Concert attire was so much more drab and formal than the colors that usually populated our ranks, it was kind of sad.

“Move it, move it! On the bus folks!” Ms. Clement yelled in a sing-song voice, shooing me toward the small crowd that was forming around the doors. I smiled, hopping over. I was excited, it would be nice to perform alongside my friends- no, my family. Gabby, Leah, and I ran to the back of the bus and hurled ourselves into the seats, anxiously bouncing. I don’t think it really set in what was happening, I was in a state of Nirvana and nothing could ruin it. Yet.

Once we got moving Ms. Clement made her way down the aisle of the bus, handing us small bags. It had candy and a finger puppet and a little note. It read: “I’m so happy for all of you! You’ve come so far. Good luck!”. I smiled wide, Ms. Clement would be proud of us, I would make sure of it. It’s the least that we could do for her considering everything that she had done for us.

Here to break me from my thoughts came Kate, popping her head into my seat. She joined the conversation and we laughed the whole way to the competition. At one point, we got the entire bus to join us in song. Of course it was from The Sound of Music, but still. We sang, and cackled, and talked, and ate the sugar Ms. Clement shouldn’t have given us.

“Alright kiddos,” Ms. Clement called, “We’ll be there in five minutes!”

A sudden seriousness spread across the bus. It was competition time, and competition time meant anxiety time. I’m not good with performing. It puts an added stress onto something I do on the daily. A relaxation technique becomes something I need to calm down from. I took deep breaths, trying not to think too hard about the coming hours. I could already feel my heart slowing down, I would be fine.

We stepped off the bus and my optimism fell.

Oh boy, I thought. This is going to be fun.

I stared at the ground as we walked through this foreign school’s halls. Every step I took was more feelings of alarm growing in my stomach, more noise in my brain.

I think I’m going to puke.

Wringing my hands together I tried to push down the nausea in my stomach. My breaths struggled to make it out of my lungs, I was panicked. I had never been in any sort of proper competition before, let alone one for orchestra. Orchestra was my life, it was one of the most important things to me. It gave me something to feel proud of. Now I was competing with it. My little pride was at stake. The performance for the IGSMA District competition was looming in front of me and I wanted to turn around. We were to play three pieces, Concerto in D Minor, Sunayama, and Ventus, for judges and a crowd. My nerves wouldn’t have been nearly this bad if we weren’t playing our second song, Sunayama, which featured a solo quartet of the section leaders, the best players in each instrument section. Guess who the section leader of the violas is.

We stood in the hallway outside the gymnasium. The ceiling loomed above me and I found myself studying the scuff marks on the floor before I looked up at my friend, Rose. She was older and I looked to her like a god of these things. She was in eighth grade, one year ahead of me. Besides school competitions, she also competed in many things outside of the district. She looked down toward me, I didn’t notice I was shaking until she put her hand on my shoulder and steadied me. “It’s going to be okay,” she whispered, “you’re gonna do great.”

The statement released some of the tension in my shoulders, but I could still feel butterflies ricocheting around my stomach like bullets. I silently wondered if I’d be able to go to the bathroom and calm myself down a bit before we went on, find a way to regulate my breathing. This will be so much worse if I have a panic attack mid-piece, I thought. As I turned to ask Ms.Clement about my escape, I heard footsteps advancing down the quiet hall. I whirled around and saw one of the volunteers heading towards our little group.

“Huntley Middle School? It’s your turn.”

Oh God, I thought. It was time; and I was not ready in the slightest.

My friends gave me whispers of good luck as we walked into the gym. Knowing they were there made me feel better, but with that relief also came the crushing fear of letting them down. We had all worked so hard, I trembled at the thought it might all be for nothing. As long as I make it through Concerto we’ll be fine, we’ll breeze through Sunyama and rock Ventus. All will be well.

Oh but things would not be well.

I barely noticed when we finished Concerto because then the floodgates opened and panic filled my body head to toe. I had been told I play too quietly for the solo many times in rehearsal, and yesterday our concertmaster, the leader of the melody, said she relied on me to keep the beat. Oh yeah. No pressure. I bit my tongue, tasting the metallic flavor of blood as I prepared myself for the inevitable. My internal monologue was consistently screaming. I wasn’t ready.

But suddenly I had to be. With Ms. Clement’s cue we started.

I had to grab my jaw and physically pull it down for me to stop clenching my teeth. A numbness of sorts spread across me. As applause spread across the gym I wanted to crawl under my chair. I messed up. Shame heated my face and I couldn’t think straight. I failed. They’ll hate me. I thought to myself. I was too quiet, I held a note too long. It was small, but the smallest mistakes are sometimes the worst.

I saved emotion for when this was over. One more song then I could hide. I saw Rose direct her gaze in my direction. I met it but quickly looked away. She was probably angry. I wouldn’t blame her if she was. I’m sorry.

Huntley MS Chamber Orchestra

I was afraid to look down, but I did anyways.

Division I

Tears filled my eyes again, but this time of joy. I leapt forcefully into the arms of my friends, happily squealing. My muscles relaxed and I couldn’t stop smiling. Even Vivian and Caleb were happy, that was a rarity. My mistake hadn’t cost us this. I looked around, seeing all these people that I considered family. Emily, Gabby, Leah, Kauthar, Akemi… Their faces were bright. When I was unsure, when I was certain I had ruined our chances, they were there to pick me back up.

“I told you that you’d be fine,” Rose laughed, her eyes sparkled. A bit of confidence surged through me, mixing with the dopamine and becoming a potion of good feelings. It was nice.

Please let me know if you notice any errors or things that could be improved, I’m always working to improve my writing. Thanks!

#competition #story #writing #memoir #long #orchestra #IGSMA #orchestra competition #new writer #bad writer #anxiety tw #anxiety #constructive criticism

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rebeccadagostino-blog · 7 years

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The Parking Lot Hierarchy

The engine sounded like a piece of tin foil getting rustled around in a blender every time I accelerated. The breaks would squeak on dreary days and both the passenger side door and front bumper were smashed in. None of this damage was done by me, but it was the situation that I was born into, and I couldn’t change that.

It became embarrassing, all the days that the rusty Pathfinder wouldn’t start, the lights would flicker, fighting their hardest battle to turn on while the engine would click violently as I turned the key. But all at once, the dashboard just went dark every time. All the times that I would see people look back as the breaks screamed and the engine panicked would cause me to bite my nails behind the wheel as I would try and cope with the rejection.

I couldn’t keep up with the mustangs, beamers, custom jeeps, and fancy vintage cars that flooded the parking lots. My beat up SUV would damage the lot’s aesthetic each morning as I rolled up and parked in the same spot everyday, leaving a leaky-oil patch on the pavement as weeks went by.

Somehow I managed to feel confident enough not to park in the back corner. I still parked next to my friends and their cars that were marketed in the past five years, but inevitably I always ducked my head getting in and getting out.

I was living in a rich town, with rich kids, and they just couldn’t comprehend the concept of struggle, discomfort, and making it by.

It was a dreary Monday morning. The sky was a crisp grey while patches of snow created steam against the air. The car door clicked closed as I shut it heavily. I put in my headphones as I made my way to the passenger side door to grab my bags. When of course, I noticed another issue. The pointless metal strip that existed solely for decoration had popped off and bent into a saggy position from having to carry it’s own weight over night.

I stood in the lot like an idiot. Staring at it as my friend Brandon pulled into the parking lot in his California Special GT Mustang. He parked, got out, clicked his key and walked into school. I faced the car concealing my face, protecting myself from his infamous teasing as I grabbed the metal attachment and attempted to bend it back straight. I couldn’t bear to hear a comment right now, I could just hear his mocking tone now,

“Having trouble?”

“What’s wrong with it now?”

“Looking good!” I thought of all possible things he could say in this moment, all through his same snickering laugh. He had been my closest friend since eight grade, but damn did he know how to make me mad. Failing to bend the piece back gracefully, I quickly gave up, grabbed my stuff, and got as far away from my Pathfinder as I could.

On my walk to the door, I noticed a tall and skinny frame nearby through the fog, and as I got closer I realized it was my friend Becca.

“Morning,” she said through her breath as she finished collecting her bags and closed the door to her 2015 Prius. Her car made me jealous. It was just a Prius and people picked on her for that fact alone, but it was new, reliable, and didn’t give people an opening to form jokes on the more secretive side of her identity. She heard jokes regarding the car’s reputation, but no one ever came to make jokes about or judge the life she had back home. When her bumper was dented for a bit, it was simply because she had a minor accident in her first year of driving. It wasn’t because her dad got in an accident and used the insurance money to pay the bills, leaving her with the damage. Aside from it’s quirks I used to like the Pathfinder, until the day that it failed me for the first time. Ever since that day, I could never trust it again.

It was class color day and me and Brandon were heading back to Senior Lot all dressed in red from head to toe, repping the senior class and making sure that all the underclassmen knew we were apart of it. I opened the driver’s side door, standing awkwardly as I waited for us to finish organizing our after school plans before I climbed in. Everything was finally settled and I closed the door, watching as Brandon began walking towards his toy car while I turned the key, anticipating the crinkling noise of the engine starting. When suddenly, nothing.

The Pathfinder was dead.

I watched Brandon stop in his tracks as he heard the unfortunate engine noises and listened for me to try again. I turned the key again and again, but no attempts led to any positive results.

Fifteen minutes later my mom showed up with jumper cables and all three of us were standing around the hood of the Pathfinder, looking for what to do next.

I readjusted my itchy red tights and attempted to fix my smudging red eyeshadow when i felt one of the popular girls staring at me as she walked by. From a distance I saw her as she stopped for a moment and rolled her eyes. I noticed her talk discretely to her friend with a condescending smile swiped straight across her face. I did my best to hide, but it was too late, so I began laughing, making it appear to her as a joke, but I knew it wouldn’t work.

Brandon’s friend Tyler exited the school doors and began walking towards us when he saw the current conditions of the Pathfinder.

“Do you guys need help?” he asked kindly as he leaned in to view the engine, making a questioning face when he noticed one of the parts, “What’s growing on the battery?” He said while laughing and covering his gasping mouth. Brandon then noticed as well and joined in his teasing. I stood passively as I stared at the blue moldy looking crystals that were growing as a result of the battery’s acid.

Once again, the Pathfinder had something else wrong with it and people began pointing fingers at me for doing the damage. I did my best to keep calm and just prayed for the day to be over, and after making the trips to three different automobile supply and repair shops, it finally was.

The Pathfinder wasn’t an embarrassment when when my family first got it. Yes, it’s engine was beginning to go and it’s mileage was climbing it’s way up to 300,000, but we got it from a friend for free, and all of it’s issues were kept secret under it’s frame.

Until little by little, rust began forming on the doors when it suddenly had to live outside of my Grandma’s house when my dad moved out. Small dents appeared due to carelessness, and a large crater was born in the fender when my dad borrowed the car during the three weeks that my mom took me to England to meet her family.

I kept getting handed unfortunate surprises that were caused by events out of my control. Instead of using the insurance money to fix something that wasn’t my fault, my sister’s tuition was paid.

When my sister Chelsea was learning to drive, the Pathfinder was spotless and respectable, but once she left for college, everything fell apart. By the time it’s keys got to me, divorce was the reality, and I watched as my family slowly broke down, just as the car did. I managed to survive two years with the Pathfinder. The summer before I moved into college, my dad decided to take the Pathfinder into his own hands and give me a new car. A used car of course, a quirky 2005 ford focus hatchback to be specific. It was nothing fancy, but it meant a lot more to me than it would've to any of the other kids who parked in that lot. What made this car different was that it had no issues, the mileage was low, and it radiated an expressive blue paint job. This car was a new beginning. A clean slate for my life’s new chapter, and I would no longer have reminders of the past and have to be embarrassed by it. This car gave me the ability to just be me.

I wasted no time. I began compounding, polishing, and waxing it the moment the keys were placed in my hands.

When I took it for it’s first test drive, I played the music loud and turned the key successfully, without any noises of exhaustion. I pushed my foot down onto the pedal and all at once, the car flew down the driveway. A rush ran down my spine from being behind the wheel of a car that had nothing holding it back.

I was ready for what was next to come in my life. I would no longer have to waste energy on hiding my face in parking lots and brainstorming ideas on how to fix something that was simply far too broken. This time around, I would be free of what was out of my control and I would get to be the person I’ve always been under all the pain and judgement.

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