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dontgotothenetherworld · 4 years

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love alarm au 2 (frankie x phoenix)

i really enjoyed this au, so i decided to write a second part! this one starts at about the same time as the last part ended, right after frankie walks off.

2005 words

cw: nbjo.

frankie was determined to figure out who had rang her alarm. she told y/n earlier that she didn’t care, but that was a lie. she just didn’t want you prying.

she was certain there was only two people who had runge her alarm. she knew that jo was one. it was incredibly awkward that she hadn’t rung their alarm, but they were bound to figure it out sooner or later.

but the second? frankie needed to know.

as she had been walking to y/n’s classroom, she had walked past the library, with her love alarm app open, obviously, and it had gone off. the number had quickly jumped back down to zero as she kept walking, so frankie assumed the person was inside.

she turned the corner, out of sight from you and her brother, and began running to the library. she wasn’t sure how long this person would be there, or if they had already left.

she ripped the door open. she quickly composed herself when she saw a boy, who had been walking toward the exit, staring at her oddly. the boy was familiar, recently transferred to her english class.

”oh! hi! phoenix, what are you doing here?” frankie asked.

”checking out a book, obviously.” he held up a thin green paperback. “is that not what you’re here to do?”

”uhh not exactly.” frankie pulled her phone out, “you see, i have love alarm, do you have it? anyway, i was walking by here earlier, and someone rang it. so, on the off chance that they’re still in here, i really need to know who it is. is there anyone else here?” frankie blurted.

”slow down there, frankie.” phoenix laughed.

”do you have love alarm?” frankie asked again, this time showing him her screen open to the app.

”i downloaded it this morning,” phoenix started, “but i deleted it a little while ago.”

frankie deflated a bit. “why’d you do that? also, is anyone else in here?” frankie looked over his shoulders.

phoenix looked back. “unless the it’s the librarian, which i think would be kind of illegal, i don’t think so.”

frankie squinted her eyes at the librarian. he was a recent college graduate, and had quite a collection of literature themed button up shirts. “y’know… illegal, but…”

”very illegal, please get that idea out of your head.”

”thought gone, head empty, happy?”

phoenix laughed, “sure.”

”wait, so why did you delete the app?”

phoenix shrugged, “it just didn’t sit right to me. i really don’t feel like love should be told by an app. and also i just moved here, so it’s basically definite that now one gives a shit about me yet.”

frankie, who really hoped that phoenix had rung her alarm earlier, asked, “did it ring while you had it?”

phoenix looked down, embarrassed, “i only checked in crowded places, because… more people, it’s more likely that one of them has a crush on me. that’s how it works, right? maybe not because it didn’t change from zero all day.”

frankie reached out to grab his arm, to try to comfort him.

”what about you? i mean, obviously at least one person did, because you barrelled in here.”

frankie hesitated for a second, “just the one.” she lied. she didn’t really think it over, the lie. but she wanted him to think that she would definitely be available to him, if he had a crush on her. she would be anyway, but it’s a bit harder to explain the best friends with benefits, where one person accidentally caught feelings, situation she had with jo. well, it wasn’t hard to explain, but she didn’t want to give phoenix the wrong impression. but he seemed understanding, so he might get it.

whatever, she had already said the lie. too late to take it back now.

phoenix was very attractive, she’d stop fucking with jo to fall in love with him in a heartbeat. frankie was suddenly glad that he had deleted the app, otherwise sometime during their conversation, his alarm would suddenly go off, and it definitely wasn’t the hot librarian.

frankie glanced at the hot librarian again. if only it weren’t so illegal.... frankie should read more often. damn.

”well, i’ve got to go. and since you involved me in this, i am now very invested in if you figure out who this person is, can i please give you my number so you can keep me updated.” said phoenix.

”uh sure.” frankie handed him her phone.

”i know this is a weird way to make friends, but hey, i’m new. text me even if it’s not love alarm related.” phoenix smiled and started walking out, towards the parking lot.

frankie briefly considered chasing after him, begging him to redownload love alarm, and rejoice in their shared ring, but decided otherwise. she had a book to check out, anyway.

phoenix was somehow able to act cool the entire time he was talking to frankie, but now that he was by himself, he was shaking like a car on an old wooden roller coaster. it was bad, but luckily most everyone else had already left the school. or else they were in the school, doing club stuff, or on some unseen field.

phoenix slid into the driver’s seat of his dad’s old car, even though he had no intention of driving home at that time. he needed to relax a little before he felt he would be safe enough on the road.

phoenix opened the book he had just checked out from the library. the perks of being a wallflower. the librarian, who frankie thought was attractive, had recommended it to him. phoenix had been expecting a less well known recommendation from a guy who looked like he considered ‘indie’ to be one of his personality traits. not only that, he looked like the kind of guy who had a superiority complex about liking things that no one else had ever heard of.

phoenix read about two and a half sentences before he noticed something moving from the corner of his eye. one of the only other cars in his row, a good five or so spaces down, there was someone hunched over their steering wheel.

phoenix turned back to his book. he had decided that whatever they were going through was none of his business.

he looked up again. the person had straightened up, and he was able to see their tear streaked face.

phoenix turned back to his book, but he was contemplating why they were crying, instead of really absorbing the words.

phoenix turned back to look at them. this person just looked like they needed someone to vent to. or at least just know that they could vent to someone if they needed to.

phoenix had made up his mind, he was going to walk over to them. he felt a little bit of anxiety, worried that they might be rude to him, even though he just wanted to help, but he decided that potentially making them feel better was worth it. but what if he made them feel worse? shit...

phoenix knocked on the driver’s side window. they lowered it.

pawing away at their tears they said, “what do you want.”

it slightly bother phoenix that they phrased a question as a statement, but he said, “you were, um, crying and stuff, and i wanted to know if you needed to, uh, vent to someone. but if that’s stupid and i shouldn’t have walked over here, i can drive off and pretend this never happened.”

they stared at him oddly. “y’know what? i do need to vent, thanks.” they unlocked the car doors, and gestured for phoenix to sit shotgun.

”i’m phoenix, by the way.” he said as he sat.

”jo.” they rolled up their window. “so... “ they tried to figure out where to start, “my best friend and i, well… a while ago we started hooking up. i thought that she had feelings for me, right? but thanks to this fucking love alarm, she knows that i have feelings for her, but my alarm hasn’t gone off once! all day!”

”that sucks, but you know people can’t control their feelings…”

”i know that! i’m not really even upset about that. it’s just… she hasn’t addressed it. she hasn’t mentioned it. and she seems to still want to hook up with me!”

”and you want more than that?”

”hell no! not if she doesn’t have feelings for me! i just want her to stop using me. i either want her to be just my friend, or my girlfriend.”

”have you tried telling her that?” phoenix was trying to be supportive, but he was pretty sure he was just become the combination of every scene like this that he had seen in movies or tv shows, and he was just regurgitating those words.

”i don’t think she’d listen…” jo said glumly. “frankie cares about herself far more than she cares about anyone else.”

frankie? wait a minute, what’s going on here… “frankie healy?” phoenix asked.

”yeah, why?”

phoenix started thinking out loud, “so… i was just talking to her in the library, and she said that only one person had rung her love alarm all day, but… you just said you rang hers, and she told me that she was trying to figure out who it was that rang hers.”

”she was trying to figure it out? she told me that she didn’t care. and why the fuck would she say that only one person rang hers?”

”i’m trying to figure that out too. what would she have to gain from telling me that?”

”probably avoiding talking about our relationship, like she always does…”

the two sat in silence, mulling over their newfound knowledge.

jo suddenly realized something. they looked up at phoenix, “she likes you.”

”what?”

”she didn’t want you to think that there was anyone else in the way of you dating her, so she conveniently didn’t mention me.”

”that’s ridiculous, she doesn’t even know who rang her alarm. the other person, that is.”

”did you open the app with her?”

”no, i deleted it like an hour ago.”

”do me a favor, and don’t download it again.” jo advised. “she definitely thinks it’s you who rang her alarm, and i don’t think she cares if she’s wrong.”

”what do you mean?” phoenix asked.

jo groaned. “this damn has probably just made it easier for her. she’ll use it to find people who like her, then use the people until she’s done with them.”

”wait a minute, you don’t know that.”

”yes i do, i have super psychic powers, and i’m predicting the future for you! you don’t want to just be the first person in her string of flings, do you?”

”i… don’t think so. but wait, frankie seems so nice.”

”that’s how she gets you! ugh i am definitely going to tell her how i feel.” jo got their phone out and started texting. “thank you so much for this, phoenix.”

phoenix took that as them asking him to leave.

”oh, wait. what’s your number? i need to keep you updated on this.”

phoenix told them, and they sent a smiley face.

”i should probably get going.” he said, glancing at the time on his phone.

”okay, bye! seriously, i really needed this conversation, so i’m going to thank you some more.” they smiled at him.

phoenix weakly smiled back, and jogged back to his car. he started the engine, even though his head was up in the clouds.

was that a good thing? did he do jo a favor with that? or was he just the catalyst in their radical conclusion?

he figured that jo would’ve ended up at that, no matter if he had talked to them or not, but he still felt personally responsible.

he checked the time. shit, he was going to have to hurry home if he wanted to drop his school stuff off before work.

@meangirlsx @meangirlmurphy @eliza-is-confused @boredomimi

#jagged little pill #jagged little pill musical #jagged little pill broadway #jlp #jlp broadway #jagged little pill fanfiction #jlp fanfiction #phoenix #phoenix jagged little pill #phoenix jlp #frankie healy #frankie x phoenix #love alarm au #fic

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imaginetonyandbucky · 6 years

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little bit of me, little bit of you

Part II | Part I | Part III

It has to be a coincidence—a weird, improbable, very uncanny coincidence—and Bucky really, honestly tries to convince himself of that, at first. Because even in a world with actual aliens living and working among everyday humans, super soldiers and superheroes running around New York, and hot dogs costing more than two fucking dollars, what are the chances that Bucky, somehow, had a child with current crush more than a decade ago without either of them remembering anything about it?

They’re pretty slim, is what they are.

Bucky has ample reason to doubt that he was in any way involved in creating Gabriel, and one of the biggest one is Steve. Bucky’s memory is, admittedly, still full of holes and untruths, but Steve’s known Bucky since they were toddlers, and he’s always been excellent at remembering even the most asinine things, even long before he got the serum. If there’s one other person aside from Bucky who’d see any potential similarities between Bucky and Gabriel, if there were any, it would be Steve.

But Steve hadn’t said anything before moving Bucky into the tower, and had only tilted his head, shrugged, and said, “Huh, you think so?” when Bucky had made a joke that wasn’t really one about how Gabriel could be his little brother or cousin, looks-wise.

So, Bucky tries to let the whole thing go. And fails, miserably.

(More after the break!)

He can’t explain why, or how, but he just knows. He knows there’s something more here, something he can’t recall, something just beyond reach, that was stolen from him, and he’s determined to find out what, exactly. And get it back.

The very first thing he learns—and probably should’ve expected—is that tracking down baby photos of someone who’s supposed to have died over seventy years ago, and has no more living relatives is a huge pain in the ass. He does eventually find a few, in a private art collection centred around the Howlies, of all places, but the owner is more than happy to send him copies in exchange for one of those tacky autograph cards Avengers PR insists they all carry around with them.

Once he has the pictures, carefully laid out on his kitchen counter, Bucky has to admit that he can’t blame Steve for not noticing. At first glance, Gabriel looks like Stark, just like his brothers, and doesn’t seem to have anything in common with Bucky at six, or fifteen, or twenty. They all have the same colouring, the same basic facial structure, even the same cheeky smile. Stark’s gene game is pretty strong, to put it short.

But it’s there, in the details, the resemblance that had initially thrown Bucky so much; that stubborn hair whorl that seems nearly untamable, the dimple in the left cheek that only ever makes an appearance during full-on belly laughter, the tiny little beauty mark under the right ear, some of the distinctive mannerisms, like the way the both move, sometimes, when they tuck their hair behind their ears, or try to hold back a smirk.

None of it is obvious, though, not unless someone’s actively looking. And Bucky can’t seem to stop, once he has admitted, to himself at least, that Gabriel has to be his.

Natasha’s silence is simultaneously skeptical and judging when Bucky calls her up to ask for a favour. He doesn’t delude himself that he won’t be interrogated about his sketchy behaviour eventually, but Nat promises to get him the HYDRA mission reports involving the Winter Soldier from the year before Gabriel’s birth, and that’s all that matters.

With that done, all Bucky can do, unfortunately, is wait. He briefly considers just flat out asking Tony about it, but he doesn’t actually think Tony knows much more than he does himself, as unlikely as that sounds. Tony hadn’t seemed like he’d met Bucky before, when Steve had introduced them, or acted like he was hiding something, or keeping secrets. And they might not have known each other for too long yet, but Bucky refuses to believe that Tony’s the sort of person who would lie like this, about his own child.

Before Bucky can drive himself crazy by overthinking the situation, and going over what little evidence he has again and again, Tony himself actually, albeit unknowingly, gives him his next clue.

The boys are parked on the couch when Bucky walks into the penthouse, not arguing or bickering for once, but all talking at once and over each other at the smiling man on the screen of the tablet that sits on the coffee table in front of them. Gabriel is talking about his science project, while Max whines about how unfair Tony’s being about something or other, and Theo just throws out all the Spanish words he’s learned recently, from the sound of it.

“Come on,” Tony says, appearing in the kitchen doorway, “they won’t even notice you’re here. They haven’t talked to Léon in a while, I think they’re updating him on literally everything that’s happened over the last two months.”

They settle at the kitchen table, where both Tony’s tools, and a cup of coffee for Bucky are already waiting. Tony’d suggested moving their maintenance sessions up to the penthouse a few weeks ago, as long as no bigger machinery or anything was needed. It’s definitely more comfortable, and usually ends with Bucky staying for lunch or dinner, and then a movie or games with the kids. Or just the food, movie, and games, more and more often.

He’d jumped at the chance to get to know Gabriel the first time Tony had invited him to stay for grilled cheeses and creamy tomato soup—it had been Theo’s day to choose lunch—but it’s not only his curiosity that keeps him coming back. He’d grown up in a huge family, with five sisters and little cousins always around, and he misses it. Still having Steve helps, a lot, but playing, snuggling, or roughhousing with the boys just settles something in Bucky, and always manages to calm him down or cheer him up, depending on what kind of day he’s had.

And getting some quality time with Tony is a definite plus, too.

“So,” Bucky says, once Tony’s knuckle deep in the wiring of his arm, and conveniently not looking at Bucky to see how much he’s currently failing at being subtle, “I’m assumin’ Léon is the famous Tío Léon?”

It’s not that Bucky’s jealous, because he’s got neither the right nor a reason to be—he gets to see the boys and Tony at least three to four times a week, these days—but Tío Léon is a constant topic of conversation in the Stark household. Still, he doesn’t expect the question to make Tony pause, and chew his bottom lip for a moment before sitting back, a strangely intense expression on his face.

Bucky is about to apologise for overstepping when Tony says, “He’s their father. Max and Theo’s.”

Even though he’s not sure why, Bucky can tell Tony’s being defensive. He must realise it, too, because a moment later he deflates, breathing out in one long whoosh, and sheepishly rubs at the back of his neck. “Sorry. I—not everyone’s happy with our arrangement. I keep getting shit for it still, which. I can brush it off easy enough, but I don’t want my kids too see or hear any of that.”

“Fuck those people,” Bucky says, frowning, and Tony snorts, the last of the tension leaving his shoulders. Then he points at Tony, and warns, “I’m not puttin’ a dollar in the jar for that, the boys didn’t even hear.”

“Fair,” Tony allows, but the silence that follows is uncharacteristically awkward, for them.

It’s Bucky who breaks it after a moment. “You don’t have to, obviously, but you can tell me, if you want. I’ll listen. An’ only judge you quietly.”

“Asshole,” Tony quips back, smiling again as he kicks Bucky’s foot. Then he groans, tipping his head back, clearly embarrassed when he says, “Theo was my midlife crisis, I think. I just. Woke up one day, and realised I was almost forty, and that if I wanted more kids, I should probably get on that. Léon was happy to help out again.”

Bucky has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from saying something dumb like, “I bet he did,” but he manages.

“And Max—I was an only child, and I hated it,” Tony sighs, absently playing with the small drill in his hand. “I didn’t want that for Gabriel. And having children had always been a vague plan for the future, so. After Gabriel, I knew I definitely wanted more, and I didn’t want to wait forever. And so we had Max.”

“But you’re not together?” Bucky guesses, trying to not sound hopeful. “Anymore?”

Tony shakes his head. “Never were. We met in college, kept in touch over the years, hooked up sometimes when we were both single. I love him, as a friend and the father of my children, but it was never more, for neither of us. He agreed to help me, uh, make Max and Theo, but he never wanted to be a dad. Which was perfect, really, since I wanted kids, not a boyfriend.”

It feels like he’s pressing his luck, but he most likely won’t get another chance like this one. Hiding his trembling hands under the table, heart feeling like it’s about to beat out of his chest, Bucky asks, “And what about Gabriel?”

- Potrix | AO3

A/N: This is now officially a story full of cliffhangers, I guess? Also, I’m thinking of Oscar Isaac when I talk about Léon. Just imagine how gorgeous those kids have to be? Part III on Monday!

#winteriron #tony x bucky #tony stark #bucky barnes #kid fic #mpreg #past mpreg #getting together #misunderstandings #hydra fuckery #tiny adorable versions of tony #prompts #potrix

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lightsandlostbells · 6 years

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Skam France episode 9 (S1 finale) reaction

Thanks to everyone who reads these things! I’ve gotten a lot of nice messages and comments since I started blathering my thoughts on Skam remakes into the void, which I didn’t expect, and it makes my day. Even if you don’t agree with me on something, I appreciate hearing your thoughts. I love talking about sad teens and their drama and it has been a grand time talking about sad teens and their drama with others!

Also thank you to everyone who translates or helps increase accessibility to any of the Skam shows, I am truly amazed by the kindness and generosity of everyone who donates their free time to it.

Episode 9

Clip 1 - Daphne peed on the wrong stick

Nice job getting in that shot of the condoms and water bottle at the beginning as if to say “I fucking told you so.”

There were apparently several real time errors in this clip in that French students should not have been at school that day, and Daphne mentions having gum at 10 am when the clip dropped at 8 a.m.

This doctor does not quite have the same quality of being from another planet as Dr. Skrulle.

Alex screaming to the heavens about no baby is glorious, but on the other hand, GIRL, you might wanna lower the volume about your friend’s pregnancy scare as people are clearly hearing you.

I love Daphne and think she did a really great job here of being bitter and resigned. I think Vilde was also great in this moment, but I think she was approaching it more from an outwardly (phony) sense of self-assurance. You don’t know want what you’re talking about Noora, I do. And though Vilde is pretty stunned by the doctor’s visit (and tbh I think part of her wanted the baby to be real … but that’s another conversation) you can see her starting to laugh and smile with the other girls before Noora pulls her aside. Then it feels more like cheerful denial that there’s anything wrong with what she’s doing. Daphne seems straight up miserable and defeated.

Clip 2 - Charles creeping again

MY BELOVED THEATER KIDS RETURN. One day they will get their day in the sun. One day.

TBH Charles has more sleazy charm than William and I can’t determine whether that’ll end up being a good thing or a bad thing.

This clip is WAY better placed than the original, actually! It always seemed off that Noora would be taken in by William telling her she’s beautiful when she still thinks he’s knocked up Vilde. Now that they’ve determined this isn’t the case, it makes slightly more sense. At least that consideration is out of the way.

The only drawback about having the doctor clip before this clip is that it occurs to me that Noora’s conversation with Vilde is likely what prompts Noora tell William to apologize, since Vilde has internalized his words so much to the point of repeating them, and I find it harder to believe that Manon would give a single shit about Charles’ flattery after she’s heard how bad his words made it for Daphne.

Lmao at fucking Charles being like “What are you doing here?” and Manon being like “I go to school here, dipshit”*

* (100% accurate translation)

Wait, this is the same song for the Emma/Yann scene. Is this going to be a Skam France love theme? Will French Even sing it to Lucas?

My favorite thing Emma has done all season was the ensuing text conversation after this clip where she just replies to everything Manon says with “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.”

Clip 3- Emma and Lucas on the steps

The setup of this scene satisfies one of my burning questions, in that I always wondered what the vibe was between Eva and Isak as they walked over the the bench (awkward) and here Lucas joins Emma on the steps so I don’t have to wonder about their weird small talk or painful silence.

This is the first time where I bought Lucas’ acting. He’s still not exactly wowing me, but I thought he was fine here. Maybe he just needs that very large scarf to hide in to make him seem all vulnerable.

“You smoked at the cabin?” Emma, didn’t you literally see them smoking??

Wait, Tom was supposed to be Ingrid‘s brother? That’s what it sounds like, because why else would Yann contact Ingrid if he couldn’t get through to Tom, if Tom is just some unrelated dude who has weed? I thought her brother was some other guy because Elias was not Norwegian Ingrid‘s brother. Surely Emma would know Tom as a result of being Ingrid‘s best friend for years, but I don’t think either of them said anything about that, unless I missed it or can’t remember it. At the cabin I didn’t get the vibe they were anything more than acquaintances via Yann. And if Tom is Ingrid’s brother, then doesn’t it make more sense that Emma would hear Ingrid in the background on the phone, and it wouldn’t automatically be a cause for suspicion? It’s not weird for Yann to hang out with Tom.

I think Tom isn’t supposed to be Ingrid’s brother, but this line of dialogue is confusing, considering they changed it from Yann not being able to reach Ingrid’s brother to not being able to reach Tom. It doesn’t make sense to get Ingrid to get in touch with Tom; the chain should go Tom -> Ingrid’s brother (who also has weed) -> Ingrid.

They changed a bit from where Isak owned up to being shady when Eva asked him about hearing Ingrid‘s voice over the phone, he implied that he kind of suspected it wasn’t anything serious and figured it had to do with the drugs, and he acknowledges that he could’ve told Eva this, and he gave her bad advice to ask Ingrid about it. Lucas says he swears he didn’t know, which is kind of funny because IMO, Lucas seems way sneakier and more plotting in that scene than Isak did.

I do appreciate changes to the material but since they’re keeping most of it the same, I wish that they left in the line about karma being a bitch and Emma understanding how Ingrid would’ve felt, because I think that was a thematically relevant line.

Aw, it was sweet to see how Yann smiled and seemed so happy when Emma called. It’s a shame I like him so much more away from this relationship. He seems so pumped for their meeting. I think Yann is a little needier than Jonas and it affects their relationship positive and negative ways, like I think maybe he’s a little more attentive than Jonas, but he also seems to get more threatened by potential obstacles to their the relationship.

Clip 4 - The Emma/Yann breakup

Yann is so sweet and charming here, like I get why Emma fell for him.

So the final bit of this clip worked pretty well for me!

I said in another post that the three scenes they needed to nail were the skate park, Ingrid in the bathroom, and breakup scene, and while I didn’t think this was as powerful (mostly because the season-long buildup didn’t make it feel as earned) I still thought this was a strong scene, definitely the strongest of those three.

I loved the sweet moment of Yann holding Emma on the steps and them smiling sweetly at each other, and that was an aesthetically appealing, tastefully done semi-sex scene, especially the shot with their hands. Although I did find myself wondering if they sat on the steps and then smiled at each other like “let’s go have breakup sex” or if they banged it out, put their clothes back on, and cuddled outside. TRUE TO THE ORIGINAL in that regard.

More Seinabo Sey songs, love her.

Clip 5 - Ending party

The Emma/Yann hug is really sweet and makes me think the breakup is going to be less fraught, more amiable. which, IDK, it kinda feels like it should be more fraught considering these two are supposed to be very much in love? But it also makes me buy them airing season 2 so soon after S1’s finale, if Yann and Emma are going to be on more friendly terms.

Also the general atmosphere of the scene is more lighthearted. The music too, not as much of a serious tone.

Lucas was all right acting-wise in this scene, too.

INGRID AND EMMA NEED TO HOOK UP. I can’t say I shipped it in OG Skam but here … they should get together.

Ingrid, Sara and Imane dancing together is great.

Also Ingrid is there when Daphne tells Imane and Alex about Charles, awwww.

I love Daphne. I know I’ve said that a million times but she’s the MVP of Skam France.

The shot of Lucas with Yann definitely did not have that immediate SO THAT’S WHY HE DID IT effect. Yo, Skam France, remember how some of us were like “You’re telegraphing Lucas’ crush on Yann too hard?” Well if ever there was a time to project that shit from an IMAX, THIS WAS THE MOMENT.

Forreal, Lucas is paying about as much attention to Yann as to the other dude standing next to them. Where is that OTT longing gaze?

You’re holding a drink, dude, you could give us a dose of innuendo by slurping on that straw while you make eyes at your bro.

But then again, I guess no moment can be as OTT as when you have “Gay Bar” as your musical accompaniment.

There is a major continuity error in the scene because the other guy that is in the scene with Lucas and Yann can be seen behind Manon immediately in the next shot, so either he has a twin who dresses exactly the same or he teleported.

As much as I love Isak’s love of BUTT as the final moment, closing the season on Manon and Charles is a perfectly logical choice for leading into S2. Although lol, the lyrics being like “I’m just waiting for my day to come” are very creepy, Charles. “Cause something inside has changed” is better, though.

General comments:

They should’ve ended this season with the girl squad’s party, dude. Doesn’t that seem like a fitting finale? If the object is to gain popularity at school, shouldn’t they do it as soon as possible so they gain some capital before the popular senior guys leave?

One benefit about airing the next season right after S1 instead of taking a few months is that I can at least buy that they could have the party at the end of season 2. The longer they draw it out, the less it makes sense.

Lucas was definitely panicking and trying to be overly nice in that text to Emma post-Camille’s party. Emma was keeping it cool and Lucas was like I HOPE ALL IS WELL AHAHA WE’RE SO FRIENDLY :D :D :D oh god don’t tell Yann

Right now, I don’t have many thoughts about the season as a whole that I haven’t said before. Emma’s character arc is somewhat muddled, certain plot developments and characterization don’t make sense, the show overuses music, the girl squad dynamic is one of the show’s better qualities, marry me Daphne, marry me Ingrid, etc etc.

My main takeaway is that, out of the three remakes that have aired so far, Skam France definitely has less of a personal identity than Druck or Skam Italia. Even with those shows being early into their first seasons, I can already tell they’re more distinct adaptations with more done to fit their respective cultures. That’s not to say either of those versions are perfect or that Skam France doesn’t have its own strengths, but I would very much like to see Skam France develop more of a unique personality. Not sure if they can do that until S3 since they’ve already filmed S2 and can’t incorporate viewer feedback. It depends on how much it is going to reflect original Skam’s S2; judging by the trailer, it feels like the answer is A Lot.

#skamfr reactions

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hansolmates · 7 years

Text

jun; stupid cupid (m)

feat. matchmaker!Jun x female reader

genre/warnings: university!au, fratboy!svt, semi-crack, lots of silly humor and fluff, minor use of penetrative sex toys, slight dom!Jun

word count: 8.4 k

summary: After seeing your best friend get paired up through an alleged matchmaker, you can’t help but wonder about the credibility of his business. Wen Junhui, your resident Cupid, can’t help but take on the challenge of setting you up with Mr. Right. (Un)fortunately it seems like that person is right in front of you.

for @wen-junehui, remember that jun loves you to lil bitty bits and misses you

College is supposed to be some sort of life-changing experience, but the only thing that is currently blowing your mind is the lack of experience.

“I’ve accepted it.” You groan, plucking out another lace panty from the meticulously folded display. “I mean, why am I even buying sexy underwear if I’m not even gonna show it off?”

“Because these are absolutely adorable!” Your best friend squeals, going through the drawers with practiced ease. You swear that your best friend buys way too much underwear because her nightstand is overflowing with them, but for whatever reason she thinks the 8 for 28 is such a steal every other month and drags you along for the ride. She brandishes a cute pair of boyshorts decorated in pink peach animations, dropping it in her bag. “And don’t you feel so hot when you’re wearing cute underwear?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“You suck.” She pouts, her little body weaving towards the display of body sprays. With a flourish of her hand, she hikes her shopping bags higher up her arm to spritz a ruby tinted bottle on the inside of her wrist. “Vernon loves the smell of strawberries.” She warbles thoughtfully, her voice just as light and sweet as the perfume. Vernon Vernon Vernon. You remember exactly how your best friend got around to dating the guy, a moment of happenstance. You remember the night she stumbled into your apartment sporting a yellow bruise on her hip, claiming that she ran into the banister and then Vernon ran into her, causing both of them to tumble down nearly half a staircase in the Academic Building. (“But we’re alive!” she hummed as you pressed a bag of frozen peas to her leg, “And I got his number!”)

It seemed like after they started dating his presence grazed nearly every conversation of yours like a fine blade. “How exactly did you guys start dating? When you two fell down the stairs, did you guys immediately fall for each other too?” you ask, picking up another pair of peach underwear for yourself.

“Ha ha, very funny.” Throwing the ruby body spray in her bag, she props a hand on her hip. “But no, actually. Jun introduced me to him beforehand, the whole falling-down-the-stairs thing was just the tipping point. Get it, tipping point?”

“You’ve inherited your bad jokes from Vernon too, right?”

“Possibly. But you should definitely meet Jun if you need some help in the dating department. And considering you spent the last three nights holed up in your room with your vibe,” your friend cackles shamelessly at the way you blanch, “I’m sure he’s the perfect guy to set you up with someone.” Without even asking she hands over her cell phone, swiping down the contacts. “Give Wen Junhui a text, you never know.”

With a scoff you accept the proffered device, your lazy eyes trailing down the ten digits and pretending not to care at how potentially precious this person’s number could be. You watch your best friend trail behind the register. In plain view you saw the easy smile on her face as she talked to the cashier about how it was “date night” and how she thinks that Vernon would find the pineapple boyshorts the perfect amount of “booty to her cutie”. While it was a disgustingly worded phrase, you had to admit that while her and Vernon were pretty stupid, they were stupidly adorable together.

Biting the inside of you cheek, you quickly add Wen Junhui to your contacts list before you could regret anything.

[You] Hey uh, you hooked my best friend and Vernon Chwe up last year. I just wanted to let you know that I really appreciate what you’ve done for them! They’re super happy (to the point of me wanting to throw up my own blood, in a good way, I swear) and I want to thank you. If you have any pointers as to how you did that though, I’d really appreciate it.

[Jun] lol so you want to be matchmade? just had to ask. Meet me after my class tomorrow if you’re free, room 2125 after the 1:10 session.

[You] Sounds perfect, see you then!

You visibly flinch at how absolutely desperate and needy you sounded before you could bring up the topic of needing his help, the fact that you probably sounded like a 40-year old virgin with a stickler for proper grammar. The thought of being “matchmade” sounded incredibly forward and almost too daring for your comfort, you couldn’t even recall what Jun looked like from the parties his brothers had hosted from previous semesters.

The awkward small talk was already on the tip of your tongue as you fiddle with your phone, the screen indicating that it was already 1:10 and students were milling out of the room like ants. Leaning against the wall by the door you pretend to busy yourself with the buttons of your light blue button down, playing with the small plastic like it was the biggest conundrum of your day.

Your eyes cling to the pair of black Vans that suddenly parallel yours, and you hear your name being called. You blink and look up at the caller, mouth subconsciously parting open and unable to close.

Oh hell no.

You can’t help but wonder how drunk you were the night you visited his house, because you would definitely remember a guy like Wen Junhui. He leaned opposite from the wall, clutching the strap of his half-slung backpack and looking mildly amused at your wide eyes. You blame the undying thirst for human contact, but you couldn’t help but take in the fact that his burgundy and navy striped button down was crispier than a bag of Lay’s potato chips, and the way his onyx jeans were impossibly tight around his lithe frame, contrasting his warm blond tresses. He was a tall glass of something special, and you couldn’t believe he was interested in helping you.

“Uh, hey Jun!” you say, your throat feeling more cramped than a rock and hard place. You try not to contract at the obligatory handshake, the way your hands disappeared under his large ones and linger on your skin a tad too long for comfort.

“Hello.” His reply is velvetine, his voice comparable to the taste of raw honey. “You’re tense.”

“I’m—I’m not!”

Jun pouts down at you disapprovingly, the pink tint in his uneven lips reflecting in the yellow light from the building. “I was told you’d be awkward.”

Damn you Vernon.

“But that’s okay.” he adds, “It’s kind of adorable.”

With that he gestures for you to follow him out, and it takes you all of three seconds to smack your face when he’s not looking before falling into step. It took two long strides for you to match up to his one lazy step as you walk outside to the main yard of the campus. There’s a stretch of metal tables and open grass for the students to lounge around, and a pizzeria to snack in before the next class period.

With the minimal talking you could practically feel Jun’s stare as you order a slice of pizza for yourself. Is he silently judging you because you want the mac and cheese pizza? Wordlessly going outside, you find yourselves a two-seater under the shade.

Jun comes out seconds later with his own slice of pizza and a pepper flake shaker. Taking a seat, his hands violently pat at the pepper flake shaker, fiery red flecks coating the slice of cheese. You raise a brow questioningly, making a face at the excessive amount of pepper.

“What?” he asks, not bothering to look up. “I like my things spicy.”

Trying not to choke on your mac at the implications of his comment you chew harder, looking away from him to stare at the Starbucks that was crowded out the door. Jun didn’t seem to mind, and went back to adding some oregano and decorating his pizza like it was the finest piece of art to graze the campus.

“So,” your eyes flicker back to Jun, and you’re surprised to find that his pizza was already a quarter of the way eaten. “Who’s the guy that you’re interested in?”

You mentally blanch at the comment, suddenly feeling dehydrated. It wasn’t like you didn’t expect him to ask something like that, after all, he was here to matchmake you. But the bluntness of his question just made the possibility of you getting out of this single-rut so much more possible, and it simultaneously excites and terrifies you. The problem is however, there wasn’t really a guy under your radar. Sure, there’s really attractive guys here and there, but nothing to make you hide under the table and blush like a middle schooler.

The matchmaker himself looked at you expectantly with those deep cacao eyes, and with a bitter taste in your mouth you reminded herself that Wen Junhui could not be an option.

Your eyes dart back and forth past the guys in the grass area, two of which you know very well. They’re seated on the plush foliage, laughing about something on one of their phones. The one with the blond hair that challenged the brightness of the sun is Yoon Jeonghan, a medical student with a heavy reputation for being simultaneously smart just as he is irritating. Irritating in a good way, unattainably so. Would it be too cliché to ask if Jeonghan was single? Was this a question Jun got asked on the daily? To be honest you didn’t mind dating anybody, heck even a blind date would do nicely. Biting your lip, you ponder the friend next to Jeonghan.

“Wonwoo?” You wondered aloud.

A pregnant pause. “Wonwoo?” Jun cries aloud, so loud that the people behind them are startled by the outburst.

“What’s wrong with Wonwoo?” You snap, ripping a piece of crust with your teeth.

“He’s boring.”

“I think you’re mistaking boring for intelligent.” You retort sharply, looking back at Wonwoo and Jeonghan to find them lounging in the sun, Wonwoo’s head on Jeonghan’s lap. You watch as Wonwoo’s face scrunches up at something Jeonghan says, his nose crinkling adorably. “I think he’s pretty cute.” When Jun didn’t answer right away, you glare at him. “Were you like this when you set Vernon and his girlfriend up?”

“No. They’re losers.” he shrugs, “They’re perfect losers together.”

“True. Then are you saying that Wonwoo and I can’t be a perfect match?”

The challenge in your gaze bothers him, the sharp plane of his nose lifting up in defense as he drinks in your hard stance. And in one fell swoop he collapses, stuffing the last of his crust in his mouth and shrugging his broad shoulders. “I’ll find your perfect match.” he promises, crumpling his paper plate. “My methods are foolproof.”

“I hope so.” You reply. “So, how does this work? Will you set us up or something?”

“Something like that. But first, are you free Saturday afternoon?”

“I guess, why?”

“Because you’re going on a date.”

And that’s how you ended up spending your Saturday in the corner of the Korean-Japanese fusion restaurant, wringing your fingers under the table as you watch Jun order the both of you a mango shaved ice. Your eyes drift over to the open street, knowing your apartment was just a way’s off the road in case you needed to run back and hide before Jun knows all of your deep dark secrets.

You look down at your unfinished bowl of chicken katsu, regrettably noting that when you assumed that Jun said you’d be going on a date, you didn’t expect the date to be with him. It was simultaneously unnerving and exhilarating, every time Jun asked a question about yourself you’d fumble to answer. It wasn’t about being coherent, but it was doing your best to sound interesting. You would’ve given anything not to sound boring like he claimed about Wonwoo, you reasoned to yourself. No way, no way did you want to sound interesting because you were so allured by the fascination that filled his tawny gaze when you answered something. Maybe you’re embellishing your life a little bit, but it was well worth it knowing Jun was holding onto the other end of the conversation like a leash, his attention focused on nothing but you.

“So,” he drawls, waving his spoon around. “Have you read any good books lately?”

An innocent enough question, but enough to make you furrow your brows together and mull over the last time you’ve ever read a book for fun. “Huh, kinda?”

“Have you read King Lear?” he asks airily.

“Uh, no.”

“Ah, my bad. You look like you’re into romance. How about Me Before You by Moyes?”

You raise your brows, “Are you into romance?”

“No.” He says, “they’re Wonwoo’s favorite books. I’m just trying to gauge potential conversations you two could have. It’s be a whole lot easier if you actually had things in common.”

The way Jun said it, hurt. you felt the familiar pang in your chest, the feeling of rejection you’ve tasted too many times to count. You didn’t know if it were possible for you to have anything in common with anyone you’d be remotely interested in, but you’ll take your chances. You force yourself to bite back, waving your own spoon around. “We do have things in common! We’re quiet and sensible and intelligent!”

“Sounds like a study buddy rather than a boyfriend.” he teases, momentarily distracted by the waiter dropping off their mango shaved ice between them. “Oh, they put Fruity Pebbles on top.” he giggles, stabbing his spoon in the middle.

You try to ignore the way that Jun’s face lit up at the sight of the confection, his coral pink tongue darting out to lick at the beads of mango juice that dribbled onto his lips. It’s so uncharacteristic of the charming, calculated Wen Junhui you acquainted yourself with earlier this week, and it was terribly attractive.

Wonwoo who? The evil subconscious was asking yourself, because all you really wanted was to be matched up with anyone, but then Jun had to go ahead and ask if you were interested in someone specific. If you said no, you would’ve sound desperate (which wasn’t a lie) but at the same time ultimately pointless if you really didn’t even like Wonwoo in the way you claim you do.

Jun calls your name, once, twice. You probably look like an idiot, staring intently at the colorful mochi that dotted your desert. Shaking your head you ask, “Yeah?”

He grins, “I’d like to take you out on another date.”

Cupid help me.

Jun explained that you two were hanging out so he could get to know you (“For Wonwoo, of course.”) But it seemed like Wonwoo was a brittle foundation for what was really going on between the two of you, at least in your head. Jun was enigmatic, charismatic, and every single -matic that seemed to gnaw at every fibre of your being whenever you two hung out. He asked a lot about you, and you were fairly sure he knew all the unnecessary things about your life from the way you like your tea to your unbalanced study habits. You never found it necessary to ask about Jun, if he really wanted to tell you his life story he’d say it.

Sometimes he didn’t even have to say it.

You press yourself further into the mirror, feeling the heat of the room circulate further and further into your face. It was as if you were turning into furniture, because Jun was so absorbed in his own dancing that he probably wouldn’t blink at the thought of you leaving at this very moment.

But you can’t leave. He is captivating. The music pounds so far that it reached through every cell of your body to the point that your heart must’ve pounded, too. Beads of sweat pool from his gold bangs, glistening like little gems against the white fluorescents. Every move he conducted is calculated, the way he moves his hips back and forth in the rhythm, in control of everything in the room.

The music stops, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in.

“Wow,” you gape, “You’re really good.”

He blinks, momentarily distracted as he tried to unplug his phone from the speaker. “What were you saying? Something about me being tall, dark and handsome?” He broke away from staring at the mirror to smile at you, sending you a playful wink that had you folding your legs closer to your chest.

You scoff, pushing yourself up, “Did you just bring me here to show off?”

“Did it work?” he rubs his neck with a white towel, his head tilted cutely. “The look on your face says it did.”

“Go to hell.”

“I’ll meet ya there.” He holds out his hand. “Now do you want to dance with me, or not? Before we got to hell, of course.”

The relationship doesn’t feel as business-like as you anticipated, and you can’t gauge as to whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing.

Today you opted against hanging out with Jun because of a little kitchen accident in the beginning of the week. You were trying to cook pasta (and how the fuck does anyone manage to screw up cooking pasta, but you) and you accidentally burned your stomach leaning against the stovetop. You were sporting a pretty pink burn under the layers of bandage, lying on your bed with your laptop on your lap.

Two knocks on your door and you didn’t bother to reply, continuing to stuff more white cheddar chips in your mouth. Halfway into your second chip two more knocks echoed through your room, and you sigh a half-hearted “Come in!” before letting your eyes roll back to your dimly lit laptop screen.

“Hello hello, it’s your favorite person in the world.”

You bite the inside of your tongue at the sound of his voice, jolting so far in your bed as to disrupt the dull pain in your stomach and have your laptop slide dangerously to the edge. Jun pops his head in, the gangly thing then ducking his way inside with his sock-clad feet and soft grey sweatpants. He must’ve gotten in through one of your roommates, the sneaky bastard.

“Favorite person?” You scoff, propping the pillows up so you could look at him properly. “Who told you that lie?”

Jun quirks his lips in a crescent smile, plopping his long body on your bed. Truth to be told, it was a little much when you insisted on cancelling your plans for today because of a little burn you got five days ago. But it was moments like this why you can’t handle Jun, especially at your weakest moments. He demands attention, and unfortunately you were more than willing to give it to him. “Don’t deny me.” he says, stepping inside and making a beeline to your bed.

He started bouncing on your thin mattress, each bump creaking the weak wood as he dents your duvet.

“Jun, my roommate might hear.” You glare, “She gets really nervous when you hears noises late at night, she’s terrified of ghosts.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to be quiet.” Jun murmurs in that all-too familiar milk-and-honey drawl, his fingers trailing over your flannel shirt. “Can you do that for me, doll?”

No matter how dark it was, you could always see his pearl white canines poking through his playful grin, edging you on. It was infallibly frustrating, the way you felt him hover over your bed like he owned it, and yourself dipping further and further into the plush blankets like you’re being swallowed in a sea of cotton and silk. This was beyond friendship, but then again what you two had wasn’t exactly friendship.

“Don’t ‘doll’ me.” you half-hiss, your fingers curling expectantly over the duvet, ready to fight.

“But I need to do this. I’ll die if I don’t.” he resorts to a puppy-pout, revealed through the moonlight that seemed to hit him like the way a spotlight would be so perfectly planned to aim at the right moment. “It’ll benefit the both of us, I promise.” he murmurs, his saccharine-drenched words trying its hardest to destroy your sanity.

“It’s going to hurt.” you whimper.

“Only if you let it hurt.” he reasons calmly, “Just relax.”

“Okay, nope.” you grit out, shooting up like a silver bullet and pushing his chest away with both hands. The attempt was destined to be futile, and he bobs an inch forward only to come even closer to you. “Get the hell away from me!” you cry as loud as you could between the thin walls of your suite, backing further in an attempt to grasp the cool metal of your headboard.

His gaze suddenly darkens, and if it wasn’t obvious by his looks, it was definitely felt in the air. It was fueled by his ambition to win, especially when you two fight over petty things. “That’s it,” he growls, jumping forward to grasp at your flannel pyjamas, his fingers going under the sensitive skin.

With a fierce tug, he pulled at the bandage that wrapped around your stomach with a sickening riiiiip.

“Jun!” you cry with a yelp, tears pricking the tips of your eyes. Screw your roommates, the pain was unbearable. Your hands immediately grapple at the tender flesh, white hot needles pricking at every crevice of where the bandage settled itself. “I told you not to take it off! It’s still healing!”

“You were whining like a baby all week!” Jun shot back in frustration, his gangly arms up in the air. The slightly yellowed bandage dangles in his grasp like a trophy. “Girl, that burn needs to breathe! How do you think it’s going to heal if you don’t let it see the light of day?”

“Quit being sassy to me and say you’re sorry!”

“Why would I say that, that’d be lying.” he raises his eyebrows in innocence, and if it was just a little lighter in the room you could imagine how satisfied his smirk must look. “Problem solved. You can heal your burn and I can leave knowing I’ve done my good deed for the year.” he got off the bed, his weight sinking into your fuzzy carpet.

“Get out.” you seethe, pulling the the covers over your body, “You’re never allowed over ever again.”

“I’m okay with that.” he shrugs, already halfway out the door. “See ya in the morning, doll.”

Ignoring the way he blew a kiss in your direction, you groan, throwing the white duvet over your frame. Like the burn Jun was absolutely painful to deal with, but even more painful to be without.

“So what got you into matchmaking?” you ask, twirling your cup of hot cocoa with the café’s tea spoon. “Did you just watch Hitch and get inspired?”

“No.” he replies as if you told him elephants could fly, his brows furrowing together. You can tell he’s never watched the film before, even though it was sorta-kinda representative of his situation. “I married my best friend’s sister two years ago. Talked to her old high school sweetheart for her because she was too shy.”

“So what, they dedicated you at the wedding and all that?”

“Yup. And a little figurine of me at the bottom of the cake.” He deadpans, drawing triangles of condensation caught by the hardwood. You could tell that there’s more to this story, but he doesn’t look terribly inclined to share. “Why, are you questioning my ability of getting you a hot date?”

“I mean, I’ve only heard stories.”

“I’m not doing this to play with people’s hearts, that’s never my intention.” Jun looks up, his eyebrows disappearing under his fluffy fresh-from-the-shower bangs.

“Then what is your intention?”

He then puffs out his cheeks, something he’s been making habitual these past few weeks when you’re together. The expansion in his mouth causes the apples in his cheeks to bloom a fresh shade of cranberry.

“To make people like you happy.” His smile is trapped between his lower lip, his teeth fighting the urge to not smile too hard. He looks embarrassed, his gaze focused on his half-full coffee. “I’m sure Wonwoo’s going to make you very happy.”

The authenticity in his reply suddenly made you feel very guilty, and you look down to your own drink, feeling your lip quiver as you bite your straw.

“Hooooolllllyyyyyy shiiiiiitttt.”

How the hell did your best friend get the key to your suite? Her voice was too loud, like call-the-police frightening.

“Holy shit, Kerry!” she screamed towards your roommate, the flabbergasted voice echoing from the living room. You hear the padded footsteps of your roommate coming to the main dining area at the beckon. “She bought a new bra! And it’s sexy and made of lace! Our girl’s boutta get laid!”

You freeze, spitting toothpaste foam all over the sink. Rinsing once and swiping your mouth with a towel you storm in the living room where your two girlfriends were currently gushing about your new purchase from Victoria’s.

“Guys!” you cry, gaping at the two of her ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’-ing at her latest purchase. “I have a date with Jun and he’s going to get here in thirty seconds so will you please fucking leave—”

“Hey.”

The front door shutting sounds more like your fate being sealed, ending with social suicide as Jun appears at the front of the doorway. He looks effortlessly chic as usual, despite the fact that he’s only in a black and white raglan and cuffed jeans. He grins amusedly at your friends, his canines popping against his cheeky smile.

“Hi Jun!” Your two friends pipe up, and Kerry was still holding your new bra up in the air.

“Hello ladies.” he tilts his head to the petite pair that are grinning eagerly at him, then turn to you. “I’ll wait for you outside.”

The door slams shut just as quickly as it was opened, and you glare at your two friends menacingly as soon as he was out the door. “You let him in!” you huff angrily, quiet enough for Jun not to hear from the hallway but loud enough so that the two ass-brats would get the picture. “You let him in and let him see my underwear!”

“But don’t you want him to see your underwear?”

“I do!” you hiss, reaching over to rip the bra from Kerry’s grasp. “But when the door is obviously locked and we’re in the moment not when your curiosity,” two pairs of smirks creep up on you, “makes you act like two year olds with no sense of privacy!”

Your two friends are going off like Bonnie and Clyde, spitting comments back and forth to each other like a juggle tag team.

“She’s been going out an awful lot with Jun these past couple of weeks!”

“Shit you never even goes out with me that much.”

“That’s sayin’ something. I bet this bra is the make or break of this relationship—”

“Shutupshutupshutup.” you grit out, stomping back into the bathroom. The silly giggles of your friends only continue in your head as you close the door shut. Frustrated exhales escape your mouth, echoing against the faded yellow tiles. Holding the royal blue bra in your hands, you untangle the straps in an attempt to put yourself back together.

“So, we’re here.”

Maybe you were a little over your head when he said your plans for the night were a surprise. A walk around the bridge, maybe more silly conversations over mango shaved ice. Romance is not dead, you convince herself, but it was certainly unconventional. The large house of ΣΛΤ is a beacon of strawberry milk pink in the middle of the street, making the dark houses pale away in the darkness. Girls and boys were hanging out on the deck, Converse clad feet dangling off the railing and and red cups lazily cupped between their fingers.

“Um,” you bite your lip, realizing that this was the moment. Jun’s about to set you up with Wonwoo. “I don’t think I’m ready yet.”

“I didn’t spend a month with you preparing so you could run away when the magic really happens.”

“If the magic is in there,” you wince as one of the brothers trail down the stairs with only a pair of green and purple Patrick-esque boxers, “I want no part in it.”

“What are you talking about?” Jun furrows his brows, holding his arms out to you. “You look beautiful tonight.”

Your heart warms, and it wasn’t because of any alcohol, at least not yet. You look down at your plain mustard tee with the embroidered rose on the side, tucked into a pair of light wash shorts. It really is nothing special, despite the fact that you may have spent a good half hour in front of the mirror fixing your makeup, it was nice to know that someone still appreciated the effort you put into your appearance.

“Let’s go inside, yeah?” Before you could make another nervous protest, his hands splay across the small of your back, fire hearth warm as his grip melts through your shirt and into your skin.

The inside wasn’t as much of a mess as you anticipated, but nevertheless it was a party. Lee Jihoon’s lips purse fretfully as he toggles with his MacBook in his respective corner of the couch, presumably in control of the synthed beat that reverberates through the building. The room is comfortably crowded, and for once you don’t feel like sweating in a college party.

“Here,” Jun hands you a small glass of something clear and questionable, “Liquid courage.” His voice is terse as he took his own gulp of the liquid, smacking his lips and pointing his pinky to a corner in the back. “Won’s over there.”

You take your own shot, feeling the alcohol burn away your throat as you saw Wonwoo with some brothers playing darts. He is adorably dressed in an oversized black hoodie, but there was no denying that you felt absolutely nothing for him. It was the inevitably tragic high school movie twist: you can’t help who you’re attracted to. You poke Jun in the chest with your glass. “Another one.” You mumble.

He raises a brow, but took your cup away to refill it once more. “Drink up, buttercup.” He toasts his glass to yours and you take another one together.

By the third one you start to feel dizzy, and while Jun isn’t necessarily swaying, you feel like he’s moving much like a jellyfish from his stagnant position by the kitchen table. He grasps your shoulders, leaning down and tilting his head next to yours. “Ready?”

“Mhm.” Ready for what?

And all of a sudden he whirls you around, enough to believe that the world’s axis had broken. He lets go of your body, and instead of being reunited by his warm hands you feel a frosty grip take its place.

Wonwoo calls your name, and smiles down at you. You’re surprised he’d even remember you, from that one god-awful business class where you didn’t utter a peep. He’s remarkably sober, looking like he’s been having a good time. Your semi-inebriated self hopes you wouldn’t be the one to ruin his night. “Hi!” You squeak, your voice an octave higher than normal.

“You came here alone?”

“I came with Jun.”

“Ah,” Wonwoo’s eyes clear, and he nods in realization. “So I suppose it’s me then, right?”

A shot of lightning courses through your body, and you realize that Jun was nowhere to be found, and it was just you and Wonwoo in the kitchen. Wonwoo knew of Jun’s escapades, but he seems willing to fall into them like quicksand, slow and steady.

But falling in love, falling in like, or just crushing on someone isn’t willing at all. You can’t help what your heart wills for, and your heart wasn’t willing for Wonwoo.

“Yeah,” you sober up quickly, “I suppose it’s you.” But you were shaking your head, trying to rid yourself of the music that was eating at your eardrums. “But it’s not you, I’m sorry.”

You squeeze Wonwoo’s shoulder, giving him an apologetic smile. You had no idea whether Jun told Wonwoo about you or not, but it didn’t matter. You didn’t want any of this. Your stomach hurts and your chest hurts for turning down a guy you claimed you wanted, your brain hurt from all the running around you’ve been doing this past month. Turning around you leave the house, needing a breath of fresh night air. Jun is hanging by the door, in the middle of talking to another brother.

“What happened?” he pulls away from his slouched out form.

“I’m going home.” You declare tersely, trying to brush past him.

“What? Why?” You could hear his feet bouncing against the pavement, his long legs taking no time into getting in front of you. “Are you crying? Did he do something to you?” It wasn’t until you brought a hand to your cheeks that you realized that slow streaming tears were in fact flooding. You rub a hand over your eyes, uncaring of your smudged liner.

You hated how Jun felt the need to bend down and look you in the eyes when you couldn’t even find the strength to run away. The way his carmine eyes bore deeply into yours, his soft golden hair contrasting against the night sky as his lip worries in a frown. It’s frustrating, being so needlessly coddled by him when all you want is to go home and pretend he never existed.

“Please, I’m fine,” you hiccup, doing a shit job at looking fine. “Just let me go.”

You feel bad for pushing past him and ignoring how fucking sad he looked as you stalk away from the house. You feel bad for yourself, because you feel absolutely awful for playing along all this time because you couldn’t admit how much you liked the matchmaker himself.

[Jun] Open the door

[Jun] open open openopenop

[Jun] ur not deaf

[Jun] i cn hear you BREATHING

Trashing your Half-Baked Ben and Jerry’s, you hop off your couch and pad to your door, only standing but not opening. You’ve been ignoring his messages the past couple of days, which was probably a shitty thing to do but considering you’ve been feeling nothing but shitty it seemed appropriate. You could practically feel Jun’s insistence through the door with each rap at the wood, your hands twitching with the urge to open it. You miss him. And you hate hate hate it.

So you open the door and muster the sweetest smile you could possibly conjure, because you’re weak and at this point uncaring as to whether you could salvage your friendship or not. “Hey.” You feel like you were practically hacking out the word, it had only been a few days and it was more than enough just to have your heart skip when he’s looking right at you.

“Hey,” he echoes breathlessly, blinking shamelessly. He looks tired, like he just came from a day full of classes. “I honestly didn’t expect you to open the door. You’ve ignored my texts all weekend.”

“I haven’t.” You reply defensively, opening the the door wide enough only for his lithe body to slip through the cracks. He dumps his bag by the door, following you to the couch. You pick the corner farthest from him, but he decides to sit at the coffee table in the middle, stretching his legs out to face you.

“Saying K when I send you a whole novel is considered a felony in my books.” He says bluntly. “Was there something wrong with Wonwoo last night? Because I know he says some stupid shit but we all gotta accept that people can be a little weird—”

“It’s not about Wonwoo.” You say levelly, crossing your arms.

“Then what? Did I do something wrong?” He jabs a finger in his chest, looking palpably annoyed. “Because I just did what you wanted me to do. Is that not what you wanted?”

“It wasn’t.” You mumble, rubbing your fingers over your forehead.

“Then what do you want?” Both of you were equally frustrated. Jun, not knowing what direction to turn to, feeling cheated out of his own work. And you, frustrated at yourself for not being honest with him, for being too scared and stupidly insecure to realize that the one thing you wanted was right in front of you.

You take a breath, wanting all the butterflies in your stomach to fuck off and let you handle this on your own. “Jun, you matchmake people because you want them to be happy, right?”

He gives you a funny look, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Yeah. I told you that.”

“Well, I’m happy with you.” you confess, your words feeling both gummy and dry against your mouth. “And that’s all I want, I’m sorry I wasted your time and couldn’t tell you sooner.”

You feel all the air in your system evaporate, the weight you’ve been harboring disappear from your shoulders. You gnaw at the inside of your cheek, Jun’s expression warping in and out of the room as he lets your words sink in. You can practically feel your heart rate accelerate and unable to keep up with your body, ready to take a trip down the road so you could never fall for someone ever again. The chestnut wood of your coffee table creaks in protest as Jun gets up, his hands gripping at the armrest and the couch cushions, effectively trapping you.

“I want that, too.” Is all he says before he leans in, pressing his lips to yours.

Jun’s lips feel pillow soft against yours, and tasted like cotton candy and red hots rolled up into one superdrug because you were both heavily confused and aroused by the turn of events. You sigh at the loss of body movement, letting Jun shift the both of you on the small couch that definitely wasn’t capacitated for extended making out, but it wasn’t stopping either of you.

“‘Mm still angry that you lied to me,” he mumbles, nibbling your bottom lip between his teeth. You take this opportunity to let your lips dance over his jawline. “But there’s multiple ways to curb anger, if you wanna get a head start.”

He rubs himself into your belly, and something in your body stirs equally in response.

“Y-yeah,” you manage to answer, a little wobbled at the sudden turn of events, but the tension in the room was high and the both of you were more than ready to make up for lost time.

A few more rushed kisses to his jaw and you’re pushing him off, tugging him into your room.

In a rush of making your way to your bed you bang your knee against your open drawer, yelping as you land on your sheets. You expect him to pounce on you just as he’s ambitious for everything he does in school, but his eyes dart over to the glass item that rolled around the shaken drawer. Looking towards you in question, he bends over to pick up the object in question.

“Is this?” his eyes were practically blown apart as he looked through you with your glass toy, the amethyst color tinting his view of you.

You bite the inside of your cheek as you watch Jun utterly fascinated by the pink dildo. You can’t tell if you’re sweating from how turned on you’re on, or your sheer embarrassment, possibly both. You ordered it online sometime ago, but ever since you moved in you haven’t been able to try it out to its full capacity. Attempting to use it with enough alone time in a dorm filled with three other roommates was moot, you were lucky your mates were out at the moment. He held it in an almost embarrassing childlike wonder, feeling the smooth material like it was silk. His eyes flicker between you and the pink bulb expectantly. His gaze is thick, and full of want.

“Uh, yeah.” You choke out, feeling considerably less bold. “I haven’t used it yet, though. I haven’t been able to, y’know.”

“Probably weren’t ready for it yet.” He says, plopping on your bed. “But I can fix that.”

You couldn’t find the air for a snappy retort when Jun reaches over to cup your sex, his fingers mapping out constellations over your clothed core. You whimper off like a switch, throwing your head back to hit the wall as you quickly squirm out of your underwear, digging your heels into the blanket.

Jun traces figure eights into your dampened skin, his tongue making a path in the dip of your collarbone. He slips a finger in, and with a few experimental thrusts you were already writhing in your own world, absorbed by his warm touch.

“Tight,” he murmurs simply, letting your juices butter around your folds, coating his long fingers. He inserts another, the squelch of your arousal echoing in the small bedroom as he thrusts slowly. You feel his fingers scissor and stretch you out, feeling every minute pressure of your skin as it conforms to his digits.

On the other hand you definitely feel cheated, Jun’s fully clothed and here you are, oversized shirt hiked all the way up to your chest and revealing the propped up hem of your cobalt lace bra. Your body is so hot you’re almost sure the clothes would singe off before you managed to remove them.

“Jun,” you huff, tugging on his black shirt, “off.”

“Lights off?” he murmurs into your skin, thrusting deeper.

“Ngh, no.” You cry, swiveling your hips distractedly, “take it off.”

“Take the lock off from the door?” he hums jokingly, “Then everyone will see me fucking you. Unless you’re into that.”

“Fucking take your clothes off or I’ll do it for you.”

It got silent, only the dirty sounds of his fingers inside you painted the room. He lifts his head from your neck, looking down at you with his molten eyes. “Is that a threat, doll?” He adds another finger, stretching you even further. It stings a little, but it still felt feels pleasurable as you’re under the hypnotic spell of Jun’s gaze. “I wouldn’t go around being mean to the one who’s making you feel this good. I’m still a little upset, don’t you want to apologize to me?”

Everything is getting blurry and clouded with stars both from the night sky and your mind, quickly succumbing to his molasses drenched words and soul-searching stare. You manage to take off your shirt and bra, throwing it across the drawer. His fingers are still welled deep into your core, your hips thrusting against his.

“Look at you fucking my hand,” his tongue darts out to lick his lips, gesturing for you to look at the way his hands disappear like a mantra into your body. “Looking absolutely pretty, who knew you’d be so good at this.”

His other hand reaches to unfurl his sweatpants, easily shucking them off to the side. Your eyes can’t help but focus on the apparent bulge between the white boxer-briefs, but you continue thrusting in his hand, feeling the high quickly approaching.

“But I think you’ll be even prettier with this inside.”

With a “pop” he removes his hand, and before you could groan in protest he wiggles the cool glass toy in its place, rubbing your fluids against the smooth surface. You nearly forgot about the dildo, but now your thighs are practically on fire, and with a firm push the head was already inside of you, gliding like butter through your folds. The pressure is almost decadent, you never knew how useful a sex toy would be until you had Jun using it to it’s fullest. Your juices squelch in pattern to his thrusts, his eyes mesmerized as he watches the pink dildo appear and disappear before him.

“J-Jun, don’t stop,” you sigh, your voice overwhelmed with breathy distraction and overstimulation, “Mmph, I need more,”

“Are you sorry?” He asks tauntingly, slowing his pace, and you can feel his warm grip linger across your folds, blocking the dildo’s path.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper, edging your lips closer to the toy, but he only pulls it farther.

“Sorry, for,” he presses the head inside, and you whine, aching for sweet relief.

“S-sorry, sorry for—ungh—ple-ease,” you could barely formulate a reply when he swirls your gloss with the tip, “Sorry for, ah, not telling you I wanted you.”

“Are you sorry that you missed out on this?” he stage-whispers, leaning his body so every inch of his skin was against yours as he returns his thrusting to a steady pace. His other hand moves to trap your wrists above your head, preventing you from moving too much. His voice is rough yet smooth, gliding across the shell of your ear. “Are you sorry that we could’ve done this sooner?”

“Mhmph, yes!” you sigh aloud, lifting your hips to match his pace, You dig your fingers into his palm. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please just do whatever you want to me and don’t stop!”

Letting go of your grip his long legs move to straddle you, going over one of your thighs in particular as he thrusted the toy faster. Resting his pelvis on your outstretched thigh he cants his hips against your bare skin in tandem to his movements, the thin material doing absolutely nothing to hide his hardness. Feeling his dick against your skin only made you even wetter, your slaps getting louder as you start to hit the peak of your release. Getting messier you feel the stars in your head implode into supernovas, your fingers squeezing the sheets taut and your walls clenching around the toy that was now equally hot as your body.

You’re numb, but still willing to go farther once you see the hunger in Jun’s eyes. He pulls out the toy with a painful slowness, and you shiver from the sensitivity. Your juices are dripping from your orgasm, and Jun brings it up to his face. Looking straight at you, he licks the toy.

Your clit twitches in betrayal.

Throwing the toy across the bed his long arms reach for the drawer, pulling out a condom from the same place he found your toy. Somehow his shirt is already off, probably stripped away in the middle of your orgasm. He quickly throws off his boxers, and his dick stands erect, scarlet with pearls of precome at the tip. The foil rips like it’s being cut with a thin blade, Jun quickly throwing the condom on his hardness.

“Do you still want more?” He asks, running his hands over his dick a few times. As sexy as the phase sounded, his gaze looks nothing but boyish in front of you, waiting for your consent. It was uncharacteristic of his previous control but nevertheless welcomed. Moonlight decorated his hair, reflected by the cracked window and the navy sky.

You manage a small nod, and a careful “Yes.”

“Good.” he hovers over you, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “Because I want to give you more.”

Your hands splay across his chest, running across his neck before securing a grip on his shoulders. Jun adjusts the two of you as he rubs himself at your entrance, filling you up. You gasp, lifting up slightly to grab onto Jun’s shoulders as he stretches your folds, feeling comfortably full. He groans into your ear, the sound echoing through every pore of your body as you felt him start to rock against you. This was by far better than any silly toy, and it didn’t feel as if you were satisfied just moments ago. You wanted more, and Jun was here to give you everything you needed. His hips snap against yours in a steady rhythm while his smoked out breaths sighed into your ear, murmuring your name and telling you how you’re good, so good for him.

“You feel so nice,” he groans, his thrusts getting sloppier as he edged on, “Nggh, you feel so good with my cock stuffed in you, does it feel good?”

“Yes, yes it feels good,” you whimper, unable to catch up to his messy thrusts. His dick went all the way to the spongy spot in your body, one that was making your head spin. You feel the walls connecting you two slicken, giving him more room to fuck you harder as he lifts your leg to penetrate deeper. “Mmph, Jun, keep going—” you encourage, reaching a hand to rub circles into your clit.

His hips were going at a fierce rate, slapping against your skin as you moan in pleasure, writhing your head and marking his back with your crescent shaped nails. “Come around my cock,” he husks out, his voice quickly losing traction, “So I can come too.”

His mouth was gaped and against your neck, sighing and gasping for release when you squeeze his dick, and with a final thrust he collapses over your sticky body, moaning in satisfaction. His face plants itself into the crook of your shoulders, nuzzling your skin. With a couple lazy thrusts he pulls out, a blind hand reaching to safely remove the condom from his body. You close your eyes in an attempt to settle your breathing, focusing on the inhale and exhale of your chest as Jun gets up to dispose of the latex. Your eyes slowly return to a mere half-liddedness, a notably perkier Jun returning to your bed and putting his face close to yours.

“Hi.” He chirps, carding a hand through your sweaty strands.

“Hello.” You smile weakly.

“So, are you satisfied with your service?”

“Satisfied? Jun!” You laugh tiredly, slapping his shoulder.

“Has my performance as your matchmaker improved your lovelife?”

“I don’t feel the need to satisfy your ego after you just pounded me into my mattress.” You reply tartly, snatching the blanket and placing it higher above your chest.

“Please?” He lets his face sink into your pillow, his eyes twinkly and sweet in the dark room.

Sticking out your tongue, you reach a finger to poke his nose. “My lovelife,” you shuffle to press his lips to yours in a half-hearted, glowy kiss. You feel Jun’s hands warm up to your sides, pulling you closer. “And yours, is definitely satisfactory.”

#jun #jun scenarios #seventeen #seventeen scenarios #kkreationsnet #jun fic #junhui #wen junhui #seventeen fic #kpop #kpop fic #kpop scenarios #jun smut #seventeen smut #prince jun

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justanotherwannabeclassic · 7 years

Text

Finding Neverland (10/?)

Summary: History has a funny way of repeating itself. Juliet Jones learns this the hard way as she finds herself thrown decades into the past, and tasked with ensuring that her parents fall in love. (CS movie redux) Notes: You know, I did intend to get a new chapter up sooner. But life in the form of a new job got in the way, and it has taken some time to mentally adjust to that. Also, my commute is shorter (huzzah!), so that means less writing on the train. The good news is that this chapter is over 7000 words, so it's not like I'm giving you a tiny update. Things happen in this chapter! Read on AO3. Previous Chapters: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] Chapter 10

There’s this trope that’s present in many of the movies and television shows Gideon has seen and the books he’s read: the father who very much doesn’t like his daughter’s new boyfriend. The father cleans his gun whenever the guy comes over to pick her up from a date. There’s a threat to the boyfriend’s manhood. Gideon’s experienced it before with previous girlfriends, and he’d always been somewhat prepared to be threatened by the guy nicknamed “Captain Hook”. Of course, that physical threat had never come. There had been, and continue to be, a few passive aggressive comments. But no physical threats, not even after the man had walked in on both Gideon and Juliet barely clothed on the reference desk of the Storybrooke library. (Though there had been a lecture -- a very painfully awkward lecture.)

So, when considering all of the situations that might have led to Gideon staring down Captain Hook’s blade, this had never crossed his mind.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Gideon says, feeling rather stupid for uttering the most obvious line to say when found in such a situation. Maybe he has been joining Juliet on too many of her movie marathons.

“Are you suggesting that I was hallucinating your conversation with the demon?” Hook doesn’t move his sword. “What’s next? Are you going to tell me that the drink you’re carrying is rum?”

“I just agreed to get him to leave. I was playing him. I swear.”

“Ah, and your attempts at deceiving me were what exactly? It appears you’re not being honest to anyone.”

Gideon scrambles for an answer, instantly regretting his plan. Lying to Hook earlier is very clearly biting him in the ass now, and he’s nowhere near closer to finding his father or Juliet. “I lied to you because I was going to search for a way to find Juliet. Can you honestly tell me that if I had told you where I was going, you would’ve let me go?”

“Funny that you’re now speaking of honesty.”

“I promise that I had no intentions of killing you all. Trust me, that is the last thing I want to do.” Because then the future would really be fucked, and it is likely neither I nor my girlfriend will exist, and I want both of these things to really happen. And if I could tell you why, then you would want it to happen too.

“I think the time for asking for my trust is over, mate.”

Unsure of what to do, Gideon holds his ground. He knows he’s at a disadvantage. He has no weapons and he’d rather not get into a fistfight with Juliet’s father. He hopes that if he gets out of this, that the whole situation will be something they can laugh about in the future. Hopefully.

“Hey, remember that time you almost tried to murder you because you thought I was going to murder you in your sleep?”

But to get to that point, he has to convince the Hook here not to kill him. Which appears to be a more difficult task than normal. Gideon wonders if Pan had actually planned this, and his grandfather had known Hook was trailing him. He enjoys sowing discord among others, right? And discord Pan has sown.

Now to fix it…

Barring giving in and using his magic, the only other advantage that Gideon has over Hook is his knowledge of the man and the future. He knows far more about Killian Jones than Killian Jones knows about him, and that might be the only way to save himself.

“The woman I love is missing. I knew you wouldn’t let me go into the jungle alone, so I lied to you. I’m sorry about that,” Gideon attempts to explain slowly, hoping he could appeal to the other man’s heart, “but you should know better than anyone why I needed to go find her.”

His words have their intended effect, causing Hook to startle. His face then hardens considerably, and Gideon wonders if he played the wrong hand.

“You’re right. I do understand why you needed to go find her. Just as I understand the lengths one would go to in their name,” Hook tells him, his voice full of venom. “The blood I’ve shed seeking vengeance on the Crocodile...why should I believe that you’re any different?” Yep. Definitely the wrong hand.

“Because I’m telling you the truth now.”

“Only because you’ve been caught.”

Gideon frowns, feeling like he’s going in circles with Hook. He needs to figure out a different plan to get out of this, but how? Hook is convinced he’s a villain at this point, no different than the way Charming has been acting toward him. Villain. Pirate. That’s what they call Hook. And to make matters worse, what was once meant to be a bonding moment between Hook and Emma’s father is now gone because of him, not to mention what else could go wrong next. Hook isn’t on his way to being seen a hero. Emma and Hook also haven’t kissed. What’s next? His brother isn’t found and Pan steals Henry’s heart, dooming the entire future? It’s the brief thought of his brother that gives him an idea. A risky one. One that will most assuredly blow up in his face, and lead to more problems. But those problems likely wouldn’t be worse than dying, would they? And if they help give the motivation to save Juliet…

“You don’t believe me then? How about this: take me to Echo Cave and I will prove it.” Hook eyes him carefully. “How do you know about that?

“I read about it in a book,” Gideon replies. It’s the truth, not that Hook needs to know that it is Henry’s book in which he read it. At Hook’s hesitance, he adds, “If we go, you’d know if I’m lying.”

Hook shakes his head. “That’s where you’re wrong, mate. The cave doesn’t detect lies, but rather encourages one to reveal their darkest secrets.”

“And if my life is on the line, I’m pretty certain my darkest secret will involve if I’m lying to you or not. So what do you have to lose?”

-/- Juliet is not sure what she expected to happen when she made her announcement. At first, she is vaguely horrified that she actually went through with her confession. She looks at Neal, watching his expression as he tries to process what she said. He opens his mouth, to say what Juliet isn’t sure, because his words are drowned out by roar of rocks and dirt assembling together. She jerks her head toward the noise, amazed to see a path beginning to form over the abyss.

“It works,” she gasps leaning forward to get a better look. There’s still a ways to go between the newly formed path and the pillar where she and Neal are trapped, but it’s a start. “We can get out of here!”

“You’re from the future?” Neal finally asks her, more concerned with her revelation than their apparent escape.

“Um, yeah,” she replies. She jerks her head back to the newly formed section of the bridge. “Now, tell me your deepest, darkest secret so we can get out of here.”

“How did you even get here? Delorean, Time Turner, Terminator-style...”

“I will answer all of that if you tell me your big life secret,” Juliet snaps at him. “Look, the quicker we get out of here, the likelihood of more people figuring out who we are and derailing the timeline, potentially preventing—“

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Neal raises his hands in supplication, and Juliet feels a wave of envy at his freedom. “So I need to tell you my deepest secret...” He pauses in consideration. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

“I keep yours, you keep mine.”

Neal pauses before taking a deep breath. “So how much do you know about my history with Emma?”

“Enough,” Juliet answers. “She told me.”

She doesn’t tell him which version of Emma told her the details. She wonders if the retelling of the story would differ if told from the perspective of Emma in this time period, and not as a story shared between mother and daughter.

“When? Wait, never mind. Knowing too much about the future messes things up.” He shakes his head as if forcing himself to stop wondering more about Juliet’s revelation. She doubts it will work. “Anyway, when she and I separated, I didn’t know about Henry.”

“And this is where you tell me that had you known, you would have stayed. That’s not really a secret.”

“No, this is when I tell you I likely wouldn’t have. That’s my secret. If I had known about Henry, I still would have left.”

Juliet’s soft “oh” is drowned out by the roar of rocks twisting over themselves to further to bridge. Much to her dismay, however, there’s still a sizeable gap between the path’s end and their location. She sags against the bars of their cage.

More secrets.

Not that Neal seems to register this. He’s continuing his explanation of his confession, “It’s just that back then, I was so afraid of seeing my dad again. He’s the Dark One, and god, after everything he did, I didn’t want to be pulled into that life again. And being with Emma meant that I would have to face him. I know I would have been too afraid then, even knowing I had a son.”

“You don’t have to explain to me. I’m not the one you left behind.”

Much to her own surprise, Juliet feels for Neal. It’s clear that he feels ashamed with his confession. Not that she really understands. Gideon’s father is hardly the terrifying the man the stories make him out to be, but she supposed that Mr. Gold has mellowed with time and his family’s influence. Regardless, she has trouble envisioning him being awful enough to abandon your family over. But to Neal, he had been. And in this moment, it’s clear that Neal hates himself for being so afraid.

“I just need you to understand why I left, and why I don’t want this getting back to Henry. I love him now, I do. He’s my son, and he’s a really great kid.”

“And knowing would crush him,” Juliet finishes. At the very least, learning that her father originally would have abandoned her would have crushed her. Not that her father would have even considered it. “Look, I’m not going to go blabbing to Henry. Believe it or not, I’m actually good at keeping secrets.”

Neal appears relieved at this, but it’s short-lived as he realizes his own secret wasn’t enough to finish their path to escape.

“Looks like you’re up,” he tells her, and Juliet’s stomach sinks. “Considering you have an entire future I don’t know about, I doubt it’s going to hard to come up with something.”

But that’s the problem. Juliet has an entire future of secrets to keep from him, and she doesn’t know which one would count as the darkest. She’s not even sure how this stupid cave works, because the secrets she wants to keep from Neal might not necessarily be the secrets she wants to keep from Gideon.

“This is bullshit.”

“You’re right, but that’s no secret,” Neal jokes, making her want to punch the stupid smirk off his face. It must show, because the next thing he says is, “How about I help you out of these bindings while you think of something? Also, can you turn around? I might be able to get them off.”

Juliet does as he requests, putting her back to him. It takes some creative maneuvers in the small space, but eventually, it works. “I’m surprised you’re not plying me for any tidbits about the future.”

“I’ve seen the movies. I know well enough not to ask too much about the future.” Juliet feels Neal tug on the bindings on her arms. “Besides, I assume that you existing and also knowing who I am means the future isn’t too fucked up.”

“Oh really?”

“Don’t sound too surprised — fuck, these knots are a mess. At the end of the day, I’m pretty much a no one. I’m man enough to admit that. And because I am a nobody, you knowing who I am probably means that someone I care about makes it out of this to tell you about me.”

“I could be Kyle Reese, you know,” Juliet says with a small laugh, impressed with his reasoning. She grimaces as he tugs on her bindings. “Sent back here to prevent Skynet and protect Sarah Conner.”

“Another point in the future’s favor: it’s not fucked up enough that Terminator references are a thing of the past.”

“Franchises are a thing.”

“Meaning that the future is stable enough for franchises. Plural.”

“Fine. You got me. The future isn’t some dystopian nightmare.” Suddenly, the bindings around her arms go slack, and Neal pulls them away. “Thank God.”

Her arms ache from being held behind her for so long, but they’re free, and that’s all that matters.

Talking with Neal is surprisingly easy. He’s endearing when he isn’t getting on her nerves, and she appreciates that he’s attempting to put her at ease. The actuality of him is so at odds with the person she had created in her head that it’s almost disorienting.

“It’s strange that Pan tied you up and not me,” Neal comments. “Not that I don’t think you are capable or anything.”

“It’s my magic,” Juliet explains. She picks up the bindings and studies them. They look like simple rope, but they’re obviously more than that. “Something in them was preventing me from using my magic.”

“You have magic?” He sounds apprehensive. Afraid.

“Yeah. I was born with it.” She hates the defensive tone her voice takes. Like Gideon, magic clearly makes Neal nervous, but Gideon’s hangups have always been internal. He’s never acted afraid of her own magic, and he’s never taken the accusatory tone Neal is now.

Maybe her original assessment had been right.

Regardless of his feelings toward her magic, she can at least use it to help them. She closes her eyes in concentration and grabs Neal’s arm.

“What are you doing?”

“Seeing if I can teleport us.” Juliet can feel the magic flaring in her fingertips, but nothing happens. She tries again, and like before, they are still rooted in the same spot. “I see that’s a no.”

“I’ve done this like one hundred times before. Why isn’t this working?”

“It’s Echo Cave, remember? You can’t leave until you reveal more secrets,” Neal explains, pulling his arm away from her, “and that includes stopping magical means of escape.”

“Then why the fuck would Pan tie me up?” she huffs. She snaps, and a small flame appears above her index finger. At least her magic still works, meaning that leaving might be the only thing she’s prevented from doing. Deciding to test her theory, she concentrated her magic on disabling the locking mechanisms that are keeping her and Neal trapped in the cage. Much to her relief, it works. “Well, at least we can get out of this thing.” “And now we need to get out of this cave and to my family.” Our family, Juliet mentally adds. Not that Neal needs to know that. “Which means more secrets. God, it’s like a high school slumber party all over again.”

“Seeing as how I’ve never been a teenage girl, I wouldn’t know.”

“It’s a total blast. Hormones, classes, maintaining your place atop the social pyramid,” Juliet replies with a smile at the memories. “Of course, back then my biggest secret was that I went to second base with Susan Sparrow’s boyfriend at the after-prom party my junior year.”

“Somehow I doubt that secret is what’s going to get us out of here,” Neal says dryly. He crosses his arms over his chest and huffs. “And since standing around here isn’t helping us save Henry, then I have another secret -- it’s my goal to get rid of magic. Period.” The world around them comes to life as the path extends itself, rock and dirt churning together. Juliet holds her breath in anticipation how far it will go, praying to whoever will listen that Neal’s secret is enough.

It’s not. Juliet eyes the gap between them and incomplete bridge. She wonders if they can jump, and if it is worth the risk. It’s up to her now to reveal a secret, something she desperately doesn’t want to do. She knows she’s already gone too far by revealing to Neal when she is from. Their escape will already alter the timeline as she knows it, but Juliet reckons that she and Gideon will be able to concoct a plan that will force her father to admit that he’s falling for her mother. That should be easy, she thinks. But still, messing things up or revealing too much already puts her at unease.

It doesn’t help that she has no idea what to tell Neal. That he never gets with her mother because her True Love is someone else? That she’s Juliet Jones, daughter of Killian Jones and Emma Swan? That his brother is also here on this island, the same brother that he will never get a chance to meet because --

“You’re dead.”

“What?” Neal asks, not registering the words she had said. He quirks his head to the side. “Can you repeat that?” And that’s it. That’s her secret. Because she’s pretty sure he might be able to move past those other things. Any decent person might be. But there’s a difference between knowing the woman you love finds happiness with someone else and knowing you’ll die. And between the two, Juliet might get some sense of smug satisfaction out of the former, but when considering the latter, she feels like she’s handing out a death sentence.

Gideon once told her one of the worst things about his job is telling the families that they lost a loved one or telling the patient themselves that they don’t have long to live. Her parents told her something similar with their jobs. Though murders in Storybrooke were rare, there had still been plenty of fatal car accidents, and it was often one of her parents who would deliver the sad news. Juliet can still recall the haunted looks on her parents’ faces after those nights. This is one of the reasons why Juliet had stuck to art history. Paintings and sculpture don’t have feelings. But no matter how much she had wanted to avoid things, she’s here now, doing it with Neal.

She takes a deep breath.

“In the future. You’re dead.” She turns away from Neal as the bridge completes itself.

-/-

He’s shocked that Hook believed him, though perhaps “believed” isn’t the correct word to use. Hook, at the very least, is tolerating him, likely curious about the mystery Gideon has set forth. Echo Cave will provide some answers for the man and even more questions, especially once he learned the truth. Though Gideon isn’t quite sure the exact mechanics of Echo Cave, he’s sure he’ll be compelled in some way to reveal the nature of his and Juliet’s appearance in Neverland. How Hook will react to that, Gideon isn’t positive, but if the cave confirms his confession, then Juliet’s father will be sure to believe it.

Right?

He’s sure that Juliet will be mad at him for telling her father the truth of where they’re from, but he hopes that she’ll understand once he’s given the opportunity to explain. Perhaps Hook knowing they’re from the future could work to their advantage even, making the other man more malleable to any suggestions to get him around Emma some more. God, even thinking that makes Gideon feel somewhat skeezy. But it’s what they have to though, right? Manipulate situations to ensure that somehow, some way, Emma and Hook kiss and admit their feelings in some roundabout way, repairing the timeline in some manner. Even if by taking Hook to Echo Cave is further drawing them off course from what should be happening. Juliet’s going to kill him. She’s going to flay him alive, kill him, bring him back from the Underworld, and kill him again.

Assuming he sees her again, and that Pan doesn’t make good on his threat to hurt her.

His heart drops at the thought. He’s failing her, he’s sure of that. He’d been unable to keep her safe from Pan -- was the entire reason for her being separated from the group in the first place -- and he might not even be able to save her. And even if he does, her existence is still at incredible risk.

Gideon wonders how Hook will react if he told him everything, all of the dirty details. His plan currently is to simply reveal his and Juliet’s status as time travelers, and inform him that the future hinges on the Charming family’s survival. But what if he told him more? About Hook’s relationship with Emma and about Juliet. Would he even believe him? Would the pirate even want to?

Yes. Of that Gideon has no doubt. He’s also fairly certain that Hook is well on his way to falling for Emma at this point, kiss or no kiss, confession or no confession, but would he recognize that about himself without the extra push? Would Hook and Emma instead just dance around the idea of feelings and attraction until it is too late. Even now, Gideon only has a few days to work with before Pan’s curse is meant to sweep them all up. Would Hook give up his ship for Emma at this point? And then there’s his own brother to consider. Neal is somewhere on this island, presumably also a prisoner of Pan. In fact, he’s supposed to also be at Echo Cave. That is, if Gideon remembers the story correctly. Will he be there? His stomach lurches at the thought.

“How much farther?” he asks in an attempt to distract himself from his conflicted thoughts. Juliet’s father harrumphs to his side. “Too far for my liking.” Whatever congenial relationship they had been developing at the camp is now gone. It’s disappointing, because it felt like he and Juliet had someone on their side. There was also the small, selfish part of him that thought he could use this moment to further bond with Juliet’s father in the future. Gideon may have gotten his blessing, but every moment matters, right?

“Just so you know, I’m not going to hold this against you,” Gideon tells him. Maybe someday Hook will remember how Gideon had stayed cool under this kind of pressure. “I understand why you don’t trust me. I probably wouldn’t trust me in this given situation.”

“How generous.” Hook says nothing more after that as he leads Gideon through the jungle. Gideon watches as Hook’s blade deftly cuts through the brush. It wasn’t too long ago that the same blade was pointed toward his throat.

“I’m honestly a little grateful, you know, for not killing me immediately,” Gideon comments upon the realization at just how close to death he had been. “Why didn’t you?”

“I wanted an explanation.”

“You strike me as the who is a swing first, ask questions later kind of guy,” Gideon says, recalling the stories he’d heard about Captain Hook’s past. “Did you know that my dad used to wear the rings of the men he’d killed? How fucked up it that?” Juliet had once told him.

“I doubt Emma or her parents would have been happy with me hauling your fresh corpse back to camp without one,” Hook finally says. There’s a not-so-subtle threat in his words, but there’s also something else.

“You care about what they think, Emma and her family.” Hook scowls, but doesn’t answer. Gideon doesn’t miss the fact that the other man begins to swing his cutlass with more force than necessary. “It’s okay that you do. They seem like the kind of people who make you want be better.”

Memories of his early relationship with Juliet spring to mind, how she’d pushed him out of his comfort zone more than once. Try this food. Go to this club. Attend this pop-up gallery. Small things that forced him to look up from his studies and the cozy life he’d been living. Because the thing he’d learned about the Charming family was that they made you, in their own little way, want to try. Emma’s effect on Hook had clearly been more profound than Juliet on his in the moral sense. Gideon had never had to walk away from a life of villainy. But he’d been changed. He’d been challenged.

And if Hook is feeling the force of that family led by Emma currently, then there is still hope.

-/-

“You can’t just drop something like that and ignore me!”

Juliet rushes out of the cave, putting forth her effort to do just that. Neal follows behind her, eager to gain more information about his future, or lack of one. She doesn’t blame him for being upset, not really. Juliet doubts that she would react well to being told that she is destined to die.She doesn’t turn around to look at Neal, not sure she can bear it. She feels a surprising amount of guilt knotted in her belly. She tries to push it away. She’s not the executioner, even though she feels like it right now. What makes matters worse, in a strange, cosmic sense, is that she’s supposed to want Neal to die. Eventually. When he’s fated to. It’s something that goes against almost everything she had been raised to believe. Heroes don’t want other people to die. Heroes aren’t supposed to be culpable. But if she knows it’s going to happen, and does nothing to prevent it, does that mean she’s partially to blame? In undergrad, she had taken a philosophy class that discussed the “Trolley Problem.” Is it murder to send a trolley down a path that will kill one person in order to save five? Is this the same thing?

And it shouldn’t even matter because he doesn’t die here anyway, but in a little over a year. But it’s something that’s all in the open now. She knows. He knows. And though she hadn’t really been able to think about it earlier, Juliet is forced to now. Especially since he seems quite upset about it. He’d always been ancient history to her -- a ghost. Someone that flicked through her mind whenever Henry mentioned him or when she visited Gideon’s parents. But Neal Cassidy is with her now, and though he’s mostly been annoying, he’s a person to her now. “What do you want me to say? Everyone dies, some more than once and some earlier than others,” she snaps, powering ahead. “I wouldn’t have told you if it wasn’t the only way to get us out of the cave.”

“Yeah, well, you did tell me. And since I can’t unlearn that little secret, I think you should tell me how it happens.” Neal grabs Juliet’s arm, and she jerks back. Involuntarily, she snaps her magic, throwing him back a few feet. He lands on the ground with a hard thud, and Juliet winces. As he pushes himself up, he glares. “Was that necessary?”

“You shouldn’t have grabbed me.” Juliet reaches out a hand to help him up. He doesn’t take it. “It was an accident, for what it’s worth. Reflex.”

“You do this to every person who grabs you?”

“Shockingly, not many people grab onto me,”Juliet responds dryly. She crosses her arms over her chest. “ and like I said, magical reflex. It happens sometimes when emotions run high.”

“You’re the one with high emotions? I just found out that I’m going to die!”

“Yeah, well, today hasn’t been a picnic for me either,” Juliet snaps back, already knowing how pathetic her argument sounds. She can hear Gideon calling her out for making situations like this about her. And, well, look at how well that had turned out for her. Perhaps Neal does have a point, but there’s already quite a bit at stake. Trying to find someplace in the middle, she says, “Look, I get that you’re upset. That’s understandable. But even earlier you admitted how messed up things might get if you knew too much.”

“That was before I knew I was going to die,” Neal argues. He stands and rakes his hand through his hair. “Can you at least tell that I’m able to help Henry before I...you know?”

Juliet bites her lip and averts her eyes from Neal. She already feels like she’s told him too much, and she’s already altered the timeline enough. But...how the hell does this fit into being a hero or good person? Neal is clearly upset, and if the situations were reversed, she would be too. She tries to think what her mother would do in this situation.

“You do. You make also make it back to Storybrooke,” she tells him, hoping she’s made the right decision. She watches as some of the tension drain away, but he still looks troubled. “As for Henry, just know that he’s an adult where I come from. He, uh, has a wife and kids. One of them’s a newborn, actually.”

“How do I know you aren’t lying to me?” Neal asks. Juliet can see the glimmer of hope in his eyes, even if he’s not quite willing to accept what she’s told him.

“You don’t.”

Neal sighs. “Okay, then, what about Emma. Is she okay?”

“I’m trying to be nice to you and tell you that your son is okay. I can’t be revealing who gets a to live ‘happily ever after’,” Juliet says. She’s trying to be the good person -- caring and empathetic.

“I just want to make sure the people I love--”

“The people you love what? Are safe? Or aren’t? If I tell you she’s dead, can you honestly tell me that it wouldn’t affect how you behave going forward? What about if she gets that happy life, finds True Love, gets married, has a kid, will that affect how you behave with her?” Juliet asks, her earlier attempt at compassion giving way to frustration. She’s not even sure what goes down between her mother and Neal at this point in their lives, but whatever it isn’t shouldn’t be altered, right? “Because here’s the thing: everything we change likely changes something else. I know something has already changed. You know Echo Cave? We got ourselves out of there. In the past, it was my family who--”

“Your family?” Neal’s eyes go wide. “Your family, as in Emma and her parents?”

Fuck.

“I didn’t say that,” Juliet replies, mentally berating herself for slipping. “You’re reading into what I said.”

“I don’t think I did,” Neal says with a shake of his head. He studies her warily and moves a step closer. Juliet stands rooted into place. “You look a bit like her.”

“Her?”

“Emma. You look like her.”

If any other person had told her this, Juliet might have responded with a smile and ‘thanks’. Being compared to her mother is something Juliet enjoys. But now, in this situation, she shakes her head. “We’re both blonde, white women. The resemblance stops there.”

“Nah, and I think we both know you’re lying.” He steps closer. “Who are you?”

How would Mom and Dad handle this? As with before in the Cave, Neal is very clearly onto her. And it’s all been her fault, her and her stupid mouth. During their time adventure, her parents had covers -- Princess Leia and Prince Charles -- and neither of her grandparents figured it out. The only person who knew was Gideon’s father, but that’s because he was their ticket home. And Juliet doubts that Neal -- magic hating, sentenced to die -- Neal is that person for them.

So, she evades. “Do you really think I’m going to tell you that?”

“I could guess.”

“I would rather you didn’t. And I won’t confirm if you’re right or not even if you did.” She sounds like a petulant teenager, arguing with Neal this way. But Juliet has never reacted well to being undermined or trapped, and if she has to go out fighting, she will. Even if she has to act like a teenage girl.

“It makes sense, you know, you being here now,” Neal says. He’s still looking at her with an expression of strange, academic interest. “I was trying to figure it out. You had to be here for some reason.”

“That reason being an accident.”

“Yeah, but you’re here. No one randomly travels places.”

“Tons of people randomly time travel places. Doctor Who, the guy from Quantum Leap,” she begins ticking off each example with her fingers in a futile attempt to derail the conversation.

“But you aren’t those guys,” Neal points out, looking smug. Aren’t time travelers normally supposed to be the smug ones in these situations, Juliet thinks with annoyance. She can’t wait to tell Gideon how much of an ass his brother is. Then she comes up with an idea.

“How about I don’t tell you who I am, but something you would also find to be of interest?” Juliet suggests. It’s a stupid plan. A monumentally stupid plan. But maybe this is something that she can use to her advantage. She can use Gideon as a distraction. Surely he would love to learn more about the brother he’d never get the chance to meet as opposed to her. They could talk, and she’s sure Gideon would love to learn more about Neal. Her plan might actually be able to kill two birds with one stone.

But it’s a terrible plan, and she’s terrible at this time travel thing. To think her mother’s past self effectively hating her was once her worst problem on this misadventure. What she wouldn’t give to be home in New York right now…

“I’m really not sure what would be more interesting than this.”

“Okay, so you know my boyfriend? He’s your brother. Half-brother.”

And suddenly, as if he had been cued, Gideon comes crashing into the clearing, her father behind him.

-/-

There has always been a part of Gideon that doubted if he would ever see her again. He’s not an optimist, not inherently. He plays one, sometimes, for her, when the world gets her down, but more often than not he’s convinced that he’ll fail...and so far, this entire adventure has been proof of that.

But one step through the jungle and into the light and it’s her.

She looks terrible. Her blonde hair is in disarray. Her jeans are torn at the knees and there’s smatterings of mud on her clothing. She’s never looked more beautiful.

“Gid?” she asks, and the next thing he knows, she’s launching herself into his arms and pulling him into a kiss. If they had been cursed, there would be rainbows, he’s sure of that. She pulls away much too soon and cups his face in her chilled hands. “Oh my god, it’s really you.” He doesn’t have anything to say to that, so he smiles back at her dumbly and nods. His heart swells when he notices how her smile grows wider, and god, if he doesn’t believe there’s an extra sparkle in her pretty blue eyes. She’s here. She’s alive. She’s safe. “Are you okay?” he somehow manages to ask, too entranced by the spell of finally being reunited, of having her here and no longer wondering what if?

“Why wouldn’t I,” she answers, looking quite proud of herself. “I’m a survivor, babe.”

They’re too caught up in their own reunion to be aware of the one happening beside them, not until they hear Hook croak, “Bae?”

Pulling his attention from the woman in his arms, his gaze follows Hook’s to the man standing a few feet away. Neal.

He looks like the picture of him. Short dark hair, a little rugged. He’s shorter than Gideon thought he’d be. He wonders what he sounds like.

“Hey, everyone, I found Neal. Turns out he isn’t dead,” Juliet says, cutting the tension. She laughs somewhat hysterically then, and Gideon isn’t sure why because this situation doesn’t seem funny. And then she turns back to Neal and tells him, “This is my boyfriend, Romeo.”

The familiar way in which Juliet is speaking to his brother is surprising, and he wonders just what transgressed between them in the period between her disappearance and now. He feels a stab of jealousy at whatever period she’s had to bond with him, someone who he’s pretty sure she’s never given a second thought to in her entire life. But maybe this is his chance.

“He’s your..my...he’s...is his name actually Romeo?”

“You really shouldn’t make fun of people’s names, Baelfire,” Juliet grits out. “Not to mention Neal Cassidy isn’t anything to write home about, Jack Kerouac.”

Gideon glances between his girlfriend and his brother in an attempt to ascertain just what had happened between them when imprisoned by Pan. And then he realizes their location, and pieces it all together. Neal knows. How much, Gideon isn’t sure. But Neal has to know something. It’s why they’re speaking strangely. It’s why she emphasized his name. Juliet had been speaking in sort of code to Neal, a warning, perhaps, about their fake identities.

But Gideon isn’t able to confirm anything, not now, not with the audience they have. Hook is still in the dark, and there’s now a chance that it might stay that way, especially considering the way he continues to stand gawking at Neal.

“How?” Hook asks, eyes still trained on Neal. Gideon realizes that he and Juliet could practically disappear, and the pirate wouldn’t know.

“I fell through a portal to the Enchanted Forest, not the Underworld,” Neal replies with a shrug. He maintains a cool demeanor, even if he doesn’t appear to know where to look, glancing between Juliet and Gideon and Hook. “Some friends patched me up, and I hitched a ride with a shadow here.” Juliet then interrupts any further inquiry, craning her head around to look behind Gideon and Hook. “Wait. Where is everyone?” She casts a questioning look to Gideon. He can hear the unspoken “They should be here.” that she can’t say aloud. She must realize that she has to play a part again, because she follows her previous statement with, “Not that I’m complaining, but why are you guys even here?” Hook shakes his head, as if willing himself back into the reality of the situation. He shifts his toward Gideon and Juliet, and his expression turns dark. “Well, lass, your lover was tasked by Pan to kill everyone in our crew.”

“Okay, and..?” Juliet lets out a bemused laugh. She glances from Gideon to her father. “You brought him out here for what?”

“He thinks I was actually going to go through with it, which I wasn’t,” Gideon explains. He places extra emphasis on the last part. He’d been hoping that both Neal and Juliet’s presence would distract Hook from their original reason for being here. His hopes had been for naught. “As it stands, we were going off to Echo Cave to prove that I was, in fact, not going to kill everyone.” Juliet remains quiet for a moment before she extricates herself from Gideon’s arms. He feels bereft at the loss. She walks over to Hook, and says, “I know what it looks like, but he really wouldn’t hurt anyone. Trust me.”

“I know what men will do when the lives of those they love are at stake,” Hook replies.

“He’s not like those men. Besides, killing you all would not help at all.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“With all due respect, I think your judgement is a little off,” Juliet says gently. If she had been talking to anyone else, Gideon knows her tone would have contained more spark. However, despite looking younger, she’s still very much speaking to her father. “Maybe Pan was just trying to psyche you out?”

It’s strange watching Juliet and her father debate over him, especially considering that it’s not about his and Juliet’s romantic relationship. Even worse, they’re arguing about him as if he’s not really there, which causes Gideon to bristle. Not that he can do anything about that right now, because he’s fairly certain that fighting back would not work out in his favor.

“She’s right, you know,” Neal cuts in. Both Gideon and Juliet turn to gape at Neal, and even Gideon feels surprised at the interjection. He feels a surge of affection -- could it be brotherly pride? “His girlfriend and I ended up back in the cave, which forced us to reveal all kinds of secrets to one another. The poison thing with Pan sounds like another trick of his. He probably knew you were watching. You of all people should know that.”

“I also know to better be safe than sorry, meaning the cave will be our best bet,” Hook argues, though he appears somewhat chastened by Neal’s interruption. Gideon wonders about the history there. He knows Hook knew Neal before all of this. In fact, Juliet’s father had shared many stories of Neal as a teen over the years. How is that affecting the conversation they are having now.

“His girlfriend and I just spent some time spilling our guts to one another. If you’re worried about Shakespeare over there betraying us all, don’t. Besides, there’s no way to know that his deepest secret will even tell you if he was intending to kill you. It could be something else” Neal explains. Gideon glances back to Hook who is silently considering his word. “Look, man, if you don’t trust them, trust me. After everything, you owe me that much.”

Hook’s expression turns shamefaced, and Gideon knows that his brother went for a below the belt punch. “Bae…”

“My son is out there. I wouldn’t be trusting them if I didn’t have good reason,” Neal explains. “I have far more to lose in this situation than you.”

After what seems like an eternity of silence, Hook relents. “Then we best be getting back to camp. The others will likely be worried.”

Hook turns, his coat whirling dramatically behind him as they march back into the jungle. Neal pushes past them, and he casts a significant look over his shoulder and saws, “You owe me.” And they do. How much yet, Gideon isn’t sure.

#cs ff #cs canon divergence #s writes fic #s writes finding neverland

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notarelationship · 7 years

Text

Clinging to This Hating Game 7/?

For the @prompt-a-klainefic blog’s 2017 Reverse Bang

Link to the art by @datshitrandom

the prompt:

Kurt and Blaine couldn’t stand each other in high school, maybe one was a jock/cheerleader and the other a nerd/glee clubber. Or they were bitter rivals for competition solos if they were both in glee club. Now they both live in NY and their friends set them up on a blind date, not knowing they went to the same high school.

High School AU, Cheerio!Kurt, Jock!Blaine Rating: Explicit Warnings (for the story overall): some bullying and homophobic language, teenage sex Word Count: ~5700 (this chapter)

Extra special thanks this time to my beta,

@mshoneysucklepink

, who made critical suggestions to this chapter.

Everything wonky is my fault.

AO3 link Chapter 7

On tumblr: Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6

Notes:

The next time I estimate how many chapters something will be while I'm still writing it, feel free to laugh in my face.

And if you were waiting for the chapter to meet the explicit rating, wait no more...

No other specific warnings. Maybe boys being idiots.

Chapter 7

“Kurt I swear I had no idea,” Mercedes hissed under her breath.

Apparently not quietly enough because Blaine chuckled across the table. Kurt could feel his face heat up, and not just because of embarrassment. Blaine had been cute in high school; Kurt was attracted to him from the moment he spotted him in that frat house, before they’d even officially met. After they were unexpectedly thrown together Kurt had found himself drawn to both the scruffy football version as well as the more dapper, prep-school Blaine that had started to emerge as their time at McKinley had ended. But all grown up? All the hints Blaine had shown of his potential for old-Hollywood handsome had bloomed into one very attractive and well put together adult. Kurt would have checked him out thoroughly if he’d been a stranger.

“You can imagine how shocked I was when Mercedes showed up at the restaurant,” Blaine said, eyes twinkling. “Then when she said you were meeting us -” Blaine scratched at his temple. “Well, I confess I was even more shocked.”

“Hmm, I suppose it’s a good idea that this was a blind date then,” Kurt said. He tried to be flirty, like he would be on any date, but he could tell it came out a little too icily and Blaine’s pleased expression slipped for just a moment. Kurt bit back a grimace. “I only meant,” Kurt faltered, “expectations can play games with you.”

Blaine audibly sucked in a breath through his nose, lifting his chin a fraction in Kurt’s direction. “Yes, I suppose that’s true,” Blaine said. “It’s not often you get set up with your high school rival.”

Kurt wondered if Blaine would have come if he’d known it was Kurt he’d be dining with. Or if he himself would have agreed to it if he’d known it was Blaine. Sitting here across the table from him now he still wasn’t sure. He felt like such a different person now than he had been in high school; he could give Blaine as much credit as he’d expect to get.

“Oh my god, high school was forever ago.” Kurt attempted to wave away awkwardness with a laugh. “Water under the bridge.” He could see Blaine force a smile at him from across the table, but he appeared relieved.

“Not wearing your Cheerio uniform anymore I see?” Blaine teased.

“No, no Cheerio uniform,” Kurt answered, forcing a smile. Then, before he could stop himself, “I see you’re still sporting Brooks Brothers - even if a more sophisticated version.” Something flashed dark in Blaine’s eyes, but he pasted on a smile in an instant.

“Hey man,” Sam interrupted. “As much fun it sounds to rehash your old high school rivalry, I'm hungry.” He tapped at his menu.

That got Kurt’s attention, and he shook his head once and smiled at Sam, ignoring the flush that crawled up his neck and hoping everyone else would too. He wasn't sure how he felt when he noticed Blaine’s cheeks coloring as well across the table.

“Yes, yes of course,” Kurt said and took a sip of water to give himself a minute to collect himself. There was no reason Blaine should get under his skin at this point. He was far from the eager, blushing virgin he’d been when he and Blaine first encountered each other.

“It’s great to finally meet you, Kurt,” Sam said. “Of course, Blaine used to talk - ow! Dude!” Sam gave Blaine a harsh look.

“What?” Blaine looked at Sam with an innocently puzzled expression.

Sam rolled his eyes at Blaine. “Whatever.” He turned back to Kurt.

“You know, before you got here Mercedes was telling us about how you guys reconnected so long after high school, maybe you and Blaine can bury the - shit!” The table shifted and both Blaine and Sam’s water toppled to the table.

Kurt bit his lip to keep from laughing as Sam made a ‘wtf?’ gesture at Blaine and righted the glasses, mopping up as much water as he could before the waiter came and took over.

‘Like I said earlier, high school is - thankfully - in the past.” Kurt glanced at Blaine, who was looking at Kurt now with a wary curiosity as the waiter fussed around him. “How long have you and Blaine known each other?” he asked, once the table had been put back together.

“Oh, wow.” Sam paused, looking at the ceiling for a moment. “Well, we’ve been friends since sixth grade. ”

“Oh really? That’s a long time.” Kurt looked between the two men. Blaine had gone quiet, and was staring at a spot on the tablecloth. Blaine had obviously mentioned Kurt to Sam at some point in their past. “So you know all of Blaine’s secrets, I imagine?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” Sam smirked, and Kurt realized that Sam probably knew everything. If that was true he was the only one who did. This was not a conversational road Kurt wanted to travel tonight.

“So what brings you to New York, Blaine?” Kurt changed the subject. Somehow talking about Blaine was easier than talking about himself. And wasn’t that strange. “When Mercedes roped me into this she mentioned that Sam’s roommate had only just moved to New York.”

Blaine chuckled, blushing just a little. “I um, I opened the Chicago cast of School of Rock last year, and they just moved me to Broadway. I start at the Winter Garden in two weeks.”

Kurt sat up. “Wow. That's impressive.” Kurt was surprised that the idea of Blaine on Broadway didn’t even make him jealous. He’d been lucky since graduating from Tisch and he had plenty on his plate right now.

Blaine shrugged. “It's kind of an old show at this point, but it still has ticket sales for the next year. I just hope I don't screw it up for the next guy.”

“Who knows?” Kurt said. “Maybe they'll keep you on for a while?” Blaine shrugged again, but his eyes were trained on Kurt in a way that, if this had been an actual date, would have given Kurt a lot of ideas about what they would be doing after dessert. Or possibly instead of. But it wasn’t an actual date. “I’m sure you’re a great Dewey.” Kurt grinned. “You’ve got the hair for it.”

“You’ve done pretty well, I think?” Blaine said. “Can I ask you how you hooked up with Saturday Night Live? How do you even get an audition for that?”

He shouldn’t be surprised that Blaine knew this, SNL was a huge show. Still, it felt a little bit gratifying to know that Blaine had paid some attention to his career.

“Well my amazing lack of an ability to be cast in more traditional roles carried on into NYU,” Kurt started. Blaine frowned and looked guiltily at Kurt. Maybe this wasn’t as neutral a topic as Kurt expected. “It’s not - It’s fine, you know. I know that I don’t pass as well as some other actors. I’ve accepted as much of that reality as I can, I guess. I’m never going to play a straight romantic lead, and there aren’t enough gay ones yet to keep us all employed.” Kurt smirked, trying to play it off as a joke, but Blaine shifted in his chair, reaching for his wine.

“It’s not really fair though, is it.” The way Blaine said it made it clear that it wasn’t a question.

“No, but that hasn’t seemed to be much of an issue for you.” Blaine looked stricken, and Kurt could hear Mercedes sharp inhale next to him. Kurt instantly regretted saying it. “I’m sorry. That probably wasn’t fair either.”

“We’re all battling something, I think,” Blaine offered, some of the shock draining from his face, but Kurt still felt bad. “So, um, go on, please.”

Kurt glanced at Mercedes, who gave a quick nod for him to go on. “Okay, well, I connected with an off campus improv group over that first summer, and I spent lot of time with them. It was amazing and I learned so much from just being on a stage every night, in front of people. And it turned out I was good at it.”

“That does not surprise me at all,” Blaine said. “You’ve always been very in the moment. I mean in your performances.” Blaine fiddled with the stem of his glass. “From what I remember, anyway,” he finished weakly, glancing at the table and then back at Kurt.

Blaine was looking at him so intensely now that it was Kurt’s turn to shift uncomfortably. There had been more than one time in high school when he had seen that look on Blaine’s face. He wasn’t sophisticated enough to be able to read it then. But he could read it now. “Thank you.”

Appetizers arrived, and the waiter refilled their wine glasses. Kurt was grateful for the time to compose himself.

“Ooh! Tell him about your plays,” Mercedes said. “Kurt writes plays, good ones,” she went on. “He’s had two of them produced just before the SNL gig came up.”

“Wow, really?” Blaine lit up, and the tension from before dissipated. “Maybe, if you have some time, you can give me some recommendations for some smaller productions. I have a couple weeks to kill before I have to start and I was hoping to get in as many different theater experiences as I can before my time is no longer my own.”

Kurt agreed to give Blaine some recommendations, and went on to tell the story of how someone from the SNL cast was in his second play, which started the long and winding road to him getting a shot to write for the show. By his sixth episode he was appearing in crowd skits, and he was asked to join the cast just before his second year when a couple of long time cast members decided not to return.

“That’s really amazing Kurt. Congratulations.” Blaine raised his half empty glass in a toast, smiling pleasantly at Kurt. “It’s well deserved.”

The four of them chatted amiably through the rest of the meal. Kurt was happy to find that Sam was obviously smitten with Mercedes, so he could stop worrying about her.

“Have you heard from Rachel lately?” Blaine asked. “I mean, after that whole NYADA debacle.” Blaine made a horrified face.

Kurt bristled. He didn’t want to - he had been lucky not to get into NYADA, ultimately, but for some reason it remained a sore spot. Even after it was exposed as a scam school, defrauding its students and their parents out of millions of dollars before its lack of accreditation was made public. Kurt had had to live through the school’s unmasking every step of the way as Rachel scrambled to come up with alternatives. In the end she just packed up and moved to Los Angeles, but a lot of other students hadn’t been so lucky.

“She’s doing great, she’s in LA, getting a lot of guest spots on various television series, but hasn’t landed a permanent role yet.”

“I guess you really dodged a bullet there,” Blaine said.

“Not like I was exactly placed in the line of fire, was I?” Kurt felt surly all of a sudden. “You know, I think I’ll skip dessert, if it’s all the same to everyone.”

“‘Line of fire?’ What’s that supposed to mean?” Blaine sat back in his chair, eyebrows raised and obviously offended.

“Kurt, they have cheesecake.” Mercedes pointed to the dessert menu, her eyes narrowed in a warning. Kurt knew her well enough to know she was irritated at him. “It’s supposed to be amazing.”

Kurt tuned Mercedes out. “It means that if anyone dodged a bullet it was you, going to Pittsburgh instead.”

“Kurt, you can’t still be sour about NYADA rejecting you, come on! They were a total Ponzi scheme.”

Sam looked puzzled. “What is that? Is that like one of those witches covens?”

Blaine’s attention shifted to Sam. “No Sam, they weren’t witches. But they did charge their students a lot of money and didn’t actually teach them anything. Or give them a degree.”

“Yeah, well finding out you were rejected not because of talent, but because they figured out your dad couldn’t afford tuition, room, and board, didn’t exactly make me feel better.” Kurt crossed his arms and huffed as he leaned back in his chair.

“And you think knowing they only offered me based on my family’s finances made me feel great about it?” Blaine said.

Sam motioned for the check. “Mercedes, I saw a great ice cream place on the corner, would you like to split a sundae?” He looked at Kurt and Blaine, who were now silently glaring at one another. “Just the two of us?”

“Sam, that sounds like an excellent idea.” Sam went to pull out Mercedes chair; as she stood up, she stared down Kurt with a look that made him suddenly feel like a huge jerk.

“I’m sorry,” he mouthed at her.

Mercedes grabbed Kurt’s arm as he stood, holding him a step back as Sam and Blaine walked toward the exit. “I don’t think it’s me you owe an apology to, Kurt. Although you can buy me brunch on Sunday and we will discuss what the hell you think you were doing tonight.”

Once they had exited the restaurant, Sam hugged Blaine, then turned and shook Kurt’s hand. “Kurt, again it was nice meeting you. Good to put a face to all the stories I’ve heard.” Kurt blushed as Sam winked at him again, and his stomach dropped. Sam probably had the whole list of Blaine’s conquests memorized so he could keep track when Blaine ranked them on gay-bro night. Kurt watched Sam turn and offer his arm to Mercedes; as she took it, she turned and looked over her shoulder one last time at Kurt and Blaine, who both stood on the sidewalk, not looking at each other.

She whispered loudly, “Y’all better settle your business and make peace, you hear me?”

Kurt kicked the sidewalk, watching Mercedes and Sam walk away. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“She’s your friend, Kurt.” Blaine stood with his hands in his pockets, head cocked to one side. “And I’m pretty sure she watched us both behave like children for a large portion of this evening, so she kinda does.”

Kurt didn’t really want the answer to the next question. He wasn’t even sure why it mattered at this point. “So how much does Sam actually know?”

“Sam knows everything, he knows everything about me.” Blaine paused, rubbing his hands over his face. “He knows I met you before I transferred. And he knows, well, we have a little history. ” His voice was strangled. “I talked to him a lot during that year at McKinley. It wasn’t the best time for me either you know.”

“Oh god.”

“He’s my best friend Kurt, you’ll have to excuse me if I told him things that happened in my life.” Blaine paced in a circle. “There were times when he was the only person who cared!”

Kurt scoffed. “You had a lot of friends, if I remember correctly.”

“People liked me, yes. But that’s because I never challenged anything they thought. I didn’t stand up for myself, not at school. I did what was expected of me to fit in. That’s how I got by. Being popular is different than having friends who actually understand you. I was pretty sure you understood that, even then.” Blaine threw his arms up. “It was forever ago, Kurt. And you hated me back then!”

Kurt was silent. He’d heard people say, more than once, that the scars of high school really do fade once you get away. Even after only a few years Kurt could look back with clearer eyes on the whole experience. Everyone struggled, he realized that now even if he couldn’t then. Blaine just seemed to bring out his bitchy side.

“I didn't hate you.”

Blaine was looking at Kurt like he’d started speaking a foreign language. “Oh my god were you not there? You were so mean to me Kurt.” Blaine was staring at him, his eyes all hurt and pleading, and definitely something more.

“You made everything so much more difficult.” Kurt hugged himself as they stood on the New York street, staring at each other. It was almost too much. “I was jealous. Everything had been so hard, and you showed up and it was like nothing I had done had mattered.” He sighed. “I guess nothing is ever really what it looks like, is it?”

Blaine shook his head, shrugged his whole body as he looked up at the sky then back at Kurt.

“I’m sorry, Kurt. I really am,” Blaine said, sounding hopeless, then pleading, “I was just trying to get by.” He held a hand out in front of him, then dropped it to his side. “Like you.” Blaine paused again shaking his head. “God we can’t seem to get this right. If we could start over again maybe w -”

“We’d what Blaine? What could we have done differently?” Kurt didn’t know why he was continuing to have this - argument? discussion? Whatever it was, he knew he didn’t want to end it and have them both just walk away. Blaine was staring at him. Well, Blaine was staring at his mouth, open desire etched across his face. Kurt blinked. They were much closer than they had been just a moment ago.

“Kurt.” Blaine was breathing hard.

“Get a cab.”

Blaine spun on his heel and flung his arm out into the street. He opened the door of the taxi that pulled up to the curb so Kurt could get in, then climbed in beside him, slamming the door shut. The cab didn’t move.

The cab driver turned around and looked at them. “Where you headed?”

Blaine was leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his face buried in his hands. “I'm sleeping on Sam’s pullout sofa.”

Kurt gave the driver his address.

They were silent in the cab, Kurt staring out the window while Blaine’s fingers tapped steadily on his knee, but once they were in the apartment and Kurt had locked the door Blaine grabbed him by the wrists and pushed him up against the door, sealing his mouth over Kurt’s with a grunt.

“I spent most of senior year thinking about you while I jerked off,” Blaine hissed. “It didn’t matter how much you hated me, I, god -” Kurt pushed his tongue into Blaine’s mouth, licking wildly. Blaine pinned Kurt's hands to either side of his head, hard against the door, so Kurt moved his hips against him, his own erection pressing eagerly against the front of his snug jeans. “I still think about you coming all over me in the back seat of that car, that noise you made, that first time? Still top three in my spank bank, Kurt.”

Kurt moaned as Blaine kissed across his jaw.

“What are the other two?” Kurt managed to gasp out, trying to maintain some control over himself. He was failing fast.

Blaine chuckled into his ear. “Those fucking pants you wore at the NYADA audition. My god I wanted to blow you so bad. I’d never -” Blaine moaned.

“I jerked myself raw that weekend thinking about you,” Kurt confessed as Blaine’s hips pressed him hard against the door. “I had to hide in my room and wear sweatpants for two days my dick was so sore. My dad thought I was sick.”

“Oh my god.” Blaine let go of one hand and reached to cup Kurt’s cock, rubbing hard against the material. He took Kurt’s hand and pressed it between his own legs, up against his erection.

Kurt panted into Blaine’s mouth. “That was the first time I ever, oh fuck, the first time I ever fingered myself.” Blaine whimpered.

“I’m gonna come Kurt, in my pants right here. Like a fucking teenager.”

“Ohmygod we should have done this in high school.” Kurt squeezed Blaine’s cock through his pants and he jerked closer. “I’m sorry I was such an ass to you,” he panted. “I had a lot of anger issues.”

Blaine ignored that as he huffed against Kurt’s neck, sucking hard below his ear, jerking Kurt off over his jeans. “Come on, come on Kurt.”

Kurt’s cock throbbed and he came with a choked off sob, soaking his underwear through to his jeans until Blaine was rubbing wet come around with his hand on the front of his pants. Blaine pushed his fingers underneath the waistband of Kurt's pants, fingering the soft, wet head of his cock until Kurt twitched away.

“Fuck. Your turn.” Kurt caught Blaine’s cheek with his free hand, holding his face still so he could bite Blaine’s bottom lip, rubbing his cock through the thick fabric of his suit. Blaine shuddered, coming with a long moan in his expensive wool trousers.

Kurt wanted to fall to the floor, but Blaine kept him pinned to the door as they both caught their breath and their senses. Kurt’s eyes darted around his dark apartment, waiting for Blaine to move. Blaine didn’t pull away, he pressed his mouth against Kurt’s neck with a gentle suck, kissing back across his jaw until Kurt tilted his head to kiss him back.

“Come on,” Kurt mumbled into Blaine’s mouth. “Shower.”

Kurt ignored the soggy mess in his pants, trying hard not to think about how that was one of the hottest things that had ever happened to him. New York had offered plenty of opportunities for Kurt to settle into himself, and his first two years of college he’d gotten some unexpectedly wild behavior out of his system. This night was promising to be up there.

When they got to the bathroom Kurt looked at himself in the mirror - there were marks on his neck and his skin was flushed from his collarbone to his ears. He peeled off his clothes, adding them to the pile Blaine had started on the floor. When he turned around Blaine was bent over the edge of his tub, completely naked, trying to turn the shower on. Kurt couldn’t stop a laugh from bubbling out.

“Everyone looks incompetent trying to work a strange shower,” Blaine said over his shoulder. “And I am nervous as fuck Kurt. How do you turn this thing on?” He stood and turned around, catching Kurt looking. “Are you staring at my ass?”

Kurt shrugged one shoulder. “It’s a nice ass.” Blaine ducked his head and blushed, moving aside as Kurt leaned in to turn on the shower. “You’re standing naked in my bathroom Blaine, don’t you think it’s a little late to be coy about it?”

Blaine crossed his arms across his chest and Kurt had to look away, fiddling with the water temperature to distract him from the naked man standing next to him. “I’m actually hoping that it’s not too late for a lot of things.”

In Kurt’s previous experiences showering with someone was always a little awkward at first; were you showering? Were you making out? How far did the other guy want to go? When were you supposed to ask? What if you had to call 911? Kurt still had visions of slipping in the middle of shower sex and having to explain to his dad what had happened. It was a lot to navigate.

He stepped into the shower, tugging Blaine behind him until they were both under the water, and Blaine didn’t give him a lot of time to ponder. He stepped into Kurt’s space, hands reaching for his face and pulling him into a heated kiss. Kurt wrapped his arms around Blaine’s shoulders and went with it. This kiss was intense in a different way than the one at the door when they had come in. If Blaine had attacked his mouth before, now he was memorizing it.

“Wow,” he said, breathless once Blaine pulled away. Blaine kissed him again, a quick one as his hands worked their way to Kurt’s waist.

“Kurt, I need to ask -” Blaine ran his hands over Kurt’s sides as the water ran down his back. “Did you get taller?”

Kurt laughed and threw his head back under the water. Grinning he rested his forehead against Blaine’s. “Yes.

“How?”

“The puberty train hit me late. I had quite the growth spurt freshman year.”

“Well that seems rather unfair,” Blaine said, pecking him on the corner of his mouth. “And also insanely hot I’ve got to say.”

Kurt leaned into another kiss, then Blaine reached for the shower gel over Kurt’s shoulder and they actually took a few minutes to soap up and rinse off. Taking turns under the spray, they washed the product out of their hair. When they were finished Kurt reached his arms around Blaine and hauled him in for another kiss, this time letting his hands wander down to Blaine’s ass. Kurt slid slippery fingers between his cheeks, pressing lightly as Blaine moved closer with a soft oh okay. Kurt squeezed one thick cheek with his other hand and Blaine gasped.

“I have to be honest Blaine, I’m not sure I’d have known what to do with an ass like yours in high school, if we’d ever taken it that far.”

Blaine giggled against Kurt’s neck. “Are you sure you know what to do with it now?”

Blaine’s hips were working against Kurt and Kurt could see and feel Blaine starting to get hard again. Kurt wasn’t going to be far behind him. He grinned into a kiss, pulling Blaine’s cheeks apart while teasing one finger between them. “Uh huh.”

Kurt spun Blaine around until he was facing the shower wall, tilting the shower head so it wouldn’t rain on his face, and dropped to his knees. Blaine’s ass was so thick Kurt had to hold his cheeks open so he could get his tongue on Blaine’s hole. Normally he would have taken more time, teased his partner until his rim was twitching, begging for something inside it. But this time he wanted it more than he wanted to tease. He wanted to taste, to take, to leave a mark. He spread Blaine wider, frantically licking at his damp skin until he’d licked away the water and his crack was dripping with spit, his tiny hole puckering impatiently.

Blaine shifted, spreading his thighs in the small space, and Kurt sat back on his heels to keep from slipping. When Blaine had started fisting his cock Kurt nipped at the tender skin of Blaine's ass to get his attention.

“We should move to the bedroom,” he said.

“Hunh?” Blaine turned to look down at him, a little glassy eyed. Kurt stood and wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling his back snug against him, knowing Blaine could feel Kurt’s erection pressing against his ass.

“You don't need to break your ankle two weeks before your Broadway debut.”

Blaine chuckled, nuzzling his head back against Kurt. “You're probably right.” Blaine twisted in Kurt’s arms, searching for a kiss Kurt willingly gave.

Kurt shut off the water, reaching for one of his oversized towels and wrapping Blaine in it long enough to keep him from dripping all over his apartment, then did the same for himself. Kurt’s bedroom was just on the other side of his small kitchen, so he led a naked Blaine through to his bedroom. Once inside Blaine pulled him in for another deep kiss.

“Do you want something? Water?”

Blaine shook his head, hands moving to stroke Kurt until he was hard. “Later.”

“Get on your belly then, I’m not done with you,” Kurt whispered, surprised at the husky sound of his own voice. Blaine grinned, ‘okay’, kissing Kurt once with a smack and scrambling to the bed. Kurt joined him, pressing lips against the back of his neck, arching so the length of his cock settled in the cleft of Blaine’s ass. Kurt wanted to take the time to explore; Blaine’s body was gorgeous and there was a lot to enjoy. He didn’t want to dwell on whether he would have another chance.

So he kissed across Blaine’s shoulders, licking the salty taste of the sweat that prickled on Blaine’s skin, even after the shower. Kurt kissed and bit, and memorized every sound Blaine made while he did. When he reached Blaine’s ass, he dug in, tongue firm against Blaine’s pucker until it was twitching, inviting. He pressed his thumb carefully against the invitation.

“Can I fuck you?” Kurt asked, loud in the quiet dark.

Blaine shifted, hugging a pillow under his chest. “Oh, god, I wish you would.”

Kurt scrambled to the side table, retrieving condoms and lube before settling between Blaine’s thighs and spreading them just a bit more. Blaine hitched his ass up in the air, spreading his cheeks wide. “You look amazing,” Kurt breathed; he had to slow down and squeeze his cock to keep under control. The last thing he wanted was to come before they even got started. He couldn’t embarrass himself now that they’d gotten this far.

He pressed his middle finger against Blaine’s twitching hole, teasing in and out a few times before sliding it up to the last knuckle; after a few twists, he added a second finger, turning them against the press of the tight muscle. Blaine sighed and Kurt could see and feel the tension leaving his body. “How many do you need?” he asked, stroking himself as his fingers worked Blaine open.

“One more.” Blaine hugged the pillow tighter and wriggled a little, fucking himself on Kurt’s fingers. “But not for long, just a little more.”

Kurt nodded, more to himself than to Blaine, who had pressed his face against the bed; he added more lube and a third finger, twisting them until he could feel the stretch. The god Kurt Blaine moaned was enough of a check in for Kurt, so he rolled on a condom and pressed his cock against Blaine’s hole. Blaine pushed back and Kurt watched as the head disappeared inside; he waited a moment for Blaine to nod, then pressed in, slowly. Blaine, gasping, begged him to move, and with one hand on the bed and one gripping Blaine’s shoulder he pulled out, pushing in again slowly, and again until they found a rhythm, Blaine working as eagerly to fuck Kurt as Kurt had ever had in a partner, if not more so.

“Mmm, Blaine?” Kurt bent low, mouthing at Blaine’s ear, his hips making a smacking noise as he “How long can I keep fucking you?”

Blaine twisted under Kurt, wrapping his arm around him and mouthing at his neck. “I don’t know,” he panted, almost giggling. “How long can you keep fucking me?”

Kurt bit at Blaine’s lip. “I see, okay.” Kurt mouthed at Blaine’s neck, then pulled back, pressing him down to the bed before sitting up on his knees. He pulled Blaine’s hips higher, but Blaine pushed up until he was on all fours, laughing as he glanced back at Kurt.

“Go on,” he invited.

Eyes locked onto Blaine’s, Kurt reached blindly for more lube, squirting an excessive amount into his hand before slicking his cock and wiping the excess over Blaine’s puffy hole. Eyes still on Blaine he pushed his cock back in, a satisfying thrill shooting up his spine when Blaine closed his eyes and gasped. After that there was no more talking, or teasing, or asking anything; just the slap of skin on hot skin, sweat dripping down Kurt’s back, droplets collecting in the dimples above Blaine’s ass. They fucked until Kurt’s thighs were shaking, until he was sure he would pass out if he came, until Kurt couldn’t hold off one more second. Then with a strangled cry that sounded like it could have been “Kurt,” Blaine reached for his cock and pushed back hard, grinding his ass against Kurt until he came, and Kurt could only give in, fucking them both through each pulse until they were spent.

Kurt could feel Blaine’s legs start to give out, so he grabbed him around his hips, holding him close until his cock softened and he had to pull out. Blaine fell to the bed with a muffled “nggghh.”

Kurt must have passed out for a few minutes, because when he opened his eyes he was still wearing the used condom, and Blaine was naked and sprawled next to him on top of the coverlet, making snuffling noises. He took care of the condom first, then stood on wobbly legs and went to the bathroom. He considered a shower, given how much sweat had already dried on him, but sleep beckoned, so he wiped himself with the still damp towel from earlier and brought a wet towel for Blaine.

When he got back to the bedroom Blaine was still asleep. Kurt sat next to him on the edge of the bed, shaking his shoulder until he woke.

“Hey, I didn’t want to freak you out when I wiped up all the lube.” Kurt chuckled, and Blaine shifted until he was raised on his elbows. “We made quite the mess.”

“Mmm, yeah.” Blaine grinned sloppily. “No complaints.”

Kurt finished wiping the worst of it, and Blaine escaped to washup. While he was gone Kurt pulled the mussed covers off and sat on the bed. Should he put something on? Did Blaine want to stay? Kurt was pretty sure he wanted him to stay, but what would happen after the morning was anyone’s guess, Kurt wasn’t sure he could think that far. Was this the marathon to ‘get it out of their system’ that they’d apparently always needed? Or was there a future? Or maybe they’d just be friends after. Like they couldn’t manage to do when they were young and took everything too seriously.

He was still contemplating when Blaine rejoined him in the bedroom, still gloriously naked. Kurt had hooked up with some good looking men in the last six years, but Blaine was definitely in the top two.

“Hey,” Blaine said, sitting next to him on the bed. “I don’t know what you had in mind, but I’d really like to stay. If that’s okay.” The question was confident, but Blaine looked like he expected to be shot down. He wasn’t going to be, not tonight.

Kurt leaned in, kissing him almost chastely, considering their evening so far. “Please stay.”

#clinging to this hating game #prompt-a-klaine-fic #prompt-a-klaine-fic reverse bang #artist: datshitrandom #Klaine fic

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