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seijorhi · 3 years

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Rabid.

The brainrot was real, guys. Hope you like it :))

Kyoutani Kentarou x female reader

tw blood, violence, implied minor character death, non-con, smut, nsfw

There’s blood splattered across the back of his hands the first time you make the unwitting mistake of catching Kyoutani’s attention. He usually can’t be fucked wasting time wrapping his fists; the skin across one of his knuckles is split and raw from his last job, but most of the blood isn’t his.

And the other guy got off far, far worse.

But he wouldn’t have noticed – it comes with the territory and he’s never really given a fuck whether there’s blood on his clothes or not – if it hadn’t been for that tiny gasp.

That soft, sharp little intake of breath, and like the rabid dog they claim he is, he snaps to the threat.

Nobody else at the table notices, and you seem to realise your mistake, freezing up the moment those honey brown eyes flash and zero in on you. Your throat bobs unsteadily – you look like a deer caught in headlights. Startled. Terrified.

Kinda fuckin’ adorable, if he’s being honest.

“I– I’m sorry, sir,” you mutter, ducking your head as you set down his drink with a tremor in your hand.

Vaguely, he registers Makki’s choked snort at the honorific – nobody’s ever called him sir before – but he can’t really find it in himself to give a fuck that the two of you have drawn an audience.

Not when you’re still frozen, hardly daring to draw breath at his side.

You’re new, that much is painfully obvious, but not stupid. You know who he is – who they are, and despite his reputation, he’s never been one to get off on fear or some fucked up version of a power trip; Kyoutani simply likes the feeling of lashing out, beating the absolute shit out of some asshole just because he can.

Because it feels good, gets his blood pumping.

Nobody would lift a finger to help you if he decided to take offence to your little slip up. And truthfully, he couldn’t give a shit – he’s used to people being on edge around him and it’s not like you’ve reacted any other way than how you’re supposed to.

It’s natural for you to be startled, scared even. But not here, not with them. Here you should know better, because here is filled to the fucking brim with men like Kyoutani. Oh sure, they might be prettier, polished and charming like Oikawa, but you’d have to be a goddamn idiot to think the man hasn’t stepped over bodies he’s put in the ground to get where he is.

At least Kyoutani never has to pretend to be anything other than what he is.

But a little blood in a place like this shouldn’t raise an eyebrow, and the way you’re staring at the table, eyes cast down and wide; Kyoutani can almost hear you cursing yourself out for your own stupidity. And it strikes him as he stares at you, drinking in every subtle shift in your body language, wondering why you don’t just tuck tail and run off like you so clearly want to, that you really don't belong in a place like this.

“Something the matter, Mad Dog?” a silken voice purrs, and he tears his eyes away from your trembling form to glance back at his boss, sitting at the head of the table. The brunette’s smiling idly, appraising the two of you and Kyoutani feels you stiffen beside him.

You don’t dare open your mouth, don’t so much as twitch, not even as Kyoutani returns his attention back to you. By now the entire table has quietened down, most if not all of the gathered men staring at you and you – pretty eyes filling with tears, hands clasped together and trembling in front of your dress – look like you just want the floor to open up and swallow you whole. And somewhat selfishly, there’s a part of Kyoutani that wants to keep you there like that.

Not afraid, exactly. Just… there.

He can’t explain it, doesn’t know why he hasn’t just told you to fuck off back to the kitchen, dismissed you with a grunt like he would have if any of the other servers had made the same mistake. He has bigger shit to worry about than some perceived fucking offence, but he finds himself pausing, drawing this little moment out for a lifetime before finally putting an end to it, “No.”

He jerks his chin, breaking the moment between the two of you to reach for the drink you’d set down before him, but still you don’t move, glancing between him and Oikawa like you’re afraid to move – as if you’re terrified that you’ve read this situation wrong and one wrong step and you’ll just make things worse. It’s so fucking endearing that he almost snorts, but it takes Oikawa’s voice, calm and level and almost kind to shake you out of your frozen state, “Run along now, cutie.”

You scamper off without a backwards glance, and if anybody notices Kyoutani watching you out of the corner of his eye while he nurses his drink, they have the better sense to keep their mouths shut about it.

And honest to god, it’s the last he expects to see of you. He’s not so stupid as to think you landed the job because you genuinely wanted it; people don’t end up in places like this because they have choices, they end up here because somebody somewhere along the line fucked up.

This city’s filthy, full of irredeemable pieces of shit like him and it takes innocence like yours, chews it up and spits it out. If you were smart, you would have left after your little run-in with him, so why the fuck are you right back in their private room less than a week later, nails biting into your palm and resolutely refusing to meet his eye?

Oikawa’s busy rattling off a list of drinks he wants, but this time it’s Kyoutani who’s frozen in place, staring at you with a scowl that has you shivering even as you nod at the Oyabun. He knows Iwaizumi at least is watching him with some kind of morbid combination of curiosity and concern, can’t find it within him to care as you try and slip from the room, giving him as wide a berth as you can without it seeming rude–

Not wide enough. Before he even registers that he’s moved Kyoutani’s reaching out to grab your forearm – his grip not tight enough to hurt, just to stop you from running off on him again. And the little squeak that leaves your soft looking lips sends a ripple of something electric jolting down his spine, but you know better than to try and pull away.

God, he can feel your pulse racing beneath your skin, every terrified thump of your heart. It’s addictive, he thinks, the feeling he gets just from touching you.

“Gimme a beer,” he grunts, waiting until you finally meet his eye.

The nervous little nod you give strokes some part of him he hadn’t realised existed. Kyoutani likes you like this; all timid and obedient. A little too much, maybe.

There’s a sharp elbow in his side courtesy of Yahaba, and he reluctantly releases his grip on you, leaving you to scamper away once more. Cute.

Yahaba makes some snarky comment under his breath and he barely fucking registers it, fixated instead on the skin of his palm; still warm and tingling from your touch. His hands are rough, scarred and calloused, the skin over his knuckles split from another job last night, a little red and bruised – even as he tightens his fingers into a fist they sting just a little.

Guns have their purpose, he’s not against a knife if he’s feeling particularly fucking vindictive, but Kyoutani’s favourite has always been his fists. There’s something about the feeling of skin and muscle giving way beneath his blows, taking all that pent up rage and aggression and letting loose with his fists. It’s a kind of euphoria he’s never found anywhere else; not in women or men or drugs or alcohol. Nothing comes close to the feeling he gets straddling some pathetic piece of shit and beating the absolute fucking crap out of him.

Sometimes if he goes a few days without a fight, he gets a little jittery. Not like the tweakers do, it’s not withdrawal so much as… a building up of restless, rabid energy. He gets on edge, snaps more, lashing out over petty shit until some poor asshole makes the mistake of looking at him the wrong way and Kyoutani just fucking looses it.

He feels it now, that same burning itch under his skin. He’s never thought of his hands as anything more weapons, but touching you, the warmth of your skin, how smooth and soft it was–

Kyoutani wants to do it again. Wants to touch more of you. And he’s not so fucked up yet that he doesn’t realise how twisted this all is, how a guy like him doesn’t belong within a thousand miles of some sweet, cute innocent thing like you. But the world ain’t fucking fair; you’re here and for whatever reason Oikawa’s taken a liking to you and so whenever they’re at the club, you’re the one management send to make sure they’re happy.

And Kyoutani wonders, golden eyes burning a hole into your back as you hastily clear away their empty glasses, whether you realise that if any one of them asked for a dance or for you to get on your knees and blow them, you’d be expected to do that, too.

You might as well be on Seijoh’s payroll now, just be thankful that as far as that side of things go, they’re not the monsters that the rumours make them out to be.

Not that he hasn’t noticed Mattsun’s gaze drifting to your ass when you lean over the table to grab something, the older man shooting him a salacious wink when he notices he’s glaring.

Not that he hasn’t let his own imagination take hold, leaning up against the glass wall of his shower first thing in the morning. His fist pumping along his throbbing cock, wondering what it’d be like to see you on your knees, those pretty eyes full of tears, staring up at him as you swallow him down like the good girl he knows you are.

The thing is, he’s never made all that much of an effort to hide his feelings from the others. He doesn’t give a shit if it makes him the butt of their jokes, doesn’t care what they think about the way he watches you – his attention snapping towards you the moment you slip past the door, purposefully trying to avoid his gaze. Not that it ever does you much good.

Oikawa hasn’t said shit, and that’s enough of a go-ahead as Kyoutani needs. It’s none of their fucking business anyway.

You’ve managed to get under his skin, push him to the fucking brink when he goes more than a few days without seeing you. He knows you don’t want any part of this; that you’re still fucking terrified of him. Kyoutani’s never been one to chase after somebody who wants nothing to do with him – there are plenty of women more than willing to spread their legs for Seijoh’s big bad Mad Dog if he wants an itch scratched. There’s no good reason why he can’t get you out of his head, why you’ve sunk your teeth into him and refuse to let go – even when it’s clear that that’s so fucking far from what you intended with the blonde.

It doesn’t matter. At the end of the day, it doesn’t change shit; you’re his, whether you’re willing to acknowledge that or not.

And maybe he’s just living with his head up his ass, but he doesn’t quite realise how fucking inadequate this whole arrangement is until he needs a piss one night and ventures out into the club only to see some asshole trying to cop a feel and tug you down to his lap, his friends drunk and howling with laughter as you try to politely escape them.

Distantly he registers that he recognises the piece of shit as some low level fucking drug lord who’s been all but sucking Oikawa’s dick trying to get a bigger piece of the pie, but in that moment, he honestly doesn’t give a fuck who he is.

Kyoutani just sees red.

Nostrils flaring, steam practically pouring from his ears, he storms over. And adrenaline’s surging through him with every pounding beat of his heart, every synapse in his body’s electrified, ready to lay into this piece of shit for daring to lay a finger on what’s his.

He wants to beat him bloody, wants to fuck up his face – to whale on him until muscle and bone give way and there’s nothing left but bloody pulp where his head used to be. Him and his fucking friends.

But Kyoutani has his priorities, and he reaches you first, grabbing you by your elbow and ripping you away from them, a muscled arm curling protectively around your waist. And he’s deaf to whatever protests you have, to the excuses the pieces of crap in front of him offer up, can’t hear a goddamn thing over the pounding in his head as he fixes them with a snarl and all but drags you back to their room, shoving you less than gently in through the door.

“Stay here, don’t move until I get back,” he orders, and he loves you, he does, but when you open your mouth to argue, something inside of him tightens and snaps. He grabs you by the jaw, jerking your face up as he crowds in over you, golden eyes ablaze, “Not a fucking muscle, understand?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, crashing his lips down on yours to steal the kiss he’s been waiting fucking weeks for before stalking back out.

Kyoutani is beyond caring about ramifications, Oikawa’s always given him a fairly loose leash to do as he pleases and if this is what puts an end to that so fucking be it; he’ll take you and go. But he hears Iwa and Mattsun on his heels and neither one of them are trying to stop him as he storms back towards the drug lord and his little cronies, so he figures the boss ain’t too fucking bothered with what he’s about to do.

And maybe if he’d had a clearer head, he might’ve found it funny how quickly the floor clears when he vaults the couch, grabs the asshole by the front of his silk shirt and heaves him forward, sending him careening face first into a table full of drinks.

With the taste of you on his lips, the memory of this piece of shit’s hands all over you, Kyoutani doesn’t hold back.

The others are gone by the time he, Iwa and Mattsun return, it’s just Oikawa casually leaning back in his seat, you sitting rigidly in the one beside him, his arm casually draped over the back of your chair.

Kyoutani’s eyes flicker tensely between the two of you – he’s still on edge, still not right. He needs something more to feed that rabid fucking monster lurking beneath his skin, and his Oyabun knows it.

Oikawa smiles genially, patting your knee for just a moment (and oh, how Kyoutani hates the flash of jealous rage that rears its ugly head when he leans over and whispers something in your ear) before standing up.

“Mad Dog,” he says, eyeing him with a shrewd look he recognises all too well. “We’ll talk tomorrow.” He nods at the two behind him and without another word the three of them exit, no doubt to try and smooth over the mess he’d just made.

Leaving Kyoutani alone with you.

And there’s a part of him that’s pissed off, because this was always gonna happen, but fuck, he was gonna make an effort. He’d wanted it to be nice for you… romantic, or at least as romantic as somebody like him was capable of.

You deserve that much.

His blood’s still thrumming, remnants of blind fury and jealousy and possessive need still burning through his veins. The fight wasn’t enough to sate him; it should’ve been – he’d left them in fucking pieces – but then again you’ve been toeing this line for a long, long time, and Kyoutani’s patience only goes so far.

He should at least take you back to his apartment, try and salvage this disaster of a night, but he knows deep down he can’t make himself walk out of here with you without taking what he needs.

He’s still not entirely in control, breathing hard as he stares at you, watches you fiddle with your hands in your lap, refusing to meet his gaze. “Stand up,” he says, his voice a rough growl.

On shaking legs, you obey, eyes flickering towards the doorway behind him, and distantly he wonders what you’re thinking. You’re foolishly naive, he’ll admit that much, but he doesn’t think you’re stupid. You know where this is going, and you must know that there is nobody and nothing that’s gonna stop what’s about to happen. Not even you.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and now he’s the one to draw in an unsteady breath. “Strip.”

You blanch, eyes widening in pure panic. And there’s a part of him that feels guilty, that knows he’s scaring you right now and hates himself for it, but any chance of rationality winning out fled the moment he saw somebody else put their hands all over you.

“Strip,” he repeats when you make no move to start taking your clothes off. “Or I’ll rip that pretty fucking dress off myself.”

Kyoutani adores that little catch in your breath, the way you bite down on your bottom lip as you give in, meekly reaching for the zipper at your back.

You’re so fucking beautiful, every mouthwatering inch of you. Tentatively, you glance up at him after your dress hits the floor, as if you’re hoping that that’ll be enough, that he doesn’t want to see all of you. Any other time, and the sight of you in your matching set of lingerie might’ve been enough to calm him, but it’s not what he needs tonight.

His scowl deepens, and you’re clever enough to read between the lines. Your bra goes first, pretty lace panties joining the small pile of clothes on the floor a moment later.

Good girl.

His eyes darken as he stares, hungrily taking you in. Soft tits, nipples pebbling under the cool air, he’s dying to touch them, suck on them, mark them up nice and fuckin’ pretty. The gentle swell of your ass, smooth, supple thighs he can’t wait to get his hands on, and that cute little cunt of yours, all his. His to play with, his to tease, his to claim. Fuck, this is better than all the images he’s conjured up of you in the heat of the moment, stroking his cock to get off with his head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut. He wants to compliment you, tell you how perfect you are, how cute you are – trembling naked in front of him, but he’s beyond words right now, hanging onto his control by a fucking thread as his cock twitches in his pants, all that blood rushing south.

You look like you’re about to burst into tears as you swallow, taking in a quick, hitching breath. “Kyoutani,” you begin in a soft, tiny voice–

And that last little thread snaps.

He’s on you before you can stop him, spinning you around and roughly slamming your hips up against the table. There’s no time to be soft or gentle, no time to even take off his pants, he just shoves them down to his thighs and reaches for his cock.

Fuck, he’d wanted to eat you out, to stuff you full of his fingers and make you cum on them first, get you nice and stretched out, but he’s still too wound up. Kyoutani needs to be buried inside of you, needs to fuck you – he’ll make it up to you afterwards, he swears it.

He’ll treat you like a fucking princess, just be good for him now.

And the scream that shatters that calm night air should tear at him – he doesn’t want to hurt you, not ever, it’s his job to protect you – but he can’t focus on that when your pussy’s clamping down around his fat cock, a dizzying heat enveloping him as your walls flutter and squeeze against the unwanted intrusion.

It feels like fucking heaven. Kyoutani’s hands are everywhere; your tits, your ass, squeezing reassuringly at your hip when a broken sob leaves your lips. And he’s kissing at your shoulders, nuzzling at your neck even as his teeth nip at the sensitive skin, desperate to be as close to you as he can as his hips draw back and he pounds back in, grunting like a beast in heat.

He fucks you savagely, your hips slamming against the table with every thrust – there’ll be bruises no doubt, but he’ll look after those too. He swears to fucking god, he’ll take such good care of you. You’re gonna be his girl. You are his girl.

It’s easier than it should be to drown out your agonised cries and pleas for him to slow down, to chase his own pleasure within your tight, wet heat, his cock ramming up against your cervix with every stroke.

He loves you, loves the feeling of being inside of you – fuck, Kyoutani doesn’t think he ever wants to leave. His fingers find your clit and you cry out, a shudder wracking your body that almost has him seeing stars with the way your pussy tightens and convulses around him in response. He loses his rhythm as he nears his end, hips jackrabbiting into your poor, abused cunt as his balls tighten.

You’re slick now, cunt drooling around him as he fucks you hard and fast, lewd slaps echoing out with every brutal thrust. Kyoutani knows he’s holding you too tight, knows it’s probably hurting but he can’t fucking care when he’s so close and you feel so fucking good–

His teeth sink into your neck as that blinding pleasure takes hold; his entire body seizing up, abs tightening as his orgasm slams into him. Kyoutani cums with a hissed snarl, crushing you against him as thick, warm spurts fill your perfect little cunt right up. He fucks you through it, a slow, lazy grind of his hips against yours as he milks his orgasm for all it’s worth, pressing gentle, soothing kisses along your collarbone while you sniffle and sob pathetically.

“Love you,” he grunts quietly – truthfully – letting your exhausted body collapse back against the table. And it’s now he regrets not having taken you home to do this on an actual bed, just so he could lie you down somewhere soft afterwards and curl up beside you.

Still, there’s not much he can do but try and comfort you as best he can, rough fingers running soothingly up and down your back as he waits for you to calm down. He pauses after a moment though, staring oddly at his hands.

There’s blood smeared across his skin, caked under his nails, splattered up his tattooed forearms. And Kyoutani can’t help the satisfied smirk that tugs at his lips as he leans over to kiss your shoulder again, his cock still stuffed inside of you.

Most of it isn’t his.

And the other guy got off far, far worse.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere kyoutani #yandere kyoutani x reader #yandere kyoutani kentarou x reader #yandere kyoutani kentarou #tw blood #tw violence #tw implied minor character death #tw non con #i love the angry tennis ball

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jincherie · 4 years

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tentacledipity | five

➛pairing: jimin x reader ➛genre: alien au, space au, soulmate au, wanted au, smut (coming) ➛rating: sfw ➛words: 9k ➛warnings: ➛notes: completely forgot that i hadn’t posted it on here yet !!! sorry !!! Im also sorry for the blue balls!! There will be relief eventually!! I was actually going to have some at the end of this chapter but uhhh plans change,,, although now i can say there is definitely some relief in the next chapter since that’s the scene i cut off the end of this one

This tale starts, as any good fiction does, with a girl crash landing on a foreign planet. And, like any good fiction, it follows a theme of serendipitous happening, and tentacles. Behold, serendipity and tentacles— or dare we call it…. tentacledipity.

— posted; 01.12.2019 // ↞ prev. || five || next ↠

“What are you doing?”

If anyone asked, you would tell them that you were the picture of grace as you got the absolute life scared out of you. The reality was, however, that you let out a sharp, squeaky scream wherein your voice broke and you pretty much tumbled like a mannequin with recently oiled joints out of the tree you’d been climbing before you were so rudely startled.

You weren’t far enough from the ground to break anything with your fall, but you were far enough that you were pretty sure you bruised your ass from the impact. A whimper escaped you at the sharp, deep ache in your gluteus maximus that resulted, and when you looked up to see the cause of your startle you almost shat yourself once more. Of course, you’d heard his voice and subconsciously known who it was the second he spoke, but seeing Jimin looming over you with an expression that was a cross between concerned and incredibly amused really made the belated realisation sink in. Another fright doing harm to your poor, weak heart. Your time on this planet was going to come to an end due to someone scaring you to death, one day.

Wait just a second…

By thinking that, did you just subconsciously presume you weren’t ever going to leave, or…? You reeled for a moment, an odd feeling coming to life inside you. That was extremely out of character for you, and you probably needed to see a doctor or something. Or maybe go annoy Yoongi so you could get some sense knocked back into you.

The soft sound that resulted from Jimin shifting his weight from foot to foot on the grass brought you back to the present moment and you let out a pained, sheepish laugh. Right, he asked you a question. What were you doing? You didn’t really remember, to be honest. Possibly a cause for concern, but who could blame you for a little momentary memory loss when faced with a being as fine as Jimin was? The answer was absolutely no one and you’d defend that to your grave.

“Uhh…” you floundered for an answer that wouldn’t make you look like a complete idiot, and came up empty. Well, humiliating truth it was. “To be honest? I just wanted to climb the tree. I wasn’t stealing the fruits, I promise.”

Jimin’s brow rose, marks flushing soft periwinkle. “These trees are in the more open sectors of the royal gardens, taking one of the fruits wouldn’t be stealing. Although…”

He wrinkled his nose, directing his gaze to the incriminating fruit that hung, bulbous and bright pink, from one of the upper-middle branches, looking thoroughly disgusted. “I wouldn’t recommend it, unless you enjoy being violently sick for several days. They are kind of poisonous, for kelkie and humans alike.”

You made a face at that, giving the fruit the stink eye for the audacity it had to almost trick you with its pretty, appealing outside. How dare it—pink means yummy, not poison! The nerve.

“Noted,” you said, gulping. A beat passed before you turned to the male suddenly, eyes narrowed as you recalled something. “Wait, how did you know I was there? And how did you get over here so fast? If you’re going to flash-step over here and scare the shit out of me, you could at least catch me. I mean, I wouldn’t complain.”

Jimin’s head tilted, full lips tugging. “Noted,” he remarked, clowning you unabashedly. “I’ll be sure to save you the fall and yank you from the tree myself next time.”

At that, you couldn’t help the sudden laugh that tore out of you—the sound of it made his lips twitch further. He waited for you to calm a little before he continued.

“And if you must know, I was going for a brief walk. You’re actually in my gardens right now, petal.”

You balked, a flush of embarrassment rushing to heat your cheeks. Oh. So that’s what that short wall you’d jumped over while exploring had meant. Huh. Perhaps you were a little stupid; then again, that knowledge wasn’t really anything new.

Prior to this, you’d been a little preoccupied with your throbbing ass, but now, as you sat and gazed up at the magnetic form that was Jimin, you were suddenly reminded of the conversation from the other day with Joy and other raunchy parties. Your gaze flicked to his sides on instinct before you caught yourself and tore it away, averting it to the foliage to be safe. If you stare at his back he’s going to know you know, dumbass!

“O-oh, am I? Whoops, my bad,” you tried to distract yourself with a too-soon attempt at climbing back to your feet. You wobbled, voice shooting up in alarm, “To be fair though there’s no way to know these are your gardens, like, where’s the sign? You should reall—YAH OH MY!”

When you wobbled again a second time, barely a split second away from toppling off your wobbly legs and back onto your throbbing behind, Jimin’s hand shot to grasp your wrist and in one fell swoop he yanked you from your tentative crouch to standing. In the process he, overestimating your level of resistance, ended up hauling you straight into his chest. He barely stumbled as you knocked into him, your arms shooting out to wrap around him on instinct. An embarrassing instinct in actuality, but certainly not one you were about to complain about.

A beat of silence passed while you caught up to the sudden turn of events before you pulled your head back from where it had been resting over his shoulder. Utilising the fact your arms had ended up looped around his waist, you tightened your hold around him and pressed your hands firmly against his spine. You felt the hitch of his breath against your chest. When you grew brave enough to allow your eyes to stray to his face, they caught his own—deep, dark pools of molten cocoa, pupils almost swallowing his iris’ whole, hypnotised you for a moment. Even meeting his gaze like this made your lungs constrict and your heart jump in unison with your stomach. Giddy, excited—a sudden sense of shyness tickled the back of your neck but it was far overpowered by the deep, instinctive urge to push him a little. You wanted to play.

When he said nothing, you allowed your lips to twitch into a big, dumb grin— a courteous moment’s warning for what you were about to do—and then you moved your hands to his shoulder blades before pressing your fingertips in and dragging them down either side of his spine. He went rigid, yet the muscles of his back still yielded to the teasing pressure of your fingertips. Further down his back, about mid way, you felt your fingertips catch on something even through the shirt and Jimin jerked, a low rumble sounding in the back of his throat as a shudder ran through the entirety of his body.

You didn’t get all the way down his back before you pulled away, heart racing a little too fast from the sudden intensity of his gaze as it burned into you, as a result of your teasing. You hadn’t noticed his grip earlier but now you were painfully aware of the firm hold he had on your waist, fingers gripping with just enough pressure that your stomach flipped like you were a mere schoolgirl back on Earth.

As steamy as the moment was turning out to be, it was broken by a very sudden, very sharp and very loud noise—

One that sounded suspiciously like a dog.

Jerking away from Jimin at the sound of a rough bark, in either fear or surprise you didn’t really know, you spun to face the source. You were instantly rooted to the spot in shock.

Holy shit, that was a massive dog.

Well, calling it a dog might have been a bit of an insult. Whatever it was, with whatever canine resemblance it had, it was absolutely beautiful and nothing short of majestic. Instantly, you were in absolute awe and standing in a state of reverence.

The beast was over five feet tall and gave Jimin a run for his money, his entire coat the deepest space blue you’d ever seen that bled into a plethora of deep rose and cerulean that seemed to change as the strands shifted in the wind. It was incredibly canine in its features, resembling something between a wolf or a fox from earth but much, much bigger—the angled face, the mischievous eyes that hid an underlying danger. Around its eyes and down its muzzle, the same peculiar rose-aquamarine blend painted beautiful, mesmerising markings.

Something shifted out of the corner of your eyes, and when your gaze followed it, it took you a moment to realise you were looking at not one, but two big fluffy tails. Contrary to the dog-like appearance of the beast, the tails swayed playfully and in a much more feline manner. It was as though it was trying to hypnotise you with the movement, and you were only saved from falling into the trap by the sound of another soft yap.

You squeaked, jumping in what you were sure was a mixture of fright and excitement this time—although, to be fair, the line between the two emotions was awfully thin these days.

“Oh my god,” you choked, sounding very much like you were going to cry and honestly? You might have been about to. “Puppy!”

At the sound of the pure joy in your voice, it was as though a switch had been flipped in the creature that, until then, had just been standing there, looking incredibly majestic and incredibly intimidating. As though it could sense that you weren’t afraid, it immediately dropped into a crouch, behind wiggling and tongue hanging out of its mouth, before it pounced forward and you met the ground once more.

This time, with Jimin in tow.

The beast was so massive that instead of only tackling you, it had managed to catch both you and Jimin in one go. The aforementioned male was now pressed to the ground next to you as the two of you received a barrage of sloppy licks from the creature in between excited yapping and melodic trill noises. You couldn’t help the delighted squeal that escaped your lips, your hands coming up to scratch and rub behind the creature’s large, triangular ears. They flicked and vibrated instantly at your motions, and the beast moved its attention solely to you. Meaning, you got a face full of alien dog tongue and spit.

“Meanie!” Jimin gasped, attempting to sit up and somehow managing despite the incredible weight of the beast. “Off, now, Meanie! #$%#$!”

Jimin rattled something else off in kelkoe and to your complete and utter surprise, the canine creature pulled back immediately and sat down on its haunches, tongue still lolling out of its elongated maw as its head flicked between the two of you and its tails lashed excitedly behind it. Somewhat dazed and a little upset at the lack of happy dog-creature within arms reach, you struggled into a sitting position yourself, unable to tear your eyes from the animal before you.

“What is that? He’s so beautiful…” you found yourself asking before you even realised, eyes wide. You heard Jimin make a surprised noise, and turned to see him looking at you strangely.

“You are not afraid?” he queried, head tilting like he couldn’t make sense of your reaction. You watched as his marks swirled through several different colours before settling on light, playful blue.

“No?” you replied, equally as confused at his reaction. “Why would I be? I love dogs!”

“Dogs…” Jimin mumbled to himself for a moment, eyes unfocused, before he let out a soft noise and turned to you. “Are dogs creatures on Earth? Do you have Ina there too?”

“Ina?” you repeated, turning your gaze back to the animal who was, by the way, still waiting patiently in place like the best boy you had ever seen. “Is that what this creature is?”

Jimin nodded, and after surveying you a moment longer he rose to his feet, dusting off his (very shapely) behind as he did so. A smile tugged his lips as he looked over at the animal in question. “This is Meanie, my Ina.”

He then parted from your side to move over to the creature, wrapping an arm over his massive shoulders and reaching up to scratch behind his ear. Meanie’s hind leg began thumping against the ground in glee at the movement, head rolling to press affectionately against the side of Jimin’s own. You watched on in awe, fingers absolutely itching to join Jimin in giving this good boy the pets he deserved.

“Your Ina? He’s your pet?” you asked, watching the interaction and the softness of Jimin’s countenance with increasing fondness. Even so, a part of you felt oddly betrayed. You’d been here how long and hadn’t known there were giant dogs roaming about willy nilly? An absolute travesty!

Meanie’s head whipped from where it was laying against Jimin’s, and to your complete and utter surprise he then proceeded to give you the stink eye. Jimin let out a loud, tinkling laugh.

“No, Meanie is not a pet. He is my companion.” Jimin’s smile didn’t leave as he turned his gaze from the creature, to you, then back again. “The people of my clan have very strong bonds with the Ina. From birth, we are paired with an Ina pup, and form a connection with them as we grow up.”

You rose to your feet as you listened to him, advancing slowly—although, it was more for just in case than anything, since Meanie seemed to have forgotten about your offense and had since resumed laying his head on Jimin. The creature seemed to be an absolute softie, and it tickled you that his name was Meanie when he seemed to be such a gentle soul.

“That’s so cool!” you said, mindful of not being too loud. “You two have a connection? Can you hear each other’s thoughts?”

Jimin shot you a look of surprise, smiling with something akin to pride. “Yes, actually. Although, I think that he is better attuned to my thoughts than I am to his—I mostly hear him when he is hungry, or lonely. Isn’t that right, pupa?”

The dog—you’d already resigned to recognising him as that in your head for convenience’s sake— had the nerve to roll his eyes, turning his oversized head to give you a look that had too much exasperation within it for you to take seriously. You snorted, and Jimin grinned. His eyes caught the way your fingers twitched, and he gestured to Meanie.

“You can pet him, he won’t mind. He is a sucker for it, actually. Don’t tell him that I told you.”

The dog huffed, but you caught his eye on you expectantly. Laughing once more, you sidled closer and allowed your fingers to sink into the long fur at the back of his neck. It was thick, downy, yet silken and smooth as you ran your fingers through it. It took more effort than expected to delve them deep enough to be able to deliver a good scratch, but when you finally made it the reaction Meanie gave was worth it. He wobbled, swaying towards Jimin before wobbling again at another scratch of your nails against his skin and swaying back towards you.

A surprised squeak escaped you as he sagged against you completely, your arms coming up to embrace him around his thick neck, hands still scratching where they could. “Meanie! You cutie! You’re so cute and handsome, wah, what are we gonna do with you?! I’ve never seen a puppy so handsome in my life…”

You pressed your face into his fur, feeling his resulting amused rumble and happy trill against your skin. “I’m—I don’t think I’m ever gonna let go. I can’t. You’ve beaten me, Meanie. I’m defeated. You have my heart.”

You didn’t know if these Ina creatures could laugh, but it sure felt like they could. Jimin, too, let out a soft chuckle. It was silent a moment before his smooth tone sounded in the air once more.

“Are you still hungry, petal?”

The pet name made heat blossom across your face, and you were thankful that the thick fur of the animal you currently had it buried in shielded it from view. Yes, you came onto Jimin on the daily, but that didn’t mean you weren’t allowed to have a little shame every now and then. Gotta keep yourself grounded, after all.

“I’m always hungry,” you said, trying not to voice how unreasonably embarrassed you were. Meanie made what sounded like a noise of agreement, and Jimin snorted in response.

“Then follow me,” he said, “You are already in my gardens, you may as well come further in for some lunch. I have some fruits that are actually edible.”

You pulled your face from Meanie’s fluffy neck, at first preparing to fire something sassy back but instead settling for a bright smile when you realised just how empty your stomach was feeling. Well, it was empty enough earlier that you’d attempted to climb a tree for some fruit, so you weren’t doing that great to begin with, arguably.

“Fine, since you insist,” you shot back playfully, hands still idly scratching the oversized pup before you. He was appreciative, if his happy rumbling was anything to go by. It was like there was a motor that thrummed to life deep in his chest, vibrating against your body where it was pressed to his. God, you loved animals. So easy to read and get along with.

Jimin’s lips pursed before being tugged into an amused smile, the male turning on his heel and beginning to walk away. “Well, if you’d be so kind as to follow—my rooms are right this way. Come, Meanie. If she tries to slip away, drag her back.”

Jimin was joking (you hoped), and Meanie seemed to realise so (you hoped), so you weren’t as alarmed as you might have been if anyone else directed a creature like Meanie to essentially prevent you from running away.

Which you weren’t going to do, by the way. You didn’t know if Jimin really thought you would, but you’d be surprised if it was the case since you were so open and vocal about your interest in him.

Meanie nudged his head into your shoulder, and it was only then that you realised you'd been staring absently at Jimin's retreating form a little too long. Taking the hint, you reached to rub behind one of the creatures tall, pointy ears and he gave an approving huff as he began to prompt you after his companion.

To be honest, you were expecting a longer trip than what you got; it was barely a minute later that you were emerging from the vibrant greens, blues and iridescent hues of the gardens and encroaching upon a path, and then the familiar material of the palace walls came into view. Jimin made a beeline for a gap in the wall, which you realised was actually a large doorway housing two large double-doors, each embedded with two large, glassy windows. It surprised you to see the material, since you'd noticed a lot of the windows in the palace had nothing at all guarding them, but you supposed that being on the ground floor and so close to gardens and forestry, you wouldn't want anything unsavoury crawling in.

Even though you followed the kelkie inside the room without question, it didn't click until you were several paces into it that it was his room. It was large, very spacious and somewhat minimally decorated. His bed was to the left wall adjacent to the doorway you'd just come through, mattress bigger than some of the ones you'd seen in the guest wing and blocked off by thin gossamer-looking material that spilt from the ceiling, partly obscuring the gleam of silken sheets and blankets. Jimin was the type to make his bed every day, it seemed, and it shouldn't have made you, a being that left a trail of mess and chaos behind you by accident everywhere you went, more attracted to him but it did. Somehow, it did. You thought that at this point you were honestly so far gone he could probably confess to sucking his thumb as he slept and you'd take it in stride without even so much as batting a lash.

"Woah," you muttered without realising, eyes sweeping over his room and taking in each and every detail you could. You were in his room, damn it, and it might not have been under the circumstances you really wished-- not to say they wouldn't hopefully come true one day-- but damn it if you were going to squander the opportunity for some more insight into who he really is. "Nice crib."

The alien shot you an odd, curious look at that, head tilting for a moment before he returned to whatever he was doing before you spoke-- which, it seemed, was taking a bowl of curiously coloured fruits and a jug from a table against the wall to the right of the room. He shook his head, evidently deciding he didn't need to know what the word 'crib' meant (you'd seen the question in his eyes), and turned from the table to begin making his way over. You hadn't realised before, but next to the doorway you'd come through was a small table of medium width, the obsidian-like stone polished and gleaming in the light from the doorway. Two plush cushions sat on the floor, and on top of the table was a small cube pot made of the same material as the table in a lighter shade, an endearingly flowering plant sprouting from the soil within.

Jimin moved and placed the bowl there, along with the jug, and gestured for you to take a seat while he went back to the other table to retrieve something else-- you realised after he pulled whatever he was looking for from a cupboard there that it was actually cups. Following his direction without even thinking, you plopped down on the cushion and narrowly avoided banging your knee on the edge of the table, thankful that Jimin's back was currently to you since you hadn't pulled the most attractive of expressions at your near-miss. There was a huff from behind you, reminding you of Meanie's presence, and you turned just in time to see the gigantic creature flopping down on the other side of the room; there was something there on the floor, like a thin mattress, that was covered in soft throws and blankets. The canine creature settled down and nestled into the fabrics, curling up endearingly and letting out a huff as he relaxed. He looked ready to sleep, but his lidded eyes remained open and flicked occasionally from you to the alien now approaching where you were seated.

"These are the fruits you can eat," he said, apparently still very tickled by what he'd caught you doing earlier. Fine, if it made him that happy then you supposed you'd just have to accept the blow to your pride. You were glad your limited brain cell count amused him.

“Excellent,” you said, wriggling in your seat somewhat excitedly. “I’m starving. They’ve banned me from the kitchens, you know. It’s only for a week and it’s only been a day but it’s rough, man.”

Jimin looked like he was trying very hard not to burst into laughter, a somewhat incredulous yet unsurprised expression morphing his features. “You got banned from the kitchens? What on Kilkea did you do? You practically live there.”

“I know,” you sighed, scratching the back of your neck as you averted your gaze. “They got sick of me walking in all the time. Apparently it interrupts their groove.”

Jimin’s head tilted, but he looked like he wasn’t going to question it. Admittedly, you felt a bit insulted. You couldn’t tell him that the real reason you’d been banned was because you kept singing and nearly set the entire kitchen ablaze when you attempted to make earth cookies yesterday, though. So there you sat, accepting it as his opinion of you no doubt grew more comfortable where it sat at rock bottom.

Jimin placed the cups onto the table, taking his seat more gracefully than you anticipated after nearly falling and impaling your knee on the corner yourself. Well, some people were just born graceful, you supposed. You don’t know whether he saw the nervous way you eyed the fruits or whether he was just so used to you by now that he knew you were kind of useless, but he took a fruit—purple-tinged and very juicy looking—and went about peeling it much like you would a mandarin, before plopping it before you on the table and picking up one for himself.

Delighted and perhaps a little too eager to taste the fruit considering its insides were blue, you picked it up and broke it into the sections it naturally grew in. It wasn’t long before the first piece was in your mouth, teeth piercing it and causing tart, but overall sweet flavour to sink into your tongue. A surprised noise left you before you could stop it, quickly followed by a hum of approval in explanation. Jimin hid his smile by shoving a piece of the fruit in his mouth too.

“If that’s the case, I am surprised it took you this long to get banned,” he mused, poking fun at you once more. You sent him a half-hearted glare, popping another slice in your mouth to resist firing back too quickly. The flavour of this fruit was quite addictive, actually. The perfect balance of sweet and sour, with no unsavoury aftertaste.

“Excuse me?” you blurted as soon as you swallowed your mouthful. “They love me in there, they’ve practically adopted me at this point. Jeonghan says I’m like a daughter to him.”

Jimin rolled his eyes but couldn’t help his smile. It seemed both of you were well-aware of the pastry-chef’s—who you’d actually originally thought was younger than you— overdramatic tendencies. “If Jeonghan adopted everyone he said he would, then this whole castle would be under his care.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, even hearing Meanie huff in amusement in the corner. “You’re not wrong.”

You were expecting Jimin to stay silent a little longer, having seen him pick up another piece of fruit, but he surprised you and spoke in the next moment, the piece still uneaten in his grasp.

“On that note, there is something I have to discuss with you.” Jimin’s eyes met yours as he slipped the fruit into his mouth. When you sent him a questioning look, he continued. “Jongin and Jongdae are no longer watching you.”

Oh, that was something you knew already. Your first instinct was to believe you were about to get into trouble—which didn’t seem unlikely, since the two guards weren’t shy about blaming you and your many escape attempts for the relief of their duties in watching you.

“Oh. Yep,” you bit your lip, a bit of nervous laughter trickling out. You wondered whether it would be a safer bet to play dumb about it. “I haven’t seen them in a while? Are they alright? I almost miss them.”

Jimin’s lips quirked like he was trying not to smile. “They are no longer watching you because I relieved them of that duty.”

You paused, trying to follow where he was going with this. Ah, so it was his doing? Okay. But were you in trouble or not…? He had better tell you soon, because you were about to break into a nervous sweat.

“Uh, do you want an apology?” you asked, risking a shot in the dark. Jimin blinked at you for a moment before a sudden laugh came tumbling out of him.

“No, there’s no need for an apology,” he managed through his chuckles. “At least, not to me. I am only mentioning it because you are still going to be under someone’s care, it just will not be theirs.”

“Okay, well, in that case I feel I should tell you that I might have needed ‘monitoring’ when I first got here, yeah, maybe, but now I’m perfectly fine wandering on my own! If you want I’ll even promise to bother Namjoon or Yoongi if I need help or something, but I don’t think I need—” you paused mid-defensive-rant, another thought occurring to you that seemed to override the first—a shred of fear wormed its way into your tone as you sought to verify your sudden concerns. “Wait, whose care?”

Jimin plucked another piece of fruit from the rest, plopping it into his mouth and answering you somewhat nonchalantly and without so much as a blink. “Mine.”

“Well I don’t want Seokjin’s—wait, what?” You were thankful you didn’t have anything in your mouth just then because you definitely would have choked on it in your shock. “C-come again?”

“You heard me,” Jimin said, a sly look to his eyes. His marks were flushed an all-too-cheeky plum. “You’re too slippery for me to delegate the task to anyone else, so I will be the one watching you. We only have one kitchen, after all, we can’t afford to have it in flames.”

Your cheeks flushed suddenly with heat, the sensation of more of the humiliating type than the flustered. Oh, so he already knew of yesterday’s escapades. Oops. Still, that aside, you were already struggling to come to terms with what he’d told you. He was going to be watching you from now on? Like, in person? Or in a more ‘eyes in the walls’ kind of way? You didn’t know which was worse, to be honest. Was this the end of your freedom? Wait, but on the flip side…. More time spent with Jimin. Holy crap, you probably shouldn’t have been as excited as you were beginning to feel. Down, you swatted the butterflies in your stomach, down girls!

“O-oh,” you managed, still attempting to regulate the mess that had suddenly exploded in your brain. You didn’t have enough mental RAM for this. “I see. Well…”

In a desperate bid to claim back your cool and swagger, you plopped another piece of fruit in your mouth and raised your brows. Poor timing, but it seemed your dignity defence system had been activated.

“Good luck to you, then! I won’t be tied down! I will remain as slippery as ever and I’ll wish you luck in your efforts to catch me—fruitless, as they will be!”

And then you smacked your fingers on the table, grabbing the cup and taking a hearty sip. For all the bravado you’d just shown, you felt any semblance of normalcy you’d just mustered go flying out the window when you caught Jimin’s gaze and saw the challenge simmering in their depths, his marks tinted jade.

Well, maybe you should have waited until after tea time to challenge the Kelkie who was much, much faster and stronger than you.

x x x x x

“So that’s what he said, right, and yet… here I am! I’m too good, I didn’t even leave a trail for him to follow! He should have known better than to think he could catch me… pfft.”

At the silence that followed your words, you paused in your current activity and turned to the male beside you, who in turn simply stood and blinked at you for a moment. Expectantly, you allowed him a moment to muster a response.

“So… you didn’t want to be stuck under my care and yet here you are, chatting away with me the second you slip free of Jimin’s watch?” Seokjin asked, expression telling you he was attempting to understand your reasoning and coming up blank. For a moment, you yourself were stumped for a response—you hadn’t thought of it that way! Your idiot was showing— you made a quick recovery though.

“That was the only thing you got from all I told you?” you queried, before shaking your head and clicking your tongue. “Why do I even bother? I should have gone to annoy Yoongi instead.”

Seokjin seemed to be ignoring you—or at least, what you were saying. He continued like you hadn’t just said anything at all.

“Also, as someone who, and this is a direct quote, ‘wants to climb Jimin like a tree’ at every possible opportunity, isn’t running from him somewhat counterintuitive? I mean, you currently have the perfect excuse to be near him and you are bragging about running away…?” Seokjin’s head tilted, eyes squinting at you as his fingers played with the decorations currently in his hold. He’d made far more progress with his side of the wall than you had, considering you’d spent more time talking than hanging. It was something your teachers had always commented on in school, so you weren’t that surprised in honesty.

You sputtered, several holes having been poked ruthlessly and mercilessly in your logic and your pride. Seokjin, the poker, seemed somewhat pleased at your current stuttering state. As the pokee in this situation, you were anything but pleased.

“What? No! It’s not counterintuitive!” you warbled, grabbing one of the decorative pieces and slapping it onto some adhesive on the wall. You felt your cheeks heat, shoulders pinching up in embarrassment. “Shut up!”

Even while facing in another direction, you could feel Seokjin as he rolled his eyes.

“Always asking for the flame when she cannot even handle the heat, tsk tsk tsk,” Seokjin uttered, taking the opportunity to click his tongue at you. You bristled but couldn’t form a response, considering he was right. Humiliatingly, despite all your efforts to get closer to Jimin, now that you finally had the perfect excuse to be around him all the time, it was like too much all at once. You were just one woman! And a horny one at that. The people around here should know better than to take the randy things that come out of your mouth at face value.

“I CAN HANDLE IT!” Your outburst was somewhat indignant and left you feeling somewhat like a child, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it. “Just… after an adjustment period. I suddenly went from nothing of something to a lot of something! Give me a break, man, I’ve only got a few cells left up here and they’re on their last legs.”

Seokjin hummed, narrowing his eyes at your head. “I did think that I heard less rattling up there than usual.”

Resisting the urge to hiss at him, you soothed your hackles and decided to change the topic to something that didn’t threaten to give you a heart attack or death-by-shame. “Also, when am I going to be allowed to know about this all-secret event that’s taking place? It’s been so long! And I’m helping you set up, so it must be soon. Surely not all of these people are here helping set up without even knowing…?”

Seokjin didn’t even blink as he responded. “Oh, they know. Actually, you’ve been allowed to know for a while… I think at this point you’re the only one that doesn’t know.”

You blinked, squinting as his words sunk in. “Hey—what? That’s not fair! Why can’t I know? Seokjin! Tell me!”

Mirth played in the kelkie’s eyes as he shot you a look from the side, marks flushed playful lilac. “No way. It’s much more amusing letting you sit and wonder.”

You stared at him, mouth open in shock. This jerk was really just going to let you sit and rot, huh?! Something akin to betrayal began to fill you, a petulant glare slipping onto your face.

“Seokjin!” It was meant to be reprimanding but it came out more like a whine. “Come on, please tell me? I deserve to know! Especially considering it’s just—it’s only—how far away is it, again?”

“It’s in a little less than a week’s time,” Seokjin answered easily, adhering another of the decorations to the wall. They were pretty little things, thin and about the size of your palm but they felt like slices of crystal and glimmered as you would expect such an item to. “You’re actually expected to attend. I believe Joy has even procured a dress for you and has plans for your hair.”

“Oh, I’m invited?” Momentarily touched, you couldn’t help the turn your thoughts took, a smile slipping onto your face before you remembered your stance and wiped it off. “That’s so nice of y—wait! If I’m going then I need to know what the event actually is, Seokjin! Please tell me!”

As you might have predicted, the kelkie was having far too much fun teasing you to be anywhere close to telling you what you want to know. He snorted as he went about sticking another decoration up, pausing afterwards to scan the room and check up on the other decorating jobs being completed by palace workers. When his eyes got to you and looked over how behind you were, he frowned.

“Isn’t the element of the unknown such a thrilling thing, though?” he asked, clearly making fun of you still. “Besides, you don’t need to know to have fun—”

“Seokjinnnnn,” you were outright whining now, the remainder of your dignity having fled you where you stood on top of a stool in one of the great halls in the palace. You wanted to know so badly—for weeks you’d been wondering what was going on! By this point you were growing a little desperate. “Please? Please tell me? Oh please please please—”

Seokjin rolled his eyes and cut you off before your dramatic arm motions could make you fall off the stool. “What do I get out of telling you, though? Currently I’m getting a lot of entertainment out of not telling you, so why should I give that up?”

You gaped at him, bastard!

“You jerk!” you exclaimed, before quickly thinking better of it and backtracking. “Okay, fine. If you tell me I’ll… uh… I’ll stop visiting the kitchens and making a mess all the time.”

Seokjin gave you an amused look. “I know you’ve already been banned from there.”

With a groan of frustration, you threw your hands into the air, just barely catching your balance before you toppled. “Fine! I’ll—I’ll stop wasting your time and calling for you whenever I get bored! I’ll call, I don’t know… I’ll call Yoongi instead.”

Seokjin’s head tilted as he pondered the offer, mulling it over carefully. A moment later he flashed you a smile. “Not the best but it is a start! I will tell you something in exchange for that promise—I want you to promise me, by the way. Out loud. I know that you are slippery.”

You let out a huff, holding down the whines that wanted to escape. Something was better than nothing! If you had something to go off, you could just go and pressure someone else for the answer to the rest of it. With that in mind, you squashed down the minor offence that rose at the fact your reputation as ‘slippery’ had preceded you to such an extent, and forced out the words that would get you what you wanted.

“Do… I have to?” You let out a breath from the effort, wincing. It went against your nature to verbally trap yourself! You had a phobia of contracts!

“Yes.” Seokjin said, deadpan. “Repeat after me, ‘Seokjin, I promise that I will never again call you when—‘”

“Never?!” you interjected, appalled. “Isn’t that a bit hasty—”

“Do you want to know?” the male cut you off, brows raised. He rested a hand on his hip and the sudden movement of his body made the inky locks atop his head shift, flopping across his forehead. “If so, say it.”

Pushing down the remainders of your pride was more difficult than usual, but somehow you managed it. Grumbling, you smacked another decoration onto the wall, watching it fall to the floor in disdain because there wasn’t enough adhesive.

“Fine. Seokjin, I promise that I will never again call you when I am bored. I will… call someone else… instead…”

It might have been like he was trying to bleed water from a rock, but Seokjin couldn’t have looked more smug or pleased with himself—even despite how admittedly lacklustre your promise was.

“Excellent!” he cheered, smearing more adhesive on the wall and pasting a decoration where you had attempted to just moments ago. “Now, do know that if you go back on your word it is a punishable offence. I’m thinking…” He tapped his chin, eyes averted in thought as his marks shimmered blue. “No pudding for at least three months.”

Despite the fact it was only a threat and you weren’t actually being punished with that, you felt panic well up within you. Damn, he’s good. You gulped. “I-I won’t… Don’t you even know me, Seokjin? My honour… my integrity…. Renowned across the galaxy.”

Seokjin rolled his eyes so heavily you worried for a split second they were going to drop from his skull. “Of course. As we all know.”

You huffed, taking it in stride considering he was about to finally tell you what you’d been wanting to know for weeks now. Making a rare wise choice, you decided to clamp your mouth shut and wait for Seokjin to enlighten you. It seemed to work in your favour, as Seokjin too is a man that enjoys talking and the second you provided a conversational gap for him he was inclined to fill it.

“It’s for the King and Queen,” Seokjin said, placing some adhesive on the wall in front of you in an unspoken prompt to get back to work. “They’re back from their leave soon, but that’s not the only reason we are celebrating.”

Seokjin turned, meeting your gaze with a fond look in his eye coupled with a hint of excitement, both of which you presumed were directed at the royal couple. “They’re expecting, you see, and since the Queen is human, it has broken an unfortunate cycle that has plagued the royal line for centuries. After what happened to the King’s late parents… the people are overjoyed they won’t have to see that again.”

Curiousity instantly bubbled and burned within you, but at the same time…. You almost felt like it wasn’t your place to ask about whatever happened. It didn’t affect you, so you reasoned you should probably leave it for now. Besides, you felt like you’d find out eventually. Instead, you focused your thoughts onto the other parts of what he’d told you. Piece by piece, it sunk in.

“I almost forgot the Queen is human,” you muttered, filling space while your brain processed—it finished barely a moment later and you looked to Seokjin with wide eyes as realisation smacked you in the face several times. “Wait, she’s pregnant?! But they’re—so humans and kelkies can—?!”

Amused, and looking like he apparently expected a reaction like this from you, Seokjin snorted. “Well, we weren’t sure. But apparently so.”

“Huh. That’s really lovely, everyone must be super excited for them,” you said, a billion thoughts whirring through your mind at once. One made itself a little more known than the others, and an odd feeling filled your chest.

Seokjin seemed to tell you were attempting to try and word something, and gave you a moment to put it together. You couldn’t look him in the eye as you spoke, for once feeling oddly and uncharacteristically vulnerable.

“She chose to stay, then… Was it an easy choice?” You didn’t even know why you’d asked it, but it made it’s way out of your mouth nonetheless.

The kelkie gave you a curious look, but otherwise didn’t question you. “Well, for her… She wasn’t going to, at first. There were a few other crucial factors that influenced her decision, for a while. But ultimately, once they cleared… she chose what was going to make her happiest. I recall she once told me she felt surprisingly at home, here. Not long after arriving, she found herself wanting to stay.”

At his words, you weren’t sure how you were supposed to feel. Your entire life there has been something in a constant state of unrest within you. You’ve hopped from job to job, world to world, life to life. None have fit, and none have soothed that flighty feeling inside any better than the last. You almost grow tired of it; sometimes you’ve found yourself wondering if this is how you’re going to live the remainder of your years, never settling, never finding somewhere you feel truly at home. Earth was where you were born, but it wasn’t a home to you. None of the groups you’d ever found your way to had ever felt like the perfect fit. You’ve never once felt inclined to stay at the places you have been, or entertained the notion past that of a stray thought.

But his words gave you pause, because for the first time in your life the feeling inside you had changed, and you were beginning to realise its new form.

It was in such stark contrast to who you knew yourself to be, that it actually frightened you, a little. This feeling had a few names and you were afraid to utter any of them.

“You’ve been a lot of places across the galaxy, lived many different ways,” Seokjin’s head tilted, eyes soft, inquisitive. “Was there nowhere that you found yourself wishing to stay?”

Of course, it would be perfectly in character for you to fire back something witty and funny, but you felt oddly vacant, for the barest moment. You met his gaze without thinking, and wondered if he could see the vulnerability as it revealed itself bit by bit within you.

“No, there wasn’t anywhere I wanted to stay.” You paused, swallowing. “But, I mean, being capricious is kind of my thing, you know? I gotta stay on brand.”

Seokjin smiled, before shaking his head.

“It is okay to want to stay, you know. You don’t even have to have a reason.” The male’s eyes were kind as they met your own, and you felt your chest clench. “There is a place for you here, if you decide you want it.”

His words touched you, but in the process stirred up an entire storm of untouched thoughts and emotions within you, the type that blended in together and blurred the lines that bound them. You were nowhere near ready to delve into them right now. Ignoring the surprising prick in your eyes, you shot him a smile. “Thank you for that, Seokjin. I… I think I will just need to think on it.”

He nodded, soft look remaining before it took a different turn and his marks flushed playful blue. His gaze was on you, before it caught something over your shoulder and his eyes widened incrementally. He schooled his expression so quickly after that you weren’t sure if it had actually happened. “Don’t think too hard on it, though. You’ll overwork the few cells that you have left.”

At the return of the bickering air you were so familiar with, you slipped right back into it with ease—anything to distract from the thoughts he’d unearthed with his kind words. “Excuse me? There mightn’t be many of them but they pull their weight! My brain cells might be overworked and underpaid but damn it if they don’t get the job done—”

You were ready to keep going, you really were, you had about thirty seconds more content to burn through, but in the worst plot twist of the century you didn’t get to continue. So quickly you almost didn’t see it, Seokjin shifted in his stance on the floor, bracing one hand on the wall. You didn’t even have time to finish wondering why before you found out—the hard way.

Too quick to counter, Seokjin’s foot flew out, making harsh contact with the stool you were precariously perched on. Immediately, inevitably, you were sent tumbling and the bucket of adhesive and decorations on your arm was sent flying off to god knew where. Truly, your hubris in wanting to stand in a cool pose on the stool was to blame for how unsteady and ready to fall you were.

A few things happened rapidly; first, you fell through the air, narrowly saved from a humiliating death-by-head-bump by Seokjin’s lightning fast reflexes. He ended up catching you in a pose that reminded you of when you were dancing with someone and they dipped you—your hair was probably brushing the floor, and Seokjin’s face was much, much closer than you ever expected to see it. Second, there was the loud sound of your stool clattering onto the ground. Third, there was a round of gasps that you figured sounded because you fell.

Well, it wouldn’t be the first time you were wrong in assuming everything was about you.

You blinked, the realisation that Seokjin knocked you off the stool sinking in and instantly riling you up—you were about to open your mouth and chew him out when a third, and final, sound echoed through the room. A sharp CLANG, and then the distinct sound of hollow metal rolling across the floor. It gave you pause, the sound occurring much later than it should have—it should have dropped straight to the ground, right?

A sense of dread beginning to curl within you, you dared to turn your head and peer to the side, where your back had been facing earlier. At once, you realised you were dead.

The alien love of your life stood in the doorway to the room, a mere few metres away, which should make you either giddy or overjoyed, but it was the sight of gooey adhesive dripping thickly down his face from where it had pooled in his hair that prevented such a reaction. Your bucket rolled around by his feet, some decorations joining it on the ground and others stuck in the glue that was quickly becoming acquainted with Jimin’s entire front.

His eyes had been closed, presumably on reflex, but they opened after a hand rose to wipe the thick goo from them—thankfully, it hadn’t reached his actual eyes. The dark pools flitted about the room before landing on you; his marks stained dark, dark red, and after scanning your form and witnessing the debacle around you, turned deep, murky green.

You might have been stupid, but even you knew when death was about to grab you in its clutches. You scrambled, trying to get out of Seokjin’s grip but failing miserably—oh, so he’s your executioner, huh? Bastard. And right after you bonded, too.

“y/n.” You jolted like you’d been electrocuted, eyes whipping back to Jimin; something burned in his gaze that made your stomach drop and legs wobble, even while he was covered in goo. He took two slow, long steps until he was close enough that just the three of you could hear him speak—his voice when he did, low and raspy as it was, made you shiver. “My room. Midmoon, tonight. If you are not ready then the punishment for making such a mess of preparations for such an important event will worsen. Don’t force my hand on that, petal.”

His gaze bore into you for a long, potent moment after he spoke, before it flicked to where Seokjin had his hold on you, jaw clenching so hard you saw his temple shift. Eyes harder and burning more intensely than before, he delivered you one last look—a very decidedly pissed one—before he turned on his heel and stalked from the room, beginning to wipe away adhesive as he went.

For a few seconds after he disappeared, you simply hung in place, in a state of shock. The sound of Seokjin’s amused snort brought you back, however, and instantly you recalled exactly who was to blame for your newly scheduled death.

“You rat,” you hissed, glaring at him. “How could you?! Now I’m going to die! Oh you know what, if I hadn’t just promised yo—OW! SEOKJIN!”

Mercilessly, the male released his hold, you dropped, and an instant pain shot through your behind. Why was it that you were always falling on your ass in this palace?! God! It hurts so damn much!

“The day is coming to an end, y/n,” Seokjin said, straightening and looking very much unapologetic and entirely too humoured. “You better go get ready.”

Realising just how late into the afternoon it had gotten, you scrambled to your feet, panicked and affronted. Deciding you couldn’t afford to stay and bicker if you were going to flee the solar system in time, you settled for a glare and flipped Seokjin the bird, uncaring whether he understood it.

“I hate you!” you exclaimed as you turned and started to flee. “I’m ending this friendship, Seokjin! After this don’t even look at me, traitor!”

Seokjin’s rare, squeaky laughter breached the air as you left, the sound chasing you down the hall mockingly.

If you didn’t die tonight, you were going to kill him for trying to kill you.

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::[ please lmk what you think! & pls consider buying me a kofi if you’d like to support me in some way! <3 ]::

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writethehousedown · 4 years

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Lesson In Love (Gigi x Jackie) - Mina

A/N: So excited to participate in one of these challenges again, you treated me so well last time so I’m so excited to release this! Ty so so much to @dollalpaca for being an angel and betaing

Summary: Gigi may or may not be failing her music studies class. She also may or may not have caught feelings for the pretty Persian woman that offered to tutor her. Maybe. She’ll never tell.

“Janet,” Gigi groaned, narrowly avoiding falling off the couch as she rolled over and wrapped her blanket tighter around herself. It was leopard-printed, a gift from Jan to themselves from when they moved into the apartment. “Do you think ‘Intro to Floral Arrangement’ sounds like an easy class? Or do you know anyone who’s taken it?”

“Isn’t it an evening class? I feel like we went over that one like… twenty minutes ago.” The blonde hummed from the floor, not bothering to look up. She was probably right, too. She had her own laptop in front of her, in the process of color-coding her online calendar. Blue for lectures, green for labs and purple for choir practices. Gigi had seen her do this enough times - every semester since they met on move-in day their first year - to be able to recognize the blocks in her schedule at a glance. Sometimes it motivated her knowing that Jan could be so on top of things while also being the most chaotic person Gigi knew, other times it made her want to die and be reborn into someone who could organise her sock draw by diameter.

“Yeah, you’re right.” She frowned, letting out a deep sigh and closing the tab. Goodbye, department of nature studies. So long, her potential florist career.

The thing was, Gigi knew she couldn’t really afford to be particularly picky with only five days before the registration period ended, but still. At least, she thought, she’d long been enrolled in all her textile-related classes for the semester. She was looking forward to most of them too, especially the design ones. Really, it was just that one additional stupid arts gen ed course she needed to get out of the way, and then she’d be free for good.

“How about ‘Art of Listening’?” Gigi asked a few minutes later, reading over the course information. She heard the sound of Jan typing on her keyboard come to a halt. “That kinda sounds like a class for people that want to become therapists or something. Or marriage counsellors?”

“Maybe people that are gonna need marriage counselling, sure,” Jan replied, her typing picking up again.

Gigi laughed, running a hand through her hair and looking back at her screen. “It doesn’t seem too bad, y’know. Just two papers and a final.” She hummed, scrolling through last year’s syllabus. “And it’s actually about music, I could totally do that.”

“Wait, who’s the prof for it?”

“Uh… something-Nguyen I think?“ Gigi paused as she scrolled back up. “Yeah, Andrew Nguyen, why?”

“Oh, that’s the one!” Jan nodded happily. “Rock took it last semester, I think. I remember her talking about it when we first met, she was always complaining about the prof who—”

“Great, you should have just lead with that.” Gigi rolled her eyes as she closed the tab. Rock was one of the more easy going people she’d ever met when it came to that stuff, so she couldn’t imagine what a prof that annoyed her would be like. Probably awful, or at least had a bad taste in anime. A soft but slightly damp piece of fabric hit her in the nose before falling down in front of her, disheartened. She scrunched up her nose in distaste when she realised what Jan just threw at her.

“Why are you throwing your dirty socks at me?” Gigi screeched, picking it up and throwing it back in the blonde’s general direction. “And why is it wet?”

“If you’d just let me finish!” She rolled her eyes pointedly, leaning to grab the sock again. It was a little too far for her to reach, and Gigi watched her stubbornly wiggle to the side until she could close her fingers around it. She smiled victoriously, huffing a little as she leaned back against the couch and made herself stand up straight. “As I was saying,” she started again, enunciating carefully.

“Before I rudely interrupted you.” Gigi grinned down, picking at her nails.

“Yes, before you did indeed do that,” Jan huffed, “Rock took it last semester. And she was always annoyed because the prof didn’t always let them use their laptops in class, but she also said that it was really easy. Most of the time they just had to listen to some music and write about how it made them feel, that sort of stuff.”

“That sounds pretty easy.”

“Right?” Jan nodded excitedly, “And I think she mentioned one of her friends is taking it this semester too. A senior, so she’s probably in the same boat as you.”

Gigi didn’t think that’d make much of a difference, but she didn’t bother telling Jan that. It wasn’t like the class had group projects anyway, so she could hopefully get by with just showing to most lectures and turning in the assignments.

“I really should have done this over the summer, you were right about that,” she exhaled, shutting her laptop and falling back into the couch. She could have gotten those mandatory art electives outside of her major done as a freshmen, or even last year, like most other students in her program did.

“I’m sure it won’t be that bad,“ Jan chuckled, moving closer until she could rest her head comfortably on Gigi’s shoulder, blonde hair falling all over her face. “You’ll do great, because you always do; you’re talented, but you also work hard. So you’re gonna ace all your actual photography classes, pass this one, and be done with all your dumb degree requirements. And then next year you can take all the textiles classes you want, I’ll take all the music production classes I want, we’ll go to each other’s senior showcases, and barely even remember all the time we wasted on the ugly classes we didn’t care about.”

When Jan put it that way, it sounded pretty easy. *** After three weeks of classes, Gigi felt like she could safely conclude that the class was… Not that bad. If she had to give the class a grade it’d be a solid C-, bordering on a straight-up C. It was mostly filled with freshmen from the arts faculty trying to get an easy A, a solid half of whom had already stopped showing up to lectures. And yes, it was weird being back in a two hundred-person room when most of her other classes were forty at most. She had to turn in weekly written assignments, which was also not fun, but writing five hundred words once a week wasn’t a time commitment she couldn’t handle. The problem, though, was that as far as she could tell from those three first weeks, that supposedly-easy class would also n’ot rate the level of effort Gigi had put in as anything more than a C either. Which was definitely not what she wanted out of it. Far from it.

The class did have one major saving grace, a light in the dark and a minor help in stopping Gigi from quitting the class on day one, in the form of a fellow student.

Gigi didn’t know her name, or her major, or anything tangible about her, which was a little unfortunate. She did, however, know that the girl had legs. Long and strong, with toned thighs that suggested at least some form of semi-regular exercise, and looked equally good in the kind of wide-legged, loose cotton pants Gigi herself favoured as they did in denim cutoffs. She had really nice hands too, which the brunette found out about when they accidentally reached for the same assignment sheet. They looked soft, strong and capable and careful. They’d be nice to hold, or to have holding her down tightly, or tangled in her hair while she sucked bruises into her equally-beautiful thighs.

So yeah, you could say Gigi was kind of enjoying the course, sure.

The girl usually sat at the front of the room, in the very first row from where you kind of had to strain your neck upwards to see what was on the board. Gigi knew, because that was also where she sat during the first two weeks, until she realised this wasn’t going to be the kind of lecture where she could talk all the way through the lesson without the professor caring, not if she wanted to do more than just pass, anyway. The girl usually brought her laptop to class too - covered in political stickers and pictures of cartoons Gigi didn’t know. One time the brunette walked past her, only to see a video of a crab walking up a pile of sand playing in the corner of her screen.

Gigi could remember that she made a point about the role of music in religious movements when prompted, and how that connected to society’s idea of liveliness within places of worship. Gigi didn’t really remember the details, mostly because some of it had just flown way over her head, but their professor had been very impressed. When he had said so, instead of the self-satisfied smile that the brunette had been expecting, the girl had looked down at her notes, one arm twitching like she was resisting the urge to scratch at the back of her neck in embarrassment.

Gigi thought she’d even blushed a little, and really, no one should have had the right to be both this attractive and adorable at the same time. She wasn’t quite sure how she felt about the crab video, which was definitely weird, even by art faculty standards. But for her, she thought she might be willing to overlook it.

geege ok this girl at the front of listening class? so hot she’s like 90 percent leg and 40 percent sexy aunt energy

janjanjan sounds Hot

geege i’d let her walk all over me and say ty she’d just be like :] and tell me about the periodic table or smth

janjanjan okay maybe let’s stop there like keep the rest for when you’re alone at home

geege or in the shower

janjanjan thanks not like i use that shower too The thing was, Gigi wasn’t new to having crushes. At all. So perhaps it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to herself that she ended up developing crushes on more than a few of the people she met. Most of them were great, a lot of them were cute, and a few left her heart beating that much faster as she found herself wishing for their conversations to never end.

What was new (or disconcerting, if she were to listen to the Jan voice in her head), was Gigi feeling that way about someone she’d never talked to. Gigi still didn’t know anything about her, other than what she looked like and the sound of her voice - but god did she want to know.

And it felt like it’d been years, so many years, since Gigi had felt too shy to just go up to someone she wanted to know better and introduce herself. She’d felt anxious before, maybe a little self-conscious, but not the kind of shyness that turned into complete inaction. She found herself looking forward to the class, though not the actual work. *** She, Gigi thought, was currently winning at life.

She was done with classes for the week, had no plans that required her to get out of her sweatpants for the next twenty four hours, and was currently sitting back on the couch surrounded by food and two of her favourite people.

So yeah, life was pretty fucking great right now.

She leaned back against one arm of the sofa, a forgotten ball of yarn and half knitted almost-scarf in one hand and the other casually playing with Jan’s hair. The blonde was laying down on the couch, the only one out of the three of them that could kind of do so without most of her legs hanging off one end. Her head was resting on Gigi’s lap while her feet were in Rock’s.

Friday evening was their unofficially -designated group hang out time, a tradition that developed the last few months without any of them being aware of it, but now it was something that she wouldn’t miss for the world. It usually just meant Thai food, bitching about their classes, and whatever booze one of the other two decided to pick up. When Rock made grabby hands at her, Gigi grabbed an unopened can of sparkling water she brought for today and passed it on.

“Thank you,” Rock chuckled as she cracked it open, leaning forward to catch some of the foam that came out before it had a chance to further stain the couch. “Y’know,” she started, as she watched Gigi reach over for the mostly-empty bag of popcorn on the table. “I could just ask Jackie to help you out with the class.”

The brunette’s fingers closed on thin air, the bag of popcorn she was aiming for remaining just out of reach. “Who’s Jackie?” she asked absently, shuffling forward gently and trying not to dislodge Jan’s head from her lap.

Jan flicked her on the thigh regardless. “Rock’s friend, the one I told you about when you signed up! And, y’know, the one that’s also taking the class right now.”

“Oh,” Gigi realised. She totally remembered that, right. Her fingers grazed the bag of popcorn again, but in her haste she just ended up pushing it a few inches further away, balancing precariously on one edge of the table. “That Jackie.”

“I think she tutored, like, half her contemporary fiction class last year. So you know she’s gotta be good at actually teaching things, and not just smart,” Jan continued, as though Gigi’s attention was mostly captured by the pursuit of academics. One more inch, she leaned in a little further, balancing her weight on one arm. She just needed to get one inch closer and the bag would be hers. She could already taste the powdery, buttery, amazingness on her tongue.

“And Rockie’s always talking about how her old professor still basically cries about not being able to convince her to stay in the department. I’m pretty sure she’d totally still take him on as a grad student if Jackie just asked, nevermind that she transferred out more than two years ago.”

“So what do you think?” The blonde finished, a little more loudly, like she realised Gigi had tuned her out a bit. And Gigi had, yes, but she could finally feel her fingers closing in on the bag, triumphantly reaching in and stuffing a handful of popcorn - fat free - into her mouth. “Do you want Rock to ask Jackie when she has some time to meet up with you? Or maybe just give her your number, if that’s easier?”

“What? No, don’t do that. I’m not doing that bad.” Gigi laughed slightly, rolling her eyes. “No, I’m all good.”

“It’s too late anyway,” Rock laughed, all faux-casual. “I already messaged her.” She shoved her phone in front of Gigi’s face, and yeah, right there, that was a message saying just that, complete with her own number at the end.

“Why would you do that?” She complained loudly, tapping at the screen furiously to try and make it delete. It wasn’t that she was against the idea of getting help with the class, but mostly she was reluctant to have it taking up more of her time than it already did. Especially when she didn’t even know the girl.

“You need help!” Rock said with a yelp, avoiding the kick Gigi aimed at her. “She can help! It’s a perfect solution, why are you trying to hit me!” The last one landed just under her armpit, drawing out a higher-pitched squeal. “Besides, Jan agreed with me that it’s a good idea,” she added, turning expectantly towards her. “Tell her how you were the first one to even suggest it.”

Next to them, Jan had indeed been suspiciously quiet. “Why aren’t you saying anything?” Gigi asked, poking the older woman in the chest.

“Don’t you want to see what your soon-to-be tutor looks like, Geege?” Jan giggled, ignoring her question.

“Oh, you’re right, let me show you her insta,” Rock butted in, her thumbs moving on her phone screen for a moment before handing it to Gigi with an evil smile.

Jacqueline Coxx, the profile read, next to a very familiar, grinning face. The same very familiar, grinning face that Gigi had spent many a lesson fawning over. This had to be a mistake, there was no way. “You should really be better at Instagram-stalking people,” Jan laughed as Gigi felt her mind going blank. “I think it’s the only skill that’s going to save our generation from lifelong unemployment. Or underemployment, for that matter.”

The brunette didn’t give it a second thought before she pushed her off the couch and onto the floor, screams of unacceptable betrayal and terrified excitement echoing loud in the room.

*** geege hiiiii is this jackie cox? this is gigi, roxanne’s friend from the listening class she said she’d told you i would message you geege but in case she didn’t i wanted to ask you about some tutoring if you could tutor me i mean geege but if you can’t that’s all good !! don’t feel like you have to say yes just bc of rocks stupid puppy eyes oh and sorry about the triple-text ***

“I more than triple-texted her, but three separate times,” Gigi groaned, burying her face in between the couch cushions.

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” Jan comforted, running a hand through her hair. Gigi would maybe feel a little bad about how much complaining she’d been doing over this, but everytime she thought of stopping, she reminded herself that Jan was at least forty-five percent to blame for this in the first place.

“It’s been more than two days. When’s the last time you went forty-eight hours without checking your phone? And be honest.”

Jan’s silence was enough of an answer. *** Jackie Hey Gigi! Rock did tell me about you, it’s all good Do you want to meet up after class on monday to figure out the details? Oh and sorry for such a late reply My phone was broken after i dropped it in a lake while i was hiking *** In an ideal world, Gigi would have planned things so she could get to class nice and early on the day she was supposed to properly meet Jackie. She’d have maybe put a little more thought than usual into her outfit, and made sure her hair looked good. Worn that red headband she knew did great things for her forehead and her eyebrows, maybe. Not that Gigi ever looked like a slob, but she definitely had clothes she liked more than others, and that she thought served her better for seduction purposes. Or even for just ‘making a decent first impression’, which she’d really settle for right now, as she ran up the final flight of stairs. Nothing said ‘I’m serious about needing help with this class’ like showing up late, especially for a course where attendance was actually recorded.

She spotted the door to the classroom still cracked open at the end of the hallway and slowed down a little, trying to catch her breath. She ran a hand through her hair, hoping that’d tame the mess a little and her cheeks wouldn’t be too red from the unexpected burst of athleticism. At the front of the room, their professor has already started talking, and Gigi quietly slipped into the first free seat she spotted, grateful to have avoided drawing everyone’s attention to herself.

It was only minutes before the class ended that Gigi thought to look around for Jackie, peering across the middle rows of students before she accepted that she wouldn’t dare sit anywhere but the very front row. She tried to lean forward to glance at the first row once or twice, eventually accepting that there was no way she could be subtle and standing the slightest bit up from her chair. The first row was mostly empty, as it usually tended to be. Gigi recognized a girl from the Image Composition class she took last semester, and thought about saying hi to her after class when she remembered she had a goal here. As she let her gaze move through the other students in the front, it eventually landed on Jackie, although Gigi had to do a double-take to make sure it was definitely her.

The thing was, she’d gotten to see - unknowingly, at the time - Jackie often enough since the semester started to get a sense of her style. And from Gigi’s weeks of casual observation, she tended to favour loose, comfortable clothes, and mostly neutral colours. She liked floral patterns too, especially on shirts, which the brunette could appreciate.

However, the first thing she noticed today was Jackie’s hair. And really, Gigi thought that if it wasn’t for the bright smile and the longest legs known to humankind, she wouldn’t have even recognized her.

The messy dark brown hair that Gigi had gotten used to, and maybe dreamt about running her hands through once or twice, was now four inches shorter and numbingly straight, effortlessly falling over her forehead and almost into her eyes when she looked down. Something about the flawlessness of her hair combined with the white hoodie she was wearing seemed to make her face glow, skin tanned and radiant with pearly teeth glinting through a bemused grin as she laughed at something her friend was saying.

Damn.

She was brought out of her daydreaming by the sound of students around her packing up their things, and Gigi realised that she most likely missed the professor dismissing their class. As she struggled with the zipper of her bag, the same one she’d been meaning to get fixed for the last three months but still hadn’t, she felt a hand hesitantly tap on her shoulder, warm against the thin material of her shirt.

“Hey, Georgia right?” A voice asked right behind her, and when Gigi turned around Jackie looked just as good as she did the first time she saw her at the beginning of the semester.

“Gigi. I’m— my name— Yep, hi, that’s me. What’s shaking?” The brunette chuckled awkwardly, “Thank you so much for agreeing to help me out, I really appreciate it! Or at least agreeing to consider it I mean, I know we really just said we’d talk about the details today, so you technically haven’t agreed to anything yet. And you don’t have to, obviously.”

Jackie didn’t seem thrown off by the sudden explosion of words and gratefulness, which Gigi took to be a good sign. If anything, her smile only grew less hesitant, the tiniest dimple appearing on her left cheek.

“We could, like, go to that library around the block? It’s a nice place to study, so.” Gigi nodded, following Jackie and making awkward small talk until they made it inside. She learned in those quick minutes that Jackie liked crabs, and geography, and obscure movie references no one else understood.

“It’s been a while since I was here to be honest.” Jackie grinned, swiping at her phone casually. “I missed it.”

"Right, Rock mentioned you’d transferred out of the faculty.”

The brunette hummed in agreement, looking a little surprised at Gigi’s knowing about this. “Yeah, I swapped my major and minor back halfway through my second year. Geo major with a minor in stage production now.” She made little jazz hand motions as she said it, and the brunette really wished she didn’t find it half as endearing as she did.

“Okay, so, tell me more about what you’ve been struggling with so far,” Jackie asked with a tilt of her head, and they got down to business. *** Maybe it was a little self-sabotaging (or self-serving, she could never quite decide), but part of what Gigi quickly found out she liked best about their bi-weekly tutoring sessions, was how much time she got to just stare at Jackie. She’d finish writing up the draft of her weekly listening assignment and pass it on for the older woman to read over, and get a solid five-to-ten minutes of ogling out of it.

Not that she was ogling her per se, that sounded bad. She was just… appreciating. Appreciating Jackie’s arms, and her neck, and her cheekbones, and her brain as she read through Gigi’s outline. Every now and then, Gigi would catch her frowning slightly, bringing her pen to the paper and tapping over the words as she read a section a few times over before making a quick note and moving on. It was kind of embarrassing how devastatingly cute Gigi found the whole thing, honestly. Like how the way she was resting her head on one hand, her fingers accidentally creating a gap that just perfectly framed the dimple on her left cheek.

“Hey, Geege,” Jackie suddenly smiled as she turned towards her. Fuck. Gigi really hoped her face wasn’t making what she was just doing incredibly obvious. “What did you have in mind for this part here?” She asked, shuffling her chair to bridge the space between the two of them.

“Which part?” Gigi shakily replied, leaning in a little. The paper she wrote her outline on was on the table, technically close enough for both of them to read, but just barely. Gigi told herself that was her excuse for moving in a few inches more, until their hands were almost meeting on the sheet of paper. Almost.

Jackie was making it hard for Gigi to focus, leaving her stumbling through the start of an explanation of the admittedly somewhat unclear point she’d made in her outline about the sudden change in rhythm. As she got into the meat of her point, she could feel herself getting more confidence, gesturing with her hands as the words started coming out more easily, and Jackie nodded in wordless understanding. It only took a few sessions to realize that if there was one thing Jackie was good at, it’s listening. It never felt like she was trying to put answers into Gigi’s mouth - letting her explain her perception of the music instead, and asking questions when needed. She made Gigi feel like even if writing about how she experienced music as an art form would never come all that naturally to her, not in the way sewing or even most visual arts did, it was something that was still within her reach. Something she could understand and relate to.

“So, are you saying it felt expected to you?” Jackie asked eventually, after Gigi paused. “Like it was building up to this in the previous parts? Or that it caught your attention specifically because it was sudden? Or out-of-place, maybe.”

The brunette took a moment to think, replaying the lead-up to that section in her head.

They weren’t even touching, but she could feel the heat radiating off the older woman’s skin. She could feel the warmth, could see it in Jackie’s gaze as she looked softly back at her, she could smell it even. And Gigi knows that didn’t actually make sense, that all she was probably smelling was laundry detergent and sweat and maybe coffee. Gigi didn’t even like the smell of coffee. But right now, sitting side-by-side in the library and alternating between emphatically talking and listening to each other, Gigi felt like all of those things.

It was only when they both moved on from that particular point, a few messy notes from Jackie hastily written to Gigi’s own words, that she realized just how close they’d gotten. She was well into Jackie’s personal space, their shoulders no longer content just brushing against each other occasionally but rather aligned against one another. No wonder she could smell the coffee.

She started to move back slowly, not wanting to draw attention to how close she’d gotten, but a sharp sting on her ear stopped her mid-motion. She let out a small cry of pain, Jackie immediately turning to face her. The older girl felt impossibly closer than a moment ago.

“I think my earring got caught in your shirt,” Gigi said quietly, a pained and nervous giggle leaping from the back of her throat. She remembered putting them on this morning, long and dangly strips of silver shaped like eyes, and thinking about how they might get stuck in her hair. If the lack of distance between the two of them went unnoticed earlier, it was definitely no longer the case. Gigi felt incredibly conscious of every exhale of her breath, of Jackie’s face only inches away from hers. The guy in the seat in front of them threw them a dirty look, like he was annoyed at how wrong Gigi’s flirting attempts had turned out. She couldn’t really blame him because, what the fuck, they had turned out pretty bad, huh.

“Hold on,” Jackie breathed, “let me untangle it for you.” Gigi knew she was speaking quietly because they were in a library, and so close to each other anything above a whisper was unnecessary, but she was struck hard by the intimacy of it nonetheless. She couldn’t decipher whether choosing to wear those earrings today was the best or worst decision she’d ever made.

Jackie reached for the end that got caught, carefully lifting it away from the threads of her sweater. It was the kind of tangle no one could probably ever manage to achieve if they tried, and yet happened without either of them realizing it. When she moved to grasp at the fabric a little more firmly, her fingers brushed against Gigi’s neck, unexpected. And maybe it’s stupid to feel so thoroughly destabilized by the mere touch of a fleeting hand, but Gigi found herself forgetting to breathe for a few seconds.

“There,” Jackie chuckled as the earring finally came free, looking in Gigi’s direction without directly meeting her gaze. “I think you’re all good now.”

Gigi thanked her politely, but she’d be the first to admit she found it hard to focus during the rest of their session, every brush of air or clothing against her neck making her shiver at the memory of Jackie’s fingers. ***

“Wait, Jackie Coxx?” Crystal asked the next time Gigi met up with her to catch up over some drinks in their favorite dive bar. Crystal had technically been Jan’s friend first, but she and Gigi had gotten a lot closer over the years, bonding over a love of what their friends would lovingly call ‘loud’ and ‘confident’ clothing choices. “‘Trips on her own feet’ Jackie Coxx?” Crystal continued, the grin on her face widening as Gigi felt her cheeks heating up. “Follows at least three Twitter accounts dedicated to Star Trek? Rockie’s junior year baby crush? The same—”

“Rock is still a junior, Crys,” Gigi interrupted, laughing, because— what. What. “And wait, she has a crush on Jackie? My Jackie?”

“So not the point,” Crystal answered, still smiling like this was the best news she’d heard all week. “My Jackie huh? God, you’re such a simp—”

“No.” Gigi groaned, dragging out the ‘o’. “Back to Rock. My best friend, Janet fucking Sport, is head over heels, stupidly in love with Rock. And I don’t care how adorable she is, if what you’re telling me is true, she’s just been… been using her! And that really this whole time she’s just been waiting and pining for Jackie! As if Jan didn’t—”

It was Crystal’s turn to interrupt this time, the smile having faded away from her face to leave way for a confused expression. “Gigi, Gigi, stop for a second,” she repeated, a little more forceful than the brunette was used to hearing her speak. “Come on, think of all the time you’ve spent with Rock, with both of them. Have you ever gotten the impression that she was anything that a hundred and ten percent in?”

The brunette closed her eyes for a moment. She thought of Jan ditching her and Nicky to go hang out with Rock every Friday. Of Jan dragging her to go shopping on the weekend before Valentine’s day, an itemized and color-coded list of stores and potential gifts saved on her phone. Crystal definitely has a point, Gigi let herself recognize, deflating as the potential anger left her body as quickly as it had arrived.

“Rock did a tour of the university, back when she was still in high school and she wasn’t completely sure what program to apply for. Jackie was the one doing it apparently.” The red head paused to take a sip of her drink, grimacing a little at the taste. Why she kept ordering those novelty IPAs everywhere they went despite knowing full well she didn’t like how hoppy they were, Gigi had no idea. “I think she just made Rock feel comfortable, you know? Like, it was fine that she didn’t have everything figured out already, and made sure she knew she wasn’t making a decision at seventeen that she could never walk back. So Jackie gave her her number in case she had any questions, and then they actually started hanging out together once Rock started this year.”

“Oh,” Gigi realised, “that does really sound like her, yeah.” She could imagine it in her head, Rock a little younger and more unsure, not all that dissimilar from how she behaved when Jan first introduced the two of them to each other.

It was strange, remembering that a few months ago she would avoid directly meeting her gaze or spending any one-on-one time with her, when she could also recall the ‘u up’ and ‘netflix? :)’ texts she received from the shorter woman last night. It also really sounded like Jackie, although she didn’t tell Crystal so. It was just as easy to imagine her taking the time to reassure a worried high-school student without making her feel like she was being talked down to.

Crystal was still looking at her expectantly, and Gigi couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed at how strongly she reacted. “So, not an actual crush then?”

“Nope, she just thinks Jackie is really cool. God knows why, because based on what I’ve heard, she’s kind of a giant dork.”

“Hot giant dork.” Gigi rolled her eyes. “Maybe I should have asked you that first.”

“Uh-huh,” Crystal replied, giving Gigi’s shoulder a squeeze. “You should ask her for the full story, actually. I’m surprised you haven’t heard it before, but she tells it much better than I do. And maybe you want to spend some time thinking about why you reacted that quickly, because we both know Jan is a pretty flimsy excuse.”

The brunette sighed loudly. “It’s just a crush, it’s nothing.” It didn’t sound convincing even to herself. Back when Jackie was just the hot girl in her class, that would have probably been true, but it felt like a long time ago now.

Crystal rolled her eyes with a cheeky smile. “That was a lot more believable five minutes ago, but sure.”

Gigi made sure to hit her in the leg for that, laughing easily and sputtering mindlessly about how she had it all wrong.

“Wait, what did Rock used to want to study, back when she was in high school?”

There was a long pause, before Crystal finally cackled., “Video game design.” *** geege do you think it’s weird

rockstar YES

geege … to ask someone if you can platonically caress their cheeks kiss them on the forehead at least wait till i finish to be mean

rockstar u know what this is both not as weird AND weirder than i expected ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

geege what do I do roxanne she’s not gonna tutor me forever. the final is less than a month away how do i tell her i wanna date her without seeming like i wanna date her

rockstar go up to her and be like ‘if we played pokemon together, we’d be a pokematch’ ;)))

geege what

rockstar will you be the nidoking to my nidoqueen

geege tf those sound like the names of drugs

rockstar yk it was one thing when you were just thirsting after the hot girl in ur class but now it’s actual feelings how embarrassing

geege u have given me a solid amount of advice. none.

rockstar k fair how about i pick up noodles on my way back? and we can eat that for dinner while you tell me all about ur gay crush without my consent

geege i like the chicken stir fry ones

*** “Do you want to listen to it again, maybe?” Jackie asked, reaching for her headphones. “Then you can tell me the exact part you’re thinking of.”

It was another Wednesday afternoon, but this time they’d ditched the library in favor of a small coffee shop that was closer to where Jackie lived. It was artsy in a way that Gigi was used to, a little hipster, but not actually fancy enough to properly lay claim on the word. The tables were a little worn in and wobbly, the lattes a little too cheap, and the art prints on the wall either too well-known or not enough.

“Sure, just give me a second.” Gigi took the earbud the Persian woman offered her, making an aborted motion towards the computer, before following through as Jackie nodded at her with a soft smile. The older woman’s phone vibrated on the table between them, and she took a quick glance at the screen before putting it back down with a little more force than necessary.

It took Gigi a few tries to find the part she had in mind when mentioning texture, replaying the same part a few times over until she was fairly certain she found what she was looking for. “That part here, until the tempo slows down again—”

The brunette was cut off by the sound of Jackie’s phone vibrating on the table again, lighting up with a missed call notification and some texts.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” the Persian woman cursed sheepishly. “This is so rude. I’m sorry, Geege, I should have just turned it off earlier.” She sounded a little annoyed, but mostly flustered, taking a quick look at the screen before flipping it back over facing down.

She flashed the younger woman an apologetic smile, her cheeks coloring a little as she pointedly pushed the phone away from her.

“Are you sure everything is okay? We can take a break if you need to deal with some stuff? Or even just cancel for today, I think I have basically everything I need to finish writing this up, so.”

“No, no, âsemun be zamin nemiyâd,” Jackie protested, mind clearly elsewhere. “It’s nothing, really. Or, well, it is something I guess, but it’s kind of stupid and I shouldn’t let it distract me, you know?”

Gigi hummed noncommittally, not wanting to force her to talk about whatever this was if she didn’t want to, but finding herself unwilling to acknowledge it as something stupid either. She offered Jackie what she hoped was a quick and comforting smile instead.

“I just…” She sighed, rubbing at her eyes with the heel of her palm. “I’ve been waiting to hear back from this prof about a recommendation letter for grad school? And she’d said yes before, but some more students asked her, and she has this thing about not writing more than five letters per year, I don’t know. So she said she’d get back to me today or tomorrow to confirm, and I’ve just been really stressed.”

“Oh no, I’m sorry. That sounds really stressful.” Gigi brought a hand to Jackie’s shoulders, squeezing the back of her neck lightly. She tried to avoid doing too much extensive thinking about what she might do after college, but she doubted it was a train of thought that’d ever made anyone feel good.

“It’s okay, I should be used to it.” Jackie shrugged with resignation. “It’s just that every time I remember I’m waiting to hear back from her it makes me think of next year, and what’ll happen if I don’t get in? Or if I do, because it’s like I really know that grad school is what I want to do, you know?” She ran a frustrated hand through her hair, and Gigi really wished they were close enough friends for her to offer Jackie a hug or something.

“Just call your prof back now. You should have said something earlier, and we could have rescheduled.”

“Oh,” Jackie breathed out, sounding inexplicably surprised as she turned towards her. “No, no, no, no, that’s not necessary. That wasn’t her. I’m sorry I’m a bit of a mess today, let’s just get back to this thing, yeah?”

Gigi nodded, reaching for the headphones and passing one on to her. In a lot of ways, this had grown to be her favorite part of their sessions. Not that she didn’t enjoy listening to Jackie talk about music, which she did; mostly because she was practically tone deaf and found it magical that Jackie was so good at it, or trading ideas back and forth on the pieces they listened to, both of which were rewarding in their own ways. But there was something about sitting next to each other, silent save for the shared music, that just got to her.

They were standing outside the coffeeshop, Jackie struggling to undo the lock on her bike, when Gigi thought back to their earlier conversation. “I know it’s not the same because I’m not graduating yet, but you know I’m here if you ever need to talk to someone, right? Like, no pressure or anything, but I just— just wanted to put it out there, I guess.”

Jackie stopped mid-motion and looked up at her, half of her U-lock in hand. “Thanks, Gigi.” She grinned, all bright and pearly and warm. “I think sometimes I just get too in my own head, you know? Especially about things I can’t do anything about. And yes, I know how stupid it is to stress out over these things so much, I really do.”

“I don’t think that’s stupid, though,” Gigi mentioned, as they started walking towards her bus stop. It was really nice of Jackie to walk there with her, rather than just take off on her bike straight away. It maybe made sense now that they knew each other well enough, but her heart still kind of fluttered whenever she offered it. “I mean, maybe it’s not productive because you’re worrying about things you can’t control, sure, but it also means you care, right? And I don’t think that’s something stupid, even if you wish you could just… not care less, but care better, you know. Still care, but in a way that’s better for yourself. To yourself.”

She thought of her parents, and of the guilt she used to feel every time she overheard someone asking them if they really thought it was wise to let her go to college for fashion, how she overworked herself to the point of passing out alone in the studio her freshman year in a misguided attempt to redeem herself from having failed a class. Like she thought she could atone for her perceived academic failures by working her body into the ground. She thought of the conversations that had started to happen in her periphery, whispers of ‘What are you thinking of doing after next year?’, ‘Have you also applied for the internship at this gallery?’, ‘Have you considered doing a minor in business?’, and how she sometimes struggled with not letting these thoughts invade her brain late at night.

“I just think it’s hard sometimes, but it’s even harder if we don’t let ourselves accept it. Or talk about it. So I guess all I’m saying is that if you need someone to listen, you know where to find me,” she finished with a deep breath.

When she looked up, there was a quiet smile on Jackie’s face, and Gigi felt warm at the thought of maybe having been the one to put it there. ***

geege you know i suddenly understand why you do the shoulder thing like i use to never really get it but that was before

janjanjan the shoulder thing??

geege wait more important how did ur audition go did they love you when are you gonna hear back

janjanjan it went pretty okay i think they’re def looking more for someone that does modern

geege so that’s good! very good!!!

janjanjan and one of the choreographers sort of smiled and nodded at me at the end i think he was on the dance team my first semester but that was before he graduated ig anyway idk maybe it was just in my head

geege no but that all sounds really good!!! look at u go diva!

janjanjan gigi just finished twenty minutes ago she was wearing this stupid ass shirt a really loose tank bc it’s been hot af and one of the straps kept falling of her shoulder

janjanjan oooooooooh oh no that shoulder thing

geege i saw collarbone and so much shoulder and upper arm

janjanjan how tragic tell me, did she lift it back up

geege yeah but it kept falling back down

janjanjan that’s rly good though!!!

geege no it was torture did you know she has a mole on her shoulder? right at the top and all i kept thinking of was that i wanted to kiss it

janjanjan cute also i don’t know how to tell you this but that shit doesn’t happen by itself

geege well it’s not like it was her fault

janjanjan listen a shirt can be a too big sure but you still kind of have to make it happen it doesn’t magically keep falling off

geege hm

janjanjan believe me i would know *** No matter how much she tried to forget about it, Gigi’s last session with Jackie was a thing that was very much happening right now.

It was strange, thinking back to the beginning of the semester, how she almost didn’t sign up for the class. How she maybe would have never met Jackie if she hadn’t, or maybe would have just pined from afar without ever learning her name were it not for her meddling friends. She found herself spending the last half of their session wondering more about how to casually ask Jackie if they’d still hang out once finals are over. Or if their semester-long friendship was, well, just that.

In the end, she just blurted it out as they packed up their things, subtlety thrown out the window.

“I mean, you’re friends with Rock, so I’m sure I’ll at least see you around, yeah?”

Jackie only hummed noncommittally in reply. She was busy packing her things back into her khaki tote bag, checking each pocket like she was looking for something. It reminded Gigi of what she used to do in middle school, every time she hadn’t done the homework or just really, really, really didn’t want to be the one called on to explain her work in front of the whole class. She’d just lean down, and start searching through her bag very obviously, making a show of opening every zipper, her head almost disappearing inside it if she could manage.

“Do you, like, need help finding something in there?” She asked, her voice coming out more harsh than she’d intended, just as Jackie seemed to decide she’d found what she was looking for and decisively slung her bag back over her shoulder.

“Sorry, I— it was—” she stopped and started, letting out a resigned sigh and shaking her head at herself. It made Gigi want to cringe. “Yeah, I’m good now, and yeah, I’ll still see you around. At least for the summer, but after that too I hope! I mean, I’ll still be around and you’ll be around too, so, y’know…” she trailed off. Her cheeks were tinged pink, just barely. Her ears, too, or maybe it was just the white of her sweater making everything appear brighter in contrast. “Besides, you still haven’t shown me any of your work, and you promised you would.” She was right about that, Gigi knew. She usually wasn’t shy about showing her designs to other people, but somehow she’d found himself unsure of what to show Jackie first.

She settled her bag on one shoulder, and they started making their way out in companionable silence until Jackie spoke again. “Hey, actually, do you maybe want to grab coffee before heading back? I have a bit of time before my next class and I could use a pick-me-up.”

They ended up just stopping by Starbucks, because it was on their way and surprisingly empty for a Thursday afternoon on campus. Gigi got a mocha frappuccino (almond milk, extra whip) and managed to sneak in Jackie’s usual cold brew order before she had the chance to protest.

“Gigi…” She sighed fondly, kind of like a grandma would when her grandchildren were doing something they’d regret. She was shaking her head in resignation, which Gigi took as a sign that she’d decided to leave it at that.

“No, I’ve been stealing almost three hours of your time every week since almost the start of the semester and—”

“How can that even be true when Rock only introduced us in what, February?” Jackie laughed in protest, reaching out to grab her drink from the brunette’s hand.

“No, not the point!” Gigi replied, moving her arm back until the cup was just out of Jackie’s reach. “You’ve given up a lot of your free time for me, is what I’m saying. And you didn’t even really know me, I could’ve been a total freak.”

Jackie opened her mouth and looked like she was about to say something, but Gigi continued before she had the chance.

“And you were so nice about it. Not ‘nice’ like when you have nothing actually all that good or specific to say. But nice in that you never made me feel like I was being stupid, you know? And you actually took the time to explain things to me so I’d understand them, not just the bare minimum so I could pass. You did all that when you didn’t really have to, so that meant a lot. Means a lot. I enjoyed spending that time with you, and not because it means I’m going to pass the class.”

Gigi forced herself to stop there, even though she knew for a fact that she could’ve easily kept going. She could feel her words coming out a little rambly, probably sounding more confusing than appreciative. At least she hoped that was what they sounded like, because the only other alternative was frightening. The idea that Jackie was in fact hearing everything Gigi was saying, her poor attempt at expressing the warmth she had felt growing inside her all semester long every time she was beside her, was infinitely more terrifying.

“Geege.” Jackie looked away, smiling after a moment, looking a little embarrassed. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Gigi could feel her cheeks getting hot, but when she looked up she could see that Jackie’s cheeks were tinged pink, too. It was almost funny, feeling what she felt and seeing the physical reflection of it not on herself, but on the person causing it. She wanted to reach out and let the tip of her fingers brush against Jackie’s cheeks, to see if they felt as warm as her own face did.

“You don’t have to say anything, I wasn’t trying to, like, I don’t know, get anything. I just wanted you to know what I meant, and that I really did mean it, when I was saying thank you.”

Gigi was laid bare, like her body was nothing but a lens, and behind it were all of her feelings jumbled together in a tangled mess, conclusion still very plain to the eye.

It was a surprise, when Jackie stepped forward and kissed her.

Gigi closed her eyes reflexively, but she could feel herself inhaling sharply, her body failing to catch up with what her brain was also struggling to process. When she eventually kissed back, it was only because she could feel Jackie’s body starting to move away, the fear finally pushing her into action. She brought one hand up, resting it on the side of the older woman’s neck, fingers gently brushing against her hair as she kissed back a little more confident. She could feel Jackie’s hand on her waist, warm and solid. Her grip tightened slightly as they separated, not strong enough to keep Gigi anywhere but a reassurance of where she was wanted.

Neither one of them really stepped back when the kiss ended, just stayed standing right in front of each other, breathing the same air. She heard Jackie swallow, loud in the silence of their shared space. She licked her lips, a reflex she didn’t even think about, and it was like the realization that, oh my god, they just kissed, hit her all over again when she found them wet. She suppressed a small shudder, although she wasn’t sure how successfully.

It was Jackie that finally broke the silence and stepped away from her, letting her hand fall away from Gigi’s side, brushing against her wrist and then gone before she had a chance to realize it.

“I,” Jackie breathed, “I’ve wanted to do this for a really long time, Gigi.” She laughed a little, maybe a bit self-conscious, and that was what brought the younger woman out of it.

“I spent hours talking to Jan about this gorgeous girl in my listening class,” she started, words leaving her mouth almost of their own volition. “How I didn’t even know her name but god, I really wish I did. Then I did know, even if I didn’t realize that you were, you know, you, when Rock said he knew someone who could tutor me. And then you were there and still the same person, but also so nice and understanding and just… good? Like, being around you just felt good.”

She paused, forcing herself to meet Jackie’s eyes again. “And I still mean everything I said earlier too, you know. Even if you weren’t interested in me, that’s not why I was saying it, but I still mean it just as much now.”

“Oh.” Jackie’s mouth was gaping so wide Gigi was worried it might actually fall to the floor. Maybe if Gigi were a different person, or if her brain wasn’t currently busy processing and reprocessing their kiss on an endless loop, she would have felt a little self-conscious at her outburst, but that just wasn’t who she was.

Especially not right now. Not when Jackie’s lips were right in front of her, still a little wet, still a little too red.

“That’s, that’s pretty good, then,” she finished quietly. They looked at each other in silence for a moment, only interrupted when Gigi let out a small snort.She couldn’t help but realise they were kind of ridiculous. Her face was taken over by an unashamedly stupidly large grin. Jackie properly stepped back then, far enough that Gigi could no longer feel the warmth of her body. She missed it immediately.

“I really need to get to my next class.” Jackie rolled her eyes. “So I can talk to the prof about her feedback on my draft first, but text me, yeah? I know it’s really shitty timing because we both have finals to take and papers to write, but I’ll make it work. Or I’ll call you, if that’s better? But I’m not running away, I promise.”

Gigi flashed her a bright smile and nodded in understanding. “I have your number too, y’know, so maybe I’ll just be the one to text you.”

“Okay, great, nice.” Jackie replied. She had her bag and coffee in hand, but made no clear motion to leave, kind of like she was worried if she did Gigi might disappear forever. It was so, incredibly, frustratingly cute and Gigi couldn’t help but wonder if Jackie would mind being kissed on the forehead.

“Jacks, it’s fine.” Gigi grinned. “I need to go too, anyway. Just maybe don’t drop your phone in any lake before you text me back this time, yeah?”

She turned away with a laugh of her own this time, and Gigi sipped through the plastic straw like it did anything to hide the smile on her face as she watched Jackie walk away.

“Wait!”

The Persian woman startled, turning back to her with an unsure smile. “What, did you forget something, Geege?”

“My first final is tomorrow,” Gigi said, looking up at Jackie with glinting eyes. “And it’s my first actual written exam this year, because I didn’t have any midterms, so how about another kiss for good luck, huh?”

Gigi’s cheeks ached from the force of her smile as she watched the uncertainty leave Jackie’s face, only to be replaced by a raised eyebrow and deep smile. Her shoulder’s rose slightly, like her instincts were telling her to hide her face in embarrassment at the cheesiness, but her eyes didn’t leave Gigi’s anyway. They didn’t leave Gigi’s, until they closed and their lips met again, and the younger woman thought it felt like more luck than she thought she had the right to ask for.

#rpdr fanfiction #gigi goode #jackie cox #rock m sakura #Jan Sport #Crystal Methyd #gigi goode/jackie cox #jan sport/rock m sakura #jiji #jock #lesson in love #mina #lesbian au #back to school 2020 #day 4: lesson #submission

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emo-does-things · 4 years

Text

Sleeping in Sunshine

So this is my Christmas gift to the ever fantastic @ace--writes and boy has it been an ordeal to write this. I started out thinking it would be 2000, maybe a bit more, words, and now here it is at... more than 10000, so... yeah, fair warning it’s long.

other things to note, this may be a fae au and set sometime in the past but i’m playing fast and lose with the rules of both of those... so...

and also, while I am not cis, i am not specifically a trans man so if anyone that is finds something insensitive or disrespectful please let me know and I will try and find a way to fix it! anygay~

Fandom: Thomas sanders

Relationships: Remile

Warnings: Emile’s parents are Not Great, an arranged marriage, cursing, trans male character, misgendering, anxious thoughts, please let me know if i missed something

Read it on AO3: here

Words: 12,061 it is longggg (for me)

The four times Remy asked for Emile’s name and the one time he gave it

Emily Picani was a smart girl. She knew how to read (after her parents had realised that she was basically blind and really did need glasses), and she knew a lot about people, and she knew not to go into the forest alone.

However, while Emily was generally a smart girl, she did not always make smart decisions.

She’d been told dozens of times by her parents, neighbours, and most especially her grandmother that she shouldn’t go into the forest. She knew they were afraid of it. She knew all of the stories- she’d read dozens of books telling sometimes delightful and sometimes gruesome tales, and she knew very well all the reasons why she shouldn’t.

That didn’t mean that she didn’t.

You see, the forest fascinated Emily, and so did the concept of The Others that lived there. Not that she would ever admit that anyone out loud.

Yes, her family’s little farm was all very interesting, but she didn’t much like the sorts of things her mother had her do or the sort that her father wouldn’t let her. So instead, she did exactly what she shouldn’t, and spent far too much time exploring the trees and hollows and hidden paths in the forest.

Oh, sure, she filled her pockets with iron filings and holly berries, to be safe, and copied the little rituals her grandmother practised for protection, but one is never truly safe with these kinds of creatures, only left alive for the moment.

But Emily had complete confidence in herself, in the way that only children could. She had explored the area of the forest nearest to her house inside and out over her childhood, and really, never found anything that mysterious, or dangerous, or in any way indicative of the strange creatures she’d been warned so much about, and secretly wanted to learn more of.

That was, until one day, when Emily suddenly wished she hadn’t been quite so bold.

She had been playing, enjoying a story of her own devising, where she was a great wizard with power over the elements. Her story called her to find sacred objects to return power to the land, (which in reality were different, particularly pretty looking rocks) and it also pulled her deeper into the forest than she had ever wandered before.

She was just mumbling to herself the dramatic, musical climax of her story, with various dums, dees and das, as she jumped around, when she noticed that something was wrong.

Suddenly, the area around her felt colder, despite the warmth of spring that had surrounded her just prior.

She froze in place, watching her breath puff out into the chilled air in front of her. She saw the briars, with thorns that looked as if they were coated in sharp, deadly metal, and the trees that seemed that much taller, now towering over her even more, and she heard the eerie silence that had overtaken the bird and bug song.

“This is fine,” she said, quietly but cheerfully to herself, forcing a smile onto her face, as she tried to decide what to do. Her hands found their way into her pockets, grasping at the iron filings

She heard a branch snap behind her, and she spun, a scream on her lips, not considering how much more sense it would make to remain quiet.

She expected to see a monster standing there- a beast with a large gaping maw, come to gobble her up, or one of the strange, ethereal moonlit beings of her fairy tales.

Instead, she saw a boy, about her age, although much stranger, grinning at her

“You know,” said the boy with a smile filled with too sharp teeth, “It’s kinda rude to lie in company that can’t.”

Emily felt her jaw drop and her body freeze up once more. This boy looked nothing like the tales she read. He had no skin woven of moonlight or eyes hewn of gems and blessed with stars. In fact, he looked rather like a normal person, but just slightly to the left enough to be unsettling. His limbs were just slightly too long, and his teeth just slightly too sharp, his ears were pointed, and twitching, and his curly red hair looked like it had strings of gold and amber woven through it. Had he not addressed her so, and had they met anywhere else, she may have thought him human.

“Staring is also considered rude in most places, but I’ll let you off with that one, considering I am particularly cute,” the boy spoke again.

Yes, his teeth definitely were far too sharp to be human.

“Um, Hello?” Emily said, finding the voice that had until then died in her throat, and trying her best approximation of a curtsey, the way she had seen her mother do it. (She only managed to trip over her feet and settled for a bow instead).

The boy’s smile, somehow, widened further, and he stuck out a hand for her to shake- his left hand, actually, which he didn’t seem to see a problem with. She shook it as quickly as she could, and then returned her own hands to her pockets, playing with the iron filings.

“May I have your name,” the boy asked, and he looked like he was trying to remember something he had to recite.

“You can call me Em,” she said after some deliberation.

He looked slightly disappointed, and Emily knew it was because she had seen around his trick, although, he brightened momentarily.

“Oh well,” he said with a grin and a shrug, “It was worth a shot. I didn’t really want to trick you anyway.”

Emily didn’t know how to respond to that, blinking owlishly at his sudden change of mood. This boy was very strange, she thought, and not at all easy to understand like most of the people she knew.

“What shall I call you?” she asked eventually, when she realised that he seemed to be waiting on her.

“Oh, huh, I hadn’t thought of that. You’re very clever,” he said looking truly taken aback. He paused a moment, sticking his tongue out through his teeth as he thought, “You can call me Sleep, I guess.”

“Sleep it is,” she murmured, wondering silently why he would choose something like that. She really shouldn’t wonder so much; she might start asking questions. And she figured, that by now that might not be a smart decision.

But then again, Emily Picani wasn’t known for smart decisions.

Although, it seemed she wasn’t the only one with questions.

“So, Em, what are you doing out here? The forest really isn’t safe for little girls, you know,” he said, fake-serious. He really should have been real-serious.

“What about little boys?” she shot back defiantly, delighted when this caused him to grin rather than glare.

“Well, little boys shouldn’t be out all alone either. Good thing we found each other, huh?” he said waltzing forward and grabbing onto her arm. He was surprisingly strong for someone who looked so gangly.

He was so strange.

“You’re not human, are you?” she found the question past her lips before she had even thought it over.

He laughed at her, bright and clear, “Oh you are clever. I like you. No, I’m not human, but why does that matter? I have a bright and charming personality regardless, which is what should matter.”

She was surprised that he would admit it so honestly, but then again, she had a feeling that perhaps Sleep wasn’t particularly normal by human standards, or his own people’s for that matter.

“I’m sure you light up some people’s world,” she said, the pun coming to her naturally, but surprising her with the ease that she spoke to him. The way that he laughed and smiled back only encouraged her.

“Oh, I do, I do like you little Em,” he crowed, “I think I should keep you around… It would be nice to have someone to play with.”

She frowned a little at that. She didn’t have any intention of becoming a plaything for the good neighbours. She had enough sense at least to try and avoid that at least.

“Well, I wouldn’t mind playing with you, Sleep, but you would have to let me go home, if you wanted me to come back and not simply pass out from exhaustion,” she said, trying to avoid any firm promises and also trying to sound smart, one thing she had learned from her grandmother, and one she was trying to convince herself of.

He looked for a moment like he was considering something very important.

“Well, I know that you come to the forest every day to play. If you agree to play with me whenever you come here, then I will let you go and do whatever it is you humans do for the rest of the time, no harm done.”

She looked him carefully up and down, trying to find any hint of malice in his face, or any twisted meaning to his words. Seeing none, she decided, as children very often do, to disregard most of her earlier concerns in favour of a new playmate.

“It’s a deal,” she said, grinning, forgetting one fundamental rule in that moment.

And she would not remember this mistake for some time, if at all, in favour of playing with Sleep.

Because, with him around, the woods, even the darker, sharper and more dangerous sections didn’t seem as scary. He had a way of putting the situation at ease. He lifted up the briars with a stick longer than he was tall, grinning and making a show of wounding himself, even as not one thorn scratched him.

He dragged Em the long way around a stream because he swore up and down there was ‘something in there out to get him’ that she ‘probably didn’t want to see if she didn’t want super super weird nightmares’.

Quickly, Em discovered he was quite the drama queen, and more than a bit of a scatterbrain, although that only made her laugh all the more when he fell out of a tree and complained that he ‘would never ever ever in all his life come back here,’ because he was ‘not going to put up with such dishonest and bullying behaviour’ from the tree.

At the same time that he was completely unlike any human she had ever met; he was also very much like every human child she knew. He was strange, but she couldn’t find it in herself to mind. Instead she was intrigued, filled with as many questions as she was ideas for games to play.

What felt like hours later, when the sun began to set, Sleep even helped Em to find her way home. It took a little convincing first, because he still wanted to play not even feeling a little tired, but at Emily’s insistence, he guided her through various paths from the darker, mysterious part of the forest, into the part where trees were just a little bit too big instead of dangerously so.

When they reached the edge, he stopped, not passing the line of trees.

“You’ll come back tomorrow?” he asked, eyes pleading.

She nodded, unable to stop herself from smiling.

“Then I’ll meet you here,” he said patting the tree he leaned against. “I’ll find you. I don’t want you to get lost in the woods and have one of my family find you instead. They care a lot more about those traditions and weird adult word games than I do, and I don’t want you to get hurt. So, it wouldn’t be a good idea for you to wander around on your own.”

Quietly, Emily thought that it hadn’t been a good idea for her to go out in the first place, or to meet Sleep again either, but she just nodded, and smiled, and ran towards her house ahead of her, in the setting sun, throwing a wave over her shoulder.

That night she was uncharacteristically quiet at the dinner table, not recounting the many adventures of her day and instead focusing on her meal far too intensely. Her parents barely noticed, too busy corralling her five other siblings. And she herself was too absorbed in thought to see the look her grandmother gave her over the tops of her glasses.

That night when all was quiet save for the shuffling of her sisters in the beds near hers, she thought she heard a whisper, from somewhere far away brushing against her ear.

“Sweet dreams,” it said, “Sleep well.”

Emily Picani was a smart girl. She learned how to knit and sew far faster than her sisters, she could easily tell a liar from someone telling the truth and she knew that fae were dangerous.

Emily was not, however, known for putting her wisdom into practice.

If you visited the fae once or twice and still remained completely aware and not charmed or, more likely, dead, then perhaps you could be excused. But Emily didn’t just visit once or twice.

She found herself in the forest almost every day for three years.

She would finish her chores and her mother’s lessons as quickly as she could, (which was much faster than you would think, because Emily was a smart girl) and then she would run off to the woods before her parents could find something else for her to do.

They barely noticed she was missing, really- or rather, they noticed she wasn’t around but were grateful for the reprieve from her loud and boisterous manner and incessant questions and weren’t particularly worried that she would get hurt.

So, she was free to disappear and play with a friend that no one, especially not her grandmother would approve of.

This day was no different from any other. She had finished mending the boy’s clothes and cleaning the house and setting out things for dinner, before she bolted from the house, ignoring any calls her grandmother threw after her.

She got to their tree, as usual, earlier than Sleep, and rummaged around inside the hollow that had become her hidey hole for anything important. And, most important and relevant in that moment was the pair of pants she kept there.

Her mother and sisters liked to insist that ‘she was a young lady that should dress like one’ and while she rather liked the pretty colours and stitching that complicated ladies skirts sometimes had, she did not like the fact they were… well… skirts, so she had stolen a pair of her brothers too small-pants, and had made much better use of them than he did, if she did say so herself.

She changed, and then slumped down by the tree, staring up at the pretty jade green leaves and daydreaming about nothing in particular, when she heard a thud and saw Sleep land, and stumble a little, in front of her, after jumping from one of the branches above.

Immediately she jumped to her feet, giving him a large hug.

“It took you long enough!” she exclaimed, grinning.

“Hello to you too, sunshine,” Sleep said with a laugh, “I’m sorry I was late, there were some… issues.”

His smile was too sharp and brittle to be real.

She looked at him, concerned, and frowned.

“With your family or The Others?” she asked, poking and prodding him, trying to check for injuries.

“It was fi-“ he cut off and frowned.

“Ok, maybe not but like, you totally shouldn’t worry about it,” He amended.

“Well, it’s clearly not fine if you can’t say it.”

“It is no longer a problem.”

She chewed her lip worriedly. It was always concerning to hear about drama with the good neighbours. Of course, she knew that it was perfectly normal with them, but she didn’t want Sleep to be hurt.

“Well, let it be known that I am concerned, especially because you can’t even say that it’s ok out loud, mister”

“You’re like, overreacting and stuff,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“Well, don’t go getting into trouble again, then.”

He smiled a little, “I don’t think either of us could stop me if we tried, Em.”

“You know- you know what that’s probably fair.”

“Yes, exactly. Now!” he said, suddenly clapping his hands together, “I have an idea.”

“And what would that be, Sleep?”

“Well, it’s like, our third anniversary of meeting each other, did you know that?” he said grinning, “And I heard that you humans get gifts for each other on anniversaries or whatever, so I thought hey, maybe we could do that.”

“Well first off, that’s for people that are romantically involved, which we aren’t so jot that down, and second off, even if we did get gifts, that’s today and I don’t have anything for you,” Em said, frowning.

“You could always give me your name,” Sleep said, mischievously.

“I- oh so that’s what this was about you cheeky little- urgh! No, I’m not giving you my name!”

“But Emmmmmmm,” he said with fake puppy dog eyes that immediately told Emily he was kidding and found the whole situation hilarious, “Aren’t we friends?”

Her grandmothers warning danced through her head, as they did every time Sleep pulled one of his silly tricks, but she found herself listening to every one of them less and less. Especially, ‘You cannot be friends with the fae’.

“Of course we’re friends, silly, but I’m not going to give you my name any more than you would give me yours.”

“What if I did give you mine,” Sleep said, grinning wildly.

“Then I would probably have to eat my rock collection… Well, maybe not quite so extreme, rose quartz would not be a fun thing to try and eat, if you’re me- because yes Sleep I am aware that you eat various dumb things that I defiantly couldn’t”

“Oh, all right then. But, like, for real though I did have an idea for something that we could do, because, like, three years is a long time for you humans, isn’t it?”

“Well, I guess, but how long something is really is relitv-“

“Fantastic, that’s perf,” he says, grabbing Emily hand and pulling her through the woods.

“What exactly are you thinking?” Emily gasped between panting breaths and laughter.

“That we should totally,” Sleep said, picking her up to jump over a new fallen tree in one of the many familiar paths of the forest, “Build a tree house.”

He set her down not a moment later, in front of a huge, solid old oak tree, that would take several people with arms stretched right out to wrap their arms all the way around it.

It was not unique in a forest as old and full of magic as this one, but it was still pretty damn cool to look at.

Emily stared at it, stunned for a moment, then turned to Sleep.

“Is this in a part of the forest where you can like, change things easily?” she asked, “Because I don’t think I could manage to take very much from my parents, and I’d feel bad if I did, so I can’t really help much that way.”

“Nah, you’re fine Sunshine,” Sleep said, already climbing up the tree, and onto one of the huge branches, and beckoning Emily to follow, “You’re on ideas duty, considering you have all those fancy stories in your head.”

Emily clamoured up into the tree after him, already thinking a mile a minute. They sat together in the tree for ages, making countless plans and moving about, figuring out which branches would be good for what things.

When Emily went home that night, she was still buzzing with excitement, as sleep promised that for the next day he would have (somehow) found everything they could possibly need to make their tree fort.

And, as she had become used to over the past three years, that voice whispered into her ear, “Sweet dreams, Sunshine, and good night.”

And indeed, he did have the materials (mostly magical ones) the next day, and over the next several years, the treehouse became a safe haven for both of them. It was one of the only places deeper in the forest that Emily could get to reliably, with some exceptions, because they’d trodden the path solidly into the forest’s memory.

They upgraded it and added to it as their interests changed. They added back entrances, rope sings, blankets and cushions stolen from both homes and usually worn half to death. Sleep added glowing lights and pressed magical carvings into the wood getting more interesting and complex and strong as he learned about his magic (he was, after all, a child just like Em, even if a different kind). And Emily painted stories from her books of tales, (all now stacked in their hideaway, out there instead of in her room) and her grand imagination all across the walls, and they both often found they were more at home there than with their families.

It was a space that was truly theirs.

Emily might not have given Sleep her name, but some would say she’d shared something even more precious.

Em Picani was smart- able to read, write, tell stories and charm people within moments of meeting them, but also intimidate them with that intelligence.

Because being smart wasn’t something girls were really supposed to be.

Em was a lot of things girls weren’t supposed to be. She was outspoken, loud, brave, and loved the outdoors. She was secretive, charming- but not in a sweet or demur way- a little cunning and bold. She hated dresses, but loved bright colours, and would rather wear pants than skirts, she wanted to be able to write and create and be smart without being written off.

Em was a lot of things girls weren’t supposed to be, and especially smart… Smart enough to realise that he wasn’t a girl. Emily Picani was intelligent and sharp and witty and… Not Emily Picani, he decided, but Emile.

He knew, that even if tomorrow the world was turned on its head, and everything that he was girls were allowed to be, he still wouldn’t be one. He was a boy, and he’d finally come to terms with it.

Emile was a lot of things that boys were supposed to be, except for recognised as one.

Because, yes, Emile was a smart boy, but he lived in a world where no one else thought that.

Well, he hoped that after today, there would at least be one somebody.

Yeah, sure Emile knew he shouldn’t be going into the forest, his grandmother had drilled that into him since before he could walk. And sure, he knew better than to tell the fae secrets, at least in theory, but it had been years since he had kept anything from Sleep. He was his best friend, after all and he was often (if not always) more comfortable around him than the extended Picani family.

Sleep knew him better than he knew himself a lot of the time- and whether that was because he was fae or simply because they were friends, he would never be able to tell. But he trusted him. He trusted him to understand him when no one else would.

They’d done so much for each other. Emile had all but given up lying because it made Sleep uncomfortable, and he’d long since stopped carrying iron filings in his pockets. The only fae repellent weapons he kept were stored safely in a place that would not damage Sleep, but Emile could access if there was a squabble with another fae. Which had never happened yet, with Sleeps dutiful protection.

And Sleep, well Sleep had welcomed Emile with every single one of his quirks, his intelligence and interests. He’d found or made trousers and shirts that more suited Emile’s clothing sense, and made the tree house a safe haven for both of them. Even though he surely could have killed Emile in an instant if he tried, now, or tricked him into some other bond, he’d never tried.

Sleep wasn’t a child anymore, and neither was Emile, and yet against all odds their friendship persisted, even as Sleep’s power and Other nature grew, and Emile’s responsibilities pulled him away from the forest more and more often.

So yeah, Emile had little doubt that Sleep would accept him for what he had learned of himself, but that did not mean he wasn’t still hesitant to tell him.

The day he decided to commit to it, was a day just like any other for them- they met much later in the afternoon now, because Emile had to do the work of a proper ‘lady’ in the house, not just a child, which meant it was often not until into the afternoon that he could sneak away.

And it was indeed late afternoon that found him waiting as usual under their tree- not the house, but the one at the edge of the forest, where he’d wait sometimes if he didn’t trust the path.

“Hey babes, what’s up?” is the first thing he’s greeted to by Sleep, who appears as usual from nowhere. It was much harder to spot him in the late afternoons of autumn, with so much of him blending in. (Some of it was natural- his hair changing like the colours of the autumn leaves, shining and mesmerising, and some of it was the magic he pulled around himself to disappear and torment Emile).

Emile managed a slight grin, pushing himself from the tree and wiping his damp palms on the skirt he had no choice but to wear when coming from home.

He opened his mouth, ready to greet him, ready to tell him, ready even to say that he had something to tell him, but he found all the words died in his throat.

“I dunno. Just thinking about some stuff, I guess,” he said, and the lie felt like acid on his tongue. One would think he’d been cursed to tell the truth, rather than it being self-imposed.

“Uh-uh gurl that is an absolute indicator that we need to sit down and talk about stuff, don’t you try and pull that shit with me. If I say shit like that you jump straight to trying to solve my problems so now I’m gonna have to return the favour,” Sleep said, and linked their arms together, he didn’t seem to notice Emile’s flinch at the address.

He pulled Emile along the path, well warn between the tree line and their house. Em’s caution on that day was in fact proven justified, when they found part of it blocked off with the thorn bushes that looked made of metal and were still intimidating to this day. To Sleep, of course, they were nothing, banished with barely a wave of a hand, but Emile would have had far more trouble. And staying in one place that was not the tree house was decidedly dangerous in a forest like this.

There were no other issues however, and Emile found himself quickly ushered up the ladder of the tree house and pushed unceremoniously straight down onto one of the many pillows they had borrowed or otherwise relocated.

“So, babes, spill,” Sleep said, arms crossed.

“It’s not that much, really,” Emile found himself saying before he could help it. Lying really was second nature to humans, even the ones who schooled themselves so hard to be honest, it seemed.

Sleep scowled, clearly seeing the blatant lie. (Just because Emile could lie didn’t mean he was particularly good at it, you know).

Emile looked down at his skirts and then looked up at Sleep again.

“Do you know what? I’ll tell you, but you need to let me change first. I can’t stand to be in this a moment longer, and it is rather relevant,” he bargained, standing and moving towards one of the other small rooms they had created.

“Fine, but don’t think you can avoid this forever, sunshine!” Sleep sighed, slumping back against pillow and wall, absolutely undignified.

It always made Emile laugh a little when he did something like that. To the best of is knowledge, Sleep actually held some kind of importance in his court, and often had moments of that ethereal grace so often accredited to the fae, and yet there were plenty of other moments where he was simply all gangly limbs and ‘please believe I’m badass’ attitude.

He returned five minutes later, pants replacing skirt and hair tied back in a much more comfortable and personally acceptable manner.

“All right,” he said, sitting back down.

“Ok, gurl, what the Ef is up?” Sleep asked, staring him down.

Emile flinched again, just a little.

“Ok, yeah, uh here’s the thing. I’m not. ‘Gurl’ that is. I don’t consider myself to be a girl. I’m a boy,” he said, repeating himself, but not stumbling over the words.

Sleep looked at him blankly for a moment.

“So this is you like, asking me to use He and Him and seeing you as a boy, I’m guessing?” he asked and frowned at Emile’s hesitant nod, “Wait a minute, is this another one of those bullshit human things, do you guys not think people can be different genders? You seem like, far too nervous about this if that wasn’t the case.”

Emile felt something in him truly lighten in that moment. He hadn’t thought Sleep would completely reject him, but he hadn’t expected him to think it was so, well… normal.

“Yes, I would very much like you to do that… And, uh, no, not really…”

Sleep blinked at him owlishly for a moment, “Well, that’s stupid. But if humans don’t do that, then what made you realise if you don’t mind my asking?”

Emile shrugged a little sheepishly, “Well, I’d always felt something was a little bit off, you know. And, uh, it wasn’t all me really. Last week, when my family went into the village for the autumn celebration there was like, travelling performers there. And one of them- a sword swallower, he was a guy like me, and I had spoken to him briefly, obviously curious about his life, but then my parents pulled me away.”

He sighed a little, “They think that people like him- like me are sick, that they’ve been cursed or cursed themselves I guess.”

“Well, you know, this is just adding another tally to my ‘list of reasons why humans are dumb’ you know. If you say you’re a boy then you’re a boy, it’s not that difficult really. Like sure you guys can lie and stuff and that’s cool, but that’s just a total dick move. And we’re the ones with a reputation for being sadistic, honestly!” Sleep said dramatically, draping himself more horizontally across the pillows.

Emile laughed. It was just for a moment, but in that second he swore his heart would burst with love for his dramatic friend, he was so strange and funny, and the fact that he could say that with such confidence when he could not speak a lie, truly warmed Emile’s heart and calmed his fears. Emile loved Sleep and his ridiculous personality and ridiculously handsome face. Well. Ok, maybe that was a thought to categorise for later and Not Think About.

“So,” said Sleep, righting himself, “Babes, have you picked out a new name for yourself, I’m sure it’s super cool just like you.”

His grin was pointy and feral, and Emile laughed, shaking his head, so very used to his antics by now.

“C’mon Sunshine, you should totally tell me your name!” he was laughing now, clearly not even trying to be taken seriously.

“Real nice attempt there, buddy, perfect form, but no, not this time.”

Sleep made a show of being wounded, but eventually returned to a normal sitting position for him (which was to say, he splayed himself across the floor like some sort of cat stretching).

Emile laughed at him but ignored his antics in favour of picking up one of his books. It was a gift he had received recently, and he was yet to finish it.

“You know,” Sleep said, after a while of them sitting in companionable silence, “This probably means that even if you had told me your name before, it wouldn’t count anymore. And anyone that still knows you by that name has even less power over you than before.”

Emile looked up at him and smiled.

“That’s surprisingly good to hear… Thanks.”

There was another long silence.

“Do you like having long hair?” Sleep asked suddenly.

“What?” Emile looked up, confused this time.

“I said do you like having long hair, keep up Sunshine.”

“Well, I mean, no not really. I’d much rather have it shorter, but I’d be worried I’d make myself look ridiculous, and my parents would kill me.”

“Well, I can make it look good,” he said waving his fingers about in a gesture that Emile could only interpret as ‘look at me I’m special I have magic’, “And quite honestly your parents can suck it.”

Emile had laughed at first, but with even the barest hint of an agreement from his lips Sleep pulled him about and got straight to work. His first action was to chop clear off the braid Emile had been wearing, and hand it to him triumphantly, smiling at the rope of golden hair. Then, he had gotten to work, doing stars knew what, removing large chunks and small strands, fluffing, smoothing and running his too long and bony fingers all through it. When he pulled back and announced himself done, Emile was suspicious of the results, but upon seeing himself in the mirrored glass he was presented he couldn’t help but gasp. He hardly recognised himself- definitely in a good way. He looked, almost, like his older brother, with the curly blond hair now cut short, curling around his ears and just bushing his eyebrows when not pushed back.

He leapt from his chair at a moment’s notice, squeezing Sleep into a tight hug.

“I love it,” he said, slightly tearfully, “Thank you.”

“Then, I give you this gift,” Sleep said, resting his hands on Emile’s head, “No strings attached, no payment needed, that for as long as you wish it, your hair shall not grow any longer than this.”

That was another thing he knew he wasn’t supposed to do with the fae- thank them or accept gifts. But it was Sleep, and he’d honestly just done one of the most amazing things he’d witnessed in all his life, so it really would have been remiss of him not to thank him.

After a few more moments of Emile’s tearful hug, they honestly spent the rest of the afternoon as they always did, sitting around, talking and sometimes doing their own thing in silence with each other. And that night, even as dusk began to fall, Emile was unwilling to leave. He didn’t want to go home and have to pretend to be someone else again. He knew he had to eventually, but for now he wanted to hold on to that sense of peace one moment longer.

And so, without even realising it, he drifted off to sleep on the floor and cushions of a tree house that had always felt that much more like a home than where his family lived. Distantly, he knew his parents, and especially his grandmother would be furious, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

That night, for the first time, he knew he could truly hear the voice when it whispered in his ear, “Good night, Sunshine. Sleep well,” while the body it belonged to carefully covered him in a blanket.

Emile Picani was a smart boy. All the people from the village asked him for advice on their problems, even though he was just eighteen, he could tell stories that enchanted the young and old alike and that was barely scratching the surface of the many, many things he could do.

Most people thought he was fantastic, if exceedingly odd. Of course, most people also thought that Emile was a girl, and spent his afternoons painting in the fields or reflecting in nature, which did detract from their opinions just a little.

And Emile was happy with that, mostly. He was happy to exist as he was, as long as he had the opportunity to escape, as he did as often as he could with Sleep.

Sleep, his best friend since childhood who he knew as well as he knew himself. Sleep, the boy he had watched grow from baby face to… strikingly handsome, and borderline beautiful. Sleep, the fae who strayed closest to the forest’s edge, and who knew enough about what he was to do it properly now, and still never used his magic against Emile. Sleep, who had done every single thing inside his power, which only extended so far out of the forest, to make Emile more like the man he was- who cut his hair, and found him clothes, and charmed his voice, and loved and accepted him as he was.

Sleep, who Emile had realised- or rather, admitted to himself- four months ago that he was in love with.

It was still strange to think about, that he’d finally owned up to it. (he hadn’t said anything to Sleep though, of course not, what do you think he was, an idiot?). It had taken years, and multiple thoughts that he had decided to ‘think about later’ and then never got around to.

But he was. He was hopelessly in love with his best friend, who also happened to be a fae of importance in his court.

He was in love with his beautiful face, freckled and sharp, his curly, autumn toned hair that shone in the sun, his perfect brow and his long, admittedly slightly gangly limbs. But he was also in love with the way he made him laugh, the way he didn’t always understand human things, but made an effort if Emile cared, the way he felt when he hugged him, and the sweetness he would speak to him with.

Emile could probably name any trait of Sleep’s and declare himself in love with it, because he was. And trust him, he knew this wasn’t a trick or curse. As soon as he was willing to admit it to himself, he tried every magical method he knew to detect or lift a curse, to learn about meddling magics and everything he could possibly try. And none of it helped, and he was forced to admit that it was all him, and his… feelings.

Usually Emile was good with feelings, though, apparently that didn’t apply to his own.

And after his brief tirade of trying everything under the sun to rid himself of a curse, he started returning to the forest again, and for every time he refused to answer Sleep on his absence, his heart grew a little heavier.

But he adapted, and accepted it, and internalised it, because there was no way someone like Sleep would be interested in me. I’m mortal. My friendship is one thing, but that was quite another. So, they went on as normal, and if Emile noticed the Sleep noticed that something was wrong, neither would admit it.

Emile wouldn’t dare to disrupt something that was already working so well. Why do that for some simple feelings when the friendship they already had was so important.

So, it was normal. For a while at least. And then Emile’s parents had to go and destroy all of it.

He’d been told on a perfectly normal winters morning. He’d just finished cleaning up the hearth from the night before and getting ready to light a new fire for the rest of the day, when his mother and sisters had pulled him away. They’d refused to tell him what for, wittering away between each other as they pulled him and sat him down at the kitchen table.

His grandmother sat behind them, frowning at their antics, and throwing worried glances his way. He wasn’t sure how to interpret that, his grandmother had never seemed to like him, until recently.

Eventually, his mother stopped dancing about, and grinned widely.

“Darling, darling we have such wonderful news for you!” she announced, practically dancing in place. “We’ve found you a husband.”

Emile felt cold. This was terrible. He had tried so, so hard to avoid this. He had walked out on more than one conversation about it and had done everything in his power to ensure that none of the men in the village would be interested.

He didn’t want a husband, not just because he was in love with Sleep, but because he knew that they would want him to move away, to live in the village or some other farm, and leave his forest, and Sleep and everything that really mattered, and the only person that understood and accepted him as a man.

“Oh, look! She’s in shock, it’s so sweet!” twittered his youngest sister, Mary, who despite being only twelve had wanted a husband and her own family since forever. “Oh, I’m jealous, you’re so lucky Em, I thought we’d never do it!”

“Yes, it really is quite a miracle, it’s almost as if she’d been trying to avoid it,” Annie, his other sister said, with as much dry bite as she could manage, looking down her nose at him.

He squirmed in his seat.

“Now, girls,” his mother said, hushing them, “Emily may have made it a little difficult, with the short hair, and the pants, and the disappearing and the… general lack of approachability to suiters and…”

Emile knew that she was trying to find a way to say “and everything else” without sounding rude. And honestly, he was proud of that. Half of that was just who he was, but the other half had been a deliberate attempt to ward off such suitors. And it had apparently worked until now.

“Yes, that is rather a lot of difficult things to contend with, isn’t it,” said Annie, primly.

“Oh, but it’s soooo romantic that he decided he wants to marry her regardless, don’t you think Anne? I’m sure she’ll just love him- He’s so handsome! And I think that he like, thinks he’s rescuing her,” Mary said dreamily.

From behind them, in the doorway, Emile’s grandmother spoke up.

“Do you girls plan on hearing what Em has to say on the matter, or are you content to continue gossipin’ about the engagement like village hens?”

Emile was surprised, he’d never heard his grandmother speak in his defence in that way before.

They all looked in shock at their grandmother, before turning back to Emile, now waiting for him to say something.

“I think,” he said, hating how his voice shook, “I think I shall have to spend some time contemplating this. In nature.”

Then he stood from the table roughly and hurried out the door, ignoring the many calls after him and the clattering of his chair.

He hurried past the tree line, into the forest, and down the path. He had no idea if it was safe that day, and he didn’t care. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, all he knew was that he needed to be not here and rather there. There, at the treehouse, there with Sleep, there away from that nightmare.

He stumbled along the path, basically running blind, and up, into the treehouse. The first thing he did was change out of his dress, the second was collapse in a heap on the cushions.

Not too long after, he felt a hand on his arm, and without thinking threw himself towards it. He could tell in a moment that it was Sleep, from just the touch, but even more so for burying his face in his shirt. He smelled of crisp autumn leaves even in the winter, and soft, earthy scents like mushrooms.

Emile barely managed to get his story out, between gasps for breath and his body shaking.

He was sure that Sleep could tell, just by listening to his thoughts. The thoughts screaming, I don’t want this. I want anything but this.

Sleep gently stroked his hair and listened to him speak. When he was done, he pulled him tighter against him, and calmed him gently.

“Babes, what do you want me to do?” he asked, seriously, his jet dark eyes glinting.

“There’s nothing you can do… I can’t… there’s nothing I can think of that will fix this- I can’t, my family will disown me if I don’t…” he sighed.

“You could stay with me, Sunshine?

“Don’t be silly, Sleep. They’d come looking and take me away. And then they’d be after you too”

“No, babes, I meant it. You could stay here with me. You promised me, back when we were kids, that your time here in the forest would be spent with me. If you stay in this forest, they can’t take you away from me, if you don’t want to go. Promises with the fae are binding, you know that,” he said, seriousness coating his features in an unfamiliar pattern.

“Oh,” said Emile, for a moment, hope blossoming in his chest, only to be crushed by reality. “Oh, I wish I could Sleep, but… I don’t belong here. I can come, and visit you- you’re not the problem, but I’m… I’m just a human. I couldn’t truly live out here…”

It hurt. There wasn’t much flowery language that could dance about that, he was, simply put, sad.

Sleep frowned.

“I’m sure I could find a way to work around that- I have magic, I have people who know magic. I could, I could find something. I could do something, anything. I would- I’d do anything to keep you here with me Em- Hell, if only you’d tell me your name I could end all this right now and-” he said frantically, hands dancing around, and voice clipped.

In that moment, Emile could really see the fae shining through- he wouldn’t lie and say it wasn’t a little scary. He’d never really believed Sleep when he’d asked him for his name before, never thought that there would be a moment when he would actually fear the question, and it scared him. But after a second, he calmed, he breathed deeply like Emile had taught him for dealing with bad emotions and steadied himself.

“If it is what you want, Em, I will find a way to stop this. Be it keeping you here, or some other way of removing him I will do it- but only if that’s what you want. I will look into any option- What’s the point of being a prince if I can’t, find a solution to this- but I won’t use any of these options without you asking first. I swear it to you,” he declared, and the rush of magic this time was palpable.

Oh. Oh, he thought. Sleep is a prince, he thinks first, stunned. His second thought could not be distilled down into so simple a sentence. It was more a vague amalgamation of emotions- gratitude at the offer, regret at having thought he would ever hurt him really, doubt in his ability to do anything, and mostly pure, shining love.

“Thank you,” he whispers softly, “I- I don’t think that I can choose that but thank you…”

There’s a long moment of silence, and he realises in that moment that he can’t leave with these things left unsaid.

“I- Sleep, you’re my best friend in the world and it would hurt so much to be apart from you but… I couldn’t stand to be with you all the time either, because- because-” he felt like he was choking on the words, like his throat was filled with precious stones that didn’t want to come forward, until they all spilled out in one moment, “Because I’m in love with you and I couldn’t stand to have you so close, all the time, and not, not have that, but I know I can’t, because you’re- you’re you- you’re fae, and a prince apparently to boot and I’m just the mortal boy who fell into every stereotypical trap. So, thank you for the offer, but I can’t.”

And then he turned and fled for the second time that day before he could even look at Sleep’s face. He cried, alone, in his room that night, when even his sisters were avoiding him.

When he fell asleep, he didn’t expect to even hear the voice that whispered in his ear, but he did. And it said, “Sleep well,” but it felt like it was calling him home. It felt like, “I miss you,” and “I’ll protect you.” it felt like his heartbreaking, and he couldn’t do anything to fix it.

+ 1

The day that Emile met his fiancé was not a good one.

It was freezing cold, but his mother hand forced him into the fanciest dress he owned, which was far thinner than was appropriate for this kind of weather, and they expected him to walk into the village with them.

The walk felt longer than usual. He tried to focus on something other than the cold air stinging his lungs or nipping his skin. So, instead, he thought. He thought about his fiancé, his fate, and future. And the niggling reminder of Sleep’s promise. Well, he tried not to think about that one, honestly. But out of all his concerns, that was the only one that didn’t leave him feeling as cold as the winter he walked in.

He still knew nothing about his fiancé, not even his name. There were a dozen eligible young men in the village it could be, and Emile would be happy with… none of them. Not a single one.

Once, he thought he could have accustomed himself to the idea. And then he realised two integral things to his whole… being, and suddenly he didn’t think he could.

These thoughts were such a dark, spiralling hole he barely noticed when they finally arrived in the village, and his mother and sisters pulled insistently at his arms to guide him.

There was only one other family at the village square, that morning, everyone else inside like smart people, and in seeing them- Well, if Emile had been cold before he was practically frozen now.

With no one else in sight, there were no other options, and the panic bubbled lowly in Emile’s stomach.

Fredrick Jackson, and his father, grandfather, mother and sisters, stood by the frozen village fountain. Fredrick, whose family were known for being hunters and trappers and their cold, cruel nature. Which was all well and, well, bad on its own, but the Jackson’s were also known for something else, something that Emile thought was easily worse, to him at least. They didn’t just hunt animals; they hunted the supernatural- and especially the fae.

Emile stopped dead in his tracks. The glare his sister threw him was withering, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

His mother grabbed his arm roughly and pulled him forward, pasting on a brittle smile between the jab to his ribs. He tried his best to school his features into…impassivity… he couldn’t manage sweet or happy and he knew it.

“Ah, and there she is!” Fredrick exclaimed loudly, “The not-witch.”

Emile flinched at the name. He knew he’d been called it in the village for years, but not many were game enough to say it to his face. They didn’t want to risk his anger if he were a witch and didn’t want to feel the guilt if he wasn’t.

“Jackson,” he said, schooling his voice to neutrality.

“Oh, yes, yes, you were right Maria, you cheeky little minx. I can practically see the magic on her, oh she will be a challenge.”

Oh, Emile could hardly stop himself from bristling.

Fredrick’s mother, Lucinda, ran her eyes over him savagely, and then sighed pointedly.

“Yes- you can see it in basically everything- the hair, the voice- just,” she paused gesturing her up and down, “All over. Either she is a witch or has consistent contact with something else of strong magic.”

She said that as though it made a bad smell appear under her nose. Emile barely contained the urge to bolt.

“Yes, mother and that is what will make her a challenge. I’m sure you’ll make a proper Jackson spouse of her eventually,”

“I happen to be a person, not a challenge, Fredrick, and would appreciate if you would treat me as such,” Emile said, voice firm despite his mother’s glare.

Fredrick waved his hand dismissively.

“What are her hobbies, again, Mrs Picani? How does she spend her free time?” his sister, Maria, asked.

“Well, she’s quite good at painting and writing, and telling stories... and likes walks in nature and the like. She’s also quite skilled at embroidery.”

“I happen to be able to talk for myself!”

His mother jabbed him in the ribs again.

“Hmm. Well, we will have to teach her a few things- respect, namely it seems. And dispel that awful charm on her hair, but this could work,” Mr Jackson said.

“Oh fantastic,” his mother said, ignoring the slight in the words, “It would be an honour to join our families Mr Jackson. My husband would be happy to discuss negotiations with you, while I discuss wedding plans with Lucinda.”

Emile squirmed. He just wanted to be at home, with a book, or with Sleep or really, anywhere but here.

Mr Jackson nodded curtly.

“Wonderful. Girls, why don’t you return home and give your grandmother of the good news.”

Emile immediately turned to flee.

“No, not you Emily, you should stay and get to know your future husband,” She said tightly.

“Oh, it’s no matter. We’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other after the wedding,” Fredrick said with what he probably assumed to be a winning smile.

Emile shuddered internally.

“Indeed. In that case,” she said making a face but waving Emile off.

He turned on heel immediately. He walked as fast as he could without looking like he was running. There was something welling up inside him. He couldn’t tell if it was panic, disgust or something else entirely.

His sisters trailed behind him, gossiping between themselves and giggling into their gloves. It didn’t take long to completely lose sight of them.

When he made it home, he collapsed at the dining table, not even with enough energy to make it to his room.

“Is he as bad as his father?” a voice asked from the doorway. Emile looked up, startled by his grandmother’s presence.

“what?”

“I said, is he as bad as his father. Fredrick, I mean.”

“Oh… well, that depends on what you think is bad.”

“Abhorrent personality, stuck up, hates anythin’ magical unless it’s one of their own weapons,” his grandmother suggested.

“I mean, yeah, he’s all of that- wait, don’t you hate magic grandmother?” he asked, confused.

She stared at him for a long moment, her wrinkled face set in a mask. And then it broke, as she laughed.

“Hey- what are you- what’s so funny about that?” he exclaimed.

“Oh, oh you think that I hate magic, little one? That does explain some things, indeed. No, of course I don’t hate magic, how could I? I’m a witch.”

Emile stared at her.

“But- you- but when we were younger, you told all those stories and- and…” he trailed off, more confused than before.

“I told you stories so you could protect yourself from the good neighbours, and other people usin’ magic against ya, kid. Not that you listened to a single one, mind.” She said, pinning him with a knowing stare.

He squirmed.

“Why do you think I taught you all those ways to test for magic- they’re magic in and of themselves, boy. Anyone can carry iron and holly berries on them, but it takes magic and will to do the rest.”

Emile’s head spun. And then, he paused, and something stuck out to him.

“Wait, what- what did you just call me?” he asked, almost afraid of the answer, but hoping so, so hard.

“Well, I called ya boy, and I ain’t calling you man, because you’re still far too young for that, kid, but it’s what ya are aren’t ya- don’t think I can’t tell these kinds of things. I thought we just established that I use magic. An’ speaking of, I think it’s about time I knew what name to actually call you, kid.”

“How did you know? When? I never said anything and- why did you never say anything… I thought that no one would understand… I… I’m Emile…” he said, surprised, sadness and hope warring for equal place in his tone.

“I knew before you were born. When you mama was pregnant with you, I tested, just as I did for all your brothers and sisters, and the magic told me you’d be a boy. Your parents thought I was looney when you were born, but I haven’t been wrong before or since, I knew it was just a matter of time…”

“Then why didn’t you say something, if you knew, why didn’t you… help me?”

She looked at him, and laughed, “You wouldn’ta accepted my help if I’d offered boy, don’t think I don’t know that. You were scared of me for years, and weary and distasteful after tha’. I knew my place. An’ besides, that boy of yours in the forest seemed to do a damn good job of it anyway.”

“He’s not my boy- wait, you know about Sleep? I thought you hated the fae, how can you be so nonchalant about me- me being friends with one of them?”

As if that day couldn’t be any more confusing.

“Of course, I know about your boy- what kind of witch’d I be if I didn’t know about my grandson traipsing around in the woods with the prince of the fair folk. I was keepin’ an eye out for you. Now, this don’t mean I like them, mind, but he’s… he’d good for you, Em. I’ve seen him lookin’ after you, in a way that none of us here could. I don’t trust him… not for me, but for you… you help each other, don’t you?”

“I mean… I like to think so… but that doesn’t matter, anyway… I probably won’t be able to ever see him again, after I’m married.”

His grandmother snorted.

“I have no idea how your mother convinced the Jacksons to even talk to us- they’ve been out for my blood for forty years- but please tell me you ain’t actually thinkin’ of going through with this just ‘cause it’s what your mama wants, boy?”

“What else am I supposed to do, then? I can’t say no and stay here, and the only other option I have is… well…” he trails off, staring out the window at the forest in the distance.

“Ah, your boy has a way out does he?”

“He’s not my boy,” Emile repeated, “We’re just… friends…”

“Of course, you are, sweety, I haven’t seen you pining for months or anything.”

“Hey! I’m not that obvious- oh, oh darn…” he sighs, “I mean, yeah, he has a way, but I wouldn’t be able to leave the forest again, I don’t think… and he almost certainly hates me now, after my last visit.”

His grandmother levels him with a look for a very long moment, before sighing and resting a hand over his.

“There ain’t nothing here for you honey, I think we both know that. You’d be miserable with Fredrick, you ain’t no wife and you ain’t no Jackson, you’ve had magic in your veins since before you were born, an’ that boys only strengthened it… An’ if you ain’t either of those things, I think you’ll find it’ll be hard to be with the rest of this family, anyway. An’ that boy, he gave his word to protect you, if you wanted it, I can sense these kinds of promise’s Emile, an’ the fae ain’t gonna make them lightly. He loves you just like you love him,” her eyes were grim, but the hand on his was warm, and comforting.

He sighed, resting his head in his free hand.

“You’re right, probably- about the protection, not the liking me back- but I don’t- I can’t… what about you? and what about them they’ll come looking for me, I know,” he said, voice small.

“Don’t you worry about me, boy. I’m old, but I still got enough left in me. I’ll come an’ visit you in those woods of yours,” she said with a strange grin, before her features turn serious once more, “An’ we’ll deal with them others, don’t worry. I have a plan.”

When his family returned that night, Emile joined them in their ‘festivities’. He pretended, as well he could when every lie still felt like a betrayal to a promise, that he was happy, that this was what he wanted.

He ate dinner with them and tried to ignore the burning the feeling of the letter in his pocket, that felt as though it would burn a hole through the cloth, and the thought of the bag, packed upstairs ready to flee.

He waited until both his sisters had gone to sleep before he dared enter their bedroom, changing as quietly as he could, pulling on warm, thick trousers and a coat. He took the bag, and crept downstairs, thinking his parents to be in bed. He laid the letter down on the table with the words, written as neatly as he could have in a shaking hand, face up, for the world to see.

Dear Family,

Know that I love you, and will miss you dearly, but cannot remain. I cannot marry the man you have chosen for me, and I cannot continue to live a lie. I love another, and am not who you think I am. Please do not look for me, you will not like what you find.

Your daughter, and sister, Emily

Your brother, and son, E.

He couldn’t bring himself to lie, in his final message, and that strike through was the only alteration made.

The letter was his goodbye to his family, and as he took a moment, to have what he knew would be one, final, look around the kitchen he had grown up in, he said his goodbye to that place, and walked out the door.

He left the warmth of his house in favour of the cold, dark, outside, and began his trek into the woods.

Perhaps if he had taken a moment longer to look around that room, he would have noticed his father watching from the doorway.

Halfway to the tree, Emile heard noises. It was shouting, the yells of men and the bays of dogs. He turned and saw lights in the distance.

Oh. Oh, no.

He ran. Before, he had been content to walk, but now, he fled with purpose. The path was dangerous at night, and the thorns reached for him at every opportunity, but he ignored every one that made contact. He had to go.

His breaths came in loud, puffing gasps, sending mist spiralling into the cold, and the crunch of his feet on snow was just as loud in his ears.

But then, ahead of him- More lights, not the ones of pursuers, but ones of safety. He tumbled into the clearing with the tree, and threw himself inside the house, still so cold, and curled into a shape as small as he could manage, on the pillows.

He hoped with every shred of his being, that Sleep would come, that he would know, and he would find him.

He could still hear the yells, the cries to split up or stay together, but in some moments, his frantic breathing overtook it.

Stop this. He told himself. You know better than this. Breath. Breath properly Emile.

He focused and schooled his breathing into something resembling normalcy. He steeled himself. He could do this. He was strong enough for this. He would hide, and they would not find him, or they would, and he would refuse to leave. He could do this.

Then, there was a hand on his shoulder, pulling him up. He wanted to scream, but there wasn’t enough air in his chest. And then he saw Sleep, and he stilled.

“Hey, hey babes are you ok, hey babes c’mon, what’s wrong?” he asked fluttering his hands all over Emile, checking for injuries.

“I’m- I’m here because I can’t do it, I can’t marry him. I missed you and I hate him and there’s nothing there for me and I love you enough that I could- I could be happy to be with you even just as your friend, but I can’t go back. I won’t.”

“Oh, oh Em, sunshine, darling, I wouldn’t ever make you go back,” he said, a hand on his cheek, “Of course I want you here with me. However you’ll have me… because… I love you too, my Sunshine.”

Emile’s heart stopped. He loved him. Sleep loved him. He could cry. Gods, he wanted to kiss him so bad.

“Hey! Over this way, there’s light!” he heard a yell, in the distance. Even from here, he could tell, it was Fredrick.

“Oh, no- oh- Sleep, that’s him... he’s- darn, no. I’ll have to face him, convince him to leave,” he jumped and started to pace, thinking

“Absolutely not, I might look like a lanky bitch, but I am stronger than you! and besides-” Sleep was cut off as Emile whirled around.

“I am not a damsel in distress, Sleep, I came out here to save myself, and besides, he’s a magic hunter- He, if anyone, can hurt you, but he won’t touch me!”

“I was going to say- ‘besides, I told you before about your promise’. They can’t take you, it’s against the magic.”

Emile’s mouth formed a comically round ‘O’. For a moment, he looked relieved, and then he blanched.

“Wait, is that- is it as strong as gifts you gave me for my hair and my voice?” he asked cautiously.

“About the same, yeah, babes,” Sleep said with a cocky grin.

“Then that won’t work, he- His family seem to know how to dispel those kinds of things- I don’t know if it’s true but… I don’t like the risk.” He sighed, pacing again.

Sleep frowned.

“Well… then, babes… I was going to wait to suggest this… but… I- I was trying to find a way to, like, make sure they couldn’t take you if you did… come back, and to… be able to keep you with me, forever, after that.” He said slowly.

“And did you?”

Hesitance.

“Well, yeah babes… but, it’s a- it’s like a whole commitment and a half. It’s a lot. It’s a spell, old, fae magic. To take a human partner and give them the life of a fae while they remain bound to their… partner… only- only like super powerful fae can do it, and totally don’t like to brag, but I think that I can manage it… for you. No other magic, or dispelling, could remove that…”

“There- that has to be her, she’s not dumb enough to wander around in the dark out here,” the voice comes again, closer now.

“I’ll do it,” he says without thinking, not that he needs to.

Sleep looks startled, but nods and pulls Emile to the middle of the room, and laces both his hands through Emile’s.

“Here, in this moment, I call the world to witness me, as I ask you to join in my eternity. I ask of you three things, that I will return in kind, to bind us together, truly and fully. I ask first of you a proclamation of your heart, your feelings laid bare with no dishonesty,” Sleep didn’t waver in his clear recitation, staring directly into Emile’s face.

“My feelings… My feelings for you, with no dishonesty, are love, and trust, and loyalty. I love you, once as a friend and now as… whatever this is,” Emile’s voice did waver, as he tried to put to words the love he felt.

He also felt a little lightheaded, this was all so fast but nothing about it felt… wrong. On the contrary, it felt like exactly where he needed to be.

“You are, quite literally my Sunshine. You brighten my day and everything around you, you make me as happy as I’ve ever been and there is nothing, I’d have over you. I’ve loved you ever since I’ve known what love was, as a friend, and now… as this… My sunshine.” He takes a deep breath and continues to recite as the yells outside carry closer, “I ask second of you that you swear your life and loyalty to me, that will last as long as this bond.”

“I swear my life and loyalty to you, the love of my life, with no regrets,” Emile said, feeling almost bold as he could sense the magic coursing through the air around him.

It felt like it was digging into his skin, taking root, and pulling him forwards. He leans towards Sleep, feeling like he had his own pull of gravity.

“And I swear my life and loyalty to you, with no regrets, my cheeky little human, who clearly is trying to outdo me in dramatic declarations of love, which is quite clearly criminal,” Sleep laughs, releasing his hand to rest a palm against Emile’s cheek, tenderly.

Emile leaned into the touch.

“I ask, third and finally of you, your true name, freely given in exchange, to bind us as one,” Sleep said, face so close to Emile’s he could barely focus on anything else.

“My name- My true name,” he said, breathing deeply, “Is Emile Picani, and I give this freely, in exchange.”

The magic around him clashes then, sudden bursts of sparks along his skin, searing but not burning, and leaving pleasant warmth in their place. It surges, and surrounds him, and it moves and pushes, it pushes him towards Sleep and then in a moment- it freezes, and it holds, and waits, like a wave caught just before the crash, a second away from spilling over and waiting for the push.

“And my true name, freely given, is Remy,” says- says Remy, and the magic falls.

It’s like a tidal wave, and a tree falling, and a hurricane. It catches on every part of him and pushes them together, their chests touch, their fingers still laced and Remy’s other hand still on his cheek, and it’s almost like they’re falling into exactly where the world wants them to be.

Their lips meet, and it would be remiss to say that it was like magic- because it wasn’t just like magic, it was magic, zipping through them at every connected point, like sparks between their lips.

It was wonderful, and everything, and perfect, and just a little awkward to experience so much at one time. And then it was over, and the magic dimmed, and it was just them, and something between them that Emile could only assume was whatever… that had been building.

And their second kiss was just as good as the first, less signing fire and more slow, tender caring, and understanding.

“I love you, Remy,” Emile said quietly.

“I love you too, my beautiful Emile,” He smiled as if the taste of his name on his lips were like wine, “I’ve waited years to be able to say that, and now, no one will stop me again.”

Emile could still hear the shouting, but as he rested his head on Remy’s shoulder, knowing that this- this bond was unbreakable, he didn’t fear. He was strong, and standing side by side with Remy, he was stronger, and he wasn’t going back. He had everything he needed right there.

#remile #remy sanders #sleep/remy #emile #dr emile picani #fae au #trans!emile #fae!remy #cursing #friends to lovers #four and one #writing #fanfic #emo writes things #sanders shorts #cartoon therapy

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jjkpls · 5 years

Text

(y)our name 2 - two (m)

> genre : smut, fluff

> pairing : jeon jungkook x reader (f)

> total words : 10.3k

> warnings/content : dumbassesfriends to lovers, unrequited love, slice of life; cursing, dirty talk, penetrative intercourse, oral (m receiving), thigh riding, some filth and then some more filth; jk being a lil shit, oc still panicking

jungkook : Who said I don’t want it

It took him a good twenty minutes to send this. You don't know if he pondered over it for that long or if, after getting back to whatever it is he was doing, the thought suddenly sprang in his head. It's such a curious message. Makes your heartbeat stutters and your hands clammy and it takes you an eternity to formulate a response.

you : Well you sent me the link for a reason

jungkook : Yea cause I thought it might help but it has nothing to do with what I want

What?

jungkook : You’re the one who said you wouldn’t do it again with me

What?

you : Did i say that?

jungkook : Yes you did

You start to type but stop as you realise you don't even know what to say. He wants it again? And what is he even saying? You don't remember ever saying that. Everything's a blur honestly, but Jungkook's words, his insistence, it almost gives off the feeling that he remembers well. Perhaps he hasn't just brushed it off like you thought he did.

you : Would you want it again?

jungkook : Say what you meant to send and I’ll answer

Those goddamn dots.

you : That’s not very fair but whateva

you : You wanna be a big baby as you always are

jungkook : I’m not even going to answer that

you : Well you just did idiot

You purposefully waste time, just trying to delay the confession.

You want to test your luck -maybe rejection is not what's waiting for you. He's pushing it, demanding you to tell. He's admitted some of his own feelings so you should do the same.

you : it’s just that I found myself very frustrated, to an extent solo doesn’t do anything for me anymore..

As soon as you send the text, you shut the device off, throwing it down on the carpet. It's burning like your shame on your face and you can't bear to hold it any longer.

You really sent that. Your heart is beating furiously. You feel yourself sweating bullets. It's so hot, you sway your legs nervously, vainly hoping to ventilate the suddenly overly-heated room.

Jungkook is sweet, he doesn't leave you hanging for too long and soon enough, your phone is vibrating, begging you to pick it back up.

jungkook : Of course it wouldn’t

you : Ok don’t even get cocky with me dude

jungkook : Why not? It’s my fault isn’t it?

jungkook : Cause I made you feel that good

So he knows. You were annoyed for you found yourself troubled, anxious and restless. Shaken to your core, moved to your soul. But a side of you, the rational one, kept pestering that you were the chaotic, dumb and weak one responsible for the mess he's made of you. However, here, he admits he knows. He's known all along. He's done it on purpose: fucking you up.

you : 😐

jungkook : Don’t admit it it’s fine we both know it

What an ass.

you : Seriously you’re too cocky what for

Your brain is off right now. You don't know what to say, tempted by the teasing warmth your chest is taken over but nervous to let it spread too far.

jungkook : I know I’m right

jungkook : I’m not trying to embarrass you

jungkook : Maybe embarrass your exes a bit

jungkook : But it’s pretty easy to tell

jungkook : When someone hasn’t felt a certain way before

jungkook : I know you’ve never come that hard before

jungkook : Don’t lie to me

jungkook : And more than once you reacted like I was crazy

jungkook : Thats the whole fun of playing with a cunt it’s to make it come endlessly until it hurts and your soaked sore and allswollen adn red

Shit. How does he even do that? With just a couple of texts, rendering you speechless, breathless and burning. Soaked in your panties, the discomfort so evident you have to sit up, thighs pressed to one another by fear of exposing the incriminating dark spot out in the open.

He does own you. Capable of manipulating your body and mind with a few well-chosen words. It's something you've never played with, dirty talking. And you didn't know you'd like it as much as you do. But when Jungkook does -the other night, tonight by text- it's lethal.

But how could he do it so easily? Turning so lewd so suddenly? When for the past weeks, he's acted so natural, so casual as if he couldn't care less about the sex you've had. How can he just switch like that?

you : Are you drunk?

jungkook : 😂 😂 😂 😂 😂 😂

jungkook : A bit tipsy we went to a bar with the crew

That explains some of it.

jungkook : Was it too much?

you : Nono it’s fine

you : I just don’t know what to say

jungkook : Tell me what you want

jungkook : What you meant to ask me the other night when I so rudely interrupted you with a dumbass article

Well, shit.

It's just Jungkook. Honesty and shamelessness are the main keys of your friendship. However, you're not him and expressing your sexual desires as easily as he does is not innate.

jungkook : Don’t be shy just tell me

Fuck it.

you : I’d like it if you could be with me again like the other night

You can count the excrutiatingly painful seconds as they tick by. It's been fiveteen.

you : 😬

Now, fifty.

you : 😖 😖 😖

Finally, he decides to spare you.

jungkook : Is being friends is not a problem anymore?

you : Idk i trust you you trust me

you : We communicate well most of the time

you : Last time wasn’t such a big deal was it? I feel like we’ll be fine

you : Don’t you think?

You're rambling. You need to stop rambling. It's one thing to be in constant panic mode with this shit -this you can deal with, you know yourself and you accept it- but Jungkook really doesn't need to know.

jungkook : Idk I guess you’re right

you : So when you come back are you going to consider it?

jungkook : No

What a dick. Toying with you, bringing you there to then, deny you. How dares he?

jungkook : I’ve made up my mind already

jungkook : You’ll have me if you show yourself convincing enough

you : like how?

jungkook : It’s not that hard

jungkook : I love it when someone makes me feel like you really want me

jungkook : *they

Oh boy.

you : k ill try

You’re resolute to try. To try your hardest. It kills you, the idea that he somehow managed to have the upper hand in this. It feels like he's going to make you suffer. But the point of the matter, the only thing you care about anymore is the fact that you were wrong -he did enjoy the first time if he’s up for a second. Oh, and also, obviously, the fact that you are a couple of hours away from a devastating orgasm you've been craving for for weeks.

You spend the whole day -luckily for you, you're not working- prepping you. Trimming and grooming. Exfoliating and moisturizing. And as you’re doing all that, your stamina is twitching in anxiety because, holy shit, it feels like it never stops. There’s always a thing to arrange, another one that wouldn’t let itself fixed and when was the last time you spent that amount of effort into looking (that) attractive for someone? Even for Namjoon, you did not.

You did a lot. You cared about him. Namjoon was always so class and handsome and you hated the idea of being an ugly potato attached to his side so you’d take care of yourself more than you would when completely single -just gotta be honest. But not as much. You’re not exactly sure why. Probably because Namjoon was attentive and sweet but not the same kind of lover. He wouldn’t feel you up as heavily as you remember Jungkook doing. He’s never specifically asked to see you with the lights on. He’d talk to you and listen and maybe that’s more what it was about. He would lean in and seem to be drinking in your appearance when you’d be having a good conversation. One where you’d get animated and passionate. You’re pretty sure your brains -no matter how lame you consider them to be next to his- were what he liked the most about you. He must have found you pretty. Surely. But you’d never really caught him giving you a longing stare from the other end of the sofa when you were not looking.

He’d call you pretty and ravishing when he’d come to pick you up for a date and you’d spent a lot of time dolling yourself up. But always the same way. Always the same words. Never anything specific to what you were wearing or whatever. And his eyes were not really looking, were they? It didn’t hurt your feelings nor your ego that much. Because there’s probably nothing more flattering for you to have someone like you for your mind rather than your appearance -the flimsy quite irrelevant thing that you don’t really have much control over. It was fine. And like everything that used to be fine, Jeon Jungkook had to make it a problem.

As you stare at your own reflection in the mirror, pinching your lips together to spread the lipstick more evenly, you’re reminded of the way his hot stare was burning you that night. You remember how every time you’d look his way in the dark, you’d see his big round eyes locked on you with the cute stars in it shining fondly. You have no idea how attracted he is to you physically. You have no idea if he is at all or it’s just a thing that he does. Maybe he likes you the way you like an ugly old picture of yourself. With time and fondness, it becomes sweet and special and you just like looking at it.

Maybe, it's a weird analogy.

More so given what he’d be doing to you, the words he was saying while looking at you like he did. You don’t know how to read this distinctive mind of his. It’s new territory. Not completely terrifying because there’s your guide, your best friend, walking you through it. But it’s like a new mansion you’re just visiting. So bright and light and welcoming, with so many doors all closed but not locked and you don’t know what’s behind any of them even though you’re so curious to figure it out. There’s all those new faces, secrets behind those doors. You hope he’ll open them to you. All of them. They’re holding, you're certain of it, mind-blowing surprises -if the other night, where you discovered an actual man instead of your little boyish baby of a friend, is anything to go by. And it’s wonderful, that idea. That after all this time, after being so sure of knowing the kid like you’ve crafted it from scratch yourself, there is still more to learn about him. New things for him to amaze you with.

“What are you doing?” Eun is watching you with a hand on the frame of the door, eyes blown wide and a weird stance. She looks about ready to flee like she’s witnessing something so unspeakable she is that close to jump on the phone and call the cops.

That’s rude. You’d frown if you were not so concern about munching up your freshly applied mascara. Fair enough, lately, you haven’t been exactly runaway material but the way she’s looking at you is plain blank offensive.

“I’m just making myself pretty. Do I look weird to you?” Maybe you do. Maybe you overdid it a bit.

She completely ignores your concern to jump on the exciting bait you did not even mean to throw. “What for? You have a date?”

“No, I don’t. It’s for my own, uh, enjoyment.”

Her face twists comically while she tsks in disdain. “Bitch, please.” Getting ruder by the second, she is. “You have a date. It’s not Namjoon is it?”

“No, not with Namjoon. But do I look too different, like strange-different?”

“You look gorgeous, babe. I was just surprised.”

“Oh okay, cool.” You decide to take her words for facts, panicking over potentially looking like a clownish try-hard is not what you need.

“So... A date? You little cachotière*.” Here, the nerves hit. You have been nothing but excited since the text conversation you had with Jungkook the night before but now, merely an hour before he’s supposed to be home, you begin freaking out.

It’s Eun and her overuse of the “d-word”. Because it’s not like that. At all. If it becomes a date then you have to rightfully so freak the fuck out. Thanks to her, even if it's not one, you start losing it. In your state of panic, while you observe yourself liquify in the mirror -it’s quite interesting to watch, you having a crisis in real time-, blanching in utter destress, another scary thought assaults you.

Jungkook lives across the short hall from here. He and Jimin and you and Eun are so close and comfortable around each other, you basically share one giant apartment, allowing yourselves to just barge in no matter how inappropriate the moment is. The whole floor is a constant open house. The probability of having Eun find out that you’re in fact sleeping over to their's is so high, it’s almost prophetic.

Shit. She’s going to ask so many questions. And of course, she won’t believe you if you say you dressed yourself up to the nines just to go play games with Jungkook. She’d think there would be something else to it. And she’d be right. But she doesn’t need to know just yet. You were blessed enough the other night, that she drunk herself to sleep with Jimin, knocked herself out so bad she couldn’t remember anything past the cake cutting. Not that you have or want to preserve secrets from her. It’s not really secrets. “Secrets” sounds like you’d purposefully want to withhold information from her from lack of trust. It’s not like that. It’s just whatever Jungkook and you are doing is yours. There are a lot of things you two never consider sharing with other people just because they are your thing.You two share a private garden and no one will ever be invited to visit it.

“Who is it?”

“I- just- it’s a bit soon to-“

“You don’t wanna say yet. Ok, I get it.” She says it with geniune sympathy, yet her glossy lips puckered in a little pout. “Do I know him?”

“Uh- possibly.” Her eyes widen for a second before they’re looking up to the roof, searching her brain for the full list of your common acquaintances -she’s understanding and respectful but that doesn’t mean she's not eaten up by curiosity.

After a while, as you ponder over your own image and consider wiping your whole face off of the makeup to just go with something more like your everyday self, the one Jungkook knows better, Eun gives up on the investigation and redirects her attention back to you, “Is he handsome?”

You don’t know how to answer her and end up giving an incoherent babbling and spilling of squeaky sounds that can only describe it better than words would. She’s smiling a wolf grin, picking up a lipstick from her personal shelf before taking a makeup remover tissue to drag over your already painted mouth. She applies, meticulously, the new taint she’s chosen. It’s a deep red, very sultry that gives you the look of a sexy vampire or maybe a succubus.

She gets it. Jungkook's tending to observe you is not the only reason you've worked so hard on yourself. He is so deadly handsome. You always knew but not felt it arouse anything within you. You saw him as that little brother of yours who’s grown so much into a very charming, universally attractive boy. But that night, with his hair -you’d never, in more than a decade of being his friend, seen his forehead and you’re oh-so glad you did not because horny-high-school-you would probably have freaked about it, who would think that eyebrows could do so much to someone's face- pulled back and his leather jacket, quirking his eyebrow and biting his lip and leaning around like he was some kind of James Dean. You don’t know how responsible are the orgasms -surely, they can have an impact on your perception-, or your thirst, but you’ve decided, observing him more attentively since that night, that he was one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever seen. Truly.

Also you can’t actively name who would be standing right next to him on the podium but that’s just a detail. A detail you won’t share with him more than you did last time because you don’t want his ego to inflate and explode right in your face. It wouldn’t be pretty nor pleasing. He's cocky enough already as it it.

Anyway, you just want to look beautiful because he, himself, is so much so.

“I hope you’re aiming to get laid because with this magic...” Eun leaves the sentence pending, her sharp eyebrows high over her protruding eyes conclude it. You can’t control the widely telling grin drawing itself on your mouth.

“You’re gonna need a lot of convincing.” It’s the first thing he said as he saw you walked in through the cracked open door. You’d just sneaked your way through the whole length of their apartment, trying to not get caught by Jimin while having a mini attack because said Jimin was sitting right there, in the living room you had to pass by. He had headphones on and was so engrossed in whatever he was doing on his cellphone that he didn’t even notice you, staring at him like a deer caught in headlight, not even flinching when in your panic to run from the scene while luck was still on your side, you had knocked down a craft bag full of noisy ramen boxes. You hadn’t even picked it up, just rushing to the end of the hallway for Jungkook’s bedroom.

You don’t know what you look like right now. You feel awkward and dishevelled and quite exposed, standing in front of him in your fancy outfit while he’s in his pyjamas, looking up at you from the bed, with an unimpressed expression masking his face.

“You know I arrived 2 hours ago, right?” He is not genuinely upset, you can tell. But there’s a little edge to his tone. An honest curiosity. And maybe a relief. Maybe he thought you had changed your mind and hadn’t bothered letting him know about it.

“Yes, sorry. Mom called.” You say it with a bratty roll of your eyes as if you’re not left warm and fuzzy each time you hang up a phone call with her.

She’s lovely. You miss her often but not to the point of actually wanting her around -she’d pester and nag the life out of you if she were to see the state of your room and just the general way you chose to do things. And she talks so much. She has so much to say every time she picks up the phone to ring you. Everything about her and about your dad and the rest of the family and the rest of the neighbourhood and what the mayor has been up too and what her colleagues at work have been discussing about these days. It goes on and on and on and you understand that it comes from a place of her missing you dearly but when most of the times it is okay and a fairly entertaining way of wasting two hours doing nothing, you couldn’t care less about whatever the hell was going to be replacing the shop next to your uncle’s when the stupid story is delaying the event of tonight. But how could you tell her that? So you sat on the barstool, your forehead pressed onto your handbag (that you didn’t need but you were supposed to go out on a date so that fit better the narrative), shoe-clad feet bouncing nervously in the air, half-listening, half-dreading, humming noncommittal monosyllabic words into the phone, as Eun watched you from the sofa, staring with a beyond confused, low-key judgmental gaze, miming with all her body how you should hang up and head out. And that’s how you arrived two hours late when you meant to be in his bedroom before he even came back from the station.

You shrug, grimacing in a form of apology. But Jungkook knows your mom like his own and doesn’t hold you accountable for the lateness anymore, his face being recovered by a soft layer of fondness at the mention of her. “She said to tell you she thinks about you a lot and misses you. And to give you kisses too.” He chuckles at that and you match him, amused by the double meaning you now give to the term. You used to almost fear those innocent kisses -more subconsciously than not, it just wouldn’t come about, none of you needing to express your affection like that- and look at you now. About to get screwed by him. For the second time.

He is staring up at you with an intensity, you don’t want to get ahead of yourself and assume what it means but it is here. And you can't help but stare back, hoping to not show too much how bad you want to jump on him right now. Lain in bed like that, back pressed against his headboard, with a half unbuttoned white silky-like shirt, and his expression and his demeanour, you can see that under the cover his legs are taut and slightly parted: he looks like he’s expecting something. You. He’s been expecting you and you’re finally here and he’s tantalizing you with the meal he knows you want to consume. Tantalizing because no matter how sure you are that his expression means he still is on board and wants you, he doesn’t look willing to make a move. “So, as I was saying: a lot more convincing will be needed.”

“Well, I’m here already. Doesn’t that tell you I- like- want it?”

“Sure. But still it’s late and I’ve been travelling all evening and I’m so tired.” He feigns a yawn. “As you can see, I was going to sleep.” What an annoying little shit. He makes his eyes all big and sorry-looking, putting his mouth in a pout like he’s saddened. But you see the quirks of his stupid eyebrows. He has the “bullshit face”. It’s pretty self-explanatory. Whenever he has it on, and he has very little control over it by the way, you know he’s in for some bullshitting. Either it shows when he wants to get away with something he’s done or doesn’t want to admit it out loud, or he’s straight on wanting to mess with you. He has had that stupid face since he was fourteen and he pretended in that one conversation about porn and sexism that he shared the same opinion as you and yes, lesbian porn for male was wrong and disgusting. He didn’t believe a word of it, and this not because he was a big fan of the genre but because he wasn’t a big consumer of porn in general -which you didn’t know at the time. You just knew that he was lying because his face contorted in a way it never did before and that was suspicious as hell.

So here comes the bullshit face and you already know why. You’re in for some torture. Jungkook and his stupid competitive ass. While he doesn’t like competing in 'real' life with other people because he doesn’t like to win over them, he has no problem with you. He loves to make your life harder. He balances it out by being the best friend you've ever had but still, so aggravating.

“Guk, seriously, don’t be mean. I already made the first step the other day!”

“And then you avoided me for a week.” He says, totally unfazed.

“It wasn’t even a week.” You’re the one scowling now. Mumbling through button-shaped lips. “Seriously, I can’t do this...” There’s a flash of alarm blinking for a second on his face as he straightens up in his bed, the cover slipping completely from his torso, exposing all the golden skin peeking from the open shirt.

“Do what?”

“‘Convince you’. I can’t- like- seduce you or whatever.” You grumble like an upset kid and that’s pretty much what you feel like. It’s like your favourite toy, the one you’ve been wanting for many Christmas is just right here, within reach, but you won’t have it because you’re required to resolve an impossible math problem or something. It’s too hard. You already feel yourself burning from embarrassment, your heart is thumping in your temple and you just decide to give up, taking a few tentative steps backward, hand already reaching out for the handle when Jungkook jumps off of his bed to grab it. Standing so tall and broad, hovering you, his warm hand holding yours and the breeze of his perfume hitting your nostrils, you’re taken by a rush of excitation. It’s crazy what the context does to perception. He stood that way in front of you so many times but never have you felt so small, never have you found him so big and attractive because of it and that scent, you’ve smelled basically all your life -a soft flowery carress-, never made your head spin that way.

“Don’t leave!” His voice is a bit loud, almost desperate and the thought that he might be makes you smile internally. “Lemme help you.” He demands so gently, with the stars in his eyes as fervent supporters to his cause, there’s no way you’d say no. He could ask you anything when he’s looking and talking to you like that, with his warm hand now pressed to your neck, thumb caressing your cheek.

You nod your head once and he kisses you. As softly as he is, your hands clutch at his shirt way too intensely to match. He’s so gentle like you’re a tiny little thing he’s dreading at the idea to scare away. So different from the kisses you remember him giving you the other night. It’s lovely anyway. Tender as can be. Delicate and kind and when he pulls back to look into your eyes again, your heart warms up with all the love and adoration you have for this man. He really is your best friend, the most important person in your life that you had chosen and he makes you so happy.

“Is it okay?” He whispers so sweetly you want to wrap your arms around his neck and suffocate him with love. You nod again this time more dismissively because a scent in his breath has just interpellated you.

“Have you been drinking?”

He smiles cheekily, dipping his head down in guilt. “I had a shot or two.” You relish in the shameful tremble of his confession.

There’s this complimentary thing about you two. One would often compensate for the other's lacking. It’s never been conscious or anything but it’s always been there. You see the way he gulps visibly, you recognize the tiny blush of his cheeks sauntering to his ears, you know why he had those shots, and you feel the rush of confidence run through your veins because he is so nervous, you can see it now. Therefore, you have to tease. It’s only fair.

“You were not this nervous by text, were you?”

“Stop saying that, I’m not nervous!” He exclaims with passion but you both know he’s lying and it makes you laugh right in his face, uncaring of his pinching your cheek to make you stop. He’s just too cute and dumb.

“Keep that up and I really won’t be nice to you.”

Even if the grin remains on your face, you shudder from head to toes. His tone has dropped to a lower purr, his gaze is dark with a gravity that wasn’t there before. That's funny because it really feels like a deja-vu. Last time unrolled so similarly and you know what is supposed to happen now.

“You always say that.” He doesn’t say anything, keeps staring, engaging in an eye staring contest, daring you to not drop your own. “You threaten me but you never act on it.” You say quietly. You don’t know what comes over you, probably just the heat of the moment, but you regret almost instantly to be so reckless. You don’t want him to be merciless with you. You had a taste of him being fairly nice the other night and almost died. You’re terrified of him being mean. But here you are tempting him into doing just that.

Perhaps he, who knows you the best, reads you again like a book he’s written himself and he settles for being soft and lenient with you. He leans in to smash his lips to yours, now wet and demanding, sucking your bottom lip between his teeth before you even get to close your eyes. His hands holding your head firmly, his hips leaning forward making his thighs dig into you, his tongue greets for the briefest of moment your own, sending a direct message to your centre which you can feel clench around nothing. But before you can gather back your thoughts and try and meet him and work his mouth too instead of just letting him devour you, he’s let you go. All grip on you, any proximity allowing you to feel his warmth are gone. He’s so far the only thing that's still been linking you, the thin strip of saliva joining your mouths, snaps. You’re cold outside yet burning inside, heart erratically pumping in your chest, feeling dumb and confused and abused and revolted, because why would he already stop? Especially to step back and look at you like he’s decided he now wanted to be mean.

“I’ve helped you enough. Now it’s on you.” You gawk in silence, watching mindlessly as he proceeds on making his bed, laying the cover flat so he could hop back down on it.

“What does that mean?”

“Make me feel good. Remind me why I’m letting you have me when you’re being such a bitch.” You gasp at the choice of word. He’s never used it in front of you, not even in a joking manner -or maybe once or twice but he was talking about his roommate who happens to be one at times. Your astonishment is met with the greatest smirk. He’s having so much fun because he’s got the upper hand again. “Treat me better and I’ll be good to you when it’s your turn.”

And this is one of those moments you'd encountered so many times since you were a little girl. This instance where two options would be presented to you and you had to make a choice. An important one. One that you decided would define you and therefore, it needed to be the right one. Either you choose the easiest option, indulge in your fear of the unknown, turn into a coward, denying yourself what you really want because you’re scared. Or you carry your virtual balls, decide that even if you might fail, you will follow this terrifying path out of your comfort zone because you want the future you to be proud and thankful for you. Most of these times, you did not only think about you but also about the little boy with the bunny teeth and fluffy hair and big and soft wondering eyes which were always watching you, you couldn’t permit yourself to bend and plead because you wanted to inspire him to be strong and adventurous.

The boy's right there. Not so little anymore. Not needing any push nor any light to follow. But eyes still as big and soft, looking at you so expectantly, you recall those would never hurt you. You can face the shame. You can even face the embarrassment of not knowing what to do or try and end up doing wrong because it’s just Jungkook. He’d smile to heal your bruised ego and guide you gently the way he did before.

You step forward, carefully, as if he’s become the fragile being ready to fly away now. It's silly. The precaution is for you more than for him. Legs twitching slightly, eyes set on your every move, lips now hanging open as if he’s struggling to breathe, he doesn’t look whatsoever wanting to back away. He’s waiting for you. You slip your feet out of your shoes in a swift motion, before kneeling on the bed, one hand setting on his knee. You see his Adam's apple jump up and down and you wonder if he doesn’t wish he had downed more than two shots. He keeps switching from a nervous wreck to a hot “alpha” dude and you don’t understand how you're supposed to deal with that.

When you look down, pondering over your next move, you notice the blue shorts he has on. You know them for you’ve seen him wearing them multiple times before. They’re meant to be rather loose. At least you thought they were. But as you gawp at them, you’re struck by how tight they look on his legs. They end way higher than they should because of his position, his thighs filling them up to the point of straining -if he keeps them for too long you’re sure he’ll have a thin indent along his skin. His thighs look so meaty and the part just before his knees, lacking fat rendering his monstrous muscles enhanced. You press your own legs on reflex. You had no idea a man's legs could be so attractive.

The glorious view finishes to urge you on. Trailing forward, your hands set on the object of your new obsession, fingers loving the warmth of his skin and dipping in the flesh. He feels wonderful under your touch.

Would he let you bite them a bit? Maybe if you ask nicely, he will. You shake the thought off. It’s not the plan right now. You don’t even know if he’d like that and you’re supposed to please him.

You raise yourself from the bed, keeping your balance thanks to the grip you have on his thighs and get even closer to take a seat on the left one. Jungkook looks so handsome from up close. You’re met with his soft skin and pretty shades. There’s the rather deep scar he got on his cheek one of those times when you were fourteen and you were practising riding your bikes on the low stairs in front of the subway station. You remember how scary it was to have to entangle him from his fucked up bike with half of his face pissing blood. Terrifying. But it left him with this eternal scar, charming along with his boyish features, and memory of a not-so-pleasing moment but precious friendship. You love it even more because he lies each time he's asked about it, telling crazy stories that'd never happened, while sporting a cheeky smile only you understand. And there are his beauty marks scattered here and there like they’re playing a game of hide-and-seek. You find your favourite one hiding under his bottom lip, lean in to place a kiss on it.

When you back away his eyes are shut, his face so relaxed, he looks so peaceful and happy with this tiny curve of his pink lips -lips that you notice are smeared with a faint dark red you know to be the lipstick you're wearing-, you want to squeal from how grateful you are to have him like that.

Jungkook scrapes his throat when he opens his eyes again, shifting a bit under you as if to get more comfortable and you’re reminded that he’s waiting. He’s been waiting patiently and your clit from down here pulses as to remind you that you also need something.

So you start moving. Hands pressed to his shoulders, loving how sturdy and big he feels under you, you grind languidly along his thigh. You feel it building already. You've lost the manner, the way to do this for it to be nice, but it's so hot: he is, his breath on your lips is, the room, everything is. Soon the intense gaze you’re sharing with him is broken as his head falls backward, all teeth out from how amused he is. You don’t stop moving, no matter how confusing his reaction is, because the contact on your clit feels incredible. It shoots a succesion of electric shocks through you, blanking your mind momentarily each time, there’s no way you’re stopping because he wants to make fun of you again.

“So I tell you to please me and that’s what you come up with?” He asks once his fit of chuckles have quiet down.

Breathlessly, you counter, “You said you liked that.” You’re not offended about his change of mood. You couldn’t care less. Not when you’ve figured out exactly how to move your hips to treat your cunt, when the motion has come so easy to perform you can now speed up comfortably.

“I do but when you’re done, you’ll have to try harder than that.” You nod, eyes closed and eyebrows furrowed. He takes hold of your hips. He’s not guiding, just letting his hands there as to feel you, encourage you. “For now, just make yourself come, babe.” Your eyes open again on his, the latter having a lot to say. You read them outright. He wonders if it’s ok to call you that. He apologizes every time he does it by accident so it feels a bit weird, unfamiliar. But the pet name, for some reasons you don’t care to elucidate, renders you all putty and giddy. He can probably feel it in the way you melt even more in his embrace, looking up at him with large eager eyes.

“I promise I’ll do better after.” It slips out of your mouth straight from your hazy heart and Jungkook catches it with eagerness. You sound so tiny and lenient. Almost pitiful.

“You’re doing great, baby.” He assures you right away, kissing your jaw with way more tongue than lips. “You’re so sexy.” You moan over him, from the pleasure building, the wetness on your skin, the praise, the name. Your fingers slip under the open folds of his shirt, too lazy and incompetent to unfasten the buttons, but so eager to grant your eyes with the glorious vision of his thick chest, they drag the tissue down as much as it’d go, not caring the least about how the stretch might hurt the skin around his neck. “Are you close?”

“Yes.” You moan in his ear. His hands on your covered hips glide along your thighs to sneak under the skirt of your dress and grab the flesh the find there.

“You know one thing that I would really like you doing for me?” His voice, texture of honey, meets the crook of your neck and coats your heart in a thick, warmth layer.

“Tell me.” You pant in his face without an once of embarrassment left. You’re rutting like a horny bitch on his thigh, begging him to tell you how you could please him. How he brought you there, how he is doing all this is beyond your comprehension but you're loving every aspects of it.

“I'd really like you to cover my cock with the pretty lipstick you have on.”

Your lips press against one another. May Eun be blessed.

“I’d love that.” His tongue is at your collarbone for a devilishly short instant. “'Will show me how desperate you are for it.”

“Ok, I will.” He smiles to you, from his bunny smile to his glittering eyes. “Can you kiss me? Like ear-earlier?” His mouth is on yours before you get the question fully out. You moan into him, finding out this is the tiny push you needed. As he licks and sucks, his fingers digging deeper in your thighs, you get off both from the friction and his kiss. You’re almost there. You can feel the heat spreading. You sneak one of your hand down his chest to his crotch to get a grasp of his cock. It’s so hard and so hot under your palm. So hot and wet in your mouth. And you are coming undone, hips snapping on his leg, eyes shut and lips open only to leave out a small, broken whine. The pressure against your clit feels a bit too intense, a bit raw and makes you jerk and wince, until Jungkook wraps his arms around you and welcomes you into his chest, kissing the top of your head while whispering something you don’t really catch through the ringing in your ear.

It’s decided. If he’s ok with it you’ll come back to his bed for all your sexual needs. Rubbing yourself on a pillow never felt that good and he hasn’t done much to you, just being there and turning you on in a way that shouldn't be allowed. When you withdraw from his lap, you’re cringing visibly from the sensitivity, movements slow and careful, face contorted. Jungkook is watching you with undisguised enjoyement, a grin biting on his lower lip.

“So I gather you like thigh riding too, now?” You shrug, red in the cheeks, avoiding his gaze. He doesn’t comment further. He just sits there, the tips of his fingers grazing mindlessly the thigh you just rode. The other set of fingers toying with the hem of his dishevelled shirt. You watch him from under your lashes, not ready to meet his eyes just yet, resulting in you having to face the prominent bulge of his crotch. The moment lasts for an eternity. All you can think about is why he won’t give it to you already. “If there’s something that you want, you should know how to ask for it.”

Aggravation is heavy on your temples. You take the time to think about it and quite frankly you don’t have it in you to start arguing for something you both know that you both want. You’re not that petty. He can have his stupid win if he wants.

“Strip already so I can- suckyouoff.” How is it so difficult to say out loud? You’ve never thought yourself to be that prude but here you are, having to say the words, and you realize you’re so unfamiliar with them if not for the erotic novels you used to read back in high school. While he, on the other hand, says all those obscenities with such perfect phlegm.

His slender fingers raise to his shirt, toying with the first button and after an excruciatingly long time which tastes of pure torture, they unfasten it. They aim for the next one but just stop there. You’re boiling, shaking, this close to jump on him and rip it off already. Decency and, to a bigger extent, pride keep you from doing so. He would like this too much.

“That won’t do, ___.” You can't help the long sigh that escapes you.

“Remember what I said? Convince me.” He says again, stressing the syllables as to make sure you get them right this time. He's pushing you so far. Too far. You don't get why he would challenge you this much. He was gentler the other night, more complaisant. Maybe it turns him on. Maybe he's not a total dick and actually likes to be worshipped rather than simply enjoying your misery. You do want to please him. Therefore, with a trembling voice, breath shorten by timidity, you pronounce aloud the words you mean but hurt to admit.

“Can I please have your cock?” Those are the magic words. In a blink of the eyes, his shirt is thrown away, one of his hand sets on his crotch, massaging it softly while the other reach for you, open palm welcoming you forward. You fit yours in it, Jungkook presses the inside of your fingers to his mouth before he drags you to him. Once you've kneeled in between his opened legs, your hand slip from his. You look up, gnawing on your lip. “Can you like- guide me through it?”

“You've never given head before?”

“I did but- I don't know. I want it to be good.” He smiles wide. That big, big grin that shows off both his up and down lines of teeth, with his dumb nose all scrunched up.

He nods, observing you quietly. And you reach for the waistband of his shorts. You mean to just drag it down to his thighs but he takes upon himself to strip completely out of it. You have no idea how he does that, standing fully naked there, in front of you -who's still fully clothed, by the way. You're not complaining; when he's looking this good, it makes it rather understandable. He looks perfect. Perfect but not in a linear, boring way. In a shockingly stunning way.

You've never had the full experience. You had the massive thighs, the broad shoulders and lean chest, his pretty face and opulent fluffy hair on top of it. But all put together, he's a deadly piece of art. Hypnotizing. Shaped like an Adonis. He looks so handsome. Gorgeous.

And of fucking course, as any piece of art, not a detail is left neglected. He's this remarkable to his very sex.

It's so fucking ridiculous. And unfair.

Quick before letting yourself the time to look at it for too long and get intimidated, you wrap your hand around it. Fairly long and lean, fair with a blushy tip. So soft and warm and hard in your hand. Such a pretty cock. The thought plagues your mind but you're smart enough to not say it aloud. It's one of the weirdest thought you've ever had, you realize.

It's true though. So true. So pretty it just pulls you in.

You kiss the head a few times, slowly, before you slide to the length. Walking your way up with your tongue, you hear him hiss aloud, see his abs contracting in spasms.

The tip of his cock is so tender. Flushed, silky and soaked, tasting and feeling so nice on your tongue, on your lips. Your eyes meet his. You're just curious to see how sweet his face looks when he's letting out all those tiny whimpers. You see him grimace, frown before he closes his eyes shut and throw his head back, blocking entirely the view you're giving him and you're wondering if you're doing this right. He's not giving you any guidance like he said he would. He's not that loud, quite quiet even, if you consider how talkative he was the other night. He's not bucking his hips uncontrollably in your wet heat like you remember your ex, Taehyung, used to do.

As you suckle on the head, dipping the tip of your tongue in the slit, your left hand holding him firmly upward while the right one, curiously tests its way down, caressing his balls. There's a switch hidden there apparently. Each time the tip of your fingers dip there, he leaves out a languid groan.

“You're not telling me what to do.” You complain between two deep inhale, raising up. Your lips feel hot, tingly, and you imagine them swollen and red. You imagine it's the reason why he's staring at them the way he is.

“I don't need to tell you anything. You're- You're doing perfect.” It makes you roll your eyes. His voice is tensed, his words stuttered but he might be faking it. He's not even cursing or anything. His hands not gripping your hair. Awfully disappointing. Perfect in your mouth but disappointing around you. Even more so, when he stops you from leaning to work your mouth on him again. “You wanna give me more?” You stare silently, not having a clue of where a yes would take you. “Wanna try to ride me?”

It’s the best sensation you’ve ever felt. Sitting on his chest like it's your throne, having him look up at you with the giant marbles he has for eyes, enchanted and eager. “Should I eat you out first?” You’re soaked. You’ve been feeling yourself drip since you tasted for the first time a drop of his precum, you don’t need to be eaten out. You know what’s to come. You’re about to have him fill you up again. After all this time craving for it, dreaming day and night about it. You wouldn’t want to delay it any longer.

When Jungkook gets busy grabbing a condom from the nightstand, you take the opportunity to throw your dress over your head. You’re not sure why he hasn’t hinted at taking it off yet. His wandering hands have been teasing the skin under it non stop but he’s never tried to actually take it off.

“Jungkook, why not take my dress off?”

He looks up from the wrapper he’s been struggling with, confusion shining in his eyes. His mouth opens, about ready to answer but he catches sight of your form, naked except for the delicate black lace lingerie you carefully picked. He’s never seen you naked with proper lightening, nor any close to this state of undressing as the last time he’s seen you in a bikini, well, you can't remember but it was probably in late middle school. He seems to like it. It’s the special gaze again. The one of a lover. The ardent one, dark, almost teary as his hands graze up your sides so lightly it leaves a painful scorching along the skin. “You’re beautiful.”

“Thanks.” You mean to hit his chest to chastise his over-exaggerated gravity but you can’t deny his sincerity and your hand simply lands flabbily instead. “Can I keep my, uh, underwear?” He just nods, doesn’t get cocky or mocking, eyes still bathing in your appearance, and a crazy thought occurs. Could it be possible that he sees you the same way you see him?

You don’t like to talk in leagues. It’s ridiculous and pointless and for the most part inaccurate. You know your worth. You’re a good person with a lot to offer, fairly pretty on a good day, with some flaws, of course, but nothing that outrageous, just like most people. But Jungkook is quite, he’s quite phenomenal. Friendship put aside, you can see how much of a surreal deal he is. And physically -even though it doesn't usually matter to you but since it’s about sleeping together for the sake of sex rather than feelings, it kind of does matter here-, he’s beyond anything you have ever seen, in real life or on a screen. He’s something else. Something else from another world. A perfect dream of a perfect sculptor brought to life. And he’s looking at you like he doesn’t know that, like he can’t see that and he believes it’s you the piece of art.

“Sure. You’re- It looks so pretty on you.” His voice has lost some of the heavy tension from before. He's smoothing the tissue under his fingers, studying the quiet intricacies in the pattern.

“Thanks. I just bought it.” His dark orbs snap up.

“For me?” You could lie. You could and he would never know about it but you want to tell him the truth. You nod. Shrugging slightly to pretend casualty. Kindly, he whispers, “Thank you, babe. I love it.”

Maybe it's the timid blush on your cheeks that manages to change his heart. Either way, it’s like he finally thinks you’ve done enough and don’t deserve to be waiting any longer. However, now it’s your turn to delay the action a bit. Placing your hand on his just wrapped firmly around his cock, you prevent him from covering it up just yet. There’s still precum shinning at the slit, and the head looks so sweet, you just need to know if it’d feel as good against your clit as it did on your tongue. It does. It’s soft and sleek, warm, it toys so pleasingly with your button and the visual, the visual is sinful. The cherry on top is the expression you catch on his face when you look up. Jungkook is as mesmerized as you are by the sight.

“I want you now, Guk.” It takes him a good five seconds during which he gauges your gaze. You’re not sure what he meant to find there. Doubt maybe? Disappointment? Probably. Disappointment matching his own for he seems to drag on the moment he separates your two sexes to proceed on slipping the condom on. You feel it too. The almost dread. There’s a vivid image of him jerking himself off against your clit that blinks furiously behind your eyelids. Fuck. It doesn’t help to see him tug at his cock and manipulate it between those beautiful veiny hands of his.

“Up.” You obey forthwith, pushing on your knees to let him place the tip just under you. His free hand push the crotch of your panties to the side, managing to sneak a couple of fingers between your lips. It makes him smile when he sees you unwittingly bucking your hips forward. “You control it all, ok? It’s like for my thigh, you just do what feels good to you, yeah?”

You nod. The rational part of your brain is freaking out but the greedy glutton that is the other side jumps on the occasion. Literally. In one swift motion, you've downed yourself completely on him, taking his cock entirely in, you’re almost positive you can feel him in your womb. It has him gasp loudly, cursing under his breath as his hands fly to your hips to squeeze them meanly. You don’t know if it’s a manifestation of a brusque and unexpected rush of pleasure or if you’ve hurt him as much as you hurt yourself. He should have done it. He’s the one that knows how to get you off. He gives you the power for five seconds and you manage to hurt the both of you with your incompetence and stupid hormones. It's not a good time to give up though. Not when he still has the steamiest kisses for your collarbones. You start rising up slowly this time, it’s decided you’re keeping it slow. It’s easier for you and brings you progressively to a more comfortable fit. Also as you take your time to free every inch and take them back in one by one, you get to feel him graze your walls. It’s a wonderful sensation. Being that filled up. Being on top of this man who’s still holding you like you’re holding his faith between your hands and he’s so willing to know what you’ll decide to do with it.

Lucky for him, you're feeling merciful. It’s hard not to when through the layers of sweat and crimson covering him into your lover, you still catch glimpses of your best friend. The cute little boy, forever the cure to your loneliness and adversities, the one person you would give up your whole life and its aspirations for. Even your family, you care so much about them, love them so dearly but you’re still marked by that time you had to come to the realization that your life was your own and you had to disappoint them by going against what they wanted for you just because it didn’t match your vision. But Jungkook, Jungkook could ask anything from you, anything and you’d give it to him. You’d give up on anything that’s ever meant something to you. Because he is everything. He's all the meaning your life owns. You’re not sure if it’s the right time but it’s there, sitting on his cock, riding him minutely that you feel a rush of utter love and adoration for the one friend that possesses your happiness since you were little. He's so sweet to have never withheld it from you but you know it depends on him. You could cry just meeting his pretty eyes looking back at you with as much fondness as your heart feels.

You’re getting too sappy, it’s ridiculous. You gather it comes from the pace, nice but not high enough to have you two focused entirely on the pleasure. Therefore you proceed to mix it up as much as your body would allow you. Switching the speed, the movements, rotating your hips instead of rising them, going back to jumping on it, just guiding yourself by his reactions, the quiet curses, the kneading of your flesh under his hands, the wincing of his features. He’s so hot. So sexy. You can’t keep your eyes off of him. You don’t even deliberately control your hips anymore. It’s just your body following closely Jungkook's advice. Doing whatever feels good.

“Guk, I’m close.” His eyes which had been closed for the past few minutes from the deep grinding of your hips against his pelvis suddenly shoot open. They’re not soft nor gentle anymore. All dark and intense again.

He grabs your face in his hand, the thumb digging in your left cheek as the rest of his fingers press the other one. Pressing his mouth hard to yours he asks, “Will you come for more?” He's harsh, voice severe as he doesn't speak but growl, sending an electric jolt to your spine. Soon the idea that there might be even more hidden wherever that Jungkook comes from is sending liquid fire to your cunt.

“Yes, yes, I will!” You gasp, blinking a tear down your cheek. He notices it and let his grip on your face to wipe it away. You’re about to come. You’re so fucking close. You can tell the ball of your orgasm has reached its maximum size, it just needs something, one little something to burst and annihilate everything else. “Why?” His hand is back to the side of your face, not rigid like before instead warmly cupping it. Eyes searching for yours, he presses, “Why is that? Baby, tell me please.”

“Cause you’re so goo-uh”

“Me or my cock?” He chuckles against your hair and you wonder how the fuck he has enough brains left to make jokes, when he’s that deep inside of you and must be, has to be, as close as you are.

“B-both” That makes him laugh again, that same mean chortle.

“Yes,” He’s moaning it so languidly. He relishes in the idea. “Shit- come here.” Jungkook presses down on your lower back, you follow leniently, like clay in his hands, laying entirely on top of him. He helps you raise your ass up higher and once you meet the perfect position to take it, he starts thrusting upward hard, slowly but brutally, each time you can hear the loup clap of his hips against your skin, you’re pretty sure it’s going to hurt tomorrow but for now, it feels fabulous.

It’s so rough and it feels like you’ve been going at it forever. The girth is dragging the ring of your hole along with the movement and that stimulation alone is electrifying. You’re almost there.

“Tell me- talk to me,” Desperation is laced closely to his tone now. It fits him so well, you're loving it. “Tell me y-you’ll come back to me for m-more, please.” He’s losing it, you can hear it in his tremble, his cute stutter. And the grunts he’s leaving between each needy word sound animalistic.

“I will, Jungkook.” It comes out before you even get to think the confession over. But as it does, you realize you mean them entirely. “I’ll always come back, you just, ah, you fuck me so well. So fucking good, your big cock always-” A particularly strong thrust, resembling more of a spasm, pushes a new tear down your cheek. “fills me up so good, you- no one has ever-“

“Fuck. No one has ever what?”

“Fucked me this good, shit.” Shockingly enough it’s your own words, filterless, genuine and born from the fabulous heat of this moment, that suffice to push your orgasm to the edge and make it explode and invade your whole being, body and mind. You don’t even take notice when Jungkook ends up coming, blinded and rendered deaf by your own pleasure.

It's when your erratic heart starts to calm down, and your muscles to relax, melting calmly into Jungkook’s body who’s welcoming you so kindly, not complaining about the heat or the weight or the stickiness, you gather he came too.

It’s incredible this sensation. Not that you’re proud of it but being taken over by pleasure so much so to render you selfish and clueless of your every surrounding, even your lover, it’s never happened before. You wonder if that’s not the precise reason why none of your before-Jungkook orgasms can compare.

As you land back safely on his chest, you're only granted a few minutes with his agitated heart beating under your cheek and his comforting warmth before your surroundings reappear to you, obnoxiously reminding themselves to existence. “Oh my god, Jimin!” You whisper yell in a theatrical gasp. It just makes Jungkook laugh. This moron.

“S’fine, he has Eun to discuss it with.” You raise up, fighting the fatigue, just to glare at him. It's the same stupid argument as last time. Except this time, it's so fucking worse. You still don't get how casual he can be about this. “I don’t care. Do you?”

a/n : Phew. That was a big chunk. If you made it this far, i thank you immensely. I’m sorry if the editing is a bit off, i’ve been looking at this piece of work for too long and my head is torturing me so yea, soz. What did you think? Tell me all your thoughts!! There’s still one chapter to go (but i don’t know when it’ll be up - i have other little spooky projects to attend to, i hope you guys don’t mind). ANYWAY. A beautiful week-end to you guys, kisses, love & 🍗🍜. :)

tag list : @lavscenery @busansgloss @batakookie @jwlmnbt @somewhereinthestarss @amanda-deann @feminist-goddess

#ksmutclub #gukkienet #btswriterscollective #networkbangtan #bts smut #jungkook smut #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #bts fluff #jungkook fluff #bts angst #jungkook angst #jungkook scenario #bts scenario #my writing

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aweirdkindofyellow · 3 years

Text

The Royal Invitation, Pt.15

Aerowyn Matilde George Rothchester might seem like a very long name, but it definitely is not for a royal in the Kingdom of Dalewin.

After her grandfather, the beloved king, passed away, Aerowyn (also known as Winny) is called back from her art school in New York. She’s thrown back into her royal duties, expected to know what to do.

But with the Royal advisor on tour with the new king, Winny is left to figure things out with his stepson. The only problem, he has no idea what he’s doing, after all he’s only the lead singer in a band.

Co-written story with @scream-tears.

Chapter 15

Winny’s POV:

I stared at Alex for a while. His eyes were shut and he looked asleep, I just needed to be sure that he actually was. When he didn’t even twitch after a few more minutes, I carefully slipped out of my bunk. As soon as I was standing on the floor, I checked up on Alex again, gladly seeing that he still hadn’t moved. I tiptoed over and gently closed the curtain so he could no longer be distrubed by anything that happened in the corridor.

I turned around and went to the next bottom bunk, squatting down so I was face to face with its curtain. As I learned to do, I softly knocked on the plastic board to get the attention of whoever was on the other side. However, I got no response. I rolled my eyes a little and knocked again, a bit louder, but still trying my best not to wake up anybody else around.

When I still didn’t get a response, I sighed and just yanked open the curtain a little. Jack stared back at me like a deer caught in headlights. The only light illuminating his face was coming from his laptop and he was wearing huge headphones. I raised an eyebrow at him, still waiting to get some kind of reaction. When his initial shock wore off, he moved his headphones to free one ear to listen to me.

“Everybody’s asleep!” I whispered.

He didn’t make a sound when he put away his laptop and headphones, only to poke his head out of the bunk and look left and right to see if I was correct. When he saw that I was indeed not lying, he pulled me into his bunk. I was immediately straddling him and I quickly closed the curtain before anybody would wake up and walk past.

“Come here,” he groaned and pulled me down to start a fiery kiss, immediately already tugging at my shirt.

We did our best to be as silent as possible. However, it was inevitable that occasionally a limb or another body part smacked into a wall. That bunk was barely big enough for two people to squish in, let alone to people to get it on. We managed to make it work. And it seemed like nobody had noticed anything. Or at least nobody said anything or gave us any weird looks. Not even Alex seemed to suspect a thing. He just showed up excitedly for our morning walks every day, always expecting me in my bunk.

I couldn’t believe I was saying it, but it was quite a difficult and tiring secret to keep up. Staying up late with Jack just to have to leave before I fell asleep only to have to wake up early-ish in the morning for Alex? Exhausting.

But I was having fun. I was still forever grateful that Alex had made the decision to let me come with him. Even if I was alone for a little while. There were no pressures on me here. I got to do anything I wanted. Rather than jobs being piled on jobs, I now had to actively seek if I could help out anywhere. It was absolutely magnificent.

I was wandering around the backstage area of the arena for the night while world famous rock stars All Time Low were busy doing a whole list of different interviews. You’d be surprised how many interesting things you can find in the deep dark crevices of arenas. Or they were just plain boring. There really wasn’t much of an in between.

I was walking through a hallway and past one of the dressing rooms when my name was called out. “Aerowyn!”

Without thinking twice, I turned around and entered the room, looking up to see Mark Hoppus staring right back at me. It seemed like I had just randomly and rudely walked in. “I’m sorry, I thought I heard my name.”

“Aerowyn,” he repeated.

I shook my head, realising just how big my mistake had been. I tried to act oblivious, like he was saying a word that I didn’t know. “I’m sorry, what?

“You might have been able to fool the others, but you can’t fool me,” he laughed lightly and warmly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I continued to try and play it off.

If my identity came out, things could go horribly wrong. Maybe not necessarily in the circle of the bands on tour. But it was bound to get out. And if my behaviour or drinking and casually sleeping with Jack came out, it would be a scandal. They were pretty chill in Dalewin, but that didn’t mean everything was suddenly acceptable.

“Oh, come on, I’m not an idiot!” Mark rebutted. “A quick google search into Dalewin was all I needed. I hear about a country I never knew existed, I take time to learn about it.”

He pulled out his phone from his back pocket and tapped a few times on the screen before handing it to me. I looked down at it in my hands and saw a photo of ‘The Royal Family of The Kingdom of Dalewin’. It was a relatively old picture. I was about 16 and looked a lot younger. It was taken for my grandfather’s birthday that year. There was also a picture of the entire family, but this one was just my grandpa, my parents, Gus-Gus, and me. I was wearing some light pink dress that I could still remember to this day. My mom had refused to let me wear it, but my grandpa somehow managed to change her mind. Everybody else was wearing much more sophisticated colours.

I shrugged and went to give the phone back. “I look a bit like her, but that isn’t me.”

“Swipe to the next photo.”

I did as instructed and went to the next photo he had prepared for me. It was one of the photos taken for my dad’s coronation. Specifically one that consisted of just me and Augustus. I couldn’t even try to hide behind the fact that it just looked like me. This was a close up of us. Even the birthmark on my neck was visible.

“Okay…” I nodded. I couldn’t deny it anymore. “That is me.”

“Pretty foolproof cover,” he chuckled as I defeatedly handed his phone back.

“Well, usually it works better when I’m just Matilde George from New York with a funny accent, not Matilde from Dalewin.”

“So hiding your identity is a common occurrence, then?”

“Only when I’m in New York,” I explained and looked behind me when I heard footsteps, but it was just somebody walking past. “It makes studying there just a little easier. Nobody constantly reporting on my every move, or hoping to blackmail me.”

“You seem pretty serious about keeping it a secret.” He frowned, also briefly glancing at the door.

“If Alex were to know that you knew, he’d start forcing me to act normal again.” I sighed and tugged on my hair. “I was hoping to get away from that.”

“Normal?” He raised an eyebrow at me in amusement. “You mean to tell me you don’t usually chug beer after beer?”

“Art student Matilde does, Princess Aerowyn does not.”

“I’m assuming Aerowyn also can’t have that thing going on with Jack and Alex.”

“Thing going on?” I questioned with confusion.

“Don’t act oblivious again.”

“I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about,” I laughed awkwardly.

I didn’t consider whatever I was doing with Jack a ‘thing’. A ‘thing’ sounded way more serious. Jack and I were only having sex when it suited us, nothing else. And Alex? There definitely wasn’t anything going on there. He was one of the only good friends I had made as Aerowyn in ages. All my friends back in New York loved fun Matilde, not responsible Aerowyn.

“Alright… if you say so.” Mark gave me a very suspicious look.

Before I could assure him there was really nothing going on, Alex came rushing into the room.

“There you are! I’ve been looking all over the place for you!!” He exclaimed in relief, coming up behind me.

I looked at Mark with a hint of fear. He had the power in his hands. With just a word, he could ruin it all. Usually, my fate didn’t depend on one person so much. I was very used to having at least a little control. People did help me make choices, and I often did follow them, but I did always have the last word. Unless it was towards my parents or higher ranking royals, of course.

“Matilde and I were just discussing gardening tips with each other,” Mark quickly made up.

“Gardening tips?” Alex looked as puzzled as I tried to be earlier.

“Yep, you know, since she works with horses and stuff…”

“Ah! Right, yes.” He nodded in understanding before directing his next part to me. “I was going to go out for coffee and you’re coming with me!”

“I’m coming with you?” I challenged.

“Yeah, live a little,” he scoffed and pulled on my arm to drag me out of the room.

I made eye contact with Mark one more time and mouthed a ‘thank you’ to him. He responded with a wink and a smile as Alex continued to force me to join him.

#all time low fanfiction #Alex Gaskarth fanfiction #jack barakat fanfiction #all time low imagines #alex gaskarth imagine #jack barakat imagine #The Royal Invitation #fanfiction

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xxxmaydayxxx · 4 years

Text

Shigaraki Tomura x Reader Dry Humping Headcanons NSFW

This is my first headcanon post...so it’ll be shite, especially since I’m writing for this cute lil freak. Just wanna add there will be spoilers to Boku No Hero Academia (My Hero Academia) and I do not own the character at all.

Trigger warning: Bad language (I swear a lot), Shiggy being creepy, spoilers, NSFW dry humping scene but not full on sex, also Shiggy’s a bit OOC...

also cringe ahead.

- When you first met Shiggy, you came to the LOV’s hideout with Dabi ‘n’ Toga (how original)

- You weren't rude like him or batshit crazy like her, you were...normal?

- What was someone like you doing in a place like this?

- Does he ask? No. Did he want to? Yes. Why didn't he?

- Too busy.

- Not that important.

- The truth was the mere thought of talking to you one to one made him feel like his heart was in his throat. So much so he couldn't breath.

- His face would feel hot.

- His mouth would dry out.

- His leg would bounce up and down uncontrollably.

- And just everything would become distorted. Sound, sight, touch and smell.

- And don't get me started on how you'd make his cock twinge ever so slightly.

- Jesus, was he sick? Why did you start making him feel like this?

- He didn't properly talk to you until after a stressful mission, he came back tired, stressed and out of breath.

- Everything was hazy and moving in slow motion.

- But when he bumped into you...

- Everything felt safe, comfortable, complete.

- If you asked him he'd just say you made things better. That’s all.

- He didn't remember how the conversation started but somehow you both got to why you joined.

- You had witnessed hero society first hand when you and a few friends decided to conduct an experiment that could've gotten you into trouble with some heroes.

- You had walked around the city looking like you'd been attacked and wounded while your friends filmed the bystanders reactions from afar.

- No one helped, all they did was look away.

- You found it pitiful, you wanted to make everyone suffer and teach them to help others in their time of need.

- You didn't care if you had to become the bad guy to do some good.

- Things had to change.

- You didn't realise you were ranting until you turned to Tomura.

- He was just staring at you, a look of interest and admiration on his crusty face.

- He thought you were so innocent yet so determined and brave, almost heroic even though you were part of the league.

- Everything about you drew him in.

- Your beauty.

- Your smell.

- Your beliefs.

- God your fucking eyes.

- Smile

- Hair

- Body

- Ass

- Tits

- The way you breathed.

- And talked.

- The way you talked so softly and passionately at the same time.

- He started noticing so many things about you.

- These new feelings were getting overwhelming.

- Everything made him want to touch you.

- Kiss you.

- Rub you.

- Fuck you.

- God this isn some crush anymore it’s a fucking obsession.

- He doesn’t want you, if anything he wants you to stay away.

- He needs you, so much so he’s scared he’ll lose control.

- He doesn't want to do anything too harsh to scare you off. Just enough for him to know you’ll still be around and not dispise him completely.

- Maybe he coul-

- “Shigaraki-san?”

- He snapped back into reality.

- He was now sitting closely to you on the couch, your thighs touching his. His face a breath away from yours.

- He didn't realise he had gotten so close.

- “Are you, ok? You kind of zoned out while I was talking”.

- Tomura stiffened as sound of you voice sent strange feelings straight to his member.

- Now or never, might as well get it over with.

- He carefully leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on your lips.

- His lips were chapped but that didn't matter, they had barely even touched yours and it was so brief you'd have to blink to miss it.

- He stared at you and you stared back intensely.

- You hands quickly wrap around the back of his scratched up neck and pull him in roughly for another kiss before he could leave.

- He’s in shock for a split second. so many thoughts were racing through his brain.

- Why weren't you running?

- He coud kill you right now.

- You’re making a big mistake.

- But he was already in love with the feeling of your lips on his.

- He let his hormones take over.

- And kissed back just as hard.

- He let his arms wrap round you waist and rested his hands on your hips, making sure to lift up a finger on each hand.

- He pulled you onto his lap without breaking the delicious contact with your lips as his hands made there way down to your short skirt.

- Your hands tangled themselves in his light blue locks, though they looked knotted and unkept they were pretty damn soft. You gave them a slight tug and he gasped quietly and swiftly moved his hands under your skirt to your panty clad ass, grasping it tightly and grinding it on his clothed erection.

-Which was now hard as a rock, and fucking huge.

- The only things between that and your dripping, tight little pussy was your underwear and his sweats, which were doing absolutely nothing to cover his large, aching cock.

- As your hips moved in sync, his mouth had made its way to your neck, littering it with kisses and love bites. He hummed aggressively against your sweet spot as your ground your wet panty covered pussy on his bulge.

- You were moaning like a bitch in heat as the feeling of his sweats over his hard cock rubbed your swollen clit over and over again sending shockwaves throughout you body. Your keep one hand in his hair, softy clutching it and massaging his scalp while the other snuck down between her legs.

- Tomura’s eyes widened as you lifted yourself up and pulled your underwear to the side and started grinding on his clothed dick again, moaning even louder than before, not caring if anyone could hear.

- “F-fuck Y/N, this is-is incrediBLe”

- “Hah, Shi-Shigaraki-s-san”

- “Tomura” He growled out. Fuck he was getting so close.

- Before you could speak, he forced his tongue into your mouth and battled your own for dominance and muffling your erotic cries.

- He was now humping up at your naked pussy fast and hard, desperate for release, you could feel his hard cock pulsing and throbbing through his sweatpants.

- You could also feel yourself coming undone on his lap. Your pussy was about to-to!

_ “Tomura I-I’m cumming!”

- “Me t-too, Fuck!” he cried as his strong thrusts became unhinged and erratic. With a final three thrusts he filled his pants up with his hot cum, over and over again as you shook against him, soaking his pants with your juices.

- Tomura sat on the couch breathing heavily, his quivering member shrinking in his pants, completely drained. His body shined with sweat and his heart was beating rapidly. He turned his head to look at you in his lap.

- Sweat covered your body like his and you twitched a couple times after your release. Your sleepy eyes glossed over with lust as you looked back at him with a lovesick expression, which he gladly returned.

- It took a little while afterwards for you both to get your energy back, but once you did, Tomura and you made your ways to the shower to “clean up”.

Ok, done, this is my first time posting so I’m well aware this isn't a piece of art. Feel free to request one-shots, head canons, nsfw I’m not too bothered, I do need time to figure out what I won't do. Also if you know anyways I can improve please let me know, I’m clearly very desperate for help.

Anyway thanks for reading!! Love you!

#shigaraki smut #bnha shigaraki #shigaraki tomura #tenko shimura #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki fluff #shigaraki headcanons #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #shigarakilemon #tomurashigaraki #headcanons #smut #bnha smut #xreader #reader

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alinette-coccinelle · 4 years

Text

Written in the Tea Leaves

Hey Katelyn! I was your MLB Secret Santa, Merry Christmas! You said Lukanette was your favourite so I hope you like this little meet cute ficlet; I tried to pick two complementary cute AU's for this fluff piece so i hope you like it!

AO3

Despite the lack of sleep and her usual hatred for mornings Marinette had woken up long before sunrise today, her mind caught up in the opening of her and Alya’s very own Tattoo shop, their dream come true after years of hard work. She’d attempt to plan her outfit out the night before but with hours to kill in the morning she’d gotten changed a further six times, her nerves and excitement refusing to let her sit still. In the end she settled on a lacy dusky pink sundress that was both her favourite colour and still flashy enough to show off the art she wore on her own skin proudly.

And Marinette was no stranger to Ink, her fingers itched daily to add to the scrawling elegant display of watercolour flowers that spiralled both her arms and nearly met across her shoulder blades and collar bones. It was getting to the point where she struggled to add to the piece herself, instead bothering Alya to copy out her designs onto skin; Alya who was almost as talented with ink, though she preferred to stab people with jewellery usually.

The most recent addition to Marinette’s piece had been three small gold washed marigolds across her shoulder blade, to represent her and Alya’s creative dream coming true, every single one of the flowers she wore held a meaning of some kind, literally wearing her heart on her sleeves for all to see.

With the healing process finally over and the urge to show off her skill for the opening Marinette decided she was brave enough to skip the coat and bare the brisk spring air, after all it looked warm enough with the rising sun and it would be a shame to cover up the art she wanted to show off. With her heart still fluttering somewhere rapidly in her throat in excitement she decided she couldn’t wait any longer to get into the shop and so for the first time in forever she set off from her apartment ridiculously early, Alya would be pleased.

In her unrestrained glee Marinette had failed to notice the sky darkening or even the air growing cold as she practically skipped down the cobbled streets to their shop. When the rain finally broke overhead the squeal that ripped from her throat was genuine shock and despite trying to keep under shop awnings she was truly and unsurprisingly soaked, hair plastered to her face within minutes and her whole form violently shivering as she dripped.

Sheltering herself against the side of the building Marinette found herself cursing her luck and scowling down at the ‘lucky’ ladybug tattooed on the outside of her wrist, as if it was going to give her a solution; she was only about half way between home and the shop and in either direction laid more rain. In the end Marinette made the split-second decision to duck into the only open looking coffee shop on the corner, the lights glowing warmly through the window into the rainy gloom. Sure she wasn’t far from the safety of her own shop but the hottest tea she could stand sounded like a good pay off to her rain soaked self and maybe she could even miss the rest of the downpour safely inside, it wasn’t like she was running late.

Feeling a little more hopeful Marinette dashed back out into the rain and darted through the coffee shop door blindly, water dripping in her eyes as the bell chimed above her. As soon as the door shut and the warmth hit her and she stilled leaning back on her heels just slightly as her shivers subsided and her eyes slid closed happily, rubbing her arms a little for warmth as she adjusted.

“You’re dripping on my floor.” came an amused voice from her left, startling her eyes open.

Marinette immediately rushed to apologise, hands fluttering and her whole face turning scarlet but before she could mumble the words aloud a soft towel was being pushed into her hands, stilling them.

“It’s clean, dry yourself off and go sit by the guitars, it’s where the heating vents are.” He winked at her like sharing a secret before turning back to head towards the counter. “I’ll bring you something warm; tea?”

The unbelievably flustered Marinette just nodded in response, eyes wide and face burning but he at least seemed amused by her speechlessness, smiling as he left.

Despite still dripping with rainwater her brain failed to jump into action, instead allowing her eyes to follow the baristas retreating form unbidden, the teal tips of his locks reflecting in the lights and the muscles under his black button up flexing casually as he moved. ‘He’s Cute’ was the first thing to flash forward followed in the empty silence of her thoughts followed rapidly by ‘I look like a took a swim in the Seine! Argh!’

Finally kicked into action she immediately began towelling the rainwater off her face and shoulders before gently rubbing her hair, careful to try and make herself as presentable as possible by pulling her fingers through the now wavy damp locks. She eventually remembered to move from the door, eyes darting back to the Barista as she walked, this time watching as he selected tea leaves from a variety of jars on the counter adding them to a glass teapot. She was pretty sure could hear him humming as he worked which caused her lips to twitch into a small involuntary smile.

For a beat she hovered next to the table unsure if she wanted to get the comfy looking fabric seats all wet but when she next glanced up she could see the barista’s dimpled smile sent her way across the counter and as their eyes finally met her suddenly weak knees decided she needed the seat after all. So Marinette perched gingerly on the edge of the chair, fingers worrying in the damp fabric of her skirt as she waited, the returning smile on her lips refusing to be squashed by her embarrassment even if she couldn’t quite look his way again.

She instead cast her eyes about the café quickly catching on to the musical theme as she spotted all sorts of instruments mounted to the walls, not just the guitars she was sat near. There was even the odd album poster dotted around and she couldn’t help but smile as she spotted her own Jagged Stone cover amongst the rest; Uncle Jagged had like the design so much he’d let her tattoo it on his arm years later and she wondered idly if the barista was a Jagged fan, maybe she could ask him, If she could find her words again.

Marinette was startled out of her thoughts by a polite clearing of a throat. The Barista and his warm eyes were back, and he was baring a steaming teapot that smelled divine.

“I thought you might like-“ he began,

“I’m sorry about your-” she clattered over him.

His easy smile as he gestured for her to go first calmed the pulse ringing in her ears and Marinette found herself able to meet his lovely teal eyes as she spoke her own soft smile blooming in response.

“I’m sorry about the floor and thank you.” she finally breathed, relieved.

“It’s no problem, we’re not really open yet but you looked cold and a just little damp, so I thought I’d offer you a place to warm up.” He spoke lightly with just a hint of friendly teasing as he placed a musical note patterned mug before her.

“I really appreciate it, thank you! I, um, well I wasn’t quite prepared for the weather.” She admitted. And whilst Marinette had meant to be witty or charming, to try hard and make a good impression something about him put her instantly at ease; happy to just be herself for once, exactly as she was, even if that was a little bashful.

It seemed to be the right move as he grew flushed by her sincere thanks a small blush spreading across his cheeks as his eyes dropped from hers. In fact, Marinette got the distinct impression he’d rub his neck in shyness if his hands weren’t full of teapot, the thought alone caused a warmth to grow in the pit of her stomach; he was as adorable as he was kind.

“I thought this would suit you, jasmine and sakura blossom with curl of apple.” He nodded his chin to the leaves and fruit floating clear teapot before reaching across the table to pour, unintentionally causing his long sleeves to ride up baring the edge of a tattoo to her.

Like a predator spotting pray Marinette instantly zoned in on the tattoo, her bashfulness vanishing in curiosity, her hands reaching forward without thought to push the sleeve further up baring the beautiful design. It was some sort of snake surrounded by fresh tea leaves and music notes, the colours greyscale but with a watercolour wash of blue and teal; very much like her own preferred style.

“Oh! its beautiful.” She gasped delightedly, gently lifting his hand off the lid of the tea pot so she could turn his arm to view it better, revealing a burn scar running through the back of the design.

“I could fix this!” she blurted out, eyes darting across his skin mentally designing and recreating the piece with new details to cover the scar.

In the responding silence she finally glanced up to meet his startled but soft gaze when she remembered they were practically strangers; she didn’t even know his name and she’d gotten carried away again! Quickly releasing his arm, she sat back, linking her fingers together to stop the fidgeting as she turned slowly scarlet from head to toe her eyes fixed somewhere around his chin, no longer brave enough to meet his eyes.

“I’m so sorry, that was so rude! I’m a tattoo artist and I get carried away and I shouldn’t have and–“

He cut her off with the scrape of the chair next to her as he took a seat, carefully arranging the music note patterned apron on his knee, as if giving her a chance to breathe before ducking slightly to try and gently catch her gaze.

“It’s okay but maybe we should start again properly. I’m Luka.”

His voice was so warm, like honey, that it took her a moment to realise he was offering his hand to shake; her daintier hand engulfed by his as she finally reached out and shook. She forced herself to untense and to meet his eyes with a smile despite the tingles in her fingertips of the hand he still held.

“I’m um, I’m Ma-Ma-Marinette! Pleased to meet you!” she stumbled the moment his eyes connected with hers, really at 26 she ought to be better at this, but Luka just chuckled softly squeezing her fingers but seemingly in no rush to let go either.

“Well Ma-Ma-Marinette, let’s talk about these tattoos...”

And they did her mouth spiralling out of control as her nerves calmed when supplied with a topic she loved, quickly explaining her skill and style before expressing exactly how she’d like to cover the scar in his design, absently tracing her plans with her fingertips on his skin. Luka in turn explained exactly how the scar came to be and how he ended up trading in music and fancy tea leaves, before shifting closer and gently touching the flowers across her arms, quizzing her on the meaning behind the art and how she’d come to be an artist in ink.

In the end he ended up getting down his favourite guitar off the wall and playing her some pieces for inspiration as she rapidly sketched out his new tattoo design on a napkin in biro; she couldn’t wait for a sketch book not when the idea was so perfect.

Before they knew it, hours had passed, the sun was breaking through the clouds and Marinette was getting a frantic call from Alya about being late to opening day as Luka realised that he should have opened the store front an hour ago. There wasn’t time for awkward lingering goodbyes, Marinette instead throwing her arms around the taller boy in a soft slightly to long hug before she was dashing out of his arms and running out of the door, wearing his borrowed jacket. A jacket that she’d later find a hastily hidden note baring his number in the pocket of.

So, when Marinette happened to get a craving for tea the next morning and returned his jacket with the pocket now hiding a preliminary sketch of his new design and her own number neatly in the corner it was only natural. As it was when she was invited back day after day, after all it was on her way and they had design to settle on.

Nearly a month later when that design was finally on his arm but now also baring greyscale sakura blossoms amongst the scattered tea leaves, it seemed almost logical for matching tea leaves to appear on Marinette’s design in return too, it was such an aesthetic combination after all.

And months after that when a beaming Marinette moved into the flat above his cosy tea shop to live with an overjoyed Luka no one even blinked, it seemed some people’s fate were written in the tea leaves after all.

#fic #mlsecretsanta2k19 #lukanette #miraculous ladybug #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #my drabbles #fluff #coffee shop au #tattoo parlor au #no powers au

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laurelsofhighever · 5 years

Text

The Falcon and the Rose Ch. 38 - The Wind and the Summer Sea

Chapter 1 on AO3 This chapter on AO3 Masterpost here

Twenty-ninth day of Justinian, 9:32 Dragon

Consciousness came back to Alistair slowly. A haze of dim sound faded in and out of his awareness, some kind of scratching, and with it the sensation of his eyes roving beneath the lids. His head felt thick, his body heavy and too hot, and when he tried to move, he discovered through a general inventory of aches and pains that somebody had dressed him in his nightclothes. The noise stopped. He must have caught the attention of whoever had been making it.

A shadow blocked the light. As he turned towards it a cool hand smoothed against his forehead, and he squinted itchy eyes up at Rosslyn, no more than a dry blur through his exhaustion but one he would recognise anywhere.

“You’re awake.”

He made an indistinct noise and found out his throat had been rubbed with sandpaper.

“Hold on.”

She slipped away from him and without her face to ground him his eyes drifted shut again, content instead to follow her movements by listening as she glided about the room. He heard a door open, a muttered conversation, but his mind struggled to comprehend the words and floated instead, wavering between the current state of his body and flashes of the Swallow, the rising water, and the return to shore that he could barely remember. How long had he been lying here? Where was here? Just as he dared open his eyes again to check, blinking in the light, Rosslyn closed the door to whoever was outside and stepped lightly back towards the bed. His bed, he realised.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, brushing fingers along his cheek, apparently unaware that she had sat with her thigh pressing against his hip.

He groaned. “I’m still pretty at least, right?”

“Well there’s no blood this time,” she reasoned, with a ghost of her usual smirk. “And no broken bones. I’d call this a distinct improvement.”

“Hmm.”

In the silence, her gaze slid away from his, dipping instead to where her hand followed the line of his neck over his chest, to where his heart fluttered beneath his ribs. Unlike at West Roth, there was no hesitation in her touch, no recoil when his hand – almost of its own accord – unfolded from beneath the covers and settled at her waist. She barely seemed to notice. Dark circles bruised the hollows of her eyes, lending her skin a pallid sheen, and the hair usually so neatly braided frayed at the temples. But she was warm, and real, and leaning over him with a knotted frown hanging between her brows.

“I had a dream like this once,” he remembered, rubbing small circles onto her hip with his thumb.

“Mm?”

“Oh yes. I was tucked up in bed, and you were all worried about me... I can’t feel my legs.”

To his surprise, she laughed. “I can assure you they’re still there. Look.”

Cuno sprawled across the bottom half of his body, with his head pillowed on Alistair’s thigh and his paws splayed over the entire width of the bed. One bridle eyelid twitched as he snored.

“His breath stinks.”

Rosslyn smiled fondly as she stroked her dog's ears. “You couldn’t possibly ask me to move him, not when he’s so peaceful.”

“No, I suppose not,” he huffed, still trying to work out how he had missed the presence of such a heavy animal on top of him.

“He was the best way we could think of to keep you warm. You were almost blue by the time we got you back.”

“How long was I asleep?”

“A day and a night.” The words were spoken calmly, but her frown deepened with the recollection. “The deepstalker venom kept your blood flowing against the cold, but then it gave you a fever and we had to bring it down.” She offered him a smile that didn’t quite lift the slump of her shoulders. “You got us our ships.”

He caught the hand still lying over his heart and brought the knuckles to his lips. “You look exhausted.”

Rosslyn opened her mouth to reply, perhaps to deny the observation, but her breath stalled and in the gap between her words the silence eddied like a dammed stream. One slight tug on her fingers and he could draw her down, coax her to rest against him, wrap her up in his arms and use her warmth to soothe away the despair the demons had clawed into his mind.

“What happened in that dream you mentioned?” she asked.

Heat itched on the back of his neck. “You, uh, spilled soup all over me.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes,” he replied. “The finest leek and potato – there was a public outcry and Cailan held a state funeral and everything. It was very moving.”

She shook her head, that lopsided smirk in place. “I don’t think I quite believe you. You’re blushing too much.”

“Curse my delicate complexion.” He smiled as he squeezed her hand. “It doesn’t really matter anyway.”

“Why not?”

“Because this is better.”

She tried to look exasperated, though the roll of her eyes was betrayed by the pull of her bottom lip, drawn between her teeth in a futile effort to remain demure. On an ordinary day, he might have teased her for such a reaction, but here in the quiet of his borrowed room, with his wounds aching under their bandages and the memory of the cold crawling along his spine, all he could do was look on, revel in the image before him, and marvel at the fact that she thought him worth all this effort. Her gaze flickered down to his mouth and his breath faltered. This time, he found the courage to tug on her fingers, beckoning with the same soft touch on her waist for her to tilt forwards, into his arms, into the kiss with which the demon had tried to tempt him in the cave. He remembered their promise to talk, but that could come later, after sleep and food and hopefully hours upon hours of having Rosslyn’s lips pressed against his own.

The door opened just as his hand cupped her jaw. They pulled apart in surprise, with the dog behind them snorting at the sudden rude interruption to his nap, and every muscle in Rosslyn’s body stiffened with defiance. In the doorway stood the Storm Giant, his arms folded over his chest, glowering under his bristling mane of white hair.

“So you’re back in the land o’ the living,” he growled, and turned to Rosslyn. “Away wi’ ye.”

She glared and stood, sliding to block the old man’s view like a wolf in front of the den. “You couldn’t give him an hour at least?”

“Hey,” Alistair tried, reaching for her hand.

“You only just woke up,” she reminded him.

“And thanks to you, I’m absolutely fine. I’ll be alright.”

The Storm Giant cleared his throat when she opened her mouth to argue further. “There are matters te be discussed. In private.”

Still not quite ready to back down, cheeks hot with defiance, she glanced to Alistair with a final press of his hand and stalked over to the other side of the bed to the scrubbed wooden bench that served as a vanity.

“A letter for the king,” she explained when she caught his questioning glance. “I finished it just before you woke up, and if I’m to be evicted, I might as well do something useful.”

Unhurried, she folded the loose leaves of paper into an envelope and scrawled Cailan’s name across the front. The Storm Giant’s scowl only deepened as she turned the package over and closed it with a blob of blue wax from a crucible she had set to melt over a candle, but she remained guileless as she stamped it with Alistair’s own seal in place of the ring she had given to Ser Gideon. When the task was finished, she made a show of wafting the letter to cool the seal, and, though her expression remained bland, the rigid set of her shoulders as she stepped towards the door made even Alistair shiver.

“Cuno,” she snapped, with her eyes fixed on her grandfather.

The dog shifted, ears pricked and stubby tail wagging, waiting for the command.

“Stay here.”

Up above the hold, the cliffs basked under the bright summer sky, the last of the previous day’s clouds chased across the horizon by a stiff northerly wind that coaxed white tips to the waves below and made the meadow grass ripple like silk. Out of the close atmosphere of the sickroom, and with Alistair’s recovery now certain, Rosslyn found space to breathe again. Her vantage point offered a view clear across Dunedyn and beyond the narrow strait to the neighbouring island, a sacred place forbidden to all but the augurs. Ships leapt through the stramash, one among them perhaps carrying the letter she had left with Brantis, and the others likely the clan lords’ vessels, going to take news of the moot to the rest of the Clayne.

News of Alistair’s success. She twisted the circle of flowers in her hands. Making crowns from the blooms that grew in the upland meadows had been a tradition she shared with her mother, who had taught her how to weave grass and stalk together without leaving loose ends to stick out and spoil the effect, and who had always giggled when her finished wreath was placed atop her husband’s head. The memory brought a smile to Rosslyn’s lips as she worked. She had started without quite meaning to, the action a reflexive motion to occupy her hands and keep her mind focussed on something other than the moment Alistair dragged himself out of the Swallow. It had played itself out again and again in the hours they had worked to save his life. Nerlina had come to her in the late hours of the evening, once he was out of danger, and apologised for her comments during the feast.

“I was just playing a little,” she had said. “If I had known...”

Rosslyn couldn’t remember her reply.

A bumblebee wobbled past and settled on the clover by her feet. Crickets buzzed in the grass nearby, larks high in the sky, and from the crest of the hill came the distant bleating of rams, carried by the wind that snagged her hair and sent it lashing about her shoulders. The day was wearing on, the pressures of the war looming behind the horizon with Tevinter ships and traitorous arls, but for now just distant enough that the pull of an easy walk along the cliffside held greater sway.

She sighed. “Not enough yellow, I think,” she muttered to the wreath, and brushed off her knees as she stood to scan the horizon for buttercups or frothy spikes of lady’s bedstraw.

A bark broke the silence. Turning, she was just in time to catch sight of Cuno through the grass, ears flopping and tongue lolling as he bounded towards her. Though he had tracked her this far, the strength of the wind scattered her scent so that he paused in confusion, craning his head above a spray of ox-eye daisies until she took pity on him and whistled to get his attention. The wide, doggy grin that broke over his face was enough to make her laugh, and she bent down with her arms spread wide to greet him and hopefully dissuade him from barrelling headlong into her legs.

“Who’s a good boy?” she crooned when he met her, scratching his shoulder as he sneezed his delight and tried to lick her chin. “Who’s so clever for finding me? But I did tell you to stay with Alistair.”

Cuno chuffed and sat on her foot, then changed his mind and raced back the way he had come. Alistair was already cresting the hill when the dog reached him, his gait stilted and his shoulders hunched under a cloak he wouldn’t normally have needed, but he waved nonetheless and sent Cuno skipping ahead of him back down the path.

“You should be in bed!” Rosslyn chided. In the daylight, the ashen pallor of his skin stood out more than it should.

“Nonsense.” He grinned at her. “Fresh air and sunshine, that’s what I need.”

Unable to think of any real reply, she turned instead to fuss Cuno, who was delicately trying to steal the flower wreath from her fingers now that he had ceased to be the centre of attention. “No, this is not for eating. Here –” Dodging the investigations of a cold, wet nose, she knelt and placed the wreath on the dog’s head, tucking the sides under his ears to keep it in place.

“Very handsome,” she decided as she leaned back to survey her work.

Cuno only stared at Alistair, imploring.

“I don’t think he believes you.”

“Well, he can live with it.” Her knee cracked as she stood, her gaze on the ocean. “And so will all the disappointed young women I ran into on my way out of the broch. They were all so eager to offer their services and make sure you were alright.”

“It’s a shame I missed them,” Alistair answered with a shrug. “But then again, I was waiting for one young woman in particular, who was nowhere to be found.”

When she faced him, a flutter in her stomach, she found the gap between them closed to a bare few inches. “I would have come back eventually,” she teased. “For my dog if nothing else.”

His thumb brushed over the back of her hand. “Well, he’s very impatient.” His eyes dropped to her mouth. “I wanted to thank you.”

“Thank me?” She blinked, tilted her head back to see him properly, frowned as he pulled her dagger from his belt and offered it to her.

“You saved my life,” he murmured. “Again.”

On instinct, she reached up, but her hand curled away before she could touch the hardened leather scabbard. “No... I was forbidden to help you.” Her hand dropped to her side. “I didn’t do anything.”

For an instant, it looked like he would argue, but the words stalled on his tongue and he sighed them away as he scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Alright. Hypothetically, then. If you had helped me, and you’d been caught, what would have happened?”

The earnest look in those autumn eyes scalded. The view out over the cliffs was far safer, over the sea to where Howe sat in her father’s seat, and over Dunedyn and the realm of her mother’s people, the only family left to her, who were bound by law to shun any who dared defy the will of the sea.

“Nothing that wasn’t worth the risk.” She pushed the dagger back towards him. “Keep it. I’m sure I’ll find another one. But that reminds me...”

He frowned as she fished under her collar, close enough now that his hands fell to her waist in a movement as natural as breathing. His surprise when she revealed his mother’s amulet, hanging from its silver chain around her neck – something swooped low in his belly, a kind of possessiveness that thrilled along the length of his limbs knowing she held onto something that was his, that it touched her skin where nobody else could see.

“I kept it safe,” she offered, when the silence stretched.

“Keep it,” he echoed.

“You’re sure?”

“It looks better on you, and it’s a fair trade. For a dagger. Don’t you think?”

“Alright.”

With a steadying breath, she tucked the tiny silver disk out of sight again and adjusted her shirt to hide it, and batted impatiently at her wind-snaked hair when it caught on her nose and mouth. Alistair watched the quirk of her lips, the nimbleness of her fingers, the way her brows drew in over her grey eyes as she paused and once more let her gaze slip out to the horizon.

“What is it?”

“It’s nothing,” she said, and startled when he brushed a thumb along her cheek. “It’s - it’s silly, really. My mind keeps going back there, to waiting – not being able to do anything – and imagining how much worse it must have been for you, with the water rising, I...” Her eyes closed. She leaned closer, wavering with her hands braced against his shoulders until the confession became too much and she tipped into the solace of a proper embrace. “I couldn’t have done it. I would have been too afraid.”

Alistair's arms closed tighter around her, his words bitten out through clenched teeth. “At the moot. You volunteered to do it anyway.”

“I panicked. I would have lost you.”

“You didn’t.” He pressed a kiss against her hair. “You didn’t. I’m here, and it’s thanks to you.”

This time, she didn’t protest, only buried herself deeper against his shoulder and fisted her hands in his shirt, and he was grateful for it. Right at the end, in complete darkness with his lungs burning and the current pulling at him and the demons screaming in his mind, he had thought he wouldn’t make it. His body had starved for air, but in the moment, his only thought had been to see her again, to hold her and inhale the jasmine of her scent as she kissed him. Nothing happened on Innse Gaillean that did not reach its lord’s ear; the Storm Giant knew what she had done, and before all other things he made sure Alistair knew it too, in its entirety, so he would understand.

“You went against the gods for me.”

Playing with the hem of his collar, she shook her head. “No. If I had, you would be dead. They gave me what I needed to help you, long before I even knew I would need it.”

They fell silent. The dog, having lost his flower crown, snapped after crickets through the grass.

“We’ve come such a long way, haven’t we?” Alistair asked. His fingertips traced idles shapes along the back of her neck. “We sort of… stumbled into each other. And here we are.”

She chuckled. “From what little I recall of the night we met, I fell on you.”

"Mmhm… you were bloody heavy.”

“I was barely conscious!”

“And yet you demanded to see Teagan anyway, with this haughty look on your face like blood loss and exhaustion were for lesser mortals.” He sighed at the memory. “But… you were so brave, so determined… would it be too much to say I thought you were the most beautiful person I’d ever met?”

“It doesn’t say much for your taste,” she pointed out. “Since I was covered in blood at the time.”

"You remembered my name. I wasn’t expecting that.”

Something in his voice pulled her back from the embrace, a shiver that ran through her core and lodged in her chest like smoke. Had he really fallen for her so soon? Had he realised, or had that come later?

“You called me Andraste,” she recalled, the memory unbidden but no less powerful. “In the infirmary, after West Roth. It was so awful to see you lying there, knowing the last thing I said to you was an argument.”

He nodded. “I touched you on the arm.” And he mirrored the gesture, a cautious slide of fingertips up from the wrist, turned into a question.

“I... wanted to kiss you. It was terrifying – I’d never felt that before.”

The confession robbed Alistair of thought. She watched him go still, saw his eyes fix on her mouth as he leaned forward – hesitated.

“I thought I was fooling myself, hoping you might… come to care for me.”

How had it taken them so long to get here? “You weren’t.”

Hands at her waist, her fingers playing with his hair as a breathless puff of laughter ghosted across her lips, and after so much time, it felt like the easiest thing in the world to tilt her face up, to let her eyes fall closed.

“So I fooled you, did I?” he asked, impossibly close.

She paused, pulled back. “… What?”

“Yeah that – that made more sense in my head,” he admitted, wincing even as he leaned in again. Her giggle hummed against his lips.

“And you were doing so well.”

“Maybe we should just stop talking?”

“If you like.”

And then there was no space between them at all.

#dragon age #dragon age: origins #da:o #alistair x cousland #alistair theirin #cousland #rosslyn cousland #i loved writing this chapter so much

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fatbottombucky · 6 years

Text

Stayed Till The A.M. *Peter Parker x Reader*

Summary: The third instalment of That Sobered Me Up & Aftertaste. This part happens straight after the last, it’s like a continuation. It also follows to when reader wakes up, reflecting on the events of last night.

Pairings: Peter Parker x Male!Reader

Rating: Teen [PG-13]

Warnings: Drunk reader, Peter being a dumb idiot! Slight fluff, kinda angst

Authors Note: I didn’t expect this to carry on tbh, I didn’t think I’d be writing a third piece to it 😂... you’re gonna ask for a fourth, I keep ending these on cliffhangers... ✌🏼- Rosalie🍑

Peter’s P.O.V

Peter blinked a few times under the mask, unable to comprehend what you just said. You love him. You really love him. No wonder you had been avoiding him, walking in opposite directions and taking the bus home everyday. You were hurting because of him.

Peter had never felt more foolish and... guilty before. He hadn’t realised or caught on to your growing affections for him, you’re good at pretending not to love him. He should’ve really guessed, to be honest. The fact you practically ran out of the room at the last party, then continually avoiding him after that incident, it all added up but he had been too ignorant to see.

He thought you were being dramatic, rude even. He thought that you simply didn’t want to be his friend anymore, figured you’d rather hang out with the popular, older, people than him. In actual fact you were hurt, you couldn’t be around him because of him. It sucked knowing he had caused you pain, knowing he had made you feel this way and resort to this.

“I’m going home,” You stand up on shaky legs, arms wrapped around yourself.

You look so broken, frail and weak, it makes Peter’s heart shatter. Your cheeks are wet from your silent tears, your hair is a mess, and just everything about you screams heartbreak city. Peter hops down, standing upright and walking up behind you.

“Let me take you home?” He asks gently, you aren’t even looking at him, eyes cast to the floor but you nod softly.

Your smaller than Peter, so it doesn’t take much to scoop you up in his arms, plus his super strength makes holding you and swinging around Queens a tad easier. With minutes he has you home, landing on your fire escape that’s conveniently outside your window and helping you climb through.

He hadn’t been in your apartment in weeks, your room looks the same. You’ve got a memory wall, photos of yourself and family tapped to the wall in a slightly organised layout, lots of photos with friends. The ones that contain Peter are Polaroid’s, your favourite type of photo. You’ve Sharpie’d dates on the bottom of them, he smiles at the fond memories.

Glancing over his shoulder your sat on your bed, swaying from side-to-side and staring blankly ahead. He sighs lightly and walks over to you, sitting beside you in silence.

“Guess now everyone knows,” you mumble, “totally not embarrassing.”

Peter frowns under his mask, hands folded in his lap as he watches you, not knowing what to say because he’s still trying to figure what happened tonight.

All because he got drunk. Wasted. He didn’t know what he was doing, he just followed Amelia upstairs and then he was kissing her and you walked in. He didn’t intend for it to happen, he didn’t even know what was happening that night, but he messed up.

He doesn’t even like her, not in that way, at least. She doesn’t like him either, made that clear the day after, but they’re friends still. If anything the kiss felt...awkward and weird, he doesn’t remember much, but he remembers it being nothing special.

“I’m too drunk to care,” you sigh and fall back against your bed and stare up at the ceiling. “I kissed a guy tonight, too. That’s... something, I guess.”

The weird itch crawls up Peter’s neck again, knowing you actually did kiss that guy in that closet makes his skin crawl. A big part of him wanted to rip open the closet and pull you out, tell you that you’re being stupid and too drunk to make those kind of decisions. Yet, he had done the same. Plus it’s your life and he shouldn’t be feeling like this.

“Did you enjoy it?”

Your silent for a moment, “No.” relief flashes through Peter’s body, “I think... I was trying to get back at him, like a whole; you can kiss Amelia, I’m going to make out with some dude.” You’re frowning, “kind of stupid because he wouldn’t get jealous anyway, plus he’s oblivious to literally everything. If Damian hadn’t said anything tonight he’d be none the wiser,” you shrugged and blinked tiredly.

“That’s true,” Peter agrees and nods slowly, “do... do you think that you two can still be friends?” Peter bites his lip nervously.

He doesn’t want to lose you, but he understands that you might need time. Knowing that you love him is... different, it makes things different between you both. He still wants you in his life, you’ve known each other for years and he’s always looked out for you and cared for you.

“Maybe,” You sigh to yourself. “I don’t know, things are different now that he knows, I was able to pretend I wasn’t in love with him and go about my life. We’ve known each other for years, he stopped Flash from bullying me, only to become his new victim... he’s just everything good, you know? Wish I could go back and unsee or maybe just not go to that party, things would be the same.”

Peter nods slowly, smiling at the fact you remembered how you became friends. Hardly forgettable, you were being picked on everyday by Flash, constantly made fun off and humiliated. Peter has always hated seeing you cry, even when he first saw you; a small boy sat on the swings alone and crying. His heart shattered then, as it had done tonight, and same as now.. he had to make things right, had to make you smile.

So, he went over to you and sat with you. Made you laugh till you cried, you still have the same loud laugh to this day. When Flash went to pick on you again, Peter had defended you, standing in front of you like some... superhero- ironically. He’s always stuck up for you, even when you went separate ways and drifted for a short time: he defended you when people talked behind your back. You’ve always been a constant in his life, you’ve always been reachable when others haven’t.

When his uncle died you had shown up at his apartment, ready to be the shoulder and a friend. You helped him. Brought him homework- even did most of it for him- helped May do small tasks around his place, you were there and willing to just listen and be there. You didn’t ask for anything in return, you listened to his rant and was there when cried till he tired himself out. You’ve seen Peter through his highs and lows, as he had with you. He was there when you came-out, he held your hand when you told your parents, he held you when cried at the fact they weren’t so... supportive of you.

But Peter has never entertained the thought of something more. It never crossed his mind, he just liked having you around, you make him feel happy and... safe. He hadn’t really ever looked at at a guy and wondered what it would be like to be with them. You’re attractive, that’s not a lie. You’re funny, smart, courageous and charming. A little flirty when confident, you also sing a lot to pass the time and always laugh at stupid jokes. You know a weird amount of puns, you reference vines with Mj a lot. You’re not the partying kind, but when you do attend ones you let loose, and you’re very good at karaoke.

You make Peter’s heart do that fluttery thing when you smile at him from across a classroom, or when you laugh at one of his jokes. When you’re having a confident day and smirk, plus add little playful flirty comments, it makes Peter heart pick up and he feels a little hot. But he also hates that you do the same with other guys, little quips and jokey winks. It makes that itchy feeling come back, his fingers twitching and skin crawling.

...Peter is in love with you. The realisation hits him like a truck, his head snapping to you, but your passed out on you bed. Light snores leaving you mouth, an arm covering your eyes. He sighs and squeezes his eyes closed.

“Fuck!” He exclaims quietly. Of, fucking, course. He’s in love with you, why does he have to be so god damn oblivious. “I’m in love with you too,” Peter sighs into your silent bedroom.

Normal P.O.V

You groan as sunlight shines directly on your eyes, squinting them open and feeling a deep thumping within your skull. Your bedroom window is wide open making your blinds shake at the breeze, quickly shutting it and pulling your blinds. Your room being engulfed in darkness.

The headache eases at the low lighting, not going but it’s easier to handle. You feel grubby, the clothes your wearing stink of alcohol and sweat; horrible combo. You strip off, throwing them onto the floor and change into some sweats.

Your phone flashes with notifications all from various people, mostly Mj and Jess, asking how you are. You frown at their questions and try to remember what happened in your drunk haze.

Oh, yeah, Peter knows you love him.

You groaned and fell onto you bed. You’d have to face everyone and everything at school tomorrow, you can’t hide from it now. Unless you moved schools, and states.

Rolling onto your back, you state up at the ceiling and try to remember everything, but it all comes back foggy and unclear. Glancing to your bedside table a glass of water, plus some pills are left for you. A little note is on the glass, you sit up and pick up the piece of paper.

“Stayed till the A.M. to make sure you were okay. Sorry, you had a disastrous night. You should call Peter when you wake up, I know he’d be worried about you and want to speak to you! - Spider-Man x”

Right, Spider-Man had taken you home after you had an emotional breakdown in front of him. Always making a good first impression, he’s going to tell Peter what wreck you are. Tell him to stay away from you, probably, most definitely for the best.

You lay back down, closing your eyes and trying to silence your overactive mind. You needed to sleep this hangover off, actually get some rest, so you can face everyone tomorrow.

Then you remember something Spider-Man had whispered into the dead of night, into your silent bedroom.

Your eyes snapping open, “oh, my god,” you exclaim in horror. “Spider-Man is in love with me!”

(LOL)

(Next part) Night Changes

@thats-me-honey @giannakaylee @izaizme @superweeniehartjr @aquabrie @egzekiel @katshrev @incubimemories @thatdewdlesperson @astralexpansion @myfeetkeepdancing @theplacewhererobindied @faeriekiing @rainbowsandcats @lazyshortstack

#peter parker x male #peter parker x male reader #peter parker x male!reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker one shot #peter parker imagines #peter parker x you #spider man x male reader #spider man x reader #spider man imagine #spiderman one shot

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forkanna · 4 years

Link

[AO3 LINK] [EF LINK]

NOTE: HAPPY NANOWRIMO! Sorry if my updates are more sporadic right now; I'm trying to focus on writing this month. That includes (minor spoiler) another Persona fic! I promise in December I will try to resume a more regular posting schedule.

Also: if you're enjoying this fic or any of my others, and you have disposable income, you can drop a few dollars in my tip jar! Every little bit helps! Anyway, happy reading!

CHAPTER NINE

~ x The Priestess x ~

Things settled down until Monday afternoon. Mostly, I hung out with my friends and tried to focus on my studies. And everything had been fine. There were other girls around the school I kept glancing at, trying to figure out my feelings, and I didn't feel any "lesbian stirrings" - if that's even a thing. Just looked like regular people. So I started to convince myself that it had been a fluke, and I only felt those urges because Miss Kawakami had been so sensual with me in the hotel room. Everything was going to be fine.

Then I saw her in the hallway again and it shot all of my hopes to hell.

"Good afternoon, Niijima-san," she said with a smile as she waved. And I felt my knees go weak, my heart speed up in my chest. She was completely back to her usual self: longsleeve yellow scoopneck, denim skirt, sensible white low-heels, fluffy brown hair. Armload of books and lesson plans. Tired-but-cheerful expression.

Just Miss Kawakami, being Miss Kawakami… but she still made me want to do things I had never done before. And wouldn't know how. Experiment with her.

"Niijima-san?"

"G-good morning," I managed to stutter.

"It's not morning," she chuckled. But she peered at my face for a moment. "You… should request me again."

"Huh?!" But when she held a finger to her lips, I quickly said, "Right. Sorry."

"You should. Because it looks like… you need to talk. But not here." Her eyes flicked from side to side, indicating the throng of students surrounding us.

"Of course. I'm sorry, I really… yes. I'll ask you about that homework later."

Her gorgeous mocha eyes did roll toward the ceiling at my poor attempt at covering, but at least she was still smiling. I wished she would always smile…

"Of course. Friday."

"Friday?"

"Or Saturday. I'll let you know if another time works equally well."

"OH!" She was trying to tell me her schedule. "Y-yes, I'll hand it in by then, if I don't have any questions sooner. Thank you."

When I bowed slightly, she patted my shoulder. "Good, good, Run along to class." Then she walked away…

And I did something I have never, ever done. For anybody, no matter who they were, or how attractive I might have found them - though I almost never notice that kind of thing. I turned to watch her leave. Not because I liked her and missed her, or because she was a decent role model. Those things were also true… but for some reason, I wanted to see her calves moving below the hem of that skirt.

The bell for class rang and I was still standing there, staring at the spot where her calves had last been. At least that finally prompted me to move again.

~ o ~

The rest of the week turned out to be my own personal Hell. Every time I saw Miss Kawakami, she looked better and better, and my thoughts were less pure. Maybe it was because I had never thought about anyone in this way that I fell so headlong into lust. Or maybe she was just exactly my type and I didn't know it before Hotel Juliet revealed all.

Dreams of her cleavage in that maid outfit when she crawled across the floor toward me, her stockings recently discarded, filled my nights. Or of her shapely thighs disappearing up her frilly French Victorian dress. Worse - disappearing up the hem of her robe as she writhed under my touch, panting my name with her eyes closed…

Recalling that also gave me another new experience: trying to focus in class while being aroused. I'm not kidding when I say that not once in my entire academic career had that been a stumbling block for me. Now, my thighs twitched, my face flushed, until a neighbouring student asked if I was feeling under the weather. That only made my blush worse.

When Thursday rolled around, I was at the end of my rope. I had basically called Ann in complete distress about six times in three days. She was great at talking me down, but had no real advice to give - which was okay. It would be kind of an insane convenience if she somehow knew exactly what to do about developing a lesbian crush on a teacher, wouldn't it?

"Look," she sighed into the phone as she did her nails, and I slowly tried to finish formatting a report. "She said you can request her tomorrow night, right? So just… don't worry about it until then. Forget about her totally. Like, since you can't do anything."

"That doesn't work. Believe me, I try."

"God, you're so cute. I know, I know - not helping."

"It isn't cute that I'm so smitten with a woman out of my reach that I can't eat, or sleep, or study. Those are basically the only things I do, Ann."

A little laugh floated over the phone lines. "Yeah. I mean, until you started hanging out with us, I'd believe it. Except maybe kissing Principal Kobayakawa's-"

"Don't even finish that sentence," I warned her, and she laughed more.

"Fiiiiine. And I'm gonna offer again; I know you don't wanna reveal her secret. But if you need me there, to mediate or whatever, like, call me. Swear I won't show up without you asking, but all you gotta do is call."

"And you'll be here. I know, and thank you. But this is something I should be able to do on my own."

"Why? You've got friends; use 'em."

I had been about to protest and tell her I didn't want to 'use' my friends… when I realised that I could. Not Ann; she was already being enough help as it was. But there was someone else I should be going to about this matter.

"Thanks, Ann," I said suddenly, sitting up and closing my textbook. "I think I have an idea. I'll call you back when I have put it into practice."

"Huh? O-oh, okay, bye. Good luck!"

"Thank you. I'm gonna need it."

~ o ~

Cafe Leblanc was basically closing up by the time I got there. Futaba Sakura was lingering at the counter, and the proprietor, Sojiro Sakura, was wiping down the counter. Ren was doing the dishes; sometimes the old man roped him into that, considering he was letting him stay in the attic rent-free.

"Hey," I greeted Futaba first. Not that I could see much of a reaction. Her huge glasses and orange hair covered most of her face and head, as if they were a protective shield from the rest of the world. Which was likely true; she's the biggest introvert I've ever known.

"Guten abend."

"Huh?"

"German." Pushing up her glasses, she peered up at me with those oddly mauve-tinted eyes. "You are here to see Ren."

"How do you know that?"

"Keep glancing at him. Not exactly rocket science - though rocket science is actually fairly simple and straightforward. Just gotta know the formulas."

Chuckling softly as I slid onto a stool at the bar, I said, "Uhhh, I'm going to have to take your word for it, I guess. But you're correct."

"He'll be free in a few minutes," her adoptive father said as he tossed the rag under the counter, then perched a cigarette just above his goatee. As he flicked the lighter, he said, "Can I get you anything, Niijima-san?"

"Oh, no thank you," I said with a slight bow. The cigarette smoke bothered me, but I would never dream of mentioning that. "You're already closing up; it would be rude."

"Nonsense. I've got some leftover curry ingredients in the fridge; you kids could go upstairs while I whip some up."

"You do not wanna miss his recipe," Futaba confided as she typed on her phone at lightspeed. The screen was flashing so fast I couldn't even keep up with what she was doing. "Mom's recipe. Their recipe."

"Huh?"

"Don't worry about it," her surrogate father chuckled good-naturedly as he puffed, turning back toward the kitchen. "Amamiya-kun. Take five and see your friend; I'm going to make you something."

"And I'll help," Futaba volunteered with a smile, pocketing her phone.

Ren nodded at him, barely glancing at me before drying off his hands and abandoning the dishes for now. Then he nodded toward the stairs and we went up together. Futaba made no move to abandon her place at Sojiro's side - proving that she really did accurately guess I wanted to talk to Ren alone. What a little genius.

Once upstairs in his cozy little loft, I dropped onto the old couch and wasted no time telling him everything. Ren eventually sank down beside me, expression slightly pained but mostly resigned. As if he knew this day would come, but couldn't be sure which friend - or maybe stranger - would approach him about it.

"So I know you've been having her run errands," I wrapped up with. "But she insisted that you aren't hurting her, and she isn't hurting you. I guess… I feel like I believe you, but I need to hear it. What is the nature of the relationship with Miss Kawakami?"

Guess I really do sound like you sometimes, Sae.

"We don't have one," he answered after a pause to mull over his words. "She's my homeroom teacher."

"And the maid stuff? You really do request her just to… what, give her free money?"

Another pause. "She does jobs for me. Makes curry, cleans up, does laundry. I pay her for the work. But I request her more often because I understand she needs the money; it's the only official way I can help her without…"

"Without?" I prompted.

"Without it being charity."

"Ohhh…" My eyes turned sad as I looked down at the floor. "Miss Kawakami wouldn't accept any handouts, probably. That makes sense." He nodded. "You're sure you've never… a 'health massage' or-"

"No."

"Would you want to?" At that, he looked a little uncomfortable. "Ren?"

"Maybe. But not that way; not because I paid her. It would feel like forcing her into it. And though Miss Kawakami is beautiful, I don't have strong feelings like that for her."

"All of that's very fair," I sighed, staring down at my plain black shoes. "That's how I felt, too; the 'forcing her' part, I mean." He made no reply, so I looked up at him. "You don't even care about… that part of this. That I might be attracted to her, even though I'm a girl." He shook his head. "Why not?"

His shoulders rose and fell. "That's your business."

"So simple for you," I chuckled softly, eyes sad. "But I feel like… a freak. A circus freak for seeing a woman old enough to be my mother in the hallway - well, almost old enough - and wanting to do things with her I've never even dreamed about before."

Ren's only response was to sit back a little, folding his arms and crossing one leg so the ankle rested on his knee. I watched him for a moment, squinting at his passive, thoughtful expression.

"What? What is it?"

"I may have somewhere you should visit. Come with me."

"Now? But it's so late - and we'll miss Sojiro's curry."

His smile was small and coy. "Very well. Curry and then come with me. It's important."

That word could not be ignored. He didn't just think this was a good idea, he thought it was "important"? And Ren was a fairly serious guy; he didn't just spout off things like that for no reason. I trusted him. Therefore, I nodded.

"Curry, and then I'll go with you. It's a promise." And we shook on it, like we were making a business deal.

~ o ~

Once our bellies were full of delicious curry, my taste buds still singing at the spices and mingling flavours, I hopped the train with him up to Shinjuku. That was a surprise; I didn't even know Ren knew anyone up that way, or ever went there. Maybe I didn't know him as well as I thought, but I opted to put my faith in him for the time being.

Within minutes, we were walking into a bar called "Crossroads". The place was pretty empty, except for a young woman with a pink fanny pack slumped over at the bar, and an older woman with an ornate kimono behind it cleaning glasses.

"You spend way too much time here, young man," she said - and my eyebrows shot up. That was a pretty deep voice. Was she… a he? A cross-dresser?

"Lala-san, this is my friend, Makoto Niijima. Makoto, this is Lala Escargot."

I bowed slightly, trying to hide my surprise from before. "It's a p-pleasure to meet you, Lala. Escargot… is French, right?"

"Sure, honey," she chuckled with a big grin. "French is so fancy. Why do you think I picked it?"

"Picked…?" I swallowed hard, then moved to sit at the bar in front of her. "Forgive me for asking something very forward. But are you… transgender, or a drag queen? I don't want to assume."

While Ren looked a little surprised, Lala grinned. "Just a queen, girl. When I ain't on the clock, this all comes off and I'm a regular run-of-the-mill man. Well… maybe not run-of-the-mill."

"No, I am sure you're very unique." Luckily, 'she' seemed to take that as a compliment. "Should I keep using female pronouns while you're Lala, then?"

"Yes, please." A little bow to show her gratitude, and I bowed back. "What brings ya taggin' along with this no-good louse?" Then she chuckled and hid her face behind an elegant white fan. "Just kidding, Amamiya-chan. You know me."

"Of course," he laughed with an easy smile. Not at all flustered or annoyed by her teasing.

"Well… I actually don't know." After a few seconds to consider, I just blurted out, "I think I might be gay."

"Oh yeah? Good for you, honey!"

"Thanks?" I laughed self-consciously. "But I have a feeling Ren thought it might be a good idea to talk to you about it. And maybe he's right; I really don't know what I'm doing, or feeling, or thinking, and… this isn't exactly my first contact with, um, 'the community', but none of my friends are gay. So I'm a little unsure of where to turn."

Her smirk was playful. "That you know of. I mean, just saying, Ren does hang out with a drag queen an awful lot for a straight boy."

"I work here, Lala," he sighed with a roll of his eyes. But she only laughed in response.

"But why here? Hmmmmm? So many after-school jobs, and here you are in Shinjuku. Just saying…"

Interrupting her further teasing, I asked, "So what do I do? How do I know? Especially because I have a crush on a teacher, not another student, so it's…"

"Ooooh, damn," she intonated, heavily-shaded eyes widening. "That is a pickle, sister. How old are ya?"

"Huh? Oh… eighteen."

"Awww, you're almost outta there. Just hang on and then ask her out when you're in college."

Drawing my knees together and folding my hands on the bartop, I whispered, "That's what Ann said. You make it sound so simple. I don't even know if what I'm feeling is real, or-"

"It's real."

Stunned by the firmness in her voice, I asked, "How can you be so sure?"

"If you're worried enough about it to follow your friend to some dive bar in Shinjuku, you're feeling real things, baby," she pressed with a sympathetic sigh. "Maybe you get a few years further along in life, and it turns out you ain't a lesbian, or maybe you are. But right now, for you, in this moment, you wanna be with a woman. Don't second-guess yourself or waste a lot of time thinking you're 'crazy'. Take Ohya there."

With a start, the other woman shot upright, eyes unfocused and sunglasses askew. "Huh? Wh-wha…? I'll pay my tab next week…"

"Poor thing was in love with this old colleague of hers," Lala went on as Ohya slumped back downward, clearly not even listening. "Completely oblivious until it was too late; she's still in denial about it. Now Kaya's out of her life and she ain't got nobody. Think she still likes men, but when's the last time I saw her on a serious date with any of 'em?"

My eyes widened. "Oh. She's a lesbian, too?"

"Bisexual," Lala corrected. "Probably, anyway."

"Right, right; like you said, she still dates men." I watched her snore for a few seconds, then cleared my throat. "I guess… it's different, meeting a woman who likes women in person. Not that I doubted their existence."

The drag queen shrugged as she poured me a tonic with lemon; something light and non-alcoholic, but still being courteous. "We get a lot of people like you wandering in. Girls or boys who ain't sure what they want outta life, or outta relationships. Some of these places around Shinjuku will really turn your brain upside-down if you let 'em, but… most of us just wanna help family."

"Family?" After a second of flashbacks to dead parents and my stubborn sister, I got it. "Right. That's me; I'm 'family' now. But what if I try dating a woman and decide I like men? Isn't that… wrong, somehow?"

"What's wrong with experimenting and figuring out what you like?"

"Well, when you put it that way… I feel stupid," I ended up saying, and she chuckled.

"Don't, honey. Nothin' stupid about not knowing where you wanna end up in life. Just take your time, figure it out. Come back here if you got questions; maybe Ichiko'll be sober enough to answer 'em next time."

"Hey, I'm not that drunk," the woman muttered without lifting her head or opening her eyes. "Sober enough to see Ren-kun brought another cutie with him. You're the drunk one, Lala-chan… not me."

Another cutie? Did she mean me?!

"You're the horizontal one," Lala mocked back, and Ohya did smile slightly. But she still didn't get up.

And now I found myself really looking at her. If I'm being brutally honest, I don't know why I had such a strong image in my mind that a woman who likes women would be some kind of freak. Probably had something to do with societal brainwashing. But here was this Ichiko, very normal other than the fact that she was drunk. Bobbed black hair, blue jeans and sneakers. Very pretty in the same way Miss Kawakami was pretty: a little older but taking good care of herself, other than the drinking which probably had the same amount of detrimental effect on her as the lack of sleep did on my teacher.

"Maybe," I breathed quietly to myself before taking a sip of the tonic water. It was actually pretty refreshing.

"What's that, honey?"

"Nothing, nevermind. Just thinking to myself."

"Questioning?"

For some reason, she was smirking at me again. I had the feeling her comment meant more to her than it did to me, but I decided not to ask about it. "Anyway, your friend looks like she's not getting up anytime soon, so maybe I should go. Thanks for this, Lala - and you, too, Ren. Helped me a lot more than I can be sure of just yet, I'm sure."

Ren nodded with a small smile as he took his place behind the bar. Lala came over to stand next to him. "Ohhhh, you're up for a shift, huh? Good, good. And let me know if you ever change your mind about me dressing you up."

Feeling second-hand embarrassment for Ren felt like reason enough to quickly and quietly take my leave. Besides, now I had an awful lot to think about.

To Be Continued…

#Queen Of Temperance #forkanna writes #persona 5 fanfiction #p5 fanfic #jess the writer #persona

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porkchop-ao3 · 5 years

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J19Z7 propositioning F!reader for sex? i.e. Rick in a forward attitude he doesn’t usually adopt? NSFW please, thank you :)

I hope this is the sort of thing you were after! :) It’s been a while since I’ve filled a request. So yes, he propositions the reader… with a little encouragement! This one is NSFW and 3.5k words, enjoy!

I’d been watching Rick from a distance all evening. Usually I would’ve gone over to him by now, pulling on my usual charm in the hopes he’d pick up a damn signal for a change. But tonight, he was surrounded by friends. Well, I thought they were his friends; but the longer I watched the less I thought that. He looked incredibly uncomfortable, wincing at the words of the other Ricks around him. Occasionally he’d glance over at me, sometimes he’d look offended, sometimes he’d look angry, and sometimes he’d simply look sad.

I watched one Rick nudge another, say something out of the side of his mouth. They erupted into laughter so loud I could hear it from where I was sitting. The Rick I knew’s brow snapped down in anger and he pushed himself up from the table. He said something, but I couldn’t make it out, then he was marching away. Marching towards me.

I stared as he slumped down into the chair opposite me, my eyes wide and my eyebrows raised. He was breathing heavily and his face was a little red. He wasn’t looking at me yet, but I felt the need to say something.

“Howdy.” I said. “Is uhh, is everything cool?” I questioned, holding my drink in my hand. I’d been about to take a sip before he stormed over. Rick shook his head, sighing loudly.

“N-no! Th-those guys, those-” he stopped himself and shook his head. “I’m sorry, (y/n), I don’t mean to be so snappy with you. I-I-I didn’t even ask if it was okay to sit here. I’m so rude.”

“You’re fine, sweetie. Keep your ass on that seat.” I assured him as he started to stand. He sat back down at my command.

“I’m just- I-I-I’m so angry!”

“What did those guys say to you?” I frowned, I’d never seen him so affected before, and I was concerned.

“It doesn’t matter.” He shook his head. I didn’t push him. “Ca-can I ask you something?” He looked me in the eye and I saw him gulp.

“Of course.” I nodded.

“Do you remember when we- we-” He looked down, his eyes flickering around the table as he searched for his words. “A few weeks ago, you kissed me.” He finally finished.

“I remember.” I told him confidently, even though my heart was suddenly hammering.

“Why did you do that?” He asked. When he looked back at me, his face betrayed sadness, nervousness, a barrage of unpleasant emotions. It was like I’d hurt him with that kiss, and I felt sick.

“I’m sorry. I thought you- maybe I was wrong. Why do you think I did it?” I queried, my expression turning sad.

“I don’t know. B-because you thought it might be funny? I-I-I know I’m not the nicest looking Rick that comes to this bar. Or the most interesting. You must know a lot of the others treat me like I’m s-some sort of idiot.” His words were sharper than I was used to hearing. He was clearly frustrated and unhappy.

“So you think I did it as a joke?” I frowned, honestly a little annoyed that he’d think that of me.

“I… I don’t know.” He sighed, defeated, cradling his head in his hands.

“It wasn’t a joke. I kissed you because I like you.” I shrugged, busying myself by finally drinking from my raised glass. “I thought I’d moved too quickly, that you backed away because you weren’t ready for that. I didn’t realise you were questioning my motives; I wish you’d said something sooner.”

“I wasn’t questioning you, s-so much as I was questioning myself. I don’t know why you’d want anything to do with me, es-especially in that way.”

“Confidence.” I sighed.

“Hmm?” He looked up at me with wide, confused eyes.

“That’s what you need. You need to have more confidence in yourself.”

“How do I go about g-gaining that?” He asked me hopefully, his eyes darting back and forth between my own. I paused for a while, considering my words carefully since he was hanging off every one, it seemed.

“Hmm. Do something that scares you. Not something reckless, that’ll get you killed!” I clarified. “But something that you want to do, but daren’t. Just try it, once. You might be surprised at how liberating it is. And the more you do it the more confidence you’ll gain.” I added, hoping my advice was somewhat helpful.

Rick frowned for a while, considering my words silently. He was looking around at nothing in particular, and I wondered if I’d said something silly and useless. Was that even good advice? I hadn’t a clue. I was by no means an expert on these kinds of things. I was doing all I could, and in all honesty I just wanted to shift his focus from that damn kiss since I was getting the impression he wasn’t all that thrilled about it.

“Will you c-come home with me, tonight?” He suddenly asked. He said it with such conviction it surprised me. I narrowed my eyes in consideration, not exactly knowing what to make of it.

“What like a… sleepover?” I questioned. His cheeks went pink, and suddenly he deflated a little, avoiding eye contact.

“Well… I su-suppose you could look at it that way. If that’s what you’d be comfortable with. In actual fact I was th-thinking perhaps something… something a little more…” He was going redder and redder to the point I was getting worried. “I was wondering if you’d like to, p-p-possibly – and you don’t need to say yes! – maybe… ha-have…”

“Sex?” I finished for him, my heart thoroughly pounding in my chest at this point. He didn’t answer verbally; with his eyes firmly planted on the table he gave his head a jerky nod. I was stunned. I sat staring at him for a long time with my mouth hanging open.

“No. N-n-no, you’re right. H-how terrible of me to even think of asking such a disrespectful, disgusting thing, I-I-I-I-”

I reached across the table, touching his hand to shut him up.

“Yes.”

“Huh?” He panted, looking at me in a flash.

“Yes. Let’s go.” I grinned, finishing my drink and squeezing his hand. He stared at me in awe as I rose to my feet, tugging him to urge him to do the same.

“Are you j-joking?” He gasped.

“Do you see me laughing?” I tilted my head at him.

“Oh fu- oh gosh. Oh. O-okay. L-l-let me just-” He stammered, ripping his hand out of my grasp so he could fumble in his lab coat for his portal gun. I smiled at his reaction, and he eventually opened up a portal. He waved me through with an extremely shaky hand, and followed me through to what I soon realised was his home. We were in his living room in the blink of an eye, surrounded by eclectic artwork, antique furniture, and knick-knacks of all shapes, sizes and origin. I took a moment to familiarise myself with my new surroundings, then turned to him.

He was stood staring at me, looking all nervous and fidgety. When I made eye contact with him he opened his mouth, but he didn’t say anything. I chewed on my lip for a while, realising very quickly that I’d be the one making the moves tonight; regardless of this being his proposition in the first place.

“Just allow me to get one thing clear.” I started, noting another jerky nod of his head. “You want to do this, right? It’s okay to be nervous, I just don’t want to initiate this if you only said it as a spur of the moment thing and don’t actually want to sleep with me.”

His foot twitched, like he was going to take a step towards me, but didn’t.

“I wa-want to. I think about you a-a lot and I-I-I have thought about this, too. I want to.” He explained, finally taking that step closer, and another, and another until he reached me.

I made the first move, of course, touching his chin and bringing him in for a kiss. He didn’t flinch away like he did those few weeks ago, he reciprocated. The way he kissed was different than I expected, he was a lot slower, more skilled with his tongue; not that I expected him to be a bad kisser! Just, not as good as this. He had me parting my lips for him with a gentle sweep of his tongue along my bottom lip. He tilted his head and his hands gingerly rested on my hips; I encouraged his touch by pressing my body forwards against his and wrapping my arms around him. He made a little noise, his body noticeably relaxing as he grew more comfortable with the kiss.

My hands automatically slid down his spine, coming to rest on his backside; prompting another noise. He was letting out these half restrained little moans, just the first note and he’d cut it short. Without thinking about it I slowly brought one of my hands around his body, sneaking it between us; I gave him enough time to stop me if he didn’t want it. He let me put my hand between his legs, cupping the bulge there and rubbing as I felt him grow under my palm.

He broke the kiss then, stopping to look at me with hazy eyes and a curve to his brow that signalled both pleasure and concern. I smiled at him, hoping it’d alleviate some of his worry, then moved my fingertips to where I could feel the head of his erection, now straining against his pants. I stroked there specifically and his resulting groan was immediate and loud; his hips jolting forwards into my touch as well. I gasped softly, his reaction sending a spark of pleasure right to my core and spurring me on.

“Where do you want me?” I asked him. His eyes widened and he looked around awkwardly.

“Oh, jus-just regular, in- inside your…” he trailed off. I caught his meaning and tried my very best not to laugh at the miscommunication.

“Mind out the gutter, sweetie. Your bedroom? Or here?” I grinned at him. My attempt at light-heartedness didn’t translate, because he was clearly mortified.

“Oh no! H-how embarrassing, I didn’t mean to- oh gosh, I’m sorry! I was-wasn’t thinking straight!”

“I know what you were thinking about. You don’t have to explain.” I assured him, going onto my tip-toes briefly to kiss his jaw. He frowned at himself, red in the face from more than just arousal.

“B-bedroom. If- if that’s okay.” He answered meekly.

“Lead the way, handsome.”

We were kissing on his bed; I’d undone his pants and I now had my hand on him, skin to skin. I was straddling one of his legs, subtly rubbing up against it since he was yet to touch me. His hands were balled into fists by his head, resting on the bed, it was as if he were chained there. I didn’t think he was doing it to be selfish; I thought he probably didn’t know what to do. I sat up letting go of him so I could lift my dress up and over my head; he gasped as my body was revealed to him, covered only by my bra and panties.

“Woah. L-look at you.” He whispered. I licked my lips and pulled on the bottom of his shirt, untucking it completely from his already open pants, and lifting it. He helped me remove it, and shivered when I ran my hand down his chest over his nipple. I hummed appreciatively, then pushed myself backwards, sliding off of the bed and pulling on his pants.

He seemed hesitant at first, making a sound of protest, but he seemed to remember what we were doing and lifted his hips for me. His boxers came down with them, leaving him totally naked. It was the first time I’d gotten a good look at what he was packing; he’d felt big in my hand and seeing it confirmed this. He was the biggest I’d had, and there was a moment of nervousness at the possibility of it hurting.

I shook the thought away, looking up from his cock to his eyes. I held onto his ankles and pulled him closer to the edge of the bed and he took the hint; scooting to sit on the edge. Suddenly, my tits were at eye level for him.

“Why don’t you take my panties off, baby?” I purred, coming forward to stand between his legs. He glanced down at the final article of clothing, though it seemed to take effort to tear his eyes away from my chest. When his hands met the waistband of my underwear, I said; “With your teeth.”

“Huh?” He balked, his eyes flashing up to my face and practically shooting out of his skull.

“I’m kidding.” I teased. I had a habit of making stupid jokes in the bedroom; maybe it was my nerves manifesting. Luckily, my jokes only seemed to help calm him, and he chuckled in relief.

“Ohh, y-y-you had me there.” He breathed, shaking his head. I ran my fingers through his hair, brushing his bangs back out of his face, noting how handsome he looked like that. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of my underwear and he slowly pulled them down. The seat of my panties stuck to me from my wetness, and when they pulled away I shuddered at the subtle stimulation it gave me. “Gosh, y-your underwear is a little-” he cut himself off, looking up at me apologetically.

“Wet?” I questioned, and after a moment he nodded. “I know. It’s cause you’ve turned me on. A lot. Touch me.” I whispered, letting my underwear drop to the floor as I took his hand and guided it between my legs. He watched with a slack jaw as his hand met my slit, and I took my index and middle finger and used them to press his own two fingers to my clit. I guided them back and forth through my wetness, and he let loose a quiet, throaty moan at this. I used his fingers to roll my clit in circles, sighing at the sensations, pleased that he continued when I let go of his hand, watching me with lidded eyes and a blush on his face.

I crawled back on top of him and we edged back on the bed, so I was back to straddling his thighs. As he touched me I reached for him, stroking his cock in time with the way he was rubbing me. Leaning over him, our lips inches apart, we shared breathy moans with each other, quiet and private. In a daring move he slid his fingers backwards, slipping his middle digit inside me. I gasped and rocked my hips forward, forcing him deeper. He started panting, eyes darting down to my pussy to watch as he thrust in and out of me. My palm was growing sticky with precum, even more so at the insertion of a second finger.

“Oh gosh you f-feel so- I can’t wait to-” He stammered, eyes flashing back up to mine.

I made my mind up there and then. Taking his wrist in my hand I removed him from me, then scooted forwards on my knees so I was above his cock. I held eye contact with him as I lowered down, sliding down his generous length slowly, feeling that hot ache as he stretched me further than I ever had been, sighing in pleasure as I did. Rick hunched in the chest a little, choking on a gasp, his fingers scrunching in the bed sheets.

“Ohh ohh! Th-that’s am-amazing. P-please, keep- stay there.” He whined once my butt met his lap and he was fully seated inside me. I could feel him nudging my cervix, he’d filled me up so completely and perfectly I could do nothing but sit there and enjoy the sensation, the sense of wholeness. “S-so hot an-and tight!” He added, opening his eyes to look at me.

“You like that?” I asked, pulsing my muscles around him. Every squeeze ached so deliciously.

“Yes!” He cried, sitting up on his elbows. His chest rose and fell quickly and I smoothed my hands over his chest, up and down in a bid to calm him. At this, he tentatively moved his hands to my thighs, holding onto me there instead of the bedsheets.

“You want me to move?” I queried, licking my lips and resisting to move anyway before he had the chance to answer. Rick took a breath then nodded briskly.

“Y-yeah. Please.” He breathed. As soon as I did he was moaning loudly, rolling his head back and staring at the ceiling. I rode him with a decent pace, not too fast but I hardly took things slowly either; it was irresistible. The thick head of his cock stroked so perfectly against my sweet spot and his pubic bone nudged my clit with every down stroke. It felt incredible. Unbelievably satisfying.

I leaned forward, resting on his chest for support as I bounced my ass behind me on his cock. It didn’t take me long to work up a rhythm and soon Rick was thrusting too, meeting my hips in perfect timing as if all his nerves and hesitation flew out the window. He was doing whatever felt good, and there was something so pleasing about that; so I egged him on.

“Ohh god. That’s it. Pound me like that, Rick.” I cried, looking down at him to see he’d grown incredibly enthralled by my breasts as they bounced with my movements. He grunted, sliding his hands up to my waist, wrapping those long arms around me and helping guide me back and forth. Where’d that timid guy disappear to? I laughed through my pleasure, loving every minute of it.

He was so much different to how I expected him to be, now that he’d gotten into it. I leaned down to kiss him, slowing my pace down for just a moment as I allowed my tongue to roam is mouth, meeting his own and playing for a while before withdrawing, but staying near.

“I’ve been thinking about this for weeks.” I admitted to him freely.

“M-me too.” He instantly replied. I was surprised, flattered and deeply aroused all at the same time. “I tried not to b-but it just kept coming into m-m-my head. Ahh!” He hissed, thrusting roughly up into me like he couldn’t control it.

“Shit.” I sighed, shifting so I could get more leverage, letting him have it. Seeing the way he writhed and panted below me, moaning and sighing and scrunching his eyes up, his fingertips pressing hard into my sides. Oh god. It was an absolute treat, so much better than any of my fantasies. I just wanted to see him come apart, to lose all control to the pleasure and fill me up. I just wanted to push him over the edge, and fast.

Rick suddenly yelled my name, going rigid. “I’m s-so close! I’m gon-gonna- oh God!”

“Cum. Do it for me baby, I want you to cum.” I purred, clenching my pussy around him as I slammed my hips down over and over.

“Ohh fuck, oh yes!” He gasped, his spine arching and his head pressing back into the mattress, messing up his hair. He froze for a second then howled in release and I could feel his thick cock throbbing inside me, spurting deep and filling me just how I’d wanted. I practically growled with the intense satisfaction I felt, finally hearing the sounds he made and seeing the faces he pulled; everything. I hadn’t realised until then just how much I’d really wanted it.

I slowed down gradually, bringing him down bit by bit as all of his muscles unclenched and he relaxed back onto the bed. His breathing was loud and laboured when I eventually stopped completely. He opened his eyes to look at me, going still.

“That was in-intense. I’m s-sorry, I didn’t give you much warning!” He prattled straight away and I rolled my eyes at him, bending over to kiss him. He let me, keeping quiet while I did, but as soon as I broke away he spoke again. “Did you have an… an orgasm?” He asked shyly.

“All the orgasms in the world can’t compare to what I just witnessed.” I grinned at him.

“You didn’t. Oh gosh, I’m sorry. Let me- can I do s-something else?” He said in a panic, sitting up on his elbows again only to be pushed back down by me.

“No, baby. I’m more than satisfied.” I told him truthfully, then slowly eased up off of him. I groaned as his cock slipped out of me, feeling so hot and wet, followed by his ejaculate. “But you can help me shower.” I suggested cheekily.

“Y-yes. Absolutely!” He nodded eagerly.

Before we went, I made sure to shower him in more kisses, enjoying every moment while I could. After all, I had no idea if I’d be lucky enough for this to happen ever again. Though I sure hoped I would be.

#rick and morty #rick sanchez x reader #fanfiction #rick sanchez #doofus rick #doofus rick x reader #rick j19zeta7

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rufeepeach · 6 years

Note

Rumbelle 10

high school popular kid/nerd au

a/n holy shit anon how would either of these two be popular in high school??? You said rumbelle so I can’t even cop out with using Lacey instead. Shit.

a/n 2: this got long. Sorry.

Gold fidgeted his hands in his lap for approximately the fiftieth time.

What in God’s name was he even doing here? She wasn’t going to show. He’d even ordered himself a large ice tea and set up his books on only his side of the booth, to ensure that anyone walking by would see him studying alone. Sure, he never studied at Granny’s - that was where the popular kids hung out, free fries because their friend Ruby’s granny owned the place, and so hardly safe territory for the likes of him - but in a pinch it would work. If - when - Belle French stood him up, he wouldn’t look like he’d been waiting for her.

He could feel Ruby’s eyes on the back of his head. She didn’t say anything, but he knew he was hardly welcome. Nobody at school liked him. Nobody had ever really liked him, and certainly not after Mila dumped him.

The poor kid. The almost-homeless kid. The kid with a scholarship to Stanford and a one-way ticket out of town the moment finals were over. The kid who’d run away when Killian Jones had threatened to kick his ass in the cafeteria, Mila hanging on his arm and laughing the whole time.

He’d known this would be a night for self-pity. ‘Twas ever thus, when the prettiest girl in school decided to make a fool of a weakling, and he had the stupidity to walk right into it-

“Hey,” an unmistakable, impossible voice jolted him out of his misery. He blinked up to see the girl herself, Belle French, flushed and lovely, beaming down at him. She seemed to have forgotten her books, but that hardly mattered: he had enough material for both of them. “Sorry I’m a little late - I got kept late. Have you ordered yet?”

Gold’s brain scrambled to catch up to her question. She slid into the booth opposite him, and waited for him to answer. “Ah, no,” he stammered, belatedly. “Just a drink. Seemed rude not to wait.”

She smiled, and it was like the sun coming up. “That’s a refreshing change of pace,” she said. “Most guys I know would be three burgers in before I had a chance to fix my hair.”

“Most of the guys you know can barely read the menu,” Gold muttered, without thinking. He bit his tongue the moment the words were out of his mouth. Hardly the way to convince her to stay, insulting her friends right to her face. He was going to drive her away in usual fashion before she’d had a chance to order dinner.

But, incredibly, she laughed. “Come on,” she grinned, “Gary can read at at least a third grade level.”

Gold gaped at her, swallowing his surprised laughter at the last moment. “Indeed,” he agreed.

He didn’t question why she was badmouthing her own boyfriend to an almost-total stranger. Just as he hadn’t questioned her when she had caught him after chemistry class earlier that day and arranged this meeting. Gold knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth, and a few hours of freedom to stare at - even speak to! - the girl he’d loved since ninth grade was more than the universe owed him.

“So you’ve been here a while?” Belle asked, then. She looked at the books around him. “Looks like you got some reading done.”

“I got here early,” he admitted. He liked to be punctual, it gave a structure to a disorganised world. “I have enough paper for both of us, if necessary.”

Belle gave him an odd look. “I think I’m good,” she said, after a moment. He couldn’t read her face, but the shine had gone from her smile. She looked... disappointed? He didn’t have enough experience with girls to know what he was looking at.

Before he could query it, Ruby Lucas came trotting over, and Gold buried his head in his textbooks rather than engage. Ruby was Belle’s best friend, and easily the Queen Bee of Storybrooke High. She had barely spared him a glance before tonight, and they both knew he didn’t belong here, in the realm of the well-adjusted and attractive. He’d crawled out of his hole, and he was rapidly wishing he hadn’t. At this moment, in hushed and urgent whispers, they were probably planning how Belle could best escape through the bathroom window.

“What’s with the text books?” Ruby demanded, startling him out of his reading. He blinked at her, utterly bewildered.

“I prefer to study with books and paper,” he replied. He didn’t add, although he thought it loud enough, that his aunts hadn’t the funds to purchase him a sleek laptop like many of their classmates had. Was this the first attack? Pointing out his obvious poverty?

Ruby’s lips twitched. “You always study on a first date?” she asked.

Gold’s heart dropped to his knees. He’d known this was a trick, a joke at his expense, he just hadn’t figured out the punchline yet. Any moment, Ashley Boyd, Mary Margaret Blanchard, and Mulan Fa would come out of the back to laugh at him, at his presumption that Belle would spend even a moment with him. He felt the flush creeping up the back of his neck.

“I... I’m sorry?” He looked at Belle, silently begging her to put him out of his misery. She had always been kind to him, never participated in the bullying and humiliation that occurred in the hallways and the cafeteria. She was kind to everyone. Surely she could see he was drowning? “What’s going on?”

Ruby sighed, and tossed her long hair. “I give up,” she sighed. “Belles, I don’t get it.”

“It’s okay, Ruby,” Belle looked like she was trying not to laugh, but the glow had returned to her smile and even if it was at his expense, Gold was glad to see it. “Just bring the usual, okay? Two.”

“Cool,” Ruby shrugged. “For the record, I told you you’d need a written invite to get the message across.”

She walked away before Gold could ask for clarification. But Belle was smiling at him, so he would take what he could get.

“I’m sorry,” he stammered, the moment Ruby was gone. “I’m sorry, I feel as if I’m missing something, I’m sorry if-”

“Tobias,” Belle cut him off, using his forename as few - if anyone - ever did. It brought him up short, that and the unmistakable fondness in her voice. “What did you think I said this afternoon?”

He thought back. “You asked me to study with you this evening,” he said. “I... I admit I was surprised you might need tutoring, you never seem behind in class, but-”

She sighed, and shook her head. “I’m not behind,” she said. “I don’t need tutoring. I didn’t use the word ‘study’ once.”

“You said-”

“I said,” she said, and then his heart stopped, because her hand moved over three textbooks to take his. He couldn’t breathe. He could die happy, he thought, if he died right then. “’Do you want to get together at Granny’s tonight?’”

Her eyes bored into his, her eyebrows raised as if there were an obvious implication he wasn’t grasping.

Realisation, however impossible, however insane, dawned. “You... didn’t mean to study,” he said, quietly. Belle nodded.

“Go on, you’re almost there,” she grinned. Gold shook his head, waiting for the moment when he would wake up.

“Did you ask me out?” he asked. “And I didn’t notice?”

Belle laughed, the brightest, most beautiful noise he’d ever heard. “You’ve got a scholarship to one of the best schools in the world, and you missed that?”

“Apparently,” he murmured, trying to digest the shift the night had taken. “You were talking to me,” he said, a little defensively, “Looking... you know, like you! I have to admit I don’t think I was fully conscious.”

Impossibly, he saw a tinge of a blush in her cheeks. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” she said.

“But why would you want to date me?” he blurted, before he could stop himself. “You’re dating Gary Aston!”

“Was dating Gary Aston,” Belle clarified. “Until last week when you got that new hair cut and ripped D H Lawrence to shreds in English class on the same day, and I couldn’t listen to Gary ramble about the Patriots for another second.”

“You... asked me on a date,” Gold felt the smile rising to his face, couldn’t keep it down however hard he tried. Belle nodded, and squeezed his hand.

“Would you have said yes?” she asked, as if she had to, as if there was any doubt at all. “If you’d understood?”

“Yes!”

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #rumpelstiltskin #belle french #rumplestiltskin #belle gold #prompt fic #Anonymous

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danfanciesphil · 6 years

Text

Some Kind Of Folliful (New Chapter)

Edgelord!Dan x ObliviousBisexual!Phil AU [CHAPTER FOUR] (based off the 80′s classic Some Kind of Wonderful)

Synopsis: Dan has one friend, and only because he was forced into it. Phil is loud, excitable, and irritatingly happy all of the time. He seems to find Dan’s perpetual attitude funny, and despite Dan’s best efforts to shun him and everyone else, wants to be around him all the time. That is, until Phil starts talking about Amanda Jones. Word Count: WIP (Estimated 12-15 chapters) updates every Tuesday Rating: Explicit Warnings: Smoking, swearing, implied prostitution, broken home, class divide/classism, pining, light homophobia, sex

[Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Chapter Three] [Ao3]

“What are you in detention for, Mister Howell?”

Dan drags his eyes from the graffiti-caked desk to meet Mr Richardson’s disapproving stare. “Sir, I honestly can’t remember.”

Mr Richardson does not look pleased. “Hand me your report card.”

Dan makes a show of looking around himself, patting down his jacket and jeans pockets, then comes back with a shrug. “Guess I forgot it.”

The smug grin is probably a little overkill, but Dan really hates Mr Richardson. There’s a little vein on his neck, a blue, pulsing one. If Dan gets him really worked up, he can sometimes make it go purple.

“Right, that’s it,” Mr Richardson says, slamming his clipboard down over the graffiti. “You’d best like it here, Mr Howell, because you’ll be returning every day for the next two weeks.”

“Sir, I have a job to get to after school,” Dan protests, half-heartedly.

His job doesn’t start until five, sometimes later, so actually he could probably still make it after detention and only be five minutes late. Louise would understand. But Mr Richardson’s vein is approaching indigo.

“You should have thought of that before you rudely ignored whichever member of staff sent you here!”

A girl Dan sees in here sometimes leans over from the next desk. Her wiry, dark hair brushes Dan’s shoulder. “He was listening to music in German, Sir. Frau K caught him.”

Mr Richardson’s tight stance relaxes a little. “Thank you, Megan. That wasn’t so difficult, was it Mr Howell?”

Dan smirks. “No, Sir.”

“So, I suppose you think whatever Goth-rock you blast into your eardrums is more important than language education?”

“I’m never gonna go to Germany, Sir,” Dan sighs. The words ‘die fag’ are carved into the surface of his desk. He thinks he might have written it there himself at some point, just to be ironic.

“That is not the point,” Mr Richardson tells him. At this point, Dan tunes out. He nods along as Mr Richardson waffles on about procedure and rules and discipline and the future, and eventually, he moves on to the next poor soul. Megan aims him a secret eye-roll when he’s not looking. Dan doesn’t respond.

The sound of Phil’s warbling voice, singing above Supermassive Black Hole, is audible from the other end of the corridor. The school is pretty much deserted at this time, so he probably thinks nobody can hear him from the art studio. As he makes his way towards the racket, Dan can’t help the smile twitching at his mouth.

Just then, another, louder, more boisterous set of voices ring out from around the corner. Dan thinks nothing of it, but then the owners of said voices come into view. He suppresses an eye roll, and then averts his gaze. Of course, it’s no use. Hardy stops in his tracks, gaze zeroing in on Dan, alone. He holds up a hand to indicate that the three morons tracking along behind him should stop also.

“Hey,” Hardy calls out in his irritating posh-boy accent. “Hey, you. Hold it there. I want a word.”

“No,” Dan replies, not stopping. “That’s a word.”

Predictably, Hardy reaches out and grabs his upper arm. Dan jerks away, practically growling, but Hardy’s buddies surround him, preventing an escape.

“Perhaps you should apply that smart attitude of yours to your school work, dunce,” Hardy says, making his meathead buddies titter.

“Dunce,” Dan repeats. “What an archaic turn of phrase you have. Matches your Neanderthal gait.”

Hardy surges forwards, as if to hit him, but one of his friends grabs him, holding him back. Dan swallows discreetly. That was close. Everyone knows Hardy has a short fuse and every teacher in the school in his back pocket. If Dan wants to get out of this situation with two non-blackened eyes, he needs to dial back the smartass stuff.

“Alright, alright, Dean, I’m cool,” Hardy says, pulling free of Meathead No.1. “Listen, emo, I know you’re bestest buds with that guy Lester.”

Hardy waits, as if Dan will acknowledge this. He doesn’t. Hardy grits his teeth. “I need you to get a message to him.”

“Get fucked,” Dan says.

Something animalistic flashes across Hardy’s eyes, and he lunges, shoving Dan back into the lockers behind him. It hurts like a bitch, but Dan just glares. Hardy is up in his face, his friends dithering around him like nervous pigeons.

“I know who you are,” Hardy says through his clenched jaw. “You’re the fag that works for my father.”

“Got a Sherlock Holmes on my hands,” Dan growls.

He doesn’t try to move, despite being pinned to the lockers. If he broke free of Hardy’s grip, he’d have four angry, beefed up morons to deal with, and he just can’t be bothered.

Hardy sneers at him. “You think I don’t know the rumours about you, dipshit? About where you sneak off to after dark?”

With everything he has, Dan fights to keep his face neutral. He doesn’t say a word.

“My Dad has shares in the Ozone club,” Hardy continues, sneer growing into a smug grin. “I’ve heard all the stories about you. How you throw yourself to your knees in the back rooms for every half-talented drummer that plays, every barman that has a spare twenty quid-”

Dan kicks out, hard, catching Hardy in the shin. He roars in pain, clutching at it, and Dan breaks free. Meathead No. 2 catches him by the arm; Dan is just coming to terms with the idea that he’s actually going to have to fight all of these dicks at once, and then a voice interrupts them.

“Hey, what’s going on here? Mr Howell, I thought I sent you home.”

It’s Mr Richardson. Bizarrely, Dan feels a wash of pure relief at the sight of his bulging vein.

“Apologies, Sir,” Hardy says at once. He’s released his grip on his shin, and now has a shit-eating grin fixed in place of the furious expression he wore moments ago. “Nothing to worry about, we were just making sure Mr Howell here wasn’t skipping out on detention.”

Fuck. Nothing good will come of Hardy learning his name.

Mr Richardson nods suspiciously, turning to Dan. “Is that correct, Mr Howell?”

Dan nods silently.

“Fine. But less commotion please. School might be over for the day, but while you’re on the premises, you treat this place with respect.”

“Understood, Sir,” Hardy says. “Won’t happen again.”

Mr Richardson nods, then walks on, slowly, down the corridor.

Hardy waits until he gets a reasonable distance, and then turns back to Dan, jabbing a finger in his face. “You tell Lester that he needs to back the fuck off of my girlfriend, are we clear?”

“Ex-girlfriend,” Meathead No.1 corrects.

Hardy turns to him with a glare. “It’s a temporary misunderstanding. She’s a nutcase. She’s not going to throw our relationship away over some- some- art freak!”

“It looks like she already has,” Dan says, trying not to appear too amused by Hardy’s petulant attitude.

“Just give him the fucking message, Howell,” Hardy snarls. He darts another glance down the corridor, where Mr Richardson is still ambling away. “Don’t forget, I own you.”

Dan can’t help the snort of laughter that bursts out. “Crawl out of your dad’s asshole, Hardy. You own squat.”

Hardy just grins. “Try me, Howell.”

He holds Dan’s gaze for a moment, then spins away, stalking down the corridor. His friends follow hot on his heels. Dan watches them for a moment, then straightens his jacket, rolls his eyes and resumes his journey to the art studio. Phil’s warbling hasn’t stopped the entire time, which proves just how thick-headed those idiots truly are. They wanted to find Phil to relay this ‘message’, yet failed to realise he’s through the door ten feet away.

Dan knocks on the closed studio door, but Phil is singing too loudly to hear, so he pushes it open. There’s an enormous, human-sized canvas in front of Phil, on which he is painting a life-size portrait of Amanda, from her mahogany curls, right down to the pointed shoes on her miniature feet. The work looks painstaking; Dan has no idea how long Phil has been working on it, but he’d guess days. Currently, he’s on his knees, detailing Amanda’s fingers on her right hand, singing along as he does so.

“You really captured her superficiality,” Dan says, loud enough to be heard over the music.

Phil jumps slightly, then turns to Dan with a smile. “You like her?”

Avoiding the question, Dan ambles over to the table where Phil’s paints are scattered. “You sound like a dying cat.”

“Thanks,” Phil says. “I’ve been practicing.” He stands up and walks to the ancient boombox, spinning a dial to turn Muse down. “What are you doing here, then? Thought you’d already be at work.”

“Mr Richardson owed me a spanking,” Dan replies, picking up a paintbrush and swirling it in a glob of crimson.

“You got detention again? What for?”

Dan shrugs. “Does it matter?”

“Dan,” Phil sighs. There’s an admonishment caught on his lip, but he doesn’t verbalise it. Instead, he wanders over to lean on the desk beside Dan. “Did I hear a scuffle outside? That wasn’t you was it?”

Dan shakes his head. “Not me.” He gestures to the portrait in front of them. “So, what’s this for? Entering the race for the Guinness World Record of creepiest stalker?”

Phil nudges him in the shoulder. “I’m gonna give it to her.”

“What the fuck’s she gonna do with it? Display it over her fireplace?”

“I don’t know! People like getting pictures of themselves.”

A hundred further teasing comments swirl around Dan’s brain, but there’s something about the tension in Phil’s shoulders, something about the stripped back expression he wears that halts him.

“It’s really good, you know,” Dan says instead. Phil’s eyebrows travel a short way up his forehead. Dan clears his throat and hops down off the desk before he can reply. “Anyway, just heard your caterwauling and thought I’d see if I could put a stop to it. I’m off to work.”

Phil nods, a faint smile on his lips. “Mind if I stop by later?”

“Yes. Go home and leave me to do my job in peace.”

“Cool. I’ll come in about seven. You can stay at mine after if you want.”

“Whatever,” Dan says.

Inside, the relief of this offer is overwhelming. Tonight is Ricky’s night off, so he’ll be home all evening. Dan wonders briefly if Phil might know this, but it seems unlikely. It’s probably just a random offer. He waves vaguely at Phil, and heads for the door.

“Dan?”

He stops. Turns. “What?”

“Thanks for saying it’s good.”

Awkwardly, Dan holds his gaze for a moment. “Yeah. No worries.”

It’s nine fifty-three and Phil still isn’t at the cafe. Dan has to close at ten – should already be closing up, in fact – but Phil said he’d be here. So he waits until the last second. He begins the closing routine slowly, rinsing out the coffee machine piece by piece, taking out the tray and scrubbing it in the kitchen sink, then the grill, then the grinder too. He sweeps and mops the floor, flips the ‘open’ sign to ‘sorry, we’re closed’, but keeps the door unlocked just in case. It gets to ten-thirty, and Dan runs out of tasks to do. He needs to leave.

The nicotine craving burns at his stomach as he locks the door. The local off-licence will be closed now, but if he goes to Ozone, he might be able to snag one off Ben or someone. Maybe he could even wrangle a whole pack. He grimaces at the thought of what he might have to do for a cigarette fix, but swallows down his reservations. Anything is better than going home and facing an angry, likely drunk Ricky.

He pulls his hood up and heads for the bus stop, eyes down. He has just enough change in his pocket for the bus, though it’s mostly in pennies, so the driver isn’t pleased. Dan just avoids his eye, finds a seat near the back and plugs himself into his music. It’s not far to Ozone, maybe fifteen minutes. Halfway through the journey, his phone buzzes.

From: Phil To: Dan 10:44pm hey!!! Sorry I didn’t make it to the cafe – I drove past Amanda at the fountain in town so I risked it and stopped to chat :o her mates left her without a way to get home so we got a coffee and I drove her back. Been debriefing with mum lol I forgot all about coming to see u! Still welcome to come over if u want! Im just chilling at home but gonna go to bed soon. Up to you! hope work wasn’t too killer :P xx

Dan skims the message once, then pockets the phone without replying. His heart aches in an annoying way. All he can see is Phil and Amanda, sipping Costa coffee perched on the lip of the fountain in the town square. In some kind of cruelly ironic cinematic moment, the bus glides past this very fountain. Dan turns his face from the window.

Eventually, his stop comes up, and Dan all but runs the rest of the way. Ozone is the town’s only club, and it’s really more of a large bar. There’s a dancefloor, sort of, and a stage, but mostly it’s high tables with bar stools and hundreds of vaguely menacing drunk people, utilising the one decent place that stays open late every day. Dan slips in with a loaded glance at Ben on the door. It takes him less than five minutes to zero in on the poor sucker he’ll be getting to buy him drinks tonight, and even less time to sidle up, flash a sultry smile, and ask the dude for a JD and coke, no ice.

“Cheeky shit,” the guy says, but turns around and orders it anyway. He’s tall and broad, alone with only his pint. Dan learns his name, then forgets it in the next moment. The dude doesn’t seem to care.

“You got any fags?” Dan asks after he’s listened to whatever dull shite the guy is saying for as long as he can stand. “I’m desperate.”

He loads the last word, hating himself.

The guy grins, exposing a graveyard of yellowing teeth, stained from nicotine and dark beer. “Yeah?” His fingers are scratching underneath the hem of Dan’s shirt. “What’ll I get in return?”

Dan says nothing, just holds his gaze, smiling.

“I’ve got a pack of Djarums,” the dude says, patting his jacket pocket. “Were meant for my missus, but I could be persuaded otherwise.”

“Are Djarums the cherry ones?” Dan asks, wrinkling his nose. He’s already scanning the crowd discreetly, looking for another person he could ask.

“You want ‘em or not, princess?”

Dan hesitates. The guy smells like a brewery, and his hair is thinning. Not to mention, there’s a dull gold ring on his finger. But Dan hasn’t had a smoke in over 24 hours, and there’s no point in pretending he’s about to go home. Phil is asleep by now, probably.

He smiles, holding out his hand. “I want them.”

The guy takes it, downs the dregs of his pint, and follows Dan through the scattered, glassy-eyed people, into the back.

It’s 3am, but Phil lets him in anyway. He’s rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and his hair is sticking up, but he doesn’t even ask why Dan is on his doorstep. To avoid waking everyone up, Dan had texted Phil that he was outside. He has no idea how Phil woke up to receive it.

Dan silently follows Phil up the stairs, waits patiently on the edge of his bed as Phil finds him a big t-shirt and pyjama bottoms. He changes while Phil is out of the room. When he returns, he has a glass of water in his hand, which he hands to Dan.

“Ready?” Phil asks, then crawls into the indent he’s already left in the mattress.

Dan places the water down on Phil’s bedside table, and slips in beside him. He keeps a few inches between his own limbs and Phil’s at first, but inevitably Phil closes the gap. He’s always been a fidgety sleeper. Dan wonders if that’s the sort of thing best friends are supposed to know about each other.

“You smell like cherries,” Phil mutters. He lays his fingers on Dan’s arm.

There’s a tight, sharp scratching at the back of Dan’s throat. He doesn’t think it’s from the cigarettes. “Yeah. Is it gross?”

“No,” Phil says at once. He takes a deep, long breath in. “Smells nice.”

Maybe that guy from the bar will give him another pack. Maybe, if Dan’s extra nice, and can smile just sweetly enough, he’ll never have to smoke anything but Djarums, and he’ll smell just like this forever, and Phil’s smile will look just like this, like it does right now, every time he breathes it in.

#some kind of folliful #skof #phan #phanfic

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