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cupid-styles · 2 months

Note

Oh fuck tattoorry piercing his girl’s nipples would be so hot specially with how much she loves humiliation that entire interaction would be so sexually charged

this took me FOREVER but I hope you enjoy!!!!

part of the tattoorry/plugrry world

word count: 3k

content warnings: piercings (mentions of needles), spicy but no smut

masterlist | talk to me

. . .

"Wait, you're being serious?"

Harry huffs out a laugh, sticking his chopsticks in the to-go container of veggie lo mein. "Of course I'm being serious. Why would I lie about that, dovie?"

His response, though not meant to make her feel bad, makes her shrug, a warm blush blooming over the expanse of her cheeks. She stuffs another bite of dumpling in her mouth, chewing it thoughtfully to save her from further embarrassment in front of her boyfriend.

"Don't feel bad," he murmurs, his large palm finding the space between her shoulders, rubbing her sweatshirt-clad skin comfortingly. Her eyes stay glued to the television in front of them, where they're watching the newest episode of Ru-Paul's Drag Race per Y/N's request. (She's never watched it before and Jo, the receptionist at St. Mark's Social, told her she had to. Y/N's been steadily binging it for weeks. Harry pretends like he doesn't love it, but he's secretly just as invested.)

"Dove, look at me," he sighs, placing his food on the coffee table. She does, positioning herself to face him and flittering her eyes up to his face. He looks tired, but they both are. It's been a long week of work and school — however, Y/N was able to get an interview for the bookstore on campus, which ended up causing her a lot of stress and anxiety. It ultimately went well and they said they'd be getting back to her soon. Even if it wasn't the bookstore she wanted to work at, it was still a source of income that would hopefully replenish some of her savings and help her pay rent and bills.

"I shouldn't have laughed, I'm sorry I did that," he says softly, "It's just a given to me, because of my work. Nipple piercings aren't otherworldly, like they probably are for you."

She shouldn't be nitpicking, but somehow that hurts just as badly. Sometimes, she feels like a child around Harry. It's as if he's lived a thousand lives in the adult world and she's just recently gotten to have a smidgen of those experiences.

"It's not otherworldly," she says the word like it's an insult, and Harry has to press his lips into a line so he doesn't laugh, "I just didn't know people got them."

Clearing his throat, he forces himself to put on his professional piercer-and-tattooer face, "Yeah. It's something that anyone can get and I've done a fair amount of them. Semi-painful in the moment with a long healing time. They can look good on the right person, though."

That causes her eyebrows to nearly shoot up to her forehead.

"What do you mean, the right person?"

"You're just a nosy little thing tonight, aren't you?" Harry fires back with a smirk. She goes to cower with deflated shoulders but he instantly makes a tsk-ing noise with his mouth, grabbing her hands to keep her close, "I just mean, like any piercing, it doesn't always look right on the person. Sometimes people get nose or eyebrow piercings and it's like, oh, that's fine. But sometimes it's as if their anatomy looks complete with the piercing — almost like it's meant to be there, if that makes sense."

It doesn't, but it only continues to pique her curiosity even more.

"What about me?"

"What about you?" Harry chuckles, using a hand to smooth her hair down.

"What piercings would look good on me?"

He smirks at her little game. She plays this sometimes, and he assumes it only comes from a place of true wonder. When they talked about the drugs he's done before, she asked which ones he think she'd like. (None, except maybe for weed, but she has to get her anxiety under control before she tries it.) They went over different styles of tattoos when Y/N was interested in his work, especially when he explained that his are just a hodgepodge of designs, some with meaning, some without. (He said she can get whatever she wants if she decides on something one day, but he's particularly partial to a little "H" on her bum.) And now, she wants to know what piercings would fit her.

"You can get whatever you'd like, dovie," he replies, "Just as long as I'm the one doing it."

She rolls her eyes and leans her shoulder against the plush of the couch cushion. "Yeah, but you're the professional, Harry! You know what would look best on me."

"Anything would, you're gorgeous."

"That's a cop-out answer and you know it!"

Harry laughs loudly and places his hands atop her shoulders, "Okay, okay. Let me think, dovie. I need to assess my client."

"Oh, you're being a professional now?"

"Shhhh!" he exclaims, and it only makes her laugh harder. He's already gone to that focused place, though, with wandering but fixated eyes and that small crinkle between his eyebrows. She feels bashful beneath his gaze, blinking her eyes as he analyzes her facial features. She's watched him work before, but for some reason, this in particular reminds her of the first time they met, when she sat in on him tattooing Mai. She remembers the way her stomach warmed and her core throbbed at his attuned facial expression, similar to how it is now.

"Okay," he murmurs. Slowly, he reaches up to gently tap at the side of her nose. "I think you'd look very pretty with a small nose piercing."

"Really?"

He nods. "Yes, but you're beautiful with or without, so it doesn't matter. Plus, I can't have my girlfriend looking cooler than me."

She's not surprised at the way he instantly returns to his teasing self, even if it's not exactly the answer she was fishing for. She watches as he leans forward to grab his carton of noodles. With her tongue peeking out to moisten her lips, she attempts to grab his attention again.

"What about...?" she glances down at her chest. Harry looks at her with a quirked eyebrow. Her form is currently swallowed up in a sweatshirt that's a few sizes too large, so she realizes she's not being entirely specific about what she's asking. "Like...?"

"Huh?"

She sighs frustratedly, "My boobs!"

"Oh," Harry's eyes widen, flickering down to her covered breasts, "You wanna know if you'd look good with nipple piercings?"

She nods, nibbling on her bottom lip. She watches at the cogs turn in his brain, his gaze meeting hers a moment later.

"Need to see 'em." he says decidedly.

She huffs out a chuckle as he helps her peel her sweatshirt off, leaving her in a comfortable bralette. It's pale pink and sheer, but with Harry's hands splayed across her ribs, he still pulls the fabric down. In an instant, her nipples are stiff and peaked from the cold air, and she's attempting not to feel sheepish underneath his intense eyes as they flicker between her breasts.

"I don't know why I'm even contemplating it," he says, though it's mainly to himself, "Of course you'd look hot with them. You're you."

He looks up at her with a goofy grin before pressing a kiss between them. She blushes.

"You think so?" she asks as her hand finds the back of his neck. He nods, eyes flickering closed when her fingertips play with the shorter, curly tendrils.

"Of course."

"Would you do it, then?"

Harry's eyes shoot open. "Wait, what? I thought we were just... talking, I didn't think you were being serious."

Y/N shrugs, "I dunno, I kind of like the idea of it."

"Dovie... you only have your ears pierced," he mumbles, sitting up and reaching to gently touch her ear lobes, "If this is something you'd seriously want, I'd want you to think about it for at least, maybe, a few days, not just 10 minutes."

"I've never done anything impulsive, though," Y/N says through a whine. He understands it, and his face crinkles some at her request. "You've gotten tattoos while you were drunk! O-or given stupid ones to yourself!"

"I know, baby," Harry coos, "But those were stupid decisions and I don't want you to make the same ones. You're so much better than that."

She sighs dejectedly. He presses a kiss to each of her cheeks, then to her nose.

"I get it, dove, really. And by all means, I'd rather you get an impulsive piercing than a tattoo. But the healing time is really long, and it is painful. I just don't want you to regret it or... or get mad at me, either."

Y/N's heart softens a bit, nodding her head as she worries her bottom lip between her teeth. "No, I understand."

"If you still want them in a few weeks or months, I'm more than happy to be the one to do it," he says softly, reaching down to give her hand a small squeeze. She perks up a little at that, and he smiles. "Just give it some more thought, okay?"

. . .

Harry really, truly thought Y/N would never mention the whole nipple piercing thing again.

It turns out, his girl is way more stubborn than he could have ever anticipated, because it's been four weeks since then and she still wants them.

In fact, she's currently sitting in his little work zone, where he tattoos and pierces other clients. Not his girlfriend.

"Are you sure?" he asks for the thousandth time. In the time since she first brought it up, she's done tons of research, including asking Harry just short of a million questions. He appreciated her enthusiasm towards education, but talking about nipple piercings as soon as he finished up work wasn't always ideal. Still, though, he made sure to entertain anything she had to ask, even catching her looking up different jewelry styles and what it looked like on different people.

And, as soon as Jo accidentally overheard Y/N talking to him about it, of course she offered to show her own. Harry wanted to bang his head into a wall as he listened to them excitedly chatter in the corner, right after one of his employees bared her entire chest to his girlfriend. It had to be some type of workplace violation, only Harry served as the closest thing to Human Resources at the shop — and, considering they sold weed on the side, he didn't think he had much of a case against Jo.

It just so happened that Y/N got out of classes early on Wednesday and Harry hung around the shop those days, making deals and doing boring business administration things. When she asked if she could come by to get her piercings done, he reluctantly said yes.

It wasn't that he didn't absolutely love the idea of it — he did, actually, and his mouth nearly watered at the imagery it created in his brain. What he did hate was the thought of causing his girl any kind of pain. He was still in the camp of being fearful that she'd get angry at him if she didn't end up liking it. But her excitement towards it never wavered, and he would never be one to tell her no.

"Yes, I'm sure," Y/N replies, wringing her hands together in her lap. "I'm nervous, though."

"That's normal, dovie. Just try your best to relax, it's only me."

She nods as he shuts the door to give them some privacy. He never does that with clients, but he wants to make sure he's making it as comfortable as a process as possible — and, maybe he's keen on ensuring no one else gets a peek.

He busies himself with sanitizing his tools, washing his hands, and eventually pulling a pair of latex gloves on. He wishes he could make it a more fun experience for her, but the whole thing is quite medical.

"You already picked your jewelry out, right?" he asks lowly. She nods her head as she watches on.

"Mhm. I sent you a picture of it last week."

"Right, these simple pink barbels, hm?"

The piercing jewelry she'd chosen were pretty spot on to Y/N's aesthetic of being uncomplicated and feminine. When he saw what she picked, he immediately told her that it would fit her perfectly.

"Alright, I'm gonna clean them and then we can get started. Still feeling good?"

She nods again.

"You gonna tell me if you're gonna pass out again, baby?"

She scowls, remembering back to fainting from her first ear piercing. The sour, twisted frown on her face makes him laugh.

"That's still so embarrassing." she mumbles. On the newly cleaned workspace, Harry shakes his head, placing the sanitized jewelry and piercing supples down on it.

"Not embarrassing. Cute, actually," he corrects, peeling his gloves off. "Okay. I'm gonna help position you, is that okay?"

"Do you do that for every client?"

He narrows his eyes at her playfully, "No, you jealous little fiend."

She pulls her sweater off, revealing a pale blue baby tee. He swallows as she lays back on the extended table, taking a deep breath to surely calm her nerves. He gently squeezes her wrist, hovering over her form as she gets comfortable. When she shoots him a small nod, he smiles, flipping her shirt up.

"Okay, baby," he says, smoothing his hand over her stomach, "I'm sure you read this in your... insane amount of research—"

"Not insane."

He nods curtly, "Right, not insane," he quickly corrects. "Anyway, your nipples have to be hard for this. It helps with the placement."

She issues another silent nod his way but doesn't move to do anything. With a small smile, he gently cups her breast.

"Do you want me to?" he asks, his tone dropping lowly. She's not quite sure what he's even asking to do, but she still provides an affirmative answer. It's not a second more before he's latched his lips around her nipple, her eyes fluttering back from the sucking sensation. It's messy, the way he alternates between each one so they're swollen with his spit, and her fingers find his long curls, tugging at them gently to press him closer to her chest.

It feels like he's gone far too quickly, plushy, wet lips pressing a quick kiss to the valley between her breasts as he examines his work. Her mouth parts as she watches him bite his lip.

"You're good," he pants out, though he takes a moment to adjust the growing bulge in his pants, "Need to... put gloves back on."

They're both a bit lust-driven now, but Harry's quick to meld back into his professional persona after snapping a clean pair of gloves on his hands. Y/N swallows as he analyzes her, feeling squeamish beneath his eyes. Wordlessly, he grabs a marker and places two dots on either of her nipples.

"That's just for the placement," he explains, grabbing a mirror so she can look at where the jewelry would sit, "What do you think?"

Truthfully, they could have been completely wonky and Y/N wouldn't have noticed, let alone say anything. She trusts Harry implicitly, even if she still feels a bit hazy from the welcomed assault on her stiffened breasts.

"Good." she says with a nod, glancing up at him, "Looks good."

"Alright, baby," he replies. He turns to get the clean piercing needle from his rolling tray. "I'm gonna count down from three. I want you to close your eyes and inhale on three, then exhale on one. We'll take a short break after the first one, and then I'll do the second. Does that sound okay?"

"Mhm," she mumbles, nervously biting her lip. "Just do it, please. 'm gonna lose my nerve."

He chuckles and nods, instructing her to keep her eyes closed as he situates himself over her.

"Okay. Three— there you go, dovie, big, deep breath— two, one."

She immediately winces from the sharp bite of pain, a noisy gasp falling from her lips. Harry silently cringes to himself — not because the piercing isn't perfect, but because he absolutely hates knowing he's the reason why she's in pain right now.

"Keep your eyes closed, baby," he murmurs as he fits the jewelry through the first piercing, "Good girl. You're doing so good for me, hm? My strong baby."

She swallows harshly, hands balled into fists at her side. It's painful, that much is true, and she's beyond grateful when he finally finishes screwing the jewelry into place. She lets out a shaky breath and Harry coos, taking one of his gloves off to thumb her tears away.

"Was that okay, dovie?" he asks worriedly, "We can always save the second for another day."

Y/N quickly shakes her head, "No, no. Just do the other one now, otherwise I'll never have you do it."

Harry repeats the process on the other side. The pain is just as bad, tears continuing to cloud Y/N's vision and roll down her cheeks despite her keeping her eyes squeezed close. He shushes her softly throughout it, his heart tugging. Once he's finished, he's quick to wash his hands, listening to her quiet sniffles.

"I know baby, I know," he mumbles. He crosses the room as soon as he's done, sitting down next to her and brushing her hair back, "You did so good, you know that? 's all done, dovie, you're done."

She sniffs, batting her wet eyelashes up at him. "'s done?"

"Yeah, sweetheart." he says with a small, crooked smile. "You were so good. Took it like a champ."

"I didn't, I cried the whole time."

He chuckles and leans down to press a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Do you wanna see them?"

She nods, nibbling on her bottom lip as he stands to grab the handheld mirror. He helps her slowly sit up, hinging at the waist. He holds it up to her chest, both pairs of their eyes staring at her swollen breasts. His eyes flitter to her face to gauge her expression, scared that she hates them.

"Wait," she mutters, cocking her head to the side, "Wait... they're kind of hot."

Relief floods Harry's system and he smirks. "You think so?"

"Yeah," she nods, sitting up on her knees, "I know they're kinda puffy right now but... I think I like them. A lot."

Harry swallows harshly, dropping the mirror on his chair. Suddenly, he's surging towards her and taking her cheeks between his large palms, smushing their lips together like his life depends on it. It takes her entirely by surprise, and it's hurried and hot and desperate, so much so that she's panting into his mouth and gripping at his black tee-shirt.

When he finally breaks their kiss, strings of spit still connecting their mouths, he keeps his forehead pressed against hers. Again, he glances down to get another look at her chest.

"I love you so fucking much," are the only words he can utter out before he's pulling her jeans down to bury his head between her legs.

1K notes · View notes

shadowandlightt · 3 months

Text

Of Nightmares and Memories | nine | Azirel X reader

Series Warnings: Kidnapping. Mistreatment. Cursing. Pining. Violence. Depression. Talks of suicide. Eventual smut

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

A/N; *to the tune of Britney Spears* OOps I DID IT AGAIN. Also I'm more nervous about this part than I have been for this entire series, so be nice and kind and I hope you enjoy <3

Mor showed up a few days later. She appeared as you were lounging in a chair, attempting to read some random romance novel you’d come across.

“He’s taking her to The Weaver,” She stated in lue of a greeting.

“Well then he’s a fool,” You snorted, not looking up from your book.

“YN,” She warns, “He’s taking her to The Weaver.”

“Yes I heard you,” you roll your eyes and look up, “What difference does it-”

You stop upon seeing the look on her face. The worry and the pain hidden there. You swallow the lump in your throat at the sight. She looked at you like you would break at any moment, and maybe you would. Maybe she saw the truth in you.

“They’re mates, aren’t they?” You question, voice sounding strange.

She only nods and moves to sit on the couch across from you. You nod slowly in understanding. You wanted to be happy for them, but somehow you couldn’t feel it. Like there was something wrong with you. Like you were broken.

“I had a feeling,” You tell her, “From the moment she became Fae and he came for her the first time. I had a feeling.”

It was true, you did have a feeling. Something deep within you told you that they were drawn to one another in ways that neither of them could explain. You often wondered if that was the same with Azirel too. If you were secretly mates, you used to pray for it as a child. Because you couldn’t imagine a better mate than him

To this day you still couldn’t imagine a better mate. But how could he want you now? Mate or not. You’d never have the same relationship that you had before. Nothing would be the same. How could you pretend to be the same person you were when you were taken when everything around you was different? You weren’t sure how you were going to do any of this.

“Please come home,” Mor begged.

“I can’t,” You try to keep your voice from breaking, “I can’t go back there.”

“Why?” She demands, standing from the couch, “Why are you denying yourself this? It’s Valaris! Your favorite place in all the world! You hate being here, you always have.”

“Maybe I deserve to be here,” You mumble, “Maybe I deserve to be away from all of you.”

“What are you talking about?” She questions.

“I didn’t try to run when I could have. I gave up. I fucking gave up and accepted my fate there,” You explain, slamming your book shut, “I let myself become Tamlin’s little play thing, I allowed him to strip my powers away. I let him do everything to me and I never fought back.”

“You never deserved what happened to you,” She shook her head, “I’m not so sure that I wouldn’t have given up either, if I’d been in your shoes.”

“I spent fifty years thinking all of you were dead.”

“Oh, Y/N.”

“I really did give up then. Because I realized Rhys wouldn’t be able to come for me. Up until that point, up until she took him, I was convinced he would come save me. That all of you would somehow find out I was still alive and come marching into the Spring Court and raze it to the ground.”

You shake your head, trying to clear the thoughts that were swirling about. Your back ached along the two big scars. Everything about you just hurt. Your skin, your head, your chest, your heart…everything. You just wanted it to stop. You needed it to stop.

Mor sat back down and reached over to take your hands in hers. There was nothing but love in her eyes, no sign of the pain that you saw when she first arrived. You want to pull away from her, pull away from the tender touch that reminded you too much of your mother.

“You survived,” She swore, looking deeply into your eyes, “You made it out. You were brave and cunning and you survived. That’s all that matters now.”

Your head shakes again, “No, it’s not all that matters. You can’t understand, none of you can.”

“Then help me understand,” She begs, “Help me understand what’s going on. Help me help you.”

“You can’t help me, Morrigan,” You said, standing up and ripping your hands away from hers.

You walked to one of the large widows, wondering how bad it would be if you flung yourself from the Palace. How much would it hurt when you crashed into the mountain below? Would it be enough to bring you the release you so desperately craved? Would Mor be able to stop you in time?

You thought long and hard about it, but in the end you turned away from the window. Hating yourself for even thinking such a thing. It would destroy Rhys to get you back only to lose you again. You couldn’t do that to him. That was the only thing stopping you.

“Azriel knows we’re hiding something,” She says from her spot on the couch, “I’m not sure how much longer we can hold him off.”

You nearly cringe at the sound of his name. Cauldron, what is he going to do when he finds out about you? How will he react? Will he even want to be in the same room as you? Will he be able to stand to look at you after everything you’ve done?

“I don’t care,” You lied, “I don’t give a fuck if he thinks you’re hiding something. You don’t tell him about me.”

“Yes I know, Rhys’ order was very clear,” She rolls her eyes.

“You should go,” You tell her, “Before they wonder where you are.”

She sighs and gets up from the couch. You can tell she wants to say something else but decides against it. You watch as she disappears into darkness. You finally felt that you were able to breathe once she left.

You fell deeper and deeper into the darkness as the days went on. The feeling in your chest only got worse with time. You wondered what would happen if you went down to The Hewen City. What would they do if their princess suddenly reappeared after so many years.

You wondered if they’d kill you, just to spite Rhys. Or if they’d bow down to you like they used to. But then you remembered one of the last conversations you had with Azriel, and how he hated the way so many of the males talked about you and you felt sick.

Everything surrounding Az seemed to make you feel that way these days. You could feel it deep in your chest, the sort of ache you always seemed to feel whenever you were away from him. After all of these years it still hadn’t subsided. In fact it seemed to be getting worse as each day passed by. Like being back in the Night Court and being so close to him was making it worse. Or maybe it was the fact that the Faebane was finally starting to wear off and your powers were coming back.

No matter the reason, you weren’t sure that you could go on like this any more. You didn’t know how you could live with the constant ache forever. Because you never planned on going back to Valaris, you couldn’t face the city you loved after what you did. After how you allowed your mother to be killed. She loved Valaris, and loved flying over the city. And it was your fault she was dead, no matter what anyone else said. You were to blame.

You didn’t expect Rhys to appear several days later. He looked tired. You wanted nothing more than to wrap your arms around him and tell him that it was going to be okay. But even you didn’t believe that. You couldn’t believe that it would be okay. Too much had happened.

“We’re going to the Summer Court,” He tells you, “Feyre, Amren, and myself.”

“Enjoy.”

“Little Star, tell me what to do,” He begs, stepping closer to you, “Tell me how to help you.”

“I’ll tell you like I told Mor,” You sigh, “You can’t help me.”

“Come back to Valaris, be with your family.”

Your head shakes. You couldn’t bear to face Cassian and Azriel. Not now, maybe not ever. It’s something Rhys could never understand. He was able to readjust easily after Amerantha. But he hadn’t spent hundreds of years being beaten and mistreated. He wasn’t starved and drugged every day. You couldn't be mad at him, as much as you wanted to be. Because you knew he suffered too.

“I can’t come back.”

“You keep saying that but you never say why,” he challenged.

“Because it’s all my fault!” you finally broke, tears streaming down your face, “It’s my fault, Rhysand. She could still be alive if I had just done something. Anything. But I didn’t.”

“If you’re to blame, then so am I,” He countered, “It should be just as much my fault. I told Tamlin where you would be. I’m the one who didn’t come to meet you as I promised, I left you undefended.”

“It’s not your fault, Rhys,” You felt anger boiling up in you now.

Because you didn’t blame him. You never did. He had duties to attend to that day, you understood that he couldn’t get away. He trusted Tamlin. The son of spring had him fooled, and that was not Rhys’ fault. Not in the slightest.

“Then it isn’t your fault either,” He gently argued.

You can’t help but shake your head again. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t understand. He wasn’t there. He didn’t hear her. He doesn’t see her every time he closes his eyes, he doesn't hear her screams in his nightmares.

“You don’t understand,” You cried, “She didn’t even beg for herself. Even as they cleaved her wings from her body, she only begged for my life. Begged for them to set me free. Even as they hacked her to pieces, she cried for me.”

“Y/N-”

“I’ll live with that knowledge forever,” You sob, “Do you have any idea what that’s like? To know that you failed your mother? That she died for nothing, because you are nothing?”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why? It’s true. I have nothing left to give,” You shrug, fighting back the tears, “There’s nothing left for me.”

He surges forward and grabs your shoulders, “Don’t say that. Don’t you even think about it. Never think about something like that. There is so much left for you in this life.”

“It doesn’t feel that way, Rhys,” You feel numb all of the sudden.

The void is back. And you’re once again a shell of yourself with no fight left to give. You sag against Rhys’ hold on you, wishing you could just crawl back into your bed and forget that this conversation ever happened.

You wish he would just leave already so you could just disappear within yourself again. You wished he would just leave you alone to waste away. It seemed to be the only thing you could think of doing these days.

He looks into your eyes and goes silent for a moment. You know the look he has, he’s speaking to someone, mind to mind. You feel anxiety well up within you, because you have no idea who he’s speaking with and what he’s telling them.

You can only hope that it’s Morrigan and nothing else. You can only hope that he’s trying to ascertain how serious you are about having nothing left. But then shadows ripple in the room, subtly at first, but enough that you realize it. And it’s not you calling to them

“You promised me,” You cry, hitting his chest, “You fucking promised.”

“I won’t let you wither away to nothing,” He says sternly, “Not when there’s someone who can stop it.”

The shadows take form. You rip yourself from Rhys’ grasp and try to run but you hardly make it out of the room before the man is then flesh. You know the second he’s here, because you can feel it in your very bones. Like a song in your blood. You try to keep moving but your body betrays you and stops. You think that maybe he won’t take notice of you. Maybe he’ll be too focused on Rhys. But then you hear footsteps. So hesitant, so light you hardly hear them.

You can hear your heartbeat in your ears, or maybe it’s his. You think you might drop dead here. Right in front of both of them, and then where would they be? Your hands are shaking, just like the rest of your body. But you keep your back towards him, too afraid to turn around.

A hand reaches for your shoulder. His touch is featherlight, but you can feel his scars through the thin material of your shirt. You knew it was him, long before he touched you. You could smell him better now though. Could feel that void in your chest slowly starting to fill.

As if his very presence was enough to bring you back to life.

Hesitantly, he speaks. Voice so silky and deep, just as you remembered it in your dreams. Only now it’s a dream made real, and he’s here. You’re alive and he’s alive and suddenly he’s gently spinning you around to face him.

There are tears in his eyes as he opens his mouth, “Y/N.”

It’s the only thing you hear as he studies your face. Your lip trembles as tears fall anew. You can feel the air filling your chest, nothing but the scent of him filing your nose. For the first time in years you want to smile, because he’s here. And more devastatingly beautiful than you remembered him being.

“Az,” you cry out softly.

He pulls you into his chest, holding you there tightly. For the first time in a couple of hundred years, you felt complete. You nuzzle into him, still crying, getting his leathers wet with your tears. You couldn’t bring yourself to care though, because it just felt right. You could feel it deep within your chest, the part of you that always seemed to connect you to him.

“You’re alive,” You can hear the disbelief in his voice, and the wonder too.

“You’re alive,” You cry, finally allowing the words to sink in.

He was alive, after all of these years. He was untouched during Amarantha’s rule. Valaris was untouched. Everyone that you loved was okay, and so were you. Somehow, for the male holding you and your brother, you would fight to be okay.

He pulls away from you and cups your face. You watch as he looks you over, carefully scanning your body. Any of the lingering bruises from Tamlin had faded away into nothing. There was nothing to prove that anything happened at all besides the two long scars on your back.

“Y/N,” He whispers again, “Oh my Y/N.”

Then he leaned in to kiss you and it was as if your whole world shifted to just him. He was the only thing that mattered. Just Azirel. Always only Azriel. Your Azriel. Your perfect, beautiful, scarred Azriel.

Tag List

@historygeekqueen @queerqueenlynn @hnyclover @thelov3lybookworm @witchymomfrien @one-big-fangirl @amara-moonlight @annamariereads16 @maddybraps @saltedcoffeescotch @wallacewillow0773638 @minnieoo @st0rmyt @hunterksmith @sleepylunarwolf @sh4n @emryb @mikatanazaki @nickishadow139 @ilovespideyyy @mysticalfuncollectorus @judig92 @tele86 @oksloan3 @darling006 @dr4g0ngirl @weasleyreidstyles @ren-ni @sstrohma @fleurrreads

#acomaf #acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #acotar fic #azriel acotar #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger

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ahgasegotarmy116 · 4 months

Text

He Doesn't Deserve You | A Jeon Jungkook Series | Chapter One

Summary: Life didn't turn out the way you wanted. You got the guy, and the job but everything else you had ever wanted has been crumbling around you. Pairing: f!reader x Jeon Jungkook Word Count: 2.1k~ Warnings: yändere, manipulation, domestic violence, self harm, cheating, explicit language, hints at smut, angst, idk what else lol a/n: Ahh thank you so much for all of the love so far on the intro and even all the notes on the masterlist hehe. I'm really loving the direction this story is going in so I hope you guys will too! And thanks again to @kkusadmirer for the request!

Opening my laptop I pull up the most recent edit I had done on the next chapter I was working on.

I'm a writer, not an incredibly famous one but a writer nonetheless. I make enough to get by and I'm able to work from home so that's all I ever really wanted. Just a silly girl, writing her silly stories, living her silly life.

But unfortunately things don't always turn out the way you want them to.

I thought I had it all, perfect grades and a perfect boyfriend with a loving family and a bright bright future. Now looking back at it all and seeing all of the stuff in the background that I somehow missed just makes me feel foolish.

How could I not notice Taehyung wondering eye? Why did I not listen to what my friends used to say about him? Why did I leave all of my friends behind for him?

Being so wrapped up and so in love with him I didn't even notice the fact that my family was falling apart. My mom cheated on my dad and I never knew until they told me they were getting a divorce.

While my brother was struggling in high school while being around all of their screaming and fighting and finally got committed to a mental institution when he had a psychotic break.

I never knew anything about that. It's not like I didn't care, but I just never really reached out or gave them enough time to reach out to me.

I was always like 'Oh Tae just got home I have to go' or 'Tae is expecting me so I need to get going'. My world has revolved around him for so long that my family and friends feel like strangers.

How could I have been so stupid and neglected them, all for one guy?

The one that I wanted to build a future with and promised to do the same with me. Now here I am, 24 with student loans up to my neck and a sorry excuse for a marriage with a husband that is never home.

I don't know what I managed to do in my past life that ended up royally fucking me up in this one but I'm sorry. Why couldn't I have done better so I would be saved from having my spirit broken and my heart ripped to shreds.

The only positive thing is that this has given me is the inspiration to come up with an even more fucked up series of books that has been my only source of income for the past few years.

Years, wow.

Thinking about how much time has passed and how things went to shit so quickly helped me continue down this downward spiral and I don't know how to make it stop. Although the sound of keys jingling outside the front door is my rude awakening, my brain knowing I need to be conscious of what may happen next.

I quickly wipe off the tears that I didn't even realized had started to fall and clear my throat. Moments later I'm met with the sight of Taehyung walking in wearing the same shirt I had seen him in yesterday but sports a brand new hickey near the collar, just barely noticeable but he makes no effort to hide it.

"Y/n" I hear him call out, breaking me out of my train of thought. "Yes?" I question, hating that I've been caught off guard even though I was staring right at him. "I asked if we have anything to eat" he says, making his way over to the refrigerator, now going to see if he can answer his own question before I'm even given another second to speak up.

"Um yeah I think there's some left over pizza from last night" I say and get up to walk towards him. "So how was work yesterday?" I ask tentatively, still not sure what kind of mood he's in. "Exhausting but it is what it is I guess" he says while stuffing his face full of a cold slice of pepperoni pizza.

I turn to walk away while nodding my head, not bothering to ask anything else since it seems from his vague answers that he's not in the mood to talk.

"Hey" he says, gently grabbing my wrist with the hand that wasn't occupied with the pizza, leaving me frozen in place. I know better than to walk away from him. Even if he's not mad at the moment doesn't mean that he won't be in the next.

"Where are you running off to?" he asks pulling me close by that same wrist. Still doing so carefully but pressing on the bruises that he had left there from the last fight we had.

He sees my slight look of discomfort and how my vision is trained on the wrist he's still holding and rolls up my sleeve, taking a quick look and seeing the evidence of his past transgressions.

"It left a mark huh?" he says examining the spot further and then bringing it up to his face where he places a few featherlight kisses on it, making a flash of heat run through my system when he looks back up at me with those eyes.

Those bedroom eyes that never fail to put me in a trance. He lifts his hand up towards my face and I flinch not knowing what to expect and see him stopping for a second, surprised by my reaction.

"Don't be afraid baby, it's just me" he says and keeps going, hooking his finger on the collar of my turtleneck to pull it to the side, no doubt searching for other marks.

"There's marks here too. I guess it's a good thing you stay home. Don't want to have to make up excuses for those now would you?" he says tapping under my chin twice, a slight lilt in his tone, enjoying my clear discomfort in showing them to someone, even if it's the person that's caused them.

"What did you do today baby?" he asks, letting go of me and going back to grab a few other things out of the fridge to complete his meal. "Oh you know, just some writing" I say, trailing off and giving him the same answer that I've given him time and time again.

"You almost done with it?" he questions, only really asking so he knows when my next big payday will be.

I shake my head "No, not yet. I think I'm only about halfway though" I say, giving simple answers to his simple questions. "Well you better get it out soon. I bet your readers are dying to know what happens next" he says giving me a quick wink before taking everything he has in his hands and carrying it over to the couch.

"Do you think you could grab me a beer?" he asks, but I know it's more of a courtesy than anything phrasing it like I actually had an option. I respond with a quiet yeah and bring it over to him, placing it on the coffee table.

"Thanks babe" he says and grabs a ahold of my hand and angles his head up, clearly asking for a kiss to which I oblige. Again something I don't really have an option in doing. "I missed you" he says and rubs his nose against mine cutely, or at least it used to be cute. Now it just makes me sad thinking of all of those times when we were happy.

"Are you gonna watch the game with me?" this time giving me something that I actually have a choice in. "I think I've got some more writing I'd like to do" I say and he nods his head not even bothering to look at me or give me a verbal sign of acknowledgment before turning on said game and slumping back into the couch to watch.

I walk over to my desk that happens to unfortunately be in the living room so I'm forced to grab my headphones to drown out the sound so I can hopefully get another chapter or two in before I call it a night.

~~~~~~

"Baby" I hear him call for me through my headphones after some time, that's something that I've had to fine tune. Making sure I can hear him when he talks to me no matter what so it's one less thing I have to worry about him getting upset about.

I pull out my headphones and turn my attention towards him, half expecting him to ask me to get him a beer. "Yes?" I reply, waiting to see what he needs. "Come here" he says holding his hand out to me and spreading his legs, showing me where he wants me.

I get up and walk towards him, straddling him once I get close enough and putting my arms around his neck. "Hi" he says in a deep voice sending a shockwave through my nervous system. "Hi" I respond quietly, intimidated at the thought of what he might do next. "How was the game?" I ask tentatively, hoping for my own sake that there was a favorable result.

"We won" he says, mindlessly tracing his hands up and down my curves. "How's your book?" he asks leaning into my neck, placing kisses over the bruises he had noticed from before. "

It's going" I whisper, starting to feel breathless from his warm breath fanning the sensitive parts of my skin. "Ready for a break?" he asks, question laced with a mischievous tone. I hum in acknowledgment, tilting my head to the side so he can have his fun.

~~~~~~

"I'm gonna head out but I'll be back later" Taehyung says while getting dressed with me still laying there with only a sheet to cover my body. "You're leaving?" I question, knowing he just said that but hoping he'll give me some sort of explanation.

"The guys wanted to meet up for a couple of drinks to talk about the game. Get some rest okay? I'll be back in a few hours" he says planting a soft kiss on my lips and one on my forehead.

I nod as he pulls the comforter over me as well, starting to already to drift off to sleep. "Stay safe" I mumble and flip over to the other side to try and get more comfortable.

He looks down at me for a second and chuckles at my fucked out and sleepy state before walking out of our bedroom and soon I'm left with the sound of him closing and locking the door behind him.

Although this night was bittersweet I'm thankful that it ended up like this. He's not a selfish lover when it comes to sex so I'm always left sleepy and satisfied except for the times that he's more rough, rough is putting it lightly so I guess I should say when he's more violent.

I hate thinking about those nights and I refuse to let those dark thoughts cloud this physical euphoric feeling I have but I can't help but worry about what he might actually be going out to do.

Would having a drink with the guys really make him want to leave his naked and freshly fucked wife alone in his bed? I just don't get it. If he's already been with me tonight could there be a possibility that he would wake up in another woman's bed and leave me waking up alone again tomorrow?

There's no use worrying about it though. It's not like it hasn't happened before, but why do I always let it get to me? Yes he's my husband but our marriage isn't like other ones in anyway shape or form. I'm here when he wants or needs me and that's it. I'm not allowed to want or need him because I'm just left disappointed every single time.

He doesn't love me, he just loves what I can give him and I need to come to terms with that. But it's nights like these where he's gentle and whispers sweet nothings in my ear that make me second guess things.

Maybe he's changed? Maybe he's realized what actually matters? And maybe I'm just getting my hopes up. I can't keep lying to myself but I don't know what else to do. I feel alone most days but these little glimmers of hope are what keep me holding on and unfortunately that's all I have left.

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bloodynereid · 6 months

Text

Forgotten Snows

pairing: cate dunlap x fem! reader

tw: mentions of andre, running away, swearing, kissing... that's literally it probably wow

description: cate decides to run away from her supe life, only to find a welcoming new home and maybe something more?

a/n: this low-key feels very rom-com-like lol. also sry for not getting to requests, this idea got stuck in my head and would not leaveee so i obv had to write it. hope you enjoy and lmk ur thoughts <3 ALSO WE NEED MORE CATE FICS PLS

Cate quickly readjusted her gloves and blew a few strands of blonde hair out of her face. The strong ocean wind beat relentlessly against her exposed cheeks and she cuddled closer into her thick white knit sweater. The cold of the metal railing bit into her arms, making Cate smile. She actually did it. She finally left.

After exposing The Woods and God U for what it was, Cate had made the executive decision to run away. She had caused so much hurt even when all she ever wanted to do was help people. The only person she told was Jordan. Her best friend who had clearly understood what she needed to do. Cate didn’t even tell Andre, fearing that he would somehow convince her to stay.

She didn’t know if she even loved him all that much anymore. Sure, she will always hold him dear to her heart but after everything… So she had scrounged up all the money she had been saving up, somehow coming up with a substantial amount to allow her to buy a little house in a remote island of Canada. It was located near the waterfront (only a 20 minute walk!) and overall the population of the island was about 200 people. Perfect.

Cate had even managed to find a job. Granted it didn’t pay as much as she would have been paid if she became a career supe but it would let her live comfortably for as long as she wanted. The job consisted of being a book editor for a random little online publishing house, which meant she could work remotely and totally online.

The remainder of her money was spent purchasing charter plane and ship tickets as well as a new, much warmer, wardrobe. She was basically moving into the Arctic Circle, which meant that her usual cardigans and shirts weren’t going to cut it.

Snow crunched under her sturdy boots as Cate hauled up her heavy suitcase along the gravel paths. A few hours ago she had finally arrived in the port of the island that she would now call home. Somehow she had been able to catch a car that was making its way in the general direction of her new house. Unfortunately for her, that same car dropped her off quite a few kilometers from her destination, but she couldn’t blame the elderly couple who looked like they were eager to finally get home.

Her supe stamina was the only thing that seemed to sustain her as she traveled the paths, constantly looking down at the map she had downloaded into her photos. Cate knew that her Google Maps probably would not work at all until she got closer to her new house. She didn’t expect there to be any signal on this island, except near specific houses or the three tiny towns.

The sun was starting to set by the time she had arrived at the path leading directly to her door. The lights inside the house were off but the porch light was on and smoke was coming out from the chimney. Furrowing her eyebrows, Cate turned to look at the house that sat a few paces away from her own and was surprised to see that a woman, about her age, was shoveling snow.

The woman had her headphones in but the gentle hum of her voice echoed through the expanse. She must be her new neighbor.

Cate smiled slightly before starting up her trek again. Finally seeing her destination had given the tired blonde a boost of energy. The clear path leading to her porch allowed Cate to pull her suitcase up more easily and after depositing it next to the door, she turned to look at the woman. Gravel poked into the soles of her boots as Cate made her way to her. Picking up a gloved hand she lightly tapped the woman’s right shoulder.

Soft folk music echoed through your old headphones. Shoveling snow was monotonous but necessary work. Especially with the newest addition to the island coming today. Cate Dunlap. Unfortunately estate agents weren’t really a thing on an island that sat in the midst of the Arctic Circle. So you had been the one to list everything online and figure a way to sift through all possible applications, which ended up being pretty scarce.

The second home, which your parents used to use as a guest house/office, had been listed for almost a year now. The only three applications you had gotten were from people who either seemed like escaped convicts or generally creepy men. Something that would not do if you were going to be living a few seconds away from them. But then a month ago a saving grace of an application arrived in your email.

Cate Dunlap, 21, single and was willing to move in as soon as possible. The letter that was attached as well as the recommendation made the decision for you. So here you were, after prepping everything inside the house - making sure it was warm enough and stocked up for the week, waiting for Cate to arrive.

What you didn’t seem to realize was that your old headphones were still pretty soundproof. The feeling of a hand against your thick work coat made a loud shriek come out of your mouth before you swiveled around, clutching your chest with one hand and pulling your headphones down with the other.

“Oh shit! I’m so sorry. I thought you-” Oh my God. Cate Dunlap was stunning. Her blonde hair was tucked under a black beanie and a white fisherman’s sweater peaked out from under her thick sage green coat.

“No, no I should be the one apologizing. I was literally expecting you, we just don’t get a bunch of people around here like… ever.”

“You were the one who did all this?” Cate asked as she gestured towards the house.

“Yup, I also stocked up food for like the next week or so.” Her mouth dropped in an incredulous expression.

“You really did not have to do that.”

“Of course I did! I sold you the house plus you deserve a warm-ish welcome to our wonderful little island.” You both let out a small chuckle and Cate continues to brilliantly smile at you.

“Wait, you were the seller? I didn’t realize that you would-”

“Also be living here? Yeah. Your new house was actually part of my family’s property since we built these two places. I’m just living here alone now, and I really don’t need all that space. So…”

“Woah, that’s so cool. It’s nice to actually have a local to help though, I haven’t lived in a place like this well ever.”

“I’ll be here if you ever need anything, and by anything I mean anything. Here, why don’t we get your stuff inside and I can get some tea ready?” You asked as you started to put your shovel away.

“Oh God yes, that sounds incredible right now.”

You pulled out a series of keys from your jacket pocket and swiftly got Cate’s house key out from the bunch. After giving the door a few firm pushes it flew open and the warm air started whooshing out.

“Here quickly, we don’t want the house to get cold.” You both laughed and Cate pushed her suitcase through the threshold. You pushed the door closed behind her and turned towards the blonde who was spinning around and marvelling at the surroundings.

Cate was completely taken aback by the house, she didn’t expect it to be so home-like already. Movie posters lined the entry of the house, stuff she had actually watched. The floor was hard-wood, which looked insanely expensive. Pulling her suitcase behind her, Cate took peeks at the different rooms that filled the house.

There was a living room which was covered in books, a desk and had stunning paintings covering the remaining walls, this was also where the fireplace was set. A bathroom with a full bath and shower, completely covered in what looked like hand painted tiles. The kitchen was similarly decorated but this time with bright blue tiles and had full appliances plus a huge pantry. Finally there was a bedroom at the end of the house, it was simple and much less decorated but looked cosy. The bed was covered in a variety of furs and there was an antique closet and vanity set. A space heater was also placed on one side of the room.

“So what do you think?” Came a questioning call from the threshold of the bedroom, spinning around she was met with the slightly nervous expression of her neighbor, even if her eyes shined with kindness.

“Oh my God it’s fucking incredible. Did you decorate it all by yourself? I didn’t even realize- wait, I’m so sorry. This was so rude of me but I never asked your name.”

“I’m Y/N L/N, at your service.” Y/N said as she gave Cate a mock bow, making both of them laugh. “And yup I had some extra time after my parents died and well renovating was a great distraction.” You added in a slightly more somber tone, with a wistful look in your eyes.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry.” Cate started to say as a sad look appeared in her eyes.

“No, don't be sorry. I- they both had cancer, which fucking sucks but I continue to do their work. I miss them you know? They didn’t deserve to leave the world so soon.”

“My parents are both absolute assholes but I understand where you’re coming from. My uh boyfriend… also died, he killed himself”

“Shit, that fucking sucks. I’m so sorry. Ok well let’s get some joy back in here. This is turning into a deeply angsty moment when we should be celebrating you coming here… so why don’t go unpack and I’ll get some tea on.”

“You really don’t have to do that.”

“I want to. Now shoo before I make you.” Cate shuddered slightly in pleasure as Y/N turned around and made her way to the kitchen. God, she thought you were absolutely drop dead gorgeous. How the hell was she going to be able to function with you looking like that?

The next few weeks were spent in pure bliss for you and Cate. You spent nights at each other’s houses, binging movies on respective laptops or just curling up on the couch reading books. Life had slowed down a bit more for you than Cate job-wise because summer season was coming to an end. That meant shorter days, less tourists and much colder nights.

“So you never actually told me what you do?” Cate had asked one night as you were tucked under the array of furs on your bed as wind and snow howled outside the window.

“Oh I’m a conservationist mostly but I also work at the National Park, giving tours and making sure the habitats of the animals are undisturbed. Other than that I also write a bit.”

“Ooo what do you write, I could get you a deal with my company.” Cate said as she twirled around in the bed to look at you as you threw your head back and a ringing laugh filled the room.

“I don’t think so. My stuff is absolute shit. It’s mostly short stories.”

“Oh come on, it’s not.” Cate said as she softly smacked your shoulder. “And you have to show me one of your short stories sometime.”

“No way.”

“Yes way.”

“No way.” That little playful argument was concluded when Cate pounced on you and started tickling you.

The first time that your relationship was tested (and very much strengthened) was on a random Tuesday. You had somehow managed to rope Cate into helping you with fixing up your little snowmobile. You sighed loudly and threw down the tools before moving your oil covered hands to smooth over your face, which was definitely a mistake. Now instead of just being frustrated you were also covered in engine oil.

“Shit, that looks…” You sent Cate a glare which had her raising her arms in defeat but still letting a small snicker out of her mouth. “Sorry! What exactly do you need help with?”

“There’s a damn bolt I can’t reach, I swear I need to get some kind of stand for this thing-” You cut yourself off as you watched Cate easily pick up the vehicle and turn to look at you. That was when she realized what she had just done.

“Okay, okay, so before you freak out-”

“How the fuck did you do that? Wait, are you one of those superheroes?” You asked quickly, it felt like the words were just flying right out of your mouth.

“I- uh fuck, yeah I am. Look, if you want to stop being my friend I’m totally fine with that. I’ll even move out-” Cate started to stutter out, panic encased her features making your face soften.

“Woah, woah, woah. Catey I think you’re fucking great. Who cares if you have a little extra something that most normal people don’t. Actually I think it’s pretty fucking cool okay? Don’t you dare leave.” You exclaimed with a passionate tone in your voice as you stepped closer and closer to Cate. You grabbed her hands and looked deeply into her eyes.

“I- I don’t want to leave either.”

“You bet your ass you don’t.” Cate let out a snort and smiled brightly at you. There was something in her eyes that made you take the next move. A move that you had been wanting to make ever since you first saw her.

Carefully moving your face towards hers, you watched to see if Cate was going to pull away, but she didn’t. No, instead she surged forward and grabbed your face with her soft gloves, kissing the very soul out of you.

It didn’t feel exactly like fireworks, it was so much better. It felt almost like experiencing the Northern Lights. An array of beautiful colors and sensations flew behind your closed eyes. It also felt like all your nights cuddled up in bed, sharing a hot chocolate that would sear your tongues with each sip. Cate felt like home.

whooo that was fun to write. i love her sm - anyways hope you all enjoyed it !!! if there are any inaccuracies, i literally tried to do a bunch of random research but i probably missed some stuff sry so just lmk.

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minustwofingers · 11 months

Text

exoplanet p.6 (ellie’s journals)

summary: you’ve won the life lottery as one of the few people on earth with parents who gained admittance to the most prestigous safezone in the world after the outbreak. but after a lab accident sends you out to jackson, wyoming, real life hits you fast. it’s a good thing that a hot lesbian finds u. (lol). mean ellie at first, slowburn, enemies to friends to lovers, fem reader asf

warnings: a significantly different writing voice! this is going to be a very different vibe from the other chapters since i had to write it as i imagine ellie would (which is a lot different than i do). slight nsfw content (mdni), language, mentions of violence/gore, angst, ellie’s pov is actually really depressing

a/n: soooo i know it’s been almost 3 months...and i’m really sorry about that! a lot of stuff happened in my life and i kind of fell off writing for quite some time. but i finish series, so i’m going to get through exoplanet in its entirety so i can finally give you all closure. some preliminary notes: know that these are modeled after how i imagine ellie would journal if she did journal this much. canonically she didn’t do that much writing that follows a narrative like it does here. i think it’s honestly a little ooc for her to be emotionally responsible enough to talk out her feelings, but given that there’s no other way to tell her side of the story (save for legit rewriting it from her perspective, which would take another 6 months or so and be horrifically repetitive), i decided to just suck it up and write it. i’m sorry if it sounds awkward, since she definitely doesn’t write in a voice that i have much experience with. the next chapter will be better!

word count: 5.5k

tags~ @intrnetdoll @dazedshoon @lovecaraya @pctcr @sariyaflowr @loser-keiji @prettyplant0 @666findgod @sawaagyapong @rystarkov @buzzybuzzsposts @addisonnie @galacticstxrdust @elliesbabygirl @pinkazelma @ariianelle @lu002 @blairfox04 @sparkleswonderland @elliesflower @muthafuckingstargirl @elliewilliamsissubermommyoml @eviestevie-14 @quicksilversg1rl @guacala @crtcrp @overtrred28

(i haven’t updated this yet bc my tags aren’t working)

a special special SPECIAL thanks to both @roarriita and @elliesflower for being soooo sexy and betaing for me. you both are so wonderful and helped me sm in feeling good enough to post this :)

without further ado, enjoy ellie’s journals!

January 20th, 2038

Today’s been…fucking…

I don’t even know where to start. I don’t get why this sort of shit always happens to me. First it was being bit and somehow surviving. Then it was getting carted off across the country. And now some girl basically falls out of the sky, claiming that she comes from some sort of paradise up North?

I’ll spare the immediate details. I don’t think I’ll forget the basic stuff—her name, the way she looked clutching at her knees in the clearing and shaking. That stupid shirt she had on and that expensive scarf.

I still want to believe that she’s just a liar who happened to get lucky with running into us, but even without Joel vouching for her story, I don’t think I’d ever be able to buy that she’d been living in the same world as us. I’ve never met someone without scars before. I didn’t know that there were people out there who didn’t have marked up arms and faces. Or people without calluses. Did you know that hands can be totally smooth?

Anyway. Tommy says that he’ll try and reach out across the contacts he has. Joel has her living right down the hall from me in the meantime, so now I have to share my bathroom. Hopefully the Terranovan authorities are good at finding people. She takes so fucking long to shower. It’s a wonder the whole compound still has hot water.

[One page of drawings follows: Dina smiling in the snow on her horse, Joel playing his guitar]

January 25th, 2038

Maria says that they’re thinking about breeding Shimmer soon. I know she told me because that means I’ll need to ride another horse for a little until she recovers and I know that we need another generation of foals, but it still made me cringe for Shimmer’s sake. She’s too free-spirited to be a mother. She doesn’t deserve that.

I went stargazing last night. It was pretty. Lots of shooting stars. I ran into the girl while I was coming back from the meadow. She gave me a weird look, and I could tell she wanted to ask me where I’d been but kept her mouth shut. Sometimes I regret dropping off that bag of clothes. I really fucking liked that gray sweatshirt, actually. I’m not even joking. It looks weird to see it on someone else.

[Half a page of drawing follows of the night sky with labeled constellations]

February 5th, 2038

Long time no see. I’ve been pretty busy with patrols and helping Maria with securing the walls. Joel made me try some of that coffee that our new house guest brought. It was just as awful as I remembered, but he seemed happy. So one point for the space girl. I guess.

Dina’s been hanging around more. She just broke up with Jessie (yes, again). She swears that it’s for good this time, but I’m not so sure. She also talks a lot about Y/N and what little detail she’s gathered about her life back in Terranova. I thought teasing her by asking her if she had a crush on Y/N would make her talk less about it, but it just made things worse.

I miss when things were normal.

[One page of drawings follows: one of Shimmer in cross-ties, another of a girl’s face, half-finished with the face scribbled out]

February 12th, 2038

Today I’m sad. I’m in bed with that book about astronomy that Joel nabbed for me on patrol a while ago and there’s a section I wanted to read that’s completely waterlogged. It shouldn't be a surprise. It’s decades old and has survived through an apocalypse. Normally things like this don’t bug me much because I’m so used to it. Half of my Savage Starlight collection is damaged. I don’t think I’ll ever find the first book to actually complete the series, and that’s okay, because I’ve never expected anything more. But now that I know that there’s a world out there where I’d never have problems like this, stuff like this hurts. It’s so stupid. I’m lucky to be alive. Compared to what’s left of the world population, I live a much cushier life than most. But for the first time in a while, I’m wishing for more.

“Greed is the enemy of happiness” is what Maria would say if I ever said this kind of shit out loud. But is it really? Or is it just realizing what life can be?

[Half a page of a drawing of the solar system, with each planet labeled]

February 22nd, 2038

Maria let me pick the sire for Shimmer’s foal. It felt kind of gross, to be honest. I asked Maria if there was any way for Shimmer to choose and I was only sort of joking, but she just laughed anyway and patted my back. I won’t have to worry about finding a new horse for another two seasons or so, she told me. It’ll be weird not having her for a little.

She also told me that there was still no word from anyone who knew anything about Terranova. She said this to me in this placating voice, like she thought that I was going to punch a hole in the wall or something after hearing it. That seems to be common when it comes to people talking about Y/N and me. I don’t know why so many people think I don’t like her staying with us.

I don’t, by the way. Let me be clear. But I mostly feel indifferent about her now. She doesn’t bother me as much anymore, not since she started getting out of the house. I think she might be helping in the gardens, but I’ve never actually asked. We don’t talk a whole ton. I don’t think she likes me all that much.

[A drawing of Shimmer’s head poking over her stall door that takes up one page]

March 2nd, 2038

Today was finally our first nice day of the year. I would’ve enjoyed it more if the bird that lives in the tree outside my window hadn’t blown me out of bed at 4 in the fucking morning. I’m exhausted now. It’s been a long day. Joel says I need to take Y/N out on patrol soon. Why, I have no idea. Maybe he just wants me to actually befriend her or something, and I do nothing but patrols now. He can’t possibly expect her to be a good patrol partner.

Thankfully, I checked the logs when I came back. The route he wants me to cover with her has been the quietest all season. I doubt we’ll run into anything. If we do, I’ll probably be able to handle it. Hopefully.

[Half a page of doodles, mostly of nature and wildlife with the exception of a half-finished doodle of an arm clad in a fabric that drapes like silk and a hand with polished nails]

March 3rd, 2038

Many surprising things were learned today. I can’t believe it’s illegal to be gay in Terranova. Sorry. I shouldn’t laugh. It’s just—out of all the things they could be bothered by, it’s that? Really?

March 12th, 2038

I haven’t been good at journaling recently. I don’t really want to talk about why. You know why.

[Six pages of drawings, with many unfinished doodles of Y/N—including but not limited to her on her horse, her reading on the couch, and one with her sitting in what is a very loose interpretation of a classroom, taking notes]

March 13th, 2038

I will feel more normal tomorrow. Hopefully.

[Two pages of drawings, all of Y/N. One is her bent over a book, the other is her smiling up at you]

March 14th, 2038

I did something really stupid. I think I should probably just document this here so I don’t accidentally drunkenly spill it all out to Dina at the next bonfire. This is so embarrassing. I don’t get why I feel this way. It’s so stupid, you know? To feel anything towards someone who’s so…I don’t know. Different.

She gives me the weirdest looks sometimes. I can’t tell what they mean. It feels like she’s judging me. And why wouldn’t she be? I bet all the girls she spends her time around back home are just like her—perfect, orderly, pretty, proper. The day before I took her patrolling she gawked at the shorts I was wearing. It was borderline offensive. Actually, fuck that. It wasn’t borderline. It was offensive. You don’t just stare at people like that. She should know that.

Anyway, I invited her over to my room last night. Normal, right? Because we’ve been doing that a little since I took her on patrol, by the way. I’m not sure if I mentioned that before. But this time I’m pretty sure she thinks I’m…I don’t know. Creepy? Strange? Scary? She told me that she thought I was intimidating. And then I called her “untouched”, like how some old-timer devout Christian wackjob or whatever would describe virginity. It was so fucking weird of me. I don’t know what got into me, but she kept doing this thing where she kicked my foot with hers or touched my knee and it just threw me off. It took me forever to fall asleep last night—I kept replaying what I’d said to her, especially how I’d told her that she wouldn’t have made it if she were me like I was some sort of hardcore survivalist. I think I embarrassed her. I’m never doing anything like this again. I’m going to be dead sober every time I see her from now on.

I’ll stop talking about that. Y/N did come back after I’d made a fool of myself and showed me her collection of movies, so maybe it wasn’t so bad. I haven’t watched any movies since I was with Cat. When we first started dating, I’d invite her over and she’d sit right where Y/N did last night. I’m trying to not think of the implications, because it’s space girl, and she’s going home sometime soon.

[Three pages of drawings follow—some nature drawings of ferns and moths, others of Y/N with wet hair, her knees tucked up to her chin like she’d been in Ellie’s bed that night]

March 19th, 2038

It’s the Spring Equinox. That’s the first thing Y/N told me this morning when she saw me in the kitchen this morning. She gave me a mini lecture on what that meant for the planet’s axis tilt and I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I already knew, since she seemed really excited to tell me.

I made a horrible discovery yesterday, by the way. Maria came up to me and told me that Tommy had decided to reach out to some of his other buddies up North to see if they had any connections to Terranova, and for the first time, I felt myself hoping that it wouldn’t work.

It’s awful. I shouldn’t be thinking like this. Even in Jackson, where things are comparatively much better than the rest of the world, there’s risk. Just this winter, one family had to be kicked out when they were found hiding an infected son. No one here is completely safe, just safer. I shouldn’t be selfish. Y/N needs to go where she’s meant to be, where there’s no chance of infection or invasion. I’ll be fine. I just need to get over whatever this is.

Speaking of her, I need to go get her to tell her that we’re heading out on patrol in just a few minutes. Fingers crossed she doesn’t accidentally shoot me, but Joel swore up and down that she knows how to handle a gun now. Sure. Haha.

I’m back. It’s the middle of the night and she only just left my room. I don’t know how much detail I need to go into—chances are I won’t forget this. But for bookkeeping purposes: patrol did not go so hot. I had to give her stitches without any local anesthesia. I’ve never given stitches to anyone nearly in my lap before. I was really nervous, too. I don’t think I’ve ever had to focus so much on keeping my hands steady when it came to stitching someone up before, not even with Joel.

I’m starting to think that maybe I was wrong about thinking that she didn’t like me. I still can’t tell exactly what she thinks of me, and I know that it’s a really bad fucking idea to be entertaining thoughts like these, but tonight she did something that made me reconsider. She got under the covers with me, and instead of moving away to keep us from touching, she rested her head next to mine on the pillow.

I hope she couldn’t hear how much my heart was racing. People can’t hear that kind of stuff, right? Even if they’re close?

I’m being ridiculous. There’s no way she—No. She doesn’t see me like that.

March 21st, 2038

She rested her head on my shoulder today. I don’t know what to think of it. If she was normal and grew up like the rest of us did, I would know exactly what to think. But she’s not normal, and it’s not fair of me to treat her like she is. Maybe this is, like, a culturally acceptable thing back from where she grew up. Maybe rich people just cuddle each other all the time. I wouldn’t fucking know, and unfortunately no one in this godforsaken town can help, because there’s a distinct lack of what Maria calls the “bourgeoisie”. They’re all either dead or back where Y/N grew up, doing whatever rich snobs do.

Even if it is normal for her, I feel like I can’t stop analyzing everything she does. She seems more nervous around me than she does anyone else, but she lingers like she can’t help herself. I’ve noticed that she stumbles over her words and touches me much more than is really necessary. Or at least I think she does—maybe I’m just imagining things.

But even if it means what I think it does, I can’t let myself think like this. It’s not fair to her. No one deserves to live here if they have the choice. At least the people out here know how to handle it. She doesn’t, and I don’t want her to turn into the type of person who does.

When I stitched her up and teased her about being weak and sensitive, I think she thought I was insulting her. I try not to think about it, but if I let myself wallow too much, I’ll wonder what kind of person I’d be if I wasn’t so jaded. Maybe I’d draw more, or read more, or write more. Maybe I’d be an easier person to love. I didn’t get to choose how I turned out. It just happened to me.

So if she has the choice, I’m going to do everything I can to help her make the right one. I don’t want her to be like this.

March 29th, 2038

I had a dream about Riley last night. I haven’t had one of those in years, not since I was traveling with Joel. We were back in the mall, and Riley had just turned the lights on as a surprise. I had this feeling then, like I was being given a second chance. That I could set things straight and do what was right. I woke up before I could insist that we leave.

[A drawing takes up half of the next page. It’s a crude depiction of the mall Riley turned in.]

April 4th, 2038

It’s the middle of the night again. I can’t sleep. I’m so disappointed with myself about what I did tonight with Y/N. At the time, it seemed like a really good idea. She likes me back, apparently. I was right about everything that I wrote about earlier, I guess. But it certainly doesn’t feel like I thought it would.

It’s not like there’s no part of me that isn’t thrilled that she feels the same way. That’s why I gave in and slept with her. But even when she told me how she felt, even before I completely lost my self-control, something heavy was already hanging over me. Regret, maybe. Or guilt. I don’t know. What I do know is that this can’t last. I can’t make this good for her like I want to. She needs to go back, and she needs to be able to feel like she can make that choice without feeling like she’s leaving anything good behind.

I’m not a spiritual person. but even so, I can’t help but feel like that dream of Riley was a sign. This is my second chance. I’m not going to fuck it up this time. I’ve already been an accomplice of so much suffering. Y/N is going home, and I’ll never see her again when she does. That’s that.

It took all I had left in me in the end to kick her out. She looked so hurt, and the fact that she tried to hide it made it even worse. I wish I could tell her why this can’t work, but I don’t think she’d understand.

[A drawing of Y/N kissing Ellie’s palm follows, her hair slightly mussed]

April 6th, 2038

I need to stop making rash decisions like knocking on her door late at night and asking her to come over. I really don’t know what’s gotten into me, because whenever I see her now, I can’t help but freeze up. Like last night, when she kissed me and touched my face and told me she thought I was a good person. I panicked and told her—well, nevermind. I don’t really want to repeat it here. It was mean, but I didn’t know what else I could do to get her to stop.

She was already tearing up by the time she left. I had to sit down and breathe deeply for a few minutes before I was sure I wasn’t going to be sick. I don’t really think I want to write more about this right now. It just makes me sad how unfair this all is. Of course the one time after Cat that I meet someone I really like it just has to be in one of the cruelest scenarios possible. I just have no idea what to do.

[Five pages of drawings follow of Y/N in bed, her head tilted back against the pillow, her eye’s half lidded, and her mouth slightly agape. Ellie redraws this multiple times, x-ing out parts that don’t seem quite right]

April 10th, 2038

I know this is none of my business, but she’s been spending a lot of time with Dina lately. She nearly got herself killed getting a gift for me with Dina yesterday, which feels like some sort of especially cruel joke. The universe isn’t being very fucking subtle right now.

If what I’m worried about is right, at least Dina has the option to come with her up North. She’d test negative.

April 20th, 2038

I would really like it if I could have one short break from the misery that’s my life right now. I turned 20 yesterday, accidentally introduced Y/N to my ex, proceeded to get much drunker than I meant to, completely fell off my rocker and asked Y/N to stay the night, and then discovered this morning that not only has Terranova found Y/N but that my strategy of keeping Y/N at arm’s length completely failed.

She wants me to come with her, and she’s threatening to stay here otherwise. I did the only thing that I could think to do and snapped at her.

I’m so tired of this. I hate having to act like I don’t care. This is the third time now that I’ve had to say something nasty to her to keep her from getting too close. I just want to get in bed and sleep until she leaves and I can pretend like nothing ever happened and that everything is normal.

[One page of drawings of Y/N passed out in her bed and Y/N grinning while holding a lopsided cake]

April 28th, 2038

I know I haven’t been writing much again. Sorry about that. I just can’t bear to think about my life right now. I know I should be relieved—this is what I wanted. I wanted her to go where it’s best for her.

But there’s still that selfish part of me that keeps me up at night. Y/N is going to leave this place never knowing how I feel about her. Logically, that should be what I want. This way I won’t need to say a real goodbye. I know I won’t need to now, since she doesn’t want to talk to me anymore. It’s really fucking immature of me to be so hurt by what she must think of me now, but I can’t stop.

I wonder how long it will take for me to stop feeling sad about this. I’ve never had to process anything like this where there’s nothing I can do. With Riley and Sam, I at least got to heal from the knowledge that I was going to help make the vaccine to save the world. But losing Y/N just because of where we come from is totally meaningless. I can go forward knowing that I made it easy for her to make the right decision, but that only goes so far.

I don’t know how I’m going to handle this. I’m going to practically live with Dina so I don’t need to be alone for the first few weeks.

I wish May 8th would just come already so she can go away and I can get on with my life.

May 1st, 2038

Things have changed some. Joel cornered me in the kitchen last night and told me that I needed to grow up and just appreciate the rest of the time I had left with Y/N. I was going to agree and try to walk past him, but he stopped me and told me that he needed me to escort Y/N. I guess he’s right. She can’t go alone, and Joel and Tommy are getting a little too old for week-long expeditions into the wilderness.

He also told me that I need to apologize to her and make things right, saying shit like I’d regret it forever if things ended between us like this. I don’t want to admit it, but I think he’s right. When I told him that she’d originally threatened to stay if I didn’t go with her, he blinked, hard. Then he told me that he had an idea.

I’m faking it. I’m telling her that I’m going, even though I’m going to leave her when she gets picked up. I don’t know how I’m going to pull it off. When I told her in the meadow last night, she was so happy. I know it’s really sappy and cliche to say this, but I felt my heart shatter, bit by bit. I’m not a very good liar, not to people who are important to me. But I suppose I’ve been lying to her all this time, kicking her out of my room and telling her that I didn’t want anything more with her.

I can do this, I think. I have to do this, or else she might threaten to stay, and I don’t think I have it in me to be cruel again. Not to her. I guess I’ll just trick myself into feeling like I’m actually coming with her, like we have a chance of actually being together. I don’t know. We’ll see.

[One drawing of Y/N laying down in the meadow that takes up half a page]

May 3rd, 2038

It’s easier than I expected. Y/N sleeps over in my room at night, and if I don’t think too hard about it, I can pretend like things will always be like this.

I’m getting to be such a sap, though. I almost broke down in the bathroom today while I was getting ready. It was over the stupidest thing—a toothpaste bottle. Y/N always folds it so neatly, making a perfect, tight spiral of plastic near the end. It used to really bother me when I first had to share with her (because who does that—it’s weird and doesn’t do anything since she doesn’t manage to squeeze out the extra in the bottom anyways), but the thought of throwing it out when it finally emptied and having to find another one that’ll never be folded again hit me and suddenly I was counting my inhales and exhales. I don’t really give a shit about toothpaste. It’s just that it was the moment that I realized that she’s really going to be gone soon, you know? Slowly but surely, the evidence of her stay here will be wiped away and replaced. Someday I’ll forget all the little details about her.

She’s knocking on my door. I need to stop being so depressed and go see her before she picks up that something’s wrong.

[One small doodle of Y/N smiling and rolling her eyes while brushing her teeth]

May 6th, 2038

Dina’s coming now. Y/N told me this morning after she went to say goodbye. I feel really shitty about this. I guess I should tell her that I’m not going now, because this way Y/N needs to go home to get Dina the help she needs, but I just can’t bring myself to. I’ll have to escort both of them to the pickup spot anyway since Dina’s weaker now that she’s pregnant, and the thought of having to spend a full week with Y/N after she knew I lied to her makes my skin crawl. I can’t tell who I’m trying to protect by doing this—me or her. Maybe both.

I’m losing my two favorite people here, and they don’t even know it yet. But this is the best option. This is my chance to finally do some good in the world.

May 7th, 2038

I’m about to go stargazing with Y/N for the last time. I don’t think I’ll be writing in here again until I get back. I don’t want to risk losing this while I’m out in case something crazy happens. Which it probably will, but I canonically happen to be really good at living when shit hits the fan. Also—I don’t imagine Y/N to be a particularly nosy person, but if she ever came across this and thought it was a book or something, it would make things really awkward. So, you’re staying tucked carefully under my bed until I come back later this month.

I don’t know how to handle this sort of goodbye. I don’t really know how to handle any sort of goodbye, I guess, but at least I’ve been through them before. I may not do it well, but I know how to live when people I love die. But this isn’t like that. No one is dying (hopefully), and more importantly, I know it’s a goodbye this time. I see it coming on the horizon and I can’t even tell anyone about it. How does anyone deal with that? How does anyone cope?

Y/N’s knocking on my door now. I need to go before I start thinking even more and do something stupid like start crying or whatever.

I’ll be back in about two weeks.

June 1st, 2038

Sorry for not writing. It’s been pretty shitty, actually. It took me 5 extra days to get home because some scavengers gave me trouble. I hardly slept for most of them. I ran out of ammo about 4 days out and had to use my knife for everything I ran into until I was able to raid the cabinets of this abandoned cabin. Nearly got taken out by a clicker, too. It was not fun. It was especially not fun because I was not feeling super great to begin with, for obvious reasons.

Things haven’t gotten any better since getting back to Jackson. Y/N didn’t take her stupid Exoplanetary Systems textbook and now I’m struggling with whether or not I should throw it out. The rational side of me says to keep it because it was published after the outbreak and probably contains updated information that isn’t anywhere else. The rest of me doesn’t even want to look at the stars anymore because it reminds me of her.

It’s really hard not to blame her for ruining everything. I can’t go out and ride my own horse without thinking about the first time we went on patrol together and she dropped my gun and nearly killed one of us. And I can’t even relax in my own home, because I’ve spent almost every night with her since March in my bed. Sometimes when I hear a creak in the middle of the night I assume it’s her walking down to the bathroom or getting water until it hits me again that she’s never coming back.

I know I’m being melodramatic. There are many other worse problems I could be having right now. But I don’t even have my best friend anymore. I wonder if Dina and Y/N are angry with me for lying. I wonder if they’re settling in okay. I hope that Y/N manages to fix whatever her research was and that Dina gets better.

[Twenty pages of drawings of Y/N and Dina together. Some are snippets of them on their expedition to the pickup site. Others are pictures of Y/N and Dina walking around with smiles on their faces in what looks to be a city]

June 21st, 2038

It’s been over a month since I’ve last seen her. I had a breakdown while getting ready for bed when I realized that I didn’t remember what her voice sounded like anymore.

[Ten pages of half-finished drawings, each with its face scribbled over]

June 28th, 2038

I don’t think I really remember what she looks like—not exactly. I’ve been trying to draw her because I’m still in the habit of making decisions that are definitely not good for my mental state. I just can’t do it, and it isn’t for the lack of trying. Every time I get to her eyes I keep drawing something that looks wrong, but I can never tell why. I compare it to my earlier drawings of her from when we first met and it feels like meeting her for the first time again.

Joel says it’ll pass and that he’s proud of me for doing the right thing. Jessie and I have been hanging out more. Even if he won’t admit it, I can tell he’s miserable without Dina. But he understands why she had to go—just like how I feel about Y/N. And Dina too, of course. Jackson feels like a ghost town without her.

July 17th, 2038

I haven’t been writing or drawing in here for a while, I know. I was going to just go ahead and start a new journal—you know the one that Maria gave me for Christmas with the dark blue cover—but it didn’t feel right to just stop without explaining. Otherwise I’ll feel like an asshole for wasting so much paper.

I don’t want to move on from what happened with Y/N and Dina. I really don’t, but I don't think I have a choice. If I keep going on like this, I’ll never be able to live normally again. I’m just sick and tired of being sad all of the time. So I’m not going to write here anymore. I don’t think it’s realistic for me to forget all about it, because I don’t want to forget her. Not really. But I guess if I want to get better, I’ll need something different. So, here’s that. The beginning of my fresh start. “Fresh start” and you call me overdramatic!! haha. Y/N was here!

(You left this on your nightstand. I promise I didn’t read too much. I opened it because I thought it was your sketchbook. I’m going to put this back since I hear you walking down the hall now.)

ok as an aside my blog is broken so my stuff isn’t notifying people when i tag/showing up on dashes or in tags. please reblog if you’re comfortable so people can actually find this! thank you!

final a/n: i totally get it if this wasn’t quite your cup of tea this time—i just really wanted to iron out ellie’s pov before their reunion in the end. which is happening and not a spoiler because i have always promised a hea! this was a change in pace for the story and i promise you that the next chapter will be more normal/align more with my normal writing style. i have also changed my mind (probably) and have decided to stick with writing an epilogue! so two more chapters are coming before this is totally over. thank you so much for waiting and being so patient! i love you all dearly ok bye bye now

#ellie williams x reader #exoplanet #not adding tags because i’ll eventually repost #this is just for people who want to read!

312 notes · View notes

nightgoodomens · 8 months

Text

So how about a one shot where Aziraphale realises he has hots for Crowley getting his hands dirty?

😈😈😈😈

Aziraphale decided that he really should have fallen a very long time ago.

He never out loud admitted that he was putting himself in danger to get Crowley to save him - or in other words - to see him. It would probably be seen as pathetic or blasphemous considering he was pretending to be a poor Angel in need of saving by a Demon. But Crowley always showed up and never judged him and Aziraphale wondered if he knew.

He probably did. Crowley was a cheeky bastard but for some reason never tried to tease him about this, so Aziraphale decided he went along with it because he liked saving him. Or he liked him.

Hey, it worked for every heroine in the book. That’s where he got the idea from in the first place. They were always saved by the handsome bad boy that was only soft for them. Aziraphale decided to test out the little fantasy - and it worked. He liked the feeling of being rescued, he always struggled to pretend that he doesn’t really need the help, because his face was probably beaming from happiness. It wasn’t just the rescuing, it was seeing the demon and knowing he might be able to spend a few hours in his company.

But those days were long over. Now he and that demon had their own cottage and there was nothing to be rescued from… apart from a neighbour who tried to stick her nose in their business and Crowley found it funny until she said a mean thing to Aziraphale and he snapped at her in a way that ensured she never bothered them again.

Aziraphale was content and happy. They really finally had their peace. And he had Crowley all for himself.

Things were so peaceful in fact that he forgot that Crowley was a tempting creature. Aziraphale was used to him, he knew his flirt, he knew the seduction. He was lucky to have all of this in his normal everyday life.

But what was infuriating was that Crowley didn’t know of all the ways he was seductive when he wasn’t trying.

Or perhaps Aziraphale really should have fallen because he had a goddamn dirty mind.

Six thousand years! This is how long he knew the demon for, but only when they got the cottage he found out that Crowley was very much into sorting things out himself. He worked on the Bentley. He fixed the boiler. He fixed their appliances. He was so good at figuring things out.

And Aziraphale should had been a good partner who appreciated having such a hands on partner. Instead he felt himself swallowing hard seeing him working without a T-shirt on, sweat and dirt smudged across the uncovered body, as he twisted his slim hips to get behind the old boiler which played up again.

Or… it might have been… Aziraphale who broke it.

Why was he finding it so hot?! It was Crowley! He was hot and sexy and Aziraphale could have him whenever he wanted since that demon was last to say no, cheeky grin on his face majority of the time. They had a lot of years to catch up on, that was their excuse.

Yet somehow that bloody snake was not catching up that Aziraphale was breaking things on purpose to see him twisting, half naked and dirty.

Not even when he convinced Bentley to suddenly start losing oil because good lord Crowley covered in black smudges.

“You know what?” Crowley spoke up, one hand on the boiler, hot, sweaty and dirty. “I think we need to call someone over. I am clearly doing something wrong if it keeps on breaking. We can’t live here like this, it gets so hot. I’m sweating! I’ve never sweat in my life!”

“What?” Aziraphale’s voice was way too high. “Don’t be ridiculous, you’re perfect.”

Crowley would have given him a surprised look normally, but he was too busy wondering what was wrong with the boiler.

Aziraphale wondered if his miracle was a bit too good this time. They were really getting too easy for him to do at this stage.

God, help me.

God was probably laughing her ass off at him.

“It’s not that hot.” Aziraphale waved his hand dismissively.

“Angel. We are melting.” Crowley looked at him surprised, finally.

His hair was stuck to his forehead.

God, forgive me, for I am going to sin so badly, Aziraphale breathed.

God was definitely laughing now.

“What’s up?” Crowley was suddenly right in front of his face. Aziraphale groaned. “You’re being really weird.”

Get the hint you bloody demon.

“I am not weird!” Aziraphale scoffed, trying to be offended but his hands were touching Crowley’s chest, so that didn’t work out.

“You’re going to get your hands dirty, Angel.” Crowley said, still not getting the hint.

“I don’t mind.”

Crowley looked confused for a moment, but he finally did get the hint -when Aziraphale’s hands reached his belt and pulled him closer.

“Angel.” Crowley’s face turned into that smug smirk that Aziraphale loved but would never admit it. “Are you trying to tell me you like me like this?”

“Only for the past three months, dear.” He unlocked his belt and threw it to the floor.

Crowley laughed delighted. “You’re the one who keeps on breaking everything.”

“Possibly.”

“Aziraphale.”

“Just take your pants off, Crowley.”

He wasn’t planning to worship God tonight.

#good omens #crowley #ineffable fandom #good ineffable omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable boyfriends #ineffable dumbasses #ineffable idiots #ineffable lovers #aziraphale #aziracrow

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michanvalentine · 21 days

Text

Things about Vincent Valentine that I read around and piss me off. Vol.2

"Vincent was too shy and passive. He is an idiot."

Usually in reference to his attitude towards Lucrecia after the breakup. As if he could somehow save his relationship with her (and thus prevent everything else). I say yes, perhaps he could have sought further clarification, but for me the situation has never been so simple and linear.

Ok, let's start from the beginning. First of all, Vincent is a sensitive and intelligent person, with an above-average education. A person who thinks a lot, even too much. So calling him an idiot, especially in such a context, is really having a superficial reading of the character. Honestly, this statement bothers me a lot even when it is extended to the other part: Lucrecia. But that's another story... Secondly, let's remember that the two had a real relationship. In DoC Vincent was never a sort of stalker fixated on Lucrecia despite the unrequited love, as he might have appeared in the OG (unless the remake wants to tell yet another story.) Even Hojo was aware of their love story, in fact when Lucrecia pronounces the fateful "Yes, doctor" he says: "So you've come to your senses and chosen me." And I don't think Hojo was exactly the type to care about gossip.

That said, I would add my interpretation on Vincent's "passivity". A while ago I read a comment, something like: Lucrecia went with Hojo to gauge how much Vincent cared about her, since she thought he hated her due to the Grimoire's death. So she was waiting for Vincent to react and take her away from Hojo, but Vincent was just too shy and passive to do something so outrageous. I couldn't help but respond to this comment like this: This would be a really sick way of demanding attention. In this case Lucrecia would be truly mentally ill and Vincent would simply be a sane person who behaves properly. I believe there are several biases in this regard. First and foremost, the old-fashioned concept of Prince Charming rescuing the damsel in distress. Which I hate. Secondly I don't think Lucrecia left Vincent because she thought he despised her for the Grimoire incident. Otherwise she wouldn't have needed to push him away, because in that case Vincent himself would have been the one to leave her. No, the reasons are different:

Feelings of guilt led her to think she couldn't be by his side. As if Vincent didn't deserve someone as bad as her in his life.

Every time she looked at Vincent, given the extreme similarity, she saw Grimoire again and remembered the event that had traumatized her.

Obviously Lucrecia didn't put Vincent to the test, she was determined to put as much distance as possible between her and Vincent because she felt it was right for him and too painful for her to continue. Stop. The relationship with Hojo is an addition, but also desired for other reasons. She neither expected nor wanted to be saved. Not to mention that Vincent is not Lucrecia's father and had neither the responsibility nor the duty to do so. She is an adult. Certainly, by breaking off their relationship, Lucrecia has also made a decision for Vincent. He didn't object, he passively accepted and stepped aside. But are we sure he could have done otherwise? Are we sure he could change Lucrecia's mind? How exactly? Young Vincent was naive and introverted, but Vincent's passivity in this case was also determined by other factors. Maybe he could have made his feelings about Grimoire's death and about Lucrecia more clear. But at the same time I think it wasn't necessary, because they were obvious. It's Lucrecia who no longer knows what her true feelings are. And she will only be able to clarify them for herself later, in fact at the end of DoC she will confess to Vincent: "I finally realized my true feelings. Even if you may never understand them".

But let's analyze the facts and see how they unfolded. Given the above, at first Lucrecia was so focused on herself due to guilt that she was numb to everything else. Even to Vincent. In DoC, when Vincent discovers the file on Grimoire, Lucrecia yells at him to "stop it". She doesn't want to listen and at the same time she doesn't give him a chance to express himself. Likewise, after apologizing to him, she ran away without giving him a chance to reply. And let's remember that out of the blue he was left by the love of his life for no valid reason, at least from his point of view. Not to mention that Grimoire's death must have been painful for him too. Reacting is not easy when you are confused, grieving and heartbroken. From that moment on, Vincent Valentine was completely cut out of Lucrecia's life. Lucrecia keeps him at a distance, due to points 1 and 2 above, and as a final barrier she puts Hojo in the middle (of course, the scientist is there too for other reasons). In the scene around the table, when Vincent asks her "if she's sure", Hojo really seems like a wall between the two that still prevents direct confrontation. And Lucrecia appears clearly angry that he has come forward with objections. At the Shinra Mansion Vincent Valentine seems to have no say in anything. Lucrecia doesn't give him the chance to argue, Hojo first rudely silences him because he's just a Turk and then definitively closes his mouth with a bullet. But even if silenced, Vincent's feelings and intentions remain evident. Even Hojo knew them, in fact when he discovers that Lucrecia is experimenting on Vincent's body he says: "How happy this fellow must be. Helping his beloved even after he's begun rotting away." Lucrecia herself, through her data, at a certain point in DoC will say: "I pushed you away, but… now I realize, I never wanted to lose you." And again later: "I made so many mistakes. And I hurt you so, so much. Why did I do what I did?" Deep down Lucrecia knew she had pushed him away for her own personal reasons, and not because he despised her or anything. She knew she had made a mistake, of having been blinded by fear and guilt, that she had mortified his feelings and that she had made him suffer for it, especially because the breakup had been practically forced on him. So I repeat: should he continue to chase Lucrecia, proclaiming his love like a crazy in the hope of changing her mind? Let's pretend he had the opportunity (always excluding kidnappings or ambushes). He could have to, yes, but in addition to reiterating the obvious and saying things already known even to the person concerned (after all, if there is something imperishable, capable of overcoming pain, time and even death, it is the love that Vincent Valentine feels for Lucrecia), she probably wouldn't have listened to him anyway. Because, as Vincent would say, "she was always like that, only believing what she wanted to."

#vincent valentine #ff7 #ff7 rebirth #ffvii #ffvii rebirth #final fantasy rebirth #final fantasy vii #final fantasy vii rebirth #final fantasy 7 #lucrecia crescent #final fantasy 7 rebirth

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y13evie · 9 months

Note

I had an idea for a James Wilson fic and saw ur requests were open.

U don't have to do it ofc uts just an idea :]

So ig it's a kinda enemies to lovers thing where the reader constantly pisses off Wilson and she's absolutely convinced she annoys him sm there's no chance of him liking her.

Then smt happens (dunno what) and the reader is upset abt smt and is hiding from everyone as she has a breakdown and Wilson somehow finds her and.... ye

Again u don't have to do it but ye

anon this is so cutesy wutesy. i tried my best n i hope you like it!! also i’m sosos sorry for the wait.

tags: no mentions of y/n, slight angst, mentions of cancer and dead people and heart attacks, otherwise just fluffy

“do you always have that stupid smile plastered across your face?”, james wilson asked. you’re pretty damn sure he would erase you off the face of this planet if given the chance.

“only for you”, and you were proud of it.

because the both of you were in the oncology department together, it gave you plenty of opportunity to bug him. at first you truly didn’t mean to, small things like bumping into him at the wrong time. but instead of letting your feelings become shot due to his scolding, you embraced it. you make it your goal to do something that you know will annoy james.

today was friday and the two of you had been assigned the same case. the patient at hand had stage 3 soft tissue sarcoma. their condition wasn’t great, but vitals were fine. you were talking with a nurse about what steps to take moving forward with his treatment. out of the corner of your eye you saw that familiar face. the two of you beckon the other doctor over. it seems as if he was trying to ignore you, the way he hesitantly made his way over to you two.

“please, make it quick.” he huffed. the nurse explained the case while you stood there for a moment deciding on whether taking his stethoscope was a good idea. you decided it was and quickly took the device from off his neck and onto yours. you put your hands on your hips and contorted your face to look angry. james was not having it as he quickly tried to get it back. but you were faster than him and was able to keep it.

“you might think that’s funny but it’s unprofessional. i don’t understand how you’re allowed to work with adults when you act like a child.”. his comment seemed to kill the mood as the other nurse walked off, leaving just the two of you. deciding that he’d had enough you unwrapped the equipment from your neck and handed it back. james snatched it from you, looking you up and down in distaste.

“do your job. it’s doctors like you that kill patients”. his tone was harsh. it pierced your heart a little bit. ever since you had first joined the hospital crew, you always sort of looked up to him. he was so intelligent and seemed to always know what he was doing. and you hated the fact he implied that you were killing patients. the people you work so hard to save.

you tried to brush his words off, telling yourself he’s just a grump and didn’t mean anything by it. you continued your day as usual. you only had a couple patients today so it was a relaxed day. that was until the patient from earlier had a rapid decline in health. he suffered a massive heart attack and the team was not able to save him. you stood there as the doctors repeated his time of death. you’ve lost many lives before and you know it was just apart of your job, but something stuck to you.

“it’s doctors like you that kill patients”. his words rang throughout your mind like a gunshot. you made your way to the break room and curled up on the couch with your head in your hands. quiet sobs left your mouth. maybe he was right. maybe all this time you weren’t good enough. at this point you had fully convinced yourself that it was your fault. if only you had payed more attention to his history. if only you had searched deeper into his files, then maybe. just maybe, you could’ve found something to prevent this from happening.

the screech of the door opening had pulled you from your thoughts. you looked up to see him. james wilson. james was able to read the hurt expression on your face. he stared for a moment, taking in the situation.

“it’s not your fault”

you got up and started your way to the door with tears threatening to fall once again. james moved so you were unable to exit.

“dr. wilson, please-“ you practically begged him to move. but he wouldn’t budge. instead, his eyes softened and face relaxed. he looked worried. you tried once more to leave the room but jus as expected, you failed.

“i’m sorry.” he took a deep breath before continuing. “you’re an amazing doctor. you love your patients. i know you do. and you’re a good person. i want you to know that. every time you bother me i secretly enjoy it because i’m able to see you happy.”. he paused for a moment, waiting for your response.

shocked at the fact he doesn’t hate you, you ask him, “you..like me?. almost laughing at the thought of him enjoying your company. but he’s not laughing. his eyes are gentle and he puts a hand on your shoulder.

“of course i like you. and the fact that you’re..” he motions to your current state of sadness, “..like this because of something i said is awful. i hate the idea that i made you feel unworthy.”. you stopped for a second to let his words absorb into your head. as if someone else was controlling your body, you hugged him. he froze for a moment with his hands dangling above your back, before relaxing into the hug. james gently rubbed your hair and back while whispering kind words.

you were the first to pull away. slightly laughing at yourself for being so sensitive. you awkwardly look at him before shuffling your way to the door. just as your hand reaches the handle he stops you.

“hey, wait. after this is all sorted, would you want to have dinner with me tonight?” he cursed himself for asking at a bad moment, but knew he would never ask if he didn’t now. you looked at him, and then back at the door.

“yeah! i would love that. just uhm- let me know whenever. okay?thankyoubyeeee” you smooshed the last words together in an attempt to leave and

cover up your now rose tinted cheeks. on the other side of the door james pumped his fist in the air like a little kid. maybe he needed some sweetness in his life.

#house m.d.#house m.d. x reader #house md #house md x reader #james wilson #james wilson x reader #james wilson x you #reqs open

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deputyrook · 6 months

Text

Impressions- 5/? Mark Hoffman x Psychic!Reader

PART 1. PART 2. PART 3. PART 4.

You're a psychic. He's a detective. And a serial killer.

(You're a team.)

Word count: 4050

WARNINGS: CORRUPTION, stockholm syndrome, abusive dynamics, general Saw-levels of horror & violence. Reader is drinking the Jigsaw Kool-Aid.

“God, you’re persistent,” you tell Kerry, laying back on your couch and rubbing your temple, “Fine. Yes, I’ll go to therapy and I'll check out the community resources for Jigsaw survivors. Are you happy?”

It's not exactly a lie. You might check out the resources. Kerry's voice crackles across the line in reply: “Good. And if you’re able to remember anything while you’re there-“

Of course. It’s not that she wants you to get help, but rather, she’s hoping that you’ll pick up on some kind of psychic lead from discussing your capture and trauma with a therapist.

A swell of bitterness fills your chest, though you wish it didn't. You’d asked her to come and help you with groceries and chores today, but she’d declined, saying that she was too busy working on the case. Somehow, Mark had been coming around to help more often than she was, and he was balancing his job with being a serial killer.

Kerry’s work has always come first, and her dedication is something you had often admired. The two of you had bonded in university over a shared discomfort at parties and social events. Neither of you had ever quite fit in with the crowd. But even knowing her for as long and as well as you did, it still hurt to know the obsession came before your friendship.

“When are you going to take a break?” You ask, instead of voicing your frustration.

“When I find Eric,” she replies, steadfast. You must make some kind of a critical noise in response, because Kerry adds, “What? Do you believe it’s hopeless? That I should just give up?”

“It’s not that,” you mutter with a sigh, already regretting this line of conversation, but knowing that Kerry won’t give it up until she pulls the truth from you.

“Then what?”

“Just that maybe Matthews shouldn’t have gone and played Cowboy Cop, shooting from the hip.” You finally snap, to Kerry’s stunned silence. “You play stupid games and you win stupid prizes, Ally. If he had just listened to the rules he’d been given-"

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this from you right now," She says, voice sounding more shocked than angry, "Jigsaw took your eyes, put you through hell, and you’re defending him?”

“I’m not defending him,” you bite back, wondering if you are, “But Matthews was corrupt. You know that, even I know that. Sometimes, you get what you deserve."

There's a beat of silence over the phone line, and you wonder if you've taken it a step far. It almost surprises you, to hear the words coming from your mouth. A month ago, you wouldn't have believed you would feel this way, but it's true, isn't it?

Matthews had a way out, just like everyone else did. Just like you did. If he hadn't fucked around and found out, he would have been fine.

Your sympathy for the other Jigsaw victims- the other subjects- has become somewhat muted since you became one yourself. Being able to intuit all of their faults in high definition had only dulled it further.

“You think he deserved to be murdered, is that it?" Kerry asks, and if she wasn't angry before, she definitely is now. Thankfully, you know from experience that she tends to anger quickly, and cool off just as fast. "What about you, then? You got tested, too. How the hell can you say it's deserved?”

Because I deserved to be tested, too.

Something about the topic of conversation turning to you causes a vision to spring forward from the recesses of your mind, like it had simply been waiting for the most opportune moment to reveal itself.

You see yourself, standing in what appears to be a shallow pool of water in the middle of a dense forest. It is quiet and still, save for the ripples in the water caused by your movement. You can't hear any animals- the forest is silent.

You look exactly as you remember, save for a few key details- wide, white globes for eyes stare wildly back at you, and you are drenched in the water. You are soaked through and dripping, the water running down your forehead in rivets. On your head, twisted and gnarled, is a crown of some sort. At first, you think it's a crown of branches- fitting for the forest that you've found yourself in- but once you approach and look closer, you realize it's a crown of rusted, jutting metal pieces.

In your hands, you hold out a crumpled piece of paper, one you’ve somehow kept from dissolving in the water. Carefully, you take it from yourself and unfurl it, to see a wrinkled advertisement for a Jigsaw survivor support group.

Interesting. You file that piece of information away for later. Your lips are moving, but you can't hear the words. You lean in, trying to listen. It seems you're repeating something, over and over, mouthing along to an inaudible refrain.

“Hello?” Kerry's voice pulls you out of it.

“I'm sorry,” you reply. Any anger you'd been feeling is gone, shaken out of you, “My head's been all over the place."

"I know," She sighs as well, and you can feel her unspoken apology in return as she continues, "The FBI's getting involved. I've been in contact with one of their agents."

Immediately, you think back to your vision of the two dangerous people- the man and the woman.

"Damn," you remark, before you note, "He's a lot to deal with, isn't he?"

"That's putting it lightly," Kerry huffs, and you can feel her frustration not only at you, but at the FBI agents getting involved before she's been able to find Matthews herself. She feels embarrassed by it, the scrutiny and criticism only mounting the pressure she feels to find an answer, quickly.

"Tell me this," She asks then, weary, "Is everything going to be okay?"

There's a sinking in your stomach, but you lie to her, and say, "I think so."

Your words hand in the air, as if from a hangman's noose.

"Thanks," Kerry replies, and you're not sure if she believes you.

"Hey, Ally?"

"Yeah?"

"Be careful out there. Keep your head on a swivel." You feel like you can hear the smile in her voice when she responds to you, though her tone remains grave.

"Always. You too."

---

[11:47AM - Outgoing] Did you know about the FBI getting involved in the Jigsaw case?

[11:48AM - Incoming] no.

[11:48AM - Incoming] fuck.

[11:50AM - Outgoing] That one isn't a vision either, straight from Allison

[11:51AM - Outgoing] But I've seen them, too.

[11:51AM - Outgoing] Two agents I think. They look like trouble.

[11:53AM - Incoming] thanks for the heads up

[11:54AM - Incoming] fbi... what a pain in the ass

[11:55AM - Outgoing] If they start poking around, it could be a lot worse than that

[11:55AM - Outgoing] Be careful

[11:59AM - Incoming] well how about that. you do care.

[11:59AM - Outgoing] Don't let it get to your head

---

The Jigsaw Survivor Support group meeting is held in a church basement. It's the first time you've been in a church for a long time, and the atmosphere feels weighty with the desperate prayers of its inhabitants.

Of course, there isn't an elevator. Down in the cool of the basement, a circle of chairs waits for you, and you get the sense that several men and women already seated when you arrive. Hushed voices quiet to silence as you approach, tapping your cane ahead of you.

"Oh! Hello!" A woman's voice calls out as you approach, nervous but excited. From her tone, you guess that she's an older woman. "You're new! Normally, Dr. Gordon would greet you, but he's actually away this week. He's the one who organized this group."

Doctor Gordon. Why did that name seem to strike a chord of familiarity with you?

You wince as someone takes your arm. You've learned that one major difference about being blind is that strangers are all too willing to touch you, now that they think they're being helpful.

You sure wish that they wouldn't.

The person who grabbed you by the arm leads you further into the room to a chair, "helping" you sit down. They seem a bit offended when you don't thank them, instead setting your cane beside the chair and folding your hands in your lap.

"So? What'd he take from you?" A male voice asks from across the circle, after you've settled into your seat.

"Take a guess," you reply dryly. No one in the room laughs, and you're not sure if it's better or worse that you can't actually see them all, staring and judging you. You clear your throat, and try again. "My ability to see."

"You don't need to talk about it, if you don't want to," the woman placates quickly, a note of admonishment in her tone. "Ned, you can't just ask the new people what was taken them-"

"It's okay," You interrupt, feeling surprisingly calm. Between the woman who had grabbed you, and the man who interrogated you, she had bothered you more than he had, "Not much throws me off, these days."

Reaching out with your senses, you survey the circle. A tangled mess of self-pity and loathing hits you, and you have to keep your lip from curling in a sneer of distaste. These are the survivors? You only get a hit off of one of them that doesn't repulse you- a reluctant, begrudging respect, an acknowledgement that he's made changes in his life that have improved things, since the game that he was in.

Feelings of ownership, control, responsibility- could the Jigsaw games really inspire them? Mostly, it just seemed to have traumatized these people-

These people, who were so miserable and desperate to begin with, their sins writhing inside the marrow of their bones. You have to free the sins, get the them out of the marrow to save them-

Your head throbs. The headaches have lessened considerably since you... refocused your senses, but they hadn't completely disappeared.

Briefly, you itch for a painkiller, but you ignore the craving as best as you can as you listen to each subject in the group introduce themselves.

The only name you fully register is that of the young man who you'd felt the sense of kinship with- Daniel Matthews. Hm. Isn't that ironic?

"I'm still processing everything," you say, after you introduce yourself. "But to be honest... I guess I have been seeing things in a different way."

"I'm sure you've learned to appreciate your life, and be grateful," you can hear the scowl in the man called Ned's voice. You have no idea what his test was, or how he survived, but you can hear the sarcasm in his tone- if someone here is grateful, it isn't him.

You consider the words seriously instead of taking the bait.

Had you?

"I've learned to appreciate the life that I have, rather than the one I used to wish I had," You say. You can feel the attention of the others burning on you, and it makes your skin crawl. Their judgment is like a heavy blanket over the room, and its almost suffocating. But still, the words pour out of you, too honest, too raw.

"I'm the only person who can do what I do, and the only person who can see the world from my perspective. Wishing and hoping for things to be different is pointless- it's pathetic."

No one says anything, so you continue, trying to explain further how you feel. Maybe you hope that you can convince someone here to see their game in a new light. Maybe you just need to say the words have have been stuck in your throat for so long.

"I am who I am. I'm the person I love and the person I hate. Good, bad. It doesn't really matter. I don't care anymore, and I'm so tired of making excuses for being myself."

The room sits in quiet silence, until finally, Daniel Matthews speaks up for the first time in the session.

"But do you know... who that is? Yourself?"

The version of you in your mind's eye- the version from the forest lake with the jagged metal crown- looks at you and grins with teeth.

Your words in response seem to be carried by an incoming chill.

"I think I'm figuring it out."

---

You're not sure what you expected, but a house in the suburbs is not it.

"I'm renovating it, so careful where you step," Mark says, leading you through the front door with a hand on your waist. "Would be a hell of a waste if you died tripping over a brick."

"Hey, you're not allowed to make fun of me for being blind," You reply back, without any real venom. His hand squeezes your waist, playful but dominant.

"Who said anything about you being blind? I was talking about your two left feet." You jab him in the side with your elbow, and he chuckles to himself, pulling you along with him.

It feels altogether domestic- far easier than it has any right to feel. You can imagine a life together, in this home. Taxes and fighting over chores and going on trips. Putting on music as the sun goes down, brewing coffee in the mornings as it rises. You allow yourself the indulgence of it, for just a moment.

The house smells like sawdust and paint, but there's a metallic undercurrent of blood. It's hard to tell if that scent is really there, or if it's just something your mind has picked up on, independent of your objective reality. Mark seems to lead you on forever, around too many corners to count.

There it is again, that sixth sense nagging at you. Something bad happened here. Something bad will happen here. Layers of pain, like the rings in the centre of a tree. You think back to Daniel Matthews, and his nervous, angry energy. So much like his father's, but still so different.

The coffin of glass swallows the target, but he doesn't know what it means. He thinks he is safe inside, but he is wrong. The walls are closing in on him, not his opponent, who is pulled through to the heavens. This isn't how its supposed to happen.

"Is this place a maze? What kind of architect designed this?" You mutter, as Mark stops walking and crouches down beside you. You tap your cane around, noticing a hollow sound ringing from part of the floor.

"Probably John. The layout's a nightmare. But the place is huge. It'll be nice, once its fixed up." Mark responds, and you hear a loud thud. "It's a trap door," he explains.

"Great," You reply, "Always a good sign."

Mark helps you through the trapdoor and down a ladder. Your tentative movements take time, but if he's annoyed by your slow pace, he doesn't complain. Once you're down the ladder, you reach out with your mind's eye, and survey your surroundings.

It is much colder, down here, somehow. Something bothers you about it, like an open sore in the back of the mouth.

"Hey, where are you going?"

You don't realize you're walking away until you hear Mark's voice, calling after you. Something is drawing you in like a beacon. It feels, suddenly, like you're on the cusp of completing something important, something you'd nearly forgotten about.

Drawn through the cold, damp, narrow tunnels, you somehow know instinctively which ways to turn. You don't trip, or run into walls, but keep moving, deeper into the dark. Until finally, you feel yourself stop in front of... something.

Reaching forward, you grasp the bars of a cell.

"Somewhere deep and dark. Low, inside the earth," you echo your words from weeks ago now, and hear a low, guttural groan in response.

Poor Eric Matthews, more animal than man by now.

"Yeah, he's not doing so great," Mark whispers in your ear, having followed after you. You get a brief flash of vision- Mark grabbing Eric by the hair, grown matted and shaggy, and dragging him back as he sobs and claws at the ground. Mark, punching him heavy in the stomach, throwing slop at his feet.

He hated it, at first. Then he grew to relish it.

Pure horror settles in you, uneasy in your stomach.

"Why... keep him?" You ask hollowly, feeling Mark's arm around your waist again, territorial.

"Kramer wants him for the next game," He replies, too quiet for Matthews to hear, "Needs him as an incentive. You know how bad the precinct wants to save him. Hell, it's why you're here in the first place."

"Is someone out there? Help me-" Matthews pleads, his voice broken, "P-please-" Your mouth is dry. You'd been brought in to save this man, and now here he was, begging for help in front of you.

"Huh. So he does remember how to speak," Mark mutters. Part of you wants to reach out, to comfort Matthews, to lie badly to him and tell him it will be alright.

But this is what it is. Open wounds, dirty basements, and pain like the refrain of a prayer. The maw of Hell itself. This is what it means, to be a part of this.

To be partners with Detective Mark Hoffman.

You jump in surprise at a sudden, loud clang- Mark has grabbed your cane, and slammed it against the rusted bars of the cell. You hear whimpering, as Eric Matthews seems to retreat. You take a few steps back, away from the cell, closing your eyes as if it will help.

"It gets easier," Mark tells you, "I know, I know. It's alright to be uncertain. Too feel sick about it. I was at first, too."

You swallow, and nod. He presses his lips to your temple, in a gentle gesture, and continues to soothe you with honeyed words.

"Don't worry. No one's going to find out. You and me, we do this together. We help each other. Right?"

You nod again, and he kisses you, on the lips this time. It's almost forceful, as though by the action alone, he can make you forget your conscience.

"Come on," He says, "Lemme show you the bathroom."

---

Although you've never set foot in this room before in your life, you feel as though you're returning back to a place you grew up in. It has an air of nostalgia about it that's almost uncanny, like a place you've dreamt about a million times, but can't quite map the layout of.

Frankly, it's kind of fucking creepy in here.

The smells of decaying bodies doesn't help. It's unmistakable, almost sweet in its rot, and you clasp a hand over your mouth as you grimace.

"You're renovating, but you couldn't take out the bodies?" You ask, fighting the urge to gag.

"Yeah, let me just carry them to my car," Mark snipes back, and you suppose he has a point. "I don't really come down here. But hey, do your thing." You hear the scrape of a chair, and wonder- is he pulling up a seat?

With a deep breath, you calm your nerves, and try to dial in to your extrasensory perception. The first task you'd been given- find Eric Matthews- has been completed. The second- find the secret apprentice- has not. That's your goal, and the reason you came here. You know that this place has the answers you seek. The walls bleed with them.

You sense Mark, somewhere behind you, curious and sharp. But you need to reach something older. Glass crunches under your boots, and you slowly pace the room, stepping carefully as not to trip over anything.

Then, you catch hold of something. Before you can understand what you're doing, you're crouching in front of one of the bodies, taking his bony, brittle face into your hands. The skin is like tissue paper under your touch.

"Oh, Adam," You murmur to him softly, "How unfair. He didn't follow his own rules for you, did he?"

"Are you... talking to the corpse?" Mark asks, an edge of disgust in his voice.

You ignore him. The corpse doesn't speak, of course, but he answers you in his own way.

"He promised," you hear your voice saying, an echo from a thousand miles away, "He promised he'd come back to save him. A Knight in shining armour. But he never did. He dies down here, missing his mother and wondering if he'll ever see her again. He dies over and over again. He exists as a ghost, haunting the third. The fourth? The secret one, the guilty one, the one who got away."

You hold the skull delicately, with a care not to disturb him. Of course, he's just a body. Just a shell. But before that-

You smell cigarette smoke, hear the click of a camera snapping a shot. Despair, fear, loneliness. Despondency, hope. Bitterness, so much resentment. A cell phone ringing, a hacksaw, tearing into flesh, pain, pain-

"Who was tested in here?" You ask Mark, letting go of the body and standing. The room spins around you, seems to pulse in the darkness. You get the impression of patterns, swirling about- the kind you can read and understand, that you can use to tell the future, if you just focus. You wipe your hands on your pants.

"That guy," Mark replies, presumably pointing to Adam, "We strung up another guy in here at one point. And Matthew's game ended up in here, with the kid and Amanda."

"Who was with Adam?" The answer is so close to you. For some reason, you think of the Jigsaw survivor group, and briefly wonder if the secret apprentice is Daniel Matthews. It partially seems to fit, but your intuition suggests that guess is off base.

"A doctor, I think. We planted his pen light. I think he ended up surviving. What the hell was his name...?" As Mark thinks, the answer comes to you, bold, in flashing neon lights.

"Doctor Gordon," you whisper. You ankle aches in confirmation.

"That was it," Mark replies, and then he pauses. "Him?"

"Him."

"You're sure?"

You see a blonde man, pale and sickly looking, crawling away as blood pours from the stump of his leg. It flows like paint spilling from an overturned tub, until the man presses it to a boiling pipe. Flesh melts and blood coagulates. He survives.

He survives. But he is alone. He has no one else but the ghosts, and the King, omnipotent in his wisdom, sees a subject in the making. A knight to stand guard, to protect the most valuable pieces. To save, when he could not save before.

"I'm sure," You reply, and you are. You hear Mark stand up from his seat.

"What now?" He asks, walking back over to you, "Do we...confront him? Ask Kramer about him?"

It's curious, you think, that he's asking for your opinion now. But you shake your head.

"No," You answer. You've never felt so sure of something in your life. The impressions of the patterns spell out hints to you, show a chessboard with its pieces, ready for play.

"No, we sit on this. We'll need him, later. We don't let anyone else know that we know," You say and you hear Mark make a small hum of contemplation.

"We'll need him?" He asks, a note of skepticism in his voice, and you nod.

"I don't know how yet. But I can feel it. Trust me on this?" You ask. He sighs.

"You haven't been wrong yet," He replies, and you smile at him in thanks. The pieces are coming into focus now, starting to settle into place. John Kramer has been lining up these dominoes for half a decade.

And you can sense what's coming. Your sight will be your survival. You catch the sound of a buzz, coming from where Mark stands.

"It's John. He wants to meet with you again, one-on-one," Mark says then, and you hazard a guess that he's looking at his phone. Does John Kramer know how to text?

"When?" You ask back. Your intuition tells you this will be important- that it might be the last time you see Kramer, face to face. He's a tyrant, his dark shadow looming over you and Mark, and you know in your soul that even when he's dead, that isn't going to change.

"Now. You ready?"

You hope that you are. You think of Eric Matthews, rotting in the dark; and Daniel Matthews, living in the day. You think of Adam, resigned to the depths to die alone, and Ned, who survived to scoff at the notion of gratitude.

It makes you sick, and not out of guilt.

A/N- A bit plot heavy, but since I actually know where this is going now, I'm actually laying down the building blocks for the end! Thank you for waiting, I'm a bit nervous about this chapter so if you liked it, please leave a review <3

TAG LIST: @icarusinstatic @honimello @haven-is-happy @karmaswitch @the-jester-calamity @teamhawkeye @thebrideofcaliban @mjrkime @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @mrs-hotforhoffman @aliengutzstuff

#mark hoffman #sawposting #slasher fic #costas mandylor #my writing #slasher x reader #detective hoffman #mark hoffman x oc #mark hoffman x reader #smut #psychicverse #saw franchise #saw movies #horror #reader insert #x reader #gn reader

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ganondoodle · 11 months

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this isnt as long as before but i just cannot stop thinking about this, why i dislike story and lore boils down to these main point

--the ending feels unsatisfying as hell even if i ignore everything i dont like about how the game treated zelda and ganondorf, the ending itself just feels, despite being presented as super epic an touching, incredibly empty to me and part of it is that it feels like an unearned return to status quo of course i didnt think zelda would stay a dragon and i actually wanted to help her, which is why i kept trying to hunt down impa since she said shes gonna search for a way for us to help zelda, bc i wanted to!! i was eager to help her!

i fully hoped and kinda expected that thered either be some kind of dragon dungeon (think, the water dragon from okami) tho that would be difficult since you can get items from her so i ended up thinking before going into the end thered be a mission with impa (or at least given to you from her) where she found answers in ancient scripts (that she told you she would look through) and that you need to find a special lil thing that will help zelda undragonfy, like some sort of ultra secret forbidden enigma stone able to reverse dragon transformations kinda deal (golden opportunity to make you go and talk to the yiga bc they might know or even own some ancient texts) that youd keep in your inventory until the very end and after you kill dragondorf (pretty mortal for becoming an immortal dragon huh) you take it out and use it, undragonfying zelda and ending in a similar epic falling and paralel to the beginning way

... and instead impa stays in the house and only has a few repeating dialog boxes and does nothing and you cant do anything bc in the end you just get randomly teleported (and stripped of your clothing AGAIN) into some weird ethereal plane somehow?? with the ghost of long ass dead sonia and apparently not as gone as i thought rauru (seriously i felt sad when he went poof at the end of the tutorial but i guess i shouldnt have) awkwardly blasting dragon zelda with some magic tm and its all reversed no problem (heck me for caring i guess) turns out helping her was killing an evil guy we never really knew and mineru just kinda says lol its bc time and light magic i guess lol as an explanation

like i really wanted to go and help zelda! i was motivated to do it and spent HOURS trying to find impa again but i wasnt allowed to do anything bc zelda gets saved by some deus ex machina bs in the end anyway, what a fool i was, of course killing the evil guy is the solution to everything >:( (and no i dont care if its meant as in uwu sonia and rauru wanted to help one last time uwu bc it doesnt change how unsatisfying it was to watch it all just kinda happen)

--point two is just how much totk feels like its trying to REPLACE botw instead of being a sequel, its not building on anything of it its ripping out the fundation and building its own thing in its place, like i was so excited to see what happened to the titans, and all the sheikah tech what they mabe had done in all that time now that theres a tech enthusiastic girl as the head of the monarchy, maybe even find out more about them and instead its just all ... gone with not explanation? theres isnt even a LAME explanation, its just gone?? you never find out what the ancient energy actually was, and why there were concentrations of it in the regions with the ancient furnace (well heck it didnt even have anything to do with ganondorf actualyl bc that would have been too interesting) bc that was so intrigueing?? like yeah where DID it come from and why is it there ?? and oh suddendly hey look theres an even MORE ancient and even MORE advanced civilization thats way COOLER and BETTER than the ancient sheikah now, they also built stuff everywhere and have been here ALL ALONG cant you see its everywhere!! and its the only thing everyone cares about all of the sudden, all evdidence of the ancient sheikah tech was scraped of the earth so there literally only being some guardian parts on top of the hateno lab feels like an oversight now bc everything lese was to thourohgly wiped of the map- for no reason even?? like im totalls fine with it being useless and not working anymore but .... why remove it like it was wiped from history?? and then they have the gall to mention the happenings of botw like, twice in the entire game but still just give you the most basic summary of it mentioned on a sidenote with again not even a hint what happened to all of it

wouldnt there have been the golden opportunity to use it to access the new parts and map points that changed?? like a shrine thats fallen into the underground, an access to caves and the underground in the broken and collapsed elevator tube of a sheikah srhine?? maybe even a broken interior of an old shrine, like the room you get put into with the puzzle and where the monk once were broken and half overgrown in the udnerground? some left over construction site where you can see oh thats how the ancient sheikah got all that tech underground, bc they all had access to it and built it there to then rise up when its needed? maybe even making use of the old sonau sites since they frequnetly built their srhines within those ruins?? that the ancient sheikah found em and put the ruins to use? to research it and built their own stuff from it? it wouldnt have to have any focus, literally just part of the enviroment even

really everything totk does is like -forget botw ever happend, look how much cooler and better i am, who cares about sheikah stuff sonau are the new cool guys that came out of nowhere but now apparently have been everywhere all along actually-

i LOVE botw and with it feeling much more like its attempting to replace botw instead of building its story and world further every reference to botw i found felt like a slap in the face instead, oh look where the shrine of life used to be isnt even a hint left of sheikah tech somehow, and also right under it is the lake of healing filled with sonau structure bc ACTUALLY they were here FIRST bc they are so cool omg you guys

dare i say it feel a little like they wanted to make an entirely different version of botw basically, but wanted to reuse the map and models so they just said yeah uhhhh its totally a sequel yeah yeha that makes sense, its not erasing botw and doing essentiall the same thing again but bigger cooler and better (tm) its just uuh a ...sequel ye.

#ganondoodles talks #totk spoilers #totk #sorry i got longer again #also what was calamtiy ganon then #if it was ganondorf trying to resurrect himself outside of the seal then ... wouldnt he ... mention it or something or anyoone no?#also dont like how all the teasers made it seem like there was soem great mystery as to how gan got down there-#.. actually how DID he get down there thats a pretty weird place to go to war too #-aynway and WHO did this to him omg he looks in pain maybe theres more to it alll omg #and then its just ... yeah cool guy tm sealed him #oh ... ok #why would you tease us with a good time then bring stale chips and an empty beer can you have brought with you three times before already #like i get we love to read more into stuff that isnt there #but they were oh so vageu with the teasers and stuff we got to see when its all just #the same schlok but even more tasteless than before

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streamingcolors-gvf · 11 months

Text

Skin Deep - Part 6

Pairing: Josh Kiszka x f!reader x Jake Kiszka

Word count: 15.4K

A/N: I’m so sorry for taking so long with this update. I hope this hits the spot after my long break! This is a Jake chapter so be ready!

As always, I appreciate all the love, support and feedback y’all give me ❤️

Major shout out to Hannah @capturethechaos for helping me pull the last bits of this chapter together for you guys. Without her, I’d be struggling.

Also props to my lovely Nessa @asparrowofthedawn for keeping me grounded when I doubt myself on here and giving me all the ideas.

Warnings: cursing, smoking/tobacco use, jealousy, sexually explicit content - 18+/MINORS DNI!! (Unprotected penetrative sex, fingering, masturbation, dirty talk, degradation, some dom stuff, idk.. y’all know me by now)

Part 5, Masterpost

You slide between the covers of your bed, swearing to yourself that the feeling of the sheets gliding against your freshly-shaved legs is something you’ll never be able to replicate. It’s what you’ve been craving since you stepped into that bar earlier tonight when you were dragged out to see your friends for a few rounds of drinks.

Seeing and catching up with them was something you desperately needed, but what they didn’t know was that you had been torturing yourself the entire time with Josh and Jake on your mind. It’s been like that for days. Just your brain replays every single moment you’ve had with them on a continuous loop while you overanalyze it all to death.

After the night Josh had given you his tattoo, the both of you have been wrapped up in the monotony of your busy, everyday lives. Sure, you’ve exchanged some flirty messages and even a few pictures over the last few days, but it failed in comparison to what you had with him. Jake, on the other hand, hadn’t spoken to you since that morning in their kitchen, which has left things pretty unknown between the two of you.

You do know that with these types of arrangements, everything can end as soon as it started, and it would be easy for you to sabotage it all with your overthinking. It’s just proving more difficult than you initially expected.

You like to think of Josh as an open book. You can flip through all the pages, but half of it happens to be written in invisible ink. Jake in comparison is sealed shut, and just to throw in another curveball, it's as if he is reading random lines throughout the story to you without an ounce of context.

While your cat sleeps between your legs as you scroll through your phone, the device begins to vibrate in your hand with the banner for an incoming phone call appearing on the top of your screen. You don’t recognize the number since it’s not one of your saved contacts. Normally you would decline the random call, but there is something about it that makes you reconsider swiping it away.

You tap the screen to accept and bring your phone to your ear. “Hello?”

A few seconds pass before a raspy voice from the other side of the line responds, “Dove.”

There’s no question as to who it is, but you ask anyway, “Jake?”

A breathy drawn-out chuckle crackles in your ear, taunting you, “You’re good at this.”

The sound makes your chest feel heavy, while somehow causing that fluttery feeling to blossom in your stomach. Men have never intimidated you before, especially to this degree, but he makes you nervous, and you haven’t been able to pinpoint exactly why. You know he can’t see your smile starting to form, but you’re sure he can hear it through the line. You do your best to bite it back, and throw in a frustrated groan for good measure, “What do you want? Better yet, tell me how you got my number first.”

He scoffs loudly into the receiver, “Oh, I can fuck your brains out but I can’t call you? You have some interesting boundaries, baby.”

You can hear the alcohol in his system from the lazy cadence of his voice alone. “Are you drunk?”

“No.”

You scold him with a defeated sigh, “…Jake.”

A couple of seconds pass before he pushes a sleepy hum through the line, “Mmmm, yes?”

You pull your phone away to check the time before bringing it back to your ear with a heavy roll of your eyes. “Why are you calling me at one in the morning?”

“I wanted to hear your voice.” As jaded as you are, there’s a genuine softness to the admission that sends warmth to your heart even though you’re certain there’s a different intention behind the late call.

You listen closely, but you don’t hear any background noise through the end of the line that would indicate he’s out tonight. “Where are you?”

“You like to ask a lot of questions. But if you must know, I’m at home in my bed with my dick in my hand.”

You huff at the thought, convincing yourself that he’s only saying it to get you flustered. What you try to do instead, is picture how his night must’ve played out for him to call you this late. “So you couldn’t get laid tonight and I’m your last option?”

He laughs, filling your ears with the nasal cackle. It’s a fleeting moment of what it truly sounds like before he takes a calming inhale through his teeth. “Feisty tonight. And no. I never said that. If I wanted a woman in my bed tonight, there would be. And the only reason there isn’t is because you’re not here.”

You blush at the thought and the witty remark you had loaded vanishes off your tongue. He does that — making your brain go all fuzzy when usually you’d be so sure of yourself.

The line is left open for longer than you intend as you chew on your bottom lip in a desperate search for something clever to say, making him ask, “What are you doing? Can I come over?”

Your mind is racing with possibilities, but you ultimately sigh in defeat, “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Jake.”

“Why?” He huffs in disbelief, giving away the fact that rejection is not something he’s used to.

“Because it’s obvious you’ve been drinking and I’m in my pajamas and bed already snuggling with my cat. That’s why.”

He hums before clicking his tongue in thought, “I dunno…those sound like reasons why I should come over.”

Before he has the chance to convince you, which you know he can, you cut in abruptly, “I’m hanging up now. Goodnight, Romeo.”

“Wait!” The rise in volume makes you jump and pull the phone from your ear. “Hold on a second. I just wanna talk to you for a few minutes.”

You know it’s risky to entertain him, but your curiosity keeps you tethered to the conversation.“Go ahead, start talking.”

“Oh no, she’s starting to be a brat.” The sarcasm laden in his voice makes your brain tingle more than you’d like to admit.

You smile like an idiot as you adjust your position on the bed to get as comfortable, but your movement disturbs your cat's slumber enough for him to give you an annoyed chirp before hopping onto the floor.

Just mentioning his brother’s name would be like dousing a fire with a gallon of gasoline, but you do it anyway. “Where’s Josh?”

He doesn’t even attempt to hide the irritation when he scoffs, “I don’t fucking know. But he’s not here on this phone call with us, is he?”

“No, he’s not.”

Realizing that he might have overreacted, he relaxes, taking on a more comforting, silken tone, “Then let’s keep this between us, dove. No need to worry about him tonight.”

“Why do you call me that?”

“Dove?” He pauses as if he’s falling back into his thoughts. “I think it’s because you’re so soft and delicate. Especially when I can feel you tremble…how your heart races when you’re in my hands —like a beautiful little dove.”

You didn’t anticipate him having a real answer, because truthfully, you never put much thought as to why he called you the pet name before now.

As if the silence between you becomes too unbearable for him, he blurts out, “I’ve been thinking about you.”

Based on what you know about him so far, admitting something like this seems very unlike him, so you follow up, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he breathes heavily into the phone, but you imagine that breath fanning across the vulnerable skin of your neck instead. “Is it bad that I can’t stop thinking about your pussy wrapped around my cock?”

You’re not sure what you should have expected, but the turn in conversation to dirty talk makes your face flush with heat and your chest constricts from the thought alone. “No… I don’t think so.”

“No?” The changing inflection of his voice reveals that he senses the shyness coming through in your meek response. “You like knowing that the thought of filling you up again has been on my mind all fucking week?”

You can picture it so vividly. His words spark the memory of his cock deep inside you, the way he fills you up, and how he eventually runs down your inner thighs. You involuntarily squeeze them together, but only to clench around absolutely nothing.

He chuckles softly through the drunken confessions, the bitterness of liquor coating every word that passes from his lips. “You got me hooked. You know, I was at the bar tonight and all I wanted was to hear those sweet little cries of yours when you beg for me…when you say my name.”

“Jake…” You whisper into the line. What he’s saying to you is taking you by surprise, but not in an uncomfortable way. In a way that freezes the mechanisms of your mind from working properly. In a way that makes you feel anxious because you might say the wrong thing and embarrass yourself — ultimately ruining this moment.

In the typical phone sex fashion, he asks, “What are you wearing, dove?”

An airy laugh flutters from your throat as you pull at the loose clothing draped across your body, “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, Jake, but I’m wearing a ratty t-shirt and pajama pants.” You stifle the groan of self-loathing while pinching the bridge of your nose knowing that you could’ve just lied and made up anything that your heart desires.

“Sexy.” The way he drunkenly drags out the word helps you visualize a smile on his face. He then adds without skipping a beat, “Do you like lingerie?”

Feeling like this is your chance to have the upper hand, you tease back, “I do. So, Jacob, are you telling me you’re a lingerie guy?”

He snorts a laugh, adding levity to what has been a tense interaction otherwise.“What man isn’t?”

You pick at the threads of your duvet while you reflect on past partners through the years. “I dunno. I feel like some men would rather get it off as soon as possible.”

You hear a judgemental hum before he answers, “Well, it seems like you’ve been wasting your time with the wrong men.”

Your tone is teasing, yet flirty, “And you’re the right man?”

“I never said that.” He pushes out a deep sigh, “Honestly, I have a feeling that I might be the worst thing for you, baby.”

He’s probably right about that, but you’re stubborn enough to want to find that out for yourself. You could question what he means by it, but you choose to mentally flip through your wardrobe trying to remember what you might have until something pops into your brain. “I have this pretty black set that I bought a few months ago. I think you might like that one.”

You hear a soft, muffled groan come through the line, “Would you try it on for me?”

Something has changed in his voice. It’s not the usual demand or teasing remark you usually get from him. He wouldn’t admit this, but you hear the desperation in the request. The barely-there whine blessing your ears — the way it seems like he’s groveling at your feet for it.

“Give me one moment,” You huff out as you nearly fly out of your bed, tumbling onto the floor on your way to your closet. You tap the speaker icon and place the phone down on your dresser and walk over to your closet to search for the lingerie set somewhere in the heaps of clothes.

A pleased chuckle comes from the speaker, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Flipping through the collection of hangers, you spot the recognizable material sticking out amongst the rest of your clothing and pull out the strappy, black corset bra with its matching lace panties. You’re partial to the modest, simple set. It’s not flashy or complicated compared to a lot of lingerie that you’ve seen in some specialty boutiques, but it’s without a doubt the nicest item you’ve bought for yourself in a long time — something that would probably look flattering on anyone.

You hold it out in front of you, reliving the fond memory of buying it and how much you love the way you look in it until you hear Jake’s voice echoing throughout your small bedroom, “Are you still there?”

“You’re so impatient.” You step out of your closet, scolding him half-heartedly now that you’re experiencing another wave of confidence. You rush to yank the t-shirt that has its fair share of holes over your head and onto your bedroom floor. Next to join the pile at your feet are the arguably not-as-sexy cotton briefs you’ve worn to bed.

“Where the fuck did you go? Narnia?”

“I think you underestimate the vastness of a woman’s clos—“ Your snarky response is suddenly cut off when your foot snags the leg hole of the panties, sending you toppling over head first. Thankfully, you catch yourself on the edge of the dresser before you fall over completely. You do your best to stifle back the groan of pain, hoping he didn’t hear your embarrassing moment of clumsiness.

Which proves to be a failure when he asks, “What was that? Are you okay?”

You straighten and finish pulling the panties up the rest of the way while you answer, “Yeah, yeah…just tripped a little. I’m fine.”

He responds with a little drunken giggle, “Aww, weak in the knees for me already, baby?”

The bad joke paired with the pet name he’s let slip a few times instantly redirects your thoughts to his twin. “I wasn’t aware that I was talking to Josh on the phone.”

You wince and brace yourself for the repercussions of mentioning his brother. Silence hangs in the air while you clasp the bra, and adjust the straps and material on your body.

“What is that supposed to mean?” His voice is tight, like an overstretched rubber band ready to snap.

“Relax, Jake.” Now that you have the set on, you sit on the lounge chair that's beside your bed and face the full-length mirror in your room. You do your best to diffuse his annoyance by adding a velvety richness to your voice. “Just that you two are more similar than I think you realize.”

“I’m nothing like him.”

You’re too busy watching your reflection to find the best position for the photo. You drape a leg over the arm of the chair, spreading yourself as you lean back into the cushion and begin feeling across the black lace.

“You act like it’s a bad thing,” You giggle, tapping the camera button, to capture the image.

You hear the text alert from his phone, and all you can do is wait for him to open the message. “Am I gonna see you or wha—oh fuck.”

If you could see him look at the photo, you would see him staring blankly at your mostly naked body in complete awe. You would see how his eyes take in all the details of your top, how he can see your nipples through the sheer black fabric. You would watch them follow the curves of your body down to your hand that’s placed between your open legs.

All you can do is listen closely, just patiently wait for his reaction. You hear it in real-time, his realization that the picture you’ve sent is a Live Photo. “Oh, my god. You’re fucking perfect.”

You imagine him holding his thumb to the photo to watch that short video of you sliding your fingers underneath the fabric before you pull it to the side to show him what’s hidden behind it.

He pushes out a sharp hiss, following the sound with a hushed grunt. “Tell me how it feels on your skin.”

You explore the sheer, thin fabric with your fingers, feeling your hardened nipples through the delicate material. “It’s soft and lacy. I think you would like it.”

“Are you playing with yourself yet, dove?” Once he hears your faint hum, he takes in a staggered breath, “Imagine my fingers taking care of that sweet little clit of yours. Is she hard yet?”

You do just that. You pretend it’s his fingers instead of yours rubbing across the lace covering your clit in teasing, languid patterns. You imagine how his touch is slightly rougher but still mindful of how sensitive you are. “Yeah.”

His labored breathing adds to the strain in his voice, “Good girl. What do you want me to do?”

A thin sheen of sweat has started to collect across your brow, and you swallow back the dryness on your tongue. “Your fingers.”

“Where do you want them?” When you don’t answer him right away, he makes sure to reassure you, “Don’t be shy with me, baby.”

“Inside me.”

“I want you to say it.” His silken voice coaxes you in with each word, every heavy, weighted breath.

Heat blooms in your chest as your heart races within it, but you force yourself to push past that last bit of self-preservation you’ve been holding onto. “I want your fingers inside my pussy.”

“Fuck,” he groans, and for a moment you think you can hear the distinct wet sounds of lube. “I love hearing you say such filthy words, dove.” He pauses for a few seconds to catch his breath before continuing, “I wish I was there right now making you cum on my fingers, stretching that pretty cunt out for my cock.” He grunts another curse, “I’m so hard thinking about it.”

It could be that you just want to hear him say it, or maybe you’re doing it to stroke your ego since he’s already admitted to it moments ago, but you can’t help but ask, “Did you think about me tonight?’

“Of course, dove. I’m not sure if I ever stop.” He sighs, sending static of his muffled breath into the phone before he starts to ramble, “The way you taste. I don’t think I’ll be able to get how you look sucking my cock out of my head. I’m serious when I say I was hard most of the night thinking about you wrapped under my arm, wearing your sluttiest dress. Fuck! I wanna fuck you so bad right now.”

You’ve been touching, feeling, and pleasuring yourself with his gravelly voice acting as your guide. Those words, the graphic details mixing in with his labored, broken breaths cause your imagination to run away from you. “What are you doing?”

He chuckles, “You like thinking about me jerking off to you, baby?”

You laugh with him, because there’s no chance in hell you can admit the amount of time that you’ve already spent thinking about it. “Maybe.”

He keeps his voice low with the taunt, “I know you’re a dirty, little voyeur.”

You shoot up to a sitting position snapping out of your daze enough to blurt out into the receiver, “He fucking told you?!”

He adds to your anxiety with the deliberate pause he takes. “No, but now he doesn’t need to.”

You can’t believe he blindsided you, catching you in the confession. “You fucking bastard.”

He only laughs, filling your head with the intoxicating sound, “So you wanna see the way I play with myself?”

You stay quiet for a few beats too long, imagining the way he’s probably laid out across the silken sheets of his bed like he was the last time you slept with him. You know he has that cocky smirk on his face knowing that you’re going to say yes.

“Come on, dove. I know you want to. Just gotta ask me nicely.”

“Please, Jake,” your voice is a pitiful whisper, lacking all the confidence that would make you sound so sure of yourself. In reality, it’s embarrassing just how quickly you fold and give in to him.

“That’s my girl.”

Your phone begins to vibrate due to the incoming video chat call coming from him. The proposition of seeing him in real-time, while he can also see you, makes you nervous. “Oh, I don’t know about a FaceTime—“

“It’s just me, okay? I want to see you and you want to see me, right?” His voice is beyond enticing — so dangerously silken entering your brain. Just like his twin, he can convince you of anything, and it helps that you were already there, to begin with.

You chew on your lip for a few seconds before hitting the accept button, switching the normal phone call into a video one. Your screen opens up to his rear-facing camera that’s pointed at his ceiling.

More importantly, it’s pointed directly at the mirror on the bedroom ceiling.

And just like how you pictured in your mind, he’s laying flat on his back across his massive bed. His black button-up he probably wore for the night out is completely open, exposing his tattooed chest and stomach. He kicked off his pants, leaving his boxer briefs on — only pulling them down his legs far enough to free his cock.

You can see the reflection of his face past his phone while he slowly plays with himself., noting that your prediction about that smile of his was right. His eyes bounce back and forth between his phone and looking directly into the mirror. “I wish it was your hand stroking me instead. I fucking love the way you touch me. It’s so gentle, almost like you’re scared you’re gonna hurt me.” The way he’s touching himself seems so teasing, following no true pattern or rhythm, as if he was truly pretending it was your hand instead of his own. You watch him pet the underside of his cock with a feather-light touch of his fingertips and how it twitches from the contact. “God, your lips…how your tongue feels on my cock.”

Your brain is going a mile a minute with everything you want to say back to him, but the only coherent thing that forms on your tongue is, “How close are you?”

He groans through an even bigger smile, stretching his neck out while he smacks his dick against his belly, “Close. I’ve been edging myself for a fucking hour thinking about you.” You’ve been too shy to show your stunned expression, so the only view you’ve given him is of the blank white ceiling of your bedroom. “I wanna see that pretty pussy wrapped up like a present for me. Can you show me, dove?”

“Oh, you want to see me?”

“Now look at you being the tease.”

You tilt the camera down, starting your little show by revealing your legs and slowly working your way down until he can see the black lace thong. You then bring your hand into the frame, teasing him with the sight of your fingers brushing across your covered pussy. “What would you do if you were here?”

You break your concentration to watch his hand stall on his cock, like his thoughts have become scrambled inside his head for the very first time, “If I was there with you right now?” He allows his eyes to close while he tries to think of his answer. “Where do I even start?”

He decides to change up your view by dropping the camera down in the same way you have yours — blessing you with his point-of-view of his cock. Now that it’s closer, you can see that it’s shining in the low lighting of his bedroom, completely slick with lube. He glides a tight fist up the length, causing the muscles of his stomach to spasm through the upward stroke. “I want to kiss you, feel how soft your skin is… see how you look in that lingerie. I know the picture doesn’t do you justice.”

You’re committed, picking right where you left off by pleasuring yourself. As you roll your fingers over your clit and slip them inside yourself, you realize that you’re even closer now that he’s eliminated the need for your imagination. He’s showing you in real-time how he jerks himself off thinking about you.

You hear the faint gasp before he continues, “I’d play with your perfect tits, feel your nipples harden against my tongue while I rub over your sensitive clit.” His voice is breathier than it’s ever been from him trying to hold back his moans, “Pull those panties to the side and use my fingers to make you feel so good.” His efforts to keep himself composed have proved fruitless with the amount of liquor in his system. He falls victim to it by what sounds like a whine into the receiver, “I really wish I was there to show you.”

You’re right there with him, giving yourself away with every ragged breath. “I wish you were here too.”

He sighs, “I can hear you getting close, dove.” Based on how he’s starting to pick up the pace of his strokes, it doesn’t seem like he has long either. “Can you come for me?”

Hearing him ask for it is the final push you need, and all you can focus on is the hushed whimpers and moans he lets slip out as he brings himself to the very edge. You’re seconds behind him, watching as holds his cock perfectly still as the first spurt dribbles down the side and over his knuckles. He sucks in a sharp breath before pushing out a string of grunted curses as the rest of his orgasm hits him with an unexpected force. He shoots across his stomach, painting his abdomen with ropes of his cum.

The graphic image overrides your brain, acting as the last mental shove into your climax. You burn it into memory as the rush of pleasure pools between your legs and drowns your senses. As you start to come to, you can’t be sure what you said, or what sounds you might have made, but you do know that you’re a breathless mess strewn across your bed. Your mouth is beyond desert dry and the only thing in your head is the pounding of your heartbeat. “Wow.”

He laughs, but it's obvious from how it sounds that the exhaustion is starting to set in. And since he’s in a worse state than you, he is stuck in the same position with the mess he made across his body. “Yeah…that was fun.”

You laugh, keeping the tone of your voice light even though you’re bummed about the thought of hanging up, “Go ahead and clean up.”

He stretches his legs but keeps his hand in the same place on his cock. His response is groggy, revealing that you wouldn't have that much more time with him anyway, “Yeah, I probably should. Goodnight, dove.”

“Goodnight, Jake.”

Since your boss allowed you to leave work early today, you decided to walk down to the tattoo shop and visit Josh for a few minutes before heading home. And to your benefit, it’s a warm spring day, making the half-mile walk from the coffee shop a pleasant one.

With his favorite coffee in one hand, you make the turn around the familiar corner and spot the bold, painted lettering on the shop’s large plate-glass windows. You’re experiencing high school giddiness from knowing you’ll see him within minutes, and it makes your stomach churn wildly with anticipation.

When you walk in, the expected ding from the doorbell chimes through the shop, alerting the staff of your arrival. There are more people in the lobby than you expect, but Sam is the first one to acknowledge as he discusses jewelry options with a potential client over the glass display case. Glancing over to his right, you don’t recognize the other man behind the counter a few feet away from him, but his features are striking enough to pull your attention for only being a stranger. You can see around the person he’s talking to, spotting his shoulder-length, jet-black curly hair framing his angular face and the black t-shirt that reveals his toned, tattoo-covered arms.

As you make your way to the staircase, Sam gives you an approving nod before returning to his current conversation. Unlike the other times you’ve been here, the music is booming through the speakers, mixing with the chatter of multiple people as you start to ascend the stairs.

Once you clear the landing, your eyes bounce around all the activity happening on the second floor, but when you look over to his corner of the room, you see him seated at his station, working away on a tattoo. His client, a young woman around your age if you were to guess, is currently getting a rib piece done from what you can tell at this distance. She’s stretching out across the same flat table you were on days ago, with her flowing bleached locks billowing beneath her, one arm tucked behind her head with most of her sculpted torso exposed from her tiny, cropped tank being pushed up to right below her breasts.

She’s beautiful, blonde, perky, and enthusiastic.

Josh looks good, but there wasn’t a shred of doubt in your mind that he would. He’s dressed in his usual casual outfit, wearing one of the standard shop-issued t-shirts and a pair of khakis cuffed at the ankles. His loose curls are swept across his head effortlessly, showing off the fresh touch up to the buzzed sides. It should be you complimenting him. It should be you making him blush and giggle.

You’re far enough that you can't hear the intimate conversation between them, but you can see Josh throwing back his head from the booming laughter leaving him. He’s comfortable with her, inching just a little closer than the minute before. Her other hand is all over him, those manicured fingers touching across his bare arms as she giggles and bats her lash extensions — like a predator honing in on their next prey.

He’s too preoccupied to see you in the center of the room, watching him venture into the trap willingly as he tells her his dumb little jokes and collection of his favorite anecdotes. You can only stand frozen in your spot, staring as she whines in a high-pitched voice that’s best described as ‘grating’ to your ears, “Oh my god, Josh. You’re so funny!”

Your stomach turns sour from the sight alone.

You consider turning around and fleeing down the staircase to save face, to hide the embarrassment festering within you because there’s no way you can stroll over there with his stupid coffee in your hand now.

You suddenly feel lost and out of place here. You’re not welcome. You might as well be just another customer strolling through the shop seeking out their next tattoo. Your flight response is what activates, propelling you back into the direction from whence you came, but before you make it to the stairs, Jake working alone at his desk, hyper-focused on drawing one of his designs stops you right in your tracks. It’s enough to make you fight back your initial urge to just leave and decide to take the chance on walking over to him.

He’s changed things up from his normal long-sleeved button-down, displaying the collection of tattoos that cover his arms by dressing in a faded red t-shirt. With the neckline so loose that it’s stretched out beyond belief, the shirt somehow drapes and fits across him perfectly.

You step beside him, but choose not to say anything at first for fear of interrupting him. You silently watch as he swipes his hand across the paper with confidence, leaving bold strokes of black ink in its path.

If he has any awareness of his surroundings, he would already be in tune with your presence, but you already know him better than that, so his acting like he doesn’t notice you, is blatantly intentional. He’s baited and set the line —effectively making you work for it to see how badly you want his attention — now all he has to do is wait patiently for you to take the first bite.

His pretending you don’t exist allows you to take in how beautiful he looks today. It’s a graceful, delicate beauty that has otherwise gotten overlooked until now. His long, chestnut hair is tucked behind his left ear, exposing the additional silver hoop through his cartilage and the tiny upside-down black and gray dagger tattooed behind it. You’ve nearly chewed a hole through your bottom lip from anxiety, but you take another daring step closer to him.

“Oh, hello, dove,” he coos loud enough for you to hear over the music before peeling away from his paper to look into your eyes. The way his satisfying drawl of voice delivers the greeting nearly makes your knees buckle, especially now that you know the real reason behind the pet name.

“Hi,” you mutter softly while setting the coffee down on his desk. You can’t help but wonder why you’re suddenly shy, bashful even, when you interact with him.

With an air of casual cockiness, he shifts back in his chair to cross a leg over the other and begins drumming his fingers along the top of his knee. It brings your line of vision to the bands of silver wrapped around them as they catch the light, making you note that this is the first time he’s ever worn rings. You know it’s not based on their aged patina finish and how natural they fit on his fingers like his body has remembered their weight over the years.

You give in to the temptation and let your eyes drift down his body to his lap now that he’s facing you. He’s wearing a different style of pants than what you’ve seen so far on him, a black, tight-fitting pair of Dickies. He’s cuffed the bottoms today just like his brother, revealing the laces of his leather Doc Marten boots. The dark pants hug his thighs in the best way possible, leaving very little to the imagination.

He notices the iced coffee you brought right away, but his focus on it doesn’t linger long and he brings his attention to you standing before him. He stares at your fidgeting hands and makes his way up to your eyes and holds on to them, searching for the thoughts until a crooked smile breaks on his face, “What brings you in today?”

You’re showing your cards to him as the indifferent expression on your face begins to falter. There’s an unmistakable amount of tension brewing between you from the last time you had spoken to him. “Just visiting.”

He nods slowly, leaning forward to snatch the coffee off the table, and settles back against the chair. The seconds go by at an excruciatingly slow pace as he spins it in his hand to read the name off the bottom line on the plastic cup. You swallow the lump in your throat as you wait for his inevitable reaction. First, he looks up at you before glancing over to his twin. “I see… and how’s that going so far?”

You dance your fingers along the edge of the desk, studying the clutter of the art supplies across its surface. “I dunno. You tell me. You’re the first one I’ve visited.”

He hums in thought as he takes the first sip from the coffee, effectively claiming it as his own before placing it by his side. He surprises you by reaching out and taking your wrist into his hand, guiding you that much closer to him with a gentle pull. He stares up at you while he begins to massage your palm and down each of your fingers.

For a second your eyes flutter closed and your breath catches in your throat, stopping the chance for a coherent thought to leave your lips. The pressure of his fingers on your skin is sensual, yet deliberate with every touch. He begins to work his way up your arm, but a high-pitched squeal cuts through the bustling noise of the shop, interrupting the moment of tension.

“Oh my god, Josh! You’re so talented! You’re so gonna be my tattoo artist now!”

It’s her. She’s fawning over him, feeding his ego more and more with every praise and empty piece of flattery she throws at him. It’s ridiculous that you’re letting it affect you like this, especially while you flirt away with his twin brother. You’re being a hypocrite, but damn it does it make you feel a certain way to see her touching all over him when you should be the one to do it.

You can’t hold back the heavy roll of your eyes with the scowl pulling at your features, and how you instantly pull your hand from Jake’s grasp out of discomfort. He takes note of the sudden change in your body language and looks over to the source of the sound. Now that they have his attention, his face contorts into a judging stare — true, ill-concealed disgust.

He shakes his head in disapproval, “Don’t worry about her, babe.”

“Worry about what?” You huff to hide the fact that you’re bothered and brimming with jealousy, but he sees right through the facade and decides to distract you by running his open hands up the front of your legs.

He glides his tongue along the sharp edge of his top teeth, teasing you with the sight while he hooks his index fingers through your front belt loops and rubs the pads of his thumbs across the exposed skin, just above the waistband of your jeans. He tugs you forward by the denim loops, making you fall onto his lap. As you tumble onto him, giggles of your own break free, and if you were paying any attention, you would have seen Josh pick his head up and glance over in your direction.

Holding you by the hips, Jake balances you on top of his legs with the help of your hands resting on his shoulders. You’re close. So close that you can feel the warmth of his skin and breath with every soft exhale. It doesn’t help that the phone call has been corrupting your mind the last few days, and now that you can actually touch him, those thoughts start to get away from you. You breathe him in and notice that he smells exquisite, and expensive from the high-end cologne placed directly on his pulse points.

He soaks in the sight of you through heavy lids while rocking you forward, just enough to give your imagination a taste. “Wanna get outta here?”

The question throws you off given that it’s the middle of the day and the shop is at its busiest. So the casual offer with the tone of his voice that’s playful enough, makes you question his real intentions behind it. “Don’t you have appointments?”

“I have a bit of a break today.” He shrugs, responding matter-of-factly with an absent-minded lick of his lips.

He can’t help but smile waiting for your answer while you think over your decision. If you weren’t so distracted, you might be able to, but their genetic similarities between them are screaming at you. Those dark, full prominent brows that express the slightest change in their moods, the corners of their lips that curl up with the faintest of smiles, the same defined nose, even down to the dimple marking their left cheeks.

He’s made you go from feeling shy and nervous to wishing you had him in private all to yourself within seconds. You desperately want to kiss him, but you just know you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself if you crossed the threshold. Once you got that taste of him on your tongue, you’d shamelessly rock yourself on his lap without a care in the world that anyone could be watching.

You clear your throat, pulling yourself from your daydream to entertain the idea of leaving with him, “Where would we go?”

Now that he’s hooked you, that fun smile on his face darkens — turning almost mischievous. “Ahh…see, that’s for you to find out, dove.”

“Of course it is,” You grumble sarcastically while giving into his mysterious ways before you ease yourself off of his legs to stand on your feet. Jake follows suit, wincing through a groan of pain as he pushes himself off the chair. He stops to work out the stiffness of his muscles with a long stretch of his arms over his head, giving you a quick view of his stomach from his lifted shirt.

You stand patiently while he takes a few large sips of the coffee and gathers his phone and keys from the desk. He ushers you toward the stairs, guiding you with a hand placed on the small of your back. The small gesture speaks volumes given the circumstances that have developed over the last few minutes, and though you’ve been trying to ignore them, you chance a look over to Josh’s station.

Josh is staring right at you, just watching you leave without even offering him a simple hello. It’s the first time you’ve seen that cold, unnerving look being shot across the room at his twin. He’s upset, and you would almost feel guilty if it wasn’t for that girl yanking his attention back to her.

Jake doesn’t pay him any mind, which you can’t say surprises you. He’s been given the opportunity to stoke the embers of Josh’s jealousy, and that’s not something he’s willing to pass up.

You get to the bottom of the stairs and just when you think he’s gonna walk to the front door of the shop, he takes you by the hand and brings you behind the front counter. Sam’s still in his designated spot, unpacking boxes of jewelry to display in the expansive glass case. He looks up from his task once he notices you and gives another passing nod, but whips his head back for a double take when he sees that you’re with Jake instead of Josh.

Before Sam can utter a single syllable, Jake calls over his shoulder, “I’ll be back in an hour.” Jake doesn’t give him a chance to respond, and he continues to pull you through the privacy curtain to the hallway.

It feels like you’re crossing into a forbidden area not meant for you, but you try to absorb all the details the best you can anyway. The first room on your left appears to be the room Sam uses for piercing based on the equipment and setup inside. Directly across the hall from it is a bathroom, followed by a small office and a storage closet. The same man from when you first walked into the shop scoots past the both of you, sends a wink, and slaps Jake’s shoulder. “Have fun, you two.”

You follow Jake through the hallway until you come to the back room area. He walks up to a row of old, spray-painted lockers that are mounted to the side of the wall next to the door. “Who was that?”

“Danny.” He answers with his back turned to you and pulls a leather jacket from one of the hooks holding a variety of clothes. He peers over his shoulder to gauge your demeanor. “Don’t tell me you got eyes on him, too.”

You cross your arms and laugh, “I wouldn’t want to humble that ego of yours.” He shakes his head and grabs not one, but two helmets, one glossy white and the other matte black, from a different set of mounted hooks. “What are those for?”

“I’ll show you.”

He takes the lead out the back door, past the dumpster, and out to a small parking lot behind the building — big enough to hold three spaces. You spot and instantly recognize the red, older Camry that was in their driveway when you were at their house last. And next to Josh’s beater, is a motorcycle.

The last thing you would call yourself is an expert on the topic, but it looks like a classic, vintage style of bike. It’s not big and bulky like what you’ve seen with massive Harley motorcycles, but it’s also not a sleek, modern sport bike either. You would guess that it fits somewhere in the middle of that spectrum.

You take a few steps closer to it, shaking your head with a grin spreading across your face.“Why am I not surprised?”

He sets the helmets down on the hood of Josh’s car, but it’s obvious he’s been waiting for your reaction from how his ears perk up. “You ride?”

“No, I mean, I’m not surprised that you have a bike,” you explain. While you’re learning new things about the man every day, this is something that just seems fitting. You continue to stare at it, admiring a beauty that you don’t fully understand yet. “It makes sense.”

With the bike between you, you watch as he pulls his hair back into a low bun and secures it with an elastic from his wrist.“It does? How so?”

You shrug, but his eyes are locked onto you, making you bite at your lip. “I don’t know…you seem like the adrenaline junkie type. Always pushing the limit. That kind of thing.”

He’s amused by your words and shows a soft smile on his lips before pulling the white helmet off the car and walking toward you. “Interesting.”

You know he’ll eventually win, but you can’t make the game too easy for him. With the steps he takes around the bike, you take one back and motion to his hand. “You even got the spare helmet and everything. How often do you offer these kinds of rides?”

He stops in his tracks and scoffs, “Hey, I’m not the one with some random woman fucking me with her eyes right now. No need to get territorial with me, love.”

It was an expertly placed jab that throws you right back into reality. Josh had been pushed to the sidelines and now he exists in the forefront of your mind thanks to Jake’s little quippy remark. He’s right though. You’ve experienced enough jealousy for the day, and it doesn’t do you any good to carry it over to him.

He tries handing you the helmet, but you cross your arms and turn your head away from him. You’re testing him with your attitude, making him push out a frustrated sigh as he takes another step. He’s close enough now that the helmet is pressing up against your stomach. “I am not about to risk having your head crack open on the pavement like an egg because you wanna be a smartass. So either put it on and listen, or go back inside and mope. Your choice.”

“Someone’s bossy today.” You reach for the helmet, but he jerks it away before you can grab it.

“There are a few rules.” His voice is stern with a new serious tone. While looking directly into your eyes and holding out his index finger to emphasize the point, he instructs, “First, you always hold onto me. No exceptions. And I don’t mean those soft little hugs and holding on to only my shirt. I mean you fucking hold onto me when we’re moving.” He takes the helmet and places it at the crown of your head and with a bit of effort, he’s able to slide it on comfortably. It’s a snug fit around your face, and the outside sounds are instantly muffled. He flips the interior and exterior visor up by pressing a button on the side of the helmet. “Hey. Try to be aware of your surroundings, but make sure to keep your weight steady with me, especially when you turn your head to look around.”

He takes the leather jacket and gestures to your arms so he can put it on you. “The bike will almost turn on its own.” His jacket hugs your curves better than both of you anticipated, making him smile. He zips it up and then fastens the chin strap of your helmet as he continues, “So keeping that balance with me is important. It’s really all about the hips, so I need you to squeeze your legs tight and lean forward into my back.”

You nod slowly as you take in the bits of information, feeling a little clumsy and disoriented due to the additional weight on your head. After he tugs at the jacket in different spots on your body to inspect the fit, he taps the top of your helmet. “Comfortable?”

“I think so,” you laugh nervously as you adjust to his leather wrapped around your skin. It’s soft, made of rich, genuine leather that’s held the shape of his body and kept his scent within its worn material. Despite the warm, sunny day, you forgo questioning the need for it, because in all honesty, just having the feeling of something that belongs to him on your skin is enough of a reason.

“Ready to take a ride with me, dove?” He asks and finds the answer from the smile in your eyes since the bottom half of your face is covered by the interior of the helmet. He holds that gaze and shoots you a wink while simultaneously blowing a teasing kiss. He seals the flirty moment with a snap of his gum between his teeth and flips your visor down with the flick of his fingers.

Now satisfied that you’re set in the protective gear, he wiggles his helmet onto his head, face disappearing into the matte-black protective shell. You watch as he transforms into this separate world, taking on another level of confidence and you’re quick to note all the intricate details from this side of him. After he secures his chin strap, he retrieves two pairs of gloves from the hidden seat compartment and hands you the extras.

He mounts the bike and motions to you to get on. The nerves are starting to set in, causing your legs to start taking on the qualities of Jello. You brace yourself on his shoulders and swing a leg over the back to slide into place. He patiently waits for you to get into position on the seat and find the spokes to put your feet on. You think you have it, but you’re startled when he reaches back and hooks his hands behind both of your knees, and pulls you closer.

He goes through the process of putting on his gloves, doing those final adjustments to his helmet, and finally starts the motorcycle. Its engine roars to life and mellows out to a vibrational purr between your legs.

“You good?” He shouts back at you, but most of the volume of his voice is muffled through the helmet. You answer by wrapping your arms around his waist and giving him a tight squeeze. He rubs your knee in response and gives it a comforting pat before driving out of the parking lot.

You’re scared. You won’t deny it. Nothing is holding you on except for the strength of your arms and legs. As much as you’re trying to hide it from him, he knows that you’re working through the fear, and stays at a reasonable speed, taking the turns of his route carefully until you get accustomed to the feel of the bike. This level of exposure is nothing like what you’ve experienced before. These same streets you drive daily feel new, and with every shift of a new gear, a wave of adrenaline surges through your veins.

It’s like a rollercoaster, just more dangerous.

You look around at the buildings to guess where he might be taking you until you hear that familiar Bluetooth pairing chime inside your helmet. At first, you think you might’ve imagined it, but the sound is immediately followed by Jake’s smooth voice cracking through the headpiece, “You better hold me a bit tighter, love.” You startle from the unexpected sound, making him chuckle, “I promise I won’t bite that hard.”

He stops at a red light, giving you the chance to relax enough and mutter a curse. “You’re a dick.”

That laugh of his — so delicately woven within the static of the microphone as it fills your head. “Oh come on! You’re having fun. Don’t lie to me.”

You hope he doesn’t have a camera inside the helmet to catch your dramatic eye roll. You’re sulking, maybe due to the fact you’re a little embarrassed he had one up on you this entire time. “You could’ve told me about the helmet.”

While balancing the combined weight of the bike and both of your bodies on his foot, he reaches back and rubs your outer thigh. “And risk not being able to hear all those little whimpers you’re making? Not a chance.”

That flusters you, making the grip loosen around his midsection. He takes your hands, gives a reassuring squeeze and he places them back in their spot before taking off when the light finally changes.

The position you’re holding is a bit awkward at first due to the urge to slide in as close as possible, but after a few minutes of riding, it becomes natural. You eventually take in the scene, watching the cars pass by as he rides between the lanes of traffic.

“So where are you taking me?”

He chuckles before sending the song of his sigh into your earpiece, “You like tacos?”

The randomness of the question makes you giggle. “Yeah, I like tacos.”

“Good. I know the perfect spot.”

He pulls the bike into a mostly-empty parking lot of what looks like an abandoned strip mall. Looking around, you spot the taco truck set up at the far end and a few picnic tables scattered in a grassy area off to the side.

He kills the engine, pulls off his gloves, and helps dismount the bike. “This is the hot spot?”

“I can feel your judgment already. Don’t knock a food truck until you try it, okay?”

After placing your order, you follow him out to the picnic tables while you wait for your food. He sets his helmet down and climbs onto the wooden table with his feet resting on the bench. You watch him dig out a fresh pack of cigarettes and tap the box against his palm. He peels the plastic wrapper off, flips the top open, and grasps the filter of one between his lips.

“The gum wasn’t cutting it?” You tease as you approach him and set your helmet beside his.

He freezes with the open Zippo in hand and the paper of the cigarette sticking to his bottom lip, and looks up at you just as he’s about to light it. A different emotion flashes before you, that guilty look of being caught red-handed. It transforms into a nearly undetectable smirk while he flicks the lighter, brings the flame to the end of the cigarette, and pulls in a satisfying drag that hollows out his cheeks, “Studying my bad habits?”

“That, or maybe you’re just more predictable than you think, Jacob.”

His eyes narrow with the use of his full name. “Predictable? That’s a new one.”

A random surge of confidence compels you to pluck the burning cigarette from between his fingers and bring it up to your lips. You’ve been to enough parties and social situations throughout the years to be familiar with it enough to not act clueless. Even so, the way he’s looking at you causes your hands to shake and for you to cast your eyes elsewhere.

“Yeah.” You pause to gesture with the cigarette in your hand with a sassy click of your tongue. “This whole dark and mysterious bad-boy thing is nothing but a front.”

He leans forward with his elbows propped on his knees to watch you pull in a drag of your own, and his expression seems amused to say the least. “Whatever you gotta tell yourself, doll.”

It’s full-bodied and harsh on your tongue from holding it in your mouth. To impress him and not make an ass out of yourself, you let your bottom lip fall open so you can push the smoke with your tongue to inhale through your nose. You fight the itching urge to cough as you blow what’s left out of your lungs into the air. While exuding the same energy of a best friend’s cooler, older brother, he sees right through the little trick you’ve learned years ago.

Biting back that cocky grin that’s twisting his lips, he takes your wrist and guides your hand slowly up to his mouth. You feel his lips brush ever-so-carefully across your palm before he wraps them around the filter stuck between your fingers.

He mimics the same smoke trick you had done but with the natural ease of being an actual smoker. You try to stay calm and collected while you swallow back the swell of nausea and light-headedness from the rush of nicotine into your system.

“You good?” He asks, blowing the smoky exhale out from the corner of his mouth.

You nod, grunting through the burning sensation eating away deep within your throat. Thankfully, your order being called out from the window of the truck saves you at the moment. You bolt to the window, leaving him at his spot on the table.

Everything is piping hot and made fresh to order with the most authentic ingredients you’ve ever seen. Jake is quick to pour the plastic ramekin of hot sauce across his order of tacos and starts to devour one of them before you can even finish unwrapping your food from the foil.

He’s truly lost in the experience with eyes rolling back while a stream of bright-orange juices from his taco drip down his chin before he has the chance to wipe it clean. “These always hit the spot.”

“How did you find this place?”

He wipes a napkin across his mouth before answering, “Years ago I did a tattoo for one of the owners during a convention and he bought us some of his food the next day for lunch. The guys and I have been stopping by here ever since.”

It’s hard not to be distracted by his bare arms, the way the sleeves of his tattoos move with every flex of his muscles. It would take you hours to examine each piece of inked artwork, but he’s already catching on to you staring at him. You break your eyes away to look off into the distance, making a mental note of the place for the future. “I’ll have to come by here again.”

He shoves the rest of his taco into his mouth, mumbling around it, “Are we gonna talk about it, or just have small talk about the food?”

You drop your eyes to your styrofoam tray of food in front of you. “Talk about what?”

He wipes his mouth and fingers clean with another paper napkin. “Ya’ know, about what happened back at the shop.”

It was naive to hope that Jake wouldn’t eventually bring it up and think it was something that could have been easily forgotten. “Nothing happened.”

He scoffs a harsh laugh, “Right. And that’s why you sulked and almost took off without saying anything?” You stay silent and take another bite while still avoiding eye contact. “Are you gonna talk to him?”

He’s putting you on the spot and you haven’t even had the chance to process your feelings about it, let alone give him any sort of thought-out answer. “About what exactly?”

“That what he did bothers you,” he says flatly before taking a bite of his second taco.

You push the helping of rice around on the tray. “How can I? Go up to him and say ‘Hey, Josh, I don’t want you to sleep with anyone else even though I’m also fucking your brother’? You do know that sounds absolutely insane, Jake?”

He agrees with an empathetic lift of his brows and shrugs his shoulders while he finishes the second taco. “Maybe.”

“And why do you care anyway?” You hiss at him with far more attitude than you realize, making him the target of your frustration. “Doesn’t that go against your own…motives?”

He sucks in a harsh breath through his teeth from the heat of the hot sauce before letting out an amused chuckle, “You act like I have this grand evil plan, dove. I don’t really care what’s happening between you and Josh. Now granted, I can’t say I thoroughly enjoy sharing you with him, but I do think you might be a little hard on yourself with this one.”

You finally look up, prompting him to meet your weak gaze. You study him, searching for what his true intentions in this conversation are. “I think it would just make things worse.”

Something washes over his stoic expression, making him shift his weight on the seat of the picnic table to straighten out his posture. He starts to fidget with the silver skull ring on his left ring finger, spinning it around as if he’s suddenly feeling apprehensive. “Would you be this upset if it was me instead of him?”

Was that jealousy? You watch him closely, noting the stiff, slightly-annoyed movements of hands picking up his last taco before he takes a bite. “What do you mean?”

He looks directly at you, causing the afternoon sunlight to catch his deep-brown eyes, turning them into a rich-golden toffee.“What if I was the one sleeping around with someone else?”

The question leaves your mouth before you have a chance to think it through, “Are you?!”

Just like that, you reveal a little more than you intend to. Your reaction was panicked and insecure when it should have been casual and collected. Now that he knows more about where you stand, that little smirk of his slowly forms on his lips. You can kiss the thought of getting an answer from him goodbye because unlike the phone call the other night, he’s sober at this moment. Your chance of pulling out any information that’s being locked away in that brain of his is nonexistent.

As you both finish up eating your lunch, he can’t ward off the reality that it’s time for him to take you back to the shop. However, you’re relieved to find that the second time mounting the bike is a bit more graceful than the first, and most of the nervousness you felt, in the beginning, is quickly dissipating the more time you spend with him. He must sense your comfort level because he’s now splitting between lanes of traffic and becoming a little more daring with his speed than he did initially.

From what you can remember, the ride back to the shop isn’t a long one, and regardless of whatever tension lives between the two of you, you feel safe with him. It doesn’t take long for you to sway effortlessly along with him and get a true sense of how the bike moves on the road. You fall back into your thoughts, wishing that you can feel the soft fabric of his t-shirt against your cheek instead of the helmet getting in your way or the thick material of the gloves covering your fingers. Despite your senses being restricted by the protective gear, it doesn’t stop you from wrapping your arms around his midsection.

That secure hold on him becomes exploratory as you feel up and down his stomach, over his slender hips, and eventually lower onto his lap. When he stops at the next red light, you feel bold enough to feel across the tops of his thighs. You squeeze your legs around him even tighter than before, molding yourself against his body, and he can’t hide the change in his breathing as it’s picked up through the microphone of the intercom. You look over his shoulder to see him tapping his fingers impatiently on the clutch while your hands continue to roam over his legs. You become mesmerized by that alone, watching the tendons and muscles of his forearm move with each flex of his fingers on the clutch lever.

Through the gloves and the material of his pants, you feel something hard when you graze your hand back up his leg, which makes him groan and squirm against the seat. You bite into your smile and decide to do it again, but this time grabbing him with more purpose than before.

There’s no mistaking his erection when a low growl crackles through your earpiece. He grabs your wrist, stopping the movements of your hand on his lap while giving you the stern warning, “You better behave yourself.”

You fight against the hold he has on you, hooking your fingers around his inner thigh. Making sure to keep your voice innocent, yet bratty, you ask, “And if I don’t?”

He cocks his head to the side as if to look back at you, and you can feel his leg bouncing while you continue to rub him through his pants. You swear he’s leaning backward into your embrace, but before he can scold you or utter a single word, a car’s horn honks from behind you, startling you both.

The bike acts like it’s suddenly gained consciousness and bucks forward a few inches before the engine cuts itself off. It takes you a second to understand what’s happened until you come to realize that he’s stalled it.

“Fuck!” He curses harshly while rushing to restart the bike with the looming pressure building from the line of cars behind him. He manages to bring his motorcycle back to life easily, and the relief of finally passing through the clear intersection washes over him. “That was fucking embarrassing,” he mumbles under his breath.

Your hands find their way back to his stomach, and you give him a reassuring squeeze even if your tone is slightly patronizing. “It’s okay. I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

He accepts your gesture with a giggle as he pats your hand that’s resting just above his navel. “If you do, I might have to kill you.”

Unfortunately, for the remainder of the ride, Jake proves to not be much of a conversationalist and fills the time by playing music through the helmets instead of chatting with you. You try not to let it bother you, but then you’re thrown when he pulls the bike into an open parking space in front of the shop, instead of his designated spot in the back.

You step into the shop for the second time today but with Jake by your side. You’re greeted by the same faces, but now with the addition of Josh and the woman he was tattooing when you left. She’s standing at the counter, leaning over so much that her ass sticks out, touching his arm while he works on closing out her payment.

“We should really get a drink sometime,” she offers, shamelessly making her move without caring that it’s in front of an audience.

Josh smiles, and you can see the blush pink ending the apples of his cheeks. “Yeah, maybe.”

You’re not exactly sure where this feeling is coming from. You wouldn’t consider yourself an overly jealous or confrontational type of person. But just to hear her voice, to see her reach out and touch him the way she is — it’s making you act irrationally. What you should do is remain calm, say your goodbyes to the guys, and head home for the rest of the day.

But you don’t.

That impulse that’s been simmering within yourself like an unattended pot finally boils over, causing you to take Jake’s hand in yours. There’s a powerful determination in your strides as you drag him over to the front counter. You’re the one taking the lead, using the same path he had used with you when you left the shop. It feels as though time is slowing down like you were trapped in that cliche scene of a movie. As you push past Josh and his client, you pretend he’s simply a stranger, that the chemistry and moments shared between you are figments of his imagination.

She simply scoffs and scoots out of your way while Josh freezes in place, stuck staring at you with this incredulous look of shock. His expression instantly sours with anger when Jake steps with you, but you don’t bother with an explanation as you make your way to the back hallway. You want your actions to make a point for you.

Despite his brother’s sudden change in mood, Jake doesn’t resist in the slightest as you yank him down the hall. You step into the small office with him in tow, spin dramatically on your heels, and with your hands placed firmly on his chest, you shove him against the back of the door hard enough for it to slam shut with a thud.

You’re inches away from his face, breathing heavily while your heart pounds wildly within your chest. You’ve pulled that trigger, now all that’s left is to follow through with your plan. You know it will end poorly, but his divine scent, the warmth of his body through his t-shirt, and the throaty sound of his laugh divert your attention from that fact while simultaneously causing the walls of your confidence to crumble.

“Doesn’t bother you, huh?” He asks through an airy giggle while he wraps his fingers around your wrist and looks down at you through sleepy lids with that smug, feline smile appearing on his mouth.

“Shut up.” You swallow thickly, fixating solely on his lips that he’s wetting with the tip of his tongue. You don’t give yourself the chance to overthink what’s happening before your mouth comes crashing down on him. The kiss you give him is not gentle, graceful, or even teasing. It’s walking along the lines of desperate, demanding at best as you shove your tongue into his mouth in the need to taste him.

He welcomes you with a low groan, and his hand finds your cheek to pull you in closer. Whatever this is, it’s impulsive and rushed — far from the scene he painted on that phone call. You’re both sweaty and uncomfortable from being crammed in this tiny office, but you don’t care, and neither does he, given how his tongue is sliding across yours. As he cradles your cheek, you struggle to keep your hands in one spot for longer than a second. They leave the nape of his neck to massage across his chest until they grasp onto the fabric on his t-shirt in clenched fists.

While he takes his time savoring the kiss, you’re in a frantic need, borderline clawing at the button and zipper of his jeans. You impatiently huff, “Would you just fuck me already?”

Without warning, he grabs both of your wrists, flips both of you around, and knocks you up against the door. Before you can react and utter a single word, he snatches your throat in the blink of an eye, claiming the air from your lungs. The hold he has on you is controlled, but gentle. He keeps you still, taking precious seconds to examine all the intricate details while he breathes you in. You try to watch him through your lashes, but you’re too distracted by the silver bands of his rings pressing into the soft flesh of your neck with the calculated squeeze of his fingers.

“If you want to use me to make him jealous, you better be ready for it, dove,” He croons just above a whisper, the breath of his voice fanning across your parted lips — the sound of it having the richness of freshly-pulled espresso, dark and intense.

If you’re the vixen, he’s the wolf — giving you that false sense of security while you’ve been prancing around thinking you’ve had control, that he’s softened up to you. But in reality, you’ve been distracted this entire time while he prowls that clearing, waiting for the perfect moment to change everything for you.

That addicting, devilish smile flashes before you. “Are you?”

His eyes seem to darken, pupils blown with desire as they drift down to your lips. You nod, whispering a faint, “Yes.”

If you were paying attention, you would have heard the sound of footsteps coming down the hall, but you didn’t. The feeling of the doorknob turning and the door being pushed open is what pulls you out of your trance.

Jake throws an open hand to the door and shoves it closed with a harsher thud than you did moments ago. He flips the lock before the other person has the chance to push it open again. When they realize this with a second attempt, they proceed to bang their fist on the other side of the door.

“Are you fucking serious?!” A muffled, angry voice calls out while giving one final push to the door.

It’s Josh.

Jake doesn’t seem bothered by the jarring interruption in the slightest, so little in fact that he starts to place kisses on your neck.

You push against his chest enough to break the contact of his lips to your skin. “He sounds mad, Jake”

He presents a cocky smile to you, but his eyes are focusing on your lips while his thumb sweeps across them. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

You can’t say you were expecting Josh’s confrontation, but it makes you question your motives, and with that, guilt and worry jump on the chance to weasel their way into your mind, causing a shift in your disposition. “Yeah…but—“

He takes your chin in his hand and carefully tilts your head up so you’re looking at him directly. He looks down at you, peering through heavy lids in admiration. Now that he has your full attention, he coos with a certain assurance, “Hey, don’t get in your head about it. He’ll be pissy for a bit, but he’ll get over it.”

You scoff dramatically, breaking free from his loose grasp. He dips his head back to its place in the crook of your neck, letting out a deep sigh, “He can’t hold a grudge to save his life.” While your fingers weave into his hair, he peppers your shoulder with kisses, mumbling through each one, “Especially with you.”

You’ve been holding a breath in your chest despite the aching feeling it gives you, but you push it out the second he sinks his teeth into the flesh which sends a chill down the length of your spine. He squeezes a handful of your ass, giving himself the ability to grind himself against your hip. You groan at the feeling of his erection pressing into you, making him smile against your skin before he teases, “Besides, I believe that you’ll find ways to make it up to him.”

You lean against the door while you try to collect your thoughts. Even though you’re swimming in feelings and emotions, you’re still clear-headed enough to be irritable toward Josh. “Yeah, well, he should be finding ways to make it up to me.”

Your response makes him laugh and retreat from your neck, but only to hover his lips over yours, “There’s my girl.”

He seems pleased and releases his hand from around your throat and balances his weight on his other arm against the door. He’s hovering above you, boxing you in with his arms against the door. The touch of his lips is a blessing and a curse as he presses them into the delicate skin, that tender spot right below your ear. You’re at his mercy, and you both know it.

He pops open the button of your jeans with ease and slips his hand under the denim and the fabric of your panties. You try to spread your legs for him in the standing position, but he’d already nestled in the heat between your thighs. To your surprise, he doesn’t make you beg this time, and slips his middle finger through your folds, coating himself in the building wetness of your arousal.

“Fuck,” you moan louder than expected as you buck into the palm of his hand, grasping onto his wrist that’s half-buried in the front of your pants. You instinctively clench your legs around him, but his fingers glide over you despite the restrictions.

“Little worked up?” He pants, the heat of his breath clinging to your neck. You react by digging your nails into the flesh of his arm, but he’s already busy circling your clit with the calloused pad of his finger.

“Fuck you,” you say in a breathy sigh, but the insult is as empty as your mind is right now. The only thought existing in the brain fog is your need to satiate the craving for him, and you’ve decided you’re not leaving until you do.

He repositions slightly, pinning you firmly against the door as he braces himself. He hums and gives a nip to your jaw “Oh don’t worry, dove. You’ll get to.”

He adds his index finger, flicking the bundle of nerves with the lightest of touches.

You whine out, and your legs start to shake in fatigue from holding yourself against the door. He rolls his hips against you in search of friction, giving away that he’s been wanting this just as badly. “You been thinking about me, dove? Playing with this pretty little cunt pretending it’s me doing it?”

You whimper an incoherent answer. He slips his middle finger through your slick until it's right at your entrance. Even he’s surprised with how easily his finger glides inside you. ‘Fuck, you’re so wet. Did the bike feel good, sweetheart?” He curls it inside while his thumb works your clit, working off the reactions of your body beneath him. “He can’t do that for you, can he?”

He could be speaking an entirely different language to you and it wouldn’t matter at this moment. Every word from his mouth sounds more distorted than the last as that heat builds between your trembling legs. With how close you are, you can only writhe and claw at his arm, responding to him with pathetic whimpers and moans.

He adds a second finger, stretching you out that much more, and starts to pump them inside you with however much your jeans allow. “You know he’s out there right now. Wishing he could fuck you…feel you like this.”

You cry out his name and you put no effort in keeping your voice low and quiet. You’ve been holding onto him this entire time, and now you have most of his t\shirt balled in your fists to ground yourself to him. He’s intertwined with you, rocking his waist with yours as you climb to the tipping point of your release. He’s so close that the bridge of his nose is digging into the side of your cheek, but you can’t be bothered to care about the sting the pressure causes. You want it, you need him to lose himself with you.

You’re rapidly approaching your peak, and there’s no question that he can feel you tighten and flutter around him. He pushes a growl from his throat against the shell of your ear, “There you go, give it all to me. I know you’re close, dove.” He drags his swollen lips down the column of your neck while his fingers sweep that special spot inside you. “She needs me so badly.”

As if he’s yanked the threads of your composure with the simple demand, you unravel completely. He holds you tightly, riding the waves of your orgasm as you shake uncontrollably against his hand.

After giving you a minute to come down from your high, he pulls his hand from your jeans and rests it on your hip while he catches his breath. You release your hold on the back of his shirt and let your fingers wander down the length of his body until you find what you’re searching for. You’re pleased to know that he’s still just as hard as he was, throbbing away against your palm.

You take the initiative by grabbing his hips and sliding down with your back to the door until you’re balanced on your knees. Your confidence always falters when you see him, but you can’t resist the temptation to look up.

The image of him above you takes your breath away. You watch his chest heave with every breath pushing past his parted lips while he braces his weight against the door on an extended arm. His long hair has come loose from his bun and is now falling around his face, some of it even clinging to the sweat that has collected on his cheeks and forehead. His eyes meet yours for a brief moment, but his surprise shows on his raised brows when he sees your hands meet at the button of his pants.

You watch him process what’s about to happen and the absentminded lick across his lips before they spread wide into a full grin. He brings his other hand to rest on the crown of your head before his fingers slip through your hair.

The way his dull nails scratch across your scalp is almost enough to distract you, but you’re determined. You make quick work of his button and zipper, opening the front of his pants enough so you can pull his cock free. The noise he makes the second you have him in your hand is a sound you wish you could replay forever. He’s heavy and thick in your grasp — his skin is hot to the touch, tacky against your fingers as you slowly stroke him.

He suddenly tugs at your hair by the roots, yanking your attention back up to him. “Just know you’re not fooling me, sweetheart.” The stinging sensation with the authority in his voice makes you ache for him even more. He relaxes his grip on your hair for a more affectionate touch, one that one might use for a pet. “Acting all innocent…but here you are hungry for my cock like the pretty little whore you are.”

You squeeze your fingers around the base, making him hum from your choice of answer. You wish you had all the time in the world to tease him, to edge him slowly until he is the one begging. You don’t. Since you’re on borrowed time as it is, you bring him to your lips and lick around the head of his cock before gliding him over your flattened tongue. He shudders at the warm, wet feeling, and his fingers curl involuntarily against your scalp.

You quickly find your rhythm, bobbing on him while you use your hand for what your lips can’t reach. The saltiness of his sweat lingers on your tongue and the natural scent of his body floods your mind — adding to the impulsiveness of your decisions. His splayed fingers slide to the back of your head so he can push himself even deeper. You take him without complaint, letting his cock hit the back of your throat.

You gag around him almost instantly, so forcefully that you have to pull away with just a string of spit connecting your lips to his cock. The tears welling in your eyes have clouded your vision, but you hear him hum in approval, “That’s it, baby girl.”

Acting on his praise, you wrap your lips around him once again. Your movements and techniques are sloppy and uncoordinated, but you find that only seems to turn him on even more. The messier you are with his cock in your mouth and the more depraved you look on your knees, the closer he gets.

Through your wet lashes, you see that his eyes are clamped shut in what looks like a grimace of pain, but you know that it’s far from it. You also note how his mouth hangs open while tiny moans and whispered curses escape freely. He’s somewhere else in his mind, fighting the temptation to let go completely into the back of your throat. He’s been allowing you to take the lead as long as he can, but he’s losing the battle of self-control and gives in by pressing the heel of his palm to your forehead and guiding your head to the back of the door.

He finally takes that control, and with each thrust into your mouth, he pushes the back of your head into the wood just a bit more. The act isn’t painful, but it’s far from comfortable. You’re greedy for the praise, for the lewd sounds he makes, for the reactions of his body from how good you feel. You want to keep going but the muscles of your legs are starting to strain with fatigue and your jaw is starting to ache past the point of being bearable.

You reach up to tap his hand and he instantly releases his grip on your hair and withdraws himself from your mouth. If you were him, you would see your makeup has smeared down your cheeks, your red, swollen lips and chin glistening with your drool, and that glazed, already fucked-out look in your eyes.

“Jake,” you try to speak, but his name barely comes out as a hoarse whisper.

He just stares at you with a blank expression on his face, and for a second you worry that he didn’t hear you until he eventually mumbles out, “Huh?”

“I need you.”

He nods and reaches down to hook his hands under your arms, helping you up off the floor. You don’t have to balance your weight for long because he spins you both again and guides you to the desk behind you. In one fluid motion, he tugs your jeans and underwear down your legs and lifts you onto the top of the desk.

He hooks his hands around the backs of your knees and pulls you forward to the very edge before wrapping your legs around his waist. Everything is happening faster than you can process, but what you can do is bring his lips to yours for a kiss.

With his cock in hand, he glides himself through your folds to coat himself in your arousal. He holds himself at your entrance, waiting for your permission and the anticipation nearly kills you, but all he wants is to hear how badly you need it.

“Jake…please.” Your desperate plea tumbles into his mouth through your kiss.

He smiles against your lips as he rolls his hips forward, nudging the head of his cock into your waiting cunt. He pulls himself out, only to push all the way to the hilt in a single thrust. However, he’s not done dragging this out, because now that he’s fully inside you, right where you want him to be, he slowly withdraws — so slowly that it’s borderline torture.

While you groan in protest, he’s looking down, watching you tense and tighten around his cock in hopes of keeping him close. “Fuck, you take me so well,” He grunts before snapping his hips forward, and because you’ve adjusted to his size, he glides back into you with ease.

As much as you love the idea of him watching himself fuck you, you need him close. You bring him flush against you with your legs locked around him in a vice-grip hold. He stalls his movements, but he makes up for it by sweeping the hair from your face and tucking it behind your ear so he can whisper, “You look prettier with me inside you.”

The thought of arguing with him on that fact crosses your mind, but this is where his sweet affection ends. He’s done with the sensual teasing and decides to set a very different pace for himself. You make the note to consider yourself lucky up until this point, because now you’re struggling to keep your sounds discreet.

A forceful thrust of his cock against your cervix causes a yelp to break free and his hand flies to your mouth to muffle your cries. He chuckles with a shake of his head, but it's lazy and breathy while he continues to fuck you, “You gotta be quiet. There are still people here.”

His hands have been everywhere on you — around the nape of your neck, on your hips, across your back, and almost every inch of your legs. He settles on your throat once more, but this time making the point to squeeze his fingers into the flesh. “Whose pussy is this? Hmm? Tell me.”

You’re becoming more light-headed by the second, but you’re eager to give him the answer he desires, “Yours.”

While he’s been just shy of being rough with you, his rhythm slows enough so he can ask, “Who? I don’t think I heard a name, dove.”

“Yours, Jake! Yours!”

Satisfied with your answer, he lets go of your neck to brush his knuckles along your jaw. “That’s right. Good girl.” Hearing him calling you ‘good girl’ will never cease to make you melt, so there’s nothing that can stop you from letting your head fall against his. “Don’t forget that she’s mine.”

The slip of his possessiveness only fuels your desire. It should have you running the other direction, but here you are wanting him to claim you — to take what he deems rightfully his.

His thrusts give him away before his words do. His panting breath fans across your cheek with every exhale, “I’m so close. How bad do you want it?”

You know exactly what he means, and you don’t hesitate to beg him for it, “Bad. Pl-please, Jake. Come inside me, please.”

The sweet, pitchy sound of your request causes him to falter. “Oh fuck, baby. You want me to fill you up?” The words are broken up between thrusts and the sharp inhale of breath through clenched teeth. “Mark her as mine?”

While he’s been holding out as long as he could, the final few pumps buried deep inside you force him to succumb to his release. He gives you what you’re so desperate for — the addicting warmth of his cum filling you with every heavy pulse and twitch of his cock.

He stays perfectly still wrapped in your embrace to soak up the moment and take in the feeling of your pussy spasming around his softening cock. You’re not sure how much time passes until he slides out of you and tucks himself back into his pants while admiring the mess he’s left between your legs.“What a beautiful sight.”

Just when you think it’s all over, his fingers dance along your inner thigh. “How’s it feel? Me dripping out of you like this?”

You’re not sure what to say. If you were coherent in any capacity, you still might not have anything to say.

He gladly accepts your listless state and the silence as the best answer. He rolls his thumb over your swollen, over-stimulated clit that’s covered in his cum, making you squirm from the touch. He clicks his tongue, but doesn’t pull his hand away, “She can’t even hold it all in, poor thing.”

You say his name again as a warning, but in reality, it’s a weak lie. If it was up to you, he would never stop touching you if you could help it. You just can’t say you expected him to shove his fingers inside you again.

It’s only for a brief moment and then they are gone, leaving you empty. You stare at him in pure disbelief as he brings those same, wet fingers to his mouth and wipes them across his tongue. He leans forward to kiss you, making sure to share whatever he licked off. “Taste that? That’s us and don’t you ever fucking forget it.”

You’re left speechless, and when he realizes you won’t answer him, he asks a follow-up question with more deliberation, “Do you understand me?”

You nod despite your sweaty face sticking to the side of his. “Yes, Jake.”

He hums to himself, “I had a feeling you were going to be a good listener.”

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mechacringekitty · 3 months

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incredibly messy essay of my thoughts on darkstalker, straight from my DMs with a friend because they demanded i post it [which means it has incredibly improper grammar]

hes an awful awful person, unapolagetically, and i think there are scenes and areas where he could've been written better. or had more nuance, like his dynamic with arctic [why do they hate each other ?? theres no explanation given, really, besides the fact that they do] but people who reduce him to a monster just baffle me. he loved his mother, he loved whiteout, he tried to love clearsight even though he did it wrong. and clearsight/darkstalker is a really iffy territory, because he did love her and he thought he was loving her right but he wasnt he was kind of controlling and bad! the earrings !! the earrings that kept her from seeing the bad futures !! but he also loved her, he did. their relationship was doomed from the start but he tried. she loved him back too, thats why it didnt work. thats why it hurt so much. he loved his mother too,, the few brief interactions they got in arc 2 hurt me to my core because fuck foeslayer loved him too, even though she realises he's done bad things. and whiteout!! whiteout!! she's one of the only characters we see darkstalker actually properly caring about in a way that doesnt really hurt them somehow. i think she loved him too,, she tried to warn him, she did :( ive thought about them a lot, maybe darkstalker trying to calm whiteout down at times, or them hiding with each other while arctic and foeslayer fought. arctic and foeslayer make me really ill too but this rant is getting long enough as it is. darkstalker lost a little of his pizzazz in arc two because of how domination focused he was and the writing went more focused on making him this evil, hateable villain [imo] than a relatable and understandable villain. which is the best kind of villain. i hate the peacemaker thing i hate it i hate it and that scene in book ten makes me cry every time because he was hurt by it he was so hurt by it. he didnt need a second chance, he needed to die, he needed to reconcile with himself and accept that there was no way he would ever save any of it. something like him coming to his senses, him realising everything he's done is awful and hurtful and he's not ever going to be able to fix it, but he can at least apologise even if the icewings dont accept his apology, not all of them, they'll understand they havent been hating a monster without feelings this whole time,, and maybe some of them can start to understand him and they can start to heal and they can stop hurting each other. but he needed to die and it needed to be on his own terms and i think foeslayer shouldve gotten her peace with that and i think if i were here i wouldve chosen to die too. the world is so different from what either of them knew and i would be tired of trying to change and i would be tired of trying to fix it and i think ending that legacy right there and right then with the two of them together wouldve been good. and maybe foeslayer can tell darkstalker she loves him - maybe she never had time when he was a kid - and maybe he can tell her too and they can leave that world together with the knowledge that they tried but they dont have to try anymore.

#if you're just here to say “i hate darkstalker” fuck off btw <3 #hound.txt #wings of fire #darkstalker wof #darkstalker wings of fire #idk what to tag this with even???#enjoy. have fun.

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inadaydream99 · 8 months

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Even When You Were Invisible

Based on the movie The Princess Diaries (2001)

NCT Dream Jisung x fem reader, fluff

A/N - so I recently rewatched The Princess Diaries and just had to write this into a oneshot. This focuses more onto the budding romance side-plot of the film, so I’ve taken some liberties and adapted the narrative a bit. This is also unedited for now - please excuse any spelling/grammar mistakes!

Disclaimer: I have used a direct quote from the film which is in italics. I am not trying to replicate the film, just use the plot as inspiration. I do not take any credit for this plot. This does not represent any of the members in real life and is for entertainment purposes only. Jaemin’s character does not reflect him and is purely to fulfil the shallow character he plays. Mild use of language (like 5 swears, maybe??)

“How’s my baby?” You gleam at Jisung, catching him off guard from where he’d been so focused on tinkering around with the car engine in front of him. He bolts upright beside you, quickly grabbing hold of the car bonnet and slamming it down before reaching into his pocket to pull out the rag he uses to wipe off the engine oil from his hands.

“All good.” His voice comes out strained, watching as your smile somehow grows wider. He observes the way your hand smooths over the shiny baby blue metal of the car, gazing into the way it reflects your loving expression.

“Well, she looks amazing.” Your eyes flicker up to meet his, watching the way his Adam’s apple bops. “Thank you, Sungie.”

“Oh, it was really no problem…” he gushes, playing down all the turmoil your precious car has given him over the last few weeks. Not that Jisung ever plans on telling you about all the extra hours he’s spent fixing up your car for you. He doesn’t mind at all. He spends most of his free time at the garage anyway because his band is also allowed to practice there in return for Jisung helping out repair some cars.

It’d be a dead giveaway to all of the feelings he has towards you and he also knows you’d insist on paying him extra for his time if you knew when you’ve already put every penny of your savings into repairing the car you’d worked so hard to get.

Besides, with the way you look at him now, radiating so much adoration, Jisung feels it’s more than enough compensation for his hard work.

“You’re the best!” You reach out to ruffle his hair the second he ducks his head shyly from your compliment. Whispered giggles tumbling from his lips as his cheeks burn. “Can I pick her up tomorrow after school?” You shine those big doe-like eyes at him.

“No problem.” Jisung nods, smiling warmly. And he watches you skip out of the garage with so much excitement, shouting a “see you at school!” over your shoulder. Just as you have left his line of sight, Jisung is called over by his band mates for practice. And while they spend the rest of the evening playing their songs, Jisung continues to replay your interaction over in his mind. Damn, he’s down bad for you.

You reach home quicker than usual, thanks to the spring in your step from Jisung’s amazing work with your baby. You’re so unbelievably excited to finally be able to drive your dream car. You’ve wanted a baby blue mustang since you can remember, so you’d scraped all of your savings from your part time job together to buy the old beaten up car and payed the garage where Jisung works to make your car dreams come true.

“That you honey?” You hear your mom call as you walk further into your house. She sends you a smile over her shoulder when your bag clatters onto the kitchen table. Picking up an apple from the fruit bowl as you watch her refocus on the painting before her.

“Did you get another commission?” You speak through half-chewed apple.

“Uh-huh.” You mom hums, placing down her brush carefully onto the tray beside her easel before turning to you. “Who knew posting my art online would rake in so much work?”

“I did.” You tease, taking another bite of your apple.

Your mom shakes her head at you while rinsing her hands in the sink. All the while, you push yourself away from the counter, grabbing your bag to begin heading to your room.

“(Y/N), wait!” Your mom calls just as you reach the stairs. “Your grandmother called today. The live one.” Your mom adds upon seeing your shock.

“The one I’ve never met?” You tilt your head in confusion, bushy eyebrows furrowing. “What would she suddenly want?”

“She said she wants to have tea with you after school tomorrow.” Your mom explains. “Something about important news she needs to share with you.”

“Oh, I was supposed to pick up my car tomorrow… but I guess I’ll have to rain check.”

That was two weeks ago now and little did you know at the time how much your life was about to change.

The following afternoon, when you’d arrived at your estranged grandmothers house - or should you say mansion - you’d had your world flipped upside down.

“A-a Princess-” your mouth hangs agape, unable to comprehend the situation at hand. Your eyes dart around the room, looking from your grandmother to her staff, then the security, before finally landing back on your grandmothers perfectly calm expression. She’s not joking. “No no no nonononono." You shake your head.

“You’ve got the wrong person. I’m the furthest thing from a princess. Look at me!”

As it turns out, they did not have the wrong person. Your father, who you’d never met, had been heir to the throne of the small European country you’d never heard of and after his death, that left you - his only child - next in line.

You’d come to an agreement with your grandmother that, before anyone made any rash decisions, you’d give it some time to try out the role of Princess. And so commenced the ‘Princess training’ every day after school with your grandmother. You’d learn how to walk, talk, sit, stand and live like a true Princess within the agreed trial month between this life altering news and the annual independence ball.

Sworn to secrecy, you’d not told a soul about your new informed identity. So, while your private life has somehow changed in every single way, your school life has not budged an inch. From the hours of 8-3 you’re the same invisible girl, with your two bestest friends since kindergarten, Jisung and Chenle.

“Woah, he’s so dreamy.” You gush, resting your chin in your palm as you watch Jaemin walk past your lunch table. Jisung simply rolls his eyes at the way you simp over the most popular guy in school, like always. He doesn’t get the hype around Jaemin. So what if he’s the captain of the football team, extremely lean and always seems to have perfectly shiny hair? Anyone could have all of those things. Jisung could have all of those things…

Despite the fact that he’s almost flunking gym class because of his terrible hand-eye co-ordination in football.

Jisung feels his only consolation is that Jaemin is dating Nina, the head cheerleader.

“Anyway…” Chenle speaks a little louder, “as I was saying before (Y/N) let her hormones take away from the crisis at hand. How am I going to get another guest for my show on Saturday?”

Ah yeah, you were trying to console Chenle on his last minute drama. His school curricula radio show, Talking with Chenle, had finally been getting more than three listeners a week. And ever since his audience has started to slowly grow, he’s been putting more and more pressure on himself to promote the topics he cares about with guests.

“Dude, chill. You still have four days to find a replacement.” Jisung grumbles from beside you. He looks a little like he’s sulking, although you have no idea what could have possibly made him so annoyed within the last thirty minutes that you’ve been sat at your lunch table.

“So much help you are.” Chenle fires at the grumpy Jisung on your left as he stands from the table, slings his bag over his shoulder and storms off.

You turn your attention to said grump, frowning.

“That wasn’t nice Sungs.” You watch as regret consumes his face, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder as he mumbles a muted apology.

“So, are you collecting your car from the garage tonight?” Jisung finally builds up enough courage to ask you. He’s been battling in his mind for the last few days on how to bring this up, so he’s a little nervous, but tries his best to suppress the shyness that wants to win over.

“Oh I can’t.” You guiltily grimace. You feel terrible putting him off again, especially when you were meant to pick up your baby weeks ago. But, since you’ve been having your ‘Princess lessons’ everyday, you’ve had no time. “I’m seeing my Grandmother.”

“Again?” Jisung regrets how quickly the word slips out of his mouth. But you don’t seem offended, nodding yes in response.

“How about Saturday?” You quizzically raise a brow, biting down onto the corner of your bottom lip in anticipation.

“Saturday works…” You let out a breath in relief upon Jisung’s agreement. “…and maybe you can stay for a bit, hang out?” Jisung suggests.

“…it’s just my band are practicing that afternoon in front of a few people and it’d be great to have a bit more of an audience…” Jisung trails off, cutting off his word vomit just in time to notice the way your smile reaches your eyes.

“Sounds perfect.” You beam, just as the bell rings for class.

You were beyond nervous. Petrified, if you’re completely honest. Yesterday evenings ‘Princess lesions’ with your grandmother had turned out to be a head-to-toe makeover and you’d come out the other end of the evening looking like someone entirely different. Some may even say, like a Princess. Gone were your glasses, bushy eyebrows, your hair had been cut and the frizz tamed. To you, you look almost unrecognisable. To Chenle, you look amazing. But to Jisung, you look like the very thing you’d always swore you’d never want to be - a popular - and it scared him.

While you liked your new look, you felt like a bit of a sellout for complying with the makeover to look more ‘regal’ - as your grandmother had described it. So you’d walked into your first class of the day wearing a grey bucket hat, so as to cover as much of your new look as possible.

Jisung had to do a double take when you entered the classroom and took your usual seat beside him. He’d always thought you were beautiful before, but wow, you’d somehow managed to ascend to another level quite literally overnight. From under the hat, he could see your bright eyes and long lashes. The neat shaping of your eyebrows and the plumpness of your lips, accentuated by the baby pink lip gloss you’d applied. Although, he’s unsure of why you’re wearing a hat on such a warm summers day, especially when you’re inside.

“Okay class, simmer down.” Your teacher, Mr Sums enters from the back of the room, hushing all of the excited chatter in the room as he places down his bag on the front desk and begins to set up for the class. “Yes, Nina?” He acknowledges without so much as glancing in her direction.

Nina sat in the seat behind you, perfectly poised and ready to strike. She’s the head girl in your grade for a reason, with her off-scale intelligence, popularity and cunning attitude. She will take down anyone who gets in her way. Which, right now, is your hat covered head that’s in her line of vision to the front of the class.

“Mr Sums. Isn’t there a rule about no hats allowed?” You can feel her smirk on the back of your neck, letting out a concealed huff as you try to prepare yourself for what you know is going to happen next.

“You’re right Nina.” Mr Sums sighs, “(Y/N), please could you remove your improper dress coded attire?” He glances at you and your mortified expression, watching as you gulp down your nerves while simultaneously reaching up to reluctantly slip your hat off.

Out tumbles your perfectly smooth hair as it cascades down past your shoulders. Jisung’s eyes almost pop out of his head from beside you. Not that you notice, too busy being consumed by the gasps from your classmates.

“Oh wow.” You hear Nina laugh, “Look who’s trying to fit in now?”

Her sickly-sweet tone only makes your cheeks burn deeper and you try to sink into your chair.

“Well, I think (Y/N) looks stunning, actually.” Your head whips towards Jisung, grateful for him sticking up for you. You send him a thankful smile as class begins and everyone’s attention is turned away from you. For now.

“So what’s the deal with your sudden change of appearance?” Chenle questions as he shovels his salad into his mouth. His words come out slightly muffled between the half-chewed lettuce and Jisung just rolls his eyes.

“Nothing.” You try to shut down the topic, bowing your head into your own lunch.

“It’s clearly not nothing.” Chenle deadpans, before narrowing his eyes at you. “You’re hiding something.”

“Am not.” You grumble into your sandwich.

“So you’ll be coming to my baseball game after school then, like we agreed weeks ago?”

Shit. You’d completely forgotten about Chenle’s baseball game and you know for certain you can’t get out of seeing your grandmother.

“I can’t.”

“See!” Chenle drops his fork into his salad, folding his arms as he turns to Jisung for support. “What? Are you just bored with us now? Don’t want to be friends anymore?”

“No, that’s not even close!” You cry in distress.

“Then tell us what’s so important that you keep dropping us (Y/N).”

You bite down on your jittering bottom lip, your worried eyes casting from Chenle’s unimpressed expression to Jisung’s concerned one.

“I’m not allowed to tell…”

Upon this half-confession, Chenle drops his attitude and leans across the table to speak quieter.

“Are you in trouble? Being blackmailed again? Do we need to beat someone up?”

“No!” You shut down his conspiracies, hands flying up in surrender.

You know you shouldn’t tell anyone. But you also know that if you don’t spill it all to them now, you’ll risk loosing the only people keeping you sane. Heaving a deep sigh, you know what you have to do.

“Okay. You have to promise me you’ll keep this strictly between us.” You point between your two intrigued friends, encouraging them to lean into the table so you can whisper. “I’m serious. The repercussions if this gets out-”

“Just tell us.” Chenle rolls his eyes.

To other students, it simply looks like your gossiping like any other group of high schoolers. But if they were to look closely enough, they’d notice the way both Chenle and Jisung’s eyes blow wide and how the colour seems to drain from Jisung’s face faster than lightening.

“You’re a what-” you cover Chenle’s mouth before he has a chance to shout anything further, covering it with a “Shhhhh.”

“Promise this stays between us.” You stick your pinky finger out for them to link, watching as both of your friends entangle theirs around yours.

“Damn. Wish I could be a…” Chenle begins to mutter.

“Dude!”

Walking into school the next morning feels a little more unnerving than usual. You’re barely through the threshold of the gates when someone spots you and shouts “that’s her!”.

Everything’s a blur from that moment. With a frenzy of people shouting “Princess!”, a crowd of students swarm you in seconds, phones and cameras are flying in front of your face as they all take pictures and videos. You feel nauseous from being elbowed and shoved in the midst of the unfolding chaos. However, just when you think your about to spew your guts from the motion sickness, you feel a pair of hands find your waist and clutch onto you, wrapping you into the taller frame of your saviour and using their body as a shield until you’re safely out of the crowd.

“Follow me.” Your saviour moves you away from their hold, clutching onto your hand and forcing you to run as you’re dragged along behind them to a place of refuge. You’re pulled into the main building and twisted through the narrow corridors until there’s no one on your tail.

It’s not until you’re hidden inside a janitors closet that you’re able to look at the person before you and realise it’s Jisung.

“How do they know!” You rush back into his chest, wrapping your arms tightly around his torso and burying your face. Jisung is winded a little from the impact, tumbling a few steps back with you before he regains his balance.

“It’s ok. Everything’s going to be ok.” He whispers into the top of your head, fluttering his eyes shut as he inhales the floral scent of your freshly washed hair.

Of course, Jisung has no idea how your secret had gotten out, or what to do next. All he knows right now is how perfectly you fit in his arms and how much he wants to protect you.

“I want you to know, it wasn’t me.” You pull away from Jisung, peering into his worried eyes. You’d never once doubted it would have come from him and there’s nothing more in the world you want right now than to let him know that. Cupping his cheek, you brush your thumb over his soft skin.

“I’d never even consider that being a possibility.” You soothe.

Jisung drinks in every drop of affection you give him as though he’d been traversing the desert for days on end without water. Knowing you never could have accused him rehydrates him and makes his heart feel like it could burst.

“It wasn’t Chenle either. I was with him all evening after his baseball game.”

“I don’t doubt him either.” You reassure. “This feels bigger than just some school gossip.”

After cooling down in the janitors closet for a while, you’d managed to sneak out and into your first few classes of the day without too many people bombarding you. Your principle had made an announcement to not cause another commotion and all staff were on patrol during lesson changeovers and breaks.

“Wait, (Y/N)!” You turn to find Chenle forcing his way to the front of the cohort of students following you, instantly linking his arm with yours as you continue to uncomfortably make your way to class surrounded by your new admirers. “You’re an overnight sensation!” He beams, loving the attention on you both.

“Tell me about it…” you mumble, juxtaposing Chenle in every way. Unlike your friend, you’re not made for the limelight. You don’t like all the attention on you. Not now, not ever.

This was one of your biggest fears about people finding out you’re a Princess.

“So, you’ll be my special celebrity guest on Talking with Chenle this Saturday, won’t you?”

Your mouth gapes, finally making eye contact with him and ready to outright refuse. Until, you see how hopeful he looks.

Damn it. There’s no way you can turn him down.

“Sure…” you sigh, unable to hide the small smile that forces its way onto your face when he jumps in excitement.

“You’re awesome!”

“(Y/N)!”

You’re just closing your locker when you hear your name, your heart picking up pace from the unmistakeable voice of your caller.

Spinning around, you find none other than Jaemin, smiling at you with his signature smile and staring at you with those heart melting eyes.

“How are you holding up? Been a bit of a crazy day…” He leans one arm on the locker beside you, standing so close you can smell his earthy cologne.

“Just a bit.” You giggle sweetly.

It’s amazing how Jaemin can have such an affect on you. One word and your mind has gone to putty and you’ve forgotten how to act like a normal person.

“Well, I just wanted to apologise for Nina this morning…”

“Huh?” You furrow your brows, feeling yourself come back down to earth.

“She was the one who shouted when you entered the gates and made everyone swarm you?” Jaemin’s tone comes out unsure, not realising that you weren’t aware when you let out a light “oh.”

“I just wanted to let you know that I do not condone that at all. In fact, I broke up with her because of it.”

“You did?” You gush, surprise written all over your face.

…and you’re off in space again.

“Yeah, it was totally not cool.” Jaemin nods. “Anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to go to the end of school beach party with me this Saturday?”

Oh my gosh! Na Jaemin just asked you out!

“Yes!” You blurt. “I-uh I mean, yeah” you swallow, “sounds cool.”

“Cool.” His smile reaches his eyes. “I’ll see you Saturday.”

You watch dreamily as Jaemin walks away to join his group of friends at their lunch table. You’re only pulled back into reality when you spot Jisung perched on the edge of the fountain across the courtyard.

“Guess who just asked me to go with him to the beach party this Saturday!” You park yourself next to Jisung on the ledge of the fountain. “Jaemin!” You squeal your answer when Jisung simply raises an inquisitive brow at you.

“But, what about seeing my band practice?” Jisung tries to not sound depleted.

“Well, I was hoping we could reschedule? I just, I’ve been wanting to go out with Jaemin since forever and you’ll have other band practices, right?”

“Oh, yeah, right.” Jisung forces a smile, feeling himself deflate the second you’ve squeezed him in a tight hug before skipping off to get some lunch.

His attention flickers over to the table where Jaemin sits. How could Jisung ever compare? He’d always felt you were unattainable to him because of how he was too shy to express his feelings. And that was before your new look and title. But now? He has no shot.

You’re a Princess for goodness sake. You belong with the most popular guy in school. Not a shy keyboard player in a band that sings in the local garage like him…

“Oh, thank goodness you’re here!” Your grandmother rushes to you as you arrive for your ‘Princess lesson’ of the day. She takes you by your shoulders and peers at you intently.

“Now,” she exhales a deep breath. “We’ve got the press under control with the looming promise of the annual independence ball, so long as they keep a little distance for now.”

You nod in understanding.

You were honestly a little nervous about seeing your grandmother this evening. You’d been worrying about her reaction to this all getting out, even though she is calm and has dealt with an unimaginable amount of trials and tribulations during her many years of reign. She is also strong willed and has made it clear to you that - even though you have yet to make the choice to accept your title and duty - the expectation of this trial period would be as though this is your future.

“And we’ve found that the leak was from the stylist we’d hired.”

There’s more relief in knowing your Grandmother knows it hadn’t come from you than there is from the culprit being found out.

“And we’ve got him doing a formal apology to the press this evening.”

Saturday rolls around quickly and before you know it, you’re on your way to the beach party for your date with Jaemin. Everyone who’s anyone is there; dancing, sunbathing or cooling off in the ocean as the sun begins to set.

You feel a little awkward as you walk down the beach to join the other party-goers. It seems like it’s well underway already and you’re not typically one to mix with the crowd in attendance.

“Welcome to paradise.” You almost jump out of your skin upon hearing Jaemin’s voice from your side. You had been so engrossed in your awe of the scene in front of you, you didn’t notice he’d walked over. “I got you a drink.”

You accept the plastic cup, your fingers brushing accidentally with his. Chuckling a flustered thanks before taking a sip, you try not to be affected by his amused grin. He thinks you’re so adorable. How had you been kept so hidden before?

“C’mon.” You feel Jaemin’s hand slip into yours, gently tugging you along with him to head further into the crowd…

“Hello, welcome to Talking with Chenle.” Chenle professionally introduces when his fellow producer Mark signals they are live. “On todays show, we have a special interview with the newfound Princess and close friend of mine, (Y/N).” Mark hits the applause button.

“But, before our main guest’s appearance, we have a short segment on the upcoming senior class projects, presented by our very own Mark.”

Mark jumps in with his pre-written script, listing out the upcoming events for the semester. Meanwhile, Chenle checks his phone to see if you’ve tried to contact him about your whereabouts. Nothing. You should have been here 30 minutes ago…

Back at the beach party, you’re having the time of your life dancing with Jaemin. Uncontrollable laughter tumbling from your lips as he takes your hand and spins you around.

“Who knew you were such a good dancer?” You teasingly glance up at Jaemin as he leads you out of the crowd of dancers and to the side for some much needed air, your hand still firmly in his.

“Well, who knew you would make such a great dance partner.” He praises back, succeeding in making you flustered.

You cast a shy glance up at him through your lashes, still unable to believe that this is reality. You really are here with Jaemin, hand in hand in front of everyone. You feel like you should pinch yourself, just to double check your not dreaming all of this.

That is, until reality comes crashing down in a burning rage. What you’d simply brushed off as a plane flying above you, turned out to be a helicopter filled with paparazzi. It lowers, the wind from the propeller cutting off the party and almost knocking everyone off their feet as multiple cameras flash at you, trying their best to get a good snapshot.

You panic, a million questions buzzing around your mind. What should you do? How do you get away? But most of all, how did they know you’d be here?

“Quick, follow me!” Jaemin pulls you, both of you running towards the lifeguard shack at the back of the beach.

Once inside, Jaemin bolts the door shut and silence and darkness settle around you.

“I’m so sorry.” You plant your face into your hands as you fall into the chair behind you. Being chased by paparazzi - all shouting Princess at you - was not a part of your imagined date with Jaemin. And it’s mortifying to know that’s the reality.

“Hey.” You hear him whisper, his larger hands coercing yours away from your face. In the time you’ve been wallowing, Jaemin had made his way over to you and knelt down to your level so the first thing you see are his eyes and the way they catch the moonlight that filters in through the crack in the curtain covered window. “It’s not your fault.”

His sincerity mesmerises you and washes away your humiliation. How does he do it? How does he seem to know the exact right thing to say?

Meanwhile, Chenle’s radio show is crashing and burning live on air. The last forty-five minutes have been filled with Marks terrible jokes and ramblings and it’s all because of you.

“Alright, I’m off.” Chenle sounds defeated, taking off his headphones and making a stand from his chair the second the ‘live’ light goes dim.

Mark doesn’t respond, nodding his understanding as he watches his friend walk away. He knows it’s not his fault. Heck, Mark did everything he could to act on the spot and make the best out of the shit situation. Chenle is grateful for Marks loyalty and perseverance.

But damn, he still wishes you’d showed… they both do.

“Ok, I think they’ve given up.” Jaemin asserts, peaking through the curtain to find a dark and empty seeming beach. The relief that fills you has you following Jaemin out of the lifeguard shack without thought.

“Thank you for sticking by me, it means a lot.” You timidly smile at Jaemin, allowing him to take your hand in his as you begin to walk up the beach.

Before you have time to register, a bright flash snaps in front of you, the momentary blindness giving time for multiple lurking paparazzi to spring out from their hiding places and surround you both.

“Princess! Who’s your date?”

“Is this your boyfriend?”

“Princess, give him a kiss!”

The crowd shout as you panic, looking around to try and find an escape route.

You spot a slither in the sea of bodies and pull on Jaemin’s hand, but he doesn’t budge. Instead, he complies to the crazy demands of the privacy invading press and scoops your body into his. His lean arms make your desperation to get away worthless and before you know it, he’s cupped your cheek and forced you to look at him.

With one final deer-in-the-headlights look at him, Jaemin crashes his lips to yours.

It takes you a few seconds to register what he’s doing, before you muster up the strength to shove him away and force yourself out of the circle.

You can’t believe he just did that.

“It’s really not that bad.” Jisung tries to console you.

You’re flopped over the table, head in your arms as you try to block out every piece of reality. After Saturday’s kiss fiasco, the picture had been posted everywhere. There was no escaping the horrifying image of your first kiss with Jaemin. No less because you’d always dreamt your first kiss with Jaemin would be magical, like something out of a fairytale. And while you may be a Princess, this feels nothing close to those magical Disney princess movies you adored so much growing up.

For starters, where is your fairy godmother? You could really use one of those right about now…

He can’t lie, Jisung’s a little heartbroken seeing the picture of you kissing someone else posted everywhere. He’s upset for you, knowing how much you hate the situation. But, selfishly, he’s more gutted for himself. That should be him in Jaemin’s place. In fact, if he’d been lucky enough to kiss you, the image wouldn’t have existed because he never would have done it in front of the cameras. Knowing that Jaemin used you to get his 15 minutes of fame angers him too. The first time he saw the picture online, his fists had clenched so tightly from the rage that bubbled up in his stomach his nails had left little crescent moons in his palms. And yet, he can’t bring himself to not look at the grainy image.

“Not that bad?” You retort. “Any hope I had of being Princess has gone down the drain.” You begin to sob.

“What’s my grandmother going to say?”

Jisung doesn’t realise how stern his face had been until he finally looks away from the picture to find your eyes peaking out from their hiding spot. His gaze softens in a heartbeat, his hand reaching out to instinctively rub your back.

From your peripheral, you recognise the group passing by and tear your gaze away from Jisung’s to find Jaemin and his friends snickering as they walk past.

“Hey (Y/N), great kiss.” Jaemin puckers his lips mockingly.

You’re not sure what hurts you more, having reality shred the mask to uncover his true, obnoxious personality to you or knowing how many years you spent pining over someone so shallow.

“Ugh.” You bury your face back into the safety of your arms, blocking out all daylight and - you hope - reality.

After a lot of pep-talk from Jisung, he finally managed to coax you into going to your next class. But it’s not until final period, when see Chenle enter the classroom, that you realise you hadn’t seen or heard from him since last week. You send him a smile when he makes eye contact, feeling confused when he frowns back before taking a seat on the opposite end of the room.

You find yourself casting glances in his direction throughout the class, hoping to catch him looking over at you at least once. But nothing. Not even a peep is sent your way.

“Chenle,” you chase after him. Barely five seconds after your teacher had dismissed class, Chenle had been out of the door and down the corridor. You’d had to sprint through the throngs of students just to get to him before he got out of the building. “Why’d you not sit with me?”

But your question is met with the biggest eye roll you’ve ever seen as Chenle continues to make his way out of the school grounds.

“Did I do something?” You press.

“Did you do something?” Chenle fires back at you, narrowing his eyes vehemently. “Try what you didn’t do!”

You’re dumbstruck.

“I have no ide-”

“My radio show Saturday?” Chenle sasses. Thank goodness you’re down the street by the time Chenle finally stops walking and begins exploding on you. “I had to listen to Marks lame jokes for an hour.”

“Oh my god! I’m so unbelievably sorry.” Your eyes go wide, mortified at how you’d completely forgotten about being Chenle’s guest. “I’ll make it up to you next time, I swear!”

“There won’t be a next time.” Chenle scoffs, turning away once again. “Oh,” he stops himself to mention one last thing. “and, just so you know, just because you a Princess now, doesn’t mean the only thing that matters is you.”

“Hey Sungs.” You mournfully approach where Jisung finishes polishing your car. The garage is oddly quiet, no music or clatter sounding in the usually busy space. No. Instead, it seems like it’s just you and Jisung here. “Thank you for taking such good care of my baby.”

“No problem.” Jisung sends you a half-smile as he hands over the keys. “She’s all yours.”

“You don’t know how much this means to me.” You warmly smile, but feel your mood drop when he doesn’t reciprocate like he usually does. There’s a silence that fills the space between you. You’ve never felt so awkward with Jisung before.

“Well… I better get going…” you try not to sound too deflated, jangling your keys in the air as you go to open your car door.

You watch as Jisung takes a step back from the car, his hands stuffed awkwardly in his pockets as he wordlessly watches you.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” You timidly look at Jisung, stopping yourself from clutching the car door handle in front of you. “You don’t think I think the only thing that matters is me, right?”

There’s a timidity to your tone that makes Jisung gulp. He knows all about the argument because Chenle had ranted down the phone to him for a hour after school and he can tell Chenle’s words have gotten to you. At the same time, however, he feels a little dumbfounded that you seem to only realise this now, after you’d had someone shout it in your face. It’s even more ironic you only ask Jisung of his thoughts when you are just about to take the finished car home. The very one that you’ve been stringing him along with for weeks. He knows he has to be honest with you.

“There were times when I would say I agree, yes.” Jisung nods. “I mean, you dropped me for Jaemin in a heartbeat and he’d never once given you the time of day before your Princess glow-up.”

“Right. I really should go…” you voice comes out hoarse. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Jisung feels terrible as you spare no more time getting into your car and starting the engine. It revs to life and roars as you drive away, leaving him alone once again. But the it sinks in how much you’d made him feel used. You’d chosen to walk away from the truth when you’d asked him for it. And Jisung can’t help but feel disappointed.

Walking through the halls the next day you feel so insecure. Groups of students stop their conversation to stare at you as you pass, their expressions unreadable, leaving you unable to tell if they are judging you or just fascinated.

Reaching your locker in the courtyard, your eyes light up in hope upon seeing Chenle a few doors down at his locker. You watch him until he notices you, forcing a meek smile his direction when he does. But instead of him smiling back and making his way over to you, he frowns and slams his locker shut before walking the opposite direction.

You self-consciously peer around, hoping no one had witnessed that rejection and your eyes light up when you spot Jisung.

“Jisung!” You call as he walks past. But he doesn’t even acknowledge you. Instead, he picks up his pace and your eyes follow him as he catches up with Chenle. You turn back to focus on getting the right books out of your locker, trying to hold back the tears that threaten to spill.

How had you managed to mess up so bad that your friends won’t even acknowledge you…

With tears still in your eyes, you enter your next class with your head hanging low. You can’t bear to look up and see your two friends, knowing they won’t speak to you. Instead, you rush to the back of the room and take the seat furthest in the corner.

But when you do eventually look up towards the front of the classroom, you catch Jisung glancing your way. He turns back to face the front a split second after. But there’s as hope that flows through you from catching the longing in his expression.

Maybe there’s still a way to win them back.

It’s taken a few days to figure out, but you think you know how to get your friends to forgive you. Starting with Chenle.

First you have to sneak up on him so he doesn’t get away when you try to talk to him, which from his avoidance of you the past week, has proven more challenging than you thought. But you do manage to corner him in class as everyone leaves for lunch.

“Chenle, I want to make it up to you.” You plea. “I just want everything to be right between us again.” While you’ve technically been successful in talking to him, he’s still refusing to look at you. “Tell me what I can do…”

This piques his interest.

“Stop being a Princess.” He flatly states. If only he knew…

That was actually something you’d been working on, deciding days ago that you don’t think you’re cut out for accepting royal duty as a Princess. You’ve already spoken to your grandmother about this and, despite her reluctance and assurance that you would be more than capable for the role, you’d come to a mutual agreement to make no public announce until the evening of the ball.

You wish you could tell Chenle, but you can’t break your promise to your grandmother. You’re done breaking promises you’ve made.

“Well, I was thinking more along the lines of attending the independence ball this Saturday?” You send him a hopeful beam.

You take his blank expression and lack of a quick response as a good sign and continue to persuade.

“It’s invitation only…”

Chenle sighs. Damn him and his weakness for exclusivity. Plus, he’s always wanted to go to a ball and he doesn’t know when he’ll get this type of opportunity again.

“Fine!” He caves. “You’re forgiven.”

You squeal, jumping into him to squeeze him in a hug. You feel his chest vibrate with laughter and look up to finally see him smiling.

“I missed you.” You gush as you pull away and begin walking down the hallway together.

“I know.” Chenle laughs heartily when you shove him and roll your eyes.

You finally feel like you’re on the right track. If you can get Chenle to forgive you, then you’re pretty certain Jisung will too. Now you just need to find him.

“Wassup bro.” Chenle greets Mark as you join his table for lunch. You’re familiar with Mark because he helps Chenle out with his radio show and you’ve always found him really bubbly and sweet on the few occasions you’ve spoken.

“Sup guys.” Mark greets you both warmly. “I see you’re back on speaking terms.”

“Yep.” Chenle responds through a mouthful of food.

“Yeah, I’m really sorry about all of that.” You grimace towards Mark. “But I heard you’re on your way to becoming a comedic genius.”

“I think I’m good with sticking to the pre-scripted topics.” Mark laughs loudly.

“Oh, hey Jisung!” Chenle’s sudden shout almost makes you jump out of your skin.

You turn your attention to where Chenle looks to find Jisung casting an embarrassed side glance over to your table while trying to continue his conversation with one of his band mates Renjun.

You don’t really know Renjun, other than what you’ve observed. Even though he’s part of Jaemin’s popular group, he seems like a nice guy and there’s always been a part of you that’s been curious to know how he ended up with friends like Jaemin, Jeno and Donghyuck. All so loud and attention loving in comparison.

You watch as he bids Renjun goodbye and approaches, stuffing his hands into his pockets once he’s reached your table. It’s clear he doesn’t want to hang around…

“Aren’t you gonna join us for lunch?” Chenle snickers at his friend, his tone mocking at the way Jisung acts so hesitant.

“Actually, I-uh have,” Jisung gulps. “I have last minute band practice.”

“But you just said goodbye to Renjun?” Mark furrows his brows.

“Gotta go!” Jisung takes off as quickly as he can. He doesn’t look back when he hears you call after him, instead only ducking his head lower and picking up more speed. You have to run to catch him. Damn him and his long legs. You hate running.

“Jisung.” You pant, catching him by the arm and using all of your body weight to slow him down. He lets out a defeated sigh as he stops, knowing there’s no escaping having to talk to you now. “Please talk to me…” you beg, pleading with the best, saddest puppy eyes you can muster.

“What is there to say?” His voice comes of quieter than he wanted it to. He’s so hurt and upset with you and he wants to be able to express that. He usually can when it’s towards other people. But when it’s you on the receiving end, there’s just something that stops him. No matter how much you broke his heart.

“Look, I’m sorry about yesterday. I shouldn’t have run away from what you’d said.”

Theres something in your words that makes him wake up and finally realise that he’s been running away too. Not just now. But for way too long. Jisung’s been running away from telling you how he really feels about you. For so long he’s talked himself into waiting for you to fall in love with him, to wake up and finally see that the person you should be with has been by your side the whole time. His feelings have been repressed and he’s forced himself to be invisible for too long. But he’s done with that now.

“Sungs, are you ok?” He blinks back into reality, not having realised he’d gotten caught up in overthinking for too long.

You watch him, wide eyed as he stands up straighter, determination written across his face.

“Actually, I have something I need to say.”

You nod, waiting intently.

“I’ve been an idiot for too long.” And… you’re confused. “I’ve let you walk all over me for years because I’ve been so in love with you.”

“Heck,” Jisung laughs at himself. “I even let you off when you ditched me for Jaemin because I kept telling myself that I wasn’t good enough for you.”

You feel your heart break knowing Jisung had been putting himself down like that. Any and every emotion courses through you as you try your best to take in the weight of his words.

“I-” you begin, but Jisung cuts you off before you have a chance to say anymore.

“I know you don’t feel the same… it’s ok.” Jisung forces a smile. “I just need some time apart.”

You feel like you’re suffocating, unable to voice anything as you watch Jisung walk away. Chocking on sobs as the weight of the world hits you like a ton of bricks.

You just wished you’d realised sooner. Because if you had, then maybe you wouldn’t have lost your best friend, you wouldn’t have hurt him for so long and maybe you wouldn’t have had your heart smashed to pieces like you just have.

“Can’t you just have someone do the speech for me?” Your voice is muted by the duvet that you insist to remain under. Your mom perched on the side of your bed as she encourages you to at least go downstairs to eat something.

It’s the morning of the annual independence ball and you’ve not left your bed since you’d gotten home the day before.

You’d had many home truths and realisations from Jisung yesterday. But cocooning yourself inside your duvet has really helped you process a lot. Like the fact that you love Jisung too… and not in just a platonic way. He’s always been there for you and you’ve taken that for granted.

You’ve been so dumb to your feelings for so long, brushing infatuation off as excitement or just that you really care for Jisung, when reality is that your heart doesn’t flip every time he smiles just because he’s your best friend. It flips every time he smiles because his smile is one of your favourite things in the world. It eases your worries and brightens your day.

Just being around Jisung makes you feel like everything’s going to be ok. He’s always so supportive and soft-natured. He takes care of you not because he’s a good friend but because he loves you.

You know that if he were to be here today, you’d be able to get through your speech this evening, facing crowds of people and answering to them why you are abdicating your royal duties. With Jisung by your side, you can get through anything.

Without him you’re lost.

Similarly, Jisung has been trying to drown out reality since he confessed to you by focusing all of his energy on his band practice and fixing up cars. He went straight from school to the garage and worked through the night to try and get his mind off of you.

Which is why he jolts awake to Chenle shouting in his ear for him to “wake up!”

“Why!” He cries, rubbing his sore neck from the poor posture of his sleep on the couch by his band’s equipment.

“You seriously slept here last night?” Chenle doesn’t hold back any judgment, raising his brow at Jisung as he grumbles out unintelligible remarks under his breath.

“I get you’re heart broken or whatever, but that doesn’t mean you should give up now.”

“Well, what else should I do?” Jisung, still sat in the chair he’d slept in, sulks like a child.

“Uh, I don’t know, go after her?” Chenle retorts like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“But she doesn’t feel the same, I’d just be making a fool of myself…”

Chenle scoffs. How does he not see it?

“Of course (Y/N) feels the same. It’s so obvious.” Chenle leans down to place his hand on Jisung’s shoulder. “Trust me. I’ve had to watch you both almost every day for years.”

He’s not joking. He really has. All the times he’s rolled his eyes at the way you both act so soppy towards the other. You’ve both been too wrapped up in either convincing yourself that you have no shot, or mistaking your feelings to notice.

Jisung springs to his feet. With the way Chenle remains so serious, he knows he must be telling the truth.

“I need to win her back!”

You frantically pack, shoving everything you can into your bag before anyone catches on to what your about to do. You feel so hopeless, like a complete failure and you know you can’t face the crowd of influential people and reporters to decline your role of Princess. So you’re running away.

You’d managed to convince your grandmother to not send a limo because your mom wanted to take you to your first ball. And you’d also lied to your mom, telling her that your grandmother had organised a limo to pick you up.

As soon as your mom had left, the race against time had begun and you’d been flying around your room packing.

You pick up the embossed faux-leather diary your grandmother had gifted you when you’d first met and found out you were a Princess, stilling when it slips from your grasp and falls open to reveal a letter that had been tucked in between the pages.

Carefully picking it up and unfolding it, you realise it’s from your father before he passed away.

His heartfelt words bring tears to your eyes as he expresses all the love he has for you and his country as soon to be King. But the final line strikes something within you that makes you rethink everything you had planned to do.

“Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgement that something else is more important than fear. The brave may not live forever, but the cautious do not live at all. From now on you’ll be travelling the road between who you think you are and who you can be. The key is to allow yourself to make the journey.”

Helping Jisung come up with a plan to win you back is easy for Chenle. With the independence ball being that evening, nothing could be more perfect than Jisung turning up, declaring his love and sweeping you off your feet. Just like a true Prince. So he’d offered the plus 1 you’d given him to Jisung.

Waiting in the grand hall for your arrival feels like an eternity. Everyone seems to be here except you.

“Have either of you seen (Y/N)?” Your mom rushes up to Chenle and Jisung in a slight panic. Both of them shrug, shaking their heads no in response. “She told me a limo was picking her up, but apparently she told her grandmother I was bringing her.”

Shit. There’s something in Jisung that springs into action upon the possibility that you could be in danger.

“Stall until I get back.” Jisung directs Chenle.

“Where are you going?!” Chenle shouts back, but it’s too late. Jisung’s already run off.

“Oh no no no…” you whine as your car conks out, the heavens pouring down on you and pooling in your hatch-back. “Is this what I get for messing everything up!” You shout at the sky, flopping back into your seat and sobbing your heart out.

You don’t blame the universe for this payback. You deserve it after all your selfishness. But you have been trying to make amends, to right all of your wrongs. You have every intention to go to the independence ball to share your decision in person. It’s the least your families country deserve. It’s the least your family deserve. But, right now, you’re failing. Failing at getting to the ball on time just like you failed at making amends with Jisung.

Gosh, even when you’re trying to do something else it’s still seems to end up on Jisung…

Just as you’re giving up all hope, a car horn jolts you up in your seat with a gasp. The headlights blind you momentarily as they round the corner, until the car has stopped beside you.

“Need a ride, Princess?” Your mouth hangs agape as the window rolls down to reveal Jisung in the drivers seat.

Although you can only see the top half of him, you’re heart summersaults from his attire. There he is, coming to your rescue, dressed in a black tuxedo and bow tie. He looks just like Prince Charming.

“How did you find me?” You remain in your car, unable to move from the shock… and the cold. You look like a drowned rat as the storm continues to shower down on you.

By this point, Jisung had gotten out of his car, into the pouring rain and rushed over to help lift you out of your vehicle to transfer you into the warmth and shelter of his own.

“Lucky guess.” He smirks from the drivers seat, twisting the keys and bringing the car to life again, before racing through the dark deserted streets.

You watch him from the passenger seat as he remains focused on the road, mesmerised by the steady focus of his eyes and his tight jaw, the way his hair - now wet from your rescue - drips little droplets of water onto his forehead and nose, down his cheeks to his perfectly plump lips.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You’re caught off guard by his question as it breaks the silence that had settled. You hadn’t even realised you’d been staring that long, or the fact he’d noticed.

“I was… just looking.” You blush, turning to look out your window. You’re just thankful it’s dark right now.

A few seconds go by and you begin to recognise the street just as the car pulls into your grandmothers driveway and stops at the entrance.

“Wait!” You clutch onto Jisung’s arm as he goes to open his door. He freezes from the touch before slowly twisting back to look at you. “Thank you.” You whisper.

“It was no problem.” Jisung sends you a tight lipped smile.

“No. I mean, thank you for always being there for me.” You elaborate, moving your grip down his arm until you get to his hand, entangling your fingers with his. “For loving me.”

Jisung’s breath hitches. He’s not sure what to say. It’s like all the air has been sucked out of his lungs. And the way you continue to stare at him makes him feel so warm and fuzzy and loved.

“(Y/N), I-”

“I know you said you wanted space.” You cut him off. “But I’m so lost without you.”

“Why me?” He whispers.

You slowly reach up to cup his cheek, drawing him in closer and closer until your noses touch. Your eyes flutter shut as you breathe in his signature piney scent. The familiarity makes you feel like you’ve arrived back home and gives you the courage to utter your next words ever so breathily.

“Because you saw me when I was invisible.”

The next thing you know, Jisung’s lips are smashed against yours. You’re unsure which of you initiated it, not having had your eyes open in fear of his rejection. His lips are just as soft as you’d imagined they’ve be and you feel yourself unable to suppress the smile that explodes across your face, causing Jisung to smile into the kiss too.

Everything seems to fall into place again. Who knew kissing your best friend could feel so right?

Pulling apart breathlessly, you both continue to smile at each other, idiotically in love.

“We really should get inside and put Chenle out of his misery.” Jisung chuckles, only imagining the chaos he’s cause by trying to stall.

“I guess…” you trail off, sending Jisung a sheepish smirk. He knows exactly what you’re thinking. “…Or we could kiss some more?”

“We can do that later. But first, you have to tell your country you will be their Princess.”

~ bonus ~

“How’s my baby?” Jisung rolls his eyes.

“I told you to stop calling me that.” He deadpans, failing to hide the blush that tinges his cheeks from the way you smirk at him.

You know he loves it really.

“But it’s cute!” You continue to tease, laughing as you speak.

“Whatever you say Princess.”

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