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takalzuoom · 2 years

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I literally wrote this on deuce’s birthday lmaoo

but here it is‼️

Azul x writer reader

You really didn’t want to be here.

Though you really didn't have a choice at this point, did you?

You’ve already exhausted all your other options- yet you had nothing to show for it. So at this point you were desperate

Especially after the piss poor help you got from Idia

oh yeah, you even went to Idia.

Idia

aka the school shut in

And though he had a million ideas, they were all shit and didn‘t help

And so that’s where plan Z comes in. To sell your soul to the devil. Aka : Azul Asshengrotto

Like Eve's temptation to the apple, you couldn't help but open the doors to the lounge, knowing that there was an evil waiting in the shadows of the fine dining establishment, just waiting to snatch you up. And drag you to the scorching layers of hell.

Looking around, you recognized the randoms who were scattered around the lounge doing things randos do. Like eating with friends, or studying alone with a crazy expensive drink at their side.

So just knowing you had a live audience to your walk of shame made it even worse.

Assholes 🙄

“Ah, greetings y/n We’ve been expecting you” you couldn't help the shiver that ran up your spine when you heard a familiar silky purr. Already having an inkling of what it was as you slowly craned your neck to the side.

And right you were cause lo and behold; the twins.

Almost like they were dragging themselves from the isolating shadows, they both wore a matching grin on their faces, though they were both different in meaning.

“Jade, Floyd”

“Howdy”

“We heard you were scampering around the school like a crazed catfish, so we knew you were bound to show up at one point”

“Of course you heard” You sighed, shifting your satchel- a ‘generous’ present from Crowley, uncomfortably the texture of the leather soothing you a bit.

“Can anyone do anything without you two knowing?”

“Nope!” “You could try” Jade leaned down towards your neck “ After all we like a good chase”

“Okayyyy” you pushed him to the side a bit, seeing Floyd just stare at you as his brother chuckled, going back to his side.

Floyd wasn't even smiling or anything- he was just zoning out … menacingly

“This is great ‘n all, but I would rather get going now”

Walking past them before they could say anything, there was a sudden grip on your shoulder stopping you from moving “careful shrimpy, you don't wanna swim with the fishies don't ya?” Floyd whispered. And though there was a considerable height distance. The leer he was giving you was enough to get the message across as his nails started digging into the front blade of your shoulder more and more as each second passed. A dull pain is starting to bloom.

“Oh, Floyd” Jade chuckled “Don't say things like that, you’ll scare away our VIP. And Azul wouldn’t like that.”

He groaned, grip slipping as Jade consoled him a bit before they quickly slipped into their conversations

“Creepy” you shuddered, slinking off towards Azul’s office, muscle memory proving you use as you couldn't help but think of the last time you were here. To get your idiotic friends out of their own idiotic consequences

How long ago was that, you weren't sure but you were ready to forgive and forget if it meant getting your shit done and over with.

The creaking of the door and the small call of Azul’s name were the only things to liven up the gloomy, stand-offish atmosphere, all the books

settling down on the couch, bag almost blending into the fabric, you started wandering around- pulling at books, checking his desk, staring at the giant fish tank which seemed almost morally wrong…

whatever.

There was yelling outside, so you hurriedly went to sit on the sofa, bag on your lap as you pulled out a book in the nick of time- as the doors slammed open, knocking against the wall as you heard the light panting coming closer

Having some kind of dignity, he cleared his throat, and made his way towards his desk “ah perfect! You didn't tell me you were going to be early!” “..I got here the time you assigned” sitting down, across from you, you swore you could hear giggling from a distance

“Now! Tell me perfect, why did you finally decide to make a deal with me? Is it to get better grades? To get something Sam doesn’t have in stock? Pray tell, to take care of someone-”

“No!” You shouted, not missing his ever-growing smirk “No! Nothing like that” you groaned. A rush of shame washed over you, tucking the pieces of paper that spilled from your bag back in. Taking a breath, you couldn't help but ignore his eyes as you rubbed at your neck.

“Uh, well… oh god this is so humiliating” you whispered, covering your eyes hoping that if you didn’t see him, he wouldn't see you. Though the feeling of having stared through never left, you weren't surprised to see his eyes when you finally looked up.

Pretentious dick.

With a final mental reassurance, you spilled the beans. “Okay- this is gonna sound weird- but not too weird 'cause that's weird ‘n all! And I wouldn't be here if my lovely dimwitted friends couldn't help me, but even if they could they probably wouldn’t take it seriously, or just make fun of me and I’m not in the mood to be bullied like a third grader so that's why I’m here. Though if you can't help me then I don’t know what I’ll do, but then again” you looked him up and down “you’re you so I don't think you’ll even be able to help. So better now than ever ya’ know!- .”

Woah. Just- Woah. Azul was growing dizzy from all the rushed speaking, fast hand movements, and fickle eye contact. He had stopped understanding what you were trying to convey with the rushed change of topics.

“So I need your help” was all he heard as the room suddenly grew quiet

“… Correct, that is why you are here. But what exactly do you need my assistance with?”

He would pat himself on the back later for that one

Though he was rewarded with the funny look on your face that slowly shifted into one of fear. Like you were caught stealing a cookie from the cookie jar.

“Actually- thank you for all your help but I don't think-“

“Sit!”

You sat.

Sighing, he ran his hand through his hair.

“It honestly can't be that bad. And your friends… well… let's say there's a reason why I didn't offer them a paying position”

“Haha… right”

It was silent

“I need your help-“

“Warranted-“

“With writing”

A smug smile overcame his face as he twirled his long bang “An essay? Thesis? Easy. Done by tomorrow-”

“A story..”

He faltered, eyes wide as you suddenly grabbed your bag and pulled it to your lap. You pulled out a stack of index cards, a pen- no you put that back- and a large stack of unruly lined paper… all filled with writing- lots, and lots of writing. And of course, you had to put it in a neat stack on his coffee table.

“ I already have a rough draft of it, but I don't know how to tie the events together, if they're even good and or too cliche. How the characters relations are going to work out, what kind of ending I should pursue, if I should have it as a love story or not-“ you stopped to take a breath, combing your hair as you slouched, elbows on your knees as you stared at him with a tired smile.

“I just need help”

He nodded, mouth zipped shut as you picked up the index cards, smile still there as you run your fingers through them, showing him the array of different colors that filled out both front and back.

“..Is that it?”

You nodded.

“… I see…”

…

Really? For free???

You’re giving him the right to everything- your entire life, future, body, and soul- for free???? I mean- granted he's never actually written a story before, but how hard could it be?? Essays and thesis’, even persuasive writing pieces were a breeze for him! So how could a story differ?

He would find that out when you ordered him to write a descriptive paragraph of a memory.

“You shouldn’t keep using big words that readers won't understand- it takes away from the scene”

“The sun takes 10 minutes to set, so you're telling me it took them 10 minutes to walk five steps at a normal pace?”

“ ‘water nipped at his ankles’ i need more. Was it cold, was it hot, what color was it?, how did they walk through it? Also its a run-on sentence”

“ your hook wasn't even remotely strong enough, I was bored reading the first sentence!”

“ ‘There was something beautiful about the sea’, Well yeah, no shit. I need more… Also you have a run-on sentence

“Knock this out. No ‘but, though, maybe, like-‘ it makes your writing seem weak, you have to have confidence”

“The readers will know you're bored when writing, so don't be bored!”

“You have another run-on sentence”

“It’s not a run-on sentence!“

So with a red marked paper, he realized- the three are extremely different things

After making some bullshit contract agreeing to the deadline of a full month- so basically May 3rd to June 3rd.

Honestly, it took a week for you to actually get things done, as Azul was hounding you down to get a peak at what you were writing about so he could get started because of no one. And he means no one gets in the way of his contracts

That's why you found yourself being dragged away by the twins. And like the villain he is, he emerged from the shadows and sat you down, and to his surprise, you were working on your story - without him

bitch-

“If you did not want my help then why did you approach me?”

“No, I just-“ papers and cards were discarded around the table, different colored pens and highlighters laid on top of them. You sighed.

“I just never really worked with someone before, and it’s… embarrassing to show what I have so far as I go by a pen name and just post my stories online… I don't even have an editor”

“..so is this a-“

“No, it’s not fan fiction!” You hurried out, his amused smirk making you angrier than you already were. “I’m writing it with original characters and intend to make my debut with this! A lot of my fans are waiting for this and I've already spent too much time procrastinating”

“So why not get Idia? He seems better fitted for this line of work” you carefully slid a paper over to read, eyes never leaving yours until he was sure you were deep enough in despair to not catch him snooping.

“I have! But..”

“But?” 🤨

“… never mind! I’ve already tried him and it was a bust! Besides… If I could then I’d be there and not here”

“Ouch,” he covered his chest, faux hurt written on his face as he slid the paper back once he noticed you starting to look up. “I’m offended”

“You know it's not like that” you exasperated, head in your arms as you looked at him.

“.. if you want you can take them and read them on your own time, but for some reason, I can't be there when people read my stuff, it’s just weird for me”

“Got it” you both went to scoop up your things, collecting each paper and note card and properly picking them up, hands accidentally touching when you both went to get the last paper.

But with that, he was on his way- faster than usual that is.

- “Azul said to meet him in the lounge at lunch” Jade commented from behind you, pearly whites on display as he and Floyd slinked off from the bookshelves…

What the fuck? Where did they even come from???

Were they always here? Were they always watching??

That’s beside the point- your brains now worrying about Azul reading your story.

yeah, babe he technically called it hot shit 🧍🏻

“Well, I personally think it’s an extremely romantic tragedy! A slow burn that everyone likes! Kind of like Romeo and Juliet!”

“Romeo and who? Perfect, you are forgetting that I do not know your world's literature. And judging from this” he flicks at the stack of strapped paper he was holding. “You know nothing about our world”

You groaned, jumping on the couch in his lounge “you sound just like Idia” you whined

You weren’t sure if the sigh was from you bouncing on his couch or from the comment, but he rubbed his temple with his free hand

“And besides the point, a lot of readers wouldn’t like you romanizing Stockholm syndrome. Seeing the topic as more taboo than romantic”

Right. Aurora. You forgot about her and how this world is a literal fairy tale. Fuck.

“Why not use another story from your world?”

“Uh, how ‘bout no. I’m not going to steal some old guys work just so I can get my foot out the door”

“And why not? They would never know, and I’m sure if we advertise it as ‘tales from another world it’ll be a huge hit!”

You made a buzzer noise, arms lifted up in an ‘x’ shape “Wrong-o! Can’t and won't do that as I don’t want the only reason my books are trending to be from me being from another dimension. Plus in the contract, it said something I made”

Sighing, Azul pulled out his phone, typing a bit as he stood up and made his way towards you.

“Well from that reasoning, I’m guessing you won’t give up on your idea. And by all means! I’ll have an extra worker for practically nothing! But if you look at the top trending books”

He gave you his phone

“They’re all sappy love stories. So what makes you think your idea hasn’t been done by someone else and if it’ll even stand out? And if your writing will compare to veteran writers' works.”

‘The last dance’

‘Forbidden lovers meet one last time at the king's royal ball before its time for his date with the gallows’

‘Swan song’

‘A hunter finds his lover dead in a lake. Investigating their death only leads him in circles as the only clue he has are a pair of her fading footprints, and a swan feather’

‘The seas of viridity’

‘ an action-packed reverse harem of a royal gone rogue as they experience betrayal, love, lust, and death.'

“That’s because… no one will die!”

“You said the male lead dies-“

“Not anymore! He will have to live with his consequences!”

“Eh, mid at most”

“Fine? Do you have any other ideas?”

“Yes. To change your plot completely.”

“No.“

“Think about it! What do all these books have in common?”

“.ro-“

“Wrong! They’re all straight couples! So… what if they were two male soldiers? Childhood lovers on opposite sides of the war find themselves helping each other when blah blah blah. Both keeping the idea of them being tragic lovers, and bringing something new to the table than a traditional fairytale”

“Hm, that isn't awful…?”

“I know perfect,” he pushed up his glasses, smug smile returning “I know”

So that concluded your daily ‘ plotting session’. Going your separate ways, jotting down ideas here and there, daydreaming about one of them dying and leaving the other mentally scarred as you took Trein’s midterm

So you know, Just the usual ☺️

Until it was time for you both to meet again.

“No! One should die!”

“What? And didn't you just say that no one should die?? Plus- Azul- it's war! They’re going to die!”

“Well, 53% of readers say that they would rather have a heartbreaking event occur than have the two characters live happily ever after!”

“Then 47% say they want them to suffer! And I want them to suffer!”

Sighing, he pointed to the whiteboard with a marker

“Look. We are here to get you on the top of the charts- it doesn’t matter what you want!”

“It does when I’m the one writing!”

Yeah… uh… Jade and Floyd would have thought you two were going at it with how much you were yelling at each other- if it wasn't for the sudden call of their names

“Eh? My opinion… well personally- I like them to be in so much turmoil, that they are physically and mentally impaired for the rest of their life”

“Something that isn't boring and a waste of time. If I got to know the characters. I don't see the point in them dying as I’d immediately stop reading.”

“See!”

This was a mistake. The obvious difference in preferences and motivations was hindering any sort of process. And you didn't even start writing yet with 3 ½ weeks left.

And this was a daily occurrence. Both bickering about the plot, character traits, title

It was enough for Floyd to rather be working than in the back slacking off

“Fine. How about you try making one of the guys with all your logic bullshit, and I’ll make the other. Then we meet tomorrow and try to connect them! Deal?”

“… very well”

Oh god- oh lawd 👴🏻

It was a bloodbath.

But… there was a sudden light at the end of the tunnel you had during crewel’s joint class. With Azul of course

You were with Jamil and Azul was with Ace when you had the genius, life-changing idea

They fake their deaths! But it’s implied of course. The side characters saying something about it.

You just had to tell Azul or else you’d just lose your mind!

“Y/n, focus. You can talk to your boyfriend later”

Whipping around to see Jamil’s unimpressed face, you could only gape your mouth like a fish as he went back to work.

“I- he- we aren’t dating Jamil!”

“Then why are you staring at him like you're about to bite his head off”

“Cause I have to tell him something! Important!”

“…”

“Oh my god no I'm not gonna-“ you lowered your voice “confess to him”

“So you do like him?”

“You're dead to me Jamil”

“Good. One less person to pester me.”

You groaned, almost knocking over a beaker as Jamil snapped at you.

You just had to tell him. now. and neither Crewel nor Jamil was going to stop you. So you did everything to try and get his attention - paper airplanes, accidentally walking past him, punching him in the shoulder- which he only glared at, shushing you when you tried talking.

The last option was Ace.

And so you paid him a buck to deliver the paper to Azul, shooting him a glare when he tried to open it.

Drumming your hands silently as crewel taught you kept glancing between the board and Azul- that was until you made eye contact- eyes equally wide as a smirk went onto his face, as well a thumbs up

“Aww look at that, you have a boyfriend”

“Jamil!-“

“Y/n detention!”

Scuffing, you garbled at the ‘oblivious’ vice dorm leader who was smirking underneath his palm as he and Ace shared a giggle.

And so, after class, you were told to stay with the teacher's aid- Azul.

Wow. How convenient is that? 😐

Almost like it’s a part of a cliche romance troupe 😧

“What you did today was incredibly stupid” he scolded, erasing the board of the deletions due now.

“But this is much better than my office. So good job”

You both grabbed a marker and got to work, writing furiously as you mumbled aloud to each other.

“Okay, so after the big battle, Tedros will storm into the castle, stab wound already on his liver- which will be the reason why he is so fatigued and drowsy”

“And at that point, the king will be hiding behind Samuel, who got punctured by an arrow.”

“And so they both meet in the throne room!”

“Yes! Yes! Then what uh. Uhhhh then what? fuck-“

“They duel? No. The king will be there and that would give time for Nik to come in and stab the king”

“Though it would exile Sam when he finds out he’s dead! And when he sees that it’s Nik he’s going to kill him!”

“And since it’s his first kill-“

“He spirals into a traumatic mess where Tedros comes in and consoles him, resorting to them kissing and confessing!”

It was funny.

The look you both gave each other when you blurted that out at the same time. The smiles on both your faces seemed to falter as you were eye to eye, the few inches he had on you seemed so much more towering than before. His cheeks were a bit rosy, along with his ears as you noticed the grip on his marker tighten, just a smidge.

And if you reached out your pinky, you could touch his hand to feel how incredibly hot it was. You had a thought he noticed this too, his eyes flickered down to your hand before clearing his throat and loosening his tie. He quickly moved to the other end of the board, starting a completely new paragraph.

“But then…” he continued, voice a little quieter as he leaned over to write.

“Why and how would they fake their own death?”

“… Make a moat surrounding the castle? With crocodiles and throw their capes in it?”

He didn't look at you, the marker still touching the board as he started writing again. “Yeah, okay yeah that's good, doesn’t change much” he mumbled.

That was two weeks ago. And there was one week left until the due date. And besides from potions, Azul didn't see you, at all. As you were too busy typing up and finally creating the story you two imagined.

You had a week before the end of the deal, so every minute was crucial as the writing in potions seemed to grow furiously as you had asked Jamil to take notes for you- who of course said no, but you were too busy writing to care. Though luckily, you had noticed his longing glances at your writing. Grey eyes greedily read up every word you jotted down.

And Azul couldn't do much about it as he had other contracts to deal with. No longer being at your side plotting every waking minute felt weird, as more ideas for the book came to mind- no stop that. You were already almost done.

He couldn't interrupt you just for the idea of Tedros already being betrothed and making it an entirely different story

And what’s this about another book idea? Burn it, toss it in the garbage, run it over, and give it to Floyd- you had only asked for one. And who says you'll ask him for help again? With how stubborn you both are you both crammed until the last second.

“Azul!”

Bursting the door open, he and the poor savanaclaw student jumped off the couch as jade and Floyd jogged behind you. “Y/n can't you see I’m busy-“

“I finished it! I finished the first draft! Final draft! Peer editing! All that stupid bullshit! Here!” Jogging behind him, you planted your hand on his shoulder and dropped the stack of papers onto his desk. The title of your novel is on display.

“… y/n I'm in a meeting’

You looked at the Savanaclaw student, then at the twins.

“See, I told ya so”

“Shit- my bad”

…

And with that- you didn't sleep as your mind raced in meaningless circles, wondering if he liked it or not. Face stuffing into your blankets with a groan when you realize he's reading something you wrote

Aka, the day after tomorrow

And it wasn't until the next day at lunch you heard from him, hair with a little less volume, droopy eyes hidden behind his glasses as he left the stack of paper in front of your tray. Not a ‘hello’ or ‘good morning’ as he made his way out of the cafeteria and to the lounge.

And as much as you tried to drown out your friend's persistent attempts at snatching the pile of papers from your grasp, you flipped through it, inked words blurring together as you looked for some kind of critique.

Nope. There was nothing.

With a sigh, you collected your things and immediately bid your friends goodbye, making your way to the ramshackle dorm so you could get in touch with your publisher.

The due date was tomorrow, and you had just barely managed to get the artists commission for the cover-

Good. Good. You can sleep now, relax a bit and just wait for the money and reviews to come flooding in, oh and on top of it all, it’s Friday.

So after class, you trudged into your room, handed grim your phone so he could play on it and wen5t straight to sleep.

Your bed felt a bit softer than it’s usual prickly texture, your blankets feeling warmer and pillow fluffier as you snuggled in with a content sigh, glad this nightmare of a book was over…

NOT

But you were promptly handed it back when grim grumbled about Azul texting you and interrupting his gaming sessions. All to tell you to come to the Monstro Lounge.

Groaning, you flipped up covers, feet about to touch the cold, hardwood floor until you remembered- the book is done. So you don't need to go. With a smile, you rolled over, put Azul on mute, and went back to bed

Until grim’s shrieking abruptly awoke you.

Cause at your door was the twins. Just… standing there… smiling…

“Monstro?”

“Correct”

YOU DID WANT TO KNOW THE TIME- BUT THE LACK OF SUN TOLD YOU IT WAS THE DEAD OF NIGHT AS THEY DRAGGED YOU FROM BED,

DICKS😾

“Like it?”

No. You didn't.

“Azul- we both agreed that I wouldn’t have my name on anything!”

“That was before you put my name on it as well, so legally I get some rights- like properly promoting your book”

You groaned, immediately regretting your good deed of adding him to the credits.

“Look Azul, you know that-“

“We’re in a partnership now? Yes I thought you would say that after looking at the reviews, so I’ve already prepared a contract for you”

“I haven't looked at the reviews yet…”

“Are you insane? Look at this!” He snapped his fingers, to which Jade turned around with a computer balancing on one hand as the other was professionally placed behind him.

Placing it on one of the barren tables, Azul motioned toward it as you hesitantly stepped forward

“Well, go on then. It’s not going to bite”

Rolling your eyes, you started scrolling, your face gradually morphing into one of disgust? As you saw all the 4 and 5 stars people were giving, all the screaming, all the chaos in the review sections-

“W what- Azul! This is amazing! It only came out yesterday!”

“8 hours to be exact. And would you look at that- it’s climbing the ranks”

“Oh my god! W- what do we do? I what-”

“We give the people what they want” he smirked, holding up two fingers as you felt your face beam with happiness, cheeks hurting as you went to hug the frozen octopus.

Alright kids, that's how your father tricked me into becoming his (business) partner 😸

this was a lot longer than i originally thought it was…

#twst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #takalzuoom #azul x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #octavinelle twisted wonderland #octavinelle x reader #azul twst x reader #azul ashengrotto #takalzuoom 🌊

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prongsandhisfoot · 2 years

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i’d thought this before...but now i’m sure. and it’s concerning. i just read a fic--or began it, at least--that was a perfectly fine fic. prongsfoot (my favorite pairing). fine grammar. not too horrendous. but i couldn’t read it. i skimmed to the end, shuddered, and closed the page. nope! not for me.

there you go, confirmed: i can’t do sappy. or romance-y. at all. fluff? if it’s romantic in anyway, absolutely not. like 100% now the reason i like prongsfoot is just since they’re really just Best Friends and romance doesn’t matter since when it gets romantic...no thank you. their dynamic wouldn’t change one bit going out or not, and that’s why i love them. dates? you think james and sirius would go on a date? marriage? ignoring it being the 70s, really? getting each other presents? sure, they already would. i get my friends presents. i can’t think of anything else romantic 😍

i think prongsfoot is just like...a confirmation of their closeness, imo. that they’re the thing that matters most to each other. and in this society (& fandom!) ...romance & sex & attraction and being in a relationship is the marker for Who Matters Most. and james and sirius are in a relationship, whether that’s platonic or not. (not “or more” given that romance isn’t more but then idk how to word it lmao. !) but i don’t think of them in terms of romance (as you can see) or in terms of anything sexual (sure, why not, but it’s not important) and i definitely don’t think of them in terms of attraction since i can’t think in terms of attraction at all. (hah.) so my concept of prongsfoot is together but take away the romance and sex and etc and...isn’t that how most people see them? the only difference is if you go read a wolfstar fic, remus is suddenly the most important person in sirius’s life. (ngl jily fics are better at honoring james & sirius’s bond than wolfstar fics...likely since “platonic” prongsfoot in wolfstar fics are more likely to be seen as a threat to wolfstar lmao.)

so really, to me, prongsfoot is just about their characterization. sure, some prongsfoot fics are horribly characterized--you can’t get through any ship without Big Baby Sirius lol, but both james and sirius tend to be less pathetic and more in character than fics in general. and most importantly, their bond is portrayed as the most important thing. and yeah, it’s a little twisted that that’s done through sex, generally, but...that’s the way it is. i’d be perfectly happy with a james and sirius centric fic with no sex or romance but otherwise exactly prongsfoot--aka the impossibly close bond we see in canon.

finally, most prongsfoot fics tend to not have that romance-y stuff. yeah, i can’t tell the difference anyway, lalala, but point still stands. and with sex--my favorite fic (pioneers) in the history of forever, the sex isn’t important to them. take out the sex and their dynamic is the exact same. the sex is necessary because of the plot, not because they’re inherently sexual. i do...headcanon sex somewhat? i guess? i don’t feel strongly either way but it features prominently in prongsfoot fics (prongsfoot writers love their one shots that start with sex and end with death) so it makes sense in their mind. but it’s largely used as confirmation that prongsfoot exists. since without the sex, what’s the difference between sirius&james and sirius/james? (and that’s why i love them.)

#prongsfoot #aromantic #asexual #aroace

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percywinchester27 · 3 years

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La Petite Mort

Word count: 2.1K

Pairing: Dean X Reader AU

Warnings: None, just fluff, humour and implied sex ;)

Series Summary: The reader has just shifted to a new flat and boy, someone on the floor has a really banging sex life! The passionate moans have been keeping her up for several nights in row and enough is enough! Reader has her suspicions, but is it really the green-eyed hottie from room no. 307?

A/N: It’s a neighbours!AU. I’m finally writing one. So excited to share it with you guys. Hope y’all like it! <3

Beta: The best babe, @deanssweetheart23

Everything was fine till the banging started. Pun very much intended.

The shift had been smooth, the job was going great and life was finally on track. You had slid under the covers with the most satisfied smile in years only to be woken up to a lady very, very, very happy with her life.

Oh yeah… oh yeah… ahhh right there… oh fuck yeah…

You sat up right in your bed, eyes wide, face hot.

Third night in a row. Third fucking night. Literally.

What in the good heavens? The landlady might have mentioned this while renting out the flat!

Shoving the pillow over your ears, you fell back onto the mattress, closing your eyes shut very tightly. Eventually sleep overtook you and you lapsed into lousy dreams of trying to catch the taxi which kept evading you. Not a metaphor for your sex life at all. Nope.

The disturbed sleep didn’t help your mood the following day. Everyone at the office thought of you as a happy-go lucky person. Lately, they were seeing this whole new dark side of you. Sleep was essential to your functioning.

In the evening, on your way back, you stopped by the coffee shop downstairs to pick up a brownie. It was a little place; busy yet quaint. The barista, Charlie, made two hearts in your coffee instead of one. That put the biggest smile on your face.

At least, the day was ending on a high note.

Your newly rented flat was on the third floor of a very complicated building. One staircase did not directly lead into another. An entire hallway had to be crossed to get to it. The design probably broke a hundred different by laws and someone was definitely paid off in the city civil office to get a construction permit. You did not want to imagine how the people would fare in case of a fire emergency. Learning the escape plan was like memorising the map of a treasure hunt. You escape, you win. You lose… whoops! Better luck in next life. But the rent was cheap and you were already living all the clichés of a struggling writer- one incomplete book, a job at a publishing house and addiction to coffee. So, yes, you would brave fire when it came to being able to afford a living.

Struggling with the brownie package and the coffee in your hand you jammed the key into the door. It didn’t go in.

What the hell?

You tried again, and once more the key got jammed. On a closer look, you realised that the lock didn’t resemble yours at all. Stepping back, you peered at the door. 307. Not 306- which was yours.

The floor design was insane and instead of the flats being lined up next to each other, they were all fronting one another in a haphazard fashion. Shaking your head, you took a step back and jammed the key into the lock of your own flat.

Jesus! You’re losing it, Y/N.

Shirking off the mild irritation, you cooked yourself a hot cup of instant noodles, put on your favourite TV show and slinked into your couch. Tonight’s episode was going to reveal who the murderer was and you had been dying for the suspense to finally end.

Just when the protagonist was about to point a gun at the killer in the shadows…

Oh my God... you’re incredible… aahhhh… ahhhh… ahhh…

You completely abandoned the TV and jumped up from the sofa. The fire hazard might still be worth it, but the thin walls so weren’t.

On tiptoes, you made your way to the east side wall, putting your ear against it. The noise wasn’t coming from upstairs. That was the only sure thing. But it was impossible to pinpoint the direction. The moans were reverberating through the walls. So loudly that there was no escaping it. Not in the bedroom, the kitchen or the living room sofa.

Of all of them, the east wall seemed like the culprit.

Right there… yeah…

307. Whoever it was in that room needed to calm the FUCK down. You grabbed your blanket and dragged it to the end of the living room, fuming. What ticked you off was how much this was ticking you off.

It’s sleep you told yourself. The lack of sleep was the only thing making you mad. The sex noises couldn’t be it. Because there were other noises- a dog barked somewhere occasionally, one of the rooms had a very loud stereo and someone was too much into baking- the beater was ceaseless. No, it had to be the timing and your wrecked sleep schedule.

Just like the nights before, you covered your ears and started reciting the story of the manuscript you had been reading at work. Eventually, sleep overtook you again.

The next morning you woke up in a crappier mood. If that was even possible.

Breathing down on anything and everything, you locked the door on your way out for work. Turning into the corridor, you ran into a wall of solid flesh.

In your groggy, sleep deprived state, the first thing you noticed was the way he smelled- leather and whiskey and something headier than that. It was divine. Next, you looked up into those eyes- stunning green, like sparkling water running over jade.

“Easy there, sweetheart!” The guy smirked.

You straightened yourself and took a step back. In front of you stood the most handsome guy you had ever seen. He was tall, with dirty blond hair, almost brown, and those stunning eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” you muttered, trying to collect your scattered thoughts. You had one of those dumb faces that gave away every damn thought crossing through your brain, so obviously you tried your best not to meet his gaze. Which was a shame really. That face demanded to be ogled at. Let alone the body that followed.

“No, no… I didn’t mind at all.”

You saw him reach out to the door of 307.

“You’re the one who lives there?” You asked through gritted teeth.

He raised an eyebrow. “Sure. You want a tour?”

Uhgg the best looking guy and he has to be such a douche!

Slipping past him, you stomped off towards the stairs. This too-good-looking-for-the-world asshat had been ruining your nights and in turn your life.

You knew it was wrong to be mad at him without, at least, talking about the issue first. A polite conversation explaining your situation wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world now, would it? But how does one start a conversation pertaining to that? After all, he wasn’t exactly the one making the noise. What would you say?

So, hey would you mind pleasuring your girlfriend a little less?

Or better. Ever heard of a ball gag?

Mere thought of it made you shudder.

The work day was spent trying to shove your neighbour's stupidly handsome face out of your mind. It didn’t help that your mother kept calling, repeatedly. You knew what she had to say. How you should have taken that bigger job at Royal’s publishing. How the writing career might never take off. How you really should get a boyfriend now, or you’ll be the only unmarried cousin in the family.

Usually you could entertain your mother with well-timed hmms and ahhs. Today wasn’t that day.

Bone-tired and absentminded, you jammed the key in the keyhole in the evening, only for it to get stuck again. You looked up at the door. 307.

Well, shit!

Putting both your hands into it, you yanked the key with all your might, just as the door opened. There he stood, with his crooked smirk, dimples digging in, wearing nothing but a thin cotton t-shirt and sweatpants that hung all too low on those hips.

“You don’t need to break into my house. I already offered a tour.” Of course, god gave him an irresistible voice. Cause at this point, why not?

“Sorry,” you muttered, looking anywhere but at him. “I keep getting the wrong door. This one’s mine.”

“Oh, so you’re the one in 306!” You could feel his smirk more than see it. “Looks like you’re having a good ol’ time in there.”

“Excuse me?”

The guy raised scratched the back of his neck, face apologetic. “You might… ya know… just keep the voice down in there?”

The audacity of this guy!

“Rich of you to ask anyone to keep it down!” You hissed. “Why don’t you tell your girlfriend to keep it low?”

With that, you shut your door in his surprised face. The worst part was, after bumping into him in the morning, your mind was producing distinct images of him in the bed, doing things to a woman. You had tried your best not to let them make a home in your head. But like a stickly tenant, they refused to evacuate. No wonder it was hard to look him in those brilliant, brilliant green eyes. The guy was hot! There was no denying that. You weren’t even willing to accept to yourself just how much time you had put into imagining him naked.

If anything, the denial mixed with your pre-existing irritation and sleep deprivation had you ready tonight.

So the moment the enamoured voice started begging, you hopped out of your chair. You had every intention of yelling yourself hoarse at the delectable resident next door, but the moment you stepped into the corridor, you came face to face with the very man.

He was- thankfully, completely clothed- looking a bit harassed, himself.

aahhhh… ahhhh… ahhh… right there...

Your head whipped up to the suspected direction of the voice, and back at him. “Wait, you aren’t… it’s not...?”

His face mirrored your expression of surprise and then he burst out laughing. “Looks like we’ve both been played.”

“Not intentionally,” you said, peering at the adjacent doors, mostly to not look at him. “Where do you think it’s coming from?”

He shot a glance at the door opposite to his. “If it’s not you, my best guess is that guy over there. I mean, if you ask me, Nick over there doesn’t look the type to make a woman that happy… but what do I know?”

“You shouldn’t make assumptions about people,” you said, taking a tentative step towards the said door.

Mr. hot guy smartpants laughed. “Oh, trust me. He’s the douchiest douche you’ll ever meet. Guy like that? Definitely selfish in bed.”

You frowned at him.

“He asks women in the street to smile more,” hot guy explained.

“Uhhgg… yeah you’re right. It’s definitely not him.”

Hot guy pointed his fingers at the rest of the doors. “That one’s rented by three guys. I don’t think it’s them. Mrs. Hendrickson over there works night shifts. I have no clue who lives in there,” he pointed to the last door, directly in front of you.

Goodness you’re amazing...

“Yes, lady, we already know!” He called out.

You couldn’t help the giggle that burst through your lips.

His eyes softened. “Dean Winchester,” he said, offering his hand.

“Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N,” you said, taking his. He had a firm grip. A very funny sensation gripped your stomach. Like a flutter. Nervousness?

“It’s great to meet you, Y/N.” He smirked. “I sure wish the circumstances were better.”

You bit your lip. “Listen, I’m sorry for the comment about your girlfriend. I was just mad about, you know... “

“Don’t worry about it. My non-existent girlfriend is very cool. She took no offense.”

You snorted.

“I was dead serious about the house tour,” He winked. “I can promise great coffee.”

“Sure, sometime soon.”

He shot a look at the door with the unknown occupants again. “I hate to leave this here, but I think we should get whatever kind of shuteye we can while they’re quiet over there, huh?”

“Oh, yeah!” You hurried back to your flat. “Night, Dean.”

He gave you his crooked grin again, just a hint of mischief. “Night, Y/N.”

You knew it wasn’t him now, and he was right about making the most of the quiet and fucking off to sleep, and yet, each time you closed your eyes, your mind decided to replay your imaginations for you. With a start, you sat up in your bed, a thought occurring to you like a hit on the head- If you had been thinking about him that way? Had he been imagining you as well?

Blood rushed to your face at the very idea. Though a tiny part of you begged for the answer- would it be such a bad thing if he had?

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

A/N 2: So? So? SO??? What do you think?

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adhd-disaster-willie · 3 years

Text

seventeen and strung out on confusion; chapter 3/4

chapter 1

chapter 2

So for the sake of this fic, we’re pretending that Alex is actually the youngest and he turned 17 right before the Orpheum. :)

This chapter is a little short, but writers block has been killing me recently.

Warnings: Mentions of homophobia

---

July 7, 1995

Alex remembers Luke once telling him that it would be cool if the weather could shift to match your mood. Like if you were sad, it would start raining in the middle of July, or if you were happy, all the clouds would clear. Alex thought that was stupid, until he woke up on his 17th birthday with the sun shining on his face and not a cloud in sight. It was summer in California so he wasn’t really expecting it to be a gloomy morning, but nonetheless, he’d been hoping it would at least be a little cloudy.

Now, Alex had nothing against birthday’s in general; but considering it was his first birthday away from home and living in a garage (not to mention, having to sleep next to Luke who talked in his sleep and could not stay still. He and Reggie had done rock paper scissors in figuring out who’d get the mattress in the loft and who’d have to sleep on the pull-out with Luke. Alex had lost) he wasn’t feeling very celebratory.

Alex pulled his blanket over his eyes, half-hoping he could just sleep through the day, but apparently his friends had other plans.

“Alex!” Luke called, tossing himself onto the bed and almost sending Alex careening over the edge.

Alex yelped and shot up, glaring at Luke. “What the hell, man?”

“Happy birthday!” Reggie piped up, waving enthusiastically from the loft, promptly followed by a soft shriek, likely from Bobby slapping his shoulder. “What?” Reggie whispered. “I’m just-”

“Dude,” Bobby hissed, nodding his head in the direction of a miserable, exhausted Alex, with horrible bed-head that did nothing to help the fact that he already looked like a vampire that’s just been pulled from his coffin after 100 years. Reggie opened his mouth in recognition, before closing it and smiling apologetically.

Alex pulled the blanket back over his head as if he were a disgruntled 12 year old being forced to dress as a sheet ghost. “Can I go back to sleep now?” He asked from inside the blanket.

“Nope!” Luke replied, pulling the blanket off of Alex’s head and earning himself several mumbled curse words. “We’re going to keep you distracted all day-”

“I’d be pretty distracted if I were sleeping,” Alex grumbled.

“We’re gonna make gingerbread cookies since those are your favorite and you love baking-”

“I was having a really good dream.”

“And Bobbers found an ice-skating rink that is somehow not melted-”

“Why would it be melted?” Reggie asked. “They have like… stuff to keep it frozen right?”

“I was a fish. In the dream. Surprisingly calming.”

“Wait what keeps it frozen though?”

“The water was pink,” Alex sighed, sinking further down until he was hanging off the edge of the bed.

“Sciencey stuff,” Reggie replied to Luke, very matter-of-factly.

“You guys weren’t in the dream,” Alex mused. “Probably why it was so quiet.”

His three friends turned to him now, faces contorted in various degrees of offense. Alex only continued to scowl at them.

“Low blow, man,” Bobby said, shaking his head remorsefully.

Luke clapped Alex on the back and grinned. “Well! It’s a great thing we woke you up, cause now you don’t have to be a boring fish with no friends.”

“I had friends. Fish friends.”

“Doubt it. Now stand up.”

“What if we just practice. I mean we’re playing the Orpheum in like two weeks-” Alex was interrupted by Bobby’s hand over his mouth.

“Shut up, dude! Do you know how much persuasion it took to get Luke not to make us practice all day?!”

“A lot,” Reggie clarified, looking at Alex with wide eyes. “He gets the loft mattress for a week,” he sighed dismally.

It took several more minutes for Alex to be fully dragged out of bed, and it wasn’t for another hour that he was dressed and standing in Bobby’s kitchen, glaring at the oven.

Alex’s stomach tied itself in knots and he fiddled anxiously with the hem of his shirt. He knew his friends had good intentions, and they really were just trying to keep him distracted. But Alex did not want to bake. Especially not gingerbread, even though they were his favorite and he hadn’t them since… Well he hadn’t had them since the day he’d been kicked out. But he wasn’t gonna tell the band that and ruin this for them. Staring at the ingredients they’d already taken the time to lay out (and in order of what got mixed in first too! Just like Alex liked it), Alex’s mouth felt dry and bitter.

Baking had been his and his Mom’s thing. It was the only “feminine” thing she let him do without glowering at him. And every December, they’d spend days making hundreds of gingerbread cookies to pass out to friends and neighbors. Last year, he didn’t get to help make the cookies and every one he ate tasted like cardboard. Alex settled his hands on the edge of the counter in a futile attempt to stop them from trembling. These were just cookies. Stupid cookies. And at least they weren’t making the cake his mom had made him every year for the first 15 years of his life. Lemon with chocolate frosting, Luke hated it but Alex had always refused to cave and make a normal chocolate cake. But this wasn’t the cake, so there was no need for Alex to get worked up. And yet, his whole body felt like it was made of tightly wound springs and he just wanted to cry.

“I feel like that’s not enough sugar,” Luke mumbled underneath his breath. “Alex, come look at the recipe, that’s not enough sugar, right?” He poked Alex’s shoulder and earned no response.

Alex shook his head, not really processing what Luke had asked over the buzzing in his ears. He looked down at the counter again and felt sick. So he ran. It wasn’t until the three other boys heard Now or Never begin very aggressively that they shared a knowing look and jogged off to the garage.

Alex was only half paying attention to his movement, it really was muscle memory at this point. He choked back tears, guilt rising like bile in his throat. They were only trying to help, and he’d ruined it. But he couldn’t make gingerbread; it would only remind him of the way his parents unconditional love gained conditions as soon as he stepped out of line, as soon as he didn’t quite fit into their nuclear family. He almost scoffed at the thought, because really, his family had been far from perfect, they were just good at keeping things shoved underneath the rug. But apparently Alex being gay was too big a dust bunny for them to sweep up.

A sudden cough from the entrance of the studio snapped Alex from his trance. His drumsticks fell quickly to his sides and he looked up, swallowing thickly and trying to rid himself of the lump in his throat. Reggie stopped wringing his hands together to wave and offer a weak smile. “Hey Lex,” He said quietly.

Alex sighed, running his hands over his face. “I’m sorry,” He said. “I- I know you guys were only trying to help but I just-”

“We know,” Luke interjected, earning a glare from Bobby. “Don’t look at me like that! I’m making it so he doesn’t have to explain and start crying again!” He stuck his tongue out at Bobby before continuing. “Gingerbread… we uh, we didn’t think it through.”

Alex nodded. “Thanks,” he whispered sincerely.

“Do you still want to bake though?” Reggie asked. “We can make something else-”

“Can we just practice?” Alex twirled his drumsticks. “I’m already ready.” He smiled hopefully at his friends, two of which let out frustrated groans. Luke was beaming comically.

“Aw man, but then I gave up the loft mattress for nothing!”

“Dude, I’ve been sticking up for you all day, but Lexi. Come on.”

Luke slapped a hand over each of their mouths. “Practice sounds great!” He shouted. “I mean, don’t you guys want to make Alex feel better?”

Reggie and Bobby shared a look. Alex tapped his cymbals lightly and smiled. “Can’t forget the-”

“The Orpheum, we know!” Reggie whined. “But that’s two whole weeks away and my hands are still cramping from yesterday. We practiced for 6 hours!”

“6 hours,” Bobby repeated grimly, shuddering.

Alex grinned wickedly before standing up and throwing an arm each over Reggie and Bobby’s shoulders. “Come on, it’s my birthday.”

“You can’t just suddenly be okay with it being your birthday! That’s not fair!”

“Nuh uh, birthday card is illegal. And just yesterday you almost hit Luke for asking you to play that one drum line again,” Bobby reminded him. But he was already slinging his guitar over his shoulder.

Reggie picked up his bass, pouting. “On my birthday, I’m gonna make you and Luke practice alone while Bobby and I watch.”

“For 6 hours,” Bobby tacked on.

Alex shook his head and laughed. “Deal.”

They never made it to Reggie’s birthday.

---

...sorry about the last sentence, please don’t hate me :)

The next chapter will be about Alex coming out to Julie, because mlm and wlw solidarity and also I can’t write a fic without Julie in it, that’d be treason.

Taglist: @stars-soph, @thatsmyverb

chapter 4

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #jatp fic #sunset curve #alex mercer #alex mercer fic #reggie peters #luke patterson #bobby jatp #trevor wilson #willow writes

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gingerwritess · 4 years

Note

Hi um...... the song thor by push baby....... that is all

oh yes that was a perfect inspo boost, have some sad/jealous boyfriend loki for your weekend !!

It’s raining, and you’re happy.

Cuddled on the window seat in his office, shoes kicked off to nothing but fuzzy socks and a mug of coffee, you gaze out at the courtyard through the thunderstorm.

Loki tried not to let it bother him, but you’re entranced.

Any other day he would be thrilled to see you so content, but this isn’t some rainstorm—it’s a thunderstorm.

You grin with every crack of thunder and every flash of lightning and each one sparks a little deeper into that part of his mind that taunts him plenty.

Just to top things off, Thor crashes through the doorway, a little out of breath and beaming.

“Look to the north,” he nearly shouts, “wait for it, this’ll be the biggest yet—”

“Amazing,” Loki snaps, a sour look painting his features. “None of us have actual work to do, we can ogle over you all day.”

Thunderstorms do make Loki a bit of a sourpuss, you’ve noticed, and after discovering the part that his brother plays in making them, you…kind of get it.

They’re rather loud and imposing things, aren’t they?

The thunder crack is in fact the biggest yet, followed by a bolt of lightning that stays in the sky nearly ten seconds.

You clap and laugh for Thor while Loki sulks, miserable at his desk with nothing grand, nothing jaw-dropping of his own to amuse you.

And when he walks into his office the next day to find you and Thor already in the room, laughing and chattering and happy, he can’t even bring himself to be jealous anymore.

It just hurts.

“My brother,” Thor beams, always so exhaustingly cheery. “Come with us, we discovered a new coffee shop—you know coffee, yes?”

Blindly open-hearted, he doesn’t always catch how his words come across.

“Yeah, I know what coffee is, dimwit.” Loki just shrugs off his coat and waves a hand at the two of you. “I’m busy. Enjoy yourselves.”

“We were waiting for you,” you pipe up, offering him a gentle smile. “Can’t you spare half an hour?”

Half an hour listening to Thor talk about himself, having to walk next to Thor in that excuse of a shirt—it’s ready to rip at the seams, and there’s really no point in wearing it with how see through it is.

He can’t blame you.

Who wouldn’t want to be on that arm?

“No, I have work I should do. Thank you.”

“We’ll bring you back something,” you promise, leaning over the desk to plant a kiss on his cheek.

You’re gone for close to an hour, leaving Loki with tapping fingers and an anxious mind racing with the worst; you’ve gone and done it, run away with his brother, never to be seen again.

Or even worse, you will be seen again, ruling Asgard by Thor’s side.

With cups of coffee in hand.

He drops his head to his desk with a thud and groans.

Minutes later, you peek your head past the doorway to find him still slumped onto his desk, eyes tightly shut and occasionally lifting his head only to bang it back against the wood.

“Chin up, buttercup.” You hurry over before he can bash his head again. “Brought you a little pick me up!”

“Go away,” he moans into the desk. “I’m working.”

“It’s caramel, mocha, and sea salt,” you continue anyways, setting the cup by his head. “You liked the caramel last time, so wait ‘til you try salted caramel.”

“I can’t drink that.”

He pushes it away without bothering to lift his head.

“What–why not?”

“I should be dieting,” he quietly replies. “Losing weight. Trying to tone my physique. Gain muscle, not fat from sugars.”

Combing your fingers into his hair, you gently tug his head up from the desk.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

His eyes only narrow as he looks at you, red and slightly puffy. “How was your date with my brother? Have fun?”

“Yes,” you answer with a frown. “I had fun getting to know my boyfriend’s brother, what’s so wrong with that?”

“Nothing at all.” Loki plasters on a phoney smile and sits up, ducking his head away from your hand.

He simply goes back to work, plopping a stack of papers on his desk and burying himself behind them. Only the scratching of his pen breaks the silence, the coffee on his desk untouched and steaming.

Thor thought he’d like it, too—he’d told you of Loki’s affinity for caramel ever since he was a child, how it had even gotten him in trouble a couple times with the cooks.

Apparently he’s not such a big fan anymore.

“Can we at least…get lunch together?” You try a gentle question, head cocked and waiting for him to peek back up at you.

“Can’t.” He doesn’t even look up.

“Oh, okay.” You nod, “want to come over later? We’ve gotta watch Lord of the Rings, if we start tonight we can binge the originals this weekend!”

A large hand flits over his eyes and he sighs quietly to himself. “No, thank you.”

“Okay. What’s your deal?”

He’s a generally sad kind of guy, you know that much, but today, right now, this is different. Not so angry or bitter or jealous, just…sad.

And he doesn’t answer. His pen hovers over the paper, but he’s not actually writing anything—he assumes you won’t notice.

Too caught up in your daydreams with Thor, no doubt.

“Hello…?”

A blur of flesh breaks his train of thought as you wave a hand in his face.

“Don’t ignore me,” you state flatly. Offended. Stating the obvious.

His heart falls.

“I’m…I’m not,” he caves, posture slumping with a slow exhale. Not wanting to meet your gaze, he glares at the case record unsigned on his desk. “Look, just tell me. Don’t try to hide it, you’re only rubbing salt in the wound.”

“Tell you what?”

He sinks lower into the desk chair.

“About your–your feelings.” A wave towards the door. “For Thor.”

It didn’t sound so bad in his head, but now, with the words actually out there…he cringes, suppressing a shudder.

A laugh cuts through the uncomfortable silence.

Your laugh, and he bites back a scowl.

“You’re an absolute idiot,” you giggle, and push off his desk to come stand by his chair. “Really? Me? And Thor?”

“I don’t blame you,” he mumbles, dropping his head to his hands. “He’s…he’s perfect.”

“Nope.” You give the edge of his chair a shove to swivel it towards you and take his face in his hands. “Look at me, Loki.”

Reluctantly, his gaze meets yours.

“I love you. Not Thor. I love you and your body, and your personality, your mind, your voice, your everything.”

“How can you not want Thor?” He asks, voice breaking. “The man’s a tree, I’m–I’m a twig—”

“Hey, hey, I’d much rather pick up a twig than climb a tree!” you assure him with a grin. “Come on, Loki. You know you’re the only one for me.”

He blinks up at you, a hand coming up by his cheek to hold onto your wrist. “I don’t understand how.”

“It’s really easy.” Leaning down, you press your forehead to his and give him a smile. “You’re the strongest man I know, and you’ve suffered more than any being should have to. You crave honest love and you deserve it, so if I play any part in that, I consider myself the lucky one.”

“But Thor—”

A firm kiss on the mouth stops the words in his throat.

“Enough about Thor,” you murmur when you pull away just a smidge. “He’s your brother and whether you’ll admit it or not, he’s important to you. Which means he’s important to me. That’s it.”

The beginnings of a soft smile tug at his lips, and you kiss them again for good measure.

“Thank you.”

It’s soft and barely audible, and you more feel it against your lips than hear it.

But it’s there, and you eventually pull away with a happy sigh.

“Well. That was fun.” You pat his flushed cheek and grab the probably cold coffee off his desk, holding it out to him. “Drink it. You could use a few extra pounds, anyways.”

He quirks an eyebrow at you but takes the drink, taking a hesitant sip—

“Oh, norns.”

“Good?”

He gives his head a little shake, licking his lips. “That’s sweet. And strong.”

“I know,” you laugh, stealing the cup back and taking a quick swig. “It’ll keep you up for our Lord of the Rings marathon, trickster.”

His eyes narrow playfully. “Mhm…and here I thought you simply cared for me.”

“What??” You blow him a kiss and a wink. “Then you’re an idiot, love.”

You don’t call Thor an idiot, and he doesn’t think you ever have.

Watching you flounce our the door, leaving him with his coffee and newly-lifted spirits, Loki grins to himself as he goes back to his papers.

Yes, Thor is an idiot. Everyone knows that much.

But Loki gets to be your idiot, and that is something special.

― ― ― ―

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#loki x reader #loki reader insert #loki imagine #jealous!loki #loki fluff

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creativeskullcreations · 3 years

Text

Outside chapter 21: Run in Swinging

Scout is not a good actress, but we already knew that. And Will's starting to crack just a little bit himself, wonder if he can make it through this without breaking apart entirely.

Also, take a guess at who was chasing Lisa and Mason. ;)

Scout turned out to be pretty good at swinging the axe, as more Sock Puppets quickly found out. It was a little scary how she didn't seem to care about the people stitched to those Puppets, treating them more as objects than trapped people. It made some sense, though, as not everyone trapped here would have been prepared like they were.

Even if, in reality, they weren't all that prepared at all.

Still, Bit cheered at every take down the two of them did, which made a warm feeling curl in his gut. It should've been scary, how much her excitement made him happy, but he refused to think about those implications yet. That was for when he was at home and higher than a kite, when he had time to think.

Luckily, they hadn't come across anymore for a few minutes, giving them all a chance to breathe while Scout tried to remember where they needed to go. It was... difficult, since her memories weren't lining up with reality. It was like the layout of the building had changed while she was gone.

Or maybe she had forgotten more than she thought.

Either way, nothing looked familiar, and it was starting to scare her. She finally stopped, making Sammy stop too. "Wait here while I look ahead. I want to make sure we're going the right way." She told him, though he looked skeptical.

"What do you mean "make sure"? I thought you knew where we were going."

"I do!" She protested. "I just... wanna check for more sock puppets real quick! It's easier to sneak away if it's just me."

Sammy didn't say anything, just watched as she walked away and around the corner. "Yeah, she doesn't know where we're at."

"I'm not surprised. They changed things around when she escaped." Bit told him. "She's gonna get us all killed if she doesn't admit it though!" She barked out a laugh, and the Host cringed.

"Maybe... don't tell her that?" He suggested. "She's doing her best..."

"Yeah, well, her best isn't good enough." She bit out. "I say we ditch the dweeb and get out of here. Can't be too hard if Scout of all Puppets managed it."

"Yeah, no. I am not ditching anybody, least of all the thing with my cousin's body!" Sammy told her sternly.

"Sheesh, it was just a suggestion." She squirmed back from where she'd been hanging over his shoulder, settling back in his hoodie. He could hear her muttering back there, but not what she was saying. He supposed it didn't matter too much, not when there were more important things to worry about.

Like how he had heard footsteps behind him. Turning he saw Scout, and she looked pissed. He flinched as she snapped her hand out toward him, but she just reached behind him to grab Bit.

"I am a lot bigger than you right now." She said in a low voice. "I can yeet you down the hall if I wanted."

Bit stared blankly back at her. "What the hell is a yeet? Some kinda dweeb word?"

With a loud shriek of "YEET!" Scout threw Bit down the hall, far enough that she vanished into the shadows.

"What in the actual fuck?!" Sammy shouted as he raced to go get her. He missed Scout's nonchalant shrug before she crossed her arms.

"I warned ya." She muttered smugly, staring after the pair.

-----

Will didn't like the quiet stillness in the halls, however easy it was making his journey. From the stories he expected at least a giant puppet dog, maybe some hulking monsters with socks crudely stitched to their hands. But no, there was nothing. But no, there wasn't anything except his Puppet, who had remained silent the whole time.

He wondered if he should try and talk to her, if only to make sure she was still alive. She been very still since he'd picked her up, not moving even a little as he wandered through the dark maze of the warehouse. Though, now that he thought about it, there was occasionally a light shuddering across her body. He wondered if she was having trouble breathing.

'Something to check when we get home.' He made a mental note of it as he turned the corner. It was a dead end, with single door at the end sitting ajar. He approached it cautiously and peered in.

It looked like an art studio of some kind, if an art studio had a pile of dead bodies in one corner. Easels and canvases stained in dried blood were scattered about, and the completed paintings showed some rather macabre imagery. There was an open door on the other side, showing another dark hall.

'Must be where that one artist hangs out.' He figured as he slowly pushed open the door. Stepping carefully around the spilled paint and dropped art supplies, Will made his way across the room. The wet look on some of the puddles told him Nick could still be close, and he didn't want to run into him.

"Well, looks like we've got another escapee out and about. And here I thought that all ended with Scout." The voice was a fake sounding posh and smug. Looking back, Will had to admit the Puppet it was coming out of fit it quite well.

"Oh look. Another asshole." He observed, taking another step towards the door. If he could make it out of the room he could probably outrun this thing.

"Now now, that's rather rude really." His eyes flicked down to the Puppet in Will's arms and his head tilted. "Weren't you with that scientist? What happened to Riley?"

"I disarmed her." Another few steps, and Nick took a rather large one towards him. 'Crap.'

"Hmm." A hand slowly approached his face. "You have such pretty eyes..."

Will shoved him, turning and making a break for the door. "Nope! Bye!" The Puppet made a grab for him, but he dodged it, slamming the door in it's face as he sprinted out.

Left, right, right, and then left again and the dammed thing was still on his heels. Shouting that he would take Will's eyes, and paint the walls with his shining red blood. That he had so many ideas for him.

It was worse than the scientist actually, and that was saying something. Will searched for a way to fight back against the artist and his hulking Host, but couldn't spot anything in the dark halls he was sprinting through. He turned another corner, and ran smack head first into another human body.

There was a feminine scream of pain as both of them fell to the floor. The hooded figure clutched her forehead while Will scrambled to get up. Sammy stood above them both, looking vaguely panicked as he tried to help Stacy.

"Get up! Get up now we are in seriously deep shit here!" Will hefted his girlfriend off the floor one handed and started shoving her down the hall. "Move! Movemovemove!"

"Where did you go little Host?" Came a voice floating from behind him.

"shitshitshitshit" He grabbed her arm and went to run, but was stopped by Sammy.

"We can't go back that way!" He whispered. "There's one of those sock puppets chasing us!" On cue the loud thumps of heavy footsteps came into their hearing from behind the nurse. Behind Will, they could hear the calls of Nick, steadily getting closer as he toyed with his prey.

They were all trapped. At least until Stacy tugged her hand out of Will's and pointed up to the ceiling.

"Come out, come out little lost Host. I need those eyes of yours~" Nick turned the corner and found himself face to face with a confused looking Sock Puppet. Not that those things weren't normally confused. Honestly, he wasn't even sure why Mortimer let Riley make those things. "What are you doing here, out and about? Don't you have a patrol route?"

A low groan was his only answer, and he sighed in response. He reached out and grabbed onto it's Host with his. "I suppose you'll do for now, until I find that other one. Come along now, let's go do something... fun."

Will watched as the Sock Puppet was led away, and then turned to follow where Stacy was leading them through the vents. They only went a little ways through them before she punched open a vent covered and dropped down into the room below. Sammy went next, followed by Will. The room they were in seemed to be an old writers room, notes still written on the whiteboard and script pages scattered around. Sammy crept over to the door and locked it, just to be safe.

"Ugh, I can't take this anymore!" Stacy collapsed into a chair, hood falling from her head. "Never should've come back in here..." She muttered as she rubbed her eyes.

"Well it's too late now. Everyone's probably broken out of the hypnotism, and we're in too deep to back out." Will told her firmly. "Besides, we still need to find Scout. We can't leave without her."

The one-armed woman bit her lip, turning away slightly. Sammy sighed and stepped between them. "Hey, Will, chill for a sec okay? Just sit down, and take a deep breath."

Will sat, letting his Puppet drop into his lap. She simply lay there limply, unnoticed by the others, though Bit did peer down at her in something like concern. Will inhaled loudly, then fixed Sammy with a look. "There. I'm sitting."

"There, see? We just gotta take a rest and then keep moving on to where, uh, Stacy can lead us to Scout." Sammy sat too, though he sat backwards in his chair. "We're find the others on the way, and then leave and never ever come back."

"Yeah, okay, sounds good." Will agreed quickly, glancing over at Stacy. The glance turned into a long hard stare. "Are your eyes yellow?"

"No, it's just the-"

--nuclear radiation!" Scout blurted out in a panic. Sammy face palmed, while Will just pinched the bridge of his nose with a deep sigh.

"Oh I do not have time for this." He muttered. And then, louder "Where the fuck is my girlfriend?"

A pause. "Do you really want me to answer? Cause I think if I do, you will fucking kill me. Besides, I'm taking us there anyways. It'll be fine." Another, shorter pause before she pointed at the blue haired Puppet. "That's Canon by the way. She's the oldest."

Said Puppet lifted her head at the mention of her name, but didn't really react beyond that. Bit waved when she saw her sister was awake, but was ignored. She huffed and sunk back down into the hood. 'Fine then, be that way.'

She tuned back into what the Hosts and Scout were saying, but they'd all gone quiet. Scout was pulling at the short sleeves of her hooded shirt, while Sammy was furiously searching through his pockets. The last one, Will apparently, was staring at the floor, completely still save for a slight movement from his lips. She wondered if he was their leader, like Canon was for her and the others.

Well, like Canon had been. She hadn't really been much of a leader lately, not since Scout had ran away. She'd tried, but then she had vanished too for a long time, only to reappear right before the Hosts had. Mortimer had brought her with him, now that she thought about it.

'I wonder what he's been doing?' She looked between her older sister and her younger one. 'Can't be anything good. Not with how Canon looks. That "Stacy" Host of Scout's is totally gonna die.' She didn't say anything about that, however. The "Yeet" she'd experienced was still far too fresh in her mind, and she did not want to get thrown at another wall.

Besides, the quiet was kind of... nice, in a way. Nobody talking, but not really out of fear of being caught. It was a nice feeling.

It didn't last, however, as someone ran screaming past the door. Half a second later someone else went by, followed by a horrible skittering noise that the three Puppets knew far too well. Everyone turned to stare at the door as the noises faded out.

"... Y'know that sounded like your friends, Will." Sammy observed in a high pitched voice.

"I think you're right." He stood up, handing Canon off to the nurse in exchange for the pistol. "Come on, we'd better go help them out."

#hello puppets #outside #fanfiction #scout #will carson #nick nack #Sammy Davis #canon #bit

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margridarnauds · 4 years

Note

Your "Grace O'Malley" tag is extremely gratifying--it's so nice to see actual scholarship. So with that in mind: Have you read Morgan Llwelyn's novel, and if so, what do you have to say on it?

Hi! Thank you so much! I’m glad you like it; it can feel a little bit like I’m shouting into the wind, given that Gráinne is one of my more niche focuses. I still kind of want to do something that actually looks at the EVIDENCE, but I digress.

Morgan Llewelyn….I have mixed feelings about. I last really looked into this book when I was toying with doing my undergrad Capstone Thesis on Donal O’Flaherty, about….4 years ago, now. Time really does fly. So, I forced myself into a refresher, just to remind myself what I missed.

[warning for references to rape, incest, and some of the most Cursed™ lines I’ve ever been forced to read in my life, and that’s including the zombie blowjob scene.]

Final Verdict: 2.5/5 - DEFINITELY not the worst retelling of Gráinne’s life (I’ve seen....Things), but also not the best, either, and with some very, very glaring flaws that make it impossible for me to really enjoy.

My main take away from it is that…as far as its depiction of Gráinne, it did about as well as its source material. I can tell, looking at it and reading it, that she really looked hard at Anne Chambers’ book. Which is unfortunate because, as I’ve made……………relatively clear over the years, I think that it’s very, deeply flawed. And, unfortunately, Llewlyn stuck rather close to the book, leaving in things like Donal’s “murder" of Walter Fada Burke (if the patronymic don’t fit, you’ve got to acquit), Sexist™ Incompetent™ Donal™, and…..Hugh de Lacy, which, in my personal opinion, owe more to Chambers lack of critical reading of her own sources than they do to the historical record. ESPECIALLY Hugh de Lacy because…the name. Very odd that one of the major Anglo-Norman officials should share a name with Gráinne Ní Mháille’s boytoy. Very odd. Especially given that the pattern of “Love interest of Gráinne’s killed off/Gráinne seeks revenge” is VERY similar to what we hear of the Defense of Hen’s Castle. Almost as if they come from the same story.

This also leads us to the scene where Donal tries to rape Gráinne in her sleep which, honestly, I loathe with every fibre of my being. Nope, nope. Hate it. Hate. It. Oh, God, I forgot about the references to Donal!Incest. Why is this a mini-genre of Gráinne Ní Mháille historical fiction. Why. I can think of at least…..2-3 books that do this. Why God. Why.

Lest anyone think that this is the Donal fangirl in me jumping out, in general, I feel like Llewelyn’s treatment of most of the characters is ultimately paper-thin. Richard Burke is also given this treatment and, while I wouldn’t REALLY expect a sympathetic Richard Bingham (nor would I particularly want one - I’ve spent a lot of quality time reading his complaints and cackling), even HE’S done a disservice.

On a technical level, I don’t REALLY like how she handles the timeline, it jumps around a little too much for my taste. We’re treated to constant flashbacks with little warning, including ones that could have been just as easily folded into the timeline proper. And, while Llewelyn has a rich, descriptive style, she also writes an, honestly, impressive number of lines that will haunt me for all the wrong reasons. I’ve detailed a lot of them under the readmore, but some highlights:

She had gazed in wonder at the child—his perfect ears and fingers, the miniature penis that would eventually become a mighty rod for transmitting further life.” This is, I’m sure, what every mother thinks when she sees her newborn son’s penis for the first time. Why. Why God. Why. Why. Why.

Okay, another candidate for Cursed Lines: "Richard noted the high color in her cheeks, and saw how her nipples stood out strongly under the soft fabric of her gown.” If this were a male author, I would be-Nah, it’s still bad. It’s just bad writing, I’m sorry. In general, I found that she massively sexed up Gráinne’s life, for no real reason that I can tell except for that it felt almost like she felt like it was necessary to prove that Gráinne was a Real Woman™? There’s a very....odd way that her sex life is treated, and it grates on me. We have to deal with Donal, Richard, Huw(uwu), Philip Sydney, and Tigernan, all in the course of one book and, honestly, I don’t really CARE about Gráinne’s sexcapades, and they’re generally written with so little development or feeling, even and especially in the case of her GREAT LOVE HUW, that I found myself actively groaning. My take on Gráinne, at least the Gráinne that I know in the sources, is almost asexual. I don’t deny that she had sex. She obviously did. (FOUR CHILDREN.) And I think that she might very well have enjoyed it. (Not that there’s enough evidence to KNOW.) But I also think that she was a profoundly pragmatic woman who didn’t fixate on it that much. Again, I could be wrong! When we have as little as we have to go on as we do with her, it’s impossible to know! But I just do not see her as jumping into bed with guys that often, especially not in cases where there was no clear benefit. There’s this...trend, where Gráinne HAS to have a love interest, in every major adaptation of her life, because it’s almost like people are afraid to have her without the anchor of sex and romance. (For what it’s worth - I do think, simply because of the amount of time that they spent together + the fact that they did have at least three children with one another, that Donal was probably her favorite of her two spouses. I don’t KNOW this, because I can’t. The evidence isn’t there. I don’t know whether they loved one another, whether it was a great romance, whether the sex was good, or even if it was just a mild affection, but I do lean towards him, even if I can’t say that he was the Great Love of Her Life™. I think they complimented one another’s lifestyles quite nicely, and that’s all that I can really give.)

Llewelyn also has a very, very obvious bias against Catholicism that ultimately makes me wonder whether she ever meant to engage with 16th century Ireland on its own terms. As an atheist in Celtic Studies....look, I can GET having many, many mixed feelings about Catholicism, but it WAS the religion of the land at the time. If you want to have ANY understanding of the people and what was going through their minds, you have to try to engage with them on their own terms. I’m not in any hurry to convert to Catholicism, but I do try to consider life through the eyes of medieval and early modern Catholics when I’m analyzing sources made in that time. And trying to separate it off from the Good Pagan Times, to the point of creating a 16th century druid woman to voice your opinions on free love/organized religion/etc. is just going to get you into disaster. (Though Evleen did give us one female character who is a friend to Gráinne, so...victory?) Bonus, by the way, for the Evil Priest who schemes against Gráinne and is fucking boys on the side. (It seems like they’re of age, at least?) We’re told that he has reasons for what he does, but it comes as a bit of a last minute attempt at creating the illusion of a three dimensional character. I feel like Llewelyn, ultimately, should have stuck to Pre-Patristic times. I shudder at what she would do with, say, the Mythological Cycle, I don’t particularly want her touching my baby (if she touched Bres in particular, I would probably cry) because, at this point, I don’t trust her with ANY medieval materials (mainly because they’ve all been CONTAMINATED by CATHOLIC HANDS, oh NO), but I feel like it’s where her heart truly is.

IF she’d stuck with pre-Patristic sources, we wouldn’t have to deal with 16th century characters thinking things like: " He would go in the style of his warrior ancestors, fearless in the face of death; the ancient, pagan Gaels had known death was only a brief incident in the ongoing flow of life, a transitory happening of little importance.” Admittedly, Llewelyn herself SEEMS to realize this, as she has him cross himself afterwards, but I really, really don’t think it would be the sort of thing to cross a man’s mind in the Early Modern Period. There was very little evidence for reincarnation that was that explicit (One of the papers that I did was on the existence of reincarnation in Pre-Christian Ireland, so I actually CAN speak on this one with some degree of confidence - My ultimate findings were that it probably did exist in some form, but the evidence makes it hard at times to draw definite conclusions), and I’m not sold that they would…understand it as reincarnation, as SUCH. We can look at what, say, Julius Caesar wrote about the druids’ beliefs and apply them to medieval Irish texts, but a man living in 16th century Ireland wouldn’t necessarily have the same luxury, especially since relatively few figures are given reincarnation narratives. It’s like…she’s applying the Mythological Cycle, but she momentarily forgets that these characters wouldn’t have VIEWED the Mythological Cycle like we would have, and it’s rather jarring. No one else might pick up on that, because this is my field. This is the ONE THING I can be pedantic on.

Now! There are some things I actually do like! Outside of Chambers’ questionable grasp of historical interpretation and the resulting taint, I can tell that Llewlyn did have a solid grasp of the FEEL of Early Modern Ireland. As I noted above, she’s a very fine author, the kind I honestly ENVY as a historical fiction writer, the type that is so confident and descriptive that, even when she’s wrong, which is often, I find myself reaching for the sources just to make sure. Her descriptions are vivid and visceral, pulling me immediately into the FEEL of Ireland in the 16th century, a way of life on the verge of collapse.

When she isn’t being descriptive in all the wrong ways as detailed above. I do feel, for whatever it’s worth, that as someone with the background in this material that I have, I was kind of doomed from the get-go. I THINK that for someone who isn’t a Celticist (in training), it would be much, much more enjoyable, BECAUSE she is so confident in her style and her way of evoking the mood that it wouldn’t really stick out. I happen to be both blessed and cursed in that regard.

It’s clear, as well, that she has a grasp on the literature of the time - References to the things like the first Gaels coming from Spain make my heart SING with joy because it’s a very clear allusion to Lebor Gabála Érenn and the Mythological Cycle, which is my specialty, and there are plenty of times that I can tell you EXACTLY what sources she had to hand while she was typing on a section. It’s just a pity to me that she seems to try so hard to toss it all away in order to bifurcate Early Modern Irish society into Pagan VS Catholic, since she fundamentally did betray her own sources there. And, unfortunately, the way she tends to show her research is about as subtle as a blunt nail, in a very “As you know” manner: See: “I have heard the brehons chanting the laws governing fosterage, describing every article of clothing that must be furnished a child and every detail of the training the child is to be given.” Like, yes, the law texts record this, but I can’t really see someone from the 16th century SAYING it that bluntly, you know? Also, I’m not really sold that they would be chanting it out loud as a ritual thing, rather that a lot of the law tracts are in a simple Question/Answer format because it would have, presumably, made it simpler for the Brehons THEMSELVES to remember that way.

I do like that Llewlyn’s Gráinne…she’s attractive, yes, but she’s not conventionally attractive, and she’s explicitly said to be big and tall as a man. I feel like a lot of pop cultural depictions of Gráinne want to make her dainty and beautiful, despite living in an incredibly harsh, stressful environment. I think that her outfit’s a little too much “Modern pirate”-y for my taste, but I’ll allow it because, tbh, it looks really, really badass and, whatever clothing Gráinne would have worn, we probably wouldn’t have really recognized it as “Pirate-like”, since our vision of pirates in the modern day is mainly an early 18th century one. I do appreciate that Gráinne has that hard, pragmatic edge that I respect in the Gráinne that we read about in the State Papers and in Bingham’s recollections - a very matter of fact, no nonsense woman who would do whatever it took to survive. Though I do think that she probably didn’t really spend that much time thinking about Elizabeth. It seems slightly unrealistic to me that, knowing how pragmatic Gráinne was, that she would really, really concern herself that much with Elizabeth, especially when she would have had powerful women like Iníon Dubh closer to home. There are some really nice, poignant moments as well that the hard edge masks, like the moment where she asks after a piece of hair that sent on to her son Owen. When Gráinne is in her natural element, having fun on the open sea, taking vengeance, and getting to be angry and proud and fierce, as well as the moments where she shows a softer side....those are the moments that make it for me. But then we’re back to the sex and romance, to the point where the book is literally divided by which man she’s screwing at the time.

Also, despite wanting to LOATHE Tigernan, as an OC love interest of Gráinne’s, I did find myself warming to him, as he has a nice, laid-back dynamic with Gráinne built on trust and filled with plenty of banter. Next to her, he is probably the single best developed character in the book, though, unfortunately, he does get it through a ton of space devoted to his thoughts, his pining for Gráinne, and his intense jealousy for the many times she chooses someone else over him (mainly because he never tells her he loves her and then he feels like she owes him for what he does for her - yes, there are some Nice Guy tendencies here, but, honestly, after about the second or third time this happened, I was very pro-Tigernan running away and finding a better gig for himself.) No, besides being Catholic and lower class, we don’t really have that MUCH on him outside of being Gráinne’s first mate, but, honestly....that’s still more characterization than the others get, and, at least as of Chapter 24, he hasn’t done anything TOO atrocious.

My PETTIEST of bitching/impromptu liveblog beneath the cut:

A VERY pedantic thing: Llewelyn says, multiple times, that the English would anglicize her name “Grace”. In reality, no one in Early Modern England did that, it came much, much later. In all the Letters of State, she’s referred to as “Grany” or a variation of that name - An English attempt at “Gráinne.” That’s also why you’ll notice that I tend to refer to her as Gráinne here - It was the name she was known by in her own time, it was the name her contemporaries called her, and so it’s the name I call her.

"He wore a full and drooping mustache in the old Gaelic style, though otherwise he was cleanshaven.” Again. MINOR nitpicking. The Gauls were the ones who, traditionally, we associate with the droopy mustaches. In the sagas, beards are given a TON of prominence, to the point of being the marker of being a man. So. Odd choice on Tigernan’s part there. I know that Llewelyn didn’t intend to write him as a 16th century Irish coxcomb, but…well.

"He realized he had made a bad mistake in referring to her peculiar relationship with her husband. He had been in the castle at Bunowen himself; he had seen with his own eyes that Grania’s belongings were taken to one bedchamber, and Donal O Flaherty’s were put in another. Many might speculate in private about the arrangement, but only a fool would have mentioned it to her face.” As I’ve mentioned before, I really, really don’t think this relationship was as loveless as it’s generally portrayed as. I don’t know whether they were PASSIONATELY in love (and unlike a certain biographer, I won’t try to fill in what I don’t know with what I WANT her to have had), maybe they simply got on, but they did have three LIVING children. And I underline “living” because there were likely more. “Likely more” means that they probably did regularly share a bed, at least as much so as their respective schedules allowed.

“Aye, and didn’t she put her children out to fostering before they could stand? A woman’s not usually that anxious to get away from her children that she takes to the sea to avoid them.” Given that fosterage could begin VERY early, I really, really don’t think anyone would have questioned this at all. Gaelic Ireland, simply put, often didn’t have our own conception of the nuclear family, and this was generously provided for in the law codes. Fosterage was useful as a way of maintaining ties between both neighboring families and, most especially, between kings and their vassals, with vassals often fostering kings’ sons. (That way, if the king should die with multiple possible heirs, it means that the kids have people backing them for the kingship.)

"I think that husband of hers had been crying poverty so loud and long he made her deaf to everything else” - Not to be #TeamDonal on main, but the facts as they’re recorded tend to have a strong pro-Donal bias. Take the words of his 17th century relative, Ruari O’Flaherty: "Of all the western O'Flaherties, Donel an chogaidh , although not the chieftain, was the most powerful and opulent.” Most. Powerful. And. Opulent. Yeah, Donal wasn’t crying poverty to anyone. Could he have been lying through his teeth? Maybe. Who knows? But this is ONE thing we have on Donal’s personality, recorded not too long after he died, by a historian who would have had close access to O’Flaherty sources. I believe him. And, I’d even be willing to commit the ultimate heresy and say that Donal’s success was not due entirely to his wife.

She does use the proper terms in a few places! Such as “rechtaire” for “steward”. (Io stem, masculine.)

“You are a noble Irishwoman, you go to no man’s bed unless you want to.” COMPLICATED. Arranged marriages were definitely the norm, and, in the legends, we get to see the unfortunate downsides of what happens when a woman is coerced into a marriage she doesn’t want, generally by an older man, while she is generally pining over a younger one. I wouldn’t say it was something that people LIKED, the fact that this entire genre exists is a pretty good example of people being like “DON’T DO THIS SHIT”, but I can’t say it didn’t happen. Examples of this include Fingal Rónáin, Tóraigheacht Dhiarmada agus Ghráinne, Longes mac n-Uislenn, Aided Con Roí, etc. I would not say that it was considered to be an IDEAL, it was something that was definitely warned against, but it could, in theory, happen. It wasn’t necessarily a legal form of marriage, but it was a form of marriage.

"Shorter than Cuchullain or Brian Boru,” PETTIEST of pettiest bitch complaints, but Cú Chulainn is generally described as short. I know, I know, not what she’s going for. But still. Let me be a petty bitch on this one thing.

“Times have changed,” he said impatiently. “Those are archaic luxuries, and luxury has worn thin here. Perhaps in Umhall there is still leisure for sitting around listening to bards, but it takes every resource I can command just to maintain my territory against those who constantly nibble at my borders.” MOST. OPULENT. AND. POWERFUL. Okay, but one thing that she does get right, and is right to emphasize, is the importance of the bard - chieftain relationship. This was really, really one of the key relationships in a chieftain’s life, to the extent where one of the privileges of the chief ollaimh was the right to sleep with the king in his bed. And yes, it was EXACTLY as homoerotic as it sounds. For a chieftain to not keep a bard - It’s actually a really, really stupid move on Donal’s part, not just for the sake of tradition, but because…who’s going to be there to remember him and keep his memory alive? Who’s going to write praise poems for him (and for Gráinne! The chieftain’s wife was often celebrated in verse.)

"Grania had brought a handsome marriage portion with her, her own property under the Brehon law, for a woman of her rank must be able to stand on equal footing with her husband.” Accurate - Gráinne would have, most likely, been a cétmuinter, or chief wife, under the law, and her union to Donal would have been a union of equal contribution. (Donal also might or might not have owed her a “Thank you for your virginity!” Present on their wedding night.)

“The priests are right in giving husbands authority over their wives,” he had shouted at her then, while she pleaded to be allowed to keep her babies with her longer. “The old Gaelic way gave women too much freedom altogether, and you are a fine example of the folly of that custom.” Kill me now, kill me now, kill me now, kill me now. This is just….GAR. GAR. Or, as Llewlyn likes to say every five seconds…*Dar Dia*. Suffice it to say, the question of how much freedom post-Christianity Ireland had for women VS Pre-Christian Ireland is an endlessly long topic that has to begin with how we define “freedom” and, specifically, which women get it. (Sucks to be a slave girl no matter what.) But also, while women definitely DID have power (EVEN POST-CHRISTIANITY, THANK YOU VERY MUCH)…that doesn’t mean that it was that COMMON, or that post-Christianity radically changed how (un)common it was. This is just…too blunt, too much of a caricature, and also happens to be insanely, insanely anachronistic. (Also: What would a 16th century chieftain really KNOW of the Old Gaelic Way? He would know about women like Medb, yeah, and he would probably see her as evil and uppity, depending on which stories he’d read - Though as a Connachtman, he would probably be inclined towards being on her side. But that doesn’t mean he would have really thought “Oh, yeah, pre-Christianity, women had SO MUCH power.” Lawlessness and chaos tend to be features of pre-Christian Ireland in the medieval writings, but I wouldn’t really say that liberated women….were? Especially because in those same writings you have women like Emer who, while distinct in their characterization, are still very much proper and chaste women who keep to the house.)

“I warn you, Grania—you will accede to me in this or I will send you back to Clew bay and denounce you throughout Connaught for a lack of womanly graces. Is that what you want, to be sent home rejected with your shortcomings shouted from the hills?”

“Who would believe such charges?” she had demanded to know, outraged at his unfairness.”

I’m just going to say it now: She could sue him SO MUCH in a proper Brehon court if she could get some witnesses to say that they heard him talking shit without cause. So. So much. So. Much. Donal would be losing a solid chunk of his goods. Though I will point out that, technically, since Gráinne isn’t sleeping with him, she isn’t doing her proper duties as a wife, laid out by the Brehon laws, and so, yeah, he could probably have a case against her. (For what it’s worth: If he was refusing to sleep with her, she could ALSO divorce him, with him explicitly being at fault and having to pay up. It was equal opportunity, in that sense.)

The Brehon law keeps being called “pagan” and…no. No non noon no. It had its origins in pre-Christian Ireland, likely, and that’s why a ton of legal scholars, with a few noted exceptions, tend to be strongly Nativist, but that doesn’t mean that, by Gráinne’s time, it hadn’t been more or less adapted into Christian marriage in Ireland, albeit sometimes semi-awkwardly. (For example: Polygamy was allowed, but the law very much privileged the rights of chief wives, including their right to toss their husbands out on their ear for taking in a woman over their head.) There’s this odd obsession in the book with Brehon Law =/= Christian Law, and that’s definitely not the case. You wouldn’t have had two marriage ceremonies, one under the church and one under the Brehon Law, because the Brehon Law would apply no matter WHAT. It’d be like forcing a couple to undergo a ceremony after their official wedding where a bunch of lawyers read out of a law book to them. It just wouldn’t happen.

“The Augustinian monks of Umhall, who taught me history in my childhood, explained that when the Romans left England and that land sank into barbarism, it was missionaries from Ireland who took God’s words to the British tribes and taught them to read and write.

“Perhaps they hate us, Donal, for being a more ancient and educated race. Perhaps they mean to drag us down by treating us as savages until we do not remember ever having been anything else. And along the way they can take our land from us with a clear conscience because we are only savages and deserve no better.”

On one hand, it DOES capture that note of PRIDE that tends to be there, loud and clear, in the texts, especially, say, Auraicept na n-Éces, which claims that Irish is a perfectly formed language, made from all the best bits of the Tower of Babel’s languages. (And….well….”The land of saints and scholars”. Ireland WAS a hotspot of monastic activity.) And, honestly, I support showing off the literary side of Ireland, since it doesn’t get discussed enough. That being said, no monk in his right mind would have said that it Irish missionaries civilized Britain. Why? Because Patrick came from Britain. Or, rather, Britannia, more accurately. He wasn’t an Englishman, not in the modern sense, he would probably be Welsh today, but he was from a monastic, educated family (despite claiming his Latin was poor in his Confessio, it’s actually quite good - Patrick was a MASTER at using humility as a rhetorical device).

"Grania slept naked. She liked her skin to breathe as she slept, not encumbered with a gown that would twist and bind.” “And then Gráinne froze her ass off because the nights in Ireland, even in the warm heat of summer, are cold and bitter as a Norseman’s frozen tit, if there were, in fact, any Norsemen in Ireland in the 16th century, and frequently require multiple blankets + a solid duvet. Gráinne then died of pneumonia several weeks later, making for a very short book.” Also. Again. If this were a male author. I would have committed a murder at this point.

Reference to saffron dye - NICE. This was really a staple of the clothing, for both men and women, to the extent that it features a LOT in accounts of Ireland at this time.

“By the paps of Danu!” No one. In 16th century Ireland. Would have shouted out “By the paps of Danu!” “By the Washington Monument!” “By the Lincoln Memorial!” “By the stunning cliffs of Oregon!” Sounds rather silly, doesn’t it? (Though if you WANTED to start shouting “BY THE LINCOLN MEMORIAL!” Well. I’m not here to stop you.)

"She was small for a Gaelic woman, and pale, a tiny wraithlike creature who exuded a contradictory air of resilient strength.” I’m not going to say that Chambers is WRONG, because, of course, Irish women come in a variety of shapes and sizes. You know, like people everywhere. But I WILL say that, during my time here, it’s the only time in my life that I’ve felt at home, because, for the first time in my life, I’m not short. Also, I want it on the record that now, whenever I see her, I’m picturing the little old woman who sits in on research seminars and who has the entire department scared shitless. Tiny, but MIGHTY.

"Her only ornament was a triskele of silver in an ancient pattern, suspended upon her flat bosom by a leather thong.” The Triskele is a Neolithic symbol used through the Iron Age, DEFINITELY not in use, in Ireland, by the Early Modern Period.

"“Evleen Ni Brien-“ That would be “Ní Bhriain” in modern Irish. Normally, I wouldn’t be THIS nitpicky, but hey, if you’re patting yourself on the back for the research you did and then can’t be bothered to put in a fada + the proper possessive form of “Brian”. I also don’t THINK that the “Ní” form had been adopted yet, I’m fairly certain that’s modern, so it would, more properly, be Evleen iníon Bhriain. Though, since it emphasizes that she’s from the Dál Cais and the O’Briens are predominately associated with them, I’m going to GUESS the proper form would involve her father’s name. It would be “Evleen iníon *possessive form of father’s first name* Uí Briain”.

"He had only heard whispers of such people, but enough tales still abounded concerning them to make them readily identifiable—even if this one did claim the noble name O Brien.” You know, in Reign, when you have a bunch of druids dancing in the forest and everyone was like “That’s fucking ridiculous!” Yeah. Yeah. That’s exactly how I feel right now. Druids DID last for some time in Ireland after Christianity, but not INTO THE 16TH CENTURY.

"“Of course not. But neither can I forget that it was the strictures of that faith which kept me bound in marriage to a man I learned to despise.” Divorce was still a thing. There was no problem, in theory, with getting married at a fully Catholic altar and then dumping them for getting jiggy with the serving girls a few years down the line. Llewelyn’s misunderstanding of the relationship that the Church and the Brehon laws BOTH played in the lives of people (SHOCKINGLY ENOUGH, the Catholic Church was NOT seen as pure evil by every day people at the time, who had to flee into the arms of the Brehons for comfort from Mother Church. Note that I’m saying this as a confirmed and strong atheist.)

Can I just say that the scene where Gráinne’s feeling up Hugh (the OC) in his sleep would be MUCH creepier if the genders were reversed?

"But he was not the man he had always been. He was some different person here.” Wow, the sex must be REALLY good!

"set in violet shadows that spoke of wonderfully sleepless nights.” Why is it that when I stay up doing an all-nighter, I end up looking like a raccoon going through its emo phase, but when Gráinne tumbles some random dude for a little while, she gets “violet shadows?” It’s not right, I tell you.

"“Was your marriage so bad, Grania, that you have turned your back on your own womanhood forever?” GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. Well. Now I know where The Pirate Queen gets its “Your ultimate worth as a woman and happiness in life is decided by whether or not you have a dick in you” philosophy. I wish I hadn’t known. But now I do.

“That’s the way it is with men,” he said. “They touch us. For the feel of strong arms around her and a solid chest to lean her head upon, a woman will put up with a lot of misery. It’s the curse of our skin to be hungry for the feel of a man’s skin.” GAAAAAAAAH. GAH.

"God the benevolent patriarch promises us rewards in the next world if we’re willing to sacrifice in this one. But maybe I don’t believe in patriarchs anymore.” Totally a thing that the real Gráinne Ní Mháille would have thought. Because women, in general, in the 16th century had the terminology to make these critiques in this exact way.

" If one satisfaction was snatched from her she would find another; if she lost love she would embrace hate, and glory in it.” Oh, god, not THIS motivation for a female character, please. Gráinne Ní Mháille was a hell raiser from birth, there’s no reason to think that, because she lost her boytoy, that really radically altered her life path.

“I wonder if Tigernan thinks you and I are damned,” she asked her husband. “We were wed in no chapel.” Given that there were nine degrees of marriage under the law, of varying types of legality, I doubt it.

Yay, exactly what this book needed: More sex!

I’ll be real: Richard Bingham playing Weddingcrashers at Margaret’s wedding only to nearly get his ass handed to him by two members of Gráinne’s family is truly an #Iconic moment. 10/10, if the rest of the book was like this I could die a happy woman.

"It was not an Irish face, but the eyes were unforgettable.” ….what is an “Irish face?” Especially post-Norman invasion? What does an Irish face look like?

“There are rumors he gained his inheritance by murder, and it is said outright that he and his mother between them drove his first wife into her grave.” Yay, the return of the Oedipus complex! My favorite thing in this book!

"Grania herself slept alone in a tiny walled guest chamber above, but she was aware of Richard sleeping in the same house. A strong man, sleeping naked in a bed … .

How people change, she thought to herself with amusement. This is definitely not the same Grania whom Donal an Chogaidh knew.”

Yay, MORE sex! MY FAVORITE THING. IN THE WORLD. BECAUSE YOU KNOW WHAT MY FIRST THOUGHT WAS WHEN I READ THE LIFE OF GRÁINNE NÍ MHÁILLE?"**MORE SEX**.”

" If Richard took her at all, he must take her under the old Gaelic concept of “marriage for one year certain” to see if they suited one another.” Ah, yes, the old Gaelic concept of marriage that mysteriously shows up in no legal texts, legends, or genealogical tracts. A very authentic Gaelic tradition, very old, much wow. (For what it’s worth….the Telltown marriages are as close as this comes, but the thing that makes them stand out is that everyone KNEW they were the oddballs.)

"According to pagan custom—which still lived in uneasy truce with Christianity in many parts of Ireland—there were ten degrees of marriage, all the way from a union between propertied partners of equal rank to union by abduction or the mating of the mad. From any of the ten a child could result, and the brehons therefore had allowed for every child’s rights to be recognized by the social order. No human containing an immortal spirit could be illegitimate.” The astonishing thing is that it’s very, very obvious that she read Cáin Lanamna for this…and then proceeded to not apply it to any other time except for when it was necessary.

"How can I be Grania if there is no Tigernan at my shoulder?” Yes, because we all know that the thing that really defined Gráinne Ní Mháille was, in fact, the men in her life.

"Evleen smiled. “At least it isn’t fettered with Christian chains,” she said. “You were wise.”” Oh, God help me. There’s no way to have a marriage in Early Modern Ireland not “fettered with Christian chains” because Christianity IS the religion of the people.

Remember when Gráinne was described as “More than master’s mate” to Richard Burke, implying a union that was mutually respectful? Yeah, me neither. I’m so glad he’s a one dimensional sexist with mommy issues. That’s such a new, innovative take on their relationship. I LOVE to see it. (Note: I’m saying this as someone who HATED Chambers’ blatant shipping in her biography, but hey. I can’t deny what the first hand evidence says. Unlike Chambers.)

" I’ll get the O Lee—he’s our ship’s physician, and at least he can-“ Unless the chieftain of the O’Lee family moonlights as a ship’s doctor, you wouldn’t call him The O’Lee. Just say “I’ll get Aidan O’Lee.” Or, even, “I’ll get the ship’s leech!”

“TAKE THIS FROM UNCONSECRATED HANDS.” I won’t say that all’s forgiven because, I’ll be honest, I really, really hate this novel at this point, but you know what? This forgives at least some of this novel’s sins. One of my favorite tales about her being brought to life on page by a very talented author does make for a high point, between this and Gráinne avenging the boytoy.

Okay, I’ll be real: The O’Donnell and Gráinne boasting about their respective kids is really, really cute, and I accept it because my very first exposure to Early Modern Ireland was “The Fighting Prince of Donegal.”

The O’Donnell talking shit about English poetry is…..very accurate to the time and the mood. My personal favorite genre of Early Modern Irish poetry is probably “The English aren’t shit.”

"Black Hugh nodded. Grania stood up, and Philip Sidney rose with her, as smoothly as if they were joined at the hip. Tigernan uttered a strangled curse. The sasanach was taking hold of Grania’s arm as if she were an old woman and he were a blackthorn stick for her to lean upon! Was that some English custom, insulting the strength of women? Or did he mean to grab her and make off with her?” Honestly, for once, Tigernan is a #Mood.

"But when Philip’s hands moved over her body, Grania discovered that all human landscapes have a certain similarity. She knew his touch as male, and hungry, and when she returned it in kind she felt a familiar rising response that flattered her and made her eager for more. Within the bed they did not seem to be foreigner and Gael. They were just man and woman, enjoying each other.” I ENDURED THE SEX SCENE WITH PHILIP FUCKING SYDNEY. SO THAT NO ONE ELSE HAS TO.

And, just like with Richard, no one can match up to Wonderful Boytoy Huw.

"She prances along the seaways as if she had a man’s balls, John, and by the bright blue eyes of God, it should be my hand that grabs those balls of hers and crushes them.”” Oh, GOD, I THOUGHT THAT THE PIRATE QUEEN’S MOST INFAMOUS LINE WAS JUST BAD LYRIC WRITING. I DIDN’T KNOW THEY TOOK IT *FROM THE NOVEL*. WHY, MORGAN LLEWELYN. WHY.

Look, I’ve made it to Chapter 24. There are 32 in total. I COULD read the rest of the way, since I want to see how poorly the treatment of Elizabeth is going to be (I’d be very shocked if there isn’t some variation of Not Like Other Girls involved), but also: I do not care at this point. I might pick it up again, but also: A bitch is tired. And illiterate. Perhaps, if I’m ever feeling brave, I’ll take on the last eight chapters, but for now: I’m calling it.

#long post #grace o'malley #gráinne ní mháille #chaos-yet-harmony

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whitewallwhispers · 4 years

Text

Little Lies

Narcos - Javier Peña - Series

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine

A young writer moves to Colombia to perform research on the drug war for her latest novel. She’s willing to do anything for information, which leads her down a rabbit hole that begins to blur the line between pretending to be someone and becoming something she might not be ready for.

Her latest target is a D.E.A. Agent named Javier Peña. But will he believe her cover story?

Warnings: Alcohol use (vodka, tequila, and whiskey), strong language (pretty much every expletive under the sun), smut - thigh riding, oral sex (male and female receiving), rough sex (choking, spanking), unprotected sex (wrap it up, folks), implied age gap, daddy kink

My hope is that you can imagine this character as any race with any style of hair (as someone with short hair I get annoyed when every fic mentions long locks and ponytails).

This is kind of a dumb note but I feel the need to clarify that this smut is completely aimed at Peña - I love Pedro but in a completely different, non-sexual way. It’s a credit to his acting skills that he can make me want to fuck nearly every character he plays when IRL I just want to be his best friend.

It was the bar nearest the brothel, the brothel nearest the Carlos Holguin police base. She hoped to every God in every religion that the intel she’d pulled from the fresh faced fledgling police officer had been worth the subpar sex and chlamydia scare. She was one vodka cranberry and two tequila sunrises in and if Peña didn’t show she planned to go three more deep. Hopefully it’d make up for the shitty music and creepy stares she’d put up with so far tonight.

Jesus Christ, it was 11:48 already. Surely he wouldn’t show. With a sigh she flagged down the bartender and switched back to a vodka cranberry. Always gotta be on the offensive when it comes to UTIs, she thought with a shudder. The police officer really had been a bad lay. The fact that she couldn’t even remember his name was more than proof enough.

“Whiskey. Dry,” came a dark voice beside her. Innocently, without a single thought of preparedness or putting on an act she turned to see the source of the deadpan order.

Fuck.

Leather jacket, button up hardly buttoned beyond his chest, mustache and mussed brown hair.

It was Peña.

If anything, his frazzled expression and the heavy dark circles under his eyes were enough indication even if he didn’t match the police officer’s description to the T. “Lazy fuck can’t even dress himself all the way, always has to look like he’s just rolled out of bed while also trying to seem like a bad boy. Stuck up bastard.”

She took a moment to clear her head, assuming the stance and mindset she’d been preparing all night.

“Such a basic order,” she said with a smirk. He took the bait, at least so far, eyeing her from his peripheral without fully turning, without fully engaging.

“I don’t have the patience for anything that takes longer to pour,” he remarked.

“A man who has somewhere better to be than the bar. Refreshing, so far tonight,” she replied, hoping against all hope that he’d look at her properly.

Her luck was with her. He did, eying her up and down. Quickly, and not as hungrily as she’d hoped. Shit.

“You’re alone?” he asked flatly.

“Yep,” she answered, trying to keep her voice light and inviting.

“Well…” his drink arrived, and after giving the bartender an appreciative nod he took a large swig. More than half of it was gone, she noted with a raised eyebrow. “What did you expect?” He leveled her with a gaze that was, all at once, detached and heavy.

“I’m used to it,” she shrugged, “I’m not exactly a stranger here.”

She was, though.

But he needed to think she wasn’t. She needed him to think that she was fishing for clients, that she was working.

“So you live nearby?”

Thank God. He was continuing the conversation. He was interested, despite the fact that his body language was still closed off and tense.

“Work,” she replied, taking a long sip of her own drink, eying him suggestively as her lips wrapped around her straw.

“Work?” he asked, taking another draw from his drink, following her lead.

“Night shifts, mostly.”

“Then shouldn’t you be there?”

“I am.” He looked at her in full now, eyes raking over her with a new sort of intensity.

“Bartender?”

“Nope.”

“Then what?”

“So forward,” she noted with a flirtatious roll of her eyes and another smirk. She eyed him up and down as well.

Well, well, well. She’d been expecting someone ugly, hard faced and unremarkable. Paunchy. Pale. But his dark and rugged looks actually made him look more inviting and less assuming than the pompous bastard she’d been on the lookout for - and as such it was honestly a mystery to her as to why he preferred the embrace of prostitutes when he could easily pick up women of any profession with ease. Wasted cash, she thought to herself. She held nothing against women who made their bodies their business - in fact, she admired them - but surely he didn’t need to spend money to get laid? Whatever. It didn’t matter how attractive he was. What mattered was what he was willing to tell her in the aftermath of a good fuck.

“So something secret,” he answered with a grin of his own. He finished his drink and motioned to the bartender he needed another. Good. Get drunk. Get easy.

“What about you?” She took another long sip, careful to slip her tongue around her straw before drinking. This time, he noticed.

“Couldn’t say the same, really,” he said with a shrug, taking his second drink and giving it a hearty sip. “I’m just a glorified janitor. I’ve told you mine, now you tell me yours.”

A smooth liar.

“I work nights at a bar where I’m not a bartender,” she replied with a shrug of her own. “I hope that doesn’t scare you away.”

He chuckled. He let his eyes roam her body once again. Instinctively she arched her back and let her tits and ass be the focal points of his exploration. She hoped the way he immediately took a heavy swig was a good sign.

“Quite the opposite,” he answered, though his eyes trailed away from her and instead scanned the rest of the bar.

What should she say in response? She began to panic. She hadn’t expected it to be so easy. Why not, though? He was a notorious horn dog. Doesn’t he prefer his regulars? That’s what her intel had told her. “Fucks the same whores every night in rotation.” That and a bunch of bullshit about someone named Steve Murphy. He was married, with a kid. Who gave a shit about him? He wasn’t crackable. Family men were off limits to her - wives were sacred territory. She couldn’t bring herself to hurt them.

“I’m glad,” was her pathetic response. “You’re the only interesting man who’s sat beside me all night.”

In all honesty, there hadn’t been many others. Plenty of lewd looks - that was to be expected given her low cut tank top and short jean shorts - but it was a slow night and those that had approached her she quickly turned down (with the bartender for backup if they didn’t get the hint). She wondered if it was because she was so obviously not Colombian. She didn’t blame anyone for being suspicious of foreigners given everything going on. She was German, not American, but she didn’t expect them to know the difference.

Thank fuck Peña wasn’t phased.

In fact, he seemed intrigued by it.

She took in the way his dark brown eyes raked over her, the way the faintest of smirks was twitching across his lips. Hook, line, and sinker.

“I haven’t seen you around here before,” he stated at last.

That’s because I’ve never been here, she thought.

“I’ve seen you, though. You know some of my friends.”

Please believe me.

He cleared his throat. “Friends nearby?”

“Duh, Peña” she answered it with a devilish grin. She took another long sip from her drink, letting her tongue lull along her straw again, this time while making direct eye contact with him.

“Fuck,” he whispered under his breath.

“Fuck? Sure, my apartment’s not far,” she quipped.

“I thought you said you only worked around here?” he answered, taking another deep draw from his drink.

“Mmm, no. I just lead with that. How else would you catch a clue?”

He finished his whiskey and motioned for the bartender to give him his check.

“And hers,” Peña intoned when he came around.

“Not just a man - a gentleman.” Time to turn it up a notch. She let her hand slip onto his thigh, applying no pressure but grazing briefly over his obscenely tight jeans. He turned his attention away from the bartender long enough to glance at her hand.

“I wouldn’t say that, exactly,” he answered. He almost sounded sad. Honestly, that was just more ammo.

“But I would, and what I say is what matters right now.” She squeezed his thigh ever so slightly with delicate fingers. Please, for the love of God work.

“What direction?”

“Hmm?” she faked, giving him another coy glance as she sucked up the last of her vodka cranberry.

“Your apartment.”

“North,” she answered, giggling slightly as he shuffled through his wallet for the right bills.

“You smoke?”

“Religiously.”

It was hard to admit, but true. She’d only started when she moved to Colombia. How else were you supposed to deal with the stress of it? Bogota and Medellin were constantly in turmoil. There was no guarantee that the next target wasn’t near you. But she thrived on it. There was no way her creativity could be as stimulated back in Europe, even since the Wall had fallen. The coke simply wasn’t as good back home, and that’s half of why’d she came here in the first place.

“Let me light you a cigarette,” Peña replied, pulling two from his shirt pocket and holding forth the lighter in question. She took it in eager lips with eager eyes, locking with his beyond the flame and hoping the heat that emanated from his lighter reached beyond her eyelashes and struck him to the core.

“Lead the way,” he continued, taking a deep puff from his own cancer stick.

You really shouldn’t be smoking them, she chided herself.

“Yes, sir.” She took him by the hand and led him from the bar, taking a heavy pull from the cigarette in her hand and releasing the smoke into the air with relish. It’s working. All she had to do was make it past a few more roadblocks and she’d be in. Or - rather - he would.

Her hands shook slightly as she tucked the key into the second deadbolt on her door.

“Sorry there’s so many hoops,” she whispered. Her neighbors were sensitive to noises, and she wanted to save her allowance for the rest of the evening.

“It’s good. You should be safe, given…what you do and the neighborhood you do it in,” he answered, a hand absentmindedly trailing down her side.

Perfect.

She undid the handle of her door and pushed it open, revealing the sparsely furnished room beyond. A couch. A TV on an otherwise empty stand. A kitchen full of cupboards of (though it wasn’t initially obvious) mostly empty shelves. A small, ragged rug, originally bright and multicolored, now faded and worn and sad. The result of other apartments with roommates who didn’t give a shit about the longevity of the furnishings she provided.

“Kitchen. Couch. Bathroom’s to the right, bed’s over there,” she noted, waving towards the left side of the room. Seeing as it was a cramped studio, there was no chance that he hadn’t noticed it before.

“Your accent…not American,” he stated, closing the door behind himself and kindly putting all the locks back in place.

“You’re right. German,” she answered, reaching into one of the few filled cabinets and pulling forth a bottle of red wine. Already opened, maybe stale, but enough for the moment. She retrieved two glasses as Peña came to rest against the counter.

“What the fuck are you doing here, then?”

Time to lie. She’d kept the same act throughout her interactions with police and prostitutes alike.

“My parents were missionaries, I came out to watch the house during the day. Eventually, they helped the “wrong” people - at least that’s what the sicarios thought. They were killed because of it. Unsurprisingly, missionary work doesn’t leave much money behind. I’m trying to earn my way home,” she answered with a shrug, pouring and then handing Peña a glass of wine.

“How much do you charge?”

“Pesos or dollars? $70,000 or $200.”

He took a large swig of his wine and nodded.

“Happy to be of service,” he said, his dark eyes locking with hers in a surprisingly genuine expression.

“Thank you.” It was out of her mouth before she could think about it. She didn’t need the money. Her parents were oblivious and safe in Berlin and more than happy to pay her rent. It felt wrong to rely on their kindness, but she wanted this. She needed to prove herself with this novel.

She took a deep draw of her wine, eying him the entire time.

“What’s your first name? The other girls have only ever called you Peña.”

I already know it.

“Javier,” he admitted. Yeah, duh.

“Can I call you Javi? Or do you prefer something else?”

“Something else?” He cocked an eyebrow, lifting his glass of wine to his lips once again and drinking deeply.

“Some prefer daddy,” she answered, “Or papi, or something similar.”

“Don’t call me daddy until later,” he answered, taking a big swig and shaking his head slightly. “If at all.”

“You look like you’d like daddy,” she replied, following his lead and gulping down more wine. Her head was thoroughly spinning now, but it’s what she needed to reach the high where she didn’t care who she was fucking, only what they could say after.

“Looks can be deceiving.”

She nodded, brushing past him to the stereo on her bedside table. She popped it open to check the tape currently inside - Billie Holiday. That’ll do. Taking yet another drink she closed it and pressed play before turning to look at Javi across the counter.

“How old are you?” he chuckled, “This doesn’t seem like something from your era. Or mine, even.”

“Growing up east of the wall, most things from my childhood were outdated,” she answered with a shrug.

She hadn’t. Her parents just had an affinity for old music.

Javi cocked an eyebrow. “Makes sense. Although I’m gonna admit I don’t know much about the whole Berlin thing.”

“You’ve been in Colombia how long?”

“Jesus. Eleven, twelve years? I’ve lost count.”

She let out a short laugh. “I don’t blame you, then. There’s enough going on here to keep anyone distracted from what’s happening anywhere else.”

“You’ve got that right,” he sighed, suddenly looking rather tired.

“Even for a…janitor.” She leveled him with a knowing look, taking in the last of her wine and licking her lips.

“Right,” he answered, throwing his head back as he finished his drink as well.

“Come here,” she commanded softly, setting her empty glass on the bedside table and holding her hands out to him.

“I’m a terrible dancer,” he warned, but nevertheless he left his glass on the counter and crossed the room. Before he came to her he tossed a few things out of his pockets onto her night stand. Cigarettes, wallet, and his badge - which he tucked beneath the cigarettes. Then he moved to join her. His left hand quickly traveled from her palm to the small of her back, pulling her tight against him and filling her head with his scent - heady, leather and amber, cigarettes and whiskey. Their fingers laced together as they began to sway in lazy circles, footwork loose but eyes locked intensely. I can do one better. She slipped her hand beneath his jacket and ran her fingers up the back of his shirt, letting her nails rake through the fabric and into his skin.

“I hope that only applies to this kind of dancing,” she murmured, looking up at him through heavily lidded eyes.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he dipped his head towards hers, lips brushing ever so softly against her own.

She couldn’t help it. Between the drinks she’d had at the bar and the wine and the music and the way his skin felt warm and firm beneath her fingers, she was the one who went onto her tiptoes to deepen the kiss.

In an instant he dropped her hand and snaked both his arms around her, fingers gripping her shoulder and waist as he returned with equal fervor. She pulled her own hand from his back up to his chest, both palms splaying across his pecs before clinging onto the edges of his shirt as he began to turn and push her towards the bed.

She let him. He could pretend all he wanted that he wasn’t the dominant type, but from her (albeit limited) experience men always showed their true colors in the heat of the moment.

Before she knew it her back was hitting the mattress, his weight leaning on top of her as they continued the same kiss, tongues finally peeking out to explore one another and entwine in quick and heated movements. She wasn’t ready to give in yet, though.

She hadn’t grabbed his thigh absentmindedly back in the bar.

She wanted it.

Wanted to feel it.

With very specific parts of her body.

“Sit up.” She commanded, pulling away from the feverish pursuit of his lips.

“What?” He was out of breath, searching her face obliviously.

“Sit. Up.” Her voice was hard. She meant business.

Reluctantly he did so, and as soon as he moved she was on him. Thrusting her right knee between his legs and her left on the other side of his right, she kissed him deeply as she began to drag her aching core against the fabric of his jeans, sparking with the pressure and friction.

“I’ve wanted this all night,” she breathed. For once she didn’t have to pretend. Who was he to walk around looking like that, wearing what he wore? Surely he knew the effect he had, what he made others want so desperately. And now she had consent…right?

His hands moved to her hips and held them tightly, his face finding its way to her neck as he began to press hot kisses into the soft skin, his tongue flicking against it with fierce intensity.

Yes. Yes she did.

Her shorts were interfering with the entirety of her pleasure. The rough denim began to hurt the more she dragged herself across his thick thigh. Frustrated, she stood up with a huff of indignation and unbuttoned her shorts, thrusting them towards the floor unceremoniously and stepping out of them as she resumed her position on top of him.

“Fuck,” he groaned under his breath. His fingers began to trace the lacy outline of her thong, briefly gripping her ass before focusing on her hips, thumbs rubbing against the bones as he began to pull her closer to him in pace with the rhythm she’d set with her own thrusts.

She dipped to join their lips once more, forcing her tongue into his mouth with vigor. He had the rest of the night to exert himself over her, surely he could give her these first few moments?

He did, succumbing to her assertions and melting at her touch.

“How do you want it next?” she breathed. “I’ve been selfish enough. Next one’s yours.”

“On your knees,” he murmured, undoing his belt. She nodded nervously as she did so.

Within moments he stood before her, unzipped and pulling out his cock. Average in length but thick and throbbing.

“No briefs?” she asked with a laugh.

“No time, baby.”

“You’re a mess,” she giggled, taking him in her hand. “Make me a mess, too.”

She gave his tip an experimental lick, surprised by how hot his skin was. She began to pump her hand along his length, slowly licking the underside of his member from bottom to top in time with her hand. He groaned and ran his fingers through her hair, locking onto it with a firm grip.

“In your mouth,” he ordered.

She looked up at him, suddenly nervous. But she did as he asked, wrapping her lips around his tip and licking it to get enough saliva around her lips to get her down his length smoothly. And then she was taking him halfway, hand still pumping near the end of his shaft, moving in time with her mouth as she began to bob gently along his length. She swirled her tongue around him, sucking with varying pressure as she made her way further and further down his cock.

He tilted his head back with a groan, pulling on her hair slightly before pushing her head towards him. Suddenly she was taking a lot more of him in her mouth, even though her throat wasn’t ready. She gagged slightly but refused to loosen her grip on him. I’m supposed to be used to this. He couldn’t know how inexperienced she was. She did her best to relax the back of her throat as he pulled and pushed her onto him again.

She decided to abandon having a hand on him and instead rested her hands on her thighs, tightly balled into fists as she tried to resist her gag reflex as best she could. Her eyes began to water, so she closed them. She decided to focus on her tongue, slipping it around him as his hips began to thrust into her - thankfully rather gently. But it was still a lot to take in, and it took all of her concentration to think about where her tongue was and not how the tip of his cock was now pressing against the back of her throat.

Mercifully, he pulled all the way out of her and she immediately raised her hand to his length, pumping slightly as she gave his tip one last twirl of her tongue, leaning back as she finished, a single strand of spit trailing between her lips and his cock.

“Stand up.”

She did.

“On your back.” He was out of breath, eyes glazed over with lust as he began to pull her shirt up over her head. It hit the floor with the softest of sounds.

She followed his lead by unbuttoning his shirt, trying not to lose her place as he flipped her onto her back, pushing her up the bed until her head hit her pillows and his legs were firmly planted between her own. She finished her work so quickly she surprised herself, forcing him to sit up and shrug out of his clothing. Except for his jeans. They were still on, and now marked with traces of the wetness she was feeling at the base of her sex.

“I’m more naked than you are,” she whined, pouting her lips slightly as she pushed against his chest to keep him off of her.

“Fine,” he sighed. “I’ll take off my pants while you take off your bra.”

“Good boy,” she giggled.

They did so, stripping themselves at the same time.

Her nipples perked at the cold air as she tossed her bra into the oblivion to her right. When next he pressed into her, he was completely naked.

His fingertips expertly wrapped themselves at the edge of her panties and began stripping them off her with no trouble at all. He dangled them in front of her in a moment of triumph before tossing them in the same direction as her bra.

“Come on daddy,” she whispered sarcastically.

“Don’t,” he breathed.

After placing a few kisses along her chest and stomach he descended to her core, his lips expertly wrapping around her most sensitive place and sucking so hard she couldn’t help but gasp.

“Are you sure you want to…?” She asked, trying to keep her hands from gripping the sheets.

“Shut up,” he replied, kissing her inner thighs. “I can tell you’ve barely been touched.”

He wasn’t wrong. A long-term boyfriend in college. Shy and religious: they’d barely done a thing. A quick affair after graduation: he was nothing to write home about. A low-ranking cartel member: done in five minutes, thankfully over her stomach. The police officer: she’d convinced him to wear a condom - albeit a shitty old one out of his wallet - but that was the highlight of her evening. He hadn’t been experienced or giving, except in the pillow talk, when he’d blabbed all about Murphy and Peña. Other than that, she was new to proper sex and completely clean. She’d even gotten checked, just to be sure. And, apparently, he could tell. The way his tongue pressed against her entrance confirmed as much.

“Fuck Javi,” she moaned, “it’s not normally like this.”

An assumption. Everything she’d absorbed from the prostitutes she’d interviewed had been that their clients didn’t give a single fuck about the woman’s pleasure. Most came before the girl was even close to orgasm. However, she hadn’t been able to interview one of Peña’s regulars. She didn’t really have any idea what he was like, other than the fact that he liked it frequently.

“Good,” he muttered, taking only a moment away from licking straight from her center to her clit to respond before he dove back into her with vigor. It was all she could do not to shout his name. She wasn’t a prostitute. She wasn’t nearly as experienced as she pretended to be. The way he let his tongue loll against all sorts of parts of her was driving her crazy. No one had done this to her before, no one had driven her this close to the edge.

But she knew she needed more. She needed to be filled.

“Your fingers,” she begged, surprised at how vulnerable her voice sounded, “or more. I just need something.”

Wordlessly he removed his mouth from her sex only long enough to adjust his hands before he continued, a rough finger exploring her core before she could even prepare herself for it.

“More,” she mewled.

He obliged.

Two fingers entered, and after a minute or so, three. She arched her back so intensely that his mouth was ripped from her clit.

“Still more?” he asked, the faintest hint of a laugh in his voice.

“Please.” She probably looked pathetic beneath him as he lifted himself onto his knees, looking down at her with excited eyes and a suppressed smirk.

“Good,” he murmured, bringing his mouth to hers while his hand rubbed his rock hard tip against her center, parting the folds and gently bumping against the most sensitive part of her sex.

“Javi, please.” She hadn’t expected such a genuine request from herself in this exchange, but good God she wanted him. All of him. Right now.

“Only if you agree,” he said, breathless, clearly restraining himself.

“Agree to what?” She bucked her hips against him, desperate to be filled.

“Agree that I’ll get to choose every position from now on. No back and forth. Just me.”

“Yes,” she answered before she could think about it. “Yes.”

And with that, he finally sunk into her, eyes rolling back in his head as he bottomed out almost immediately. If she was being honest, it hurt, but she bit her lip to contain the exclamation she wanted to release. A prostitute wouldn’t be new to an entry like this. She’d be used to much rougher. At least Javi gave her a warning, prepared her. If what her intel had told her was true, no one was ever this nice with the girls they paid for.

“Fuck” was all she allowed herself to breathe. Short and unceremonious. “Harder.” It was probably what he expected, and even though it would feel like she was being ripped apart she needed to maintain the illusion.

She didn’t know if she could handle much harder, but Javi seemed to sense that. He backed out slowly and came back in even slower.

“You’re so tight,” he whispered, “I can’t go fast yet.”

As such, he pushed in and out of her at an even pace - almost hesitant - stretching her out gently after his initial descent.

“I can take it,” she murmured. Can I? She’d soon find out.

“Are you sure?” he asked, “You’re so tense.” His hands were roaming up and down her sides. Shit. Surely he could feel the way her entire body had cramped up at his initial push, cringing at the pressure she was experiencing.

“In anticipation,” she lied. “Please, just…fuck me.”

At this point, it was almost too intimate. She’d started to want it too much. He was a source of information - sex was simply an avenue to gaining insight into his side of the drug war. She needed it to hurt, to detach herself from the situation before she lost track of her goal. I’m supposed to be a prostitute, she reprimanded herself. I need to focus.

So he did. He gripped her hips as he immediately picked up his pace, sliding into her fast and even. She felt like she might split in two, but it also felt so good. She let out the softest of moans - if she dared to be any louder he was sure to hear the strain in her voice, and maybe he’d stop, and maybe he’d know. She could practically feel herself tearing at the sudden onslaught, but the same had happened with the cartel runner and the police officer. They wouldn’t have cared if they knew she was hurting. And she hadn’t enjoyed it then. But now?

Her hands ran down his back, fingernails digging deep into the skin. His breathing was becoming labored, his face dipping into the crook of her neck as he placed distracted kisses and bites against the skin of her ear and shoulder and everything in between.

He was going faster now, bottoming out so hard she felt like he was pushing against her cervix with every thrust. His hands left her sides and gripped her thighs, pulling them further apart but closer to him.

“Javi,” she breathed. “Don’t stop.” She only half meant it. The pressure mounting in the middle of her pelvis scared her. She’d never orgasmed before - was this what was building? It felt so good but so foreign at the same time.

He bit her shoulder as hard as he rammed into her and she let out a sharp gasp.

“Say it now,” he whispered in her ear. She knew what he meant.

“Daddy,” she moaned.

“Flip over,” he growled, pulling out of her and letting go of her legs.

“Yes, daddy.” She turned herself around, a feat considering how numb her legs had become.

She’d meant to remain on all fours, but his hand came to the back of her neck and roughly pushed her face into the pillows. It sent shivers down her spine. Good shivers. Unexpected. His other hand guided his member along her slit, wetting itself with ease. She couldn’t help it. She’d never been so aroused.

“Beg for it,” he demanded. His voice had gone even darker, husky and fighting for air. His fingers clenched around her neck, and she could’ve sworn he let out a faint moan.

“Please, daddy,” she whined. “Please fuck me.”

Suddenly he was plowing into her again, one hand still holding her down and the other clenching her hip, pulling her into him just as fiercely as he thrusted against her.

It didn’t hurt anymore - instead it was fanning a flame that ignited in her the moment he’d pushed her down. The sensation at her core was growing so quickly she was becoming short of breath. She closed her eyes and began, without even meaning too, flexing around him, making herself tighter than ever. It felt so good. Her mind had gone cloudy, the original intent of her endeavor washing away with the sweat and ecstasy of being pummeled from behind by a man so gorgeous she couldn’t even believe it.

And then it began. A fierce heat stole over her, emanating from her core out to every extremity, forcing her legs and arms to shake as her sex seemed to burst with light and pleasure.

“Yes, baby,” Javier groaned, “cum for me.”

With each thrust the electricity flowed through her even stronger, only to fade away all too quickly. Without warning he slapped her ass and she couldn’t help but cry out, short and shallow.

“I’ll make you do it again,” he murmured, releasing his hand from her neck and hip. “Get on top.”

It took her a moment to gain her bearings and slide out of the way so that he could lay at the center of the bed. As soon as he was down, though, she was straddling him with vigor and taking his cock into her hand, stroking it with pressure she couldn’t even control.

“Ask my permission.” He grabbed her wrist, holding it in place over his throbbing member.

“Daddy, can I ride you?”

“Beg.”

“Please? I need it. Please, Daddy, I need you inside me.” She leaned forward to envelop him in a sloppy kiss, shoving her tongue into his mouth without a single thought given towards whether he was ready for it or not.

He released her wrist and she took it as the go ahead. Sitting up again she guided him into her with ease. She was sopping wet, there wasn’t any resistance. The sound it made was equal parts obscene and arousing. Again, one of his hands went to her hip, the other trailed its way up to her neck before squeezing gently.

Without hesitation she began to roll her hips back and forth, keeping him inside her as she began to relish the way his thick cock felt buried within. He squeezed his hand tighter around her neck and her breath left her for a moment before adjusting to the pressure. His other hand began to rake down her thigh as he began to moan. Really moan. In earnest.

Suddenly a suggestion from one of the girls she’d interviewed popped into her head. “Spell coconut with your cunt,” she’d laughed, “and they won’t know what hit them.”

And so she did. She rolled and flexed around him, changing her pace and shape with every letter. He couldn’t even moan now, just pant as his fingers flexed against her neck as his other hand roamed up to her breast, twisting and squeezing one of her nipples.

It was her weakness. She let out a sigh of pleasure, her fingers sliding to his chest and bracing herself against it. He took the hint and sat up, his mouth latching onto her, tongue swirling, teeth nipping. The pressure began to build within her once again. Slowly.

That is, until his other hand came up between them, thumb finding and swirling around her clit.

“D-daddy,” she huffed, eyes rolling back as his grip tightened on her throat.

“My name, now,” he groaned, his thumb increasing in speed and pressure. She began to bounce on his cock, relishing in the changing pressures and movement.

“Javier,” she moaned. “Javi, oh fuck, Javi.”

It wouldn’t be long now until she was shaking around him again. He switched his attention to her other breast and her hands ran through his beautiful brown hair, pulling on it ever so slightly. He returned with pressure on her neck, making her choke for a moment before he relaxed again.

It was starting. Involuntarily she clenched around him, and in response he began to roll his hips against hers.

“You gonna cum?” he moaned, looking up at her with glazed eyes and gaping mouth.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes, Javi.”

“Me too.”

Their mouths joined once more, hot and desperate, as she began to reach her high. The tightness grew unbearable and her legs began to quiver as she had to break their kiss to throw her head back.

“Yes, oh God yes.”

It hit her even harder than last time, suddenly becoming overwhelming. Tears began to well in her eyes as he fucked her through it, thrusting into her as she began to lose her ability to ride him herself. His forehead fell against her chest as he began to grunt heavily, his entire body tensing. And then he was cumming, white hot streams filling her up, his breathing becoming ragged and his pace unsteady.

Then a stillness hung over them, both of them catching their breath. A single tear rolled down her cheek, her other eye threatening to do the same at any moment. He looked up at her and noticed, a thumb coming up to rub her tear away.

“You okay?” he asked, voice exhausted and chest heaving.

She nodded. “Just overstimulated.” She rolled off of him then, needing nothing more than to lie down and catch her breath. With a sigh he reached over to her bedside table and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it and letting his head hit the wall as he exhaled his first puff of smoke.

“You’re still new to this,” he said at last, giving her a sidelong glance.

She tensed.

“What makes you think that?”

“You should always take payment beforehand.”

“…I usually do, I just got caught up in the moment tonight.”

She hoped against hope that he’d buy it.

“Sure.” Fuck. He didn’t believe her. “But you’re also too clean to have been doing this for long. I wouldn’t have gone down on you if I couldn’t tell.”

She gulped nervously. Did that mean he wouldn’t come back? Did he only want girls who knew what they were doing?

“Hold this, I’ll be right back.” He handed her his cigarette and she took in her mouth immediately, taking a long and heavy pull. He paused to slip into his jeans before heading towards the opposite side of the apartment and slipping into the bathroom. It was a few moments before he spoke again. Just long enough for her to reach over and pluck up his badge, examining it carefully. Drug Enforcement Administration. No doubt about it. He was the right Javier Peña.

“Why the fuck is there glitter all over my face?” Javi called from the bathroom. She could just make out the sound of splashing water from across the apartment and laughed, smoke pouring from her mouth.

“Because there’s glitter all over my face,” she answered, taking another drag.

“Why the fuck is there glitter all over your face?” He appeared now, shirtless, jeans still unfastened, running her hand towel over his face before tossing it onto the couch. His dark hair was a mess and his eyes glossed over in that fucked out way she was sure hers reflected too. She couldn’t control the way it sent her heart against her ribs, the way it made her core shift with renewed need. Too damn attractive for his own good.

“It deters men with wives and girlfriends. I don’t want to get mixed up in that,” she answered with a shrug.

He joined her on the bed. “How does that work? And give me my cigarette back.”

“This one’s mine now, get your own. Anyway, they don’t want girls who wear glitter because it might get on their skin or clothes.”

“Oh come on, how would they notice? I didn’t.”

“Because you don’t have a wife or a girlfriend.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you didn’t notice the glitter.”

“You’re going in circles.”

“Dizzy yet?”

He rolled his eyes and reached to grab another cigarette from his pack on the nightstand. He paused, his entire body going tense. He patted the pockets of his jeans before rounding on her with a serious expression.

“So, janitor, huh?” she asked slyly, holding his D.E.A. badge aloft between lazy fingertips, smirking as she pulled from her cigarette again.

“Give it back,” he said in a low voice devoid of all mirth. She did so with a giggle.

“Don’t worry. I don’t even know what it means, I just know a janitor wouldn’t have one,” she lied.

“I clean up bad shit somewhere full of bureaucratic shit,” he huffed, lighting his cigarette. “That’s all you need to know.”

“That makes more sense. You’re too stressed for someone who’d just clean up actual shit,” she murmured, trailing a finger over his collarbone. He eyed her suspiciously. Fuck.

She needed him to come back. Frequently. She needed him to trust her the way he trusted his regulars. She needed him to tell her how his day went, what he did, what he saw. Simply knowing that being a D.E.A. agent strung you out and made you a great fuck didn’t tell her shit she couldn’t have already guessed.

“You’re not lying to me, are you?” he asked, grabbing her hand and looking at her as he put his cigarette to his lips. His eyes bored into her with such intensity that she almost felt like telling the truth.

“You’re American, right?”

He nodded.

“I know as much about the specificities of American badges as you know about the Berlin Wall.”

“So…fuckall?”

“Fuckall,” she answered, grinning as she leaned to press a gentle kiss against his lips. She laid several against his cheeks and nose and forehead too - she wanted him to feel reassured as much as she wanted to feel his face against hers. Before she could stop herself she was running her hands down his chest and stomach and reaching for the edge of his jeans.

“I don’t have enough cash right now for round two,” he whispered. “We’ll pick it up another time.”

Yes.

“If I could afford something on the house, I’d give it to you,” she admitted.

“You say that to all the men,” he replied with a smirk.

“And women.”

He laughed. Really laughed. It was nice to hear - the deeper and velvety tones in his voice lended themselves to the levity.

“Fair enough,” he chuckled. He planted one last, lustful kiss on her lips before reaching for his wallet and swiping through it for the right amount of cash. She sat up and watched him. He pulled out more than she’d told him to.

“That’s too much,” she began, but he shook his head.

“Never let them know that. Besides, you deserve to go home,” he answered. “I promise there’s more where that came from. Just not tonight.”

“So…you’ll find me again?” she asked, trying to look as coy and unassuming as possible.

He smiled up at her with an expression so pure it didn’t fit into her expectations of the situation at all.

Peña was supposed to be a mindless slut. No care given for the women he paid to fuck.

“Yes.”

“Same bar?”

“Sure.”

“Maybe a little earlier?”

“If I can.”

She rolled off of him and strode towards the bathroom, picking up her bra and panties as she went.

“You can see yourself out,” she called over her shoulder, giving him a small wave.

“At least let me finish my cigarette,” he answered, jokingly offended.

“Fine,” she sighed. But by the time she’d finished wiping herself clean and putting on her underclothes, he was gone.

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vmheadquarters · 4 years

Text

We’re still playing our game of written hot potato! Dozens of your favorite authors are taking turns to tell a Veronica Mars mystery story. Each writer crafts their chapter and then “tosses” the story to the next person to continue the tale. No one knows what will happen, so expect the unexpected!

Follow the “vmhq presents” and “murder we wrote” tags for all the installments, or read the story as it develops on AO3. — Chapter Seventeen of MURDER, WE WROTE is written by @iimdestinyfreereally. And stayed tuned next week for Ch.18 from @happilyshanghaied -tag, you’re it!

—————————————————————————————————— CHAPTER SEVENTEEN by @iimdestinyfreereally

Veronica woke with a jump, disturbing her still-throbbing ankle and Logan’s snoring across the room. “Sorry.” She winced, easing herself off the loveseat as Logan roused slightly from sleep. “Just gonna head to the bathroom,” she whispered, and watched as he sleepily nodded his okay. Faint sunlight streamed through the window; Veronica guessed it was only a little after dawn. She’d slept like a rock for a few hours, but with a new day’s light came a return of last night’s problems. They were still trapped in murder country, with a rapidly-rising body count and any number of viable suspects. The cast of characters was growing as long as her arm, and she still couldn’t trust anyone but Wallace, Mac, and Logan. Dick was dropping off her suspect radar. Veronica tried not to underestimate anyone, but with the plot thickening rapidly and Dick just being thick… Veronica wasn’t sure she could picture him doing any of it, especially hurting Madison. She trusted him about as far as she could pick him up and throw him, but she wasn’t sure he had the motivation or stick-to-itveness to plan a complicated murder party weekend. Wallace, Mac, Logan, and tentatively Dick. Not a very long list of allies in a creepy old murder house, Veronica admitted to herself.

With a long look at Wallace and Logan, both propped up and sleeping uncomfortably in the vintage chairs, she tried to hobble quietly down the hall to one of the main bathrooms.

Creepy old murder house, she sighed into the silence of the hall, watching the eyes of a grey-faced statue as she walked by. It didn’t watch back, but she maintained it was creepy. Veronica hoped the others had been true to their word about keeping two people up for watch duty at all times, but she knew they were all probably just as exhausted as she’d been. Carefully locking the bathroom door behind her, she smiled, relieved, at the pile of fresh towels in the basket and shook her head. Remember when this was just a fun little vacation? A weekend getaway with a game-y escape room schtick? Even outside of Neptune none of them could escape the shadow of murder and mystery, as hard as they tried. With a creaky twist, the faucet gave way to cool water, and Veronica let her mind relax a touch as she rinsed last night’s grime away, then pressed her face into the clean towel. Nothing about the weekend so far had been fun or relaxing, from the weather right on down to the murder victims; it had all been pretty tragic. Seeing Logan always had its perks, and she missed him more than she’d even realized. Even snowed-in-with-murderers was cozier with Logan. That had to be some kind of superpower. But with no way off the island, and no way to phone the authorities, Veronica didn’t want to wait for more bodies before taking action. This killer always felt a step ahead of her, leaving a bloodtrail leading her down a dark hallway with another fun surprise at the end of it all. She was starting to hate surprises. Thinking again about the sunken boats, she chewed her lip and fussed with her hair in the bathroom mirror. The murderer had meant to strand the teens by sinking the boats, but that just meant the murderer had to have their own way off the island. There had to be some back door out of the death trap, and Veronica found a little hope in that realization. Mentally, she started organizing a list of next steps. First, she needed to see if Mac was okay, and if she remembered anything else about her attacker. Her description of a tiny blonde Lilly Kane didn’t make sense to Veronica, but she didn’t doubt Mac’s eyesight. Just her blow to the head, she admitted. Veronica knew that meant she had to question Duncan too, an idea which brought on more than a little discomfort. Putting him out of her mind had been easy the past few years, but seeing him still felt complicated. She was glad he wasn’t dead; part of her felt relief, but confronting him about his role in both the fake murders and the real ones was going to be unpleasant. Where was the tiny Lilly Kane, and what role did she play in all this? Veronica only hoped Duncan would be more forthcoming during this mystery than he’d been during their past ones. Although it would be impossible for him to help less, Veronica reminded herself. Her mind kept going back to the long list of suspects, and the ever-growing list of victims. Madison Sinclair? It hadn’t been all that long since Veronica had wished her dead, or at least wished her a terrible perm, but seeing her actually dead? Dressed as a maid? The dots were hard to connect, even for Veronica Mars, super-sleuth extraordinaire and card-carrying private eye. None of this was random, it all felt planned. Methodically calculated. Definitely the hard route to mass murder. Veronica gave herself the chills by accident with the morbid thought. Giving herself a final dust-off in the mirror, she felt a little lighter leaving the bathroom and limping back down the hall to the library. With a playful wave and obscene gesture at the greyscale statue on her way, Veronica dared herself to not be afraid of this place. Smiling at Logan and Wallace still snoring, she contemplated lying back down and getting a few more hours of sleep. But after reaching for the blanket on the loveseat, the light feeling in her chest sank, rapidly. A small, white envelope rested atop the blankets where she’d been sleeping just a little while ago; it was addressed to Enid Curtis in fancy, curliqued writing. Veronica checked over her shoulder and around the room; whoever had left her the note was gone, so she tore into it, dread swelling in her chest. Did you sleep well? Soon you’ll be at your final rest, unless you win the game I came to play. Will you bet your life on it? Will you bet Mason’s? -Mistress X Resisting the urge to crumple the note in her palm, Veronica sighed and reread it to herself a few times. The fake murder mystery was over, wasn’t it? So now real murder was supposed to be a game? Couldn’t Mistress X just clean up at poker like everyone else with a healthy competitive streak? But Veronica held the answer in her hands; danger written in plain ink, on plain paper. The thought of losing Logan, or Wallace, or Mac froze Veronica’s mind. Maybe there wasn’t time for a full investigation, with ample interrogations, and tracking of timelines, and crossing off suspects from a list. Maybe Veronica only had time to get the people she cared about out of the house and off the island. It was still snowing heavily outside, as if to emphasize the point they were still stuck. Stranded. Trapped. “Guys.” Veronica plopped herself back into the loveseat to give her ankle a break. Eyeing the room around her, she realized Mistress X might still be watching, might still be playing. “Guys.” She tried again, waking Logan and then Wallace, eliciting grumbles from both of them. “I found another clue, this one personally addressed and hand-delivered.” She brandished the letter, and Logan was first awake enough to read the note. Pressing a small, good morning kiss to the corner of her mouth, Logan’s face fell after reading the note. “Nope, nope, no thank you.” Wallace shook his head, stretching. “I’m gonna need at least two seconds to wake up before I deal with any psycho murderers, or new creepy-ass clues. Two seconds.” He stretched wide, huffing a sigh as he noticed Logan staring wide-eyed at the letter. “Well? Doesn’t really look like a ticket home.” He plucked the note from Logan’s hand, and Veronica lifted her brows in question when Wallace handed the note back to her. “Mistress X is extra getting on my nerves.” She ran her fingers over the letter. It all felt so personal, somehow, and Veronica felt herself a little shaken by that. She’d faced evil before, at least she’d suspected it’s presence in Aaron Echolls; but this felt almost like they were being hunted, or taunted. They were being played with, and that drove her crazy. “It’s just a threat.” Logan smoothed his hand over Veronica’s shoulder, eyeing the bruising on her ankle. Even in crisis, Veronica knew he wanted to reassure her, protect her, any way he could. Epic. She shook her head, but she wasn’t easily reassured. “Someone was in here while you guys were sleeping.” Veronica fought a shudder, leaning into Logan’s touch. “I could’ve just missed them in the hall. We can’t give them that chance again,” she decided. “We need to get everyone together, and figure this Mistress X out. I think we’re being watched, maybe even now.” Veronica didn’t buy that luck and good timing were responsible for the letter being left while she was in the bathroom. “There you guys are,” Dick cut in, leaning into the library. “Jeez, what’d you guys see a ghost or something?” He looked between the three of them, a scared expression creeping across his face as if maybe they really had. “Anyway, doesn’t matter, come on, you guys gotta see this.” He started back down the hall. “Is Mac okay?” Veronica leaned on Logan, after jumping up too fast for her injured ankle. Steadied, she silently smiled to erase the look of concern from his face, and fit her hand into his. Tucking the note from Mistress X in her back pocket, Veronica debated just how much she should share with the entire group. “The Mac Attack is fine, she just needed a little TLC, if you get what I mean.” Dick waggled his eyebrows over his shoulder at Logan. “You mean you gave her some band-aids, Neosporin, and Tylenol?” Veronica’s tone warned Dick about all kinds of negative-type consequences for him if he had anything else to say. She could always take him off her ally list. Frowning, Dick shook his head; Veronica Mars was a party-pooper, it was one of her biggest character flaws in his eyes. He resumed leading them down to the servants’ quarters, then remembered something. “Actually, we’re out of Neosporin, but anyway, you gotta see what the Mackster found,” Dick said, gesturing them into the room, and making a flourishing gesture in Mac’s direction. “Bond, I gotta tell ya, I think we might be in a little trouble here.” Mac was frowning at her computer screen. “And don’t call me the Mackster.” She grimaced at Dick. Logan and Veronica shared a look between them, steadying each other. The bodies piling up had actually given her some indication they were in a sticky situation, but Mac’s face was pale and scared. Maybe things were somehow worse than murder, death threats, fake names, and high stakes. Maybe Veronica had been lucky so far to only have been pushed off one balcony. “When you say might…” Wallace scowled, as if he had all kinds of bad feelings about Mac’s frown. “Nothing we haven’t survived before, right? Whatcha got, Q?” Veronica hobbled to the seat next to Mac, bracing herself for another curve ball.

#veronica mars #veronica mars fanfic #vm fanfic #vmhq presents #murder we wrote #round robin

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klaineownsmysoul · 4 years

Note

I love love love Blaine a lot. A whole lot but I wish the writers made him more unforgiving? I know it’s a weird thing to think about but he forgave too quickly???(rock salt slushie/s6 break up) Or he didn’t even get mad at some stuff(vaporape)! Like it was most likely other people getting mad on his behalf but we didn’t really see much of his reaction to rock salt/vaporape? It’s weird. Is it weird?

If its weird, then count me in on the weirdness, because I feel the same damn way. There were far too many instances IMO where his feelings about very real things that happened to him were glossed over or treated as a joke. The vaporape? I shudder just remembering that and it permanently tainted his friendship with Tina for me - to the point where I was uncomfortable anytime she came near him or he was alone with her. I think we were supposed to think her crush on him was cute or see it as “ LOL oh poor deluded Tina” but then they took it about a thousand steps too far with that scene in his bedroom. I look at it this way: if the genders were reversed, would you still think it was funny? Or would people have been screaming at how fucked up and inappropriate it was? She took advantage of him when he was in a vulnerable state and took his trust and used it against him. And then it was all played off for laughs. Guess who wasn’t laughing? Me. I sat there wondering if I could get a restraining order issued for a fictional character because that is how disgusted I was by it.

The rock salt slushy? Grr Argh. His former teammates - the ones he was so reluctant to leave at the start of season 3 mind you and who he reserved a whole block of tickets to “West Side Story” for - plot to embarrass/intentionally injure his boyfriend (a former Warbler himself) and after he gets hit instead, he gets one line to Schue a couple eps later about how Dalton did nothing after that happened. That is the extent of the reaction he’s allowed. He and Kurt never talk about it, he never speaks to any of the Warblers to find out why they would turn on him like that, and he never gets to really react to nearly being blinded. We get a way too short scene of him and Kurt alone in his bedroom and then it gets ruined when Finchel show up because we can’t have nice things. I know some of his disappearance from the show at this time was arranged so he could do How to Succeed but that doesn’t mean the void isn’t there.

Personally I think he forgave Finn too quickly for being an utter and complete ass to him for the first half of season 3. He’d never had any issues with Blaine before now and he’d not been in the choir room for 5 minutes before Finn decides to be the alpha asshole and is all “we’re a team here, we’re not the Warblers, no one is above anyone else” which is the mother or all ironies because his special snowflake princess girlfriend has a temper tantrum per episode and storms out on regular basis when she doesn’t get her way. But please - go ahead and keep telling your brother’s boyfriend who is at McKinley for one reason and one reason only - Kurt - about how you guys are a team first. If he wanted the spotlight, he would have stayed at Dalton: the place where he was the lead singer and he was fawned over. But he wants to be with Kurt more so that’s why he’s there. Its certainly not for the quality educational opportunities. And then Finn keeps on deliberately twisting the knife - giving Rory a solo just to spite Blaine and see what he’d do but Blaine is the bigger man and doesn’t take the bait and then going to bring Sam back because the ND were lacking star power or some bullshit like that when Sam was never anything but filler and most certainly no where near the commanding frontman that Blaine is. And everyone else sits there and lets it happen. Some “team.” The only person who called Finn on his behavior was Santana and she was 100% right and the only time I’ve ever on Santana’s side is when she’s ragging on Rachel. When he finally does snap after being shouted down once again and then shoved by Sam, he gets the lamest half assed apology from Finn for his trouble. He’s sorry but mostly he’s apologizing because he needs something from Blaine now that Rachel has been suspended. Wow. Top notch leadership skills there, Finn. And Blaine just sighs and asks what he needs from him. And that’s it. Last time its mentioned. Kumbaya, we’re all one big happy family now? Uh huh. Nope.

Season 6? That bullshit breakup and the ensuing mess of episodes? Where to start with those. His heart is shattered, he gets kicked out of the school he worked so hard to get into, his whole life crumbles around him, all his so-called friends forget he exists, he’s forced to leave NYC and return to Lima and move back in with his parents and we get one small flashback where he talks about how he was so depressed he couldn’t even bring himself to play music. Then he’s back at Dalton and Kurt shows up and announces he wants him back but does fuck all to prove it and things are painfully awfully awkward between them and I hate every single second of it. Their “reunion?” Oh my stars what the everloving fuck was that? Kurt showing up at his door out of the blue and telling him that he still loves him and that everything was completely messed up before but everything is fine now? What in the name of all that is holy does that mean? How are things fine now? Last time Blaine saw you, you were heading out to an early bird dinner with your catfish grandpa and gave him no indication that anything had changed between you. Kurt walks out of the choir room seemingly without a care in the world, leaving Blaine standing there in the dark alone and unloved and looking like his whole world just crumbled again. But now we’re totes cool because Kurt had another conversation about his feelings with someone who isn’t Blaine and then never bothers to share his epiphany with him? Perhaps I wouldn’t have loathed the wedding ep so much if - once again - the heartfelt declaration of love hadn’t come from Blaine...because it absolutely had to come from Kurt in this situation. Blaine’s not the one who wanted to leave; if it was up to him, they’d both still be together and in NYC where they belong. He didn’t want any of this. Which is why they needed to have Kurt be the one to step up here and tell Blaine how he feels. Telling Rachel that he fucked up and that Blaine is the love of his life doesn’t cut it if he never admits that to Blaine himself. And this was the perfect place to do it. But no. Blaine takes his hands and tells him how hard the previous months had been and that he loves him and Kurt stands there gaping at him without responding, we go to commercial, my head explodes, and that’s the last moment they get to be alone for the episode. No reply from Kurt, no moment of them making this decision together, nothing. We next see them walking down the aisle and that’s supposed to make things good. They never have an honest to goodness full conversation with each other until the flash forward in the series finale. It was the most unsatisfied I’d ever felt watching a tv show and it stung twice as much because I’d been looking forward to and imagining their wedding since 5x01.

Standing up for yourself when its warranted does not make you a selfish asshole. I know that part of Blaine’s personality is that he’s a people pleaser; he seems pretty cool with going along with what the group consensus is. Unless it has to do with the color and piping on the Warbler ties, of course. Some things are just too important to leave alone. And I think some of that may be due to his experiences before he came to Dalton and how he felt it was easier and safer to just fit in and smile. I can’t blame him for that. But he’s entitled to his feelings and he’s allowed to be pissed when people fuck with him and I will - clearly - defend that right for all my days.

#Anonymous #blaine anderson #my sweet little cupcake #and how he got screwed

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bibimmyeon · 5 years

Text

hair.

explicit 18+ smut. taeil/reader.

a/n: this is my first fanfiction- or any writing, for that matter, so if its bad, it’s bad. i drew some inspiration from an old nct writer who disappeared one day. pls come back.. big daddy long dick misses you...

Taeil’s lips were the devil; Moist and plush, painting you in kisses across the expanse of your abdomen, the pads of his fingers tracing patterns around the supple skin he was kissing into. You shivered when he took a delicate nip and paused to suck for a moment before continuing his journey down your ribcage, your blood bubbling up towards your face to bloom into a faint blush across your cheeks; You flopped your head to the side, concealing your face in the pillow. Taeil was too preoccupied to notice.

In the corners of your room, sunlight was beginning to slip through the blinds and unfold against the walls and floors, speckling warmth against Taeil’s bareback. The clock ticked past six.

Taeil did this a lot; shuffling you awake before the birds chirp, teasing you slowly while you shook off sleep. Once he was satisfied with just kissing you, his fingers delicately brushed against the dip of your waist to meander down and grab a generous chunk of your thigh.

Your heart bounced- Squirming, you wiggled your hips away from him.

“Don’t want it?” Taeil teased and pecked your stomach once more.

Six A.M. and Taeil already wanted to egg you on.

“”S too early,” You huffed, rubbing your eyes before releasing a long yawn. “I want to sleep for once.”

“Yeah, but I leave in an hour,” You felt his grip tighten around your thigh whilst he whined, shifting his expression to pout for your approval. “Just this once?”

“You do this every day-” You attempted to lift your head from the pillow and shuffle him off of you, but it rendered useless when Taeil moved to trap you in, encapture you and pepper your cheek in small kisses before moving down to your neck, taking it slower this round, lips glazing you delicately.

You knew Taeil well enough now; Sure, he’d be okay if you refused him, but his hot breath against your neck tended to sway your decision.

“A-Ah- okay, but you’re doing all the work.”

Taeil smirked into your neck, feeling more confident with your approval, letting the hand around your thigh slide up to skim over the silk of your panties. You squirmed when you throbbed against him and he started to gently roll the pads of his fingers into the crease in your underwear. He kept it slow, still busy nipping and licking the side of your neck, after all. One, two, three kisses here and there before he would shift towards your clavicle and continue the assault.

Then you remembered.

Oh God, you remembered.

“Wait-” You huffed, slamming your thighs together to cut off Taeil’s fingers. “We can’t!”

Shocked but your sudden change of heart, Taeil pulled himself off of you in favor of hovering above you to flash a quizzical glance.

A flush of embarrassment bubbled up inside you and you sighed, tugging the shelter of your covers up and over your face, your world caving in, brick slabs replacing the open field of your mind.

What if he found it disgusting? Called you gross?

No, he’d never say anything to hurt you. Even an ounce of disapproval from him would send you crumbling down in a puddle of liquid shame; He knew that.

And so you hid.

“Ah, what the hell,,” Taeil chuckled, pulling down the covers to start a game of tug-of-war. “Tell me what’s wrong- Not good?”

“No! Fine!” Your cry was muffled by the covers and Taeil giggled at your hopelessness. Oh, you were pathetic.

“Ah, seriously, you…”

One good tug from Taeil’s sturdy bicep had the cover tumbling off into the stratosphere and his body shimmying up next to yours. He rested his head next to your shoulder with a petite peck and offered you a teasing grin.

Curse that grin.

You gulped, knowing he was expecting an explanation.

“I-” Another dry swallow. “Ah, it’s embarrassing-”

“What’s embarrassing? We do this all the time,” Taeil drawled out, his smirk never disappearing.

Maybe if you whispered it, it wouldn’t be a huge deal. Right?

“I didn’t-” Nope. Not today.

“Didn’t what?”

“Didn’t…”

“Oh, come on-”

“Shave, Taeil! I forgot to shave last night.” The words spilled out of your mouth, just barely comprehensible, and you once again yanked the covers up to shield yourself from embarrassment.

Taeil just blinked, not registering.

“So no sex?”

“Wha-” You started, pulling just your head above the covers to pout. “Well, you didn’t tell me you were coming by last night…” Mumbling, you avoided eye contact.

“Does it matter? The hair, I mean.”

What?

Your eyes caught Taeil’s, who was staring at you like you hadn’t just admitted an atrocity to him.

“You suck my hairy dick all the time-”

“Ew, Taeil.”

“But seriously.”

You can’t tell if he’s joking with you or not- did he really not care?

You’re meticulous. If there is even a chance of seeing Taeil on any day, at any time, for any reason, you normally wax, shave, do the absolute most to make sure that when Taeil is dining on you like you’re a honey pot, not a single follicle of your hair will be visible or tangible. That’s simply a given for you. Taeil has never said anything about it but you never had expected him to do so, especially when he’s usually so preoccupied with shoving his tongue as far into you as he can.

“Yes, but it’s…” Surely, he would change his mind. Even Taeil, who you are fairly sure is in love with you, has his limits.

Taeil, however, loved a change of pace. Taking your hand in his, he exerted an airy chuckle and squeezed.

“But it’s what? Kinda sexy?” He inquires and you finally gather the courage to catch his gaze, his a thousand-watt grin blinding you; Was he insane?

You wanted to explain that no, it was not sexy and he was incorrect, wrong, false, and many more things. Perverted being one of them.

Instead, you 101 error-ed.

“S-sexy?”

Taeil pursed his lips, his earlier confidence flushing out, feeling scrutinized; You picked up his signal and let out a giggle, earning you a side glance.

“What’s funny~” Taeil pouted, inadvertently starting to chuckle with you.

His gaze met your smile.

In a matter of seconds, he was swooping down and abandoning the hand he held, moving to softly cusp your jawline and draw you in to touch his lips to yours. His hand was warm against your face, slowly pulling you towards him while his lips dance oh-so softly into yours, occasionally nipping dubiously into the plush of your bottom lip. It was a lot honestly, and you sunk into him like he was melting you with each swipe of the tongue. Parting your lips, you let him delve further, whining when his moist tongue met yours. It was absolutely obscene. You were completely fine with that.

Preoccupied with Taeil‘s mouth, you didn’t notice when your devious boyfriend shifted his other hand downwards, skimming against your stomach and dipping down under the elastic of your panties to take a bold swipe between your folds. In shock, you whined against his lips; He smirked, absolutely full of himself. Blood rushed to your head when he takes another swipe, collecting some of your wetness to considerately re-allocate it up towards your clit, which he began to tenderly rub around. You’re sure your face is plastered red at this point, lips swollen, breath heavy.

Trying to catch a breath, you pull back for a second but he is back on you in moments.

Neck, clavicle, breast. Areas he began to soak with his wet lips and lingering kisses.

However, with the new air in your lungs, you remembered your previous worries and glanced down at your boyfriend, whose fingers were still rubbing circles around your folds. You shuddered from the ministrations but the anxiety caught up to you, and you tried to call out to Taeil with a huffy breath.

He noticed and looked up from your breast.

“My-” Ah, wait that felt good. “My hair.”

This again? He gifted you a cheeky smile, scrunching his nose before giggling at your worries.

So understanding, him.

Repositioning himself, he slid his hand from out of your panties and chucked your duvet to the side, giving you a quick glance before straddling your thighs and hooking his fingers around your panties, but you quickly snatched his wrist before he pulled them down.

“Taeil-” You whined, a million worries bubbling in and out of your head.

Devilish Taeil shot you another billion-dollar smile.

“Don’t worry,” He fiddles with the frills on your panties, shifting his gaze longingly down at your thighs. Almost embarrassed, he stumbled with his words. “I-it’s kinda.. Cute? Right?”

You couldn’t agree, but let Taeil carry on.

“If you’re embarrassed, I won’t…” He trails, grinning to himself. “But if you let me… Here, let me.”

Your grip on his wrist slackened and he shimmed your panties down, back arching to slide them off your bum. He left them wrapped around your thighs, all too preoccupied with, what was in his eyes, your adorable little cunt, locking his gaze on you before scooting a bit down.

Meanwhile, you couldn’t dare look down. Heart beating erratically, you wanted so badly to run away and quickly shave every hair off your body, dig a hole and live the rest of your life in dirt and clay. Alas, this was your reality; Reality being Taeil craning his neck down and parting your hairy cunt with his fingers, experimentally letting his tongue gently lap into you once he got close enough.

“Mmmmph,” You try not to curse, half embarrassed, half aroused.

Taeil hummed in response, the vibration tangible against your cunt whilst he cleaned the whole premises, every inch of you sweet and obscenely delicious against his mouth. He nudged further and his nose bumped the head of your bud, dangerously close to your clit; You swallowed your whine and Taeil’s hand came down teasingly on your thigh, the little slap egging you to make another sound. It worked and you inadvertently moaned, cursing his borderline annoying talent with his mouth. He kept you grounded with his grip and you felt his tongue dip itself inside you, the stimulation jerking your hips.

“Ahh,” You whine, expression scrunching up and face dampening. “T-Taeil..”

He was trying not to smirk; You could feel it, knowing your moans stroked his ego.

Soon enough he was covering other grounds and your thighs were shaking in his tight grasp, knuckles turning white trying to keep you still. Moving up towards your clit, he took the whole delicacy into his mouth, suckling on you so obscenely you wanted to explode into atoms so small you would never have to face him ever again. His lips were covered in your slick, puffy and red, kissing and sucking in between each of your folds so skillfully it was almost irritating.

“So wet, baby...” He murmured, pulling back to let his fingers replace his tongue, gathering up some of your slickness with two fingers and cleaning them with his mouth, the act so dubious you couldn’t help but physically cringe when he popped them out.

He giggled at you for the millionth time.

“Don’t like that, baby?” He teased, winking at you with a shit-eating grin. His voice was becoming deep and husky with lust. “Look at you, so cute. Cute ‘lil face, cute ‘lil hairy pussy..”

You would have slapped him, but before you could retort, his face was back down in you to work alongside his fingers, and all you could let out was an airy whimper. Two fingers made their way into the walls of your pussy, knuckle deep before he fluttered his fingertips against your soft tissue, pulling out only to be pushed back in, pussy squelching from moisture. Taeil went down to lick at the juice; He was shameless, you were sure. From then on he began to steadily pulse himself in and out of you whilst his tongue meandered around the edge of your bud, nose in the soft hair of your pubic bone. Your whole body shook when he arched his fingers up in just the right spot, letting them flutter there as you moaned his name.

In the meantime, he massaged your clit with his lips, free hand holding you down by the hipbone. You’re sure his lips are absolutely smeared with your slick, dribbling down his chin as he continuously licks and nips pleasure into you. A faint throb rose up in your center and you couldn’t contain your whimpers anymore, thrusting your groin into Taeil’s lean fingers.

“T-Taeil-” Barely able to speak, you whine out his name. “I-I ahhh..”

“Mhmmm.”

Taeil slid a third finger into you. The stretch had you wincing momentarily, soon replaced with pleasure when he brushed up against your G-spot again.

“Holy shit, T-Taeil,” You huffed between heavy breaths. “Keep doing that.”

Taeil sensed you were near your end, hurriedly moving his thumb to rub at the clit his mouth had just left.

Looking at Taeil, you almost felt sorry for him. You had absolutely washed his face with your juices, his eyes bloodshot and lips swollen. He had whole-heartedly devoured you. However, a dull throb in your core reminded you of the more pressing matter at hand; You were going to come all over Taeil’s fingers.

The knot in your stomach was tightening, thighs continuing to shake with the subtle ministrations against your clit now added to the equation. You mewled and quivered, certain you would explode soon, pressure gage violently swinging towards red before you finally released, moaning out and shoving your one side of your face against the pillow while your back arched up into Taeil’s fingers. Nevertheless, he grazed you one more time, fingers slowing down before he slid out of you for good.

You were completely out of breath, chest heaving with every shaky inhale you took. Relaxing your muscles for a moment to recuperate, you dared to look up.

There sat Taeil, fingers in his mouth, licking them clean before collapsing his body against the side of yours.

“So gross…” You shuddered. How could he be so cliché?

“You like it though,” He teased, leaning in to leave a peck against your lips, spreading your juices from his to yours. “Pervert.”

Shocked and offended, you gave him a playful slap to the chest and pouted.

“Me? Perverted? After you just slobbered all over me, I’m perverted?” Dramatically casting your gaze away from him, you secretly grinned ear-to-ear on the other side of the pillow.

Taeil shrugged and chuckled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and moving to spoon you, pressing his erection against your bum in secret hopes for you to notice.

Of course, you noticed.

“Are you gonna return the favor?” He boldly inquired, grinding up against you for context.

“I suppose,” You huffed and blushed once more, heart swelling when you turned to push Taeil against the mattress and leaned in to meet his lips.

“Wait-” He stopped you just as your hands grazed his boxers.

“Why?” This man...Didn’t he just ask for this?

He almost giggles before responding, honing in all of his strength to keep a straight face.

“I didn’t shave.”

...Oh, you could kill him.

#taeil smut #nct 127 #nct smut #nct scenarios #taeil #im not entirely confident putting my bullshit online #so if you like it pls let me know #and ill write some more #but if no one says anything...#we'll pretend it didnt happen #nct #nct u #moon taeil

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crazy-little-cool-cat · 5 years

Text

Hand in Glove - Chapter 24 | Ben Hardy x OFC

A/N: I’m a shooting star leaping through the skies like a tiger, defying the laws of gravity. Don’t stop me now. Also, y’all can thank the Jewish holidays for giving me so much free time to write. This chapter was written in collaboration with @ramibaby. My dear, thank you for sacrificing your fics for this chapter. You are a champion.

Word Count: Laughs nervously.

Warnings: There’s smut. Also, I’m kind of making fun of fanfics in this one, which means I’m making fun of myself, mostly, so please, fellow writer - do not take this seriously. This is pure fun. If you’re confused by this statement, just read the chapter and your issues will be resolved.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14 , Chapter 15 , Chapter 16 , Chapter 17 , Chapter 18 , Chapter 19 , Chapter 20 , Chapter 21 , Chapter 22 , Chapter 23

“Bullocks.”

“I’m telling you, Jamie. They hated it.”

“Sweet Clara,” Jamie shook his head and pursed his lips, “they’re lying. At least one of them is.”

“Who’s lying?” Annie startled them both.

“You are.” Jamie said, tongue in cheek.

“Enlighten me.” Annie crossed her arms.

“We’ve kissed, what, trillions of times?” Jamie asked. “Not one of them was like kissing a croc. Or an eel.”

“How do you even know -”

“The Snitcher here told me all about it.” Jamie patted Clara’s head. “Anyways, someone’s lying.”

Annie took a deep breath.

“Well, then?” Jamie tapped his foot as he waited for Annie to either tear him a new asshole or come clean. “Which one is it?”

“I mean, it wasn’t that bad.” Annie said, looking at the ground.

“Oh, no…” Clara took a step back while Jamie lifted his closed fist and released it, dropping an invisible mic. “Annie, what are you saying?”

“It wasn’t that bad.” Annie shrugged. “Did I make a whole show of it to get you knuckleheads to stop? Yes. But so did Joe.”

“Wait, what?”

“Oh, the plot thickens!” Jamie leered.

“Fuck off, Jamie.” Annie shot back. “Look, did I like the way Joe kissed me? No. Not really. He’s too gentle.”

“But?” Clara prodded on.

“But it wasn’t as horrible as we both said it was.” Annie said casually. “Will I do it again now that I know what it’s like? Nope.”

“Jamie?” Clara looked at the tall redhead.

Jamie squinted suspiciously at Annie, scrutinizing her from head to toe.

“She’s telling the truth.”

###

“How many more of these do we have left?” Ben rubbed his face with both hands and threw his head back against the back of the sofa he, Gwilym, Rami and Joe were crammed in since the morning. “If I have to answer the same bloody questions again…”

They finally got a break. Gwilym decided to go stretch his legs a bit and Rami went out for a smoke, leaving Ben and Joe alone in the room.

“I know, right?” Joe grumbled.

“Can I ask you something?” Ben removed his hands and turned his head to look at Joe.

“Shoot.”

“You liked kissing her, didn’t you?”

“Look, Ben, I don’t want to hurt your feelings…”

“So, you did.”

“It wasn’t as horrible as we made it seem, no.” Joe started. “But I didn’t like the way she kissed me, man.”

“What?”

“She’s too aggressive.” Joe shrugged. “The lip biting thing? I don’t like it.”

“Wait -”

“I mean, she’s not a bad kisser at all.” Joe rephrased. “Very... passionate.”

“Huh.”

“Just a bit too much for my liking.”

“Good. That’s good.” Ben straightened up. “So it won’t happen again?”

“No.” Joe smiled. “Although, her kiss did make me wonder what your sex life is like.”

“Amazing, actually.”

###

Annie stared at her phone, scratching her head in confusion. After looking through her texts while Ben filled the car with petrol, she had half a mind to pay someone to build a flying saucer for her and her family leave this planet forever.

“What’s wrong?” Ben said as he put on his seat-belt.

“The world.”

“Uh?”

“There’s people out there pining over Clara and me. Like, romantically.”

“Come again?” Ben adjusted the rear view mirror and smiled when Rory’s reflection appeared. “What are you on about?”

“They call us Clannie, Ben.”

“What?”

“They’re writing stories about Clara and me as a couple. Graphic stuff.”

“Can you send me a link to one of them?” Ben smirked.

“No!” Annie shuddered. “You sick, sick man!”

“Could be hot.” He shrugged.

“So could the stories about you, Gwilly and Joe.” Annie smirked back.

“What, like Gwil and me, Joe and me, and Gwil and Joe?”

“No, no,” Annie stifled a chuckle. “All three of you at once.”

Ben blinked, staring at the road ahead.

“Da!”

“Yeah, baby?” Ben replied instinctively, before slamming his foot on the breaks. “Did she just call me Da?”

“She’s six months old, I’m not sure babies start talking at that age.”

“She called me Da.” Ben insisted.

“She’s a babbling blob, Ben.” Annie rolled her eyes. “She didn’t call you Da.”

“She said her first word and it was Da.”

“Ben, you’re being irrational.”

“You’re jealous.”

“Da! Ba! Bfffffffffff!” Rory continued.

“I know, Rory,” Annie turned around in her seat, “but doing press interviews can make anyone hear things.”

“Sssssssseeeeeeeeeeeeee!”

“You’re absolutely right.” Annie replied. “But we love him anyways.”

###

If there’s one thing Annie hated the most about promoting season two of Greensleeves, it’s doing the interviews and late-night talk shows. Same questions, different people. It got tiresome. She managed to play the “Baby Card” more times than she’d expected... Until the producers realised what she was doing and the proverbial party was officially over.

“So, is the cast really that close?” Jason, the host, asked Clara and Annie.

“Some are closer than others.” Annie replied, surprisingly diplomatically. “Jamie and I have known each other before and Clara and I basically grew up together, so that was inevitable.”

“The previous George Boleyn was alright, I suppose. He didn’t last too long, though.” Clara chimed in. “But the new guy? We love Mike.”

“Oh yeah, he fit right in.” Annie smiled. “As far as the older cast members - we look up to them, but we don’t share our nonsense with them too much.”

“What about Jane Seymour’s character?” Jason asked.

“Well, we haven’t met her yet.” Annie confessed. “The production team’s goal was for art to truly imitate life and they want my reaction to be as genuine as possible. We haven’t filmed the part she comes into the picture just yet.”

“We don’t even know who she is, to be honest.” Clara added.

“I suspect someone messed up and forgot to cast a Jane, really.” Annie shrugged.

“Careful, there, Annabelle.” Jason chuckled. “Keep calling the production team out like that and you’ll end up fired.”

“I’ll be beheaded either way.”

“And what a glorious sight it will be.” Clara cheekily teased her.

“You two seem to have an amazing bond.” Jason admitted. “Do you ever fight?”

“All couples do.” Clara answered and Jason audibly gasped. “We don’t like to be too public about our tiffs.”

“Clara, you blithering fool…” Annie smacked her own forehead dramatically.

“Well, since you ladies brought it up -”

“Not this lady.” Annie muttered, pointing at herself.

“- what exactly is Clannie? I assume you’ve heard the term before.”

Clara and Annie exchanged amused smiles and sighed simultaneously.

“The bane of my existence.” Annie replied.

“Basically, I stumbled upon it the other day after a fan sent me a private message on Instagram, saying there’s an actual hashtag people use when they talk about Annie and I.”

“Sounds innocent enough.” Jason shrugged.

“Oh, you dirty, dirty man.” Clara joked. “You know damn well where this is going.”

“You seem to be enjoying this!” Jason laughed.

“Believe me, she loves every bloody minute of it.” Annie chimed in.

“Right, so as I snooped around I found that Clannie is like a code name for Annie and I as a couple.”

“Aha.”

“And the more I delved in, the more entertaining it got. People are writing some pretty wild fanfiction stories about us.”

“Is it really all fiction?” Jason asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if you’ll look at the screen here,” Jason turned back a little where a huge image behind the scenes of Greensleeves appeared. It was one of Annie licking cake off Clara’s face, “the show’s Instagram page is like fodder for the Clannie enthusiasts.”

“Oh my God, I forgot about that!” Annie burst out laughing. “It was Clara’s birthday! Season one! Jamie took this picture, actually. Right after I smashed Clara’s face into that cake.”

“It’s tradition.” Clara explained. “The cake licking part was definitely improvised.”

###

“Ben?”

“In here!”

Annie followed the sound of Ben’s voice and found him in the living room, folding laundry while watching whatever was on the telly.

“I am absolutely shattered.” Annie wrapped her hands around Ben’s waist and looked up at him. “Longest day in my entire life.”

“Likewise.” Ben murmured and kissed her. “Just got home a couple of hours ago. When I picked Rory up from my mum’s she was already asleep.”

“God, I wish I could be her for a day.”

“Yeah? Want me to give you baths and carry you in my arms and nibble on your little bum after I change your nappy?” Ben raised an eyebrow. “Just say the word. Also Joe and Gwil shot a weird little bit today when they read what Tumblr users said about the movie and cast and do people not wank anymore?”

“I, uh…” Annie was at a loss for words.

“How was your day?”

“If I have to hear about Clannie again I will definitely clock someone.” Annie released her grip on Ben and collapsed on the sofa. “Why are people so obsessed with this?”

“Two hot birds doing naughty things?” Ben shrugged. “I can see the appeal of it.”

“Ben, no.”

“Don’t be such a prude, now, love.” He put the last item of folded clothing in the hamper and flopped down next to Annie, his hand trailing up her thigh.

“Ben…”

“I missed you, alright?” his fingers poked their way under the waistband of her leggings. “I can’t stop missing you.”

“Ben, seriously, I’m so tired.” She grumped as he slid off the sofa and positioned himself in front of her, nudging her legs open. “I missed you too but -”

“Let me do all the work.” He looked up at her through his eyelashes as his hands gripped her waistband again. He looked up at Annie with his best puppy dog eyes and waited for her consent. With a sigh, she lifted her bum up, letting Ben pull her leggings and knickers down in one swift motion. “Good girl.”

###

When Ben’s phone rang for the fifth time and Gwilym’s name showed up on the screen yet again, he knew something was either horribly wrong or that Gwilym is drunk and emotional. Glancing at Annie, they both sighed in resignation before taking the FaceTime call.

“Have you been drinking?” Annie asked when Clara showed up on the screen. “What kind of fuckery is this?”

“We found a good story and we just had to share, alright? Calm your tits, Annie. It’s not a Clannie.” Clara rolled her eyes. “Why won’t Joe pick up?”

“I just texted him to pick up.” Ben shoved the screen into view. “As his husband, he’ll surely listen to me.”

“Bugger off!” Gwil turned his phone around and flipped him the bird.

“Why have I been summoned?” Joe asked, his face appearing on the screen.

“Well, we have a treat for you!” Clara practically sang.

“A treat?”

“Yours socks are going to fly right off, mate.” Gwil added as Clara pulled the story up on her phone. “You’re not ready for this.”

With a devilish smile to the camera, Clara cleared her throat and began.

“’Joe…?’ Ben croaked, eyes still closed, brow low and fingers wrapped firmly around his length over his jeans.” Clara started reading.

“Off to a good start.” Annie teased.

“It gets better.” Clara commented. “Right, where was I? Ah. There.” She snickered. “Suddenly, his eyes shot open and they landed on you once again; glassy and dazed they were as he stared you down, stroking himself with more purpose. He looked at you with such focus and intent, it was as though he was about to devour you whole. You looked at him with such longing, it was as though you were about to let him. ‘Undress… h-her.’ His words came out in a strangled whine and he bit his lip, looking over your body expectantly as Joe wordlessly obliged.” Clara raised her eyes from the screen and huffed. “Gwil, stop smiling like that!”

“What in the bloody hell is this?” Ben was visibly annoyed. “I do not whine. Annie, tell them I don’t whine!”

“He really doesn’t.” Annie nodded. “But Joe doing everything Ben says? That person hit the nail on the head right there.”

“Hey!” Joe’s brows knotted. “I don’t do everything he says!”

“But you do.” Ben and Annie choired.

“Shut up, you two-headed-monster.”

“People, can we please focus on the important stuff? There’s more to read here.” Clara scolded them. “Let’s see… Oh, this is good! Your nerves grew as a pair of warm hands rounded your shoulders from behind. Joe must have felt you tense up a little as he leaned down to murmur in your ear, ‘Alright, Y/N?’ The ghost of his words made you shiver on their way past.”

“Who the fuck is Whyanne?” Ben interrupted.

“Sounds like some hillbilly from a West Virginian trailer park with a potato gun and a cousin with missing teeth.” Joe added.

“What?” Clara was visibly confused.

“Who’s Whyanne and why did I tell Joe to undress her? This makes no bloody sense.”

“It’s written as Y-slash-N, you knobs.” Gwil explained. “Carry on, doll.”

“Anyways.” Clara continued. “You smiled at his redundant question - of course you weren’t.”

“I don’t like where this is going.” Joe commented. “Sounds a bit rapey.”

“Just let me finish!” Clara groaned. “You were certain your panties were soaked through at the mere sight of them - a fact you felt too compelling to keep to yourself. With that in mind, you shook your head slowly from side to side, eyes still on Ben before you, your chest inflating as you drew in a deep breath. Ben shot you a confused look, concerned you were having second thoughts.”

“Yeah, this is definitely rapey.” Joe concluded.

“Joe, if you won’t let her finish a bloody paragraph, so help me God…” Annie threatened, clearly invested in the story.

“Thank you, Banana!” Clara put a hand over her heart with a grateful smile. “Wait I lost my spot again… duh-duh-duh… there it is!” She smiled triumphantly. “Here we go. Hold on to your manties, gentlemen, this is about to get steamy.” She took a deep breath and got into character. “‘No,’ you breathed, tilting your head back to look at Joe. You reached a hand up to cup his jaw as he looked down at you, a look of worry overtaking his soft features.”

“My features aren’t soft.” Joe muttered. “They’re manly and feral.”

“Of course they are, bub.” Annie reassured him.

“Guys! Come on!” Clara snapped her fingers at the camera. “Focus!”

“Sorry.” Annie said sheepishly.

“’I’m so fucking wet and…”

“Whoa, whoa!” Ben cut her off. “Gwilym, control your woman!”

“She’s reading the story, you saggy tit.” Gwil explained.

“Joe emitted a soft whine -” Clara paused, knowing an interruption is due. “Joe, sweetheart, this sounds like something you’d do, don’t even think about denying it.” She pointed at the camera. “- Joe emitted a soft whine and his expression shifted; his eyes dark and nostrils flaring as his grip on your shoulders tightened. Pushing your ass back against his crotch, you disclosed, ‘…I think I’ve ruined my favourite…” Clara burst out laughing. “Sorry. ‘I’ve ruined my favourite -” the pitch in her voice rose ten octaves at the last syllable as she tried to stop laughing like a madwoman. “My favourite…” Clara was absolutely wheezing. She tried to finish the sentence, but all that came out of her was a screechy, “laaaaaace-pannnnneeeeeeeeeeeeeee”.

“What?” Ben looked at Annie in utter bewilderment. Annie shrugged in response.

“What was that last part?” Joe scratched his head as he tried to make sense of Clara’s incoherent shrieking.

“Lace panties.” Gwilym’s voice saved the day and translated his hysterical girlfriend’s nonsensical mumbling. “She ruined her favourite lace panties.”

“Oh.” Joe, Ben and Annie choired.

“Clara, compose yourself.” Gwil chuckled as she physically doubled over, tears running down, her laughter leaving her breathless. Moving to sit next to her and switch to the front camera on his device, he took Clara’s phone from her. “Right, guess I’m going to take charge now. You furrowed your brow, your mouth ajar as you began to slowly grind against him, your hand never leaving the side of his face as his eyes bore into yours.” Gwilym paused. “Seems anatomically impossible if her back is against you unless you have a freakishly long neck.”

“I thought she was looking at Ben?” Joe asked.

“She’s clearly looking at you, Joe.” Annie quipped.

“Joe tried to keep his composure - to play along in the same teasingly innocent tone as yours, but the feeling of you moving against him must have been a little to much to bear as he stuttered ‘oh n-no…” Gwilym snorted. “Wow Joe, got a little excited there, hm? His hands trailed down your waist before resting on your hips. He held onto them tight as he pushed his clothed hard on against you with such force you drew in a deep breath.”

“Oh, wow.” Annie leaned back, her eyes wide. “The power of Joe’s boner really got her there.”

“His voice was low as he murmured, ‘surely we can - ugh,” he licked his bottom lip, eyes closing a moment as you felt his cock twitch against your ass - he was just as worked up as you.” Gwilym paused there, mulling over what he had just read aloud. “Joe, whoever wrote this seems to think you have a speech impediment.”

“Right?!” Joe asked, “Why do I keep stuttering?! I’m the most charismatic one!”

“Anyways.” Gwilym said, ignoring Joe’s last comment. “His eyes fluttered open and he continued, ‘surely we can make it up to you’. ‘I’d like that Joey…’ you smiled.”

Joe, Ben and Annie waited, not sure if that was it or if there’s more to the story. After a minute of Clara’s heaving and the rest sitting in silence, Annie finally spoke.

“To be fair,” she looked at Ben, “if it weren’t for the lace panties, I’d be willing to bet cold hard cash that Gwil wrote that for himself to read.”

###

“Hey, Joe! I bought something for you to take on your tour!” Annie beamed mischievously.

It was the night the guys - minus Ben - were leaving for the press tour and Annie went out on a whim earlier that day and decided to tease Joe in the best way she could possibly imagine.

“Well? What is it?” Joe asked impatiently.

They were all gathered at Annie and Ben’s, from which the car to the airport was picking the rest of the guys up. Ben was mopey and miserable, a stark contrast to Annie’s cheeriness.

“Close your eyes.” Annie drawled.

“I’d rather keep them open, actually.”

“Alright then.” Annie shrugged and left the room to fetch Joe’s present. She returned with a life-sized cardboard cutout of Ben. “Ta-daaa!”

“I love it!” Joe gushed and rushed over to her, taking the present and looking it over. “What’s his name?”

“I call him Ben Cardy.” Annie said proudly. “You’re welcome.”

“Oh Ben!” Joe’s smile was so wide, his face could split in half. “It’s like you’ll be with us after all!”

###

Ben was staring at his phone intently, his hand lazily palming his crotch. He knew he shouldn’t have done that. He should not have gone down the Clannie rabbit-hole. But Annie was away at work, Rory was napping, and he just felt compelled to at least give it a look. He almost hung from the bedroom ceiling fan when Annie cleared her throat, announcing her presence. He dropped his phone with a yelp.

“Jesus, Annie!”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” Annie choked back a chuckle. “Also, surprise!”

“Why are you home?” Ben fumbled for his phone.

“Well, this is not what I was hoping you’d say.”

“Sorry, I mean -”

“I can leave if you want me to.” Annie suggested.

“What? No. Shut up.” Ben rambled. “Why are you home so early?”

“I figured you’d be sad and lonely now that the guys are away and decided to surprise you and come home early.” Annie shrugged. “Clearly, this isn’t the reaction I was expecting.”

“Christ. I’m sorry.” Ben’s face was beet-red. “I’m happy you’re home, obviously.”

“What do you have there?”

“Nothing.” Ben powered the screen off and tossed his phone aside. “C’mere.”

“No, there’s definitely something.” Annie stepped back and shook her head. “Was that porn?”

Ben had only a split second to think about a satisfactory answer that wasn’t also a total lie.

“Yes.”

“Well, that explains the tent you’re sporting.” Annie smirked. “Were you just getting started?”

“Uh.” Ben furrowed his brows.

“Alright. What’s up?” Annie pointed at Ben’s crotch. “Other than that.”

“Nothing. It’s nothing.” Shame flashed in Ben’s eyes. “Just regular porn, y’know.”

“Ben.”

“Annie.”

“Give me the phone.”

“No.”

“Are you…” Annie grimaced. “Are you sexting someone?”

“What? No!”

“You’re hiding something.”

“Annie, just let it go.”

“Fuck off. Give me the phone.”

Ben bit his bottom lip as he contemplated his next course of action. Either he tells Annie what’s on his phone, or he tries to distract her long enough for her to forget about it. When Annie lunged forward and made grabby-hands at his phone, his instincts kicked in. He physically blocked her.

“Annie, stop.”

“What the fuck!”

“It’s a Clannie story, alright?!” he almost growled at her. “There. Now you know.”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

“Ben, that’s…” Annie struggled to find the proper adjective.

“I know. I’m sorry.” Ben looked mortified. “I was bored and lonely. It’s horrible.”

“Then why are you hard?”

“Because it turns me on.”

“I’m confused.”

“Look, it’s not Hemingway, alright?” Ben groaned. “But the stuff this person wrote? The mental image I have planted in my brain now?”

“Good Lord.”

“Just come here. Listen.”

“Have you gone utterly bonkers, Jones?”

“Seriously. Come here.” He patted the empty space on the bed next to him.

Muttering to herself, Annie did as asked and snuggled up to her boyfriend.

“Right, so I’m skipping the beginning because that was just all kinds of blah.” Ben’s voice had an animated quality to it as he scrolled. “There. Listen.”

“You’re awful.” Annie mumbled. “This is domestic abuse.”

“Shut up.” Ben got comfortable and began. “’I’ve never been with a woman before…’ Clara confessed shyly, avoiding Annie’s piercing gaze.”

“Starting off with a lie, I see.” Annie scoffed and rolled her eyes, trying to stop Ben from reading any further.

“Annie simply smiled at how bashful Clara had become. Reaching out, Annie tucked a wayward strand of hair behind Clara’s ear. Clara leaned into it smiling softly as her eyes met Annie’s once again. ‘Would you like to?’ Annie asked boldly -”

“Alright, stop right there.” Annie sat up straighter. “I am sick and tired of everyone feeling like Clara is this sweet, innocent, baby angel all the time and I’m some she-devil, maneater, sex-crazed banshee.”

“You were cast as Anne Boleyn for a reason, love.”

“That’s besides the point! Clara is a filthy, naughty little elf!”

“Right. Anyhow.” Ben cleared his throat. “‘Would you like to?’ Annie asked boldly sitting up on her heels so their faces were only inches apart. She could feel Clara’s warm breath ghost her cheeks as she replied quietly, ‘yes.’”

Ben paused and waited for Annie’s outraged reaction.

“No comment?” He asked, genuinely surprised.

“Nope. You know, with me being such a bloody whore and enticing sweet blondes into sex all the time and whatnot. Carry on.”

“I mean, where’s the lie, though?”

“In case you forgot, you kissed me on our first date. And convinced me to have unprotected sex.”

“You should thank me for it.” Ben booped Annie’s nose with his finger. “Gave us Rory.”

“Goddamn it. You’re right.”

“Let me just find where I was when you so rudely interrupted me and scared the shit out of me…” he scrolled through the story. “There. ‘Fuck Clara, so good!’ Annie moaned, bare chest heaving as she grasped at the bed sheets beneath her. For someone who had never been with a woman before, Clara certainly knew how to use her tongue in a way that had Annie screaming in delight.”

“This? This makes you horny?” Annie snorted.

“Shut up.” Ben kept scrolling. “Oh, this bit is juicy. ‘Thought about this for so long.’ Annie breathed, her fingers parting Clara’s slick folds and spreading her wetness around. Slick folds?” Ben blinked at the screen.

“My ears feel like they’ve been sexually assaulted.”

“Slick folds. Okay.” Ben took a second to recover. “Hmmm… ‘Thought about what your sweet voice would sound like moaning my name.” Annie continued. Clara’s breath hitched and hips jerked as Annie began lazily circling her engorged clit -”

“Oh my God that’s not even remotely sexy.” Annie covered her mouth with her hand. “Engorged clit?!”

“-’Fuck, Annie, make me cum!’ Clara almost sobbed.”

“Alright, stop. I’m the one almost sobbing.” Annie looked up at Ben as if she’d seen a ghost. “What the fuck was that?”

“I don’t know, but my cock is throbbing.”

###

“Do you two even realise what you’ve done?” Greensleeves’ executive producers were beyond livid. “The fans are furious!”

“They’re furious?!” Annie barked back. “Did you even see the utter shit that’s out there?!”

“It’s not that bad.” Clara shrugged. “Some of it’s pretty good.”

“Clara, if you don’t zip it -” Annie muttered, clenching her fists.

“Ben seemed to like it.” Clara blurted out in anger.

“Oh?” Jamie’s ears perked up. “Our little Benny Boy wants to see his girl get it on with her best friend?”

“Stay out of it, James.” If looks could kill, Jamie would be dead, resurrected and killed again, for good measure.

“Not a chance, Annabelle.”

“You imbeciles need to stop being so rude to our fans.” The executive leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, pointing at the trio. “If they want to write porn about the three of you, you shut up and look the other way. You don’t go on national television and bitch about it!” he stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

“I’m guessing Ben won’t be into any Jannie stories, then?” Jamie quipped and earned a slap to the back of his head. “Ow!”

“Any publicity is good publicity?” Clara asked timidly.

“I mean, some of our fans loved our honesty. They’re all about Team Clannie now.” Annie said.

“Yeah, and some of them are planning to assassinate you for being evil enough to seduce Ben Hardy and Gwilym Lee with your witch-magic superpowers.” Mike finally spoke. “You two are in for some serious rounds of online shit-talking, ladies. Enjoy.”

#########

TAGLIST: @ramibaby @xgoingdownx @qweenly @violetpond @sweeterthancheese @drummerqueenrmt @westansstuff @justgivemethekeys @blondecarfucker @cheeseedreams47 @deacy-dearest @pinkmarvel @onceuponadetectivedemigod

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plumblossomkun · 5 years

Text

Headstones

word count: 1602

synopsis: in which the boys dare you and Haechan to explore an abandoned house, because it’s supposed to be haunted and they want a little bit of Halloween fun.

warning[s]: this might be a little spooky? idk the last line had ME spooked and i’m the writer... horror isn’t my thing, but i think if i tried it, i’d be pretty good at the gross details. yikes.

a/n: anyway, i had this song on repeat the whole time i was writing this. there are no spoilers for Gaenari in this, but you might be able to see just how much Hyuck cares about you as his noona, i guess.

“Hyuck, I don’t want to go out there.” You cross your arms and plant your feet firmly on the floor as he tries to drag you out the door by the sleeve of your hoodie (well, it’s his, really, but you took it so long ago that he’s probably forgotten it belonged to him at all).

“Are you afraid, noona?” he teases, dangling your phone in front of you.

“Hey, when did you steal that?” You lunge for it, but he yanks it away. “Give it back!”

“When you were talking to Jisungie.” He tucks it into his jacket pocket.

You reach into it to grab your phone, but he tangles his fingers with yours instead, grinning when he captures you.

“Gotcha.”

“Let me go!” you squeal, but he doesn’t budge, only drags you out the door again, which is being held open by Chenle. He grins and waves goodbye as Donghyuck hauls you towards the taxi waiting outside.

“Jaemin and Jeno are waiting for you there,” he calls after you, giggling.

“Where are we going?” you mumble sullenly, resenting the way Hyuck’s hand still holds yours captive as the taxi ascends a steep, one-lane road up into the mountains. “I don’t like this.”

“It’s an easy bet, noona.” Absentmindedly, he strokes his thumb across your hand. “We get it done, and then Jeno and Jaemin will buy us dinner all Halloweekend.”

“You dragged me into this bet for food?” you hiss incredulously as the car comes to a stop in front of a dingy iron gate. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, why else would I make you come out to the dorms on a Saturday?” he hums. “You told me not to bother you on your days off unless it was for good food.”

“I meant actual good food, Hyuck,” you complain as he helps you out of the taxi. “I don’t want to have to work for my food.”

“...isn’t that what you do, as an adult?” He pushes the gate open and leads you through, starting up a hill so steep you can’t even see what’s at the top.

“Ugh, you know what I meant!” you huff. “...you still haven’t told me where we’re going. Why are we hiking up this hill?”

He doesn’t answer you, at least, not until the two of you near the top. Even he is a little breathless when he speaks. “A real haunted house,” he gulps, wiping sweat from his brow.

You lean on your knees, wheezing. “I’m too old for this.”

“If you’re old, that makes me almost-old.”

The house at the top of the hill is dilapidated to the point of almost collapsing, sways in the wind like a reed, but that certainly doesn’t stop Hyuck from approaching. He pulls a pair of tiny flashlights out of his pocket and hands you one, without ever letting go of the hand he has already clamped onto yours.

“Are you ever gonna stop holding my hand?”

He flashes you a grin. “Nope.”

The door swings open in the wake of the autumn breeze, and you squeal. “I don’t wanna go in!”

Hyuck peers inside. “It’s just Jaemin.”

Jaemin’s blonde head peeps out from behind the battered door frame. “Hi, noona.” Just behind him, you see another flash of platinum, and then Jeno, too, is grinning back at you, the two of them bouncing on the creaky, unhinged floorboards.

“Please don’t tell me you guys are going to be trying to spook us the whole time we’re here,” you sigh.

“Oh, no,” Jeno assures you, “I’m staying outside. This place gives me the shivers.”

“Anyway,” Jaemin chirps, stepping down from the front onto the wispy grass lawn, Jeno on his heels, “there’s nothing dangerous in there, not really. Just don’t go upstairs; I don’t think it’s safe to go up there, seriously.” He waves the two of you off as Hyuck moves forward, and you are forced to follow.

Hyuck’s eyes gleam in the dark at the prospect of danger, and you warn him, “If he says it’s dangerous, we really shouldn’t go up there.”

“How bad can it be?”

“We could die,” you suggest, gritting your jaw as you duck underneath a fallen post. “That looks like it was a load-bearing post. I don’t want to be upstairs looking at debris and then become debris.

Hyuck snorts, but doesn’t make a beeline for the stairs just in front of the entrance like you thought he would, instead taking a sharp right into what looks like it might have been a kitchen. The room on the left is a living room, but it’s in such disarray that there’s no picking through it.

“Look at this island,” he marvels, flicking his light towards the marble counter top, which is the only thing that seems to have survived the carnage of the elements. “Bet you this place belonged to rich people and they just kind of forgot about it.”

“Shame. It has a nice view, too,” you say, looking out the window to forget the pungent smell of some sort of animal’s living quarters, and the line of creepy-crawlies that is surely just beneath the rotting wood. “God, don’t touch anything, Hyuck.”

He laughs, but takes his hand away from the shambles of a dining table. “Look at the silverware. It’s like someone was about to eat, but something went wrong.”

“Oh, no no no. Don’t you start weaving some creepy narrative about this place.”

Suddenly, something creaks loudly on the floor above. You glance outside; Jeno and Jaemin are still waiting out there, talking animatedly about something. “...did you hear that?”

“Yeah. Let’s go check it out.”

“No!”

“Why not? If we fall I’ll catch you.”

“As if!”

“Come on, noona. We’ll go upstairs and check it out and then we’ll come back out and tell Jaemin and Jeno that there’s nothing spooky about this place, and we win the bet~!” He pouts, then leans down to look into your eyes. “Noona, if you’re really scared, we should do it so we can get out of here sooner.”

“...nngh.” You can’t deny that. “Fine.”

The second floor is just as horrifying as you’d imagined it to be. Floorboards coming apart, doors unhinged, windows all broken and glass on the inside, like something outside had torn into the house. There are even bite marks and gashes from claws in one of the door frames.

“Hyuck, I don’t like this.”

He stares at the clear teeth markings. “Yeah, me either.”

Still, he tiptoes towards it, flashlight held tight in his hand. He doesn’t seem to notice that he’s unconsciously shielding you with his body, pushing you behind him, or that his breath has audibly quickened.

Quickly, you glance at the bottom of the stairs, where Jaemin is looking up at you for the signal.

So, with an exaggerated gasp, you drop your flashlight, and shriek. It actually goes better than you intended, because you inhale so violently that you end up choking on your own breath.

Hyuck immediately whirls to look at you, and you point at the window and whisper hoarsely. “There’s a hand!”

And there is a hand, hanging limp over the windowpane, covered in [fake] blood. It’s Jeno’s hand, and he’s on a ladder probably giggling his head off, but Hyuck doesn’t know that.

He takes your hand, and pushes you towards the stairs, fumbling with his flashlight. “Uh, let’s get out of here.”

Right on cue, Jaemin throws a stone through the front entrance, and it crashes into the marble countertop with a loud CRACK.

Hyuck shrieks something unintelligible, and then he’s hauling ass down the stairs, tugging you behind him. It’s all you can do not to burst into laughter as he practically throws you over the threshold of the house, sprinting out onto the lawn and only stopping when he realizes that Jaemin is on the floor not because he’s been incapacitated by a ghost, but because he’s crying of laughter, and that you are kneeling beside him, pretending to try and shock him back to life.

Jeno comes around from the back, ladder tucked under his arm, grinning proudly. “Did I do good, noona?”

“You did good, Jeno,” you giggle, looking up at Hyuck, who is still white as a sheet.

“Who did the bite marks?” is all he says, massaging his jaw.

“Oh, those were already there,” Jaemin wheezes, sitting up. “The house is pretty cursed, but I didn’t see any ghosts or anything while we were scoping it out yesterday.”

“They didn’t tell me about it till today,” you say disapprovingly, swatting at him, then standing to wipe leaves off of your jeans. “I said, you think we can spook Hyuck? They said, only if I helped. So I did.”

“Noona,” Hyuck whines, draping his arms around your shoulders and burying his head in your neck. “That was spooky.”

“Says the boy who constantly stands behind doors trying to scare me into dropping my coffee,” you reply testily, though you pat his head reassuringly. “Happy Halloween. What was the agreement, Jaemin?”

“That he’d buy us jokbal [pig’s feet] for two weekends.”

Hyuck groans. “Next Halloween can we just have a potluck? I don’t want to do this again.”

“Neither do I,” you shudder. “Are we done, guys?”

“Yeah, I’ll call the car.”

“I call shotgun!”

“Be my guest. I don’t wanna talk to the driver.”

You glance over your shoulder, one last look at the house, and you swear you see something moves in the doorway, see the silhouette of a small child flash past. You shiver.

“Then let’s get out of here.”

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