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hollandbaby · 4 years

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roommates - t.h smut

a/n: um so i haven’t written in a long time pls be kind. this is just a 4.9k one shot based on how i’m feeling, sexually frustrated, but unfortunately I’m not in lockdown with tom so cannot have sex with him. also I’m tipsy. AND feedback is much appreciated

warnings; smut, oral (f receiving), daddy kink, choking, biting, scratching, super long intro

You had lived with your lifetime best friend, Tom, for just over a year now, alongside his best friends Harrison and Tuwaine and his younger brother Harry. There was never a dull moment in the house, even when Tom’s away filming the other boys provide just as much entertainment. You’re used to spending lots of time with the boys, but when it’s announced lockdown was in place, it took a toll on everyone. Tom is unable to work which is a benefit considering he’s allowed to actually rest finally, plus he’s around a lot more which is nice. Harrison is always practicing his juggling which is entertaining until he breaks your favourite lamp. Tuwaine and Harry tends to keep to themselves, mostly playing video games or working from home. But boy was the house becoming messy.

“Alright, who’s underwear are these and why are they on the living room floor!?” You shout to the house, picking up the pants by the broom you had in your hand.

“Whadda they look like?” Shouts Harry, most likely on his laptop editing something.

“Grey Calvin’s but I know all of you own at least one pair so it’s not very helpful!”

You move to put them in the laundry basket by the washing machine, carrying on with your cleaning by sweeping the kitchen floor. Tom emerges from the bathroom, in just a pair of grey sweats and a towel wrapped around his neck, you try not to let yourself get distracted but it’s hard when you can see a single drop of water make its way down his toned, bronzed torso.

“Sorry, love, I think they may be mine,” he chuckles as he goes to fill the kettle for a cup of tea. He leans against the kitchen island, drying off his hair with his towel.

“What the fuck are they doing in the communal living room?” You ask, laughing as well. Living with boys may be hard sometimes due to the mess and the fact they’re all super dumb, but it’s so endearing and you have good times.

“I dunno, I probably threw them at one of the boys as a joke.” Tom giggles to himself but you roll your eyes.

“Well next time you throw your dirty laundry at someone pick it up after, doofus.” You chuckle, walking past Tom to head to your room for your wash bag before going for a shower. You turn the shower on and start to undress. You found yourself thinking about Tom, and the way he looked after his shower earlier, his wet curly hair all floppy and cute, water droplets falling onto his broad chest and toned abs. You’d never really thought about him sexually before, obviously he’s an attractive man and you’ve been close friends with him since you were kids, he knows you better than anyone, but you’d never realised just how hot he is. Maybe it was because you hadn’t had sex in over a month due to lockdown or maybe it’s because you’ve been able to spend more time with Tom recently, but there’s a familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach that stretches all the way down to your core. You bite your lip, stepping under the hot water, steam filling the bathroom as you try to wash away your sins.

You’re cooking dinner for everyone, Harrison, Harry and Tuwaine playing some game in the living room and Tom is just watching, laughing along with them. Tom looks over the sofa to you, watching your movements for a second before getting up off the sofa and walking to the kitchen.

“Need any help, darlin’?” He asks, as you chop up some vegetables.

“You can chop up some onions with me?” You smile at him, and he gets a feeling in the pit of his stomach. You both continue chopping and cooking the meal, Tom drinking beer and you wine as you both dance around the kitchen and giggle and sing with each other. You call the boys into the dining area, serving up dinner and grabbing drinks for all the boys. As you turn from the fridge to place the beers on the counter, Tom is already stood behind you, making you jump. He grabs your waist to steady you, and you’re grateful you didn’t drop any of the bottles.

“Sorry, love,” he chuckles as your face heats up, a mixture of the fact Tom’s warm hands are still on your waist and you just had a close call to a very messy and classy clean up.

“S’okay, I’m just glad I didn’t drop any of these! The boys would kill me,” you pop open all the bottles, attempting to grab them along with your bottle of wine AND glass.

“Woah there, darling, I’ll grab those for you,” Tom takes three of the bottles from you, letting out a breathy laugh at your disgruntled facial expression, your bottom lip slightly jutted out and hair falling in your face.

“Thank you,” you smile and pick up your wine and glass, following Tom’s lead back to the table.

The boys are all chatting away, dishing up their dinners as you and Tom place their beers down in front of them.

“Thank you so much for cooking, Y/N, we’ll wash up.” Harrison says, smiling at you.

“Will we?” Tuwaine chimes in, looking confused.

“Bro shut up.” Harry says, you roll your eyes but you’re laughing alongside them.

“Well maybe after dinner, and after Haz, Harry and Tuwaine wash up, we can do something together?” You suggest, sipping your wine before munching some more.

“Sounds good. What did you have in mind?” Asks Tom, eager to spend some time with you.

“Well we could all play some card games or a board game?”

And that’s how you end up drunkenly giggling at 1AM over monopoly.

“How the fuck did I get go to jail again?!”

“Unlucky Baz man, looks like you’re in jail again,” you giggle, moving his figurine to the jail space.

“How are you doing so well at this game Y/N? It’s like you’re the monopoly mastermind,” Harrison asks, slurring the M’s slightly.

“I dunno man I used to play a lot with my family, plus it’s a game of chance.”

“Well it’s a fucking stupid game of chance,” Harry chimes in, pouting at the fact he has to miss a go.

“Shut up, dickhead, you love this game,” Tom grabs Harry by his shoulders and puts him in a headlock, ruffling his hair.

“Tom!” Harry exclaims, thrashing around. He kicks the board, knocking all the houses and hotels and cards everywhere.

“Harry!” shouts Harrison, clearly angry at the fact he’s lost his place and cannot for the life of him remember where it was.

“Oh my god you’re all idiots,” you laugh, Tuwaine exclaiming a “hey don’t put me in that category with them!”

You finish the last gulp of your wine before attempting to stand up to grab another bottle. You steady yourself on Tom’s shoulder before heading over to the fridge. You can feel his eyes on you as you pour yourself some more wine, but he quickly looks away when you turn back around. The lads are all laughing together on the floor, sipping beers and being stupid.

“What’re you all laughing at?” You ask, smiling, as you go to join them on the floor, Tom’s hand gently grabbing yours to help you sit.

“Harry’s suggesting we play never have I ever,” Tuwaine laughs.

“It wasn’t just me! Harrison suggested it I just said sure why not!”

“God you’re all a bunch of kids. Alright, are we playing or not?” You ask, getting confident from the booze.

“I know I suggested it but the room is spinning so much right now I think I’m gonna throw up,” Harrison states, hiccuping.

“Wow, good one genius. Alright, let’s get you to bed. Night all,” Tuwaine gets up, picking Haz up in the process and wrapping his arm around his waist, guiding Harrison to his room before making his way to his own.

“Aaaand I’d rather go to bed than stay up for whatever weird shit is gonna happen between you two,” Harry says standing up and chugging the rest of his beer, “peace out.”

“And then there were two,” Tom chuckles, starting to pack away the long forgotten monopoly board. You help him, placing pieces in their respective compartments and giggling with each other.

“So how about that game of never have I ever?” You ask biting your lip. You look at Tom to find he’s already looking at you, cheeks flushed and a curl falling into his face.

“Sure,” he chuckles breathily, “I’ll just grab another beer.” You smile to yourself as you watch Tom walk to the kitchen, biting your lower lip as you realise you shouldn’t be staring at his ass as he walks away. Tom returns to the living room, you’ve moved onto the sofa now, put some music on and your feet up on the coffee table in front of you. He plops down on the sofa next to you and smiles, taking a swig of his beer.

“Alright. Never have I ever pissed my pants from laughing,” Tom chuckles to himself as you slap his chest.

“That was ONE time and it was a TINY amount!” You huff, taking a swig of your drink. You smirk as you pull your legs up onto the sofa, turning to face Tom. “Never have I ever tried to impress a girl by doing a backflip but it ending up awfully badly and I broke my wrist.”

“For fucks sake,” Tom throws his head back and groans, taking a swig of his drink. “She still went on a date with me though, I assume out of pity. Okay, ummm, never have I ever had sex in a park.” He’s smirking this time, knowing full well you definitely had.

“I was 16 and fucking stupid. Guy was a douche anyway. Okay never have I ever, been walked in on.” You laugh at this one. Harrison loved telling the story of the time he walked in on Tom and some girl he’d brought home from a bar.

“For fucks sake, I wish everyone would stop bringing that one up.” He drinks, keeping eye contact with you. “Never have I ever had sex with a roommate,” he licks his lips, watching as you take another sip of your wine. “How’s that even happen?”

“You know the story, Tom, I had to move out because of how awkward it got.” You frown at him, these never have i evers we’re getting too real. “Okay, never have I ever had phone sex.” You watch Tom roll his eyes and take a swig of his beer.

“You mean to tell me you’ve never had phone sex?”

“No, what’s the point when I could just have sex with someone?”

“What if you’re far away from someone you’re dating and can’t go see them? I was working on set you know.”

“I know that! These are to try and get you drunk Mr Holland that’s the aim of the game,” you smile at him, “your turn.”

“Never have I ever,” he trails off, lips pursing as he thinks of one to say, “never have I ever had a threesome.”

You pause for a second, eyebrows furrowed and eyes squinting wondering if he knew you’d had a threesome before or if he was just curious. Either way, you take a sip of your drink.

“Now, this I’ve got to hear,” Tom’s smirking, an eyebrow raised as he waits for the story.

“I thought you knew! Oh, god. So it was my first year of uni, I was fresh out of a bad relationship, exploring my options etc you know. I start having sex with this guy regularly, just causal stuff no feelings involved. One day he comes round, then this girl calls him and he asks if she can come for drinks too. Obviously I say yes because I’m already tipsy and open to anything. She comes round, we end up drinking 3 bottles of wine each and it just, happened.” You look to Tom, after taking a sip of your wine, your cheeks flushed but it’s nothing compared to the look of shock on Tom’s face. He’s aroused at the idea but he won’t let you know that. His mouth is agape, then he licks his lips and smirks.

“Wow who knew you were crazy like that?”

You slap his chest, “shut up! I bet you’ve been up to some crazy stuff. I’m surprised you’ve not had a threesome yet.”

“I’m not the type of man to share, darling.” He raises an eyebrow at you. “Besides, it was a foursome.”

“Ahhh and there it is.” You roll your eyes and smile, finishing off your drink. “Be a darling and grab my bottle from the fridge please, Tommy?” He tuts at your demand, nevertheless standing and going to grab your bottle. He grabs himself another beer too. You smile and thank him as he fills your glass, putting the bottle on the floor in case you need a refill. “I miss sex. That’s the worst part about all this shit.”

“Oh, totally agree. Stupid lockdown.” Tom sighs, sitting back down on the sofa next to you. You place your glass on the coffee table, turning to face Tom fully, resting your arm on the back of the sofa.

“What if we had sex?”

Tom spits his drink out, coughing and spluttering, getting his spat beer all over his white t shirt. “Shit. Um, what?”

“C’mon, we’re both adults with needs, it doesn’t have to be a big deal. Just a one time thing, a favour, to release all the sexual frustrations we’re both clearly experiencing since we don’t have dick or pussy on tap at the moment.” You pick your wine back up, taking a long swig before continuing. “I could just give you a blowie and we can go our separate ways.”

“Y/N, we live together. You said last time you did something like this it didn’t end well.”

“That was only a bad idea with my past roommate because he became obsessed with me after. Tom, we don’t have to do it it was just a suggestion.” You don’t know if it’s because the alcohol has given you a load of confidence or if it’s because you’ve not had sex in a long time but what you do know is that Tom is very attractive, especially when he runs his hand through his floppy curls, his white shirt tightening around his bicep. You lick your lips as your eyes rake up and down his body. You meet his brown eyes, his teeth biting down on his bottom lip.

“Conditions?”

“We can do whatever you want. My only condition is, we need a safe word. Actually, that and we probably shouldn’t tell the others what happened.”

“Agreed. Safe word can be pineapple.”

“Pineapple?” You laugh, leaning closer to Tom. You can smell his cologne, and it’s absolutely divine.

“I dunno. It was the first thing that came to mind.” He leans closer into you as well. “What’re you into?” His eyes flick to your lips and back up to your eyes.

“Hair pulling, biting, scratching, choking, spanking, call me babygirl or a good girl and I’m a goner. You?”

“Same, but call me Tommy or baby. Maybe daddy as well, depends how rough we’re going I guess.”

You put your glass back on the coffee table after finishing your wine, moving to straddle Tom’s lap. “Okay, Tommy, looks like we’re doing this.” You move in, testing the waters, eyes flickering between Tom’s and his lips. You can already feel the heat in your core and the wetness in your panties, your thin shorts barely protecting you from the feeling of Tom’s arousal in his grey sweats. He caves first, crashing his lips against yours and moving them oh so deliciously against your own. Your eyes instantly shut, your hands combing through his hair before gripping onto his brunette curls. Tom lets his empty bottle drop onto the sofa, long forgotten as his own hands move to your hips. His tongue experiments by licking your top lip, asking for entrance which you more than gladly grant him. Your tongue dances against his, your hips subconsciously grinding against his already hard cock. You let out a rough, breathy moan into his mouth, Tom’s hands moving to your ass, feeling the skin that your shorts don’t cover. He pulls back, panting and lips glossy and red.

“Your room or mine?”

“Whichever’s closest.” You kiss him again, letting out a slightly startled noise as he stands, picking you up. You wrap your legs around his waist, hands gripping onto his shoulders whilst his are gripping your ass. You peck his lips, kissing down his neck as he walks you to his room. It’s closest to the living room and nearest to the bathroom so it’s a win win for you. You open Tom’s door for him, he almost drops you when you do but luckily you grip back onto him, accidentally scratching his back. Tom lets out a hiss, but it’s not with pain, more so pleasure at the feeling of your nails digging into him. It makes him wonder how amazing your nails will feel scratching down his back while he’s fucking into you. He throws you on his bed, and you briefly note how clean and tidy his room is considering he’s so chaotic. Tom removes his (slightly damp with beer) shirt and is on top of you in an instant, his lips meeting yours again in a messy kiss, teeth and tongue in the mix. You wrap your legs around his waist, his hips grinding down into your own as your hands rake through his hair, tugging on tufts as you sloppily kiss. He pulls away, his lips moving down to your neck and nipping and sucking there. You let out a moan, your eyes rolling back as Tom’s mouth works wonders on you. Your hips buck up into his and his hand moves from the bed to your body, trailing down your neck and chest to the hem of your vest top, tugging on it as a signal for you to take it off. You listen, moving your arms down to the hem to rip your top off, Tom instantly moving down your body, his lips kissing your chest before his hand moves round to your back and unclasps your bra. He pulls it off you, his mouth making its way to your nipple as his eyes look up into yours. You scrunch your eyebrows in pleasure, biting your bottom lip as you moan lowly. You don’t even notice Tom’s hand trailing down your body until it reaches your clothed pussy, your hips instantly jerking up to meet his hand. A mixture of Tom’s tongue on your nipple and his fingers rubbing your clit through your shorts is giving you a feeling you’ve not felt in a while. Yes you’ve been getting yourself off but there’s something so different about someone else’s touch that feels so fucking amazing.

“Do you know how fucking hot you look in these shorts, baby? I’ve wanted to rip them off you all evening.” Tom moans out, he can feel your wetness through the material.

“Do it, then.” You smirk, but your breath is hoarse and raspy. You let out a gasp as Tom practically rips your shorts from your body, along with your underwear. He wastes no time moving down your body, lips leaving a wet trail of kisses on your scorching skin. Hiking your legs up so your feet are flat on the bed, he kisses your hips, then down your left thigh, as your hands make their way to his hair. Tom looks up into your eyes as he licks closer and closer to your wet pussy, his mouth hovering over you, causing you to grind your hips up in an attempt to meet his tongue. He finally ends the torturous teasing, gently licking his tongue through your folds and to your clit, you throw your head back and let out a soft ‘oh, fuck’. Tom’s fingers make their way up your body, gently teasing your nipple as his tongue massages your clit, your hips meeting his movements as you let out small, breathy moans.

“Fuck, Tom, fingers please,” your voice is broken and still raspy, but Tom makes eye contact with you again and the moan you let out is much louder than before. You throw your head back again, writhing against him.

“What do want, baby girl? Hm? Want my fingers inside you?” His breath is cool against your warm skin, his eyes searching for yours.

“Yes!” You attempt to buck your hips up again but Tom’s hands hold them in place.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, please, daddy!” Your voice is broken and your attempt to keep quiet is ineffective. Tom moves his right hand from your hip, his tongue returning back to your clit as he slowly pumps a finger into you, curling it up to reach your g spot. He has you writhing beneath him, adding another fingers stretching you out as his tongue laps at your clit, your hands grip his hair as you grind against his mouth, breathy moans escaping your lips. You bite your lip as your eyes roll to the back of your head, you figured Tom would be good in bed but, god, he was so much better than you expected.

“I’m close, Tommy,” he all but growls into your pussy at the nickname, fingers picking up speed as he sucks on your clit gently. One of your hands flies up to your face, biting down on your arm to stop yourself from letting out an extremely loud moan as you cum. Tom slows his movements, helping you ride out your high. He removes his fingers from you, looking into your eyes as he licks them clean. You bite your lip and let out a soft groan at the sight of him, pulling him up to you so you can kiss his lips, allowing your tongue to massage his. You can taste yourself on him, only making you moan into his mouth as you kiss. You pull on his sweats, pushing them down his thighs along w his boxers. Tom pulls them the rest of the way off and you roll onto him, pinning him to the bed with your thighs. Your lips never leaving his in a sloppy, wet, tipsy kiss. You’re overwhelmed by his senses, his hot skin, his sexy scent, his soft curls and the way his teeth occasionally nibble on your bottom lip. You start grinding your hips against Tom’s hard cock, his hands flying to your hips as you do so.

“You’re so fucking wet for me aren’t you, baby girl?” Tom growls against your lips, feeling your wetness on his skin.

You moan against his lips, nodding your head, “do you have a condom?”

“Yeah, bedside table, 2nd drawer down.” You reach over him to the nightstand, retrieving a condom, opening it with your teeth before rolling it onto Tom’s cock. Tom lets out a hiss at the contact, throwing his head back and panting as your hand moves up and down him, before you lift up and slide down onto his cock. His hands instantly grab onto your ass, nails digging into the skin as you find a pace, adjusting to his size. He was bigger than you were expecting but, fuck, did it feel good. You pick up the pace, hips moving up and down as Tom’s hand moves from your ass cheek to your clit, using his middle finger to circle the bundle of nerves. He’s grunting with each move you make, and your head falls back as you continue riding him. He moves his other hand off your ass and brings it back down in a harsh slap, your skin jiggling and a sharp moan escaping your lips. He smirks up at you, your body dropping forward, hands moving to rest by his head as you keep the movements of your hips. He slaps your ass again, massaging the red skin there as you bite your lip, looking into his eyes. You reach your right hand to around his throat, gently squeezing. Something snaps in Tom at that, planting his feet on the bed to get leverage to thrust up into you, fucking you from underneath, he grabs a handful of your hair and fastens the pace of his fingers on your clit.

“Fuck, Tommy!” You moan, trying to keep quiet but it’s hard when he’s fucking you so good, the arch in your back allowing him to go deeper, creating a delicious feeling. “I want you to fuck me from behind.” You’re panting and your voice is quiet but Tom hears you loud and clear.

“Fuck, love, you’re so hot,” he pulls out, rolling you over onto your front, your arms reaching in front of you, chest on the bed as your knees widen and your ass is in the air, Tom slaps your ass as he moves behind you, sliding his hard cock between your fold and collecting your wetness before he thrusts back into you.

“Shit, you’re such a good girl for me, aren’t you?” Another slap on your ass as he fucks into you, hands grabbing your hips for leverage.

“Yes, baby, keep fucking me like that!” You moan into the sheets. Tom reaches forward and grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling your back up against his torso, fucking up into you. His hand slides around to grip your throat as he continues fucking you, his lips leaving sloppy kisses on your neck and cheek. He nibbles on your ear lightly, your eyes rolling to the back of your head in pleasure. Tom’s other hand snakes it’s way around your waist down your body, his middle fingers circling your clit. Your head is resting on his shoulder, your hand coming round to pull on his hair as he continues fucking you, Tom’s grunts and groans right in your ear as his lips caress the skin there.

“So fuckin tight, baby, jesus,” Tom’s breath is hot on your neck leaving goosebumps all over your body as you moan at his words. “I want you to cum for me baby, can you do that?”

“Yes, Tommy, I’m so close,” you groan, but Tom pulls away completely. You’re shocked and disgruntled before you realise he’s throwing you on your back, spreading your thighs and thrusting back into you. You grab his shoulders, nails digging in as Tom fucks you, harder than before. Your moans are muffled by the skin of his shoulder, you bite down on his skin, sucking, most likely leaving a mark but you don’t care, too consumed with the fire in your stomach as your orgasm approaches.

“Rub my clit, please,” you breathe out, one of Tom’s hands moving from your thigh to between your legs, resuming his movements on your clit from before. He fucks you in a rhythm, your nails scratching down his back as he does so, Tom’s hair is falling in his face and tickling yours but you don’t care, he looks so hot like this, sweaty and panting above you. Your toes curl and your pussy clenches around him, his cock pounding into you, and it’s like nothing you’ve felt before.

“I’m gonna cum, Tommy!” You throw your head back, letting out a moan as Tom’s fingers rub your clit faster and he fucks you harder, his lips crashing against yours as you reach your high. Tom follows shortly after, sloppily thrusting into you as he cums in the condom. Tom collapses on top of you, your breathing steadying as you play with his hair. After a minute, he pulls out and discards of the condom, flopping onto the bed beside you, opening his arm to you so you can roll into his side.

“Well, that was ... wow,” you sigh contentedly. Your breathing is starting to slow down and a wave of exhaustion hits you. You rest your head on Tom’s bare chest, one of his fingers curling a piece of your hair around it.

“Oh, god yeah it was, something else.” He chuckles, pressing a light peck to your forehead.

“I should probably go to the bathroom then back to my room.” You sigh, you don’t want to move though. You’re absorbing Tom’s warmth and it feels so good. You roll off of his chest, pulling his t shirt from off the floor and sliding it on. Tom sits up as you go to collect your things, “you could stay in here tonight? I mean, sex isn’t the only thing I miss.” His face is flush and he smiles sheepishly at you. You smile back and bite your lip, leaning back onto the bed to peck his nose before heading off to the bathroom. Tom thinks you’ve gone to bed, sighing in defeat and flopping back against his sheets. You go to clean up, making your way back to Tom’s room but not before grabbing another 2 bottles of beer first. You return to his room, smiling as you hand him a bottle. He laughs at you as he opens his beer, taking a sip before opening his arms to you, inviting you to sit with him on his bed. He’s got his boxers back on, duvet loosely wrapped around his hips, shifting while he moves. You sit back on the bed with him, taking a sip of your own beer. You both laugh and chat until you finish your drinks, lying down again and falling sleep curled up in Tom’s arms, his hand gently massaging your scalp as he places occasional pecks on your forehead. You realise that maybe this won’t be the last time as you drift off into a peaceful sleep.

#tom holland #tom holland smut #tom holland fic #tom holland x reader #tom holland oneshot #tom holland fanfic #tom holland imagine #also this isnt proofread lol #daddy!tom is a ducking loos tho

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writer1 · 3 years

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A Sniper’s Life Changing Injury

Part One

Warnings: fear, self hate, transformation, body horror, swearing, lying, injury, thoughts of abandonment, angst, lots of angst, thoughts of losing brothers, near death experience. Depression, feeling alone. It does get fluffy in the end tho, we promise

A/N: This is a collab fic between myself and @ahsokatano-thetogruta , we hope that you enjoy this! As we’ve put in the warnings, there is a lot of angst and Crosshair feels so scared and alone at a few points in this fic, so if you are feeling sad, you may want to skip out on reading this fic. It does get fluffy in the end tho, we promise. We also promise that there will be more fluffier fics for Werewolf Crosshair in the future.

Crosshair sits in his spot above the base, rifle trained on the door. His job is to shoot any droid that gets close, which is pretty easy. He waits for his brothers to get out with the information, then they can leave this force damned, snowy planet. Crosshair smirks when he finally sees his brothers leave the base, and head back to the Marauder. “Took them long enough.” He grumbles, standing up and walking through the tall trees, back towards the Marauder.

But he freezes when he hears a rustling, Crosshair points his rifle, seeing some large bushes, he waits. When there's a roar, and a giant beast jumps straight onto Crosshair, clamping a jaw around his arm. “ARGHH!!” He screams as he kicks the beast off, picking up his rifle and shooting at the beast the best he can with his injured arm. Once it’s gone, Crosshair huffs, then goes to walk back to the Marauder to get his arm taken care of, when he feels a weird feeling in his stomach.

“What the-- AURGH!” The pain intensifies tenfold, as Crosshair falls to the ground. He snarls as he starts to rip off his armor, the pain making him need too. Once it’s all off, he growls and whimpers as he hears a crack, making him scream. He covers his mouth, not wanting anyone to hear him, as his shirt grows tight, then rips. Crosshair realizes that his body is growing bigger, grey fur growing all over him.

He whines as his bones crack and change, legs gaining haunches. He hears a beeping, his comm is going off. “Crosshair! You there? Where are you Vod’ika, you should be back by now!” Crosshair whines, a noise unfamiliar to him, he… he wants his brothers, his Ori’Vod. He just wants Wrecker to hold him close, Tech to talk his ears off but also comfort him. And Hunter… he just wants some comfort from his oldest brother, please.

He goes to grab his comm, to call his Ori’Vod’s to his side, but when he almost reaches it, he feels a burning pain in his bones and his hands shake as he pulls them back to him, seeing them change and become more claw-like. He growls and his mouth elongates, becoming a muzzle, and a large fluffy tail painfully sprouts and grows from his backside. He opens his eyes, tears falling down his face as he looks down at himself, the transformation is finished, and he’s looking down at a body not his own. He looks at his hands and feet, both have sharp claws on the ends, and his legs have haunches. He is covered in thick, grey fur, and he can tell that he’s even bigger than Wrecker now, so much bigger.

Crosshair whimpers as he realizes that… that he can’t call his brothers. He’s a monster now, a hideous beast that his brothers will abandon as soon as they find out. Crosshair shakes his head, he can’t let them know, can’t tell them that he’s a monster now. Crosshair cries, completely breaking down from his usual, cold persona, what does he do, will he be human again? What happens if he isn’t?

“Crosshair?!! Cross!! Where are you!!” Crosshair hears the distant shouts of his brothers. Shit! Crosshair doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t want his brothers to see him like this, so he carries out his best and only best plan.

Run and hide.

So he does. He runs. He runs as fast as he can. He tries to run on two legs, but he keeps stumbling and falling to the ground, so he runs on all fours, coming across a cave. He takes a few moments to calm himself down as soon as he gets the chance to sit against the cave wall. He’s panicking, scared out of his mind as he looks down at himself, seeing a body that isn’t his. All he wants right now is a hug from Hunter, but there’s no way that they’d give him one now. Crosshair is a monster now, there’s no going back.

He whines and whimpers as he finds something to chew on, but he can’t, so he just uses the next best thing. His hand will make an okay substitute for now, but he wishes that Wrecker was there with him, since he would always offer him Lula to chew on whenever he was stressed or anxious, usually both. He visualises the small Tooka doll, seeing it’s slightly bent and floppy ear. The image makes him happy, but then he just sees the disgusted looks on all of their faces, making his ears press back as he curls in on himself.

A snow storm is picking up quickly, the atmosphere’s temperature dropping dramatically. Crosshair hopes that the others aren’t stuck out there in the cold. He’s sure that him being in this form would keep them all warm if they snuggled together, but who really wants to be near a monster like him? Crosshair pushes his intrusive and painful thoughts away, crawling a little further into the cave to escape the ice cold draft blowing in. He stops and settles down, well, as much as he can. He lies on the floor, feeling some tears run down his furry cheek as he lets out a sob, echoing around the small cave. “Hunter...Tech...Wrecker…” Is all he says quietly to himself as he feels himself fall asleep until he’s completely passed out.

xxx

Crosshair wakes up with a shiver. The morning light floods into the cave and he feels its slight warmth brush against his feet. He sits up groggily, then his eyes widen when he sees that he’s smaller, no longer covered in fur and back to his normal, human self. He sighs in relief as he shuffles into the light a little more, making him hum at the tiny amount of warmth comforting him. He looks out onto a sea of white, the snow glistening brightly. “No way I’m walking out there.” Crosshair mutters to himself, imagining the laughs and chuckles from his brothers.

He then freezes as he hears a ship, poking his head out of the cave to see the Marauder landing right outside, he backs up a bit, as Hunter jumps out and comes running, followed by Tech and Wrecker. “Cross! You here?!” he yells, and Crosshair smiles and yells back. “I’m here!” Hunter comes running into the cave, he looks tired, but gets a relieved look. “Cross!” He runs over and pulls Crosshair into a hug, as both Wrecker and Tech run over as well and join in.

Hunter then pulls away, getting a serious look as Tech wraps a blanket around Crosshair’s shoulders. “What the Kriff happened? We went looking for you when you didn’t return to the Marauder, we found your armor, and torn shirt. What happened!” Crosshair sighs. “An animal attacked me, but I fought it off. It tore my armor and shirt off, then I ran and hid in this cave.” Hunter has an unbelieving look, but he just gives a relieved smile. “We’re just glad you’re okay, Vod’ika.” Hunter tells him, then Wrecker runs over and picks him up.

“Hey! What--” “We thought you were dead!” Wrecker yells as he hugs Crosshair close, tearing up. Crosshair sighs, but hugs Wrecker back. “It’s okay, I’m okay, Wrecker.” Wrecker smiles and presses a kiss to Crosshair’s forehead. “Let's get you inside, you’re freezing.” Crosshair nods, and Tech walks up. “Yes, your body temperature is much too low for my liking.'' The four of them run to the Marauder, Crosshair actually being carried in Wreckers arms. He’s carried straight to Wrecker’s bunk, being laid down as his brothers all start to strip their armor.

“What?--” “We are having a cuddle pile, both to warm you up, and because we spent a whole night thinking you were dead, we need the comfort of knowing you’re safe beside us.” Crosshair nods, feeling terrible for worrying them. They all climb into the bed, Crosshair between Tech and Hunter, as Wrecker moves them all to be on top of him. Crosshair sighs softly, getting a happy smile. He’s so glad that he turned back to human, he just hopes that he doesn’t transform again.

He yawns as his eyes flutter closed, the warmth of his brothers making him sleepy, he drifts off to sleep.

xxx

That was not the only time Crosshair transforms, not by a longshot. He transformed two more times before today, the first was only three days after the very first time, he was lucky to get an excuse out to his brothers before running. They were thankfully on a more tropical planet, so no freezing to death. The second time, he was once again sniping, and it just started, it may have been because he was worried for his brothers, he doesn’t know. He had started sneaking spare blacks in his backpack thankfully after the tropical planet, so he made sure to leave no evidence and hid in another cave.

His brothers had grown suspicious when he had returned, but he had just shrugged. “I found a new spot, but I got trapped by clankers, so I had to hide and wait it out.” He knew they hadn’t quite believed it, but they didn’t bug.

Crosshair sighs as he cleans his rifle, they have been in space for about four days, and he’s so scared of transforming while up here. Hunter will surely sense it, and then it's all over. He’ll lose his brothers forever, and be alone. Crosshair runs a hand through his hair as he sighs sadly. “Maybe I deserve it, what kind of monsters have families.” He whispers to himself, then startles when he hears Hunter yell for him.

“Cross! Dinners ready!” He stands, setting his rifle up as he leaves his quarters, walking to the common area. Hunter smiles and hands him a plate. “Wrecker chose tonight.” Crosshair sighs, rolling his eyes, but he smiles. “Kraft Dinner?” “Kraft Dinner.” Hunter confirms, and Crosshair smiles as Wrecker pumps a fist. “Yeah!! I love it!!” Crosshair smiles as he sits down against a wall, and starts eating his bowl of Kraft Dinner. Hunter has given him a fork, just how he likes it.

He eats for a few minutes, hearing Tech babble about this new gadget he’s working on, just feeling content when he feels the familiar discomfort welling up in his stomach. His eyes widen as fear fills him. Hunter notices that there’s something off about Crosshair, making him raise an eyebrow “Everything okay, Cross?” He asks, but Crosshair swallows hard to try and get rid of the feeling in his stomach. He tries to think of an excuse, then he looks at his food. “I think this is making me sick, I’ll be right back.” Crosshair lies, knowing that he is going to transform and will not want to show his face, or the face of a wolf, that is.

Crosshair stands quickly and swiftly makes his way down the hall towards his room. Hunter, Tech and Wrecker all share the same concerned, worried look for their little brother. “He doesn’t usually feel sick at dinner, does he?” Tech inquires, making Hunter shake his head. “No. No, he doesn’t.” He replies, getting up and follows Crosshair in his stead back to his room. “Cross, wait!” He calls out to Crosshair, but the door is shut on his face. Hunter knocks a few times “Cross, what’s going on? Are you alright--” A loud groan and yell from inside the room is all he needs for him to answer his own question.

“TECH! WRECKER!” Hunter yells, seeing his brothers run immediately to him. “What’s going on?! Is Cross okay?!” Wrecker asks. He’s never felt so worried before in his whole life. Hunter shakes his head, but before he can answer, there’s a yell louder and more painful than the last one. “His door is locked and I can’t get it open.” Hunter tells them, then Tech is immediately at the panel for the door lock, but his shaky hands are making it difficult for him to hack into the locking mechanism. “I-I can’t get it open!” Tech is panicking, worried for his little brother, tears filling his eyes and making it difficult to see what he’s doing.

“Stand back!!” Wrecker yells, letting Tech move out of the way before he uses all of his strength to kick down the door. They each rush into the room, to then see Crosshair kneeling on the floor with his back to them, arms wrapped around himself. He seems...different. Like he’s-- growing?! The three of them stand there, not sure what to do. This has never happened before. “Crosshair?” Hunter asks cautiously, watching as Crosshair turns his head to look at them. They feel a shiver run down their spines when they see that their little brother’s eyes are yellow and glowing a little, some grey fur growing on his face too.

“Get out!!”

xxx

“Cross, wai--!” The door shuts behind Crosshair. Crosshair groans, hugging his stomach as he sits down on the floor beside his bed. He strips his armor off, throwing it half-hazardly across the room, he hugs himself, as he does everything in his power to hold back the transformation, causing excruciating pain.

He hears knocking. “Cross, what’s going on? Are you alright--” He lets out a loud groan, followed by a yell. The sound of Hunter’s voice is making him scared and uneasy. “TECH! WRECKER!” He hears Hunter yell, as footsteps come running. “No no no.” Crosshair whispers, letting out an even louder, more painful yell as the pain amps up, he’s so scared that his brothers will see the monstrous beast he’s going to become, he continues holding back his transformation, no matter how much pain it causes. He can hear voices on the other side, but is unable to concentrate enough to hear what they’re saying, he growls as fur starts to grow on his face, and he squeezes his eyes shut. “No, please, no.” He whispers, hugging himself and turning from the door as he hears-- “Stand back!!” then a big bang, as he knows that Wrecker has kicked the door down, he grits his teeth as his body starts to slowly, agonizingly slowly, grow bigger.

They stand there for a few minutes, probably just staring at him until he hears Hunter ask. “Crosshair?” almost in a scared voice, it makes Crosshair wince, then he turns to them. Seeing them shiver and their eyes go wide. “Get out!!” He yells, not wanting them to see him, not like this. His voice is a bit deeper, and growly.

As he groans again, he won’t be able to hold back the transformation for much longer. He watches them stare with fear written on all three of their faces, and he looks away. “I said get out!!” He yells, but then everything becomes too much, and he lets out a sob. “Please, just...don’t look at me. I’m… I’m a monster, just go away.” He hugs himself tighter, the pain growing worse as he yells out, he won’t be able to hold it back, it’s already starting to slip. He doesn’t hear them leaving, wondering what's going on. “I’m sorry, I know it’s disgusting, and I’ll leave after this. I promise, you’ll never have to see me aga-- AUGH.” Crosshair tells them, tears falling down his face as he shakes.

He finally slips, unable to hold it back any longer. He lets go and lets the transformation happen, knowing that he can’t stop it now. His body grows larger, fur sprouting out as his clothes rip, his shirt fully shredding as his pants stay on, only ripping at the ends to about half way. He writhes on the floor as his bones crack, legs bending and forming into haunches. His arms are longer and more muscular, hands more claw-like now. He knows that they are probably all staring at him in disgust, already devising a plan to throw him out on the next plant they come across. Crosshair knows that he’s not going to be welcomed here anymore--

His heavy, growly breath hitches when he feels a pair of arms wrap around his front, making him look down to see his bandana-loving brother hugging him tightly. “Hunt-- argh, Hunter, no, don’t…” Crosshair begins but starts sobbing, not wanting Hunter to leave. “Shh, it’s alright, Cross. We’re not going anywhere.” Hunter tells him, making his heart throb. He’s not sure whether it’s from hearing that his brothers still love him or the uncomfortable feeling in his chest as he continues to grow bigger and more fluff grows, getting fluffier.

Hunter pulls away a little, not wanting to keep his embrace around his little brother too tightly. He looks up to see tears flowing down his face, so he reaches a hand up to cup Crosshair’s cheek, wiping the tears away. Crosshair leans into the touch, but then his face hurts as it elongates. He yells out, wanting to look away, but Hunter just gives him a look of ‘it’s okay, I’m not afraid and you shouldn’t be either’. Crosshair whines, squeezing his eyes shut as his ears grow pointy and furry, moving to the top of his head as a tail grows long and fluffy.

Crosshair lets out a relieved huff and sigh, but whimpers when he opens his eyes, he sees Tech and Wrecker standing in front of him, staring in disbelief, making Crosshair press his ears back in fear and look down “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I’m a monster now, you can kick me out if you want.” He hears no response, so he looks up to see the three of them with tears in their eyes, spilling out and rolling down their faces. Crosshair feels guilty and confused. “Why are you crying? Did I say something wrong--”

“Why would you ever think that?!” Hunter sounds angry, making Crosshair jump in surprise. Hunter takes a deep breath “We’d never kick you out, ever.” He says, standing up and pressing his forehead against Crosshair. Crosshair feels like crying, so he holds Hunter close to comfort him. He feels Tech and Wrecker hug him from either side, so he lets go of Hunter for a moment to pull the both of them in for a hug as well. His longer arms allow him to hold all three of them at once, hugging them close and all together.

They all sit like that for a few minutes, Crosshair just wanting to be close to his brothers, he finds it weird, being bigger than them, especially Wrecker. Crosshair whimpers, gently setting his chin on the top of Tech’s head, making Tech let out a sigh. They then pull away, and Hunter gives him a sad look. “How long? This isn’t the first time, is it?” Crosshair shakes his head, making his brothers get sad looks. “It was during that mission on the snow planet, I transformed, that’s why you couldn’t find me.” Hunter’s eyes widen. “That… That was a week and a half ago, Cross! You’ve been like this that long, and you haven’t told us!” Crosshair flinches, ears pressing back.

“I was scared, I’m a monster now. I thought you’d hate me, and think I’m disgusting. So whenever I transformed I hid, same on the tropical planet and that last planet we were on.” Hunter tears up a bit, as Wrecker growls. “You’re not a monster, never!” He tells Crosshair, making Crosshair whine as his ears press back. Hunter frowns, giving Wrecker a look. Wrecker gently pets Crosshair’s arm.

Hunter then looks back up at Crosshair. “You’re not a monster, you are our brother, nothing is going to change that. Not ever in a million years.” Crosshair tears up again, pulling all three of his brothers into a hug, Tech smiles. “It’s okay, I’d like to run some tests on you. Just so we know how this affects you. But that can be sometime later.” Crosshair nods, nuzzling into Tech as Wrecker pets him. “So you don’t think I’m a Monster? Or disgusting?” Crosshair knows they already said he didn’t, but after thinking they’d hate him for so long, he needs the reassurances.

“Not at all. What you look like doesn’t matter, you're still our little brother, Crossy.” Tech reassures him, making sure that Crosshair is getting everybit comfort he deserves. Crosshair’s chest rumbles in content, letting out a happy hum as he nuzzles into the top of each of their heads. He feels so lucky to have the three greatest Vod’e in the entire galaxy. Lost in his content thoughts, he licks their heads a few times before stopping. His face heats up in embarrassment. “What the-- s-sorry, I don’t know why I did that.” Instead of the weirded out reactions he expected, they all smile kindly and don’t say anything about it. Except for Tech, that is. “Well, it is probably a new natural reaction or instinct that you have developed, since it is a gesture that a wolf makes to show affection.”

Wrecker looks at him with a mix of shock and confusion. He never knew that “They do that?” He asks and Tech retorts playfully in a smart tone of voice “I thought that was obvious.” All of them chuckle, including Crosshair, who feels a lot less nervous knowing that it is something that is now...normal. Suddenly, he sees Wrecker lean up to his face and start licking his furry cheek. “Um, Wrecker? W-What are y’doing?” Crosshair asks, unable to hold back a chuckle.

“M’giving you affection too-- bleh!” Wrecker tells him, but then he’s cut off when he starts coughing up some fur that got in his mouth. Crosshair laughs and pats the top of Wrecker’s head. “Normal kisses work fine, Wreck.” He tells him with a smile, then Wrecker kisses him normally a few times before snuggling again. Crosshair nuzzles him and then hums when Hunter plays with the fur on his chest, making his eyes flutter from the nice feeling. Hunter chuckles sweetly. “Is that nice, Cross’ika?” Crosshair can’t find the words to say, so he just nods and hums. Hunter runs his fingers through the fluffy fur a few more times, looking sadly at Crosshair.

Crosshair whines at the loss of Hunter’s touch, making him fully open his eyes “Why did you stop?” He asks, and Hunter sighs “You really went through this alone three times already? The same pain and worry on your mind?” Hunter asks. Crosshair looks sheepishly at him in response and nods, his ears pressing back. “M’sorry, I...I was just so scared.”

Hunter frowns, placing a hand softly on Crosshair’s cheek. “Well, you don’t have to be afraid anymore. We’re here for you and we always will be. Right, Fellas?” Hunter smiles at Tech and Wrecker who both nod. Tech lets out a little “Yep.” while Wrecker pumps his fist in the air a little and shouts “Yeah!”, making them all laugh and smile.

After calming down, Crosshair lets out a yawn, his sharp teeth on display for the others to see, but they don’t find them scary. He feels tired from all the exhaustion, taking over his entire body. If his brothers weren’t there, he’d surely just flop and pass out on the floor. “You ready to sleep?” Hunter asks, sensing his little brother’s exhaustion, and Crosshair nods. They all stand up, apart from Crosshair who doesn’t. “What’s wrong, Cross? Can’t you walk?” Tech asks with a raised eyebrow, seeing Crosshair with a nervous look on his face.

“I can only walk on all fours. It’s difficult now that my legs are...different.” Crosshair whines, making the others give him looks of sympathy, then Tech hums in thought, sitting down and gently grabbing Cross’s leg, pulling his foot to his face, studying it. “It may be difficult, since you aren’t used to walking on your toes, plus you’ve never had haunches before, so that is the biggest change to your anatomy.” Crosshair stretches his other leg out, looking at his larger foot. That makes a lot of sense. Crosshair sighs. “I just...I don’t want to walk around like an animal.” Tech nods as he says “Understandable.” as he lets go of Crosshair’s leg.

Only a moment later, Wrecker walks over to him and scoops him up, making Crosshair yelp in surprise. “Don’t worry, Crossy. We’ve got you. Quite literally, in my case.” Wrecker smiles, then Crosshair returns it, nuzzling his snout into Wrecker’s neck as he’s carried over to his bunk. Wrecker sets Crosshair down, squeezing in next to him as Hunter sits on the other side, then Tech just stands there, noticing that there isn’t a lot of room left.

Crosshair smiles and pats his lap “You can sit here, if you want? It’ll be more comfortable to pile on, rather than trying to squish together onto one bunk.” Tech nods as he climbs up and sits in Crosshair’s lap, with a helping hand from Crosshair, who pulls him close so Tech won’t fall off while they are asleep. The last thing Crosshair wants to do is hurt his brothers anymore than he already has by not telling them about this, thinking that they’d get rid of him. With a happy sigh, he finally falls asleep, enjoying the company of his brothers. They make him feel safe and loved, being there by his side while he’s in this new and scary form.

xxx

Hunter opens his eyes groggily, gently sitting up. He rubs his eyes and looks around, smiling when he sees a human Crosshair, with Tech on top of him. Hunter gently reaches over and runs a hand through Cross’s hair, making his brother hum, and a smile appear on his face. Hunter smiles softly, but then frowns. He feels so bad that Crosshair had thought they'd hate him, just because he looked different.

Hunter sighs. They should have seen the signs that something was wrong with their youngest, he had been acting weird ever since that mission. Almost as if he’s depressed. It had broken Hunter and the rest, but they could have never imagined what had actually caused it. Hunter feels horrible that Crosshair had to go through that pain alone, three times. That's never going to happen again, Hunter won’t let it.

“Hm.” Hunter turns to see Crosshair starting to stir, along with Tech and Wrecker. “Cross!! Yer human again!!” Wrecker yells excitedly, scooping Crosshair into a hug and knocking Tech into Hunter, but Tech and Hunter both just laugh. Crosshair chuckles, and Hunter notices the look of relief on his face. “Yeah, yeah I am.” Wrecker smiles as he pulls Crosshair close, then he looks over. “Are you guys joining in?” He asks, and Hunter chuckles. “Of course.” Tech tells him as he joins the group hug, and Hunter does as well.

They all hear Crosshair sigh happily, making them happy to have helped him, hoping that he won’t run from them again.

xxx

Crosshair watches as the others celebrate the victory they had against the Separatists, they had just taken out a base on the other side of the planet. But Crosshair isn’t celebrating, not at all. There were bombs that were set to go off, and none of them even knew about them. They had almost killed Hunter… He had almost lost his Ori’Vod today.

He groans softly as the familiar feeling fills his stomach, and he sucks in a breath. He’s going to transform, again. “Shit.” He hisses quietly to himself, wrapping an arm around his stomach. He goes to walk away, to hide when he hears-- “You okay, Cross?” Hunter asks, and Crosshair turns to look at him, his helmet is thankfully on, so Hunter and the others can’t see his grimace. “I’m fine, just going for a walk.” Hunter raises an eyebrow, then his eyes widen. “You’re going to transform. Aren’t you?”

Crosshair doesn’t respond, instead, he just goes to run. But as he steps off of the first step, he lets out a yell at an excruciating pain in his stomach and stumbles down the steps, falling to the ground. He tries to stand up and run away to hide somewhere, but Hunter gets in front of him, kneeling down and making sure that Crosshair doesn’t get up. “Hunter, let me go.” He whimpers, feeling the pain get worse with every passing second. Hunter shakes his head and frowns.

Crosshair doesn’t think to push Hunter out of the way, because part of him wants him to stay with his brothers, to have them near him this time. Crosshair holds his stomach, about to double over from the pain, but Hunter pulls his baby brother into a tight, comforting hug. “Tell me what to do, how can I help?” Hunter asks, almost begging, pulling Crosshair’s helmet off and looking directly into his eyes, watching as they turn golden yellow. “Get my armor off, please.” Crosshair whines, already feeling it becoming too tight. Hunter nods and starts with his arm pieces, but then Crosshair groans “H-Hunter, please hurry for Kriff’s sake!” He half cries out, making Hunter panic. He’s about to call for Tech and Wrecker to help him, but they are already coming out of the ship and kneeling down too, each helping to remove his armour.

Once it is all off, Crosshair finally doubles over, pulling his shirt over his head and dropping it on the ground as he clutches his stomach. He feels someone’s hand on his back, rubbing it soothingly. It feels weird when his fur starts to grow, because it’s short and stubbly, so it feels itchy for a few moments until it grows out more and becomes furry. He yells as his bones crack and rearrange, letting out an inhuman growl as his arms and legs keep getting longer and his hands and feet become clawed, his pants partially shred and rip, a tail growing out from his backside, making him yelp from shock rather than pain, because he’s gotten used to feeling it grow as he transforms.

He bares his sharp teeth as his face elongates into a snout, ears pointy and furry, moving to the top of his head. His fur is thick and fluffy now as the transformation finishes, letting him huff in relief. He hums when he feels someone still rubbing his back, so he turns his head to see Tech smiling at him comfortingly. He returns the smile, standing slightly so he can shuffle around to sit on the ground. Crosshair hangs his head low and whispers “Sorry.”

It’s barely audible to Tech and Wrecker, but Hunter hears it loud and clear. “Cross, you have nothing to be sorry about.” Hunter says as he crouches down and wraps his arms around his little brother’s neck, holding him close. Crosshair hugs him back, a few tears falling as he sits there, feeling vulnerable while Hunter hugs him, bringing some comfort. Hunter pulls away from him “No more running away, okay? Because we’re here for you now. We always have been and always will be.”

Crosshair nods as Hunter wipes the tears from his furry cheeks. Tech then makes a small cough to grab their attention. “Now that you are in this form, we can help you walk. Only if you want to, no pressure, Vod’ika.” Crosshair goes to decline Tech’s offer, but, after a moment in thought, he realises that if he can walk on two legs in this form, he won’t have to walk like an animal anymore. “Sure, thank you.”

All three smile at him, then Wrecker walks over. “Here, let me help you up.” Crosshair nods, wrapping a large arm around Wrecker’s shoulders, as his brother hoists him up. Crosshair's eyes widen when he realizes that Wrecker only reaches to the middle of his chest, and the others reach up to his ribcage. He whimpers a bit, never realizing exactly how much bigger he is. But then he feels a soft pat on his side, looking down to see Hunter smiling comfortingly at him.

“It’s okay, we aren’t scared at all. Although you aren’t exactly our little brother anymore.” Hunter jokes softly, making Crosshair smile and let out a chuckle, Tech also hums. “I’ve been reading up on werewolves, it seems that when you transform, you use up your energy, so you should be eating. I’m guessing that has not been happening?” Crosshair nods sheepishly, making Tech nod. “We’ll get you some food after we do some walking practice, now it’s going to be difficult the first few times, just because you’ve never walked like this before. Walking on your toes and with haunches, I mean.” Crosshair nods, making a noise of understanding as he goes to take a step. But he stumbles.

He almost falls, but Wrecker and Hunter both steady him together. “Woah, careful.” Hunter tells him, and Crosshair nods, growling in frustration. But then he takes another step, stumbling a bit but not falling. “Yes!!” Wrecker cheers, and Hunter smiles and pats Crosshair’s side. “Great job, Cross!!” Crosshair smiles brightly, he knows that being a werewolf is going to be difficult, but he’s going to try his best, even if it means taking one step at a time. So his first step will be to learn and practice to walk on two legs, and quite literally taking one step at a time as he stumbles his way into his new life, knowing that he’ll get there, one day...

Taglist: @pro-fangirls-unsocial-life @lightning-wolffe

#star wars clone wars #werewolf crosshair #were!Cross #my writing #hunter #tech #crosshair #wrecker #the bad batch

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ao3bronte · 3 years

Text

Transience

This is my contribution to @mlwriterzine Once Upon A Season! It was a pleasure to be a part of the project and the finished piece (a gorgeous 260 page paperback) was a treat!

Also on AO3!

Adrien is and always has been a young man of many talents. He excels in sports, outshines in academics, and loves tinkering with the vintage 1962 Ferrari he keeps in a secret garage just up the road from their belle-époque penthouse apartment in Paris. So honestly, Marinette shouldn’t have been surprised upon finding a sailing yacht waiting for them in the luxurious marina of Saint-Tropez.

“Um...” Gobsmacked, Marinette slips off her sandals and follows him over the exquisitely varnished toerail, “... since when do you know how to drive a boat?”

“Since I was eight.” Adrien shrugs as if it’s no big deal. “Mère loved to come down every year to watch the annual regatta. She even sailed in a few of them herself.”

“Wow.” Marinette’s eyes grow wide as she gawks at the opulent 16 metre sailboat. She’d never dreamt of setting foot on one, let alone cruising on one through the French Riviera for a week on her honeymoon. Elated, Marinette can hardly keep the stars from her eyes as she drops her shoulder bag and scampers across the deck until she reaches the front of the vessel, splaying her arms out wide.

“I’m the king of the world!” she cries, laughing as Adrien runs along behind her and plants his hands on her hips, holding her steady.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” She grins into the salty breeze coming off the Mediterranean and steps onto the first rung of the railings. “Just don’t let me fall overboard.”

“You’ll be flying soon, M’Lady.” Adrien pulls her against his chest and presses a kiss to her temple, his stubble scratching softly against her skin. “But first, we have some fenders to collect.”

Marinette blinks. “Uh... what exactly is a fender?”

Adrien’s indulgent laughter echoes in the headsail. “You’re about to get a crash course in Sailing 101, Buginette. Are you ready to be my first mate?”

Marinette spins around in his arms and bops him on the nose. “Teach me everything you know, Captain Kitty.”

Adrien hums, tipping her chin upwards to kiss her lips. “I like the sound of that.”

After a few minutes of acquiring her sea legs, Marinette and Adrien Dupain-Cheng are off amidst the serene waves of la Côte d'Azur for a honeymoon trip of a lifetime. Marinette can’t keep her eyes off of the hill-perched towns dotting the coastline, sun-drenched and prismatic against the turquoise waters of the Med. Beside her, Adrien keeps their vessel steady, his seasoned gaze trained on the horizon as they pull out of port and soar northwards, the wind at their every beck and call.

For centuries, every Parisian worth their salt flocked to the French Riviera to soak up the Mediterranean sun and the Agreste’s were no different, once upon a time. Adrien’s childhood memories aboard the Éphémère remind him of bouillabaisse and happier days spent scampering across deck pretending to be a pirate in search of buried treasure. It’s something he hopes he can share with his own children one day, especially now that he and his wife no longer have to spend every spare moment of their lives fighting Hawk Moth.

Sensing her husband’s pensive mood, Marinette snuggles deeper into his side as the afternoon sun begins to dip towards the horizon. She doesn’t need Adrien to assure her that their evenings onboard together will be positively serene with nothing but the seabirds to obstruct the sunset that will surely steal their breath away. He kisses her forehead and hugs her close, his guiding light within the storm that had been brewing since his childhood. After all those years of rough seas at the hands of his father, things were finally settling into an even keel.

Marinette learns the ins and outs of sailing quickly, securing lines and watching for traffic as they navigate along the seaboard of Saint Raphaël . Jibs and boons soon become a part of her vocabulary, and once they've successfully moored in the neighbouring marina, Marinette feels like she's run a marathon.

"That was exhausting," she groans, slumping into the cushions on the sundeck.

Adrien beams, having barely broken a sweat. "Come on; I'll make it worth your while."

Hauling her back onto her feet, Adrien leads her down into the main cabin. All clean lines and warm teak, Marinette leaves her duffel bag on the sofa and explores the spacious interior with curious eyes, carding her fingers through the decades old fashion magazines stacked in a woven basket resting on the floor. He leaves her to explore and hauls their luggage and a cooler down the ladder, filling the marine fridge with fixings for their first dinner outside of Paris. It's peaceful, with nothing but the sounds of the waves to keep them company.

The lights are warm and low in their galley kitchen, a cozy escape from the endless vistas of rocky crags and pastel-orange buildings whose narrow streets spill into the sea. Their table is just large enough for two wicker placemats and a bottle of Mouton-Cadet; old vases filled with seaglass and shells rest on every side table, their edges wrapped in nautical rope. By the counter, Marinette grates a snowy pile of Pecorino cheese over a mound of steaming spaghetti while beside her Adrien grinds fresh pepper into a ramekin, his stomach growling after an afternoon spent at sea. A comfortable silence ebbs and flows between them as the evening tide laps against the hull, drawing them towards the tangy, indulgent nest of cacio e pepe they made together.

Marinette wakes the next morning to the smell of fresh coffee and a deftly wrapped gift on the bedside table of their lavish master cabin. Slipping her bare legs across the silk sheets as she sits up, she opens her present and plucks one of her own Chat Noir inspired creations from the tissue paper along with a note attached inside.

Care to go for a dip with me, M’Lady?

Marinette snorts and ties the black and neon green bikini up at the neck and hips, leaving a few very tantalizing strings to pull should Adrien let his feline instincts get the best of him. Goodness knows he wouldn’t be able to resist himself, what with the way he could hardly keep his hands off of her last night while they were trying to find a deck of cards in the saloon. She glances at herself in the mirror to wipe the sleep from her eyes and quickly fastens her hair into a loose ponytail, ready to tease her husband senseless.

“Welcome to Cannes!” he announces as she emerges from below deck, mesmerized by the morning sun illuminating his blond hair like a halo. He’s gorgeous in every sense of the word, thoughtful and generous and unfailingly kind, and even in his darkest moments, he never ceases to steal her breath away.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispers, hooking her fingers into the belt loops of his chinos, “but not as beautiful as you.”

A ruddy flush blooms across his cheeks, a constant victim to her soft-spoken praises. “I can hardly compete against you, Buginette, especially when you’re wearing that.”

“I don’t know...” She grazes her fingernails against his bare chest and smirks as the familiar rumble in his sternum kicks into low gear. “I think the sun suits you.”

“Enough to consider moving down here for good?”

Marinette shrugs; keeping their lives rooted in Paris has been a point of contention between them since the arrest of his father. “Not permanently, no, but I wouldn’t protest if we vacationed here more often.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time you overwork yourself,” he responds, closing his eyes as she continues to explore the chiseled planes of his abs. She’s always been gifted when it comes to distractions and this morning is no different; like wayfaring on a starless night, she’s always been the beacon to guide his way. “Now, I thought I invited you up here for a swim?”

“You did.” Marinette steps back, giving him the merciful reprieve he’d needed to calm his beating heart. “And it is kind of hot up here.”

His grip on the ship’s wheel tightens. “No thanks to you.”

“Easy there, Captain Kitty.” Marinette smirks, flicking the golden bell sewn to the bridge of her bikini top. “Race you!”

“Hey!” he gapes at her, scandalized. “I still have to drop anchor!”

Marinette giggles as she zooms past him, leaping off the back of the boat with delight. “Last one in the water has to make breakfast!”

Meandering through the Medieval streets of the old city, Marinette and Adrien pause to catch a glimpse of Villefranche-sur-Mer ’s idyllic harbour. There’s an enormous cruise ship dominating the horizon and Adrien is thankful that they’d brought their disguises in tow. No one has recognized either of them with the way they’ve camouflaged themselves in their floppy beach hats and oversized sunglasses.

Marinette spends the afternoon popping in and out of boutiques with turquoise shutters, snapping photos and picking up little trinkets along the way. They stop for lunch at a peaches-and-cream couloured bistro nestled against the water’s edge, its open windows basking the sunlit stone walls with salt-scented air. Adrien joyfully devours his meal, a simply grilled loup de mer with fennel and lemon, while Marinette chatters over a bowl of Niçoise octopus salad that she had been eager to try since spotting it on the chalkboard menu outside.

“It feels weird, not having them around.” Adrien balances a piece of julienned fennel between the tines of his fork. “It’s the first time I’ve taken my ring off in ten years.”

“I promise you, Tikki and Plagg are appreciating their vacation too,” Marinette assures him around a mouthful of cherry tomatoes. “They deserve a break after what happened. We both do.”

Adrien nods and is quiet for a while.

“When I was a kid, I used to watch the cliff divers jump into that cove,” Adrien mentions as they sail by, pointing towards a sharp craig jutting from the coastline. “I always wanted to do it myself. Maybe I will.”

“You’re free to do whatever you want now.” Marinette smiles into the wind, the skirt of her sundress billowing up passed her thighs. “So chart us a course, Captain Kitty. Where are we going next?”

“First, we’re stopping in Èze .” Adrien brushes his bangs from his eyes and relishes in being at the helm of transience. “There are galleries all over the place that I know you’ll love. And we have a dinner reservation. I thought you’d appreciate the view.”

Marinette lowers her sunglasses. “I like the view here just fine, thanks.”

“I could say the same thing about you.” Adrien smirks and snags her by the hips, easily hauling her up onto the dash of the cockpit. She squeals as he savours the salt on her skin as he plants a kiss on her knee in mock apology. “There. Now I have you right where I want you.”

She kicks and he dodges easily, catching her foot with lightning fast reflexes born from being merged with the Black Cat Miraculous for so long. It’s a familiar song and dance between them, a playful contest sparking in their eyes as he peppers kisses along her ankle, her calf, anywhere he can reach. He stops just shy of the constellation of freckles at the hem of her dress and makes eye contact through his lashes, flashing her a mischievous Chat Noir smile. “I wonder if you’re ... ticklish?

Marinette shrieks as Adrien starts tickling her toes, running his fingernails up and down the arches of her feet. She’s tortured him a thousand times by attacking his sides when he least expected it so he figures it’s about time he seeks revenge. “Adrien! Stop!”

He doesn’t, of course, and chooses to memorize each and every facet of her beauty instead; her smile and her pained laughter, her marks and scars from the final battle only a month before their wedding day. “I’m never letting you go!”

“You’re going to— stop it! —have to if we ever want to get to Èze .” Marinette manages to wrench her ankle free and hops down from the ledge, landing easily in his outstretched arms. “That is, unless you want to crash.”

“If we shipwreck,” Adrien bends low and devours that little spot on her neck that makes her weak every time, “promise me you won’t hog the whole door?”

Marinette bursts into laughter. “Are we seriously going to have this debate again?”

“I’m serious! Jack could have totally fit on that— mmpf! ”

Cupping his cheeks, Marinette hurriedly kisses away the space between them and silences his long-winded debate once and for all. It’s an effective way to shut him up—all things considered—and an astonished gasp spirals from his lips as she hoists herself up his body and brackets his hips with her thighs. She claims him, covets him, her tongue sweeping across his lower lip, and he’s helpless to her siren’s song as he braces her against the cockpit’s controls and clings to her like a drowning man.

“Alright, you win.” Breathless and lightheaded, Adrien pulls back after a while just to soak her in, to remind himself that he’s married to the most beautiful woman in the world. He gazes in awe as she recovers, her flushed cheeks and parted lips swollen and wet. Adrien is drawn back in like a magnet, kissing her with every intention of stealing her breath away.

She buries her hands in his hair, her nails gently scraping against his scalp as Adrien all but melts in her embrace, groaning with pleasure. He deepens their kiss, and Adrien feels drunk with his desire to claim, their passion speaking more than words between them ever could. Every gasp and moan conveys their everlasting partnership and the terror of nearly losing one another in the whirlwind. Shell-shocked and injured, they still held their wedding ceremony, even as the fallout had tugged at their ankles, gossip and chaos pooling around their feet. Together, they’d inherited an empire he’d never wanted in the first place, thrusting them into a world unprepared and raw with nothing but each other as a tether in the storm.

“I love you,” she murmurs against his lips, her heartbeat hammering a tattoo inside her chest. He can feel it against his own, fast and strong and wonderfully alive. “We’ll get through this; together.”

Later, as they draw nearer to the charming port town of Èze, Adrien draws her close and hopes she never leaves his side. “Where to, Miss?”

Marinette smiles. “To the stars.”

Nothing comes so abundantly as time when you’re sailing through the seemingly endless vistas of the Med. Their honeymoon stretches on for longer than a week simply because it can; he owns their floating home-away-from-home and she’s working remotely, snagging a Wi-Fi signal whenever they’re in port.

Neither of them seem to be in any hurry to leave the solace of the French Riviera behind. It’s where he’s feasted on fresh seafood and felt better than he has in weeks. It’s where they’ve kissed and made love under the stars a thousand times over. It’s where he’s confessed his doubts about living in Paris and where she’s supported his struggle to leave his father behind.

They’re moored in Antibes tonight and the skies are awash in vibrant pinks and apricot. He drizzles balsamic vinegar onto a shimmering pond of Italian olive oil; she wears hair pins with flowers on them and pours wine like an expert, heedless to the way he’s staring at her like she’s his only source of air.

“I love you,” he whispers. It’s enough.

#miraculous ladybug #adrinette #ml fic #miraculous fanfic #ml writer zine

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billiewena · 3 years

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Heard we’re talkin’ SPN Pride Lore Stories for @spnprideweek so lemme tell y’all about how Sam Winchester played a fun part in my journey as Coming Out as Bisexual and (more recently) Nonbinary!

(Sidenote: if you haven’t already check out my thesis on “Why Every SPN Fan Should be a LGBT Sam Enthusiast” you should do that)

Anyways, storytime...

My journey with SPN is a weird one. I was what you’d call a “General Audience” viewer for most of the show. I started watching on-and-off around S2-S3 back when I was a preteen who watched anything the CW put in front of me (and I mean anything…Gossip Girl, Vampire Diaries, you name it.) But I did start getting more into and invested in SPN over time. I didn’t have internet but if I did I would’ve been a Samgirl for sure. Most of the episodes I do remember watching live were Sam-centric ones, i.e. “After School Special”. Once I got to college, I had internet and nerdy friends. Thanks to Netflix, Tumblr, and a Casgirl best friend who needed the emotional support (this was middle of S9 lol) I finally binged the show properly my freshman year.

I joke about how I’m Samcoded but I honestly always have seen a lot of myself in the character and their journey on the show. Just a couple years after After-School Special aired, I was on my way to college and completely leaving my family behind in the process. I craved independence and flourished with it, but also knew I was losing a lot by doing so. Like Sam, I got a chance to fix those relationships as an adult — but it was a struggle to be taken seriously and treated with respect.

Moving to the Midwest for school was the biggest risk I ever took (it was a part of the country I’d never even been near, a big city, and a completely different climate — at that point I’d only seen snow twice my life). But I’m glad I did it. I had to prove that I could and had to make a life of my own. Supporting myself and being surrounded by a diverse city of all races/sexualities/backgrounds, I was finally able to start educating myself and embrace who I was too.

In 2014 I came out as Pansexual. I was glad at the time to at least have a label even if it’d take a couple years before I got over my fear of the B-Word. But it was still a big step. I also started getting into cosplay and planned a few of them out (i.e. Rose from Doctor Who). In the middle of my first proper Supernatural AND SuperWhoLock phase, I naturally decided to cosplay Sam for the first time. I already had brown hair so I decided I’d just save money on a wig and just cut my hair short for the first time (Sam Season 10 short, for reference). And of course I loved it. It wasn’t a straight-up buzzcut but it was a lot more androgynous than I was before and I could easily make it feminine/masculine. In retrospect, I realized I totally got the Stereotypical Bisexual Bob too. And I loved the idea of cosplaying a male character and Sam especially: I had the flannel, I had the floppy hair, it was fun!

I kept it short for years and dressed a mix of masculine/feminine/androgynous in college. After college, I had to let it grow it out (more for hair health reasons - I also dyed my hair a lot in college and it was FRIED). In general, I was dressing a lot more feminine - I was working in offices full-time and not in liberal art school anymore and had to dress a bit more proper, and missed dressing how I did in college.

Cut to the pandemic when I have a lot of time to think about what I like, what I want, who I am, etc. I only started coming out to people just the last couple months but getting to this point took some time. I research on trans/nonbinary/GNC identities for a couple years (at first under the guise of “writing research” but at some point it just became for me.) I’ve been been playing a nonbinary Shapeshifter in D&D for a nearly a year now to see how I feel about they/them pronouns (spoiler alert: I love ‘em.) Also during this time In I’m also rewatching/catching up on Supernatural so I can least watch the finale live. Literally the night before the finale my roommates to do some at-home haircuts and I think “why not?” and get the good ol’ Sam Floppy Hair haircut again for nostalgia’s sake (and my first undercut for good measure.)

I didn’t find out about Nonbinary and He/They Sam headcanons until after the finale when I properly rejoined the fandom during its peak chaos (I didn’t even start this sideblog until December.) But once I did, I was OBSESSED with them. An open-minded character who’s always used gender neutral pronouns with their relationships…it totally made sense for them to have that same flexibility with himself too. A lot of Sam’s journey has been about independence, autonomy and becoming their own person...I love the idea of both of us finding that sense of individuality in our gender neutrality, exploration, and presentation.

Happy Pride to all my fellow LGBT Sam fans, nonbinary individuals, and the entire SPN Family! 💛🤍💜🖤

#spnprideweek #spn pride week #sam winchester #nonbinary sam winchester #he/they sam winchester #bisexual sam winchester #spn #supernatural #personal #bisexual #nonbinary

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angelisverba · 4 years

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i’ll hold you so you don’t fall again

in which y/n is just really creative and harry writes erotica under a pseudonym.

pairing: interiordesing!y/n and eroticawriter!harry

word count: 21k+

note: i’m so freaking sorry this took so long. thank you for being patient with me, and i hope its what you expected :) also the formatting is all wonky i have no idea why.

Y/n wasn’t one to brag.

She knew what it felt like to sit and nod while someone else talked about their accomplishment. The itchy pull of heart strings; the yearning of wanting success, too.

But, she also knew how awkward it was to go back and forth declining compliments.

Which is why she never bragged about her newfound success. Or did the whole ‘oh you’re too sweet’ ordeal. She said thank you, and moved on.

Because it definitely was one.

A sudden change of no recognition to suddenly everyone wants her.

She had her friend, Lucy, to thank. Lucy had just opened up a coffee shop. One of those cute artsy ones on a street in West Hollywood somewhere, with money she had saved up over the years. It just so happened that her best friend was a talented painter, designer, and dabbled in all kinds of crafts. Y/n was known for always maintaining a tiny business of whatever it was she could come up with, and when her friend asked for help to decorate and set up shop, she jumped at the opportunity to go big.

The store was a loft-y type space. A blank, grey walls and metal; an industrial room. The first time Y/n looked at it, her mind flooded with ideas. Mirrors, art, frames, flowers, and anything that could be put up. Different themes and approaches to light up the room. But, before doing anything, she had a nice long talk with Lucy, about what she wanted to see. Had her set up a pinterest board with items for the shop. Color schemes, movies, plants, etc. From that, y/n took hold of the project, asking for Lucy’s opinion here and there, but taking most choices to her own judgement.

The end result… well, it was the reason why Lucy was full all the damn time. Y/n had turned the lofty space into an Instagram hippie galore. Lucy’s mood board consisted of a weird mix of Madonna, pearls, and David Bowie. So, all over there were some of the most famous pop-culture posters. Streams of pearls. Mason jars lined with pearls. Velvet curtains with golden tassels; the stringy ones that tickled when you rub them all over your palm. There were light bulbs and fairy lights hanging in the wooden beams from the ceiling, that were turned on everyday 30 minutes after sunset, like the headlights on cars. Additional records were set to look through and buy in a corner, and opposite that a jukebox with records that both y/n, Lucy, and Lucy’s boyfriend, Mike, had picked. The labels were written in y/n’s writing, a mix between curly-cue and messy doctors cursive; clean enough to read, messy enough to enjoy.

No plants. Or succulents, at least, but y/n had bought 5 dozens of roses from downtown. She’d hung them up to dry, left some where they were, and others she put in empty glass cola bottles that were in the center of each of the 10 booths. On the single, middle tables, y/n had placed leather table cloths. No flowers.

And the menus? Oh gosh, the menus. They were y/n’s pride and joy.

She’d closed herself in an entire day, to create the finishing look. With a copy of drinks (labeled like ‘Madonna’ and then the actual coffee order that star would’ve wanted) and the small variety of sandwiches (& other finger foods) y/n drew portraits on blackboards, used different fonts, painting mediums, and at a certain point even incorporated glitter, to create these magnificent hand drawn chalk menus.

Then the outside of the shop. This is what got her word out.

A journalist of some sort had happened to stumble upon Coffee for Rockstars the day that y/n was painting the windows.

You know, like with a brush and paint can.

She’d blocked off her workspace with chairs and caution tape, jammed her newly bought airpods in, and pressed play to her music.

The mural- Lucy labeled it, but to y/n it really wasn’t all that much, consisted of a the planet Saturn, with David Bowie, Elton John, Prince, Stevie Nicks, Freddie Mercury, and The Beatles prancing along the rings (all picked by Lucy). The window was a 5-or-so feet taller than her, so she had to use one of the chairs to reach the top half of the planet.

While she painted Elton’s fluffy feather suit on, the journalist had approached her, his waist pushing through the tape y/n had put up.

“Excuse me?” he called out to her, hands positioned on one of those Canon Rebel whatever they were called everyone seemed to be carrying around these days.

And Wild Night by Van Morrison may have been playing a little too loud because y/n didn’t hear him the first time, and he had to call out again, leaning forward slightly to catch her attention.

“Excuse me?” The guy says a little louder. This time, she sees him, and turns while removing her headphones, getting paint on her forehead and hair.

“Oh!” she said, startled. “How can I help you?” Her cheeks flame a bit when he gives her a boyish smile, lips twirling up to the corner of his eyes. He’s cute, she thinks, floppy hair that’s sunbleached at the tips from the sun, and freckles in the bridge of his roman nose.

“Yes, actually. My names’ James. I was wondering if I could take your picture for an article I’m doing. I work with the LA times, in the local business section, and there's a piece on West Hollywood’s hottest places. This one’s trending.” He lifts his camera in a ‘here it is!’ gesture.

“Me?” she asked in disbelief. Her eyebrows raised high above their usually places, and her eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. “Shouldn’t you be photographing inside? You know, like the people?”

“You worked on this place didn’t you? That’s what Lucy told me. You’re a big part of what makes this place hot ‘n trendy. Plus, this live painting action will look wonderful…” he trailed off, his glance drifting to the window and to the picture she was painting. “It’s really good. Deserves some recognition.”

“Uhm…” Y/n looks around. There’s people on the opposite street staring at her, some that linger as they walk by. She catches a window roll down as the car goes by.

She’s always been small. In size, in popularity. She’s never been in demand. If she said yes, there's a possibility that that would change. A small part of her wanted that… she could finally start her business, like she’s always wanted to...

“Okay, how do you want me?”

He laughed, and told her to just continue with what she was doing. So, she did. She added more paint to her glass palette, and unprofessionally used her bare thigh to rid the brush of the excess paint. Momentarily, the brush found its way to the bite of her teeth, so the girl could put her earphones back in and get back into the right headspace to work.

The journalist, chuckled as he watched her, amused by her tactics, how she leaned back to look at the bigger picture. He was done in a matter of minutes, taking pictures of everything she’d set up in her closed off area. The tarp she’s laid on the floor. The cans of paint; red, blue, yellow, green, white, and black. An uneaten sandwich and a glass bottle filled with pink liquid (lemonade and a bit of vodka, y/n’s choice of drink when she was painting, claiming it got her ‘creative juices flowing’).

He has to get her attention again the same way, because she’d managed to lose herself in what she was doing.

“You’re all done?” she asked him, once again plucking the earphone out with a yank.

“Yep, got more than enough.” James said, placing a black cap on the lens of his camera. “Can I ask you a few questions?” Y/n smirked a bit, thinking back to her school days when smartass teachers would respond with ‘i don’t know, can you?’ and she nearly did as well.

She didn’t though. She just said, “Go right ahead.”

“Well, first thing’s first,” he reached into his front pocket, and pulled out his phone. Who keeps their phone in their front pocket, she thought. “Name, age, and what you did for Rockstar’s cafe?”

“My name is y/n, I’m 21, and I was interior and, as you can see, exterior, designer as well for Rockstar Cafe.” She’s shifting awkwardly side to side, tugging at the ends of her large, orange Garfield shirt nervously. Flashes of her jean cut-offs peeked where her shirt lifted.

“Tell me a little bit about the process of creating the entire ‘astro-70’s’ vibe you got going on here are the shop.” James doesn’t look up at her, because he’s furiously typing away at his phone, noting down what y/n says.

“Well, that was really Lucy’s doing. She provided me with pictures of things she wanted, kinda like… uhm.. that aura? I guess you could say that she wanted the place to have. I worked side by side with her, to make this happen. This was her vision, I just helped it....” she struggled for a moment, to put her thoughts into words, “come to life.”

He looked up at her then, a small smile on his lips. “What’s your favorite thing about it so far?”

“I’d say, the way the menu is set up. An artist’s name, and the drink they’d get. Lucy did her reasearch, and found out like, I guess you could say, their ‘regulars’. So, what’s on the menus are what the artist actually would like.” Subconsciously, she points to the inside of the shop, referring to the menus.

“Last question, have you ever done anything like this before?”

Y/n stammered for a moment, then said, “No. I haven't.” She taps the tips of her shoes together, all paint splattered and scuffed. “Nothing at this level of big. I’ve always kinda, worked on crafts. In highschool I had a small business, where’d I’d sell personalized things. I think that’s why Lucy trusted me so much. Because I have a history of reaching to the stars when it comes to paper and pencil.”

“That was great. Thank you so much, y/n. It was interesting to hear about you, and the cafe.” James places his phone back in his front pocket, and hooks his thumbs onto the straps of his camera as if they were suspenders. “Is there a website or business card you’d like me to reference in the article, after your name and all that?”

“I don’t have anything like that actually. Just that I worked with Lucy, I guess you could say.” She puckers her lips at the end, shaking her head slightly.

“Okay, well then. I’ll leave you to it. It’s coming along amazing.” James nods politely. “Have a great rest of your day, y/n.” Then walks away.

“Bye, James.” She twiddles her fingers at him her way of saying goodbye. It doesn’t take her long to get sucked back into her work. In fact, as soon as she puts the earphones back in, she’s gone off the face of the earth, and doesn't notice when a green-eyed stranger stops to stare at her, right by the tree that she’d wrapped the caution tape around. The man pinched his lip as he watched, eyebrows furrowed with the same concentration y/n had for her work.

Except that he was watching her. The way her wrist flicked, how she tilted her face to look at what she was doing. How she stood like a flamingo, with her ankle pressed against her calf. The way she blew the wisps of hair off her mouth.

He watched her intently, wondering who she was and how did she get there and what her name was.

And then,

Brushing those thoughts out of his mind, he walked into the shop and didn’t look back.

“Y/N!!” Lucy yelled from the counter.

Y/n, covered head to toe in sparkly purple fabric, rushed out with a bit of hummus on toast in her mouth still.

It was Halloween, and Lucy had demanded they both dress up as part of the uniform at Rockstar that day. Y/n, had decided she would go as Selena Quintanilla, and had crafted herself a halter top-style romper with purple cloth she had bought at the fashion district earlier that week. She’s woken up early too, and gone to her mom’s house so she could do her hair, and make up (given she’d lived at the same time Selena had).

Lucy, ever the creative one, teased her blonde hair, spray painted it with a cheap can of green hair dye from the dollar store, and bought a pinstripe tux. TA-da! Beetlejuice, beetlejuice, beetlejuice.

“Y/n!” Lucy was hissing now, impatient and demanding. It was a busy day at Rockstar. Social media influencers had come out for photo-ops and the like. Also, Lucy had a deal going of buy one get another iced coffee half off, and a free cassette with the $20+ purchase.

“I’m coming, Luce! I’m coming, Jesus Christ,” y/n finished off chewing, tugged on the halter top to make sure nothing would pop out of place and washed her hands in the sink to help Lucy at the register.

After she finished, she took place along side the three baristas, Kelsey, Tilly, and Kim. Kelsey was a broke college student, Tilly an Asian girl who doubled as a pole dancer on certain nights (she wore a mask to make sure her identity stayed secret), and Kim was a 30- year old who lives in his parents house. Bit of a creep if you asked y/n.

“Y/n, you wanna take order 48 or 50?” Asked Tilly while rinsing a measuring cup.

“I’ll take 50 and start on 52.” Y/n responded, tying the apron straps behind her neck. She didn’t tell Tilly that she picked order 50 because she hated making espressos, and order 48 consisted of three espressos. Order 50 was only four iced coffees.

After she finished decorating Lucy’s coffee shop a month ago, Lucy didn’t offere y/n a job, but she was always around to help, and Lucy paid her for it. After class, y/n would stop by the shop, and that would lead to her working as a barista. Which she didn’t mind, the money helped and it gave her something to go. Otherwise, she’d be at home with her nose stuck in a regency novel and a buzzing feeling of want in her crotch at the cue of poetically beautiful yet smutty words.

“Order number 50!” She called out. She set the plastic cup on the pick-up counter and plucked a stray from the jars to place alongside the drink. Seconds later, the drink was picked up by a tall and tanned man with green eyes; nails painted black; rings adorning each finger; soft, pink lips and a scruffy jaw. Curly strands of brown hair peeked out of a green beanie.

He smiled at y/n. The way you smile at the cashier in the market. Polite. A bit disconnected in the eyes. He said, “Good morning, Selena. May I have a cup holder please?”

In a British accent made heavier by the morning gruffness in his voice. Scratchy, deep, manly. And incredibly sexy.

Of course, y/n took a moment to take in and drink the image presented before her, but after she felt her cheeks heat up like the fire underneath a witches feet, she cleared her throat and responded with, “You recognized who I was! Kudos to you, sir!” with a grin on her red lips. The man chuckled, and took the carton cup holder y/n gave him.

“Have a great rest of your day,” was the last thing he said before he walked away. Y/n stared after him, watching the way his thighs filled in the fitting yellow pants he where, and how his biceps looked deliciously muscular; bulging in a white tee.

“Y/N!”

“Sorry, Lucy!” Y/n skipped back to her post in front of the screen,and began reading off orders for Tilly, and Kim to make, and picked one for herself. Two iced coffees, one heated croissant. She was in the middle of measuring the milk when Lucy called her name again.

“Lucy, I’m doing it, okay?” Y/n responded, frazzled.

Lucy sucked on her teeth. “Y/n, come over here.” When y/n looked up, she saw that not only was Lucy looking at her, but a tall skinny blond with a sharp cut bob and a long white silk dress.

Confused, y/n dumped the milk into the mixing cup and handed the order over to Kelsy for her to finish. “Yes?”

“This is Karime, and she wants you to help her decorate her store.” Lucy held a palm out towards the woman. “Karime, this is y/n.”

“It’s so nice to finally meet you!” Karime said, and y/n had to restrain from cringing at her nasally, high-pitched voice. “I love what you’ve done with this place! My store could use some re-camping, and when I saw the article I just had to come and see if I could hire you.” Karime makes gestures with her manicured hands, and titles her head in ways that makes her hair shake like sheets in the wind.

“Oh! Um…”

“Why don’t you go ahead and talk with Karime, we’re all covered back here.” said Lucy, an extra-pleased tone in her voice; the voice she used with customers to keep them happy, y/n had recognized. Oh so now you don’t want me to work? y/n thought to herself, but gave the same smile the green-eyed stranger had given her, and walked out through the waist high swinging door to meet with Karime.

“So, I wanted to know if it was possible to hire you on a month to month basis. Ou could come in the first week of every month, decorate, redecorate, while I suggest and give you a picture of what I want, like you did for Lucy.” Karime had a bamboo handle purse, and they clacked together every time she moved her hands in ‘here’ or ‘there’ gestures.

They’re both standing at the start of the record shelves, and Y/n is awkwardly shifting her weight from foot to foot and fiddling with her hands. She’s sweating, too. This was huge. Big. Is this what networking was? Getting the word out? Expanding? If she said yes, it’s possible that it’d create a cycle. Someone else would come in, asking for help, to hire, to contract. It was a rush. She was giddy, excited. But most of all, nervous. One, because she’s a bit clumsy in the social aspect, and Two, because she had a standard to meet.

Despite all this, she said, “Of course, when do I start?”

Then, Karime had given y/n the address of her shop (a weird mix of aromatherapy, kale smoothies with books), and they decided on a day to meet up (the second day of every month starting November, two days from that day).

Karime left after that. She hadn’t bought anything. Lucy congratulated y/n, squealed over it even, and Lucy never squeals. Kim looked over at them when he heard Lucy, and tried to ask what all the fuss was about. Lucy demanded he go back to work, and y/n ignored him.

When closing time came, the girls did the bare minimum, and rushed out to pregame at Mike’s apartment. Like crazy teenagers, Lucy and y/n shared three bottles of a Stella Rosa bottle that had been on sale at the grocery store at the corner of Mike’s apartment complex. Inside, Mike was 2 beers in, and claimed he wouldn’t drink anymore since he was the DD.

“You guys go on and drink yourselves black.” he said, sitting on the couch with a water in his hand and Lucy in his lap. Mike, a slender punk rock kid who proved his mom wrong in the fact that his like for the color black is ‘not a phase’ is the sweetest guy y/n had ever met. He wasn’t afraid to show his love for Lucy, always doting on her, and if she asked, would rip out his heart and give it to her.

Y/n was jealous. She yearned for a relationship like theirs, and no matter how long she waited, how hard she tried, Prince Charming never showed. Instead, she was stuck with watching Mike and Lucy rub into her face what she wanted so badly.

Affection. Love. Companionship.

Cheers to that, y/n thought. Her bottle of Mango and whatever the heck the flavor was called, was nearly done and she could still walk in a straight line. The wine was juice in her hands. Child’s play. Water. It had no effect on her. Not until she was three bottles in. It took an entire bottle of Smirnoff vodka shots to get her going once. Only then could she completely let go.

“A lonely soul drowns in Stella Rosa, Mike.” Lucy, her hair sticking up like Einstein from the re-teasing she’d done in the bathroom. “There it stands, taking the shape of Selena. Poor, poor, Selena.” Lucy giggled. A teasing jab that made y/n pout, and y/n heart to clench because she knew Lucy was right. A lonely soul she was.

“That’s not very nice of you, Lucy.” Y/n pointed at her friend, bottle in her hand. “First you yell at me at work, now you make fun of my love life?” Shes joking, too, but there's a bit of truth to her words. Meaning, Intention.

“Drink up, lonely soul, and prepare for the battle that lies ahead: the making intercourse with an attendee of the club.”

“Blah,blah, and screw you.” grumbled y/n, finally, finishing the bottle with a final drink.

Not that y/n had anything against it, but fuck the club. She hated it. She only ever went because Lucy or Mike or whoever else begged her to go with them and promised something in return. (Lucy promised she wouldn’t ask her for help the following day). She hated the lights, how load it was, and how much she was being touched. Sweaty men and women alike, rubbing up on her in places where she didn’t want to be, it was too hot, and her toes always got stepped on.

“The usual for you, y/n?” Mike was yelling. His mouth was at her ear, but even then, only some of what he was saying made it into her ears. She simply nodded, and lifted up to fingers. Two gin and tonics. One part water, three parts gin.

Lucy and y/n had managed to snatch a tiny booth when they walked in, and this was the place y/n was planning to spend most of her night. Not out on the blue-lit dance floor, not standing at the bar. Sitting at the dark booth, glumly sipping at her two gin-n-tonics.

“You are not gonna sit here sippin’ glumly at your drinks, got that?” Luccy pulled at the lapels of her suit, popping her collar so the tips touched her jaw.

“Lucy, please.” Y/n’s bangs were deflated and her lipstick was smudged, at her friends comment, she sunk into her seat and pulled her head around.

“Let’s go.”

Lucy tugged her onto the dancefloor just as some song by Cardi B or Nicki Minaj (y/n couldn't tell anymore) blared through the speakers, and the bass beat thrummed in her chest. They stayed for a few minutes, and in those few minutes, y/n’s toes grew numb with how much they’d been stepped on, and her hair was beginning to stick at the back of her neck. Lucy’s black and white makeup was gleaming with her sweat, and her hair dropped with condensation.

It looked a bit funny really. Selene and Beetlejuice together on the dance floor. An odd pairing, but a parenting nonetheless. Lucy led her back to where Mike was when she got tired of dancing, and like an obedient puppy, y/n trailed behind her. When Lucy ordered y/n to chug her drink, she did it.

She couldn’t say not. Not to Lucy. Not to Karime. Not to James.

She couldn’t say no.

And because she couldn’t say no, y/n woke up the next morning and couldn't remember a thing. She had a Katy Perry Last Friday Night moment. Sadly, there was no really hot guy next to her on her bed, and thankfully, she hasn’t wearing headgear.

What woke her, was the pain behind her eyelids that started when the light hit her. With a groan, she hid in the crease of her elbow while she scraped her thoughts together. Y/n was still in her Selena get up. She itched, smelled, and had a headache that hurt like...well, it hurts so much that she didn’t even know what to compare it to. She felt on her nightstand, and there it was. Bless his heart.

Mike had left her a glass of something cold, and two pills. She didn’t know for sure because she didn’t have the energy to peek and see, but the class was probably pedialyte. The hangover cure. The pills were Tylenol. They had to be, because he knew ibuprofen doesn’t do shit for her.

“Fuck, fuck,fuck,” y/n mumbled. Her tongue felt like sandpaper against the dry roof of her mouth, and when she swallowed, there was a dangerous taste of gin to her spit. Pressing her fingertips to her aching temples, she curses Lucy for making her go out last night, and Mike for letting y/n chug alcohol.

Unfortunately, she makes the stupid mistake of rising quickly from her potition on the bed to ‘get it over with’ and not even a full second goes by when she feels her stomach contents worming up her throat. She had to clamp her lips together and rush to the bathroom with her blanket wrapped around her ankles so she doesn’t barf all over her floor.

She doesn’t make it in time, and she spilled her gut on the toilet seat, before she’s made it so that her head is positioned right over the toilet bowl. She heaves and heaves until her chest hurts from the muscle contractions and her throat burns from the amount of acidity her bile holds. Tears drop from the corner of her eyes to where her thumbs grasp the seat because it fucking hurts and she’s gotten throw up in her hair.

The pain in her chest seems to have gone deeper, and wrapped its sharp talons into her heart. Her tears become purposeful; there’s a reason behind them not. She wishes there was someone there to hold her hair. To rub her back and tell her it was all going to be okay. To bring her the glass of pedialyte of her bedside table and coax her to drink it because she’d forgotten it.

Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, y/n gets up and flushes the toilet, wiping down the toilet seat with paper from the roll. The blanket, still curled around her ankles, she picks up and hoists it over her shoulders. She gurgles water from the sink before heading out, avoiding making eye-contact with the horrendous image in her mirror.

Pedialyte goes down like the gin did last night, and she throws in the pills when she drinks, simultaneously pulling the strings so her blings flip downwards and cut off the light coming in from the outside. Quickly, she strips from the itchy Selena ensemble, and slips on a red t-shirt with the Kool-Aid man’s face on it over her head. Y/n has learned that its worse to go to bed and not eat, so she doesn't get back into bed, even though she really wants to and instead throws the blanket on top of her scattered pillows, and turns to make breakfast in her impossibly tiny kitchen.

She lives in a little lofty space in the downtown area. The cheapest of all her options, and the best kept compared to the rest. The windows were blackened around the edges, and her air conditioner didn’t work, but hey, at least she had a roof over her head that she didn’t have to share with her parents. And she liked the window wall, too, and how the windows propped open on hinges. The way her brick walls looked during golden hour. It was very pretty. Relaxing.

Slowly but surely, she’s built herself a little home that she feels comfortable in. In her tiny little space, her favorite thing was her radio. An absolute steal at the thrift store: a really old radio with big knobs and the red line that moved left and right when you tried to pick a station. She went to it now, and turned it on at a soft volume. The song that always feels like it's about a one winged dove by Fleetwood Mac came on, and she hums it softly while she turns on the stove. It click, click, clicks on when the gas catches flames, and she pours oil into a pan to crack an egg over it. The white edges sizzle, and bits of oil jump up and splash onto her skin. It happens so much it doesnt hurt her; she doesn't even flinch. When the egg begins to turn golden, she turns down the knob, and goes back to her fridge in search of an avocado. Call her a trend follower, but she’d be damned if egg and avocado didn’t hit the spot. Plus, she makes an ace toast.

Surprisingly, the smell of egg (her dad likes to say eggs smell like ass) doesn’t upset her stomach, no. Actually, her stomach grumbled when she smelled it, and the ache that had begun to spread across the lower region of her abdomen made her hurry to cut open the avocado, and pop in a slice of sourdough bread into the toaster. She fore-went mayo that time, instead just wanted to get something into her burning stomach because she was so hungry. Her eyes blearily while she does all this.

By the time she’d spread her avocado and egg of the long slices of bread, the radio was playing Girls Just Wanna Have Fun By Cindy Lauper and y/n is doing a little happy dance on her way to her wicker table by the window, next to the bookshelf resting against her wall. Before she sat down, she reached for a novel on the shelf, and set it alongside her plate on the table.

Biting into her toast, she opened the book.

Dani’s cheeks blushed a wine-pink color. She looked away.

“You confuse me so,” she mumbled just loud enough for him to hear.

“How?” He grazed her jaw with gentle fingers, enough to turn her so she’s looking at him.

“You say that what we have, this spectacle we put on, is simple only to convince the people you will be a good king, but them you look at me… like that.”

“Like what? Like I want to kiss you?” he whispered, smiling faintly. “Because I do.”

She seemed not to know what to say, and resolutely, she turned so she sat facing forward between his spread thighs, back to him.

He realized then, that her shyness had caught up with her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and set his chin on her shoulder.

“I’m no expert in etiquette, Your Highness, but I’m sure this is high;y improper.” She sait, stiffly and primly while he cuddled her.

“Proper? They call me Rafe the Rake. I’d say, my little peach, that we passed proper a long time ago.”

“Don’t call me that,” she mumbled.

“What do you wish I call you then?”

“Dani.”

He chuckled at her response. “It’s a hellions name. It suits you well, all right. You can call me Rafe, if you like.”

“I do not wish to call you Rafe.” “No?”

“It’s a scoundrel’s name. I wish to call you Rafael. Like the angel.”

“An optimist, aren’t you?” Rafael began combing his fingers through her hair, sifting through the silking

strands then massaging down her neck and shoulders.

She sank back into his chest with a sigh. “That feels wonderful.”

“I should probably warn you,” he leans forward so that his lips are pressed against the shell of her ear. “I’m rather gifted with my hands.” She tensed again when he leaned down and nibbled on the skin of her neck, but Rafael left her melt in his arms when he continued his sensual massage on her shoulders. “Are you uneasy with this?” He paused to take her hands into his own, feeling as if he were young again with the first girl he had taken a liking towards.

“No,” she said quietly.

“Good.” With fingers still threaded through hers, he drew her hands back, and pinned her arms ever so gently behind her for a moment, gazing down her neckline at her creamy chest. Her breasts her small, but awfully perky and firm. He wondered if he could fit the entirety of one in his mouth. He bet that she’d like it if he did.

Y/n paused for a moment, and clenched her thighs together. A buzzing feeling was starting to form on her clit, and she felt the space where her thighs touch grow warm. The Kool-aid man’s eye popped with hoe erect her nipples were. She was aroused. And she knew that the feeling would only grow more intense the longer she read, which she planned on doing. So, she picked up her plate, placed it in the sink, and took her and her book into her dark room.

Her novel, Our Sign of the Times by Lemus Knox was tatted and bent this way and that from all the times she’s cracked the pages open for a steamy read. A painting of a bodacious woman and handsome prince posing in front of a castle adorned the front cover (one of the main reasons why she bought it). The was was strong, with raven hair and a strong jaw that portured strongly as he kissed the brunette woman in a lilly gown that he held in his arms. The castle was cottage like, with ivy covered walls and stone hedges; complete with a moat and bridge wrapping around the area. The author, Lemus Knox, painted the image himself, as he say so in the acknowledgements. No one knows who he is, how old he is, where he lives, or anything else about him really. A pseudonym, he says. A way to keep his life private life and still do what he loves to do: write.Y/n stumbled upon his book two years ago, in the best sellers section at Barnes and Nobles, and has been slowly falling in love with him and his characters ever since.

When she settled back into her blankets, y/n opened her book, and placed a single hand on her tummy, over the Kool-aid man’s mouth.

“It’s getting dark,” she said rather breathlessly, “don’t you think it’s time we head back?”

“I like being on the water at night. You can’t see. You can only hear the wares and you have to feel,” he teasingly brushed his fingers over the tops of her breasts, “your way back to shore. Feel your way through the dark.” He whispered into her ear,one of his hands splaying on her stomach and pushing back up, up, up to her breasts. “A man has to know exactly what he’s doing.”

She arched against him with a soft catch in her breath as he finally cupped her small breast in his large hands; her generous nipples turned hard underneath his circling thumbs.

“Rafael,” she moaned breathlessly, arms wrapped against his neck as she pushed her swollen mounds against his roaming hands. “We can’t. We’re not married yet.”

“Oh, my sweet love.” Rafael’s hands slid back down against her belly and began stroking her thighs. “I don’t plan on deflowering you yet. I simply wish to learn what it is you like.”

“But… I do not know what I like.” Her words were gasps of dreamy pleasure.

“Then I guess we’ll have to find out, won’t we?”

Knowingly, y/n’s hand began to follow the same path that Rafael’s had. Thumbs circling against swollen nipples, fingertips teasing the insides of her thighs.

Her head was cushioned against his chest, and she turned her fact to him, seeking his mouth in innocent yearning. He lowered his head, and parted her lips with long strokes of his tongue into her sweet mouth, savoring the way she tasted. She reached up, and caressed his cheek as they kissed in slow, soulful agony.

While she ran her fingers through his unbound hair, Rafael deftly inched her skirts upward over her exquisite legs. His heart pounded as she let his hands roam under the gathered layers of silk gown and muslin petticoat. He groaned into her lips when his fingers came to the edge of her white stockings, and found tenderly warm skin. His groin flooded with heat and his body turned rock hard in an instant. Unwilling to push her beyond what she was currently willing to give him, Rafael fought to keep his needs in check.

Having been with many of the calculating damsels of the court, he knew that Dani was unlike them. She was soft, fragile, small, so precious in his arms. And while she may think herself independent, Rafael wanted nothing more than to hold her close and protect her, as much as he wanted to give her glimpses of what was in store for the night of their wedding.

Under her dress, he took his time exploring, kneading, caressing her belly, her hips, all the while devouring her mouth. Behind closed eyelids, he smiled to himself when she began to writhe and twist in his hold, virginal madness getting the best of her.

“Rafael, Rafael,” her voice grew drunk with urgent need.

When he stroked her at her ore, he was more than pleased to find she was soaked with silky wetness, throbbing under his fingertips with pure female invitation.

“Dani,” he mumbled against her earlobe, as her took her skirts with his empty hands and raised them higher and higher. “Would you like to watch?”

“NO! I couldn’t.” Her chest heaved. “Don’t make me.”

“Watch me touch you.” he murmured as his fingertips began to circle. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, my darling. I only want to fulfill your desires. Watch me pleasure you. Look at how beautiful you are , your sweet body. My wild, virgin love.”

“Oh , Rafael!” she turned and kissed him ardently. A burning moisture inexplicably rose behind his eyelids, and quickly fled as their kiss ended.

He kissed the curve of her neck, moved by his shy uncertainty as she lowered her heat to watch as he touched her, panting slightly. She was so ready, he thought in pure agony as his hardness chafed against her back through their clothes. It would have been easy to take her then and there, on the warm glossy planks of the deck, but her repeatedly shoved that temptation aside, vowing to prove his respect for her by making their wedding night her first time.

Y/n, too, was panting as she continued to read, her vision growing blurry with pleasure and need.

His thumb deftly teased her jeweled center, while his middle finger gently stroked inside her tight, fluid heat ,and as he kissed her ear and the back of her neck.

Y/n threw the book aside, letting her own hands take the pace it needed to to bring her to her high. HEr slender fingers deftly pumped in and out of her slick hole, the hand that was holding her book now rubbing fast circles against her swollen button. Wet mewls left her swollen lips, and her chest arched to meet hands that weren't there. The feeling of clenching in her abdomen and a squirming need something increased.

She left herself clenching on nothing, pinching her pert nipples with damp fingers as she rubbed faster and harder circles onto her mound.

“Fuck, fuck fuck,” she gasped under her breath, a long groan escaping her as she felt it instenifsy; anticipation of water nearly spilling. It hit her like a splash of cold water, her head thrown back against her pillows with her mouth open; a scream and no sound. Her body felt electrifies, her veins fueled by fire.

And when it died out,

She fell back like a ragdoll, limp and tired onto her sheets. Y/n was all droopy eyelids and noodle limbs after her orgasm.

She fell back asleep with sticking fingers on top of her red Kool-Aid man t-shirt.

“... you know what I mean?”

“So… you don’t want a beach theme?” y/n asked. Karime, dressed in another silk dress, but this time in floral red pattern, was having a very hard time identifying the theme she wanted for her Aromatherapy cafe/library.

“No, but I just want like, beach-y vibes. Airy? Ooopen. Yes, open.”

“So plants,” Y/n jotted bulleted notes into her planner, in a blank section under ‘Karime’. “White and green color scheme. Open, clear room.”

The two are standing at Karime’s shop, three streets away from Rockstar; an alarmingly vast space with plain walls and counters. Y/n has a lot of blank canvas to work with, and much to improvise because Karime wasn’t being exact with her vision. She hadn’t even set up a moodboard like she said she was because ‘an LA girl has a wild life you know, hun?’

Y/n truly wished she didn’t know.

“Okay now, what’s your budget?” she asked, her tone businesslike but full of warmth and interest.

“Um, how much do you think you’ll need?” Karime wasn’t looking at her, no, she was picking at her cuticles, and pushing them back with her thumbs; her nails had grown and blank space separated the polish from her skin. Karime was across y/n, behind the quick-serve counter where smokey machines and masks where all lined up; one for each stool.

“Plants are expensive. If you want big and already grown plants, they’re expensive- ranging from $20 to, I don't know… maybe $80?” Y/n taps her pen on her chin. “Furniture, and other wall decor I can craft and thrift, so that right there is maybe $200? $400 tops.”

“Okay.” Karime said, shrugging her shoulders with a crescent moon smile on her pink lips, “I’ll write you a check for $3,000 to start. I don’t want anything from second-hand like Goodwill or anything like that. I’ll give you addresses to pre-selected antique stores and the likes. Now, you mentioned something about measurements?”

“Yes! Thanks for reminding me,” she’d forgotten all about that, and it truly is a key process in the decor department. “Do you happen to have a measuring tape?”

“Actually, yes. There’s one in the back, I’ll go get it.” Karime pushed herself off the granite table top, and turned on her heel to walk through a golden confetti curtain, leaving y/n seated at the counter.

For a moment. She fiddled with the tubes coming from the humidifying machine in front of her, an opaque purple bowl with two tubes sticking out from opposite sides that connect to facemasks that cover your mouth. They’re cool to the touch, but warm when her fingers linger. A humming sound emits from the machine when she accidentally presses the start button, and she pushes it again in a panicked state to make it stop. She decides it’s best if she stops messing around with expensive machinery, and instead turns to looking at the small amount of people that are in the shop.

There’s no one really up and about at 10 in the morning on a Sunday. The few that were, came with laptops to do work in the library section of the shop, with coffees on their tables, or some kind of breakfast, which had to be from somewhere else because Karime didn’t have a menu for food. Just drinks.

One of these really risers, a man who hunched over a sticker covered Mac, looked strangely familiar. Y/n was staring at his choice of clothing (a worn down Brittney Spears shirt with jeans and rolled at the ankles and pristine white vans) when he turned to look at her. It was then, looking onto his dazzling green eyes and watching his taffy pink lips curl into a smile and a hand coming up in a small wave, did y/n recognize that it was the stranger that recognized her Halloween costume a few days ago.

Cheeks heating with clear embarrassment, y/n raised her own hand and timidly twiddles her fingers. She mouthed hello and tried to keep from cringing when he raised a finger to rub under his nose to hide the way his lips twitch upwards. His nose scrunches and wiggles, and his eyes wrinkle at the corner, a cheeky gleam in his look.

“Y/n!” Karime, reappearing, held a ruler in her hand. A ruler. “This is the best we’ve got, babe.”

Her head snaps from the familiar stranger to Karime, who smiled as if she’d just solved all their problems when she’d really just created more because measuring with a ruler? Seriously. Y/n curses at herself for forgetting to bring her own measuring tape.

She has no other option than to nod, smile, and take the ruler, and start taking measurements.

Like the hand-over-hand motions of steering a car, y/n has to place the ruler, mark where it ends with her nail, and repeat the process again and again.

The walls, the patio, window space, countertops, tables, and the one she’s dreading to do: the dimensions of the room the stranger is sitting in. Karime’s place was split in two and a half. A small outdoor patio, the man space with tables and machines, and the library lounging space. The library lounge space, a doorway cut into a small cozy room to the left when you walk in.

She’d yet to go in there and measure the walls and bookshelves, putting in on to last in hopes that he’d leave because measuring with a ruler is really embarrassing and it’s possible that she’d be shuffling around him.

God.

Getting a grip, she pulled her shoulders back and walked into the room, counting how many steps it took to walk through the door frame. She felt like fingers trapped in a Chinese finger trap, constricted.

Walking into the room, the stranger didn’t look up, instead he looked even more immersed in his work than ever. Eyebrows furrowed and fingers tapping away on his keyboard. He was even leaning into his computer screen, like he couldn’t get whatever it was he needed to type onto the screen fast enough.

Sure enough, staring at him, lost in whatever it was he was typing, y/n stumbled on her own two feet, and an absurd noise escapes her lips when she tried to catch herself.

She doesn’t turn to see if he’s looked at her (he did, with a grin that showed off his bunny-like teeth) and instead hangs her head and makes her way to the opposite wall. Great way to be inconspicuous, she thought to herself.

The wall opposite the stranger, was tall, like the others were. And even though she was sure that it was most likely the same dimensions, she wasn’t going to take any chances. Pulling up a chair so she could stand on it once her arm couldn't reach anymore; huffing because Karime had those really heavy metal chairs that screeched if you didn’t pick them off the floor. Seven feet later, y/n had to step up on the chair, wobbling on her legs while she hiked up, pressing harder on the wooden ruler to make sure it’s place didn’t move.

Her nail pins into the wall, at the end of the ruler, before using her other hand to move up the start of the ruler where her nail left off. When the ruler reached her hip, y/n stumbled leaned forward and effectively knocked out her balance so she was left flailing, falling, fa-

Not falling.

No, not falling, because two hands grip her hips, and pull her back on the chair to make sure she doesn't fall flat on her face. Her eyes are pinched un closed anticipation, waiting for the smashing of knees against the cold, hard floors but it never comes.

“Gotcha!” says a deep british voice. A warm gust of minty wind flutters in y/n’s nose, and when she opens her eyes. Glittering green eyes, wispy strands of hair, and petal pink lips.

Right. In front. Of her face.

“Selena, you’ve really got to be more careful,” he says, chuckling as his speaks so his words are broken with sounds of laughter. He’s even lifting her up from her leaned position off of the chair, and settling her down on the floor, biceps tightening and a humming noise coming from his throat as he does so.

She’s flabbergasted. Doesn’t know what to say because she doesn’t think she’d ever been picked up before. Its ridiculous really, seconds away from eating shit on hard ass surface and all she can think about is how she was picked up. But jeez, who could blame her, the man was hot.

All sharp jawline, clavicles peeking out of his shirt, and the column of his throat such a nice pretty color. Quite handsome, really.

“Shit,” y/n finally manages to get out, her eyes wide, shoulders tense, and instinctively, her fingers are digging into his shoulders (though she’s not aware of it yet).

“You alright?” The man says, when he notices the way she’s gone rigid. He doesn’t say anything about the way her fingers are gripping at him.

“Uhm, yes. I am now. Thank you…” Y/n’s voice comes out in breathy spurts, and her forehead glistens like she’s just run to catch the bus. That’s when she noticed where her fingers were placed; the way the white cloth dipped in from the amount of pressure she was exerting onto his skin. Cheeks turning a darker pink, she cleared her throat and avoided looking at him when she removed her hands.

“Harry” He mumbled. “My name’s Harry. Yours? Not quite sure if it’s Selena or not…”

“HA!” A loud exclamation, a bit too loud that it was awkward. “No. Not Selena. Y/n.” She looked into his eyes them, raising her chin the last inch to move from Brittney Spears face to his eyes. Eyes the color of light streaming through a tree leaves in a forest on a spring forest. Y/n sucks in a breath.

“Well, wonderful to meet you, y/n.” He leans towards her, a ringed finger pointing jeeringly at the stick still in her hands. “I gotta say, measuring with a ruler?”

“Very efficient. As you can see,” She shakes the hand the ruler is in, and then uses the ruler to point at the seemingly innocent metal chair “You should try it sometime.”

“Only if you catch me.” Harry grabs his own wrists behind his back, his shoulders hunching forwards and head shaking side to side a bit as his speaks.

It takes a moment for her to drink in what he’s said, to fully react with a scoff and a smile. “Catch you? I’ll hold you up on my shoulder’s myself.”

“Then we’ll both end up sprawled on the floor, all roughed up and bruised.”

They both laugh at their jokes, and Harry even goes as far as to clap his jean clad knee. When it gets quiet, their laughs dying down, Harry speaks again.

“Saw you in the paper. Helped decorate Rockstar didn’t you?”

Y/n’s jaw drops. Her lips opening and closing like a fish eating crumbs at the water’s surface. “The paper? What paper?” This was news to her. She was aware that the article James would write would be like, online or something. But a physical paper. That’s a little bigger. And him having remembered. Having identified her.

“The local paper. WeHoVille.” He quirked an eyebrow at her, one side of his lips pulling up in a confused manner. “Was picking up a sleepy time tea and honey at the Wholefoods, and you painting was a feature next to the counter. Didn’t show your face, but I walked past that day and remembered.”

“The paper… wow. I didn’t know. But yes,”Y/n twirls the ruler on in circles with her fingers, putting all her weight on one hip so on of her feet could tap loosely on the floor. “I decorated Rockstar.” After a beat, “What’d you think about it?”

“The place is amazin’!” A strand of Harry’s hair flops down to the space between his eyebrows and eyelashes, tickling his skin. He had to brush his fingers through his hair to comb it back. “Love the feel of it. Gotta stop myself from going in everyday or might blow all my money on Stevie’s usual.”

“That’s my favorite too! Next time you’re there, give me a wave down and I’ll have you covered.” Y/n’s offers had Harry’s eyebrows raised in seconds. “Least I could do, given you saved me from a concussion and all that.” She tried to explain, words coming out in a flurry from her mouth.

He chuckles at her flustered stare, the same repressed smirk that he’d given her when he caught her staring. “I’ll definitely keep that in mind.” Silence and then, “What do you plan on doing with the place?”

“Turn it into a greenhouse,” y/n said bluntly. The two were still standing next to the wall y/n was measuring, and Harry leaned one of his shoulders against it, moving his hands from behind his back to his front, wrapping one around the other one’s wrist.

“That’ll be nice. Even more uh, how do you say, therapeutic? I guess more relaxing than the place already is. Karime said plants?” He asked. It didn’t quite settle with y/n that he knew Karime on a first name basis, that he was interested in knowing she picked plants, and she wanted so badly to say: Karime doesn’t know what she wants, but instead pushes that feeling away and goes with,

“Well, she gave me a scope to work with. A color scheme. A gist. Certain decorations she wanted to see. So on and so on. Plants is just what I took from it. And it goes with her place because it has to deal with aromatherapy and all that. What do you think?”

“I think you’ve hit it right on. Can’t wait to see what it’ll look like.” He raps a knuckle on the wall. “Did you still need wall measurements? I’ll hold you so you don’t fall again.”

Timidly, she responds, “Okay.”

“Up you get, then.” Harry pointed to the chair, and y/n raises her leg to hike up, this time with Harry’s hands placed on her hips, steadying her.

A tiny dash on the wall where her nail slid off marks where she was at when she nearly fell off the metal chair, and this is where she places the ruler. She left off at 7 feet, the ruler at her hip. Resuming the same positions, she starts to wobble again, and Harry's hands tight, holding her straight.

She guesses he hears her gasp when she feels herself wobble because he says “I’ve gotcha.”

Y/n moved the ruler up one, two, and three more times, and then her arm can’t stretch anymore and pinches one eye closed to cry and guess how many more feet are left. She guessed four… ish. On a whim, she tries to push the ruler up once more, and her shirt rides up on the left side of her hips. Warm sequential breaths hit her skin, and a shiver drops down her spine when she realizes what’s happened.

Harry, ever the gentleman, doesn’t waste a second, and slides his pointer and middle finger over her skin, his warm fingers splaying over goosebumps to pinch her shirt and pull it down for her.

“All done,” she squeaks. “Coming back down.”

Harry released her, but offers her a hand and she takes it, holding on to his as she comes down, his palms warm and rings cool; a nice contrast.

“Thank you so much for h-”

“Y/n?”

Booth Harry and y/n tun to the doorway that leads to the main room, where Karime stands with a checkbook in her hands. Y/n turns back to look at Harry. The curls behind his ears, the blonde hairs on his top lip. He turns to look at her, and gives her a closed lip smile. She smiles back and twiddles her fingers, mouthing a bye bye.

Karime walks away when she sees that y/n is following her, and takes them both back to their position on the counter.

“Here’s the check. Two thousand dollars. Deposit it into your account, and use it for gas, furniture, anything that has to do with Aromareads you can pull from this.” She opens the book and tears out the slip of paper. “I will need receipts. And your name?”

Karime glances up at y/n, only to see that she’s busy looking back through the door frame at Harry. The manager is slightly irked at the fact that the person she’s hiring to reshape her business isn’t paying attention, but following her line of gaze, Karimer can’t blame her. Harry, a usual in her store, is a very very handsome man. Towering, with broad back and a neck Karime would love to bite into if she wasn’t gay. He sat at his laptop, thighs spread and eyes hard and stern, pondering with a pout. Karime is sure that what caught my/n’s attention is the way Harry’s thighs and crotch looked at that very moment, enticing, strong, sensual.

Clearing her throat, “Y/n. I need a full name to address the check.”

Y/n’s neck snaps towards Karime, her hair getting caught on her lips at her velocity. “Uh- yes, sorry it’ll be Y/n Y/l/n.”

Karime repeated her name, and asked for her to spell it, which she did while stuttering mildy.

“Here you go.” Clicking her pen against the marble countertop, Karime handed the check to y/n. “Listen, by no means do I wanna pressure you, but if you could get this down before the holidays are in full force, I would love that.”

“Oh, don’t worry. It won’t take me that long.”

And it definitely didn’t.

On Monday, y/n spent the entire day (and part of her night) driving to most of the places Karime had sent her through a text. She spent a few minutes googling the places and looking through the pictures that came up and cursing every time it would redirect her to yelp- because really who has yelp? The antique stores were all spread out in the Los Angeles area.

There was one in Long Beach. The pictures showed a really big warehouse with chair lying on top of each other and tables littered with little statues and the likes. Here she bought baskets. Tons of them. Gus (the owner) has dedicated an entire isle to them. When he saw y/n’s cart, the laughed then asked her “Why dolly, whadda ya need all them baskets for?” And when she told him it was for business, he offered her coupons and package deals.

“Tell ya what,” he scratched the scruff on his chin, the only hair he had because he was bald, “You buy all these baskets,” he pointed to her cart, “I’ll give you a twenty pa’cent discount on ya purchase, and if ya want, you can pick anathin’ ya want from over there because no one wants tuh buy them.” Then he pointed to a pile of books that lay haphazardly next to a stove and a turquoise refrigerator. She paid one hundred and fifty.

She walked out with wicker baskets, one being a picnic basket she snatched for herself, lined nicely with red patterned cloth and a lid for it to close, and that same picnic basket full of regency novels from the 90’s.

There was another in Laguna. A beachside thrift shop, where she paid for (very overpriced) frames of painted lighthouses and beach landscapes for that ‘beach’ factor Karime wanted. By this time, she drove back towards Hollywood to drop the items back at Aromareads because her car was getting full. She didn’t go inside, just unloaded the tings in the back and Karime took them inside. If she had, she would’ve seen Harry.

Y/n then took to the shops in the downtown area. One being, a swapmeet type place where you walked through and looked at all the furniture. They set up different sections for different themes. Victorian, regal, animal skin themed, and a hall full of mirrors. Y/n bought a large 8x8 mirror for five hundred dollars. It would be delivered the following day.

One of the sections was retro-themed, and she snapped a picture of a hip-height lava lamp and sent it to Lucy. Lucy then proceded to beg y/n through to text to please buy that I fucking need it. Will pay u back. So she bought it; $100 that she knew would be no big deal for Lucy given all the business she had.

Her final stop, were the flowers and plants district. There, she placed a large order for 30 succulents, and an assortment of nearly 100 leafy plants to fill the baskets with. She blew $1,000 there.

By the end of the day, she’d wasted nearly all of Karime’s check; a measly two hundred remaining after she refilled her car with gas (give or take some). Y/n met with Karime at around 6, in the back parking lot again, and left everything she’d bought.

“Oh! And the mirror should be delivered tomorrow before closing time.”

Karime was wearing a caramel turtle neck and black slacks tucked into latex ankle boots, her hair pinned back and tied into a spiky ponytail. Her ears were adorned with pearl earrings, and her fingers were jammed into golden rings. Y/n felt embarrassed in her measly purple jumper and paint splattered mom jeans. Her accessories consisted of a fanny pack full of nails and a hammer at her waist.

“Good, good. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow-” Karime was already turning back and returning into the shop when Y/n said:

“Actually I was hoping I could start now.” Her words lifted into a question at the end, half suggesting half stating.

Karime’s face morphed into one of confusion and surprise, but in the end she agreed, and told y/n to do as she pleased.

Upon first entering, y/n is disoriented.

She walks into a frenzy of… nothing. It’s like an industrial kitchen, but completely empty. Occupied only by the things she had brought in. She remembers that she walked into the back and not the front, and it made sense because Karime doesn’t offer anything that would require use of the kitchen. Everything she has is done at the bar by the barista outside.

Karime leaves y/n in the back, where she asses her items. The baskets. The frames. And well, that’s really all there is. It would be more with all the plants coming in. She realizes that she doesn’t really have much to work with and there really isn’t much to do than hang picture frames, and there’s only five of them.

Nonetheless, she goes outside with the first frame in hand. A soft blue painting of a lighthouse on an island with light from a hole in a cloudy sky shining on the building. When she picked this one up, she knew exactly where it would go. By the wall next to the sliding door that lead to the patio. She sauntered over to the spot then, dodging a woman on her boyfriend on her way there. It was packed, and rightfully (it was a tuesday).

She reached the spot, and lifted the picture on the wall, lifting and tilting so it would fit naturally. Eventually, she found the sweet spot, and reached for the hammer she had stuck into her belt loop and the box of nails she’d placed into the fanny pack on her waist.

Without hesitation, she put the first nail on the wall, and started banging. Three taps in, and she hung the wire on the nail, balancing it so it looked the way she envisioned it. After she was done, y/n stepped back to admire her handiwork, and tilted her head to the side the way one does when their looking at a picture that’s upside down.

Perfect.

She walked around the shop then, with the purpose of noticing empty spots on the walls, anything that could be filled up with artistry. The simple tables? No they had to stay that way. Placing something on the tables would clutter them and tarnish the ‘relax’ mode people came in for. The window that faced the street? Yes. Y/n planned on lining them with hanging droopy plants on the edges, not obscuring but not leaving a clear view either. She’d have to buy shelves to place baskets on the walls. Hooks to hang them. This she would do with what was left from the check.

Yet… something was missing. The alternative-ness she knew should be there. Something ‘hippie’ and ‘aesthetic’, off the minimalist side of things.

Looking into a corner where the walls met, a light bulb went off. She knew exactly what was missing. Letters. Y/n had seen an image on Pinterest not even less than a month ago. A picture of a string of letters. Or rather, a message. It said something along the lines of ‘You are my light’ or something edgy like that. Each word had been hand cut and strung onto a piece of- she didn’t know, string? Tweed? A wire?- and hung in a corner of a room where walls met. It knocked off every box on the checklist. Minimalist. Crafty. Aesthetic. And cheap, considering how low the money was.

She knew she’d have to brainstorm phrases and pass them by Karime, but she’d worry about that later.

It was Friday. One day after the plants had been delivered, and y/n was set to work full force. Sure, she’d have to work amongst customers, but no matter. It would get done.

She started in the back. With the plants.

Y/n had bought a plastic-type lining at the Home Depot to place soil in the baskets. She lined then all first, securing the material with tape around the edges. After, came the transfer and placement. She decided this would be a better method, and if there were extras she could have Karime sell them. This way, she wouldn’t overcrowd the place and stop when she saw an adequate fill of green.

The first, a circular basket with no handle the color of a waffle cone. Because it was one that would go on a shelf, she placed one of the droopiest plants in it, a green stream of vines and shrubby leaves.

Last night, y/n had given Karime the benefit of the doubt, and allowed her to place shelves where she’d liked them So, before she opened at 7, Karime had decorated her store with wooden slabs for y/n to decorate. Taking the first plant, she walked out.

As expected, Aromareads was bustling with energy. Women with mojitos in their hands, burnt out college kids hooked up to masks, older men and women laughing like tinkling bells.

She’s walking towards the first row of shelves she sees on the wall across from her, besides the sliding doors, basket held gingerly with both hands, when she hears:

“Y/n!”

Looking to her left, she sees a sleepy, just-rolled-out-of-bed looking Harry. He’s wearing a black hoodie with the words ‘Treat people with kindness’ in a gradient rainbow color, and… and grey sweatpants. Grey. Sweatpants.

Grey sweatpants.

Y/n tries not to visibly swallow him whole as he walks towards her with an innocent smile on his face because god if she isn’t all hot and bothered right now. Her eyes seem to be magnetically attracted to his crotch, trying but failing to grasp and image of what may be lying underneath.

“H-hey, Harry,” she smiles at him meekly, her voice cracking when she speaks. She cleared her throat and said again, “hey, Harry. S’nice to see you.”

“Nice to see you too.” He bows his head towards her, and endearing mannerism that has y/n’s heart pooling down to her ribcage. “I see you’ve brought out the green guns today.” A teasing grin on his extra red and shiny lips. Perhaps it was chapstick. It was rather windy outside.

“You see correctly.” She giggles at his joke, at the same time, rolling her eyes at how cheesy he was being. “Today’s the day it all comes together.”

“I’m excited to see how it all turns out. Don’t go falling on any chairs today alright?” He wags his finger at her, mocking a mother shunning her child.

“I’ll try not to. But if I do-” she said, coquettishly.

“I’ll catch you.”

“You better.” Laughing at him, she repeats his actions and lifts her finger up to point at him.

With a final laugh and a shake of his head, Harry walks away and into the working room.

Y/n watches him walk off, and walks off her own way as well, resting the basket against her hip as she went. When she reached the wall with shelves arranged in a checkered pattern, she placed the basket on top of the wooden plank, and tufted leaves so they look naturally messily placed. Unintentionally intentional; they way one teases their hair so it looks nice.

She went back to her work station: the now full kitchen, and repeated the process. Picked a basket, filled it with a plant, and took it outside. She left the hooks for last, wanting to leave of being in the way of people until she had too. Almost effortlessly, y/n filled Karime’s space with greenery. Cacti on shelves, large leaves and vines on walls, frames of beach paintings on nails. Once, she pricked her finger because her it had accidentally slipped inside the glass globe in which the succulent was in.

When the time finally came to walk into the room Harry was in, the outside was looking rather… forest-y. She liked the way it looked; a calm type of chaos. One that showed relaxation and no care for anything. Which was the point of the entire place. Come in. Relax. Breathe in from diffusers to get that extra push to decompress.

Harry sat in his usual spot, directly in spot of the doorway, in one of the middle tables. Hunched over his computer with fingers flying over his keyboard. He had earphones in this time, white buds tucked right into his ears, stray strands of hair looping and covering them. His lips were placed in a puckered pout, the scrunched pink skin twitching from left to right.

Humming to herself, y/n forces herself to walk past him, forces herself to not turn back and glance at Harry even if she can feel his gaze burning into her back. She makes it seem like the hook and plant in her hand are the most interesting things in the world. Turning it over in her fingers, and even going as far as to lift the basket (this on with a handle and curved bowl bottom) to her nose and smell it.

“Need a hand with that?” Harry says from behind her. She feels his presence from behind her, standing close enough that she can feel when he reaches to her front and takes the basket from her hands. Y/n’s heart starts beating as fast as a hummingbird's wings. Closing her eyes to get a hold of herself, all she sees is green. Green, the color of his eyes.

“Yes, please.” Her voice is small, shy.

Harry, feeling bold, nudged the tip of his nose on the hair behind her ear. Enough to make her notice, but not enough to make her completely sure that it was there. “Where do you want it?” He says, breath hot on the shell of her ears. Her eyes widen, and her body goes on full alert. She’s suddenly aware of the closeness of his hips on hers, the brushing of the fabric on her the back of her hand.

“Up…” Y/n steps forward, towards the wall. She places her finger on the smooth surface, and traces it over to where she wants it, doing loopty-loops to her desired spot. “...here.”

He places the nail on the wall, hits it with the hammer that y/n gives him and hooks the basket as well. He turns to her when he’s done.

“Got any more?” He asks, placing a hand on his hip.

“Yeah, in the back. Wanna come help me?” Y/n points with a thumb to the doorway, half of her body turning as well.

“Lead the way.”

So they leave together to the backroom, y/n holding open the golden curtain for Harry to walk through. He looks around endearingly, his neck stretching and eyes darting from place to place as he takes in his surroundings. Y/n is stuck at the expression on her face, her heart strings pulling when her ears listen to the soft giggle that escapes his lips.

“S’very nice back here.”

“Wanna grab a few baskets? Place ‘em in the lounge?”

“Sure thing.” Harry wraps his hand around the handle of three baskets at the same time, and with the other, he grabs the still-packaged hooks and wait for y/n by the doorway. She hurried to grab two succulents, and met Harry at the doorway. They had an awkward moment of deciding who’s going first. A huffle of backwards and forwards until eventually, Harry held his palm out to allow her to go through while biting his lip. Y/n ducked her head and felt the tips of her ears go warm.

“So, I tried Elton John yesterday.” He said, trailing behind y/n into the lounge like a little puppy. If he had a tail, it’d be wagging.

“Oh? How was it?” She replied, juggling the two glass casings in her hand, and then pricking herself again. She flinches, but doesn’t make any noises.

“Think I might have a new favorite,” he said, bashfully ducking his own head and peeking at her through his hair. Her heart fluttered, and if it could, she was sure it would bust out with the dreamy sighs she suppressed.

“It’s that serious?” She asked.

“It’s that serious.” They reach the lounge, and y/n sets the succulents she carries in her hands down on a table. “Have you had it yet?” Her stretches her hands out to Harry, signaling for him to give her his items.

“No, not yet. Should probably give it a try if its changed your mind. Can you pass me a hook?” Harry gives her all four packages he holds in his one hand. When she wraps her hand around them, her finger brushes against the chubby part of his hand.

“Here you go- I only drank it ‘coz like, I’m on this diet thing and needed a drink with oat milk in it. Elton’s was the first one I saw. Woke me right up, too.”

“Diet you say?” y/n took the hammer and walked over to her desired stop, a few feet away from the one Harry had put in.

“Some altered version of keto. Had a really bad bug, had me feeling icky and ‘just decided it was the best.” He takes place next to her, watching as she positioned the nail and hit it a few times with the hammer. He held out a basket on his finger when she was done. She was a whirlwind, he thought. Busy little bee, never stopping. Harry nearly feels bad because she’s so full of energy, bouncing back from the table to the wall and arranging plants before he could even blink. “S’not fair. Not letting me do any work.” A pout appears on his lips, eyes teasing.

“You just stand there and look pretty. I’ve-” she points to herself, finger at her chin. “Got this.”

Harry grumbles something that she doesn’t catch with his chin tucked into his neck.

“What was that?’ she hums.

“‘Said, can’t exactly be pretty ‘coz you took that job too.”

Y/n’s hands still. Immediately, she feels her chest grow red roses blooming on her cheeks. She’s not exactly… embarrassed, per say. No. The familiar feeling of ants running wildly in her lower stomach began to burn, her ribcage tickling as butterflies try to creep out with beating wings. Pretty. He had called her pretty.

“Uhm, thank you?”

“You’re very welcome, darling.” His tone of voice is smug. And when she looks over at him with eyebrows raised, he’s biting his lip and his looking at her through his eyelashes like he had before, but there was no childish play in it this time.

“Say,” she picks up a succulent. “What’s it with you?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He shrugs.

“Lovin’ all up on me.” She puts the succulent back down.

“S’nothing wrong with lovin’ all up on a pretty girl.”

There it is again. Pretty girl. Y/n is on fire her entire face pink, color concentrated on her cheeks and nose as if she had taken a walk in the brisk wind.

“Stop it,” she said.

Harry’s face turns concerned, brows kissing and lines appearing on his forehead. “Am I making you uncomfortable?” All work is forgotten, and instead they stand facing each other.

“No! No, no,” Y/n’s eyes widen and her hands waving back and forth to eradicate the thought of her being disturbed by him. “S’just,” she sighs. “Not used to it, is all.”

Upon hearing this, Harry’s face breaks into a smile. “Well then,” he starts. “Better get used to it.”

“Oh, you.” She playfully slaps his shoulder and picks up the succulent again, this time actually going to put it on a shelf adjacent to the window; a little alcove Karime has placed in a weird spot.

“When do you get a break?”

“I think I get to take it whenever I want, why?” “Wanna head down to Rockstar? Craving a Madonna right about now.”

“Never pegged you as a Madonna guy,” (the Madonna was a sweet caramel iced coffee with whipped cream and chocolate chips; not actually what Madonna would drink, and the beverage itself being one of the few inaccurate ones). “Let me finish with this, and I’ll let Karime know.”

So she did, much faster with Harry’s help. He handed her nails, hooks, and the plants she asked for. He asked if he could leave his stuff in the back, and he followed her back there once again, ticking his bag into an empty cupboard next to y/n’s things. On her way out, she said a quick goodbye to Karime who she was sure didn’t even hear what she said.

Harry and her walked the short block side by side, with him playfully knocking his shoulder into hers and smiling like a mushy schoolboy when she pushed him back. They made small talk about drinks and the weather, shoulders hunched up and chins tucked in because it was a little cold. Y/n’s frayed highschool sweater wasn’t doing much to keep her warm, and she had half the wind to pull her hood up the way Harry had his.

Looking over at his, his nose was going a bit raw. Pink and the skin around it a little pale. By the time he noticed she was looking at him, they’d reached Rockstar, and he was opening the door for her. Murmuring a small thank you she walked through, and stepped to the side to wait for him to step inn as well, given he’d held the door open for the few people that had been walking behind him as well. From inside, she could see him nodding and smiling at everyone who stepped in.

“You wanna grab a table and I’ll get the drinks?” she says to him when he appears next to her with hands in his hoodie pocket; she’s craning her neck to meet his eyes.

“Sure. I’ll be in the records?” He takes one hand out to point over to where the records are.

“Okay.” Y/n nods and head to the counter, where Lucy is busy taking someone’s order. She only see y/n when she walks behind the person and makes a silly face at her. Lucy laughs, but continues taking the order, and y/n pushes through the doors to put on an apron and make her and Harry’s drink.

“Well if it isn’t y/n!” Says Kim.

“Y/n! Girly its been forever,” Kelsey bumps her hip when y/n get to work alongside her at the steaming machine.

“Yes, yes, I know. Missed my favorite baristas.” she giggles, bumping her hip a little harder and making Kelsey gasp in faint shock. “Where’s Tilly?”

“Called in sick. Poor think could barely speak.” replied Kelsey. Y/n hummed a response, and made her drink first, a hot chocolate, and set it to the side to allow it to cool down meanwhile she made Harry’s. When Kelsey noticed her reaching for another measuring cup after just making her own she says,

“Two drinks?”

“Got a friend waiting for me in the records.” Y/n explained, pumping an extra pump of caramel into the cup. She puts in less ice too, and extra chocolate chips and whipped cream.

“The records…” Kelsey craned her neck out of where customers pick of their drinks to peek tp the records section. “Wait, wait, the one in the hood?” “Yep,” said y/n, unbothered as she capped Harry’s drink.

“Y/n!” Kelsey hissed, “He’s hot!”

“Yes, Kelsey, I am aware.” Y/n rolls her eyes and picked up both drinks, turning on her heels to walk out but nearly bumps into Kim, who stood not even an inch away from her. She backs up instantly.

“So are you and he a thing?” He asked, leaning in closer to y/n’s face,his breath smelling on the ramen he always ate during his lunch break.

Y/n, uncomfortable by his closeness, tried walking around him but he stepped to the side. “It’s none of your business Kim.”

“You never accept my dates, but you’ll accept his?” Kim’s tone is angry, and when he takes a step towards her, Kelsey steps in front of her.

“Kim, leave her alone.” Kelsey says, turning back to y/n and nodding her head in the direction y/n was heading. When she pushes past the swinging doors, she catches a bits of what Kelsey says to him in a harsh whisper, “just wait until Lucy hears about this.”

“Haarryy,” Y/n says in a sing-song voice, dodging people as she makes her way to the records. Harry’s standing with a record in his hand, legs spread apart and leaning back a bit with his other hand tucked into his opposite armpit. “Here’s your John.”

Harry takes the plastic cup from her, giggling as he looks at her.

“What’s so funny?” she asks, genuinely confused.

“Still wearing your apron,” Harry wraps his lips around the straw, tongue poking out to lap at it and take it into his mouth as y/n tries really hard not to stare.

Looking down at herself, y/n shrugs, and leaves it on, taking a seat on the nearest loveseat and wrapping her now empty hand around the warm cup.

“What did you get?” He asked her.

“Willy wonka.” She brings the cup to her lips, tilting it up slowly and her mouth waters when she catches the scent of the foaming chocolate. Harry takes a seat next to her, his thigh touching her jean-clad one. He sits with them spread, leaning back in an eased position, and y/n eyes jump down to the bunched grey fabric at his crotch. And… well, there’s a larger than normal bulge through the fabric, drawstrings bending over the imprint, and y/n chokes on her drink. Some of it sputters out onto her apron.

“Still hot?” She nods. “ Gotta be careful, love. Who picked the names?”

Y/n looks over at him, head tilting to the side with eyes squinting. “Picked what?”

The cloudy skylight streamed in softly, casting a soft grey glow on Harry’s side profile. “The names for the drinks. Who picked them?” He holds his drink in one hand, straw near his face so all he had to do was maneuver his wrist to the plastic tube was in his mouth.

“Lucy did. Well, for most of them. I picked Andre 3000, Madonna, Willy Wonka and made the drinks myself. They’re not accurate though.” She sipped from her drink. “The rest of them are.”

“How much of this decor did you do? Like, concepts and stuff.” Harry takes out the tucked hand to wave around, and then tucks it back in.

“Concepts? Hmm…” she trails off for a moment. “All of them. I don’t want to say that I made this place myself, because I wouldn’t have done it without Lucy’s guidelines, but I went out, bought the furniture. Everything you see me doing at Karime's, I did here… ‘cept Karime’s is just plants and this,” she waves around her in a gesture and leaves it at that.

“Do you decorate apartments?” He asked.

“W-what?” Y/n, in the middle of a sip, and very surprised at his question, stuttered at his

“‘Coz mine’s looking kinda bland right now, was thinking maybe you could help me put some life into it.”

“Harry, I-”

“Kinda like the Rockstar vibes, but like, a little less on the trendy side? I dunn-” Harry isn’t looking at her, his eyes wandering and landing on everything but her.

“Harry.” she said a little more sternly, putting a stop to his little rant. He looked at her then, his expression unreadable. “I’m not sure you want me to help you decorate your home.”

“Why not? You’d be helping me is all, and I love the way you’ve made Aromatherapy and Rockstar look.” He licks his lips, moving his head to the side and bringing the straw into his mouth with his tongue (that y/n stare at for longer than necessary).

“But it’s your home.”

“I am aware. Help me make it more me.” He shifts his body towards her then, his knee bending so he chest is to her. “Please?” He makes the face Puss in Boots made in that one movie, y/n couldn’t remember then because Harry looked much cuter than that dumb cat did.

Y/n tosses this idea around in her head. Helping Harry decorate his home. She was scared, not only because Harry was cute, but because home was a personal and private space to be calm and safe. What if she screwed it all up and then Harry was uncomfortable in his own home? What is she did such a shit job that, that- well such a bad job that a horrible result came out of it again. This thing with Harry, a budding friendship? She barely knew the guy, just that he had an affinity for showering her with compliments and he made her turn more red than that really bad sunburn she got in the 10th grade after she refused to put on sunblock on a trip to a pool resort. What her point was, is that decorating someone’s home- a place where the heart is pure- is a really big job.

“Of course, this would be after you’re done with Karime’s place. Don’t wanna stress you out or anything like that.” A nike shoe, white and crisp looking like it had come straight out of the box, pressed into his thigh when he wrapped a hand around his ankle and pulled his bent leg in tighter. “Whadda ya say?”

After hemming and hawing a few times, y/n finally says, “Okay. But you’re gonna have to be one million times more specific okay?” She elbows him, his position causing her elbow to poke at his pec instead of his bicep, and y/n elbows into hard muscle.

“Heyyy, can’t go hurting the girls now,” He rubs over where he poked her, and pouts childishly, even going as far as sticking his tongue out at her. “Do you need to head back? I don’t wanna get you into any trouble, y/n.” The use of her name makes her heart skip a beat. “Yes, we should probably get going.” She moves to get up, and accidentally places her hand on Harry’s thigh. Before she would say sorry for touching him, he says,

“Alway using me to hold yourself, huh? Sneaky thing, I see what you’re doin.”

“You offered! Said it yourself, I’ll hold you so you don’t fall again,” she deepened her voice, and faked a british lilt as best she could.

“I do not sound like that,” He whined.

He got up right after her, grabbing her hand to ‘pull’ himself back up, but he was really just holding it. His hand was cooler than hers (because he’d used the hand that had been holding his iced coffee) and enormous around hers. If he tried, he could close his finger tips and they’d be overlapping. When he was fully stood up, he reached around her neck, and lifted the black strap over her head, transfering the cloth over to the hand that held his cup, and then reaching again, this time around her waist to undo the knot. His front, not even a full step away from hers, and y/n got a whiff of detergent and something else she could only describe as ‘clean man’. If she were a shark, this would’ve been the moment her eyes turned black and rolled to the back of her head.

“There you go, no longer look like a little barista.” He hung the apron over he shoulder, and walked alongside her to the exit. Y/n split from him for a short second to return the apron, but then resumed her place next to him and they walked out together. She was hyper alert the entire way, taking notice of when their hands brushed, or when he pressed his bicep against hers. They walked a little stumbly, walking against each other almost. Had it been Lucy, she would’ve already yelled at y/n, and y/n would’ve walked near the sidewalk to avoid bumping into her again. But Harry?

Harry takes it like a champ. Giggling and pressing back against her, and he even placed her on the inside of the sidewalk when she walked to the side closest to the passing cars.

“So, tell me.” He starts, tossing his empty cup at a recycling bin as they waited for the light. “What kind of premeditated preparations should I take to be- as you said- extra specific?”

Y/n still nurtures her cup in her hands, the coffee lid resting on her bottom lip. “Moodboards. Magazine scraps. Room inspiration on pinterest. Make a list of things you like. Anything really. Anything that you like and would like to see in your apartment. Also, you need a budget.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout a budget. I’ll work on everything else. You want it done by a certain day?” He asked, gallantly placing a hand on the small of her back as they crossed the street.

“Preferably within the next week or two. I’m pretty much done with Karime.” She straightens up when she feels Harry’s hand on her, a warm feeling spreading from where he pressed, unlike the nastiness Kim made her feel.

They’re three shops down when he said, “Gotta give me your number so I can send you everything then. You can keep me updated and I’ll keep you updated.” They pass by a tree whose branch is just low enough to graze Harry’s head, and it hooks onto the hood on his head, effectively pulling it back as he walks through. His hair looks incredibly soft. Wispy strands the color of the drink in her hands, billowing up and around his face, a ringlet falling in front of his right eye.

He licks his lips, using his fingers to push his hair back and raise the hoodie over his hair again. HE looks over at her as he does, waiting for her response.

“Oh, oh, yes. Sure thing. Got your phone on you?” Harry jams his hand into his pocket and pulls out his phone, the latest model, sleek and looking incredibly small in his hands. He placed it into her outstretched palm, unlocked but not on the contact app. Y/n has to swipe through shamefully, scared he’s gonna think that she’s snooping. She puts her number under ‘y/n :)’.

“Thanks, love.” He took the phone from her, his fingers sliding against the back of her hand. He hisses when he does so, saying, “Y/n your hands are so cold,” and then proceeds to take her hand and squeeze it between his own two.

She giggles sweetly, “Aye! Trynna hold my hand now?” she teased.

“No, trying to hold your hand would be this,” He grabs her hand with one, and lets it wall between them. They walk into AromaReads like that, with him holding her hand and the both of them laughing like they’d heard the funniest thing in the world.

Karime, standing at the counter and welcoming everyone as they come in, catches y/n’s eye and she smiles at herself knowingly. Y/n shakes her head while still laughing with Harry, and they both head to the back. Harry to get his stuff, and y/n to continue her job. Just when he’s walking between the isle and cabinets, his phone dings and he takes it out, his jaw dropping and palm slapping his forehead.

“SHIT! I completely forgot. I have a lunch meeting with my friend today. Fuck,” Y/n, this being the first time she hears swear words coming out of his mouth, rases her eybrow at him and chuckles. “I’m so sorry. I wanted to keep helping you, but-”

She raises her hand, silencing him. “You do what you have to do. This is my job anyway. Just don’t forget to text me.” Basket handles fill her hands, wicker patterns pressing into her pals, and she tucks one of the last two frames under her hand too.

“I won’t. In fact, I’ll do that right now.” He types into the phone that’s still in his hand, and a few seconds later Y/n’s back pocket buzzes and chimes. She doesn’t pull it out to check. “Now you can text me if I forget.” He says finally, swinging his satchel over his shoulder.

“Bye, sweetheart!” He called out, turning back over to smile at her. Y/n’s lips pulled up at the corners, gazing at him with a certain look in her eye as he walked out.

“Sweetheart, huh?” Karime stepped into her direct line of vision, snapping y/n out of the daydream in her head where she’s the housewife and Harry her husband leaving to work, calling out bye, sweetheart! as he walked out the door.

Karime’s looking at her with a smirk and a single pointy eyebrow raise.

God, what had she gotten herself into?

Y/n had saved Harry under “H.”

And received a text from him that same night.

She’d been in her bathtub with cucumbers on her eyes when she heard her phone chime. Chin pointed upwards and wrists perched on the edges of her porcelain basin, she lay unbothered and unmotivated to even move. Arms aching and the soles of her feet tired from walking from place to place and lifting she did at Karime’s earlier that day. Tealight candles were the only source of light in the tiny bathroom, a soft yellow glow cascading on the skin of her neck. The valley of her breast peaked out everytime she took a breath, her mind drifting off into thoughts of green eyes and warm hands, all she’d been able to think about that day.

She planned on staying there 30 more minutes, but her phone dinged again. After she thought it was the two minute thing the phone does after receiving a message, but when it dinged again, she huffed from her nose and removed the soggy cucumber sliced off of her eyes. Should’ve turned off my phone, she thought to herself, grabbing the towel she left on the toilet seat across from the tub, and wrapping it around her torso. The phone screen a blaring white light in contrast to the dimness of the candles.

Y/n, eyes cloudy with sleep and limbs saggy with fatigue, is very much surprised to see that next to the app icon on the display screen, is ‘H.’ Hey eyes pop out of her head at the realization, and her heart shakes up the fatigue to beat up a storm for the boy she’d been thinking about all day since he’d left her.

Standing in her bathroom, on bare tiles with water still dripping on her, it hit her full force. She liked Harry. Liked the way his cheek squished against his shoulder when he shrugged. They way he looked at her through his eyelashes, and they way he made sure that she was walking on the inside of the street. Liked how he smiled at her and said her name. She was obsessed with him.

So i think i know what i wanna go for

Was thinking maybe italy in the 70’s

What do you think :D ??

And attached were varying pictures of vast rooms with big windows during golden hour and white flowy curtains with art pieces on the wall. It was minimal Even more minimal that what Karime asked for. This is what he wanted help with? Not to mention, the pictures he sent were of rooms far bigger than she’d ever seen for an LA apartment. Hell, those rooms might as well have been in Italy, one of the windows had a view of a pretty pink sunset and orange tree branches littering the way.

However, she couldn’t argue that they were very pretty rooms. Sweet and plain, easy for the eye to absorb and just the place you’d be able to melt on the floor with a book.

Or the kind in which you have slow, hazy afternoon sex, but who was she to say what harry would use his rooms for right?

Disclaimer: if this is the look you’re going for

This exact look? You’re gonna have 2 have a really big apartment

Not even a full minute goes by until the grey delivered letters turns into ‘Read at 10:15pm’ and the grey typing bubble appears at the bottom of her screen. Her palms begin to sweat and her breath hitches. She doesn’t realize she’s been holding in her breath until she releases it after his message comes through.

are you doing anything this weekend?

Y/n is confused, brows furrowed as she reads his message. Why does he want to know?

No. why? she responded.

so you can come and take measurements of my apartments. that way i know how to tweak what i want

and I have a measuring tape don’t worry

Y/n rolled her eyes and giggled at her phone screen, turning and resting her bum on the edge of her sink.

Saturday?

Seconds later,

see you Saturday

sweet dreams. H.x

The idiot. Of course he’d sign off a text message. Scoffing, y/n let the towel drop to the floor, and reached into the tub to unclog the drain. As soon as she felt the pop of water flowing down the pipes, she took out her arm and walked out.

On Wednesday, y/n laid in bed until 12. When she got up, it was only to brush her teeth, pee, and eat ramen with rice and egg like the asian lady in the liquor store had taught her to make. When she finished, she went back to bed. Maybe she masturbated to get herself to fall asleep again.

Maybe.

On Thursday, she went took Our Sign Of The Times and took it out to read in her car on signal hill. She finished it.

She cried.

When she went home, she started another one. Rogue Lover. This one with a really pretty purple flower on the front, and the first page when you open it is a raven haired man with shoulder length hair who’s propped up next to a busty redhead. Her nipple is in his mouth, and her head is thrown back in pleasure. Y/n fell a little more in love with

Lemus Knox upon finding the dedication was a note rather than a name.

It said:

Whoever reads this, I’ll be waiting for you where the stars and clouds meet. My heart is yours. Lemus.

Friday.

She helped Lucy at Rockstar. A bald man with a blue beard came in asking for her. He has a boutique in Long Beach. Doesn’t want to come off overbearing. Will he help her?

She said yes.They were set to meet next week.

Also, Harry texted her asking if they were still on for tomorrow and come ready to eat because I made Italian food for a few friends I had over and there’s leftovers.

Saturday.

Y/n woke up with an appetite for Italian food. She didn’t have to be at Harry’s house until 12-ish. They hadn’t really clarified. And with it being 8 am and all that, y/n decided to take some time to shower and prep herself all nice and delicate. She spent 15 minutes lathering herself in her tub, letting her skin absorb berry scented bubbles that made her mouth water, and if she didn’t know any better she’d scoop up the bubbles and eat them.When her skin shriveled, she stood and drained the water, letting the stream from the overhead wash her off, and stepped out onto her heart shaped mat, the kind with little stubs that felt really nice against the bottom of her feet.

A little while back, she’d bought a lemon face scrub from a really expensive skincare place that had a sale, and meanwhile she put on her clothes, she put some on her cheekbones and forehead to sit for 15 minutes. It required extra care when slipping her floral dress over her head. Once she managed to poke her head through, and the material rested all bunched up on her neck, the rest was a breeze. With a careful yank, the light material cascaded down her body, dropping just below her bum. Checking herself in her mirror, she smiled at the way she looked when she swayed her hips side to side. Cheeky flashes of her bum glint at her teasingly. Humming contently, she took off to wash off her face in the restroom. She was eager to find out how Harry liked the way she looked; her dress a low neckline, and she wasn’t wearing a bra because it was one of those dress in which the fabric bunched at the breasts to create a makeshift cup. The patter was a nice pink that looked nice against her skin, dainty little bows at the sleeves and in between her breasts accentuating her features.

Y/n opted for nothing other than a dark shade of lipstick, and let her hair flow down her back. As she was putting on her shoes, a pair of those recycled shoes that sent some of the proceeds to charity, she noticed that much of what she was doing felt like what she would have done if she were getting ready for a date.

And… and Harry had food waiting for her at his place (apartment? Loft? She didn’t know specifically). Was this a date? She definitely wouldn't mind if it was.

She finished, and grabbed nothing other than her keys and shoulder bag, hesitating at her door whether she should grab the measuring tape, but deciding against it after remembering that Harry, quite teasingly, had said he had one at his house.

In her car, she scrolled up her and Harry’s text to find the one which contained his address, tapped on it when she found it, and set in on the small mount on the headboard of her cart. Huffing, she set off to Harry’s house.

It didn’t take her long to get there, about ten minutes, and she parked in front of a much nicer version of her own apartment complex, but in Beverly hills. A beige building that have the similar structure of a hotel, with turquoise patios and green roofing. Palm trees making a walkway to the entrance, which guarded by a security guard who asked who she was there to see.

“I’m here to see Harry…” she falters, realizing she doesn’t know his name.

The security, an old man with a limp and scrutinizing eyes, looked her up and down and said, “Ya one of dem girls das always botherin’ him ain’tcha? I suggest you turn back and go home. Mr. Styles won’t see you.”

Y/n, with her jaw dropped, stood stunned in the middle of the pathway, not sure what to respond. Surely, he was confused. And whichever “girls that came around bothering Mr. Styles” she wasn’t one of them.

“Go on and git,” he said, crossing his arms and standing possessively in front of a keypad.

She hurried to reach into her bag for her phone, walking back to her car while she punched Harry’s “call” because she didn’t want to stand while an agitated security man watched her.

He picks up the phone, and doesn’t even give her a chance to talk before he says, “is Felix giving you a hard time?” His voice gravelly and knowing.

“The security guard? He said that you won’t see me.” She whines into the receiver.

“Ah yes, the strict old man. Gimme a second.” He hangs up on her, leaving y/n clutching the strap of her bag so hard her knuckles turn white.

“Ms. Y/n?!” Felix calls from behind her. She turns around, surprised to see that his face was completely transformed with a smile. His front tooth is gold and he’s missing a molar. “You can go on ahead, dolly. Mr. Styles just called and said you was a nice ‘un.” He said, punching a thumb into the keypad behind him. “Sorry, bout that Miss. Enjoy the rest ‘ur dey!” He touches the tips of his fore and middle finger to his gleaming forehead and salutes her as she passes him, giggling and blushing.

“Thank you, Felix. You too.”

She walks through, and is greeted with a fine lobby. It really does look like a hotel lobby. Carpeted floors, a receptionist, and a door leading to a pool just outside the elevator. Before she can even wonder where to go, she hears her name being called by a familiar voice,

“Y/n, over here!” Harry calls out, standing in front of open doors to the elevator to her right. He’s wearing a burgundy turtleneck and black slacks that are cuffed at the ankles. Yellow tortoise shell glasses and his hair is parted down the middle making him look like MiloThatch. A lavender towelette is in the grasp of his right hand, and he’s waving it at her like soldier girlfriends saying goodbye on the platforms.

Stunned at his etherealness, y/n felt the roof of her mouth go dry. Staring at the way he filled out his clothing, she walked to him hypnotized, transfixed by his appearance. His chiseled features, boyish grin. She gravitated towards him. Enchanted.

“H-hi, Harry.” she said dreamily. Harry’s eyes raked her up and down when she came to a stop in front of him.

“Why, hello. You look exceptionally lovely right now, darling.” He rasped, looking down at her sternly, all traces of a sweet smile gone and replaced by something a little more serious. A little more sinister. His light green eyes turning a darker shade, y/n’s lips parting and knees weakening.

She musters the words to say, “so do you,” and Harry’s lips turn up at the corners.

“Shall we head up. Pasta and salad is waiting for you.” He turns away from her and presses the circular button that goes red when he pushes it.

“How was-”

“So, you-”

They both say at the same time, laughing and stopping to let the other speak and Harry says, “You go first.”

“I see you’ve a few fans that bother you, and Mr. Felix has taken to guarding them off,” y/n commented. Her eyebrow quirked at him.

Harry laughs, a single loud ha! “Felix just takes his job very seriously. That’s all.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that you have women-” the elevator rings and the doors open, “lined up on your doorstep.” Harry steps in first, and uses his hand to stop the elevator doors from closing in on y/n.

She steps through, and they both stand side by side in the metal encasing. Glancing up, she sees the ceiling is covered in mirror panels.

“Well,” Harry shifts his body so his front is facing her, and takes a step, shoulders taking turns on tilting forward with every slow, torturous step he takes. “Does it,” Y/n takes a step back, breath hitching in her chest, “ bother,” her back collides with the cool wall, the floors on the meter above the doors keep going, 5, 6, “ you?”

He’s a needle away from her nose, his mouth ghosting over her own and his chest rising up and down slowly while hers is an erratic mess. She’s breathing out of her mouth, her eyes shifting between his own two that are fixed and straight on hers. 7, 8, Harry’s hand comes to rest on the right side of her face, caging her between the elevator wall and his bicep, his palm cupped her jaw and running a thumb tenderly over her cheekbone.

“I-I,” she stutters.

“Cat got your tongue, petal?” His breath smells like mint and coffee. The tips of the curls that hang in front of his eyes tickle y/n’s forehead and down the side of her temple and eventually her cheek when he leans in to put his lips at her ear. “Look so pretty right now, y'know?” HIs british drawl is heavy because his tone of voice is low.

8, 9, “Harry,” she gasped, involuntarily tilting her head to the side when he noses at the back of her ear. “What are you doing?”

The elevator comes to a stop at 10, and Harry retracts, leaving her a red, heated mess and slightly panting. He takes the few steps to stand in front of the elevator doors, and clasps his hands behind his back. “Nothing. Nothing at all. Don’t know what you’re talking about.” He smiled at her sweetly, his demeanor innocent as if we weren't just going to ravish her in an elevator like Robet Patterson for that one Dior commercial.

The doors open to a long hallway that turns sharply at the end to the right, a door where it would’ve turned on the left side. The right wall is a window that looks out onto the middle of the building, where y/n could see the pool that had been behind door. The flooring is a green colored tile, the same as the roofing, and the walls are a flattering soft yellow bordering on white.

Harry’s shoes, expensive looking-black heeled boots that have a rainbow pattern on the, making clacking noises against the floor with every step he takes. Y/n can’t help but feel awkward while walking alongside him, but Harry, humming along to the tune of Maneater, by Hall and Oates, doesn’t seem to share her opinions. At the end of the hall, he makes a sharp turn to left, and she bumps into him. Mumbling a sorry she steps back to allow him to open the door.

It’s not locked, and with a quick turn of the brass knob, the door opens and the smell of tomato and basil hits them both in the face.

Y/n’s stomach grumbles, and she places her hand over her bell and looks over at Harry with wide eyes, embarrassed.

“I take it you’re hungry?” He steps through, holding the door open for her.

“...yes…” she mumbled, stepping through.

“Just in time then because I…” Whatever Harry says is drowned out. Y/n is amazed. Harry doesn’t have an apartment. He has a goddamn penthouse suite. His living room wall is a window, his kitchen open and blending in with the rest of the space. There are no walls, just turns where the building walls connect. Tall and wide walls painted with angles of shadows and lights that stream in. No furniture other than a long, wooden dinner table and three white chairs, and his bed. A mattress and a white comforter messily strewn over pillows. Before the walls turn to the streetside view, Y/n catches glimpses of cedar wood bookshelves arranged in the middle of the room; just like in a library.

“Y/n?” Harry appears in her line of peripheral vision, a knowing look on his face.

“Sorry, sorry. What was it?”

“Said, do you want spaghetti and meatballs or fettuccine?”

“Mmm,” She scrunches her face like she’s thinking real hard, “fettuccine.” Then she adds, “please.”

“You got it.” He said, walking away while playing with the collar of his turtleneck. Y/n follows after him, to the kitchen isle and utilities placed in a little alcove underneath the stairs that lead upstairs. To what, y/n didn’t know.

Then she sees the pots and pans that are still steaming, the cutting boards with chopped lettuce and other vegetables and realizes that-

“Hey! You said you had takeout,”

“I did.” He picks up the knife next to the tomato, and continues chopping the lettuce. “But I left it out, and it went bad. I promised you Italian so I made it myself instead. Much better than Olive Garden, anyways.” He shrugs, looking up at her and pointing with the knife to a chair across from him. “Sit.”

“NO!” She said, exasperated. “Let me chop something, too.”

“Darling, this is finished. I’ve got it. Sit, the fettuccine is almost finished. Just,” he twists his neck to look behind him, at the clock above the stove, a cat with a swinging tail. “Five more minutes.”

Y/n slides the bag she carried off her shoulder and hooks it in the back of the chair he had told her to sit on, which she still wasn’t.

“Harry, that’s not fair.” she stomped her foot, a flat slapping noise of her sole against his wooden floors.

“Oh sit, or I won’t give you any food.” He tuts his tongue at her, shaking his knife and turning to turn down one of the knobs on the stove.

Pouting like a child, y/n sits down with a plop and a screech of the chair sliding against the floor.

She sat and watched Harry as he took plates out of his cupboards and placed food on them. The only noises being the quiet bubbling of pasta sauce, the tapping of his heels, clinks of plates against each other, and y/n’s grumbling stomach. Her face was still puckered in a pout because Harry hadn’t let her help him, but it slowly eased off as she focused more and more on the way he looked in his fitting black pants. The way the fabric was tighter on his ass, how his thighs flexed with each stride. Suddenly, y/n got the urge to bite into them, and she felt herself blush at her own thoughts, especially when Harry turned to her with a sweet smile of his lips.

He placed a plate in front of her, complete with salad and garlic knots.

“Would you like some wine? Got this really nice one the other day and I haven’t opened it yet. Figured since we’re having Italian, it fits.” Harry was holding a dark wine bottle in his hand, that he had just pulled out of his silver fridge.

“Harry, I would love some, but-” Y/n tried to explain that she felt bad because she came here for take out and had cooked her a meal.

“NO buts. Have some.” And instantly, there was a cup of red wine next to her plate.

Even though he had a table for eating, he placed his own plate next to her, and sat down to eat. Y/n looked at him, deflated and with a pained look on her face, while he forked spaghetti into his mouth and raised his glass for a drink.

He froze when he saw she was looking at him. Looking her up and down, he said, “Moppet, eat your food. We have work to do.”

Y/n rubbed her palm down her face, her lips pulled down. With a groan, she picked up her fork, sulking, and twirled it in her pasta.

She didn’t know what she was expecting, but definitely not the mini piece of heaven that was in her mouth. Harry had managed to create the perfect blend of cheese and cream that glazed her tongue like silk. It was so good, she moaned, her fingers pressing against her mouth and head tilted back.

“S’good,? Harry questioned, wiping his mouth with a napkin to hide his laugh.

“Very,” she said, shoving more of the pasta into her mouth.

“Good.”

They eat quietly, Harry snickering at her whenever inhumane noises of pleasure left her mouth.Y/n practically cleaned her plate with the garlic knots. She only remembered about the glass of wine when Harry set his down empty, lips stained, and eyes droopy if she looked at him hard enough. After she’d cleaned her plate, she reached for the thin stem of the g;ass and drank it like it was grape juice, only slightly wincing after it had gone down, the tart acidity washing down the sweeter tones of cream.

“Slow down, Moppet. Don’t want you to get a tummy ache.” Harry said, patting her hand tenderly and pushing himself off the seat to place her plate in the sink. At this, y/n jumped from her chair and took the plates from Harry.

“You cooked, not I wash the dishes.” She stuck her tongue out at him, the tip red from the wine.

“But-” Harry protested.

“No buts. Go,” she bumped her hip against his, and walked the last few steps to the sink, picking up the sponge and turning on the water. She washed the dishes, and like always, got the front of her dress wet, water splattering onto her chest. Sucking on her teeth, y/n used the towel hanging on the handle of the oven to pat off the water. Harry watched this from where he leaned against the isle across from the stove; a new glass of wine half empty.

Returning to the table, she grabbed her now full- no thanks to Harry- glass of wine and sipped from it. It settled nicely in her stomach, warming down the path it took to settle.

Clasping her hands, she said, “Okay, Harry. Let’s talk decor.”

Harry untucked his hand from underneath his armpit, and smacked his lips together, “Follow me.”

He started walking out to the living room area, and into the bookshelves y/n had seen. Up close, they were actually taller than her, just about Harry’s height. He walked past them, and stopped again at a corner where one building face meets the other. Here, he had pictures upon pictures laid out on the floor. He even had scraps of fabric.

Y/n stared, and nodded approvingly. “You did your research. Good job.” Looking closer, she saw what the images were. Albums (David Bowie, Stevie Nicks, Fleetwood Mac, The Eagles, The Beatles, Prince). Pop culture pieces (Andy Narwhal, Pulp Fiction, Sixteen Candles). Fabric patterns, colors, and a lot of velvet. About half of the pictures were shots of other room like the pictures he’d shown her.

To her left, Harry tapped onto his phone, and seconds later, that song he’d been humming in the hallway, Maneater, played with clarity on speakers hidden from the eye. When he was satisfied with his queue choices, he knee and sat next to his big circle of inspiration, legs splayed out in front of him looking infinitely long. Y/n noticed he had taken off his boots, and his feet, knobby and lanky, had toes painted blue and pink. He had black markings on his big toe, but she couldn’t see what it was.

“Look, sit sit, I was thinking…” Harry began, patting the area next to him and grabbing a few of the papers he had spewed on the floor. Y/n, inexplicably endeared, sat with her legs crossed to the side next to him, feeling her butt press onto the cold floor, and listened to him go on and on about his vision.

Hours passed with them just talking about images, why Fleetwood Mac would go better than Prince (because Fleetwood Mac is more of an afternoon in the meadows, and Prince is a night going down the highway in Malibu) and fabric choices for the windows (i’m sorry Harry, y/n had argued, but unless you can find a near translucent velvet its not gonna work. If you want the summer in italy during the 70’s look, you need transparent curtains).

They sat long enough that the way the light filtered in at an angle according to the sun, changed completely (it was at a harsh slant with the morning light, now its at a soft bend with golden light). When the light made Harry’s face look a golden pink, he fell back onto the wooden floors with a groan and said,

“How do you do this, y/n?” He blew hair out of his lips to move the few strands that had fallen in front of his eyes.

“Dunno, its just second natur- heeyy,”

A midst the mess, she guesses they missed it. Underneath a picture of a fruit bowl and flowers, was a picture of a naked woman, with birds eye view from the bot of her head, so you could see the tips of her breasts with they way she arched her back, and the head of hair in between her thighs. Her mouth was open in a silent scream of pleasure, eyes closed and a hand fisting her own hair like she was doing to the man in between her thighs.

Her cheeks burn upon her discovery, and she feels a familiar buzz in the place where the woman in the picture had a tongue pressed against her.

When he heard her little gasp, Harry shot straight up and when he saw the image in her hands he said, “Ah, I see you’ve finally found it. Was wonderin’ when it would come out.” Reaching across her, his chest smushed againt her shoulder, he plucks it from her hands and look at it, smirking.

“You didn’t tell me we’d be doing x-rated work.”

She says it teasingly.

But maybe it was the way she was looking at him then. She couldn’t help it. The roots of his hair looked blonde in the light, and his eyes were clear, almost see through as light passed them. His lips looked particularly tasty, having been tinted red from the wine, glinting from his own spit, and swollen from how he’d plucked at them while he was thinking about her suggestions. The juncture of his throat was partly hidden, but she could still see every time he swallowed, hos his adam’s apple bobbed up and down. And… and it wasn’t her fault that black pants looked good on him either. The material stretching taught over his muscles, flexing with every, single movement he made, no matter how small.

So, maybe she had been looking at his provocatively, and her comment had… fueled Harry. Tuned him in on what had been on her mind.

He lifts himself with one arm from his indian-style position on the floor, up to his knees, and crawls to her. Eyes looking with hers, y/n’s chest starts to heave, her breaths growing bated; shorter; faster.

“Do you want to do x-rated work?” He said, his voice dangerously low. His rings clink against the wooden planks, and brush against her thighs when he comes close, hands bracketing her hips, his nose nudging hers.

She’s gupping, like a little guppy fish, her lips opening and close, but nothing comes out of them.

Harry’s nose moves to her cheek, pushing back her hair. “It’s okay, pet. I can ask you again. Do you want,” his lips are at her ear for the second time that day, except that she thinks maybe they’ll actually gets somewhere this time. All she has to do is say,

“Yes.” Her voice is small, an airy squeak when Harry presses a kiss to the back of her ear. Her hands, sitting dumbly on her lap, move tentatively to his chest, searching from something to hold onto. She clenches the soft fabric in her hands just as Harry starts to lean back, his palm falling into her naval, and pushing her back, back, back, until she has to stretch her legs out to lay comfortable on her back, staring up at him with bleary eyes, glossed over.

“Yes? Course you do, pet.” He moves his knees to straddle her hips, leaning down close so he’s almost talking into her mouth, and one of his hands smooths down the shape of her waist. Y/n feels herself grow wet when Harry dips his thumb into her belly button, and she’s whining because she hasn’t done anything with anybody in so long and she wants him to do something.

But, if he’s not gonna do anything, that she might as well. She stretched her neck the last of the way, flattening her lips against Harry’s. The relief is instant, she quells her desire of being closer to him, and Harry responds almost immediately, swiping his tongue on her bottom lip and licking into her when she lets him. Harry groans, because she still tastes like wine and a sweetness he can only credit to her. His kiss becomes urgent, smashing his against her soft, malleable mouth.

Y/n whimpers, hips jutting upwards when Harry takes her lower lip between his teeth, and bites down on it,hard enough to where the pain was pleasure. Although her mind is swimming, she knows that the bulge she feels through the flimsy cloth of her dress is Harry’s cock. Elated and driven mad by her need, she arches up into him, needing any friction she could.

Harry pulls away from her, their lips separating with a wet noise, and tuts his tongue at her. “Ah, ah, ah. You’re not getting my cock tonight, y/n. Not yet.”

She mewls, her eyebrows dipping and red, puffy lips pouting, “Harry, don’t be a tease. S’not fair.” She doesn’t care is she sounds pathetic, the space between her thighs aches, and she’d like him to very much sate it “Do something, please.”

He coos at her, pressing wet kisses along her neck, his hand sneaking past her waist, to the start of her dress, and slipping underneath it. “Whining like a little puppy, aren’t you?” His hand glides of her thigh, the shill of his rings sending a violent shiver up her spine. His nail scratches a path near the place where she’s most warm. Most needy, and she moans when he feels how close he is to touching her, the splotch on her panties expanding every time he spoke. “You’re alright puppy, I’ll take care of you.”

Y/n’s breath hitches when his finger hooks onto the strap of her underwear, snapping the material twice with a chuckle at the cries he elicited from her.

“Harry, harry, harry,” she’s half mad with need, her eyes squeezed shut with anticipation, and when Harry sees the desperation in her slack mouth, his own features go soft, and he takes out his hand from underneath her dress to cup her cheek.

“Puppy,” he said, and when she didn’t open her eyes, he said again, “Puppy, look at me.” his thumb rubs over her cheek, ignoring the imploring whines that leave her lips, and instead leaning down and kissing her to shut her up. “It’s okay, its okay. Do you want me to keep going?”

“Yes!” She shouted, eyes going wide, amazed that he’d even ask that. “Do something.” She ruts up again, the head of Harry’s cock nudging against her hood. Harry groans, noticing how fucking hard he is. He’s leaked through his pants, a darker splotch where his head it.

“Fuck, baby,” he said, more to himself than to her.

His hand makes the same trail it had before, flipping up her dress this time to see her clothed center. Her panties make him want to cum on the spot. Baby pink cotton with a bow on the center of the band. Biting his lip, he uses a knee to spread her thighs, and then he sees just how much she needs him.

“Oh puppy. We’ve made a mess of your panties haven’t we?” He looks at her with amusement, “Guess they have to go, don’t they?”

Y/n hums desperately, her hips writhing up to meet his fingers. Pressing a last kiss to her lips, Harry scoots back so his knees are by her feet, and he and slip off the material all the way off. Suddenly aware of how bare she is, he clasps her thighs sht, obscuring Harry’s view of her pussy.

“C’mon now, honey. Don’t be shy,” with a strong hand, he pries her knees apart and lays himself down in front of her, his breath hot on her swollen clit. From that angle, he can see how much she glistens, and how her juices spill out of her every time she clenched her hole around nothing. “Look at you, just begging to be stuffed.”

With a single finger, he slides up and down her slit, collecting her wetness, and then slipping into her.

Y/n bleats, his intrusion stirring her heat up more; she wanted more. Wanted to be filled than more with just his finger, but was scared to say. Instead she said, “another,”

Harry slid his middle finger inside her, scissoring his fingers and leaning down to lick a stripe on her clit. Y/n arched her back, and moaned loudly, her eyes squeezing shut and hands touching at the area around her, looking for something to hold on to and settling to clenching at her own dress.

He hears the sound of her hands colliding with the floor, and looks up to see her knuckles going white with hoe hands she was fondling her dress.

“Y’can pull my hair, puppy.” he said against her slit, the vibrations of his words sending prickled of pleasure to the building orgasm she feels in the pit of her stomach. The second her muddled brain comprehends what Harry said, her fingers jam themselves into her his hair, just as he suckles on her. Y/n’s eyes roll to the back of her head, and her gasps come out in staccatos.

Harry’s fingers are still pumping in an out of her, twisting every time he pushed them back into her. He’s looking for the spongy spot inside of her, when he hears her say something incoherently.

“What was that?” he asked her,his fingers stilling inside her.

“Said, what about you?”

Her voice is faint and weak, her voice and comment sending pin-pricks of satisfaction to his throbbing member. His heart clenches at her considerations, so touched by the fact that she’s so lost in her own heat but she’s still worried about him.

“This isn’t about me. It’s about you. Y’gonna cum for me, puppy?” He feels the pad of his middle finger slide against something that has a different texture that the rest of her, and when her breathing hitches and she lets out a long moan, he knows hes found what he’s looking for. Y/n’s pussy clenches around, her fingers tighten in his hair, so hard it makes Harry yelp. “Clenching m’fingers, puppy, I know you’re there.”

Y/n feels the familiar slow burn of her orgasm twisting in the pit of her stomach, her entire body hyper aware of Harry and what he was doing to her. How he pressed a hand on her navel to keep her from lifting her hips, the harsh sucking of her clit, and then finally the flick of his pointer finger curling inside her. The build-up unravels, and her mouth opens up in a silent scream like the women in the picture, her body going taught, and then falling limp when the wave calms.

“That’s it, love. All better now isn’t it?” Harry slowly takes his fingers out of her, reveling in the way she’s still squeezing around him. She’s sensitive and jerking from her orgasm when He lick his fingers clean, kissing his path up her body. Her thighs, her exposed navel, her clothed valley of her breasts, her collarbones, and up her throat, behind her ear where he’s taken a liking to kissing.

“Jesus, Harry. Where’d you learn to talk like that?” She titters sleepily.

“S’my job, puppy.” He nibbles at her earlobe and down her jawline.

Alarmed, y/n’s eyes pop open, and she sits up, pushing Harry’s chest and holding him at arms length. “What do you mean, it’s your job?” She’s scared she’s just been used or something along those lines.

“I mean it’s my job. Learned a few skills from writing erotica, pet.” He responses calmly, diving back in to continue his assault on the skin of her jaw. His voice warped against her, he adds, “write under a pseudonym. Lemus Knox.”

Lemus Knox.

Harry was Lemus Knox. Harry was Lemus fucking Knox.

“You’re…” she’s still. Almost like that fight or flight instinct.

Harry stills when he realizes she has. He knows, simply by the tone of her voice that she knows who he is. Who Lemus Knox is.He withdraws to look at her, grinning fro ear to ear.

“You know who I am?” he said slowly.

“Harry, I’d even go as far as saying I’m in love with Lemus,” she blurts, reddening as soon as the words leave her mouth, but Harry just smiles fondly at her.

“That’s okay, puppy. Lemus and I aren’t the same person. You have a right to love him,” he nuzzles into her neck, kissing down her shoulder, “Just as long as you save some love for me.”

And lying there, completely stunned ant with Harry’s hard cock pressing into her hip, y/n bursts out laughing. She laughs because she’s happy. Because she likes Harry. Because she loves Lemus Knox.

She laughs because for the first time in a long time, someone is laughing along with her, kissing her, holding her.

She laughs because she can’t wait to see where Harry will lead her.

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adonis-koo · 3 years

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MISSY U CANT PUT THAT HYRBID JK AND OC IDEA IN MY HEAD AND NOT WRITE IT 😪😪😪😪😪😪

PLS I just wanna be a pet to a rich couple and have zero responsibilities in society so allow me to eleborate a little on this rich bunny au

Namjin are very busy clearing deals in their company and are a bit of a power couple, Seokjin loves hybrids and they adopted Jungkook together when he was younger and they’ve never been happier!

But admittedly Jungkook being a bunny gets lonely, he’s high maintenance and needs lots of love and affection. He doesn’t admit it but Seokjin is very in tune with him and can immediately sense when the hybrid is beginning to develop a sort of depression with the longer hours the couple work

So of course Namjoon and Seokjin talk about with each other and eventually they come to a conclusion and decide to talk to Jungkook about it. Which is buying a new hybrid to keep him company...Jungkook is...a little hesitant at first, he doesn’t mind the idea but it won’t supplement the love of his owners.

So Namjoon and Seokjin find the time during the weekend to go to the local shelter to discuss what would be the best idea and the employee gives the run down about best compatibility. And Seokjin immediately just !!! 🥺 what if they found their lil googie a mate?

Namjoon being the more serious one just 😐 doesn’t feel like a good idea but they look for a female hybrid regardless and it’s actually Namjoon who spots lop MC at first. His sight was immediately on her because she has a blanket over her head bc she’s very shy but super sweet!!

It’s those fuzzy floppy ears that makes his heart melt and he’s just like ‘Seokjin this is the one!!’ Because if Jungkook would like anyone, it would absolutely be you. Namjoon is highly perceptive to the bunny’s taste

Your reaction is very shy because two extremely attractive men dressed in Prada are looking at you and for a moment your a little worried bc...eat the rich...

But after sitting and talking with you for awhile Namjoon is VERY determined to take you home and due to his warm insistent you felt very comfy! Even at the idea of another hybrid being there, he didn’t sound bad!

There are no cons to this!! Sorta

Jungkook is immediately enamored upon meeting you, his bunny senses are all driven ruffled at the new scent in his home!! He’s a lil unsure if he likes the fact at first because his nose is all over you at first and he’s giant- naturally a flemish giant, and Namjoon as to pull him off when you start squeaking in panic because he started pushing his weight on you- not realizing how big he was compared.

you’re just!!’ The cutest lil thing 🥺 lil holland lop ear hybrid meaning you have the floppiest fuzziest ears that you often try to hide behind and their very endearing!!

The clinical hybrid nurse that was on rotation at the shelter had said that typically hybrids of the opposite sex usually migrated to one room, typically the female moving to the males room as the pheromones bring comfort to them. But in the beginning it’s best to keep them separate.

And that’s just what Namjoon and Seokjin do!! So you get your own room at first and your so happy about it! You’re showered in clothes and jewelry and all these nice things!! Your allowed to eat all these nice yummy things it’s great!!

Jungkook is still hmm a little wary of you at first, his nose often finding its way to your hair the first month in curious sniffing that you both often took part of. Namjoon thought it was a little weird but Seokjin would always shove him saying it was part of the process.

And eventually, given you spend every day with Jungkook you both naturally grow closer together. He shows you all his favorite movies!! You play video games together, you’ll build blanket forts together. Life is really fun with him 🥺

he lowkey begins to get really huffy when his hybrid friends- Taehyung and Jimin come over and they like sniffing you and getting you all nice and scented up and you’re just giggling and you !!! Quite like it, again it’s a very comforting thing to experience and viewed as a friendly gesture but Jungkook just begins to slowly go 😡

Makes a point to rub his scent on you even further when they’re over and Seokjin slowly begins to notice subtle overtones in Jungkook’s demeanor that makes him look HELLA jealous

Until eventually Namjoon and Seokjin get home and notice the couch covered in a blanket and Jungkook is just laying down watching TV and Seokjin just looks around before asking, “Where’s MC?”

On cue you suddenly pop your head out from the same blanket as Jungkook except you’re BENEATH him and you’re just all !!! Bright and bubbly!!! Immediately going to greet your owners with nudges and nuzzles only for them to flail in gay because you’re in nothing but Jungkook’s shirt and covered in hickies like 😭

And Jungkook also goes to greet both owners before he’s latched onto you again and nudging you lovingly making you chirp as you curl back around him and !!!

Namjoon is suddenly panicking because he’s TOO YOUNG FOR HYBRID BABIES

#missy answers #rich bunny AU #anon

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averykedavra · 4 years

Text

Someday I’ll Get There

I’m back and I bring fluff! Should have known I couldn’t stick to an update schedule. I’ll try to catch up soon enough. And why are all my soulmates in the same town/city? Because I said so. And according to the rules of probability, in a soulmate universe it would be highly unlikely for two soulmates to ever meet. So suspension of disbelief suspends, we all turn a blind eye to the ramifications, cue story.

(Tagging @tsshipmonth2020! Title is from Stranger Things by Kygo. You can read this fic on Ao3 here.)

Prompt: You have an animal that only you and your soulmates can see. 

Pairing: Platonic Royaliceit. (I headcanon that it became a QPR eventually, but right now, all platonic.)

Words: 13,364

Warnings: death mention, animal injury, crying

The dog always visits Roman in the morning.

Roman’s tried to stay up all night and see just when the dog actually gets there. He fell asleep halfway through. Roman’s locked all the doors in the house to see if that would keep it out--not that he wants the dog gone, he’s just curious, since it seems to bypass any and all locks in the house. All he can figure is that just a bit before sunrise, it wiggles through Roman’s window or something and curls at the foot of his bed, a steady little weight that makes Roman smile when he wakes up.

It’s a cute dog. It has one floppy ear and a spotted coat and likes to chase sunbeams. It bounces around after him every morning and sits on his feet if he pauses for too long. Roman can carry the dog easily enough. It’s a little thing. He feeds it every morning, but it never gets any bigger--maybe it’s just meant to be this small.

He’d ask his parents, but his parents can’t see the dog. Nobody can.

It’s just for Roman.

Roman...and his soulmate.

That must be where the dog goes for the rest of the day, Roman’s pieced together, and he wonders if it looks the same for them. If it acts the same for them. Maybe it represents their bond together--perhaps his soulmate or soulmates are puppylike in nature, or enjoy rising with the sun, or are exceedingly sneaky. Roman knows such ideas can’t be confirmed, but he still enjoys them, imagining his soulmate is with him as well as the dog.

He names the dog a new name every day. He’s tried R2-D2, but numbers weren’t a nice name for a dog. He’s tried Iago, which really wasn’t fair to the magnificent creature, and Dug, which was a good dog but a bad name. He cycled through all of Cinderella’s mice and Rapunzel’s chameleon for good measure, before realizing that naming a dog after mice or chameleons is a cruel and unusual punishment for said dog.

Although who knows if the dog even knows its name? Roman fancies it does. He fancies it knows a lot more than it lets on, eyes bright and tail wagging and following him around at his heels.

He fancies it will lead him to his soulmate one day.

Roman has big dreams for his soulmates. Perhaps that’s unhealthy, but he can hardly help it--they fill his fantasies and his wishes, faceless and nameless but right. They’re people meant for him, people who will make him better and who he will make better in return, perhaps friends or companions or lovers. Although Roman must admit he’s not too interested in the last one--romance is lovely, but he prefers reading or writing it than experiencing it.

He writes stories a lot.

His soulmates crop up sometimes, despite the fact that he knows nothing of their personalities. Sometimes he places them in the tower and rescues them with a flaming sword or a flaming shield or a flaming axe. Sometimes they’re his sidekicks, battling dragons and cracking jokes and falling in love in the meantime. Sometimes, when he’s in an especially sour mood, he casts himself as the villain. His soulmate redeems him. Or they destroy his kingdom and find their own true love, leaving Roman alone, in a crumbled castle with a shattered crown.

He always tears up those stories as soon as he finishes.

But his soulmates still bubble up to the surface again, always on his mind, a lurking itch in the back of his heart that tells him one day he’ll find them. One day they won’t be vague dreams and soft smiles but real people, concrete and solid and flawed. Roman doesn’t do well with reality. Why linger in mundanity when flights of fancy are so much more entertaining?

He loves his soulmates already.

Well, he loves the idea of them. He loves the dreams they fill his head with, dreams of faraway mountains and deep seas, adventuring across the world with his love or loves by his side. Castles glittering under orange skies, a million people to meet and know, snow-white mountains and pearly lakes, that’s what Roman pictures every day. He’s seen pictures. He’s heard stories. He’s written quite a few stories himself.

And someday, he’ll get there, and he’ll see it all.

For now, he wakes every morning to the dog at the foot of his bed. He just calls it the dog, because no name seemed to fit it. He hasn’t given up, though. He keeps a list of possible names tacked to the corkboard over his desk. Roman is hardly the type to give up on anything--he’ll find the right name someday, but for now, it’s just the dog.

In some ways, Roman is a lover of routine. Not for the important things, of course--a routine adventure would be dreadfully dull--but for small thing, lesser things, such as sleep and food. Roman always sets his alarm clock for six-thirty, slaps it to make it shut up, and sleeps in until seven. Then the dog nibbles his foot pointedly and he sighs and gets up. It’s almost always light by seven, except in the depths of winter, when he has to stumble across the carpet and turn on the light. He almost always trips over something on the floor. Cleaning his room is boring and tedious and although doing such good deeds is heroic, since nobody ever comes into his room, it doesn’t matter in the slightest.

That’s what he tells his parents. For some reason, they’ve never seen the logic in that. But Roman is a good actor and can get away with promising he’ll “do it later” and letting later become sometime next fall.

It’s spring now. Outside his window is the biggest tree in the yard, a dogwood, and it’s fluttering with white blossoms. He throws open his window and grins at it. The dog hops up to the window ledge and sniffs the air. A deep blue sky and a cool breeze around the curtains. It’ll be a good day.

“Good morning,” Roman calls out to the dogwood tree. As always, he holds out a vague hope that someone will respond. Perhaps singing birds, or a wizard here to send him on a quest. He waits a few seconds longer, staring over the shingled roofs and watching a lone car speed down the street. In the distance, someone’s dog is barking. Roman’s dog cowers a bit.

“Don’t worry, they can’t see you,” Roman says, grinning and ruffling the dog’s ears. The dog doesn’t have a collar like all the others do. He supposes that’s because very technically, he doesn’t exist. At least not legally. That’s a weird thing to think about--that this dog, so soft under his fingers, is only for Roman.

That should make Roman feel special. And it does, a bit. But he wishes there was someone else there to appreciate how wonderful the dog is.

He wishes for his soulmates.

And he’s only been up five minutes. Wonderful. Perhaps this day won’t be so good after all.

Roman gives the scene outside his window one more cursory sweep for dragons--the neighbor across the way is watering his tulips and a newspaper sits damp in Roman’s lawn. The sun sits low under someone’s chimney, and Roman sighs under the light.

No dragons. Suburbia is highly disappointing.

He leaves the window open for fresh air as he scampers over to his dresser, the dog following at his heels. His dresser has two drawers--school clothes and home clothes. Roman opens the school one and pulls out his uniform. He gives a long sigh and regretfully takes off his Toy Story pajamas. It takes him two tries to button up his shirt, since he accidentally matches the wrong button with the wrong hole and has to start all over again.

He pulls on his pants--they’re creased in all the wrong ways, so he shimmies them until they feel a bit less stiff--and yanks on some black socks. Black socks never get dirty, as they say, and he’s pretty sure he hasn’t washed these in weeks. Well, nobody will be looking too closely at his socks. He slips on his sneakers, the ones with the dark laces and not the ones with the light-up soles, because school apparently doesn’t like light-up soles.

It’s a good school. Roman should be grateful for the chance to attend. He’s heard that exact phrase a million times.

He hates it.

For one thing, it makes it sound like they’re doing him a favor by letting him attend. Instead of the truth, which is that Roman studied hard for the entrance exam and flipping nailed it. For another, just because it’s a good school and might actually get him into college--he’d be the first in his family--doesn’t mean he has to like every aspect of it. He doesn’t. His chemistry teacher is a jerk and he only has one friend and he really, really hates the uniform.

If they’re going to give everyone a uniform, Roman would at least prefer a fancy one. Perhaps a long sweeping cape, or a knight’s armor, or woven sashes and glimmering gold along the sleeves. Instead, he has to wear an ugly maroon shirt with black pants and the school crest emblazoned on every spare bit of cloth they have. Then a jacket over top--Roman usually ties it around his waist, although his aforementioned jerk of a chemistry teacher always tries to give him detention for it. Then a tie around his neck, then his sneakers, then his school bag that looks like a purse.

It’s been seven months. He still fumbles with his tie. The dog sits on the dresser and watches as Roman struggles to knot it. Roman sticks out his tongue at the dog. Who is it to judge him?

He adjusts the tie and looks at himself in the mirror. He tries to flatten a bit of his hair in the back. No success. Roman grabs his hairbrush and slashes angrily at the offending hair tuft until it finally sinks down in defeat. He needs a haircut, his mom said yesterday, but the scruffy edges of his hair fits in with the general scruffiness of the rest of him. If Roman tried, he could probably look more polished, but he has higher priorities.

As it stands, his jacket is too square around his shoulders and his tie is still lopsided. He looks like a kid in grownup clothes. None of the sizes fit him exactly, because every bit of him is growing at a different rate, and hopefully when he’s no longer twelve but perhaps sixteen, he’ll look less like a wayward schoolboy and more like the adventurous prince he’s destined to be.

A short bark from the dog. It has a nice bark, low and sweet, and it never barks for too long. Nobody can hear the dog, either. Roman's tested it.

Roman looks around at the dog, who’s now curled up by his school bag. The clock tells him it’s almost seven twenty already.

He’s running late. Of course he is.

“Thanks, fair companion!” Roman says to the dog, who wags its tail. "I’ll hurry this up, then. Ready?”

The dog wags its tail again. It’s a stubby little tail with a little piece taken out of the edge. Roman loves it.

He wonders if his soulmate loves the dog as much as he does.

He hopes so, otherwise they might be not that great, after all.

Roman’s mom calls from downstairs. He’s late. She shouldn’t be surprised, but she’ll probably still give him a glare. It’s fine. He’ll just bring his breakfast in the car with him.

“Be there in a second!” Roman yells back down. He hurriedly rifles through his papers and extracts the letter folded in the front pocket of his backpack. He’d scribbled it down during English when he was supposed to be practicing dialogue.

Every day, he wrote a letter.

No days did he receive a response.

But he kept trying, because Roman was persistent, and Roman felt it was his one connection to his soulmate. A fragile thread of connection. All they had was this dog and connected souls, so he’d just have to keep throwing words into the silence, calls to adventure that maybe--one day--would be answered.

It may have been futile. It may have been hopeless. But it reminded Roman that they were still there--maybe they didn’t like him maybe they didn’t need him maybe they would leave him behind--and still there meant still possibly, unbelievably, hopefully his.

Roman is twelve and the future is filled with promise.

He folds up the letter into a little heart, hands it to the dog, and pats it on the head. The dog takes the letter in its mouth. Roman laughs at it because it looks kind of ridiculous, pulls on his shoes, and throws open the door.

Down the stairs, grab a granola bar and a yogurt cup, wave at his little brother, make sure his backpack is filled with all his homework from last night, out into the yard he should have mowed yesterday and past the mailbox and into the minivan.

He buckles up. His mom gives him the usual glare and Roman shrugs sheepishly, already spooning yogurt into his mouth. She sighs, adjusts the mirror and pulls out of the driveway.

The dog sits on the stoop, letter in its mouth, and Roman waves goodbye, feeling his stomach sink as it grows farther away.

He tells himself this time, he won’t look away. Then he spills a little bit of yogurt on his knees, looks down to wipe it off, and when he looks back up, the dog is gone.

---

The dog always visits Janus in the afternoon.

Janus, for his part, has timed the ridiculous little thing. It always wriggles under the fence, slips through the cat flap and gets a hiss from the cat, and flops on top of Janus’ work at about two-thirty precisely. Then it leaves at around five or six, depending on whether Janus feeds it. Janus always does, because he can’t allow the stupid thing to starve, can he?

Who knows what the mangy mutt gets up to in the meantime. Janus assumes it’s visiting his other soulmate, the one who sends him the letters. A little bit rude of the dog to spend so much time with Janus’ soulmate and not that much with him.

Not that Janus cares or anything.

Still, he will admit that he enjoys it when he sees the dog on his homework. It gives him an excuse to yell “Going out” and put away his stuff. His dads have learned to let him go. He does the rest of his schoolwork later, always, and getting between Janus and something he wants is a fool’s errand.

Janus may be twelve, but he knows exactly what he wants.

This afternoon is an achingly blue one, and Janus has to apply all his concentration to finish up his history. Then he drops his paragraph on synonyms in front of Weather Dad’s door.

He has three dads and, early on, decided to differentiate them with nicknames. Weather Dad, because he has a tendency to predict when a storm will happen three days ahead of time, and because he has a stormcloud tattoo on his arm. Coffee Dad, because he always smells like coffee and has been trying to get Janus to work the espresso machine every morning. Janus has resisted. And Glasses Dad, because he’s a hopeless nerd.

He hates all of them, of course, but he hates them slightly less than he hates the rest of the world. So it’s not really that bad at all. Glasses Dad is a good teacher and Weather Dad helps him with makeup sometimes.

And they understand there are some things Janus doesn’t like talking about. Like his soulmate.

His soulmate is personal.

Janus snorts when the dog sits on his math problems and refuses to move. “Ugh. You’re back.”

The dog tilts its head.

“Get off that, you’ll ruin it.” Janus pulls the paper out from under the dog and cups his hands around his mouth. “Dads! I’m going outside!”

A muffled “Cool” from Coffee Dad. “Be back soon” from Glasses Dad. “Don’t die” from Weather Dad.

Janus is all set to go.

He shoves his work into a big plastic bin and kicks it into the corner of the kitchen. He sprays on some bug repellent--it’s spring, so the mosquitoes aren’t quite as prevalent, but ticks are still a concern. He slips into his sandals, grabs a sunhat, and ties it over his hair. His bushy ginger ponytail barely fits under it. A box of band-aids in his pocket, a slingshot in case he meets something he doesn’t want to meet, and of course that stupid dog.

“I don’t need you to come,” Janus tells it, like he always does. “Go away.”

As it always does, the dog is undeterred. Maybe it doesn’t understand English. It probably doesn’t. Janus is being ridiculous for even entertaining the damn thing. He kicks at it teasingly and it butts him in the leg.

“Fine, you win,” Janus says, making a show of being beleagered. He’s not.

Exploring wouldn’t be the same without the dog there.

The door creaks as he tugs it open, scampering down past the vegetable garden, slipping into the trees.

He knows this forest like the back of his hand. Well, he doesn’t know the back of his hand that well, aside from it being freckled like the rest of him--so he knows it like the spots on the dog’s back. He knows it like the sun in the sky. He’s been running through here for years, finding every path he knows, committing each leaf to memory.

For instance, he knows that if he turns left at this tree right here, he reaches a huge fallen log over a small stream.

Janus turns left and sits on the log, swinging his legs over the stream, reaching a hand to the dog. It gambols happily over to him and snuggles into his side, dropping a piece of paper in his lap.

It’s folded into a heart.

Janus rolls his eyes and snorts. Ridiculous. His soulmate is utterly ridiculous.

He’s opened the letter before he even thinks about it.

This one is on notebook paper, and there are scribbled notes in the corners. Janus focuses on the little paragraph in the center. It’s in sparkly red ink. Of course it is.

Over the years, he’s learned three things about his soulmate: he’s a he and his name is Roman, he’s ridiculously dramatic, and he really, really wants Janus to write back.

Oh, and he can’t spell.

Derest soulmate(s), says this one, how are you on this fine day? I have school and theter practice after it. I’m studying for a test next week and I really hope I pass, but the curuculum is very hard and I have better things to do than sit and do homwork all day. I wrote a story about a princes saving a night and maybe I’ll send it to you tomorow. I hope your doing fabulusly. Write back if you want, I would love to here from you.

<3 Roman

Janus reads it again. Ridiculous. Completely ridiculous.

So why does it make him blush?

Janus sighs and turns the letter over, scrubbing at his cheeks. The dog gives him a knowing look.

“I’ll shove you into the water,” Janus tells it.

It whines and buries itself in his shirt.

“Don’t be a coward,” Janus teases, grabbing the little thing, “it’s just water. See, I’ll dip you in it, and you can swim! Doggy paddle is a thing for a reason, right?”

The dog whines again. But its tail is wagging, and it knows Janus is kidding as much as Janus does.

Still, Janus takes pity on it. He pats it on the head and lets it scurry back to safety on the log. Then he turns back to the letter and reads it over and over again.

Roman.

Roman, his dramatic, ridiculous soulmate.

Janus turns the paper over. The back is blank. If he wished, he could write something back, give his soulmate a few words in exchange for the hundreds he’s received.

Janus sighs.

The wind blows around him. The forest is beautiful this time of year. Violets sprinkle the ground in shades of purple and white, the branches are bowed low with fresh buds, the grass is still hesitant and bright green and soft under his fingers. Soon the first strawberries will come, and the heat, and the long summer afternoons where cicadas buzz in the distance and Janus sits on the swing with lemonade and lets the warmth sink into his bones.

For now, it’s spring, and the forest is filled with possibility.

The dog is already waggling his tail.

He doesn’t have time.

He doesn’t have time to write back, to agonize over the right words to say. He has homework. He has chores. He has a forest at his fingertips. There are trees to climb and hills to climb and rocks to climb. He wants to get as high up as he can, before the sun goes down, and tomorrow he’ll do the same.

He doesn’t have time for his soulmate.

There are so many things he wants to see, to do, to touch. Janus wants so much and it frustrates him how much of it is out of reach.

Besides, his soulmate is ridiculous, and Janus doesn’t like him at all.

He doesn’t like the stupid dog, either.

Weather Dad named the dog “Spot” because he can’t spot it. Coffee Dad named the dog “Invisible Menace” because one time it chewed up his shoes. Glasses Dad just called it “your dog.” As if it was Janus’.

It isn’t.

It belongs to Roman, someone he’s never met, someone with curly red handwriting and terrible spelling and ridiculously huge dreams.

Janus calls the dog “you.” No point in naming it. Roman probably already has.

Roman may be his soulmate, but Roman isn’t important right now. Janus doesn’t want to think about Roman. Janus will have to put up a front and make Roman like him, and making people like him is hard. It took him ages with his dads. People don’t like Janus much in general. He lies too much and his knees are always scraped and he makes fun of people when they laugh at him.

He doesn’t talk to people very much at all anymore. He stays in the woods with his dads and sometimes tags along to get groceries in town, and he stares at everyone when they stare at him, because he knows his endless freckles and red curls and big red birthmark down the side of his face are all noticeable but it doesn’t make it fun to be stared at. People stare at his dads, too, and Janus has to stop himself from punching them.

Janus likes trees better than people.

Trees are simple. You climb them, you bump into them, you sit under them and read a book. Trees don’t judge. Trees aren’t enigmas Janus has to puzzle out, people he has to convince or charm just to get their approval, people who look down on him because he’s small and ginger and freckled and a little bit too skinny and apparently doesn’t know anything about anything.

Trees don’t take it personally when Janus doesn’t want to talk.

Trees don’t mind it when he lies.

Janus folds Roman’s letter in half, then folds the corners in. A few more folds and he has a boat, writing climbing up the sides, red pen against old notebook paper.

He leans down and pushes it off into the stream. It wobbles for a second but gains speed, floating down the current, sinking slowly into the water. The stream tumbles over some rocks up ahead. The boat falls over the waterfall and disappears.

Maybe, Janus entertains, Roman is at the other end, and he’ll receive them. And he’ll understand that Janus is there, listening, not ready to talk yet but still here.

Maybe, someday, Janus will find Roman. He’ll follow the dog back or follow the stream down the hill or just go into town and look around. Roman goes to a private school. Janus could try and find out which one.

Maybe, someday, Janus will look for what he wants and actually get there.

But not today.

Today he climbs the tallest hill, scrambling up the path he’s blazed over the years, that ridiculous dog wagging its tail and following. He pauses to climb a pine tree, getting almost halfway up before the branches thin out and he hears Weather Dad telling him to go back down before he breaks a freaking bone. Although Weather Dad wouldn’t say freaking. He pauses again to chase a crow that yells at him when he gets too close. He calls it some names in response, mostly names that Coffee Dad mutters under his breath and thinks Janus doesn’t hear. Then he makes it to the top of the hill and sits on the peak, a huge tan rock that juts out over the edge, rimmed with pine trees.

The sun is sinking in the sky. He can see the houses patterned below in strips and plaid on the ground, and in the distance, the spires and scrapers of the city. The stone is warm beneath his hands. He sets his hat on his knees and pulls at his ponytail idly. The dog sits next to him.

“You’ll be leaving soon,” Janus tells it. “Hurry up.”

It sniffs at a crack in the rock.

“I’m not feeding you again,” Janus adds. “You’re leeching money from the coffers of this household.”

Glasses Dad said that. Janus was pretty sure it was a joke, and he’s not sure what coffers are, but it makes him sound official so he likes it.

The dog just blinks innocently at him.

“Shut up,” Janus tells it, and sighs. “I don’t want to miss the sunset, but you’ll be going soon, won’t you?”

The dog tilts its head.

Janus looks back at the sun.

Sunsets here are beautiful.

And yes, there’ll be one tomorrow night. But it won’t be exactly the same. Janus wants to see it.

He’s sure Roman can feed the dog extra.

“Go,” Janus says softly, and when he looks up, the dog is gone.

---

The dog always visits Patton at night.

He’s named it Paw-ton. If he ever meets his soulmates, he’ll see if they’ve named it something, and he’ll change the name to whatever they decided. For now, it’s Paw-ton. A cute little ball of fluff. Patton squeals every time he sees him.

Really, it’s not fair that nobody else can. This cuteness deserves to be shared!

He’s tried to help his mom see the dog. He took a photo to show her, he held the dog up so she could touch it. Nothing.

“He’s just yours,” she told Patton, smiling. “Yours and your soulmate’s.”

Patton pouted. That really didn’t seem fair.

“And get him out of the apartment,” she’d added, “the landlord says no pets.”

How the landlord could forbid an invisible dog, Patton didn't know, but he didn’t want an argument.

So Paw-ton isn’t allowed in the apartment.

So every night, after Patton finished washing the dishes, he slips out of the window onto the fire escape. And he waits.

Paw-ton always pops up when he least expects it, somehow getting three stories in the air despite being a teeny weeny pupper with little legs. Patton’s learned not to ask questions. He just lets the dog curl up next to him and he watches the street lights down below.

The city is always loud.

He can hear people talking on the street below. He can hear cars careening through the intersections. He can hear the gentle thrum of a party and the barking of a dog and someone yelling at someone else a few apartments down. He can hear an airplane passing overhead and the rattle of a truck and two different sirens, dipping and weaving around each other, just out of sync.

It’s a cold spring evening. The fire escape is freezing and the iron almost burns his skin. Patton curls tighter around himself and hopes Paw-ton shows up soon.

And he does. He wriggles into Patton’s arms and sits there, a comforting warm weight.

The lights of the city spin around them.

“I had an okay day,” Patton starts off. “Maybe a seven or eight?”

He tells Paw-ton everything. And Paw-ton listens, because Paw-ton is a dog, a dog that nobody else can see.

“How are my soulmates?” Patton asks when he finishes.

As always, Paw-ton just barks once. And Patton takes that as a sign that they’re okay.

He hopes they are.

He hopes they’re happy, and he hopes one day, they’ll be happy with him.

As always, he gets up and pushes Paw-ton away. “Not allowed inside the apartment, sorry.”

Paw-ton whines.

“Go talk to the other soulmates,” Patton says, his heart heavy. “I’m sure they’d like to see you.”

Paw-ton nuzzles his leg and trots to the edge of the fire escape, looking back at Patton. Asking Patton to follow.

Patton could follow, if he wanted.

But it’s a cold spring night and he’s in his stripy pajamas and the world is dizzyingly dark.

And he’s sure his soulmates are fine without him.

Just like he’s fine without them.

Completely fine.

“Go on,” Patton encourages.

The dog gives him one long look before walking down the fire escape.

One day, maybe, Patton will be desperate enough to follow him. And he’ll find someone in this city who listens, who isn’t just another voice in the rush of noise around him, waves pulling him under.

One day.

Someday.

But not today.

It sucks to be alone. It sucks even more to be surrounded by people and still alone, to be twelve and small and drowning in his pajamas and suffocating in the noise.

But someone else is supposed to fix that. And Patton doesn’t think he could bear it if they tried and failed. If the universe took away the one bit of hope he has left.

Right now, he can dream. He can dream of late nights and rainy afternoons and baked dinners and fun games. He can dream that his soulmate will be by his side.

That’s safe. That’s safer than finding out that they aren’t. That hurts less than being alone--because there’s still hope that someday, one day, he’ll get to where they are.

And he’ll have someone by his side, sitting on the fire escape, watching the lights.

Patton climbs back through the window, closes it, and doesn’t look back.

---

Roman fails his test.

Not even a small, microscopic kind of fail, the kind of fail that could almost be considered a success. It was a huge, gigantic, epic fail. Red slashes over all the questions kind of fail. Murmured conversations upstairs kind of fail. Disappointed looks from his teacher, his parents once they got done murmuring, and his own face when he looked in the mirror.

He thought he could do it. Then he spent the night working on a story about two dueling mages instead of studying.

And he failed.

And he knows it’s not the end of the world, but he also knows everyone will use this as an excuse to get him to write less and study more, to say how precarious his position at the school is, and that if he wants to make his family proud, he’ll need to try harder.

Roman does try. He does. He gets how important this is. It’s just sometimes, his brain won’t focus on the right things, and he’d much rather think up new stories than stare at a textbook. School’s boring, and he doesn’t get why that’s his fault.

He fakes sick sometimes to sit in the nurse’s office for twenty minutes and scribble in his notebook while she gives him some water. Nobody likes that. But Roman never misses anything much, and the time limit makes his brain kick into overdrive.

He sneaks food into classes sometimes because he likes to eat and work at the same time, and he’s always hungry. Nobody likes that. But Roman always cleans up after himself and it never goes too wrong.

He lies about his soulmates sometimes. He pretends he’s met them, because some kids in his class already have, talking about snakes that led them to their matches or ravens that flew down from the sky and pushed them forward, and Roman doesn’t want to be left out. Nobody likes that. The teachers called home after the third time.

He’s living in a fantasy world where there aren’t any consequences, one of his teachers said, and we can’t get him to wake up.

Of course he is.

Fantasy is ten times better than reality.

Roman figures his soulmates would get it, if he told them. His soulmates would take his side. They’d understand and they’d actually listen to him instead of assuming they knew best.

They’d find him and they’d understand.

The dog shows up on Sunday morning and Roman glares at it, turning over and trying to sleep.

A little nip on his foot.

“Fine, I’m up, I’m up!” Roman rolls out of bed. It’s a cloudy day. Maybe it’ll rain later--he hopes so. It’d match his mood.

“We’re going outside,” he tells the dog as he gets up and throws on a red t-shirt and black jeans. Usually, he’d be ecstatic about the weekend--it’s free time, and he gets to wear his own clothes. Right now, he can’t muster up the excitement. “I’m going to get out of this dreadfully dreary domicile if it’s the last thing I do.”

The dog tilts its head.

“Are you coming?” Roman snaps. “Or are you going to make me do this on my own like everyone else?”

He stomps over to the door, not waiting for an answer. He grabs his jacket, pulls it around his shoulders, and slips into the hall. Much as he’d like to keep stomping around, he doesn’t want to disturb his parents. They’d probably tell him he should be studying.

He probably should be studying.

Roman walks down the hall, slides down the banister of the stairs, and jumps towards the front door. He kicks it open. The street is already busy with cars, someone peddling past on their bicycle, a few dog walkers idling by the bushes.

It’s a grey day, and Roman feels miserable, and the best thing to do is to head down the road to the playground and sit and feel miserable there.

He closes the door, looks down, and sees the dog sitting on the stoop like it’s been there all along.

“That is majorly spooky,” Roman says, striding down the walk. The dog doesn’t follow. It sits there, tilting its head, looking back at the door.

“What?” Roman asks.

A short bark.

“I won’t be gone long,” Roman says, rolling his eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic, little pup, it’s merely a walk to clear my head.”

The dog paws at the door.

“Don’t--” Roman moves to stop it. “Right. You’re imaginary. Never mind, I suppose you can knock yourself out. See you soon.”

He turns sharply on his heel and continues marching to the sidewalk. When he glances back, the dog is trotting down the stares to follow him.

“Hey, go,” Roman says, backing away. “I told you to stop bugging me, I’m not going to tell my parents where I’m going--”

The dog sidles up to him and rubs against his legs.

“I suppose I’m stuck with you, aren’t I?” Roman sighs. “Er--thank you, I appreciate it.”

He sets off, the dog by his side.

He vaguely hoped that the fresh air would make him feel better. It doesn’t. With every step, he just feels more terrible, throat and eyes burning and stomach twisted up in hardened little knots. He presses his lips together. People are all around him and he can’t start sobbing on a sidewalk, he’ll look like an idiot.

Roman wraps his arms around himself.

The dog trots next to him, looking perfectly pleased. Roman wonders if he should have put it on a leash. He doesn’t have a leash and the dog doesn’t have a collar to attach it to. Maybe he should get it a collar. It would certainly make it easier to keep messages secure--

Messages.

Oh. He’d forgotten to write a letter to his soulmate.

Roman stops dead. Much as he feels terrible about it, he can’t do anything now unless he goes back home and gets a pen--

He doesn’t want to go back home yet.

And who cares if his soulmate gets a letter anyway? Clearly not them, or they’d have written back by now.

Roman kicks the sidewalk. It’s satisfying. He kicks it again.

Stupid soulmates. Stupid test. Stupid stories. Stupid neighborhood with no dragons. Stupid school. Stupid teachers. Stupid soulmates who didn’t even bother to write him back.

The dog lowers its head, like it can hear what Roman’s thinking.

Stupid dog.

Roman hates the dog. He hates his soulmates. He hates every letter he’s written. He hates school, he hates his family, he hates everything in the whole wide world, castles and mountains and lakes he’ll never get to see--

He’s reached the crosswalk. He slams his fist into the button, and the light turns green. He scurries across it. The dog waits at the sidewalk.

Still wanting him to turn around.

Stupid dog!

“Leave me alone,” Roman yells at it. “They don’t want me, I don’t want them, leave me alone--”

The dog starts to trot towards him.

Roman walks to the other side of the street.

The dog follows, six feet behind.

Roman turns away, intent on getting to the playground and ignoring the stupid dog for the rest of ever, hands deep in his pockets.

A sickening thump.

Roman turns back around.

A bicycle careens to the side of the road and rights itself. And the dog, Roman’s stupid little soulmate dog, is crumpled in its wake.

Roman doesn’t even think. He runs over and scoops it up in his arms. It’s light, too light, and breathing, but its leg is twisted and bleeding a little.

A car honks.

Roman’s standing in the middle of the road. Crap. He gives the cars a sheepish wave and runs off the road onto the sidewalk. He sits down in someone’s yard, hoping they won’t be mad, and sets the dog by his feet. It’s shaking. It’s so small on the grass and it’s shaking, and Roman doesn’t know what to do, nobody else can see what he sees and what happens if a soulmate animal dies--

It’s almost the end of the morning, he realizes wildly. He’s running out of time. The dog will leave and it’s hurt and who knows if his other soulmates can help.

The dog whines when Roman touches it.

“Are you okay?” Roman asks. He knows it can’t answer, and it doesn’t. But it does try to stagger to its feet.

“Hey, hey, easy.” Roman catches the little dog and tries to steady it. “Your leg’s hurt, you shouldn’t be--”

“Roman!”

Roman looks up. His mom is running towards him, face set in a combination of fury and worry.

Crap.

“I’m busy!” Roman yells back.

“You just left!” she yells in return. “Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been, this behavior is unacceptable, get over here immediately--”

“But--”

Roman looks back at the dog, to see if he can explain, and he knows she can’t see the dog because it’s a soulmate thing--and he just ruined it, he ruined it, he hurt the dog and now his soulmates will be mad--but if he tries, maybe she’ll understand, they can help it and fix it and everything will be okay--

The dog is gone.

He looks all around at the yard. A few shriveled daffodils and some grass. No dog.

It left. It left because Roman hurt it and it didn’t want to be here anymore.

“Roman!” his mom exclaims. “Are you alright?”

Roman looks up and starts to cry.

---

Janus has finished his homework, and the dog isn’t here.

He looks through it, wondering if there’s something he’s forgotten to do. No, he’s finished every assignment. That’s strange. He usually times this right--his work must have been easy.

He glances at the clock.

No, it wasn’t.

The dog is late.

Janus bites his lip and for a brief second, he’s flooded with worry.

But this is fine. It’s probably just busy, is all. Besides, he doesn’t need the stupid mongrel anyway. It’s just a dog.

Janus shifts around his homework. He pulls out a sheet of extra problems, which he normally wouldn’t touch, and starts filling them out. His pencil scratches against the paper and the kitchen is silent.

He doesn’t like this.

He finishes the extra problems, double-checks his work, and the dog isn’t here.

Janus groans at himself. So what? His day isn’t destroyed because the dog didn’t show up. He can still do everything he wants to do. In fact, he’s wasting time just sitting at the table. The forest is right outside and begging to be explored.

He sits there for a few moments longer.

The kitchen is empty.

Janus stands up and pushes aside his things more harshly than necessary. “I’m going out,” he calls, and he wonders if his dads can hear the waver in his voice.

He doesn’t wait for their reply.

He pushes the door open. It bangs against the wall of the house and slams back into place. He strides out into the yard, hair flying behind him. He’s forgotten his sunhat--it’s okay, today is cloudy. He’s forgotten his bug spray, too. And his sandals. He just wanted to be out of that empty kitchen and now he stands barefoot on the pebbled path, clutching at his arms, staring into the forest.

Did the dog get lost?

How would it get lost? He’s always assumed it simply teleported where it needed to be. Maybe his soulmates aren’t too far away, though, and maybe the dog always journeys by foot. Janus thinks of the little stupid thing walking through the rain to get to him, and something cold turns over in his stomach.

Maybe the dog is with his soulmate.

That would make sense. Maybe Roman is hogging the dog, or simply needed its help with something. Maybe Roman finally got tired of Janus not writing back and kept the dog with him out of spite.

Maybe Roman’s finally given up on him.

Janus doesn’t care.

Janus is fine on his own.

He’s always been.

He clenches his jaw and heads straight for the forest. He’ll do everything anyway. He’ll get more done if he doesn’t have to slow down so the stupid dog can keep up. He’ll climb every tree in this forest.

Though he should put on some shoes, at least, before he starts--

A whine from behind him.

He whirls.

There’s nothing there. Just a few rows of garden and the closed door to the kitchen. The walls of their house are dark blue because Weather Dad wanted purple and Coffee Dad wanted black and Glasses Dad wanted “something sensible.” A vulture wheels high above Janus, etched against the thunderous grey clouds. Maybe it’ll rain. Janus hopes not--he still has trees to climb.

Another whine.

It’s the sound of a dog. A dog in pain.

Janus looks around frantically. He has to be hearing things. There’s nothing, nothing but a few boots by the back door, the cracks in the steps, the rows of tomatoes--

Something shifts in the shadow of the steps.

Janus steps closer.

A third whine.

He hasn’t heard any dog whine like that. But he only knows one dog.

Janus sprints to the steps.

His dog, his stupid ridiculous dog, is curled up next to them.

“There you are!” Janus complains, squatting next to it and reaching out a hand. “Why are you just sitting there, you’re late--”

He touches the dog. It’s shaking. He slips his other arm under its belly to pick it up.

It flinches.

And teeth close around his wrist.

Janus yells, jerking his hand away. The dog hasn’t punctured the skin, but he can see little divots, and it stings. He shakes his wrist out and turns back to the dog. It’s curled deeper into the shadows as if ashamed.

Its leg is twisted under it.

Janus thinks he sees blood.

For a second his heart stops, and as if to make up for it, starts pounding fast and hard.

But this isn’t the time to panic. His dog is hurt.

“Hey,” Janus says as softly as he can, “can you come out?”

The dog looks at him with wide eyes.

“I bet you can’t move much,” Janus says, sitting down entirely and raising his arms. He leaves them hovering a few inches from the dog. “It must have hurt when I touched you, huh?”

The dog curls even tighter into itself. It’s strange to see it in the shadows like this. It’s a dog that looks best in the sunlight--now Janus can see the scraggly edges of its spots and the little chunks in its tail. It looks lost and confused and scared.

Janus edges closer.

The dog sinks back, giving Janus a little warning growl.

Janus stops.

And the dog tucks its head between its paws, looking like it wishes very much to keep away from Janus forever.

“Easy,” Janus says. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

The dog blinks at him.

And for a second, Janus understands it, more than he’s understood anyone in his whole life.

It’s not afraid that he’ll hurt it.

It’s afraid that it’ll hurt him again.

“Oh,” Janus says, pulling his hand back. “It’s okay, I promise.”

The dog watches his hand.

“Look, the bite will heal.” Janus holds up his wrist. “See? It’s not so bad. There’s not even any blood.”

The clouds swirl above them. It’s going to rain soon, and Janus is not leaving his stupid dog out in the rain. Out in the rain injured, and there will be time to wonder how this happened and if Roman knew about it, but now isn’t that time.

“It’s okay,” Janus says again. “I...you were hurt, and you were scared, and you lashed out. I do that sometimes, too.” He pauses and holds out his arms. “But I want to help. I’m not mad at you--and I’ll try my best not to hurt you. I can’t say it won’t hurt at all, but I’m sorry in advance if it does, and you really need to get looked after so I think it’ll be worth it in the end.”

The dog tilts its head. It’s a cute little thing. Janus notices it has no message for him, and his stomach twists, but now isn’t the time.

“Come here?” he asks hesitantly.

The dog struggles to its feet and limps into his arms. Janus sighs with relief and curls it close to his chest. It’s warm. He can feel its heartbeat fluttering against him.

“Thank you,” he says. “You’re going to stay with me for a little while, okay? We have some medical supplies. I’m sure Roman won’t miss you much, and--I can write him a letter. Explaining everything.” Janus bites his lip. “If...he’d like that.”

The dog licks Janus’ chin, which Janus counts as a yes.

Janus smiles at it.

Stupid little dog.

He stands up and carries it into the house.

---

It’s raining.

Not one of the nice kinds of rain, either. Patton likes when it rains lightly and drizzles his hair until it’s a little bit floofy. He likes it when it’s warm and wet and filled with puddles he can splash in. And he likes it when it snows--which isn’t really rain, but his teachers say it’s frozen rain, so he thinks it counts.

This, though, is a thunderstorm. Lots of flashy lightning and booms of thunder. Patton doesn’t like thunderstorms because Paw-ton doesn’t. It tries to wriggle through the window and hide under Patton’s bed, and Patton has to stop it because no pets in the apartment.

He always ends up covering Paw-ton with an umbrella on rainy nights. Sometimes that means Patton gets wet. Patton doesn’t mind.

He’s wet now.

It’s cold. It’s cold and wet and the thunder is way too loud and he’s a little nervous that being so high up means the lightning might come for him and zap his bones. He’s curled in a tight ball so the lightning won’t see him. Maybe it’ll hear him.

But he’d be hard to hear over the storm.

Big claps of thunder, the screech of cars, and the endless thrum of rain around him. Patter patter patter, splash splash splash.

Patton can barely see a thing. His glasses are wet and covered in droplets so the whole world blurs. Smears of red and yellow for the neon signs, flashes of white for the lights in the distance, and a broiling grey expanse of sky.

His pajamas are soaked through. The fire escape is slippery under him.

Maybe he shouldn’t be out here.

But he’s waiting.

He doesn’t know how late it is. Probably less late than it seems, because the sun is completely hidden and the clouds make the world very dark. Still. He’s pretty sure Paw-ton should be here by now.

Paw-ton should be here, and Patton is very, very worried, and Patton is very, very cold.

And Patton is very, very alone.

What happened? Is Paw-ton just late? Or maybe it’s stuck somewhere, not wanting to go out in the rain. But it’s gone in the rain before. It always comes for Patton. Patton can’t name a single time when it didn’t.

Paw-ton is always on time.

Paw-ton is always there.

Patton wonders if he did something wrong.

Maybe the universe decided to take back his soulmates. Maybe the dog got hurt, or kidnapped. Maybe one of his soulmates kept it for longer--maybe Paw-ton is a comfort for them, like it is for Patton, and they just needed it after a rough day.

Which makes sense.

And is fair.

And yet Patton still selfishly wishes his dog was here.

Because he’s cold and alone and should be going back inside but he’s stuck here, drummed in place by rain, face dripping and hands pruny and the world crashing down around him.

Sheets of rain, blobs of color, and the smell of wet asphalt.

Patton doesn’t like the city much.

It’s always prettier when Paw-ton is there.

Yeah, it’s just a dog. But it’s something. It’s another warm body on the fire escape and a reminder that somewhere out there is someone that is meant for Patton. Patton’s not alone. He’s not a lost puzzle piece in a jigsaw that someone else already completed. He’s got his person or his people. And his dog.

He’s got a place to be, and someday he’ll get there, and one night with no dog doesn’t mean that changes so why does he feel like crying?

Patton presses his hands over his eyes. The tears come anyway, thick and fast, falling in sheets like the rain around him.

He’s a little lost thundercloud, far from the storm, not loud enough to crack through the world. Not big enough to make any sound at all.

He cries, curled up on the fire escape, and it’s stupid to be crying over a dog but he can’t stop himself.

He’s cold, and he’s wet, and he’s lonely.

So he cries.

He doesn’t go back in for a very long time, not until even his bones are wet and he’s about to collapse from tiredness. He peels off his wet pajamas and leaves them in a heap on the floor.

He keeps the window open overnight, just in case Paw-ton is scared of the storm and wants to hide. He doesn’t care about the rules. Not right now.

His whole room is cold and wet, and Patton barely sleeps, and his dog--his cute little puppy dog--is nowhere to be found.

That night, all the window lets in is the rain.

---

Roman wakes up on his own.

He brushes his teeth on his own. He puts on his school clothes on his own. He doesn’t bother to open the window, because he knows there won’t be any dragons.

The dog doesn’t come.

He pretends it doesn’t hurt.

Roman hopes the dog is okay. Maybe his other soulmates helped it. Maybe they’ve decided to keep it so it stays safe.

Roman wouldn’t blame them.

This is his punishment for letting it get hurt.

He gets that.

In the stories, his soulmates and him save the world. And in his angry stories, his soulmates save the world from him.

Everything’s an angry story now, written in his own cramped handwriting, the words disjointed and slashing through him like knives. Everything’s red and black and with no happy ever afters because Roman threw the notebook at the wall before he finished.

Roman gets angry sometimes.

And now his dog is hurt.

And now his soulmates probably hate him.

Roman gets angry, and he’s trying so hard not to be angry right now, so all that’s left is regret.

The dog never comes and Roman wants to cry.

He’s on time for school. It’s the first day in months that he’s managed that. He eats breakfast slowly and slips into the car. His mom doesn’t glare at him like usual and the minivan puts slowly down the road. They’re in no rush. Roman is right on time.

He hates it.

---

Janus wakes up to the dog curled by the foot of his bed. He eats breakfast quickly and runs up to make sure it’s still okay. His dads helped him as much as they could, but only Janus could actually patch the dog up, so he’s worried he didn’t do a very good job. But the dog seems to be doing better. Maybe it’s magic--maybe it heals fast.

Janus still doesn’t know what happened to it. He’s trying not to jump to conclusions. But if Roman hurt this dog, Janus is going to shove him into a tree. Twice.

It’s his stupid dog. Nobody hurts his stupid dog.

“Feeling better?” Janus asks it that morning. “I can’t have you hanging around forever, mutt, you’re stinking up my room.”

The dog gives him a look, and Janus gives it a look right back.

He takes it with him when he does his chores, under the guise of getting the dog moving so it heals faster. The dog is no help with his chores, but oddly, Janus gets them done quicker.

He eats lunch with the dog sitting on his feet.

It’s ridiculous.

It still makes him smile.

The dog is restless. He catches it looking out the window or staring at the door. It has other places to be. It wants to be with Roman again--and that hurts, just a bit, but Janus has had the dog for a whole night. He wonders if Roman misses the dog. Roman must know it was hurt. Unless it got hurt in transit, but Janus has become relatively sure that the dog is only affected by the real world when they’re involved in it. Evidence: it disappeared when he left the room, which he knows because he saw it appear again for the first time. It’s strange to watch. There wasn’t a dog and now, suddenly, there’s a dog.

Which means the dog was only around to get hurt if Roman was there.

Which means Roman must know the dog was hurt.

Janus wonders if Roman tried to help. Why’d the dog leave? Why’d the dog come to him?

Maybe it was just the timing.

Or maybe it likes Janus, and Janus doesn’t know why that makes him feel giddy.

The dog is restless, and Janus tells it that it’s still healing and needs to stay. It whines. Janus hates its whining. It’s a pitiful sound and makes him feel bad, inside and out.

Janus tries to climb a tree or two in the afternoon, but since the dog can’t follow, he loses motivation quickly. Instead he sits in the garden, the dog curled by his side, and tells stories.

The dog watches the road that winds down the hill and into the city.

The dog watches it, and Janus watches it too. It’s an empty road. Nobody ever comes up here.

“Is he close?” Janus finds himself asking.

The dog lowers its head.

“You’re hurt,” Janus says. “You can’t--”

It’s getting late. The sun is setting. If Janus doesn’t keep his eyes on the dog, it’ll travel wherever it needs to go, and he doesn’t know if that hurts it. Or if Roman will be able to look after the dog like it needs. It’s wounded. Its leg is splinted and it can’t walk, and Janus trusts his soulmate but only to be dramatic and to write letters every day.

He’s not sure if he trusts Roman with this dog.

He’d like to, of course, but Janus doesn’t trust easily.

Not with important things.

“Stay,” Janus begs the dog, staring at it. It never leaves when he’s looking. But it appeared when he was looking today--maybe it’s getting desperate.

The dog keeps whining, low and upset.

“I can’t let you leave,” Janus says. “I’m sorry, I need to look after you--”

The dog nips at him and pulls itself to its feet, shivering.

“Hey, no!” Janus exclaims. “Stop that, you’ll hurt yourself--”

The dog gives him a determined look.

“No, wait--” Janus’ heart squeezes. “You can’t just go to him. I need to make sure you’re safe.”

A gesture of the head.

It’s a clear message. He needs me. I’m going.

Janus sighs.

He doesn’t want this dog getting hurt again.

But...he imagines Roman, without the dog, worrying. He imagines letters in that red sparkly pen that are folded up but never delivered.

Janus stands up and grabs the dog.

“I’m going out,” he calls to his dads.

“It’s late,” says Weather Dad, peeking his head out of the door. Glasses Dad is cooking--Janus can smell it. It is late. He’ll miss dinner if he does this.

He looks down at the dog in his arms.

“I need to bike somewhere,” he says. “It’ll be quick.”

Weather Dad’s eyebrows pull together and he scowls, but his eyes flicker down to the dog. He can’t see it. It probably looks like Janus is holding nothing at all.

“Be quick,” Weather Dad says. “And be careful, don’t want you falling off. Keep your lights on. Wear a yellow hat, stay to the side of the road, bring a phone--”

“Babe, he’ll be fine.” Coffee Dad slings an arm around Weather Dad’s shoulders. “Don’t get lost, Jan, okay?”

“I won’t,” Janus promises, and for Weather Dad’s sake he takes the large yellow sunhat offered to him. It matches his t-shirt. He can’t imagine not being noticed in this hat.

His bike is leaned against the side of the garage. He places the dog in the basket and hops onto the seat, wobbling his way to the road.

It’s all downhill from there. The road looks like a stream, bubbling back and forth through the trees, slipping its way over rocks to the city.

He just has to let go and ride the whole way down.

Janus nods to himself and pedals.

It’s a warm evening. The wind whips his hair, pulling it loose until the curls fly around his head. The dog opens its mouth and lolls its tongue out. It looks happy. Maybe because he’s giving in--Janus is going to find his soulmate tonight, because of the stupid dog, the one thing they have in common.

He’s headed towards the glittering city below.

The shadows around him are warm and thick and the trees rustle in the wind. He grips tightly to his handlebars and brakes a bit, taking the curves expertly. He sees flashes of trunks and logs and flowers, dim and muted. The whole world is like a wet cloth--dipped in water and wrung out until it’s all smudged and dulled and darkened.

The crickets chirp and Janus thinks he sees a firefly.

He rides further down the hill. He’s building up speed. He pedals as fast as he can, hat almost flying off his head, shirt whipping around.

He can’t see the city anymore, because he’s almost there.

His bicycle skims the road neatly, bends into the curves, and he’s pedaling so fast and steady he can’t imagine stopping himself. He’s all momentum. He’s flying down the hill, past the forest full of trees he’s yet to climb. It’s the opposite direction of where he usually goes. He is no longer trying to touch the sky. He is headed for the valley, for the shadows, for a distant promise of a soulmate.

Is Janus ready for this?

Possibly not. Probably not.

Does Janus want this?

Yes.

And Janus won’t let anything get between him and what he wants.

He pushes himself even faster and soars down the hill.

The city appears in front of him. The road widens. Little white dashes bleed into existence and Janus pulls over to the side. The dog is still panting, pointing his nose down into the city, leading Janus on.

He’s glad one of them is having fun.

The city is so bright, he realizes as he approaches. Every building is flaming with lights. The windows are little squares against the sky and the streetlights are circles and the cars shuffle back and forth like glowing ants.

The city is on fire, and Janus is heading right for it.

He tightens his grip on his handlebars.

He flies.

---

The dog hasn’t come.

Patton has planned for this. He’s brought a coloring book and some crayons, so he can wait for a long time. Maybe he should have brought his homework. It’s due soon, and besides, he can’t even see the colors. They all look gray and washed-out in the neon lights.

He thinks about getting a flashlight.

But he might miss Paw-ton, if it arrives, and he’s just found a kinda comfortable spot.

So Patton sits there, coloring book in his hands, watching the lights.

Someone is yelling again. So many people yell in the city. Patton doesn’t get it. Sometimes you’re listened to and sometimes you’re not and it’s no use getting angry over it.

He doodles a little dog. He’s not very good at drawing but he gets the floppy ears and the little nose and the cute teeny tail. He writes ‘Paw-ton’ next to it.

He’ll show it to Paw-ton next time it visits.

If it does.

Patton yawns. It’s late and he didn’t sleep much last night, but he can’t bring himself to leave.

Yelling. Cars. The skid of a bicycle, the chatter of people, the distant pulse of music. People always play music in the city, too. Patton gets that, at least. Music is nice. Sometimes if someone’s playing good music, and Patton’s had a good day, he dances to it. Paw-ton isn’t a good dancer but he jumps around a lot and that’s good enough.

Patton tries moving his head to the beat.

He can’t find the energy.

It’s a warm night, the kind of night that buzzes, that says the world is just a little bit different than usual. A nice night. It would be nice if Patton weren’t alone in it.

If he wasn’t so gosh darn worried.

A dog barks nearby. He can almost pretend it’s Paw-ton. It’s the right sound, soft and kind, never barking for too long--

“Hello?”

Patton jerks upright. That’s a voice from right down below him. He waits to see who it’s talking to.

“Hello?” The voice sounds a little exasperated. “I can see you, you know. And I have no idea why you’re on a fire escape of all things, but you should come down--I’ve got someone who wants to see you.”

Patton peeks over the edge. A boy is standing there, wearing a baggy yellow t-shirt and a large straw hat of the same color. It has a ribbon across it. It’s a nice hat. He’s a nice boy, or at least Patton thinks so, with thin legs and loads of freckles and the kind of frizzy hair that makes it look like a little ginger cloud is following him around. He’s staring at Patton with blue eyes and a vaguely irritated expression. There’s a bandaid on his left knee and it has a smiley face on it. A bicycle is leaned up against the wall of the alley.

In his arms--

Oh!

Patton squeals. He scrambles to his feet and takes the steps two at a time, grinning wildly.

“Slow down,” says the boy. “I don’t want to have to fix another broken leg.”

Patton barely slows down. He runs all the way to the ground and bolts over, because it’s Paw-ton, his dog, his dog is finally back and curled up in this boy’s arms--

“You’re okay!” Patton blurts out as he skids to a stop.

“It’s alright,” the boy agrees, holding Paw-ton out. Patton opens his arms and Paw-ton jumps into them, licking Patton’s face. Patton giggles.

“I missed you!” Patton exclaims. “I missed you, I missed you so much, what happened--”

“It got hurt,” says the boy. “I splinted its leg as much as I could. I was going to keep him here for longer, but he was desperate to get back to you. No need to thank me--”

“Thank you!” Patton extends one arm and hugs the boy around the shoulders. “Thank you, thank you, thank you so much!”

“Er,” the boy says, looking taken aback. “You’re welcome?”

“I was so worried,” Patton gushes. “It got hurt? What happened?”

“I was hoping you’d tell me that,” says the boy, his voice taking on a hard edge. Patton pauses, his smile falling.

“What--” Patton looks from the dog in his arms back to the boy. “I don’t know what happened! I just waited for Paw-ton and he wasn’t there! He didn’t get hurt with me.”

“That’s strange,” says the boy, frowning. “I thought--wait, Paw-ton?”

“That’s what I named him!” Patton says. “After me? My name’s Patton. You--we can change it if you want. I just wanted something to call the little pupper!”

“Patton,” the boy repeats. “Not Roman?”

“Roman?” Patton’s never heard that name before. “Who’s Roman?”

The boy blinks.

And he says a very, very naughty word. Patton covers the dog’s ears.

“Two soulmates,” the boy finally says, groaning. “All this time I had two soulmates. I thought it was just Roman and his letters--” Horror flashes over his face and he looks up at Patton like he’s seeing him clearly for the first time. “You didn’t get any of the letters--I took them--”

“What?” Patton asks.

“I--” The boy swallows. “I’m sorry. I--I didn’t know you were here, too.”

“Oh.” Patton doesn’t fully understand, but the boy looks upset, so he tries to smile. “It’s okay! I’m here now?”

“You are.” The boy looks down at Paw-ton. “I’m...I’m also sorry I kept the dog for so long.”

“It’s okay,” Patton says again. Because now, he feels, it is. He’s got his dog back. “You helped it, and that was really nice of you!”

The boy smiles a little. “I’m Janus.”

“Janus! I’m Patton!” Patton giggles. “I already said that. Nice to meetcha!”

“Likewise.” Janus looks around at the alley. Neon lights play across his face, making his freckles glow. “Do you come here often?”

“I live in the apartment over there.” Patton rocks the dog in his arms. “Where do you live?”

“Up the hill in the woods.”

“Whoa! Really?” Patton gasps. “I wanna see!”

Janus chuckles. “Easy there. We just met.”

“Yeah, but you’re my soulmate.” Patton pauses as the reality of that finally, finally sinks in. “You’re....you’re my soulmate. My actual soulmate.”

“Yes?” Janus’ hand comes up to pull at his hair. “And you’re mine, I suppose. I...I understand if this is a lot to process--”

“You’re my soulmate,” Patton breathes, and he can’t think of anything else because his soulmate is here, and real, and standing in cargo shorts and a yellow t-shirt and a big hat. They must be the same age or close enough. Janus has a lot of little freckles and one big freckle down the side of his face and he looks really, really nice.

He wonders what Janus thinks of him.

He hopes it’s good.

“We have one more,” Janus says awkwardly. “Roman. He sends me letters, but I never wrote back.”

“Why not?” Patton asks.

“I don’t know, I just--” Janus looks away. “I was scared, I guess.”

Patton watches him for a second.

“This is scary,” he agrees. “I don’t know you very much. And you’re supposed to listen to me and be nice, but I don’t know if you will.”

“I’ll try?” Janus suggests.

Patton looks at him a second longer. Then he nods decisively. “You’re nice. You helped our dog, so you’re nice.”

Janus looks down at the dog. “For what it’s worth, I think Paw-ton is a fine name. I never gave it one, I--I always thought you’d have made one up yourself.”

“You can give it a middle name,” Patton suggests.

Janus huffs and rolls his eyes. “I just call it stupid.”

“Stu, then.” Patton shrugs. “Short for stupid.”

Janus blinks. “Stupid is an insult.”

“I bet it’s not when you use it.”

Janus looks down at the dog and sighs. “No, it’s not.”

“Paw-ton Stu,” Patton announces, and the dog nuzzles his chin. “Roman can pick the last name when we find him.”

“So...we’re looking for him?” Janus asks. “Now?”

“Not now,” Patton says. “It’s late.”

“It is,” Janus agrees. He shifts. “Tomorrow? I know where your apartment is now. We could...find Roman together? If you’d like?”

Patton thinks of all the nights he spent waiting for his soulmates. Or waiting for his dog. He’s always waited. He’s always figured that if he deserves a soulmate, fate will bring them to him. He’s always thought that his soulmates will find him if they want him. Patton’s always been told not to force things. He can’t be too loud or he’s being mean.

He’s been quiet for a long, long time.

He’s stayed very, very still.

He’s thought of a someday and he’s never tried to make that today.

He’s got places to go. Maybe it’s time he starts moving.

“Yeah,” Patton says, smiling. “Together.”

---

Roman is quiet.

He wasn’t quiet at first. The moment he’d seen the dog, sitting next to two boys his age, he’d almost screamed. They’d laughed as he scooped up the dog and looked it over--it looked alright, with a little splint on its leg. It licked his nose and tucked its head under his chin.

He’d been forgiven by the dog, at least.

His soulmates were another matter entirely.

Which is why Roman’s quiet now, sitting on the pavement, trying to think of what to say.

He glances up at them for the fifth time. One of them has enough freckles for a dot-to-dot puzzle, and the other has black hair that forms a fringe over his eyebrows. They’re not glaring at him. But they don’t look exactly happy, and Roman’s nervous.

“Sure, let’s just sit here in silence forever, that sounds fun.” That’s Freckles, sitting back on his hands and giving them both cool looks. “Is anyone going to talk or must I?”

“Um.” That’s the other one. “Hi! I’m Patton, this is Janus, and you must be Roman!”

“I’m Roman,” Roman agrees.

Patton and Janus. Nice names. They look like nice people, and Roman figures if things were different, maybe they could be friends.

He doesn’t know if they want to be his friends.

They’re his soulmates, which makes things weird.

Roman had plans for when he’d finally meet his soulmates. He’d sweep them off their feet and proclaim his undying affection, then they’d ride off into the sunset together. There isn’t a sunset right now. The sun is low next to the squat concrete square of his school, and cars drive past them, separated only by a chain-link fence and a strip of dirty grass.

He looks across the parking lot. His mom is waiting.

He’d expected her to argue when he said he needed to go talk to his soulmates. She hadn’t. She’d given him a kiss on the head and promised they’d like him.

Roman isn’t sure if they will.

But he knows where to start.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

Patton and Janus exchange a look.

“What happened?” Patton asks, and it’s gentle, but he can tell Patton is a little angry. Roman pulls his legs to his chest.

The dog doesn’t leave his arms. He finds courage from that.

“I--I was upset,” Roman starts off, not looking at either of them. “I wanted to go to the playground, and the dog kept following even when I told it to leave, and--and it got hit by a bicycle. ‘Cause nobody could see it.” He reaches out and hands Patton his dog back. “I’m really sorry.”

Patton looks down at the dog, then back at Roman, who is trying very hard not to cry.

“I forgive you,” Patton says.

What?

“Me too,” Janus adds, looking a little uncomfortable. “You know. If it matters. It sounds like it was an accident.”

“But--” Roman looks between them. “I thought you’d be mad, I--”

Patton shakes his head. “Sounds like you were the one who was mad.”

And maybe that’s true. Maybe Roman’s always been angry--angry at himself and the world and his soulmates. But maybe the rest of the world doesn’t work like he does.

They’re not angry with him.

So maybe Roman doesn’t have to be angry with himself, either.

He takes a deep breath.

“Thank you,” he says. “Thank you so much.”

“Janus did most of the work,” Patton said, grinning at Janus, who snorts and looks away. “He was the one who looked after Paw-ton.”

“You figured out what school Roman went to based off what he said in his letters,” Janus pointed out.

“Wait.” Roman looks between them. “Letters?”

It’s Janus’ turn to look at the ground.

“You got my letters!” Roman exclaims.

“I...did.” Janus pauses. “I--I didn’t pass them on to Patton, though, so he didn’t.”

“It’s alright,” Patton says, sounding like it hadn’t always been alright. “I found you guys now.”

“Roman.” Janus’ jaw clenches. “I...I’m sorry I didn’t answer any of them. I couldn’t think of what to say--I’m not good with people in general, and I was scared, and I definitely wanted to make a terrible first impression on my soulmate, so I--” He wraps one arm around himself. “I promised myself I’d write back someday. I’m sorry it took so long.”

Roman stares at him.

And he’s had a million rants ready for this moment, a million questions, a million jabs because he’s spent years writing those letters, pouring his heart and soul into them, and each one had just been cast aside like it was nothing--

Except Janus didn’t think that. He’d just been scared he wasn’t enough--that he couldn’t measure up to Roman’s letters.

Roman closes his eyes and lets the anger drain away.

“It’s okay,” he says, and he finds he means it. “We’re here now.”

“We’re here now,” Janus repeats, as if he can’t believe it.

“We’re together!” Patton squeals. He dumps the dog in Janus’ arms and attacks Roman in a hug. Roman jerks in surprise but hugs him back. Patton is warm and soft and pretty strong and fits into him like they were made for each other.

They are.

That’s the whole point.

Roman starts to laugh, beaming at Patton, and Patton’s giggling too, and even Janus is covering his mouth to hide his chuckles. Roman reaches for Janus and Janus takes his hand, slipping his fingers between Roman’s.

“You’re my friends,” Patton giggles. “You’re here and you’re my friends--” He cuts himself off. “Right?”

“Not yet,” Janus says softly. “But...maybe soon, if you’d like to be.”

Roman grins even wider. “I’d love to be.”

Janus smiles back.

Patton finally pulls away and gives Janus a quick hug too. The dog is curled up in Janus’ lap, looking like there’s no place it would rather be.

“Thanks, Paw-ton,” Patton tells it. “Paw-ton Stu, you did a very good job and you’re a very good boy, yes you are.”

The dog wags its tail.

“Paw-ton Stu?” Roman repeats.

“Short for Paw-ton Stupid,” Janus says, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Patton gave one name and I gave another. I’m sure you can’t guess which is which.”

“And you get to pick the last name!” Patton says, turning to Roman. “What do you call the little doggo?”

Roman shrugs. “Nothing, I could never find a name that fit.”

Janus leans forward and lets the dog trot over to Roman. It keeps its back leg lifted in the air, but it can still walk pretty well. Roman reaches out a hand and pets it, and its little tail wags even more.

He bites his lip. A name. A name for this magical little dog that managed to finally bring them all here.

“Dragon,” he decides, looking up. “How about dragon? He’s our little dragon sidekick.”

“Paw-ton Stu Dragon,” Janus says, rolling his eyes. “If that’s what we’re going with.”

Still, he gives the dog--Paw-ton--a little scratch around the ears, so Roman thinks he likes it.

“I love it!” Patton squeals, clapping his hands. “It’s perfect!”

“Thanks,” Roman says, smiling back.

Down the parking lot, someone honks. It’s not Roman’s mom. It’s a man with sunglasses and a coffee, leaning against a small car and watching them.

“My dads,” Janus explains. “I have to either go or tell them what I’m doing next.”

Roman shifts. “What...what are we doing next?”

“Stay?” Patton immediately offers. It’s quick. It’s desperate.

Roman gets the feeling that Patton hasn’t had many friends before.

Well, Roman will just have to be an extra good one, then. To Patton and Janus. His soulmates. And it’s silly to still think of this as one of his stories, but he does--he was angry, and he painted himself as the villain, and his soulmates came and redeemed him. No, better than that. They showed him he didn’t need to be redeemed.

And now they have a dragon sidekick and a wide future before them.

Because if Roman can meet his soulmates, and if they can be his friends, why can’t everything else be possible, too? Castles and lakes and endless skies, adventures with his new friends, a world filled with things to explore.

Roman has dreams, and for once, they seem within his reach.

“I have to study,” he says regretfully. “But...later?”

“Wait.” Janus shifts and bites his lip. “I...I could help you study, if you’d like that?"

Roman stares at him and smiles. “I’d like that!”

“Study buddies!” Patton cheers. “I can bring my homework too!”

“Great!” Roman looks around. “I have to get my stuff, but we’ll meet at the playground down the road, okay?”

“Sounds good,”Janus says. “Paw-ton Stu Dragon--ugh--can lead us there if we get lost.”

“Yes it can, can’t it?” Patton coos. “Yes you can, you cute little pupper, yes you can.”

“I’ll meet you there?” Roman offers.

Patton nods and smiles.

“We’ll be there,” Janus promises.

And Roman believes them.

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perseusjackson-jasongrace · 3 years

Text

Kingdom Collisions XIV

Masterlist for other parts, more jercy, crackships and bad ideas

writing fic=more description=(hopefully) improve writing

no prewritten chapters=sporadic updates=as surprised as you about what happens

Tell me your thoughts, I'm insecure about this chapter. Also sorry for the long ass wait I haven’t felt in the writing mood but hopefully I'm back.

together or not at all. find him. find him. find him.

Crown Prince Jason’s dream starts as all his dreams do. Him sitting on a cloud looking over a burning meadow. He feels himself wince as if his body already knows its going to be hurt and then he is pulled under, under, under and suddenly the dream is a memory. One he had forgotten about, one he wishes he'll live through for the rest of his life.

"Prince," A soft, warm voice calls. "Are you in here?"

There is a moment of quiet, the crackling of the fire and the turn of the page the only interruptions.

"I'm here." The reply is gentle, and sweet, and full of the brightest days.

Jason blinks, looks through long blonde lashes. "Hello my Ardor"

Leo sinks into the couch, grabbing his hand with the need to be close and comfortable and together. "What are you doing here so late?"

"I had some things to research before tomorrow meeting with FreedomtoFeed."

The Captain of the Guards raises an eyebrow and gives a pointed look to the raunchy cover of the novel he has clasped in his hands. "That looks very appropriate for a feeding-the-people initiative."

He blushes crimson and shuts the book with a huff of embarrassment. "I finished the research."

Leo pulls them together until their foreheads bump gently, "I'm only teasing. But you should go to sleep."

"Will you join me?"

The fingers dancing at the nape of his neck still, and smoldering brown eyes catch his. "Of course."

They release twin breathes and move impossible closer, until lips brush against skin and oxygen is sparse.

"You are so beautiful," The Prince whispers, kissing his jaw. His cheek. Nose. Throat.

"Please kiss me." Leo is shaking with anticipation, arousal.

And who is Jason to refuse such a precious request? He brushes his lips gently across his Ardor's and groans at the softness he finds. Pillows, and peaches, and sweetness that only intensifies when it deepens. Their tongues dance, explore each other languidly. Like time is nothing but a suggestion. His fingers brush silken warm cheeks and dance across Leo's skin until they're resting on his thighs.

Jason is breathless when he breaks away, "You are—" His words are cut off as the Guard pulls their faces together.

"No talking now my Prince. Tonight we only feel."

Jason feels himself frown, as the memory becomes hazy, disjointed. This wasn't how it happened.

‘Together or not at all. find him. find him. find him.” Leo gasps, his head falling on the Prince's shoulder. "Jase, I can't—" He's cut off by a cry.

And suddenly all his beautiful brown skin is turning to ash under Jason's hands. He tries to grab on to anything, any part of Leo, but the more he holds the more ash comes away.

"Ardor?" He cries. This isn't how it happens. This isn't the way it goes. He can't go like this. They can't leave each other. He just got him back.

He can't, he can't, he can't, he c—

Prince Jason Grace wakes up with a scream, blunt finger nails tearing into his chest as he attempts to rid himself of the nightmare. And when his eyes adjust to the world he only knows darkness and despair. The love of his life is still dead and he is still far away from his dear kingdom. Actually he has no idea where he is at all. That thought is the final pick in the ice and suddenly his body is wracking with sobs. His life is a complete fucking mess. And he doesn't want to do this anymore. Every event piles onto his chest like boulders until he can't breathe, until he is hyperventilating.

Far from home; Leo is dead; kidnapped; tortured; his husband is—

Wait where is his husband? The thought shocks him out of his panic so fast he's reeling as he sits up. The cold floor underneath his fingers ground him to the present and he pushes off the concrete onto shaky legs. He feels so weird, like his body is not his own, like he's been forcibly removed from it and shoved into a whole new one and now he has to learn how to be human all over again. He feels like he's died. Slowly he stumbles around until he hits a wall and then plastering his right hand to it he walks. Or more like drags himself along, nails scraping against the brick and a bare shoulder scratching against the roughness.

His eyes are useless for anything further than his feet and he sees no evidence of light. But the room, or what he's beginning to suspect is a hallway, continues so he to keeps going. Someone will fill in all the blanks in his memory but first he has to find his husband. There is a deep chasm in his chest and he has the ugly feeling it will only start filling when he sees those green eyes and floppy curls. It almost disgusts him how much he needs to see the Prince of Mare. It's like his body, his heart, has forgotten about Leo entirely. He feels sick to his stomach at the thought so he banishes everything but the need to get out of here. Suddenly he hits a wall, hard enough that he knows there’ll be a bruise tomorrow. With a silent prayer to gods he didn't care to believe in, he turns his body and keeps walking. Right hand still on the wall.

There is nothing and no-one. He feels likes he's in the inside of a black hole. There is not even the faint sounds of outside. It is just his dragging feet and his cracking nails and the ringing in his ear from the sheer lack of sound.

He will get out of here. He will get out of here. He will get out of here. He will get out of here. He will get out of here. He will get out of here. He will get out of here. He will get out of here. He will get out of here. He will get out of here. He will get out of here. He will get out of here. He will get out of here. He will get out of here. He will get out of here. He will—

There's a scraping sound. Someone gives a sharp inhale. A pinprick stings his neck. He is never getting out of here.

together or not at all. find him. find him. find him.

Prince Jason clutches his rolling stomach, and without warning throws up the little contents that may have been in there. Before he even opens his eyes he knows whatever he will see cannot be good. Even behind his eyelids it is unnaturally bright and he can hear hushed whispers coming from somewhere. They sound angry. He will get the brunt of it.

"Well well well," A rapsy voice echoes around him.

He forces his eyes open and blinks back the harsh neon lighting to see Annabeth Chase, his previous kidnapper, and Grover Underwood.

"It's such a pity you don't remember me." She pouts unhappily, but there is nothing but viciousness in her grey eyes.

He wonders what he should remember.

"How do you feel Jason?"

"Like I died. Like I want to get out of here. Like I need to see my husband." He spits at the man leaning against the wall so casually.

"All in due time. But while we have you here I think we could use you."

"Why should I help either of you?" He curls his lip, anger making his vision blur, "You," He points a disgusted finger at the blonde girl, "Kidnapped me and Percy and then proceeded to torture us." She giggles and he wants to bury that sound six feet underground. "And you," He looks to Grover, the advisor to Mare and Percy's friend. He looks every bit the enemy. "I don't trust you one bit. Not if you can have her in your presence so calmly."

"I'm not looking for your trust Prince," The man, the being, scoffs. "I just need your cooperation. Otherwise Annabeth here has permission to get as creative as possible."

Grover tilts his head to her, a silent conversation passing between them, and then he leaves without so much as a glance to him.

"I'll never tell you anything." He growls at her.

She grins, pretty white teeth gleaming in the horrible light. "Let me tell you a story Prince Jason Grace, about the day you lost your sister."

"My who?"

She gives a secret smile and begins.

Twenty seven years ago a girl with blonde hair and grey eyes was born to The King and Queen of Mare. She was a sweet little girl with pigtails and a sharp mind and she kept her parents on their toes every second. One day this little girl's mom came to tell her that she would soon be getting a little sibling to play with and care for. The little girl was undeniably excited, or as excited as you can be when you're three years old and get told you're getting a small person just like you. Needless to say a little boy with blonde hair the exact same shade as hers, and blue eyes as bright as the summer skies was born. While she had eyes the exact shade of her mother’s he had their father’s eyes. And it was dangerous, but nobody knew that then. The little girl loved him immediately and with all her heart. They spent every moment together. Growing up and learning and loving each other as if it was the only natural thing to do. But when the little girl turned eighteen she received some horrible news. Her mother had died. Her brave beautiful mother who gave her kisses and taught her chess and spent hours reading to them. Understandably the family was devasted and they took it very hard. The girl— not so little anymore, grief will do that to a person— was angry and broken and unwilling to listen to the world that had so unfairly taken from her. So she rebelled against their father and lost their mother. And in her quest to feel something she engaged in nefarious, sinful, delightful activities. It was there that she met the love of her life. The Crown Princess of Hekima. Reyna. They got married within a year and have been together ever since. But the girl found out something about her mother's death and she was so furious as she rightfully should be that she renounced her title and vowed to bring down the very thing that killed her beloved mother.

together or not at all. find him. find him. find him.

“You are terrible at telling stories.”

Annabeth smiles like a lion ready to pounce. "Figured out who the little girl is?"

"You." He heaves, chest constricting as he takes her in.

"And her little brother?"

"How come I don't remember you?"

"When we kidnapped you we put a serum in that would make you forget certain aspects of your life." She shrugs as if she's discussing the weather.

"And you feel no remorse for hurting your brother?" He spits at her feet.

Her grey eyes flash like steel and she gets into his face. "I have no family."

"Why tell me at all? Why not just let me be ignorant?"

That makes her smile- no, bare her teeth. "Because unlike me Jason Grace you would do anything for the people you love, for the people you think you owe. No matter the cost."

"I'm not telling you anything." His voice is hard. Like the concrete he is pressed into. Like thunder.

"Nah uh," She grins at him, "I'm your sister remember. You wouldn't deny your sister the information she wants."

"Try me."

It must be a sibling thing because a challenge enters both their eyes and it shines bright enough to dull the horrid neon lighting in the room.

"How do we kill Crown Prince Perseus Jackson?"

He blinks at her. Blinks again. And then he starts laughing. Knee slapping, stomach aching, wheezing kind of laughter. He can't breathe. He can't even see because his eyes are so filled with tears.

"I'm serious." She grinds out.

"How the fuck should I know? We don't discuss ways to kill each other," He rolls his eyes, muttering "Even if we do think about it."

"You must know. You have to know. It is woven into your DNA. You meet each other in every lifetime and die. You have seen it for centuries."

His fading laughter vanishes completely as he whips his head up to look at her. "What?"

"You and Perseus. You guys are immortal deities who appear whenever the world needs to be remade.” Her voice is impatient as if he should know this. As if she’s explaining it to an incompetent child. “You as the healer and him as the destroyer. But people and beings alike have been killing you for centuries because your presence means they will cease to exist. You have watched each other die multiple times. You have revived each other multiple times too."

"So you're saying we're soulmates?" He can hardly believe what he's hearing. It sounds like the biggest load of bullshit he's ever heard.

"No. You're more than that. You aren't just two halves that fit to make a whole. You aren't even two wholes that fit to make a pair. You are each other. You do not exist without him. He does not exist without you. You are not bound by souls or hearts or whatever us humans believe is the epitome of love. You are bound by life."

"I don't believe you." He rolls his eyes. This is garbage. This is nonsense. This is not real.

"I don't really have time to argue with you about it. Just tell me what I need to know and you will be spared."

"Why should I?" He's not even considering it. He would never betray his husband like that. Would never put the Prince in such volatile danger.

"Because if you don't," She gives another of her terrifying grins, "The kingdom you know and love will crumble to nothing."

"You're lying."

"It's already started Jason." She cackles, "The more time you spend with Perseus the more he will bleed into you and you into him. There are already cracks in the castle. Do you really want to risk it?"

His heart is pounding but she is wrong. Isn't she? "I don't believe you." He says again.

"Oh Jase," She gives him a pitying look and he wants to rip her eyes out and toss them in a lake to watch the fish. "The Castle of Caelum is falling to the ground. Your Prince's blood spilled on mom's roses and they crumbled to dust. There are splinters in the stone. They will become chasms. Either you help us or you risk your precious kingdom turning to debris right before you."

"And what's in it for me?"

"You'll be spared from the slaughter of the monarchs."

"And my husband?"

"He will die. This is non negotiable. One of you must, to stop you from fulfilling your fates. We have someone with him right now."

Wrong answer. But he bows his head and pretends to mull it over. Inside his thoughts are whirring like a new machine and plan after plan formulates in his mind.

"Okay Annabeth Chase, my sister," He smiles soft and sweet. She returns it in triumph. "I will join your rebellion. I will tell you how to kill my husband."

And as she picks him up from the floor and removes the invisible ties keeping him pinned to the concrete he allows himself a secret smile of his own. It hints at the malice, the destruction, to come. They made the biggest mistake of their lives when they took him away from the Prince. They will pay.

I'm coming for you Percy.

So Crown Prince Jason Grace loops his arm through his sister's and makes friends with his enemy.

together or not at all. find him. find him. find him.

------------------------------------------------------------------

I don’t really know how I feel about this part. Feels a bit all over the place but at least we’re getting some clarification which is cool. Also are Annabeth and the rebels the good guys or bad guys for wanting to save the world from Jase and Perc? *raises eyebrow curiously*

Tags (if you want to be added to/ taken off the tag list just let me know, all my channels of communication are open):

@nishlicious-01

@queen-of-demons-and-hell

@leydiangelo

@sparkythunderstorm

@makos-bi-awakening

@aalikun

#Kingdom Collisions #Part 14 #Jercy royalty AU #Royalty jercy AU #Jercy #Percy Jackson #Jason grace #Percy #Jackson #Jason #Grace #PJJG fanfic #PJSSG fanfic #Baby fanfic #Baby fanfic series

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hanadolphieron · 3 years

Text

lunar artist!yeojin; chapter two~

warnings; fish, fish bites?

genre; sci-fi, strangers to friends to lovers, fluff

pairing; im yeojin x gender neutral!reader

word count; 1.8k

summary; your small crater town on the moon was rarely visited. one day, artist!yeojin travels all the way from mars to paint the serene, wistful scenery of your planet.

-----------------------------------------------------------

day one-

you return to the same place every day, the place you met yeojin, the first spark in your life for as long as you can remember. she isn’t there.

day two-

again, you go back. she isn’t there.

day three-

she isn’t there.

day four-

you still go back. she isn’t there.

day five-

you don’t go back.

day six-

you stay home.

day seven-

you go back. she’s there.

-----------------------------------------------------------

yeojin looks up and says nothing.

“you’re back!” you exclaim rushing towards her. you go in for a hug, but balk at the last second, wondering if yeojin would appreciate physical contact or would prefer to remain at a distance.

however, yeojin pulled you in, a big smile on her face, clearly overjoyed to see you.

“i missed you. where have you been?” you inquire, pulling back and looking into her eyes. somehow, you seem to have gotten closer over the week you’ve been apart.

“can’t say.” she tells you.

you both stand there, unsure of what to do. or, at least, you’re unsure, yeojin seems perfectly content standing there and staring up at you. you’re bending your legs a little so she doesn’t have to crane her neck, but we’re just going to leave that unmentioned for the rest of this chapter for yeojin’s sake.

“where do you live?” yeojin asks shamelessly. you lightly sigh, glad she spared you the task of saying something first.

“just over the hill. my house overlooks a little moon pond, there’s fish there too!” you ramble, excited. you’ve never talked about your house to anyone before. communicating has become a chore lately, and you haven’t bothered reaching out to anyone else except your plant, named rock, so talking to yeojin is a practically entertainment, “the water even freezes during the night! we could go ice-skating together!”

yeojin seems unaffected by your exuberance. in fact, she looks delighted by your plans. (even though she pretty much initiated it, with her not-so-subtle self invitation to your house)

“come with me,” you say, turning around, reminiscent of the way yeojin did just a week ago.

yeojin follows, a bounce in her step. her legs are moving insanely fast to keep up with you and you can barely see them.

breaking the ice with a sledgehammer, you ask yeojin, “why did you leave so early last time?”

“i- like i told you, i had to be back by 17:33,” she stutters out.

“how did you do that,” you make weird floaty hand gestures at the air around you, “thing?”

“it’s just a habit i picked up when ships became scarce and i couldn’t fly,” yeojin says shortly. maybe you shouldn’t have asked. however, you decide to go against your gut and inquire more.

“isn’t that something plutonians do?” you seem to have hit a nerve with this question. yeojin opens her mouth, then purses her lips. her steps slowed a little, and she stumbled a bit.

you save her from your own question by asking another one, “do you like salt on your pretzels?”

-----------------------------------------------------------

you make it to your house, finally, the tension between the two of you was tight and you needed a distraction.

walking over the hill, you stop, letting yeojin take in the view.

decking out the area around your house had become a full-time job once you realized there was nothing to do on this planet, and you had quite the plethora of beautiful, thoughtful places nestled around the lake’s edges.

a pier stretches out into the glistening water. fluorescent fish glide around its support. to the right of the pond, there is a garden, filled with all sorts of purple plants, creating a splash of dull color in your gray world. on the cliff behind the lake lies a mural, painted across the rocky edges in vibrant hues.

on the right sits your home. it’s wood, a native material of your home planet, that you brought with you as a keepsake to remind you of your roots. considerably small, your cottage only takes up a tiny sliver of the space surrounding the lake. it’s in the corner, a cute hidey-hole for you to stay safe and secure in.

yeojin looks out at the expanse of your property, her face expressionless. suddenly, as if she remembers that she has emotions, awe and adoration spread across her face. she turns to you, “it’s beautiful,” she says, and looks back at the view again.

“thanks,” you whisper back. “well, let’s get to it i guess, gotta get those pretzels pretzeled!” you say, slightly awkwardly, but that’s normal for you.

as you move past the pier, yeojin looks out into the water and sees the fish up-close. apparently having an epiphany over how much she wants to touch a fish, she drags you by the sleeve closer to the water’s edge.

you stumble over there, knowing exactly how this is going to go down.

yeojin rips off her left shoe and stabs her foot into the water. the fish, luckily, aren’t scared by her aggression and continue blandly swimming. (just keep swimming swimming swimming)

yeojin isn’t satisfied with this, and reaches into the water.

“wait, yeojin, no!” you clamber after her. those fish are hostile!

it’s too late. yeojin tries to touch the fish, and, not used to abrasive humans attempting to make physical contact, the animal flips and flaps around, teeth out, and bites yeojin.

“ow!” yeojin yells, in a loud, raspy voice.

however, her poor finger did not bleed, and she was fine after a few seconds of glaring at the fish, who was oblivious to her anger.

you laugh, and head on towards your house. yeojin follows with narrowed eyes.

opening the door, you are met with a subtle silver glow from the lights.

“is everything on this planet gray and shiny?” yeojin exclaims upon entering.

“no! did you not the see the exquisite purple colored vegetables i tend to over yonder?”

yeojin says nothing. you won. hah!

going to the kitchen and leaving yeojin to fend for herself, you drag up two pretzels from the depths of your pantry.

yeojin survives the trek of 10 feet from the doorway into the house to the doorway to the kitchen and stands in the threshold, hands on her hips.

you look at her, your eyes inspecting her dominating stance.

“just trying to scare you. guess it worked.”

huffing, you slap the doughy carbohydrates onto the counter and throw them in the oven.

“that was almost as aggressive as me,” yeojin comments, sipping from a drink. you think its yours. than again, who else would it belong to.

yeojin doesn’t seem to mind that she is inhaling your germs and slurps loudly.

you shake your head and look at the oven, trying to persuade the minutes to go by faster with the force of your mind. they don’t comply.

-----------------------------------------------------------

after talking for a while and becoming more familiar with each other, the oven screeched, causing you to jump from the noise and yeojin to cackle.

you stalk over to the oven, shoving on some super-mitts as to not burn yourself. you pull the pretzels out of the kitchen appliance and place them onto plates.

sitting down across from yeojin and snatching another glass that had been laying on the counter, (there was a total of six sitting there, they started to pile up once you realized no one was going to tell you to pick them up and you had complete freedom to be lazy) you began to snack.

yeojin wasn’t the most delicate eater.

with cacophonous munching and smacking, she consumed her carbohydrates.

you looked on, not exactly in disgust, but definitely in curiosity as you had never seen such an warrior-like eater.

yeojin notices you observing, but pretends she doesn’t, and chews louder.

in the middle of your small meal, yeojin interrupts the precious silence and asks, “can you play music?”

“you have music on mars?” you respond, surprised that she asked for such an elegant item.

“that didn’t answer my question.”

sighing deeply, you move to turn on the radio.

“yes, we do have music. some. besides, i paint. it’s hard to feel passionate about creating without indulging in other art forms.”

“oh.”

both of you are quiet for a while, listening to the sound of the music.

suddenly, you decide to forego your normal daydreaming and imagining music-related tendencies and jump up. starting to fling your limbs out in all directions, you begin to dance.

yeojin falls out of her chair laughing at your attempt.

you, delighted by her clumsiness and happiness, topple over too, laughing as well. the two of you are on the ground for a few moments, and then you drag yeojin up with weak arms, pulling her into the middle of the room.

falling to each other’s floppy embrace, you jump in circles, not exactly in tune with the music but that doesn’t matter anymore.

what matters is yeojin’s cute laugh that contradicts her tough persona, the way her cheeks get all chubby with the force of her smiling, the stars sparkling in her eyes, her hair flying around her face, sticking to her forehead now sweating from the exertion of laughing so hard you are about to perish, and the way she’s looking at you right now.

the way she’s looking at you right now.

it’s not the normal, happy, platonic look.

not the same way your childhood friends looked at you when you made a great joke, or did something sweet for them.

there’s something more there.

something that reminds you of waves crashing over the enormous beaches of you home planet, on the nights that don’t feel real, the ones that make you experience emotions that you can’t fully comprehend because they’re so beautiful, and so, so painful at the same time.

something that reminds you of roses, fluttering out into petals, blooming despite the thorns attached to their sides.

something that reminds you of illuminated evenings, talking and laughing, with an inexplicable tension in the air, one that makes you feel all warm and nervous inside.

something that reminds you of swirling blackness, that goes on forever, hidden from normal eyes, the perfect, dangerous place to explore and be addicted to.

something that reminds you of white clouds, floating across the sky, creating tapestries of gorgeous pictures, free to interpret and giggle over.

something that reminds you of actions, colorful vivid experiences. ones that leave a mark on your memory, but you don’t exactly remember who or what was happening, just a specific smell or sight or feeling.

and through all of those visions, you see yeojin in all of them.

not exactly see her, but she’s there, a presence that overpowers everything, so strong, taking over your mind, bringing you back to reality but ripping you away.

and then she’s right in front of you. close to your face. too close.

so close your lips are almost touching, noses brushing, eyes looking deep into each other’s souls.

and you pull away.

yeojin does too.

and you’re back to where you started. slightly awkward, with a connection you can’t explain. back to where it’s safe.

masterlist - previous - next

#femifics #loona imagines #loona astrology #loona fluff #loona angst #loona reactions #loona x reader #loona scenarios #loona #im yeojin

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ubernoxa · 4 years

Text

The Slippery Slope: An Izzy Stradlin Fanfiction

Chapter 1: Penguin on a Leash

MASTERLIST

Story Summary: 6 Chapter mini series about Izzy meeting a biologists who works at the zoo. Takes place after his time with Guns an’ Roses

Izzy watched the penguins swim around in their habitat trying to understand what all the hype was about. Lafayette had fliers and banners advertising the new baby penguins that were born at the zoo only a couple of weeks before he moved back to his hometown. After quickly realizing that he had fallen into a rut since leaving Guns N’ Roses, he decided to mix things up and visit the zoo to see these overhyped penguins and alleged peaceful gardens that were pictured in half the advertisements he saw.

It was around 2 pm, and Poppy felt relief that there were no children tours on Fridays. Since it was slow she was granted the permission to take one of the injured penguins on a walk. This was without a doubt one of those moments when she was glad that she went to college.

“Yeah Phil, that’s where you will live once your flipper gets a little better,” Izzy’s attention was pulled from watching the penguins swim about when he heart the soft voice followed by some form of squawking and giggles.

“Yeah, and then once you are fully healed, you get to go back to Chile!” Izzy found the soft voice to be a girl, probably only a few years younger than him, talking to one of the penguins who she had on a leash. Maybe it would have been considered weird, but after touring with Guns, the bar for what was actually weird was high. Girl dressed in full wetsuit while walking around a penguin on a leash just wasn’t weird enough.

“What’s wrong with his flipper?” Poppy’s attention was pulled from her penguin when Izzy spoke. She sent a soft smile towards Izzy, just another zoo patron. She felt a sigh escape her as she quickly looked around to make sure they were alone.

“Poor thing was found cut up on a beach. We’re guessing that he got cut up by a piece of steel, but he is healing really well, such a trooper. I will be sad to see him go,” Izzy held onto every word as she spoke. It was clear that she loved her penguin friend. With her soaked hair and wetsuit, he wondered if she recent went swimming with the penguin.

“Did you two just come from a swim?”

Izzy felt a small smile grow on his face as she giggled at his question.

“No. Before this walk I was checking up on a Dolphin and Edward startled me causing me to fall into the water....I swear sometimes dolphins can be really rude,” Poppy fwlt small butterflies begin to flap their wings in her stomach. The nerves were beginning to soar.

Poppy smiled as Izzy listened to her go on and on about how their little zoo volunteered to help Phil the penguin get better. He was her pride and joy, and there was no doubt that she would be crying when he went back to the wild. They would be happy tears, but tears none the less.

Poppy was shocked when Izzy hadn’t started to show disinterest half way through her rambling. Little did she know that not only was Izzy actually interested, but he was also used to someone rambling about animals. The penguins were a good change from snakes.

“Do you only work with penguins?”

“No, I work with most of the water creatures here. I stay away from the reptile house, those snakes creep me out. I don’t trust them,” Poppy felt a shiver travel through her as she thought of the snakes, or danger noodles as she called them behind closed doors. It wasn’t professional for someone who had a doctorate in zoology to call snakes danger noodles...even if that’s what they were.

“I’m Poppy by the way,” she sent a warm smile Izzy’s way after silence filled the air in between them.

“Izzy,” Izzy reached out his hand and quickly shook Poppy’s wet hand. He was almost shocked she hadn’t recognized him.

“Is this your first time here in the zoo?” Poppy asked hoping to keep the conversation alive. He was definitely the quiet type, but she liked that. She also liked that he was incredibly hot.

“I haven’t been here for at least 15 years....” Izzy watched the penguin Poppy was walking look at the photos of penguins that hung on the wall for decoration. Izzy decided it was strange seeing a penguin outside of its inclosure, but he figured it was strange seeing a rockstar in a zoo.

“Well I have only been here for one year, but a lot has changed. I’m already giving Phil, my penguin buddy here, a tour...would you like to join us? It would help me look more normal because I would be talking to an actual human instead of just a penguin. All that I ask would be for you to help keep your eyes out for any zoo patrons. I’m supposed to be avoiding visitors,” she hoped, no prayed that Izzy would join her. It was clear that he wasn’t from around here by the way he dressed, and she wanted to know what type of cowboy wore a floppy hat like the ones they worse in the musical Newsies.

After a quick chuckle, Izzy replied. “Well you haven’t been very good about staying away from zoo visitors, so I think you could use the help.” Truth be told, Izzy almost said no, but there was something about her silver eyes that caught his attention.

Poppy spent the next couple of hours giving Izzy the most in depth tour she could. She wouldn’t admit it, but she was definitely showing off. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had listened to her ramble this much, and she was going to take full advantage of it. She could hear her mother in the back of her head lecturing her on how she was boring the poor boy to death, but whenever he asked a question or sent a small smile her way she pushed that thought to the back of her head.

Izzy quickly learned that he could listen to her talk about her animals all day. Her silver eyes appeared a little greener whenever she talked about them. Her cheeks would blush and the tips of her ears would turn a little red whenever she apologizes for rambling, but Izzy would always reassure her that it was fine. This only made her cheeks go redder. He had to admit, it was pretty cute.

“That ones name is Edward. He is the one who startled me this morning resulting in me falling into the water,” Poppy pointed at one of the larger dolphins in the far right corner.

“He is defiantly my favorite then,” Izzy teased while looking the aquatic beast up and down.

“Edward doesn’t seem like a dolphin name,” he added walking over towards the dolphin she pointed out. He took another sip of the water that she had given him earlier in the tour. With all of their walking she didn’t want him to get dehydrated.

“That’s why I call him Axl,” this caught Izzy off guard causing him to choke on his water. After a couple of coughs he was able to regain his composure.

“Axl?”

“Yeah of Guns N’ Roses...he’s the lead singer, and according to the tabloids he is horny dick. Edward here shares a similar personality. I heard in a interview not too long ago that Axl is apparently from Lafayette, so I thought it was perfect,” she shrugged before she went back to watching the penguin who was clearly interested in his dolphin ‘friends’.

Izzy smirked as he watched dolphin Axl swim around. He wondered if she was a fan of Guns N’ Roses or just heard of the music. It was almost impossible to avoid hearing about the band. He had been trying to avoid the band entirely for weeks now. Bottom line, he appreciated that she didn’t know who he was. What he was or used to be.

“Looks like Axl is taking a liking to you,” she giggled as she pointed towards the dolphin that was clearly staring at him. Poppy giggled as Izzy moved left and right trying to test to see if the dolphin was actually looking at him. He felt like a fool, but her laugh was worth him making a fool of himself.

“If you ever want to go swimming with your new buddy, let me know. Usually Axl doesn’t like guys, but he seems like he wouldn’t be against swimming with you,” he turned to see the girl smiling from ear to ear.

“No, I’m good. I don’t feel like dealing with a horny Axl,” this earned a giggle from Poppy. It was true though, he had dealt enough with his Axl’s bull shit for years, and he didn’t need to meet the dolphin version.

“Well.....if you ever change your mind,” Poppy walked over towards a small table filled with fliers and grabbed one. She quickly flipped to the page that had her picture on it and wrote her phone number on it.

“This is my personal number, feel free to call it to go swimming....or...if you want to talk about other things. I’m sure you have heard enough about sea creatures to last you a while,” Poppy felt her cheeks flash red as she turned her focus towards the penguin, too intimidated to look Izzy in the eyes.

“Sure,” he said before she waved goodbye and headed behind a staff only door, penguin right behind her.

He opened the brochure and looked at the about our staff page she had written her number on. She looked very different in that photo. Her wetsuit was replaced by a white lab coat where the red hair that framed her face caused her freckles to stand out even more.

Doctor Poppy Thomas is our second aquatic specialist. As a proud Indiana Alumni, Dr Poppy earned her masters and PHD at Purdue University with a focus on animal rehabilitation and psychology. Poppy joined us during the Summer of 1990, and has become a quick favorite amongst the penguins.

Poppy couldn’t help the smile that was plastered on her face as she brought Philip back to the rehab room. She couldn’t believe that she had actually given someone her phone number. She was so proud of herself. Was it professional? No.

Did she do it anyway? Yes.

Plus if anyone asked she could just give a little while lie and say that he was writing a paper and needed to get a hold of her.

“Someone is in a good mood,” Poppy looked over towards Dr Elliot who was reading some academic journal.

“Went on a walk with Philip, he is moving his arm a lot better. He appears to almost have full range. Don’t ya buddy?” Poppy looked at the penguin who was minding his own business.

“Ohh good to hear Poppy!” Sally, one of their technicians, cheered while helping Poppy take off the harness.

“So who was the guy you were showing around? Was he someone who donated a lot of money or something?” Sally asked the moment Dr Elliot left the room.

Despite only being a vet technician, she had more experience with how their Zoo worked than Poppy. Sally had worked at the Zoo for over 10 years, and no one gets a tour unless they are someone special. Now if they were special to Poppy or to the Zoo was a totally different question.

“No, just a visiting paying patron of the zoo,” Poppy shrugged back.

Sally smirked as she saw the red hues fill Poppy’s cheeks. Did someone have a small crush?

“A cute paying patron?”

“I...uhhh...I didn’t notice,” this only earned a laugh from Sally.

“Ohh honey...one of the volunteers asked me why you were giving a tour to a cute guy who looked to be about you age ,” Sally smirked the entire time she was talking.

Poppy just brushed off her comment and went to change out of her wetsuit. Sally was married with two children, so she lived through Poppy. It was something Poppy had grown used to. Whether it was Sally telling her to go out to a bar or to see some concert, Sally would make the recommendations. Her recommendations would also include guys to date, her very unwanted recommendations.

Poppy then spent the rest of the day checking up on the other animals, Izzy never slipping her mind. She then drove home, trying to get her mind off of the boy she gave a tour to. She sang along to songs on the radio all while feeling bad for anyone nearby who heard her poor vocal skills. Once she got home, she walked into her cozy one bedroom apartment and immediately walked over towards her kitchen and began to cook. The entire time she never took her eyes off of the phone.

She grew impatient as dinner turned into watching a show which turned into showering and heading to bed. All hope of Izzy calling her diminished as she curled up under the covers.

Almost in parallel Izzy sat on his couch, silence filling the air. He had debated back and forth on whether or not to call her. He could hear his band mates...ex-bandmates in the back of his head giving him their unwanted advice. Axl was saying to move on, he was a rockstar and she was nothing. Slash was saying something about how she would be a good fuck because doctors know the human anatomy best. Steven and Duff were saying to go for it because she was cute. He let a groan escape him as he plopped down on the couch. Chicks were so much easier when he was in a band.

Izzy soon found himself digging through his bag that was filled with sheet music and other crap, eventually finding the flier with her number. He then found his phone and dialed the number, hoping it wasn’t too late. He turned towards the large black clock that hung on the wall. He cussed to himself as he noticed it was 3 in the morning.

He had almost lost hope when the phone continued to ring, but he felt a smile cross his face when he heard a groggy hello from the other end.

“Hey, Poppy? This is Izzy.”

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not-bumbles-guthrie · 3 years

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When The Beasts Run Wild

A weird choice for a first tumblr post but alas! I must undermine expectation! If you’re unlucky enough to be interested in reading this, here’s a little description:

In a deserted environment, brutalized by nuclear fallout, we find Cherry. She’s a quiet, nihilistic young woman plagued by the knowledge that she has lived her entire life in the remains of a society that no longer exists. The story follows her as her fellow survivors celebrate the Summer Solstice. Unfortunately, more seems to be at hand as it dawns upon Cherry and her lover that the world might be ending soon.

When it came to the explosion, no one imagined it would lead to the downfall of humanity. It would lead us to a return to order, an acoustic version of the world the humans had created. They would no longer be a part of it. It was a strange concept to grow used to as the days passed, and people were eaten at by the radiation. Of course, there were people that ran to the nuclear hostels, the ones hidden deep in the underbelly of Mother Earth. Yet, they talk of those places being overrun. One person says they were there when the President was found, slumped over. She’d also been killed by the radiation from the second blast. The person who told me this would die too in the coming weeks. Her face was bloodied when she took her last breath, shaky and demure. Then, with a flourish, she sucked in one last time, as hard as she could, and breathed out, “Fin!” While she didn’t have the strength for that exclamation point, I like to imagine her enthusiasm behind it is deserving of the emphasis.

Dogs run free now. If I had to take a guess on who ruled the expanse of land Mother left us, it would be them. She seems to have made them impervious to the air, to the invisible killer. Then again, we believe that she made us impervious to the same air. Perhaps we are just lucky, though. The dogs are destined. Eventually, we will die out. I don’t think the same can be said about the puppies, with their floppy ears and jovial smiles that cut through the particles.

I toss a piece of my flatbread to the yappy pup at my ankle. Her name is Annika, after Queenie’s grandmother who survived the first blast only to die because of the second one. She isn’t my dog; unlike most of the people here, I don’t choose dogs. They find me, visit me, and then they drift away either to their human companions or back to the dust and decay. Mother Earth would’ve blessed me with one if She wanted me to tend to a dog. They are Her chosen successors, after all. I’m merely here to die and be eaten by one of them when the time comes for my body to return to Mother through a dog’s shit that will hopefully make this land fertile once more.

Or maybe it won’t. Who fucking cares? It’s not like there’s a 9 a.m. office job to attend or a peewee football game to cheer on my snot-nosed kids at. There’s the dogs, the open sores, the radiation, and Mother Earth. That’s all. Those are the last things a human will ever know.

I used to ponder what the limits of humanity would be. I thought I would see the end of it, and that ending would be magical. We would finally know what the finality of the human brain was, what its capacity was. However, it’s become quickly apparent that in my eighteen years, nothing will ever show me that capacity. This is the capacity. The height of human invention and creativity? Its own destruction. How poetic. And to think, I was a baby and I missed it all.

It’s weird, living in a sarcophagus of time. I know everything about a culture that is dead. A species that is dead. Soon, I will be dead too. I’ve been told, by a doctor who lives in the camp, that most of us will only make it another 15 years. Maybe I’ll make it longer, he said, because I miraculously survived the first two blasts before the age of five. If I didn’t die then, perhaps I’m meant to last long enough to outlive the cancers and the ARS. Personally, I don’t think he was a very smart doctor. Even I know that’s not how radiation works. Put simply, I will be dead. It’s only a matter of when Mother Earth decides to reclaim me.

Father sits in The Temple when I return with Annika. The growth of what few flowers and vegetables can be produced in this climate surround him, billowing at his feet. His toenails were kissed by the vines of the potatoes, which had grown gnarly like his bunions. Father was a sight for sore eyes, with the fallout aging him past his years. He deserved to have a big, great white beard, but alas. All he had to show for his near two decades of turmoil was a small patch of growth on his face. He no longer had a full head of hair, and the sores on his skull near his neck opened daily with each movement. That’s what filled my vision as I walked towards him, as his head was bowed in prayer.

“Father,” came out soft and trembling. I cleared my throat. No need for that.

“Any news? Has Her Graciousness spoken to you?”

He spoke about Mother with a reverence that no one in the group possessed. He worshipped her. My mouth became dry, and its taste made me nauseated. There was nothing to report. Mother Earth had never spoken to me. She never spoke to him, why would that change with me?

“Yes, Father. She has.”

His eyes widened, pupils dilating as he took in more light. Blue rhinestones. “What did She tell you?”

I glared at Annita, nudging my head to snap back and tell her to kindly fuck off. The stupid animal simply sat there and stared at me. I rolled my eyes. “Stupid girl,” I muttered before looking Father in his eyes. “Mother Earth tells me that we will be safe for the coming Solstice.”

We had no idea if the Summer Solstice was close or not, actually. We assumed, based on the markings Monsignor Karl had kept for the past nineteen years since the first blast knocked out the power grid in the eastern hemisphere. He was the original Keeper, passing on the reins to Ingrid after he passed. It was hard to watch him go, as the cancer overtook him. For the last weeks, he did nothing but bleed from his mouth. Thanks to him, we are able to honor Mother. Kind of.

“That’s a good girl. Thank you, Cherry.”

I nodded in response, bowing at Father, before walking away. Annita followed me, yipping as we made our way to Camp. Ingrid acknowledged me with a demure nod as I passed her. She wore an ornate necklace, one that was found through scavenging when the Monsignor was still alive, that held a long-stopped pocket watch as its pendant. It was the Monsignor. It ran for the first few weeks following the Chernobyl incident, before the battery finally died. It was what helped him keep the time in the first days. Now, Ingrid wore it to simply mark herself as a special one. She could study sun patterns and tell you the approximate time of day, which made her invaluable, especially when it came down to times like the Solstices. These days, though, she seemed to be slipping up more and more. It made sense, given she was always awake when I woke up for my nightly leak. She had to be tired after being up half the night.

“Hey,” I called out before plopping myself down in front of her sundial.

“Hey yourself. Your shadow is fucking up my clock.”

That was all I needed before I was brushing myself off and moving away from Gritty. It was no matter; she was routinely not in the mood to fuck around. “Talk to you later, precious. Perhaps I’ll visit you on your nightly ‘stare at the sky’ session?”

“Fuck you,” came from behind me as I walked away. “Go concoct more lies.”

The last part came out quietly, as a small tease. My body froze up at first, with my back to her, but I could hear her chuckling in the annoying way she would. I flipped her off before turning into the tent that held our food. Dinner, it appeared, was served.

The small feast consisted of grains, including sunflower seeds, and bits of wild strawberry. For the group of ten people, it would barely make us feel full, but it was enough to satisfy the Itch. When your stomach lining is eaten away for so long, even a smidge of food does away with the Itch for a few. It would at least let us sleep until the Sun came up, flooding us with the blessings of Mother. Ingrid sat across from me, kicking at my shins when she caught me staring at her plate, which was empty but for a bit of juice stain from the strawberries.

“Perv,” she said with as much menace as love. Her smirk told me everything.

I rolled my eyes, playing with my ponytail, wrapping it around the ends of my finger. Perv. It rang over and over in my mind. So what? Was how I wanted to respond. I didn’t, though. My throat stopped me. My heart stopped me.

“Thank you for this blessed bounty, Mother Earth,” Father’s voice rang out.

“Thank you, Mother,” we whispered in a low baritone. Our heads were bowed over our empty plates.

“We worship you for saving us, Lover. Thank you for blessing us with eternal servitude to you. We will cleanse your Home, Wife,” Father continued with our heads dipping further towards our empty plates. There was a small clang as my glasses hit the edge of the ceramic. Gritty kicked at me again. I almost giggled.

This was my moment. I knew this. I had practiced this countless times. I raised my head to see the crown of Ingrid’s head, and I stopped for a minute. Her dark hair caught the last rays of the sun, and I was blinded. My voice cracked as I started us all in, singing, “Danke- Danke schoen, darling, danke schoen.”

“Thank you for all the joy you bring,” everyone started in on the second line, holding their hands out to each other.

Miss Fieri grabbed my hand. Her painted red nails scratched at my palm, and the old hole in the corner of her lip caught my eye as I faced her. Her face sagged, and her eyeliner was smudged. It was a miracle she had any. To my right, Monsignor Karl’s son, Vlad, sat though I had to reach out to wrap my palm around his amputated wrist. He smiled as he sang the lines, “Save those lies, darling, don’t explain.” It was strange to think about the fact that Mother blessed him with the stupid mustache the twinkled with as we sat there, singing. Yet, he was too stupid to become the next Keeper. That’s why we have Gritty.

Across from me, Gritty winked at me. She nodded at my hand on Vlad’s stump, and I knew what she was doing. Who’s the perv now? I thought. I relinquished my smile, giving her a disappointed nod. “Get your head out of the gutter,” I mouthed while Queenie fucked up the “Auf wiedersehen” despite the fact that her mother is from Germany. Dumbass. Gritty caught my look towards Queenie, smiling. She flipped her hair, impersonating the prima donna. I held in my laughter, smiling at her. I shook my head again, but this time in appreciation.

Then, I saw Father’s gaze. His eyes narrowed, brows furrowed so that the long spindly hairs were more apparent. His scar across his face was terrifying enough without the expression. I avoided looking him in the eye for a reason. My mouth formed a thin line in response. I bowed my head, and we finished the hymnal for Mother. We let go of each other’s hands to our lips, kissing our hands, and shooting the kisses towards the ground. Oppa and Kyle gave small whoops and hollers as the old woman and the young man hugged each other. I watched them closely, noting the miracle of their friendship.

“Thinking about the time you fucked him?”

“Fuck you, Gritty. It was four years ago.”

“We all know how formative that was for you.”

“You fucked him too. Shut up.”

“You know we’re supposed to fuck him again.”

“Yeah,” I whispered as we walked further from the tent. Oppa and Kyle went their separate ways, with the kind old woman heading to her tent, wrapped in her shawl she swears Stevie gave her. Kyle appeared to be more preoccupied with the new girl we picked up. Her name was Cola. Like the soda. She was his new toy. She was only fifteen, but she told Father she hadn’t lost her virginity yet. We were supposed to give her unto Mother soon because of that. I don’t know why she bothered to stay. I suppose the food alone is worth it, maybe the dogs. She’s only been here a week and she already found a little dachshund to be her companion. She’s taken to calling him Nilla. Gritty and I passed them, and I gave Nilla a little pat on the head as he came up to my ankles and pushed his nose against me.

“Do you think they’ll force us to do it when we hold the Ceremony for her?” I asked once we were out of earshot.

“Probably. Father is known for liking convenience,” She responded quietly. Her tone was melancholic.

We found our way out of the light of the camp fires. I scooped her hand into mine. “That’s true. It’s been too long since the last time.”

“I don’t know why we’re supposed to wait until the Solstice.”

“It’s because it’s spring. Fertility and all that shit.”

“Isn’t sex supposed to be sacred? What does the time period have to do with that?”

“I don’t know, man. Stop asking such stupid questions.” I let go of her hand, picking up a stick instead.

She folded her arms across her chest. “Just because you don’t want Mother’s babies doesn’t mean you gotta be a dick because I’m asking questions.”

“It’s not that, and you know it, Grit.”

“Then what is it, Cher?”

I rolled my eyes, facing away from her. “It’s easier to just do this shit than think about why it makes no sense.” It was as close of an answer I could give.

“Yeah, but doesn’t it kill you that Mother Earth says it’s just a sacred act but instead we treat it like this fucking parade that happens once a year. Sometimes twice, if Kyle doesn’t get his jizz in us.” Her head was cocked to the side as she studied me. We stopped at the edge of the woods like we always did. We knew no one could see us all the way out here. They just assumed we were playing in the woods, as we had since kids. Not questioning the basis of our existence. I threw the stick into the woods, hearing a small yelp from some animal. Probably a cat, from the sound. “I just…” I plopped on the ground next to a rock, resting my elbow against it. “It’s easier to not think about it instead of what we can’t do.”

“What is it that you want to do?”

“You know what I want to do,” I fire back.

Her mouth snapped shut. She came and sat down next to me. “You’re the only one stopping that from happening.”

“Existentialism doesn’t work when you live in a nuclear wasteland,” I responded as she put her head on my shoulder. “You’re looking for trouble,” I whisper as her hair tickles my ear.

“Maybe I am.” She shifted so her bicep rubbed mine. “Though, I suppose, you’re looking for it too.”

I stared out ahead of me, looking at the stars that peaked up from the line of mountains. The sun was sinking fast, so only a small blue line spread across the sky, and it only served to continue to illuminate the stars. They were twinkling, like the look in Ingrid’s eye or the way the last rays bounced off her pendant. I wanted to sink into the folds of her essence, even if that was the exact trouble she was getting me into. Her cheekbones were highlighted in the rising moonlight, eyes curled up in a smile. I flicked her black hair behind her shoulder, holding it close to my nose for a brief moment. Beauty incarnate.

“You’re right.” I sighed as I sat back to look her in the eye. “I don’t understand why things got so twisted around here, but they did. Perhaps Mother wants it that way. I can’t tell. She doesn’t speak to me. But you knew that, didn’t you?” I joked, tugging on the braid in her hair.

She smiled, poking my shoulder. “Yes. Perhaps She doesn’t exist at all, have you thought of that?”

My eyes widened, and I almost looked behind me to make sure no one heard her. “That’s not true, and you know it. Why else are we here?”

“Pure chance. Luck. Destiny.” She moved closer to me; her breath fanned over my face. “Have you considered why we’re here?”

I sat back, sitting upright. “No.”

“Maybe you should.”

“Mother exists. Nietzche was right, but Mother isn’t God.”

“I think Father killed her, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“The words have been twisted. The principles have been twisted. Shit, we worship the Earth because of some age old religion that ruled the before times. Wake up, Cherry.”

We weren’t close to each other anymore. We both sat upright, rod straight. Her dark, arched brows captured my attention and I stared at them as she stared at the plains of my face. “It’s not like you and I can do anything to change that. Father rules over us, protects us. At least we have food. At least we’re living in the meantime.”

“I don’t think we’re going to be here for long.”

“I-” I stuttered, stopping. “Grit, what are you on?”

Her eyes were serious. Their brown expanse was narrowed for the first time in a long time. They were hard, determined to be taken for reality. She looked practically possessed. Her dark eyes were almost black. She didn’t speak for a moment. “Ingrid, please, tell me.”

The lost, yet determined, look in her eyes faded and she grabbed my chin, pointing my head towards the sky. “You see all those stars?” I made a noise to affirm yes. “Do you see that green one? Over to the left of the moon?” I made another noise. “That’s a new star. I don’t believe it to be a star, though.”

She let go of me, though her hand held my face still. “Oh,” is all I said. The world came together like a puzzle piece at that moment. That was why she was being so careless as of late. That’s why we were here now.

“You’re going to kiss me before the world ends, right?” I asked in a petite voice that almost broke. It was the only thing I thought of as it occurred to me that my prediction would be coming true sooner than I thought.

It was then that she tucked her hands into the base of my ponytail, anchoring herself to me as she pulled me forward to touch her lips to mine. They tasted of cherry chapstick, something she must have collected when she went out exploring to the local abandoned gas station a few days ago. My tongue instinctively reached out for a better taste, and she let me in. It was then that my hands were all over here, and she kissed me harder.

A week passed, and the Ceremony was upon us. Cola was going to be the star of the show. She was dressed in a red bridesmaid dress we found on one of the group explorations we went on. It fit her perfectly, and coupled with the dandelions in her curly red hair, she was fit to be the Solstice Queen. Kyle was also dressed in his suit that he’d worn for the past two years. Ingrid sat in front of her sun dial, dressed in her normal pair of jeans and a t shirt with holes. She couldn’t be convinced to dress up. I, however, was in a new dress Father had given me. It was a wedding dress like Princess Di’s. It was found in a thrift store, and he had held onto it for this Solstice celebration. It was poofy, and I was forced to wear the headpiece with it. I looked like a sullen bride, with my stained face and ratty hair. Queenie dyed my lips red with leftover strawberry juice. Gritty told me I looked like a pig to slaughter. She was probably right.

“Cherry,” Father called out in his quiet tone. “Come ‘ere.”

I shuffled towards him, passing Kyle and Cola, who stood whispering and touching each other. “Yes, Father?”

The sun was high in the sky, forcing Father to cover his eyes. “Will you get Ingrid in her dress? I know you two are close.” When he saw the light leave my eyes, he continued, “We have to prepare for our Solstice Queen’s first Outing.”

“Yes, Father.”

“I’m sure you can persuade her,” he said with a smirk.

My heart levitated, escaping my ribcage. I looked across the field, over Father’s shoulder, and made eye contact with Gritty. She was looking straight at me with a similar expression to the other night when she revealed to me the nature of the future.

“Yes, Father.”

I passed by Ingrid, nudging her shoulder with mine as I grabbed onto her and forced her to follow me. “Get your fucking dress on,” I mumbled as I led her to her tent.

“He knows, doesn’t he?”

“Probably. He’s acting funny.”

“How would he know?”

“You don’t exactly hide it.”

“Neither do you. You drool in my presence.”

I glared at her. “Bitch.”

“It’s just the truth.”

I rolled my eyes. “Just get dressed. It’s almost twelve. We have to get this show on the road.”

“Wow jeez can’t wait.” Her voice was saccharine.

I didn’t respond. I just waited for her to get into her flowy gown. It was peach colored, and it made her look washed out. Her hair stood out, at least. I played with the ends of it after I helped zip her into the dress. “You look great,” I said in an aimless attempt at flirting.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

It was a miracle she was here. Ingrid had the magical way of being everything all at once. She made me want to relive the artifacts of the past, to dive into that sarcophagus. It hurt knowing that the world was taking that away. It had taken away so much. Mother had taken away so much. I suppose someone has to pay for the sins of the humans past, but I didn’t imagine it would be me. The visceral part of me, in my heart, felt the pain of this realization. I was the penance for disrespecting Mother. This was my service. This was why we did the Solstice Outings. This was why Kyle, Father, and Vlad and the rest of them could fuck whoever whenever. It was why they called it fucking for them instead of an Outing for us. It felt wrong to call what me and Gritty did fucking. It wasn’t that. It was something sweeter, less one-sided. Then again, what we did is the sin that brought us to this aftermath in the first place.

“Is this the price we pay?” I asked as I braided her hair. “Forever damned to a lack of pleasure and to death?”

“I suppose.” She sighed, looking disjointed though connected to what I was saying. “It doesn’t have to be like this. We choose it to be.”

“There you go with existentialism again.”

“It’s not philosophy, my dear. It’s how things are.”

“I didn’t ask to be left to this world. To be forced into this stupid shit.”

“No, you didn’t. But you worship the people, the men, who made it this way.”

“So do you.”

“Doesn’t make it any less true.”

I let go of her last braid, letting it come undone. “Whatever. Let’s just get this over with.”

“What does being free mean to you, Cherry?”

“What are you? A cheesy sitcom? Let’s go.”

I walked out of the tent without looking back. Whatever. Whatever. Whatever.

The Ceremony lacked the pomp and circumstance that many of past Ceremonies would have had. There weren’t many flowers we cultivated beyond weeds. We made a bed out of hay, grass, and these pesky flowers. Ingrid and I held onto Cola as we walked her into the circle of people, which consisted of our tribe. Father stood at the head of the pack, with Kyle standing next to him and Oppa on the other side. She was the eldest in our bunch, so she got to be on his right hand side while Kyle stood on the left. Everyone hummed the Hymnal, while sometimes people sang a few of the words.

Danke shoen, darling. Danke schoen...

I wore the veil in front of my face while Gritty and Cola bowed their heads. Cola was only fifteen, from the looks of her, and I felt a pang in my heart as I remembered that Kyle was two years older than me. He was twenty. The difference sat in the pit of my stomach, sickening me, as Cola smiled so sweetly at him. We were by the bed of flowers now. The humming had stopped. She was pure, still. She was worth worshipping. That would change once this was over. She’d be expected to work the fields, collect things. She’d become withered and worn like the rest of us. She was no stranger to hard work, I knew that. She had survived for this long on her own when her mother died a few months ago. Her innocence was simply so palatable in this moment. Though, perhaps that was the problem. I boiled her down to this ball of naivety when she probably had seen more shit in her lifetime than I had. She was nomadic, built with “street smarts” as they used to call it. She was human. That was why the disgust laid heavy on me.

Father put his hand on Kyle’s shoulder. He smiled in his robes, which were really just shawls we found and blessed him with. He stood with a glint in his eye as he spoke. “Thank you, everyone. Mother Earth has blessed us with a new addition, and may we bless her unto the Earth and manifest Her bounty.”

We nodded, some people making a few grunts in affirmation. Gritty stood stoic, unwilling to do anything more than bow her head. I saw out of the corner of my eye a droplet fall from her face to the floor.

“Cola, darling, step away from your sisters and lay yourself upon our Mother.”

The human stepped forward, kneeling before Father, reaching up to touch the top of his toes from a praying position, before she moved to lay on her chest. From there, Kyle stepped forward, bowing to Father, and then he bent down to unzip Cola’s dress. The red peeled back to reveal white. It was like reverse bleeding. Instead of finding the depth of a person, we were finding the outer shell. Perhaps that was how one got through this.

From there, she was stripped. The dress fell from her chest, revealing her budding breasts, before Kyle pulled it down and off of her, revealing her naked body to the rest of us. He touched her breasts, cupping them roughly, before biting at them. She laid there still, waiting for it to be over. Or at least that’s what I presumed. She didn’t act enthused. That wasn’t her job. Her job was to be there, to pleasure him. Everyone started humming, though not the Hymnal. A different song.

I made it through the wilderness,

Somehow I made it through.

Thankfully, we didn’t sing the lyrics. We hummed. We hummed louder when she started to groan in pain. We hummed even louder when he covered her mouth. We hummed louder still when he finished. We stopped when she sat up. She covered herself again, walking to join us again. She had given herself unto the Earth.

“She gave herself unto him,” Gritty whispered.

I didn’t respond. The sun shined in my eyes, blinding me, as we walked away. Kyle wouldn’t be ready again for another five hours or so, leaving us to tend to Cola before it was my turn. Then, we would turn in for the night before it was Ingrid’s turn in the morning.

It was strange, having an appointment for something like this. It made it better, I suppose, than being shocked by it. Cola wiped at her eyes as we went to Ingrid’s tent. I offered her a shoulder, wrapping an arm around her as we all piled onto Gritty’s cot.

When the sun started to set, we were woken from our nap. Father stood at the opening of the tent. His hands rested on his hips, making dual triangles. His face read of disappointment.

“You silly girls,” he said with a jovial smile, the disappointment fading. “You know it’s inappropriate to sleep together.”

“Sorry, Father,” I started as Cola started to wake up next to me.

“Shut up,” his voice came out hard. He softened as he said, “Just don’t do it again, okay?” though he looked to Cola, not me.

“Sorry, Father,” she said quietly.

“Good girl,” he said back before walking away.

Funny how easy it is to become a pet if you let yourself. Though that was what Gritty was talking about. I chose not to judge Cola because of this.

We got up, picking at each other to make each other primed for another Outing. Gritty fixed my hair, sneaking a small kiss on the cheek before the tent door opened and Oppa came in.

“Let’s go, girls. There’s a shooting comet we see coming our way across the sky. We want to watch it when the sun goes down.”

Gritty and I looked towards each other, and she smiled. My Outing was on a schedule. My life was on a schedule. We knew what this meant. I looked Oppa in the eye. “I’m coming!” It came out happy, bright. It was filled with the last squeeze of life from my lemon.

I left the tent in a flourish. This was it. This was the end. I felt the joy buried beneath me come undone. The string has been cut! I am free. I walk quickly, with Cola and Gritty on either side of me.

“You’ve never looked so excited to be fucked like a stuffed pig,” She teased me quietly.

I looked over to her as we walked to the tune of the Hymnal. “It doesn't have to be like this, remember?” I smiled wide, aware that I looked a little unhinged.

“Yes, you’re right,” she whispered before I stepped away and kneeled down. I didn’t bother to touch the toes of Father before I laid down. In fact, I reached behind me and started to work my zipper down. Kyle murmured, “I got it,” but I didn’t listen to him. His hand stood close to mine as the zipper was worked down. The fabric billowed around me, squishy as I worked my way out of it.

“Cherry, this isn’t how the Outing goes,” he whispered quietly as Father stared down at us.

I didn’t respond. I finished my way out of the dress. I stood up, stepped out of it, and looked Gritty in the eyes. I was naked. Exposed. The stars were looking upon me, as was everyone else. I chose this. It was then that a hand pushed me down, hard, onto my knees. I saw Gritty freeze up, and Cola held onto her harder.

“Cherry,” Father’s voice came out cold. “This is not how the Outing is done.” He pushed me back onto the bed of growth. “Have your way, Kyle,” he said as I laid there, spread out like a plate of hors de o’deauvrs. The circle began to sing.

My fear is fading fast

Been saving it all for you

He bit me, ate my skin, before he fucked me. It was a blip in time. I looked towards the green star, the thing that was coming to destroy us. It was beautiful. I saw life in it. I saw the beauty in all things. I forgot that there was a boy fucking me, brutalizing me, making me his meal. His object. I didn’t care. I wasn’t his. I was this star’s. I was death impending. I was free.

When he was done, I didn’t wait. I plopped upright and walked away naked, forgetting the stupid costume. I wrapped an arm around Gritty’s waist before taking her hand and running off into the night. My bare feet pounded across the wasteland’s floor. The star was coming closer. It would be here soon. I knew this chapter was coming to a close. I was going to end it with her.

We made our way to the edge of the forest.

“Can I unzip you?” I asked Ingrid.

She nodded, smiling, as she turned around and pulled her elegant hair towards her front. It twinkled and wrinkled down her breasts. She was elegance, the form of death that I least expected. I pulled her close and kissed her, enveloping myself in her the way I needed to a week ago. I heard the sounds from the camp as the sun disappeared but the star came closer and illuminated the expanse of earth. I paid them no mind as I danced with Ingrid. Eventually, we became dizzy and fell.

Her hand laid on my bicep, and mine on hers. We stared up to the sky as we had a week ago when we kissed for the first time. The green of the meteor shooting towards us blinded me, but I kept my eyes open. I started to sing quietly as Ingrid’s fingers played at my skin, touching me. “Danke schoen, darling, danke schoen. Thank you for walks down Lover's Lane.”

My voice was awkward, and I didn’t sing in tune. Ingrid rolled into me all the same, shielding herself from the green glow. I wrapped her hair around my finger. This was death. It was beautiful. She was beautiful. She was who I wanted to die with.

“This is what free means to me,” I whispered as she continued to hum the song, taking it for her own.

I could see the details of the rock now. The edges were curved, like the indents of her body. My heart left its cage. It floated above me, blocking out the death rock. This was what was coming to claim me. It sung the song of my soul, repeating back to me the song I had just been singing. It was mine. This was my choice.

The green became more intense. She wrapped herself closer to me. My heart sung louder. This was it. Whatever. Whatever. Whatever.

#lgbtq #gay #lgbtq romance #romance #apocalypse #chernobyl #end of the world #short story #my writing #creative writing

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ganglylimbs · 4 years

Text

That Sweet Spring Heat

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou/Eijirou Kirishima

Summary: Spring had just begun to fully bloom, the air warming and flowers just starting to bud, when Kirishima Eijirou loses his goddamn mind and Bakugou Katsuki is not having it.

Warnings: Hybrid au, smut, breeding kink, no mpreg, dirty talk, cat hybrid Bakugou, dog hybrid Kirishima, lingerie, strength kink, slight feminization, bottom Bakugou, top Kirishima

Notes: A little more information than you need but the breeds of hybrids are:

Kirishima- A mutt (German Shepard/Rottweiler mixed with some lab blood) Bakugou- Purebred Dragon Li Cat (seriously, read the description for them. It fits him perfectly. Just more blond)

They don't show up a lot but I thought about this au for a bit so for the others: Urakara- A Shiba Inu (because they are round bois) Momo- Japanese Crane (her family seems very elegant and traditional and cranes seem very traditionally Japanese to me) Sero- Spider (because him shooting out tape reminds me about spiders shooting out silk) Ashido- Komodo Dragon (Basically my brain went, she has horns, they remind me of lizards, Komodo dragons are dangerous, she's dangerous, we have a match) Midoriya- Fuzzy Lop Rabbits (listen, I love all the fan art I see of rabbit Deku and his mask really does look like rabbit ears) Kaminari- Field Mouse (listen, I will not give up this headcanon) The two random OCs- Black Horn Sheep

Spring had just begun to fully bloom, the air warming and flowers just starting to bud, when Kirishima Eijirou loses his goddamn mind and Bakugou Katsuki is not having it.

Bakugou's blond fluffy ears lay flat on his hair, a vein popping along his forehead, his sleek tail flicking back and forth. His arms are crossed over his chest, staring down at his stupid ass boyfriend.

Kirishima stares back with bright eyes, a clueless grin on his lips as his large red tail thumps against the bed, ears perked. His full attention is on Bakugou.

They continue their staring contest for a full minute, in which Bakugou's scowl deepens and deepens.

Finally, he snaps. "Alright, you fuck, what’s up?"

Kirishima raises an eyebrow. "What?"

Bakugou throws his hands out, gesturing at all of him. "You! What's going on in that fucking brain of yours?"

Kirishima's tail slows down in its wagging, just a bit. "Ah, Bakugou, don’t be rude, man. I thought we were having fun." He wiggles his eyebrows.

"That’s not the point mutt-for-brains. You’ve been acting weird and I want to know why.”Bakugou's hands crackle and spark, a clear warning sign.

The effect is slightly weakened by the fact that they are both naked, Bakugou straddling Kirishima's hips, and Bakugou's thighs stained in Kirishima's cum.

Kirishima, because he's a goddamn idiot, ignores the warning explosions, his lightly hardened hands scratching at the skin of Bakugou's waist. He just tilts his head. "Babe, I really don't know what you mean."

Bakugou snarls. "Fine. Keep being weird." Then he climbs off that thick waist, stomping out of the room, Kirishima calling after him.

If Bakugou thinks about it, this whatever the hell is wrong with Kirishima started about a month ago, after one of the charity events their agency had set up.

Bakugou hadn't really been that interested in any of the interviews or journalists trying to catch his attention, no doubt most of them hoping that Ground Zero will give them some drama to report on. Instead, he had left that for the heroes like Red Riot and Deku and Alien Queen to handle.

He had chosen to focus more on why they are here. Children had been laughing and screaming and playing all around him, other heroes had been chasing after them or sitting to draw. He had seen Uravity throwing kids up in the air, letting them float for a bit before releasing and catching them. Creati had been making toys, laughing at the increasingly extravagant demands, her large white wings spreading out behind her in excitement. Cellophane had allowed himself to be strung up by his own tape, kids dancing around him.

A hand had yanked on one of his black sleeves, making him look down. A little girl, with wild curly black hair and narrowed brown eyes had frowned back at him. Two small horns peek through her mane and a small tail swished behind her, betraying her nerves.

He had knelt down, coming face to face with her, ears turning straight forward to show she had his full attention. "What do you need, squirt?"

Her eyes had narrowed even more. "My names not squirt ."

"Sure it isn't, squirt. Now, what are you bothering me for?"

She huffed and held up two wooden swords. "I want to play Pirates but none of the other kids want to play with me. They say I'm too rough."

Bakugou had given her a rueful grin. "Yeah? Well fu-frick them. I'll take you on."

She had gaped at him. "Really?"

Bakugou had snatched one of the wooden swords and stood to his full height. "Do you think you can take Ground Zero?"

She stared for a moment and then she had grinned, showing off her teeth. "Yeah!" Then she striked forward.

His sword had swept down to meet hers, making a wooden clack sound, and the two are off. They go back and forth, running all around the field, gaining and losing ground in waves.

When the girl is left panting, her dress covered in dirt and grass stains, Bakugou had finally allowed himself to be knocked to the ground.

She had taken the chance and had stabbed him in the stomach.

Bakugou had hissed and then his body relaxed against the ground. "Damn, ok, you got me, you got me. I give."

She giggled, before pointing her sword in the air, the other hand on her hip. "I did it! I defeated Ground Zero."

Bakugou chuckled, before grabbing her and bringing her close to lick at the dirt on her face, grooming her. "Yeah, yeah, squirt."

She smacks him with the sword, squirming. "Hey," he had said, letting her go.

She frowned down at him, putting her hands on her hips. "My name's not squirt . I won didn't I?"

He gave her a small smile. "Yeah, you did. You deserve more respect don't ya? So, do I get the honor of knowing who has beaten me?"

Her chest puffed out. "My name is-"

" Doi ."

Both of them had turned to see a harried-looking man jogging up to them. Kirishima right behind him a small frown on his face.

The girl, Doi Bakugou assumed, dropped her sword and had bite the bottom of her lip. Bakugou sat up, warily watching as the two approaches.

The man came to a stop right before them, huffing. "What did I tell you about being so forceful?" He turned to Bakuoug, bowing so low his curly horns almost touch his knees. "I'm sorry if she hurt you, sometimes she forgets her own strength-"

"It's fine," Bakugou interrupted, standing up and brushing the dirt off his costume. His tail lazily swayed behind him. "We were just having some fun."

The man had still looked unsure. Doi had been quiet, but she's had looked up at Bakugou now. "Are you really ok? I know she can-"

Bakugou waved off his apologies. "Yeah, of course. I'm a hero, aren't I? I can handle a little roughness. Besides, you have a great sword handler here." He made sure to catch Doi's eyes. "I hope you continue to work on them. You would make a good hero one day."

Her eyes had gone wide. "Do you really think so?"

"Of course," Bakugou had sniffed. "I never say anything I don't mean." Then he gave her a sharp smirk, hand ruffling through her hair. "Squirt."

"Hey!" She had gone to kick him, her father panicking again.

Bakugou had just laughed, ruffling her hair again. "Come back next year and show me how much you've improved."

"I will," she had promised. Then she had puffed out her chest. "And when I win again, you have to use my name."

"Promise."

Bakugou had watched the two of them go, Doi excitedly replaying all of their fight for her dad, who nervously smiled at her but a lot more relaxed than when he had first appeared.

He had turned to say something to Kirishima but is stopped short. Kirishima had been staring at him, eyes heavy and lidded with something that made Bakugou's throat go dry.

Then Kirishima blinked and he's back to normal, big goofy grin in place, his floppy ears bouncing as he walked forward to throw an arm over Bakugou's shoulder, bringing him closer. "Did you have fun, babe?"

Bakugou had grunt, side-eyeing him, not sure what that had been all about but not willing to let it ruin his good mood. "Sure."

Kirishima had just laughed and then they were swarmed by reporters and didn't have much of a chance to talk after that.

It's not that Bakugou is exactly bothered by what is happening. Kirishima has always been touchy, even before they started dating. He has wandering hands, that love to grope and grab at Bakugou and it's often Bakugou that has to remind him that they're in public, you idiot.

So he isn't bothered by the fact that, for the past month, Kirishima has been manhandling him more often, pushing and pulling him into positions or trying to bend him over their furniture. He isn't bothered by the fact that Kirishima will come up behind him, arms around his waist, as he presses kisses into his sensitive neck.

What is unusual is that Kirishima has taken to curving his large hands around Bakugou's stomach, his eyes unable to look away as he fucks his way inside Bakugou's willing body. He's a bit confused why Kirishima has become extra invested in his nipples, why he keeps calling them "tits", or why he sucks at them as if hoping milk will come out.

It's also pretty fucking weird that Kirishima has become insatiable these past few weeks.

Kirishima has always had a higher sex drive than Bakugou. It's worked for them so far. If Bakugou isn't up to it, Kirishima is more than fine with his hand.

But lately, Kirishima has become really, really insistent, grinding against Bakugou's ass or surprising him in the shower to finger him open. Bakugou has sat on Kirishima's knot more times than he can count, has milked Kirishima for all he's worth as the dog hybrid pinches his nipples and leaves bite marks on his shoulder.

In essence, Kirishima has become a bit sex-crazy and Bakugou just wants to know why. It can't be because it's mating season. Kirishima has never acted like this before. Something had to have set him off and Bakugou is going to get to the bottom of it.

By this point, Bakugou is ready when Kirishima comes sniffing around, his big bulky frame covering Bakugou's as he starts kissing at his neck, hand already gripping his hips.

Bakugou allows him for a few seconds, before turning his head, dislodging Kirishima's lips.

Kirishima whines, low in his throat, but Bakugou ignores him. "You can have what you want when you explain what's got you so riled up."

Kirishima huffs, giving him a squeeze. "Not this again. There isn't anything wrong."

Bakugou hums, before dislodging himself. His hips sway as he leaves the room, tail curling invitingly, and he throws a look over his shoulder. "Then I guess you'll just have to do without."

Kirishima watches him leave.

Kirishima tries two more times, only to be brushed off. Bakugou wakes up later that night to Kirishima panting in his ear and grinding against his ass.

Kirishima goes to sleep on the couch.

Honestly, Bakugou thought that it would just take two days before Kirishima gave in. The horny idiot could never hold out whenever they play this game, often too impatient to get to the good stuff.

So he's a bit surprised when, a week later, and Kirishima is still tight-lipped.

He's even more surprised when Kirishima begins to ramp up his deviant behavior.

They're on patrol, just finishing up their rounds on the 4th district when a call comes over the radio. They pause, listening to a description of suspicious activity before being told to stay put as the situation unfolds.

Bakugou had just started to grunt his agreement when he cuts off into a groan.

"I know you hate not being in on the action, Ground Zero, but this is the best plan," Ingenium says over the radio.

Bakugou can't tell him to shut up because he's too busy holding back moans.

"Yeah, Katsuki," Kirishima says, a smirk curling along his lips. "Just be a good boy and stay still."

Bakugou turns to glare at him, ears flat against his hair, face flushed. But before he can get anything out, Kirishima moves his hand again, stroking from the base of Bakugou's tail up to the tip.

Bakugou can't stop the sound that is ripped from his throat.

Kirishima's eyes dilate and then he's pushing Bakugou against the wall. He crowds in close, fingers still playing with Bakugou's tail. He leans in to whisper in Bakugou's twitching ear.

"Fuck, your mouth. It's so pretty, whether moaning for me or wrapped around my dick."

Eijirou," Bakugou stutters out, heat curling in his stomach. There was no way in hell he could stop the way his hips grind back against Kirishima.

"That's it, baby," Kirishima whispers. "Who's my pretty kitty?"

Bakugou closes his eyes and shivers. His head feels fuzzy, the sudden heat and want and the damn way Kirishima is playing with his tail makes it hard to think straight.

Kirishima leans down and nibbles on his ear, sharp teeth scraping against the soft skin, and Bakugou is gone. All thoughts of punishing Kirishima till he fesses up disappears, he just needs the mutt now and-

"Ground Zero, Red Riot, the situation has escalated. We need you."

The two jerk apart. They stare at each other, breathing hard.

Bakugou grits his teeth.

Kirishima raises his hand. "Katsuki, wait-"

He gets a face full of explosion, barely hardening in time.

"Die," Bakugou screams, face completely red and fur standing on end.

"I'm sorry!"

"Oh, you're about to be."

"Ground Zero and Red Riot, we need you! Do you copy?"

Bakugou bares his fangs, before pressing his comm. "We hear you, Four Eyes-"

"Ingenium!"

"Whatever. We're on our way."

Making sure his comm is off, Bakugou points at Kirishima. "You stay the fuck away from me."

Kirishima pouts, bringing out his literal puppy eyes. "Babe, please-"

"When we're done with this villian, I'm going to throw you through a goddamn wall." And then Bakugou points his hands down, blasting off into the sky.

The villain ends up being quickly brought down and slightly burnt thanks to an angry Ground Zero.

Bakugou is steadily ignoring Kirishima, resting up at the agency after their fight, but he does hear the way Kaminari comes up to the red giant and slaps his shoulder, no sense of self-preservation in sight.

"So, I see that you landed yourself in the dog house again, huh?"

Kirishima sighs. "Come on, man. I don't need this today."

"What? Have you been collared? Bakugou got you on a leash?"

"Kaminari, not cool, I don't make mouse puns about you."

"Um, because there are no mouse puns that aren't cool," Kaminari says. "So what has King Explosion Murder neutering you this time?"

Kirishima growls and even from where Bakugou is standing, he shivers at the threat there. "Make one more pun, I dare you."

Kaminari is silent for a minute. And then…

"You were being a horndog, weren't yo-"

Kaminari cries out as he is knocked to the ground, Kirishima standing over him with a hardened fist.

Bakugou hides a snort in his fist.

Bakugou's anger is at a shimmer the next day when Kirishima, the bastard, tries again.

They don't have any hero work for that day, just some paperwork they need to fill out about the incident they were involved in, and then they get the rest of the day off.

They decide to head to the gym afterward, splitting up for a bit as they get their individual workouts in.

Bakugou always finishes his up early, hitting the showers, before going out to spot for his boyfriend.

The cat hybrid would rather die than admit that this is actually his favorite part of their shared workouts. To be able to stare at his boyfriend unabashedly, watch those muscles bulge and work, watch his broad shoulders strain under the weights, watch as sweat glides down his body.

He might have initiated a sex ban, but that doesn't mean he can't appreciate the view.

Kirishima has moved on to the big weights, curling them as he counts, the sweat along his body letting Bakugou know that he's been there a while. He nods at Bakugou to show that he sees him before going back to lifting.

Bakugou stands a few feet away, next to the benches where he knows Kirishima will head next. He takes a long drink of water, eyes drifting up and down Kirishimia’s body and can’t help but smirk when Kirishima squats to drop the weights.

Then his eyes drift up to meet Kirishima’s in the mirror.

Kirishima’s eyes are dark and Bakugou finds himself caught in them. Kirishima licks his lips, drawing Bakugou’s eyes, before he stands back up, slowly. Bakugou gulps, but it’s too late to take back his mistake.

Kirishima has him caught, like prey.

Kirishima makes his way towards the bench, putting on his preferred weights, before beckoning Bakugou over. “You’re going to help me, aren’t you?” His voice has the start of rough edge and Bakugou holds in his shiver.

“Sure. Think you can actually beat that weak record of yours?”

Kirishima gives him a sharp smirk. “Of course.”

Then he starts to get to work. His arms are impressive as they bend and stretch, the heavyweights going up and down as if they were nothing. Bakugou’s eyes can’t help drifting to them or to the way Kirishima’s shirt scrunches up, showing off that toned stomach, and Bakugou watches for a brief second as it contracts and expands.

Kirishima clears his throat and Bakugou’s eyes jerk up to his. “You have a job to do, Katsuki. Don’t go slacking now.”

Bakugou tenses, tail twitching in agitation. “And you should be lifting. Whose slacking now?”

Kirishima grins, but continues his work out. Bakugou huffs, but focuses more on spotting. Wouldn’t want the idiot to hurt himself.

Kirishima finishes up and heads for the showers, Bakugou waiting just outside the locker room for him on his phone.

He is not at all prepared for when a hand grabs the back of his shirt and pulls him into the locker room. He twists his body around, hands sparking as they come into contact with someone.

Someone with hardened arms.

Bakugou barely has time to blink, eyes landing on red hair, before he’s being lifted up and slammed into the wall. Bakugou’s teeth clink together, but that doesn’t stop him from reaching out to grab at Kirishima’s throat.

They stop for a second, breathing hard, red eyes meeting red. Then their lips are clashing together, teeth biting at lips. Bakugou’s hands tangle in Kirishima’s hair, pulling hard. Kirishima’s hands are under his ass, squeezing, before pulling at Bakugou’s legs, helping them to wrap around his waist. Kirishima grinds down at him and Bakugou fucking groans.

“Shit, Katsuki, do you know what it does to me to see you drooling over my muscles?” Kirishima growls. “How hard it gets me that you love the fact that I could manhandle you into any position I want? I could slam you against these lockers, fuck you into your slutty body, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

They both know that’s not completely true, that Bakugou would find a way to break free if he really wanted to, but right now, all Bakugou does is moan, yanking harder at Kirishima’s hair, lost to the images Kirishima paints.

Kirishima squeezes his ass, kneading the flesh there. “My second favorite part of your body, right behind your sweet tits. I especially love when it’s bouncing on my knot.”

Bakugou whimpers. He uses Kirishima’s hair to guide his mouth up into another kiss, no less desperate or hot. He tilts his head, drawing Kirishima deeper into the kiss, before pulling back to whisper against Kirishima’s lips. “I love your knot, love when it’s plugging me up, all your cum stuffed deep inside of me-”

Kirishima groans, eyes fluttering.

“You know what I love even more?” Bakugou asks.

“What?” Kirishima responds, body leaning even closer against Bakugou, eyes drifting down to Bakugou’s throat and chest.

“If you would just tell me what has gotten into you.”

Kirishima stiffens, before slowly looking up to meet Bakugou's eyes. Bakugou raises an eyebrow. Kirishima sighs. “I’m not getting any today am I?”

Bakugou raises his palm, his hand glowing. “Nope,” he says, popping the p.

After about another week and a half of this, Bakugou is done waiting. If the usual game isn’t going to get the job done, then he’s going to have to force Kirishima to tell him.

He is going to fucking break Eijirou if it kills him.

Bakugou stretches out, humming to himself. He has two meetings he needs to go to later today, but he rarely has this time to just sit back and relax.

Of course, relaxing for him means he’s still doing something. That something being yoga out in the living room.

He slowly moves his body from position to position, enjoying the slight burn. His ears perk up at the sound of the door opening, but besides that, he ignores his boyfriend, instead focusing on shifting his legs into the next position.

“Hey, babe, I brought lunch home,” Kirishima calls from the front door, where Bakugou knows he’s taking off his shoes before moving deeper into the house. “I thought we could eat together before you have to go- ach .”

Bakugou hides his smirk, shoulders shifting as he stands up. “Hey mutt, what’d you get?” He looks over his shoulder, showing his teeth at the sight of Kirishima standing frozen in the living room doorway, bags of food dangling in his hands.

Kirishima audibly swallows. “Uh, what are you doing?”

Bakugou snorts, turning away and moving to the next position. “What does it fucking look like? Yoga.”

“Yeah, but, um-”

“What? Does the cat have your tongue?”

“You’re naked,” Kirishima moans.

Bakugou looks down, as if this is his first time noticing his lack of clothes. “Huh. So I am.”

“ Why? ”

Bakugou shrugs. “Why not?” He bends down, his forehead touching his knees. He can practically feel the burn of Kirishima’s stare on his ass. “The sun is shining pretty bright today and you know how much I love to spread myself along the window sills to soak it up.”

His voice is practically a purr and he knows exactly what he’s doing, reminding the mutt of what happened the last time he was spread in front of the window, when Kirishima had been curled up behind him, both slowly rocking as the sun had warmed their skin.

Bakugou curls his tail, beckoning Kirishima’s eyes to follow along as he works his way through his routine. He can hear the other huff and panting, the mutt probably drooling.

“You’re torturing me here, Kat,” Kirishima says, sounding strangled.

“You know what you have to do if you want a piece of this,” Bakugou says. His hands, which had been wrapped around his ankle, slowly start to slide up his leg, gliding along the smooth skin.

“There’s nothing to-”

Bakugou shrugs, before turning around, coming face to face with Kirishima. He stalks his way forward, eyes half-lidded.

Kirishima might be holding his breath. Bakugou is pretty sure he’s not breathing.

And then Bakugou passes by him, brushing his shoulder, before heading up to their room. “Then I guess we’re done here. Let’s have lunch.”

The sound of Kirishima hitting his head on the wall echoes around the house.

Bakugou doesn’t do this often-

Ok, that’s a lie. He does do this quite often, but always in the privacy of their home. Rarely does he do it in public.

But by this point, he’s willing to pull out all the stops.

They’re back on patrol, walking around the 5th and 6th district, with the hot sun beating down on them. Bakugou curses. His gauntlets are already half-filled by this point, and he hasn't even done anything.

Kirishima taps on his shoulder, pointing to a stand selling water. They go over to buy some, only to have the vendor wave off their attempts to pay, thanking them instead for the jobs they do.

They go to stand to the side, in the shade, drinking their free water. Side-eyeing Kirishima, Bakugou casually leans against the wall and then pulls on the strap of his hero suit, as if he were trying to fan himself.

Kirishima glances over.

Then he does a double-take.

“Katsuki, no,” he says, almost in horror.

Bakugou innocently blinks at him. “What? I’m just drinking.”

But Kirishima is too focused on his bared shoulder to respond.

Bakugou looks down. “Oh, you mean the bra strap, huh? Yeah, I don’t know why, but I felt like dressing up a little today.” His fingers play with the baby blue strap, snapping it against his skin.

“Did-Is it a complete set?” Kirishima asks, tail wagging behind him, ears perking up.

Bakugou smiles, wide and all teeth. “Wouldn’t you like to find out.”

“You-you’re a monster,” Kirishima says.

Bakugou chuckles, pushing off the building. He rubs his head against Kirishima’s shoulder before pulling him back on patrol. “I know.”

It continues like that for the rest of the day, with Bakugou giving Kirishima little hints and peeks of the lingerie he wears underneath.

Kirishima follows after him, like a mutt on a leash, and more than once, walks into a civilian or doorway. Bakugou sits back and laughs at the way he goes red and sputters out excuses.

When they reach the agency, they both head back to the locker rooms to get changed out of their costumes. Bakugou barely passes the threshold, before he’s being grabbed, flipped, and pressed face first against the wall.

He sends a smirk at Kirishima. “What’s with you and manhandling me in locker rooms lately?”

Kirishima growls, low in his throat. “As if you don’t deserve it. You’ve been winding me up all fucking week.”

Bakugou bares his fangs. “And you haven’t been doing the same? I told you, Eijirou, all you have to do is tell me what’s been on your mind and then you can do whatever you want to me.”

Kirishima growls again, pressing close. He noses his way through Bakugou’s hair, huffing. “...I’m afraid you’ll think I’m weird or something.”

Bakugou pauses, before turning his head to rub it against Kirishima’s. “Eijirou, you never have to be afraid to talk to me about stuff. You know that, right?”

Kirishima drops his head against Bakugou’s shoulder, large arms wrapping around his waist. “I know but it’s...thoughts getting to me. Will you think it’s too weird, will you look at me differently, that sort of stuff.”

Bakugou reaches back to start to play with his hair. “You know I love you. You could say the weirdest shit to me and, maybe I might say the wrong thing at first, but nothing could ever make me stop loving you or thinking you’re too much for me.”

Kirishima is silent for a moment, squeezing tighter and inhaling Bakugou’s scent. Bakugou continues to play with his hair, fingers brushing against his ears, scratching right behind them in that secret spot that makes Kirishima melt.

“...M’ wanna breed you,” Kirishima finally mumbles.

Bakugou furrows his eyebrows. He feels Kirishima tense behind him and is quick to scratch that spot again, forcing him to relax. “Not that I’m saying it’s bad, but you know I can’t get pregnant right?”

“I know,” Kirishima says, still muttering into his shoulder. “I just...you know that girl, Doi? That you were playing with at last month’s charity function?”

“Yeah?”

“I saw you being all sweet with her and it was like I was suddenly hit with the image of you doing that to our daughter. And then other thoughts kept rolling in my head. You, holding our child. You, feeding out child. You, round with our child. And that eventually devolved into-”

“You trying to stuff as much of your cum into me as possible?” Bakugou asks.

Kirishima’s breath hitches. He digs his claws into Bakugou’s waist. “ Yessss . It’s consumed my thoughts. At this point, I don’t really care that you can’t have children, it’s all about the trying you know? I just want you to constantly sit on my knot, warm my cock, be a tight hot little cocksleeve.”

Bakugou bites his bottom lips, face flushing. “Damn, Eijirou. And you’ve been keeping this to yourself all this time?”

Kirishima lifts his head, catching Bakugou’s eyes. “You...you like that?”

Bakugou sniffs, looking away. “I mean, you’re the one whose saying all these dirty things. Of course I’m going to find that hot.”

Kirishima grins, pressing a kiss against Bakugou’s shoulder. Then he goes to whisper directly in Bakugou’s ear. “Yeah? You like the thought of you all fucked out on our bed, spread out, your hole wet and sloppy as I force my knot back in?”

Bakugou moans, low and heated. “You going to put a liter in me, mutt? Huh, you think you can?”

Kirishima rumbles, the sound vibrating deep in his chest, and Bakugou doesn’t have time to react before Kirishima bits into his neck, leaving a large mark. Bakugou whimpers, grinding his hips back. Kirishima takes advantage of that, moving Bakugou’s waist back so he can grind on his ass.

“I know I can. Going to keep you stuffed, make your tits all fat with milk.” One of his hands reaches up to cup one of Bakugou’s pecs.

“With that weak knot of yours?” Bakugou grits out, trying hard not to fall apart as Kirishima gropes him. “Good fucking luck.”

“You challenging me?” Kirishima asks.

“What do you think?”

Their eyes meet, sparks flying between them, both of their mouths pulling back to show off their fangs.

The door opens and they jerk apart. An intern peeks their head in, whistling before coming to a halt. They stop and stare at Bakugou and Kirishima, both of their costumes wrinkled and messed up, their hair wild.

“Um,” they say.

“Get the fuck out,” Bakugou screams, hands sparking.

The intern eeps, scrambling back and out the door.

Kirishima sighs. “Bakugou-”

“Don’t you fucking start,” Bakugou snarls. He runs a hand through his hair, huffing, before catching Kirishima’s eyes again. “You want to take a half-day and get the fuck home?”

“Gods, yes.”

They burst through the bedroom door, wrapped around each other, Bakugou climbing Kirishima like a tree. They’re not really kissing, more like they’re trying to eat each other’s mouths.

Bakugou groans, pulling back. "Fuck, Eijirou." His claws dig into the skin on Kirishima's shoulder, making the other hiss.

Kirishima practically throws Bakugou down on the bed, red eyes blazing. He's quick to get himself undressed, tripping on his costume in his hurry to throw it on the ground.

Bakugou is right behind him, shimmering out of his pants, trying to peel himself out of his top too, when Kirishima grabs his ankles and yanks him down. Bakugou lets out a little sound of surprise as he slides along the bed.

Kirishima crawls over him, slow and predatory, eyes glued to the panties Bakugou is wearing. Bakugou tilts his head, spreading his legs and fingering the lacy edges. “Do you like what you see? Want to unwrap me like the present I am?”

Kirishima licks his lips, grinning. “Fuck yeah, babe. I want to see the entire picture.” He lifts one of Bakugou’s legs, kissing the side of his knee. He slowly kisses his way up Bakugou’s thigh, keeping eye contact, before biting into the meaty flesh. Bakugou’s breath catches and then Kirishima’s soothing the sting with a kiss.

He repeats the pattern a few more times, leaving marks along the way, before reaching the bulge in his panties. He spreads Bakugou’s legs wider, nuzzling the covered dick, before biting on the edge of the panties, pulling down just enough for the tip of Bakugou’s cock to slip out. Kirishima gives the tip a lick, cleaning up the precum there.

Bakugou can’t tear his eyes away, little moans being ripped from his throat. Kirishima gives him grin before backing off. “Let me open my pretty present.” His large hands wrap around Bakugou’s waist, lifting the tight fabric of his shirt up to reveal Bakugou’s abs, then even higher. Inch by inch, blue fabric is exposed for Kirishima to drink in. It’s lacy and sheer, doing nothing to hide the way Bakugou’s nipples stand erect and waiting.

Kirishima, because he can’t help himself, pinches one of the pink buds. Bakugou arches into the touch, silently begging for more. Kirishima manages to get the rest of the shirt off, also throwing it to the side, his hand never leaving Bakugou’s chest.

Bakugou throws an arm across his face, face flushed and eyes narrowed. Kirishima’s tail is wagging a mile a minute, dick hard and heavy. “Come on, you mutt, I thought you were going to breed me? Are you going to break your promise?”

That gets him another pinch, making him hiss. “So impatient, my pretty kitty. Let me enjoy the way you look before we get to the fun stuff.”

Bakugou snarls. “That’s funny coming from yo- ah fuck .”

Kirishima hums, still twisting Bakugou’s nipple before twisting it to the other side. “That’s a little better. Keep making those pretty noises for me and maybe I’ll give you what you want.”

“Fuck- ah -you,” Bakugou hisses. He withers against the bed as Kirishima continues to play with his body, his other hand reaching down to give Bakugou’s cock light little stokes.

“My perfect cat, you’re going to look so good, all-round with my liter.” Kirishima leans down to give Bakugou’s stomach a chaste kiss. Bakugou wiggles.

“Eijirou, come on.”

“Someone’s needy. I haven’t even fingered you open and you’re already begging for me,” Kirishima says.

Bakugou flushes. "We've haven't had sex for nearly two damn months."

"And whose fault is that?"

"Yours."

"Hmmm, is that so?" Kirishima asks, fingers dancing along Bakugou’s inner thighs as he slowly pulls Bakugou’s panties down his legs. “I wasn’t the one who started the sex ban.”

Bakugou sneers. “Really? Who was it that kept their dirty little fantasies to themselves- fuck .” Bakguou’s body jerks as Kirishima’s fingers tap against his hole, wet with lube.

Kirishima chuckles. “You’re always so loud, babe.” He slowly pushes one finger in, wiggling it.

“Maybe, uh, maybe you’re just too fucking quiet,” Bakugou says, fingers digging into the mattress.

“Now we both know that’s a lie.” Kirishima adds another finger, scissoring. He licks his lips. “You look so delicious, spread out on my fingers. I can’t wait till it’s my knot that you’re splitting on.”

Bakugou moans, thrusting his hips down. “God damn, you’re fingers are so fucking big, Eijirou. Come on, fuck me already.”

Kirishima clicks his tongue. “Patience, Katsuki. I want you open for me, so my knot can just slide right in." He adds another finger, croaking them, pressing against that special place, and smirks as Bakugou's eyes widen.

And then he mewls.

They both still, Bakugou slapping a hand over his mouth, face twisted in horror.

"Did you just-"

"No!" Bakugou instantly denies, face going cherry red.

Kirishima can feel Bakugou's hands heating up. He moves fast, grabbing those tiny wrists in his hardened hands and slamming them on the mattress, right above Bakugou's head.

"You did," Kirishima breathes. "Do it again."

"What- no. Fuck no." Bakugou tries to thrash, but Kirishima straddles his hips, hardening his skin to make it heavier.

Kirishima leans in close, till their noses are almost touching. "I'm going to make you make that sound again, Katsuki."

Bakugou shudders, but he refuses to back down. "Is that a challenge?"

Before he can blink, he's being flipped over, arms pulled behind his back, chest and face pressed into the mattress, ass raised up. Kirishima palms his ass, a light touch, before giving it an echoing smack. Bakugou gasps, going still.

"That's a promise," Kirishima whispers directly into his ear. He gives the fluffy appendage a bite, two fingers shoving their way back inside, searching for Bakugou's prostate.

He knows he finds it when Bakugou's body jerks, Bakugou moaning low and long. But it's not the sound Kirishima wants. So he continues to press his fingers against it, milking Bakugou.

Bakugou is squirming, but with Kirishima's large body covering his and those hardened hands keeping his wrists pinned, there's nowhere for Bakugou to go.

Every time he moves, it just forces his hips back down on those thick fingers. It makes his cock throb, precum dripping freely. He whines, throwing his head back. "Eijirou."

Kirishima kisses his sweaty forehead. "Come on, Katsuki. You know what I want."

Bakugou shakes his head, ears twitching, tail curling and unfurling around Kirishima's wrist. "N-No."

Kirishima tisks, squeezing a third finger in, jabbing it against his prostate. Bakugou's eyes widen, mouth falling open. He pants, hole twitching.

"My pretty kitty, won't you make your sweet noises for me?" Kirishima continues to whisper in his ear.

"It's embarrassing," Bakugou practically yowls, hiding his face in his arms.

"Not if it's with me," Kirishima says, stopping momentarily. He nuzzles Bakugou's hair. "You have nothing to be embarrassed about if it's just me here, right?"

Bakugou bites his bottom lip. Kirishima doesn't move, allowing Bakugou time to think.

Finally, Bakugou sighs. Then, almost too soft to hear, he mewls.

Kirishima's grin splits his face. He kisses Bakugou again and starts moving his fingers. "Good boy, that's so lovely, yes please keep making those noises." He spreads his fingers. "Louder, kitty cat, louder."

Bakugou is shuddering, body beyond hot, as Kirishima fucks him open. His sounds of pleasure increase in volume, Kirishima encouraging him along the way.

It doesn't take long at all before he's coming against the bed, Kirishima's fingers still moving. He pants, little shivers of aftershock rocking through him.

When he comes back to himself, it's to the feeling of Kirishima rubbing his cock against his ass. He lazily grinds back. "Getting ahead of yourself, aren't you?" He mumbles. "I thought you were going to breed me?"

Kirishima bites into his shoulder, making Bakugou hiss. "If you can talk again, then I guess that means you're ready to be fucked."

Bakugou lifts his hips up, moving his tail out of the way to show off his stretched hole. "Come on Eijirou, fuck a litter into me."

Kirishima growls, low and heated. His cock presses against Bakugou's hole, sheathing himself inside that hot, wet heat. Bakugou cries out, the sound almost lost in the howl Kirishima let's out.

Kirishima wastes no time as he starts to thrust, hard and fast into Bakugou, hips slapping against his ass.

Bakugou whines, his moans being punched out of him with each thrust. Kirishima let's go of his wrists, his hand trailing down Bakugou's body to curl around his stomach.

"Can't wait to see you all fat with my seed. I'm going to make you sit on my knot all through your pregnancy."

"I want it, please Eijirou, please. Knot me, knot me."

"You're going to get your knot, patience." Kirishima brings Bakugou's hips up higher, so he can fuck into him deeper, his cock now slamming against Bakugou's prostate.

Bakugou is back to mewling, his cock growing hard again. He tears up the sheets, thrusting back against Kirishima. He can feel that fat knot bumping up against him, desperately trying to slip inside.

With every slam, Kirishima's knot spreads Bakugou open just a bit further, goes in just a bit deeper. Bakugou mewls and yowls through it, begging Kirishima with every other breath. His cock is fully hard by now, almost painfully so.

With one last, hard thrust, Kirishima pushes his knot fully in, locking them together. He snarls, biting into Bakugou's shoulder, hard enough to draw blood. One hand moves from his grip on Bakugou's waist to his cock, stroking him rough and fast.

Bakugou's eyes roll into his head, body going stiff. His orgasm is ripped out of him, joining his other release on the bed. He can feel warmth rushing into him as Kirishima cums, still slightly rolling his hips as Bakugou's hole milks him.

They stay like that for a minute or two, and then they collapse into the bed, boneless.

Kirishima turns them to the side, wiggling till they were in a more comfortable position as they wait for Kirishima's knot to deflate. Kirishima continues to pet and stroke Bakugou, singing him praises.

Bakugou shifts back slightly, settling into Kirishima's chest, hands drifting down to rest on his stomach. "So," he says after a moment. "Should we start looking at adoption agencies?"

Kirishima chokes.

#kiribaku #katsuki bakugou #eijirou kirishima #smuttish #hybrid au

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